Let’s Talk Terror (10 page)

“Business must be slow, George,” Nancy said, flashing her friend a quick smile. “But you'll fix that. Just remember the plan. When you see Vic and Samantha dancing together, you cut in and steal Vic away. Flirt with him. The idea is to stir up trouble, so Samantha will get mad enough to say things she didn't mean to say.”

George shook her head and made a face. “I wish Bess were here,” she said with a sigh. “She's the one for this job, not me.”

“Oh, come on,” Nancy chided her. “I know you've got it in you.”

It was impossible to talk while the music was playing, so when Nancy spotted Samantha at a table, signing photos of herself, Nancy motioned for George to follow her. In back of the
table was a large pillar, and Nancy led George to it so they could listen without being seen.

Vic Molina was standing next to Samantha. To Nancy, he seemed bored, if not downright annoyed.

On Samantha's other side was an extremely fat bald man with a mustache, wearing a brown business suit. He seemed to be in charge, coaching Samantha with little whispers in her ear every now and then.

Between songs, Samantha pulled the fat man aside. “Mort,” she said furiously. “This is humiliating. There's nobody here! You were supposed to make sure hundreds of people showed up.”

Mort? So this was the writer of the note Nancy had found at the celebrity auction!

“I'm your manager, honey, not a magician,” the man said. “I gave the information to the papers, but it was too late. You should have told me last week you wanted to sign photos on this date.”

“I didn't
think
of it till yesterday!” Samantha snapped. “And why did you volunteer me for this stupid charity date with Vic, anyway?”

“Hey, I thought you wanted to go out with him. The guy's the hottest producer on TV, and you want your own series eventually, don't you? Besides, he's a hunk, and he's Marcy Robbins's old boyfriend. What could be
better, huh? Why don't you dance with the guy once? He's bored to tears.” Mort puffed up his cheeks in frustration.

“He's still in love with Marcy, that's why,” Samantha said hotly. “All through dinner he moaned and groaned about how she dropped him.”

“But he's suing her,” Mort said. “I don't get it.”

“It's crazy, I know,” Samantha agreed. She kept on talking, but just then the music picked up again. Mort covered his ears, and he and Samantha went back to the table. Samantha signed two more autographs for the only fans waiting, then went over to Vic and dragged him onto the dance floor, making sure that the photographers caught them. Nancy saw Vic shake his head, objecting, but Samantha was insistent, and soon they were dancing up a storm.

After a minute or two the music seemed to work its magic on Vic, and he looked like he was enjoying himself. Samantha was flirting with him outrageously, and Mort was smiling like a contented cat from the sidelines, his hands still over his ears.

“Now!” Nancy cued George, and gave her a little shove. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, George threaded her way through the dancing couples on the floor till she got to Vic and Samantha. First, she caught the producer's
eye. Then, in one swift and graceful motion, she touched Vic's elbow and turned him toward her, maneuvering herself between Vic and Samantha. Vic didn't resist. In fact, he smiled and started dancing with George as camera strobes flashed all over the room.

Samantha had been stopped dead. As she stood there, Nancy could almost see the smoke pouring from her ears. “How dare you, Vic Molina?” Samantha growled. “You're trying to make me a laughingstock!”

Everyone backed away from them as the cameras kept ticking. Vic froze, while George took off in the direction of the rest rooms. Nancy edged forward to hear and see better. George had done her job perfectly.

“Samantha, control yourself, okay?” Vic told her, trying to keep his voice down. “The girl just grabbed my hand. What was I supposed to do?”

“Don't give me that!” Samantha shrieked. “You didn't say one word the whole dinner that wasn't ‘Marcy Robbins, Marcy Robbins.' ”

“I told you, I feel sorry for her,” Vic tried to explain.

Mort had come up behind his client and was trying to restrain her. “Sammy, dear, there are reporters here. Remember your image, sweetheart.”

This seemed to get Samantha's attention. She turned toward the cameras that were aimed at her, but she still spat out her words. “You can put this in all your papers—Vic Molina is going to be the new coproducer of ‘Marcy!'—he told me so—only it won't be called ‘Marcy!' anymore—”

“Sam, be quiet!” Mort ordered, his face going livid as Vic's face went dead white. “Nobody's supposed to know. You'll ruin everything.”

“Here's your scoop, friends,” she went on, breaking free of Mort's grip and advancing on the cluster of reporters and photographers. “The new show is going to be called ‘Bore Me to Tears' because Vic and his coproducers, the Sterns, are going to sign the most boring person in the universe to be the new host!”

“Sammy, you Said you didn't want to host a TV talk show!” Mort protested.

“I didn't,” Samantha said. Then she turned to Vic, who was still standing there, shaking with rage, his hands balled into fists. “But honestly, Vic—you could have at least offered me the job!” With that, she stormed off in Nancy's direction, muttering to herself.

“Who? Who is it, Samantha?” the reporters were yelling. Only Nancy, who was right next to Samantha as she stalked away, heard what she said.

“Of all people—talk about boring—even Marcy Robbins is better than Karen Kristoff—”

Karen Kristoff!
Nancy gasped when she heard the name. The gasp drew Vic Molina's attention, and his eyes lit on Nancy.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly coming alert. “I know you—you're the one from the parking lot!” Vic snarled, backing her up against the pillar and grabbing her arm. “Just exactly who are you?”

A
T THAT MOMENT
a blur in a green dress flew at Vic Molina, barreling into him and knocking him aside. It was George. “Run for it, Nancy!” she yelled as she headed for the exit.

Nancy raced after her, and the two girls were down the street and in the car before anyone ran out of the club after them. George hit the gas, and that was the end of any pursuit.

