004 Smile and Say Murder (3 page)

“Nancy!” Ned sighed with exasperation. “If I had a nickel for every time you’ve said something like that to me, I could retire right now, a wealthy man.”

Nancy was quiet for a moment. It was true, she’d disappointed Ned before. But could she help that she’d rather be working on a mystery than doing just about anything else?

Ned broke the silence. “How important is this, Nancy?”

Nancy sighed. “It’s very important. I don’t think J could pass it up, Ned. Yvonne’s life might be on the line! Besides, this mystery seems really hot.”

“I think I’m having déjà vu,” Ned moaned. “Last time we were supposed to go up to the cabin, you had to cancel because of some mystery. Now it’s happening all over again!”

Nancy tapped her fingers impatiently on the telephone. “But, Ned,” she said, “you weren’t with me in that office. This guy Mick practically turned green with anger. He’s
definitely
violent. If I don’t deal with the situation, Yvonne might end up dead!”

But Ned wasn’t buying Nancy’s argument. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Didn’t you tell Yvonne you’d take the case
before
Mick flipped out? When it looked as if it was just a matter of a few nasty letters—nothing too serious?”

Nancy coughed, embarrassed. Ned’s been hanging around me too long, she decided. He’s becoming a pretty good detective himself. “Okay, you’re right,” she muttered. “But,” she rushed on, “that doesn’t change the fact that Yvonne needs me badly.”

Ned sighed again. “Right, Nancy. Everybody needs you. I just wish you’d realize that I do, too.”

“I know that, silly,” Nancy said lightly. “And I hope
you
know how much I love you. And need you, too. Like right now, with this mystery.”

“Well,” said Ned, hedging, “what have you got in mind?”

“If Mick is going to continue to get violent, I might need some physical protection. A strong, handsome quarterback would be just perfect.” Nancy smiled. A little flattery couldn’t hurt.

“I don’t know. It’s not exactly what I had planned for spring break. When I leave Emerson College I really like to get away. I mean, given the choice between hanging around with a bunch of loonies at some magazine office or swimming and sunning with you—”

Nancy frowned. Ned was really holding out. She knew he’d give in in the end (he loved her
too much not to), but she hadn’t expected to have to work so hard for a simple yes.

“Oh, Ned, say you’ll do it.” Nancy had run out of arguments. “You’re always an incredible help on these cases. I really mean that.”

“I don’t know why I let you drag me into these things,” Ned muttered.

“I love you, Ned. And thanks a lot!” Nancy cried. “You’re the best.” She threw her boyfriend an over-the-phone kiss and then replaced the receiver. Good old Ned. He never let her down.

Nancy took the elevator back to the sixteenth floor. The same guy was sitting at the reception desk, still playing Clone Wars. “Hi,” Nancy said.

“Hi. How’s it going? I heard a big crash in Yvonne’s office.”

“Why didn’t you go find out what happened?” Nancy asked curiously. “Someone could have been in trouble.”

“Lately,” the young man explained, “there’s been a lot of yelling coming from Yvonne’s and Mick’s offices. Mostly when they’re alone together. We try not to notice it anymore. As long as they keep their fighting between themselves, none of us really cares.”

“I see,” Nancy answered.

“So who are you?” the receptionist asked.

Nancy smiled. “I’m Nancy Drew. Yvonne just hired me as an intern. I’m going to be helping Mick out.”

“I’m an intern, too,” the young man said,
shaking Nancy’s hand. “Yvonne likes to hire us because she can give us Mickey Mouse-sized paychecks and make us work like dogs.”

Hmmm, Nancy thought. That sure wasn’t the way Yvonne had described it. “By the way,” the receptionist said, “my name’s Scott.”

“Nice to meet you. Listen, Yvonne told me to wait for Mick in the studio. Which way is it?”

“All the way at the end of the blue hall. Most of the offices are in that direction. Only Yvonne’s and Mick’s offices and the darkroom are down the other one.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Nancy turned down the blue hallway. Ahead of her, she noticed a woman in a tight red dress, walking with a slight swing to her hips. Somehow, she looked familiar to Nancy. The long black hair. And the way she strutted along . . . Oh no, Nancy realized in a flash. It’s Brenda Carlton!