“Well, you really stirred up a storm, George,” Nancy told her friend. “Samantha told the whole world that Vic Molina is going to coproduce a new talk show with the Sterns.”

“So I guess that makes him look pretty guilty, huh?” George said.

“Maybe,” Nancy said. “I found out something else, too. Something no one else overheard
Samantha say—the new host of the show is going to be Karen Kristoff.”

“Karen?” George asked. “Why her? She doesn't have any experience in television, does she?”

“I don't think so,” Nancy said. “But neither did Marcy. At any rate, this makes Karen Kristoff a suspect.”

“I suppose so,” George had to agree.

“Besides which, Karen fired Laura Salvo. Why?” Nancy asked pointedly. “Only someone who knew we had talked to Laura could have written that note luring me to the fire! I think we're going to have a little chat with Karen Kristoff first thing in the morning.”

“And just how are we going to do that?” George wanted to know.

“We've got a scoop, here, George,” Nancy explained. “Now all we have to do is become instant reporters.”

“But, Nan, she's already met us,” George reminded her.

“Only as friends of Susan Ling's—that's how we were introduced at the celebrity auction. Who says we're not visiting reporters from, oh, say,
River Heights Scene
?”

“What's that?” George asked.

“It's a magazine I just invented,” Nancy quipped.

• • •

When they got back to Susan's, their friend was already there. “What in the world happened?” she asked impatiently as they came in. “There are all kinds of messages for you on the machine. Did George give you the note Laura left in my box?”

“Yes—only it wasn't from Laura,” Nancy said.

Susan's eyes grew wide.

“Sit down, Susan,” Nancy said, leading her to the sofa. “It's a long story.”

After telling it, Nancy went to the answering machine and listened to the messages. There was one from Brenda Fox. “Hi, Nancy,” it said. “I know you're investigating everything that's been happening to Marcy, and I just wanted to tell you something weird. It may be nothing, but this afternoon I got a phone call telling me to pick up some papers at the Sterns' accounting firm. When I got there, the accountants didn't know anything about it. It's almost as if someone wanted me out of the studio. Do you think something funny is going on?”

“I sure do,” Nancy replied as the message clicked off. Either Brenda was lying to account for her absence from the studio, Nancy reflected, or else somebody was trying to throw suspicion on her.

There was also a brief message from Laura
Salvo. Nancy jotted down the number and dialed it.

“Hello?” Laura's voice said over the wire.

“Laura? This is Nancy Drew.”

“Oh, Susan Ling's friend, right,” Laura said. “I never did find those files. I don't know if you heard, but—”

“You were fired. I know,” Nancy told her. “I'm really sorry.”

“Oh, that's okay.” Laura was silent for a moment. “I guess I'd been there long enough, anyway. But it was strange—”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked quickly.

“Well, Ms. Kristoff got incredibly upset when she found out that I was looking for those files. She called me into her office and got really mad at me.” Now Laura's voice started to tremble. “She said my work wasn't up to her standards, but I don't buy that.”

“I don't either,” Nancy said firmly. “Something else is going on. You just got drawn into it.”

Nancy heard Laura sigh.

“You didn't leave a message for me to meet you today, did you?” Nancy asked.

“A message?” Laura said. “No, I'm afraid not.”

“Thanks,” Nancy told her, and hung up. “Do you have a tape recorder, Sue? A little one?”

“Sure,” Susan said.

“Can I borrow it and a camera, if you have one.”

“Only an instant camera,” Susan replied. “Will that be good enough?”

“It'll have to do,” Nancy said. “Thanks. We'll take good care of them, I promise.”

“Whose picture are you going to take?” Susan asked.

“Karen Kristoff's,” Nancy told her. “If she's replacing Marcy, she has a motive. If she's got a motive, she's a suspect.”

• • •

First thing the next morning Susan dropped Nancy and George off in front of the offices of
Teen Talk.
The girls checked out their reflections in the polished black granite before going upstairs.

“May I help you?” a henna-haired receptionist asked Nancy and George when they stepped up to the little window.

“Yes, we're from
River Heights Scene
,” Nancy fibbed. “We're here to interview Karen Kristoff.”

The receptionist buzzed them in and called the editor's office.

Soon Karen appeared. The bright red of her blouse perfectly matched her scarlet lips and fingertips. Eyeing Nancy and George carefully through a too friendly smile, she said, “Don't I know you girls?”

“We sat at the same table at the benefit the
other night,” Nancy said. “We're friends of Susan Ling's. We're also with
River Heights Scene
—it's a brand-new magazine. Our first issue is coming up soon, and when we heard you were going to replace Marcy Robbins, we just had to have an interview!”

“Where did you hear that?” Karen asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, everybody's talking about it!” Nancy gushed.

“Oh, yes,” George agreed. “And with Vic Molina producing it, it'll be fantastic! We're going to try to interview him later.”

Karen recovered from her initial surprise quickly. “Well, I'm afraid I haven't got time for an interview this morning,” she said sweetly. “Besides, nothing's finalized yet, and until a deal is on paper, you know . . .”

“Oh, of course. We understand,” Nancy assured her. “We won't spoil anything for you, we promise. Right, George?”

“Right, Nancy,” George said. “Right, Ms. Kristoff.”

Karen gave them a funny look, and Nancy wondered if Karen didn't guess they were pretending. Then a big smile came over her face again, as if the other look had never been there.

“Oh, all right. Come on into my office. But just a few quick questions and that's it. I've got
to be out of here by eleven if I want to make a meeting.” Karen led them to a crowded corner office with a view of Lake Shore Drive.