Brenda was an amateur reporter who’d gotten in Nancy’s way before, practically ruining cases for her on a few occasions. And she was always turning up in the worst places. What’s
she
doing here? Nancy wondered. All she needed was blabbermouth Brenda hanging around, blowing her cover and messing with her mystery. What a headache! Impulsively Nancy made a face at Brenda’s retreating back.

At least Brenda hadn’t seen her—yet. Nancy planned to do her best to keep it that way. She didn’t want Brenda ruining things for her before they even got off the ground.

“Hey,” Nancy heard someone call from behind
her. “Hey, Brenda.” Uh-oh, Nancy thought. She’s going to turn around. I’ve got to get out of here!

Nancy looked desperately for a hiding place, but saw only long blue walls and closed office doors. Great. Terrific. Brenda’s going to see me—and then I might as well kiss this case goodbye.

N
ANCY DID THE
only possible thing. She dashed through the nearest door, went flying into the room beyond, and slammed the door closed behind her. Panting heavily, she raised her eyes to see whom she’d just barged in on. A dark-haired man, about thirty years old, with steely gray eyes, was staring at her angrily.

“All right, who are you and what are you doing in my office?”

“Um, I . . .” Nancy tried desperately to come up with a believable excuse. “I was looking for the studio,” she said lamely.

“Well, my dear,” the man said sarcastically, “that would be through the double doors at the end of the hall, the ones under the big sign that says Studio.”

“Oh,” Nancy said.

“What’s your name?” the man demanded.

Nancy bit her lip. This was a great way to get a reputation as a dumb redhead around the office. “I’m the new intern, Nancy Drew,” she mumbled, trying to smile.

“And
I
am David Bowers,” said the man. “I’m the editor in chief of
Flash.
This is my office. And if I catch you coming in here again without knocking first, you’re going to be very sorry! Understand?”

Nancy nodded.

“Good.” David Bowers turned back to the stack of papers on his desk.

Nancy ducked out of the office quickly. Luckily, Brenda was nowhere in sight.

“Whew,” Nancy breathed. So that was Yvonne’s boyfriend! What a creep! Of course, she’d acted like a real space cadet, and that wasn’t his fault. Still, he could have been a
little
nicer.

It was funny, but David Bowers looked oddly familiar to Nancy. She shook her head. He probably just reminded her of someone she’d met before. However, one thing was becoming painfully obvious to Nancy. With all the bad-tempered people who worked at
Flash,
the case, although exciting, was not going to be pleasant.

Nancy hurried down the hall and pushed open the double doors. The studio was a huge, windowless room. Seamless white paper hung from the ceiling as a backdrop for the photos. Several people were busy setting up cameras,
lights, and props for the session. Nancy recognized Scott, the receptionist, struggling with some lighting filters.

A pretty blond girl with delicate features and a great figure was hanging red and black rubber spiders from strings attached to the backdrop. She looked about eighteen.

Turning, the girl saw Nancy and smiled warmly. “Gross, aren’t they?” she said with a laugh. “They’re in honor of Danielle Artman’s band, the Spiders of Power.”

“I don’t know, they’re kind of cute,” Nancy joked. “By the way, I’m the new intern, Nancy Drew. I’m supposed to wait here for Mick.”

The girl’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said shortly. “Well, he’ll be here soon enough. Why don’t you go sit over there”—the girl motioned vaguely—“and wait.”

“Can’t I help you hang your crawly friends?” Nancy asked.

“I’m doing just fine by myself,” the girl replied.

Wow, Nancy thought, do I suddenly have leprosy or something? She moved away from the girl and settled herself cross-legged on the floor. Nancy was beginning to be thankful the job was only temporary.

After a little while, Scott noticed Nancy sitting alone and came over. “Hey, what’s happening?”

“Not much. Scott, who’s that?” She indicated the yellow-haired girl.

“That’s Sondra Swanson, Mick’s sister. She’s
Flash’s
stylist. You know, gets celebs ready for shoots, coordinates clothes and prop colors, stuff like that. She does a pretty good job, too. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “She seemed really friendly when I came in, but as soon as I told her my name, she clammed up.”

“That’s because she thinks you’re a spy,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

“A spy!” Nancy cried.

“Yeah. She was just complaining about you. She says she knows exactly how long the waiting list for interns is and that Nancy Drew wasn’t next up for a job at
Flash.
In fact, she feels the magazine doesn’t even need a new intern right now. So she’s decided that Yvonne set you up to spy on her brother. It’s really the only logical conclusion.”

“Oh, great,” Nancy said with a groan. “And what do you think?”

Scott smiled sheepishly. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. But,” he added quickly, “I don’t care. You seem nice, and I’m not getting involved in
Flash
Wars.”

Nancy sighed. In a way, it was true. Yvonne really had hired her to spy on Mick. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Scott. Tell me something else. Do you know who Brenda Carlton is?”

“Sure. She’s a free-lance reporter.”

“What’s she doing at
Flash?
”

“Writing an article on some swimmer who’s been tearing it up at high-school meets around
the country lately. I think he’s a cousin of hers or something.”

Nancy scowled. It figured. As usual, Brenda was getting work because of who she knew, not how good a reporter she was. And also as usual, she was sure to get in Nancy’s way, probably at the most crucial point in the case.

At that moment, Mick came in. He was talking to a short, curvy girl with shiny brown hair and laughing hazel eyes. Nancy recognized Danielle Artman. She was wearing skintight red pants with a pattern of black spiders on them. “Hey, cool!” she exclaimed. “Your spiders match mine!”

“Sure, that’s how I planned it,” Sondra said, approaching Danielle with a charming smile.

“Yuck,” Mick shuddered. “Sondra, this is by far the most disgusting idea you’ve ever had for a shoot.”

“Don’t be scared, brother dear,” Sondra teased. “They won’t bite.” Playfully, she threw a rubber spider at Mick. “He’s the world’s biggest practical joker,” she told Danielle, “but he freaks out over spiders, even fake ones.”

Mick batted the bug away. “Disgusting,” he repeated with another shudder. He noticed Nancy sitting on the sidelines. “Excuse me, but just because you’re Yvonne’s latest flunky doesn’t mean you can hang around doing nothing,” he said. “Help Sondra hang the rest of these spiders so we can start shooting.”

Nancy stood up and smiled tentatively, but
Sondra just turned her back. Nancy shrugged and got to work.

Behind her, Mick was checking some camera equipment, singing tunelessly as he worked. “I’ll getcha, I’ll getcha, you know I’m gonna getcha . . . soon.”

That’s the song used in the threat letter!
Nancy thought. So Mick had two strikes against him. First, he was a photographer and could easily have doctored the picture of Yvonne from a still from the horror movie, and second, he was singing the weird song from Yvonne’s letter!

Nancy continued hanging spiders. Soon everything was set for the session, and Mick was ready to begin shooting. “Hey,” he shouted at Nancy, “get off the seamless.”

“Sure,” Nancy said, trying to stay calm and collected as she walked over to where the photo equipment had been set up. She was determined not to show how much Mick’s rudeness was getting to her.

“Okay, ‘assistant,’ I’m going to need you to keep my coffee cup filled and reload the cameras for me when I’m finished with a roll,” Mick told Nancy. “You
do
know how to do that, don’t you? Or did Yvonne just happen to forget to ask you about those particular skills during your ‘interview’?”

“I think I can handle it,” Nancy replied coolly. She peered at Mick’s camera. “This model is great for shooting moving subjects, better with high-speed film. Gives a grainy
picture, so it’s not great for portraits.” She picked up another camera. “This one is better for portraits and facial shots. Oh, and I see you’ve got a telephoto lens on it already, so you can get nice close-ups.”

Nancy gently replaced the camera on the floor. She knew she was showing off, but it felt good. She was getting very sick of Mick’s put-downs.