Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) (14 page)

“Roger that, Nancy,” came Bess’s voice. “She’s definitely tracking you. Do you want us to—Nancy! She’s making a run for you.”

I turned and there she was, all six-feet of her blond, muscular, uniformed dancer’s body running flat-out at me. Her hand was reaching for her holster. Somehow, I doubted she had a prop gun like the rest of us.

Without thinking about it, I yanked the fake gun from my hip and threw it at her, end over end.

Smack!

I lucked out, and the handle of the pistol slammed directly into her nose. The audience gasped with surprise as blood spurted out. Though the actress stopped in her tracks, she was still trying to get her gun out. I ran at her, full speed, trusting the real dancers to get out of my way.

I slammed into the girl, my shoulder hitting her in the chest, just below her arm. She’d finally succeeded in freeing her gun, and it was pointing right at me when I struck.

We slammed to the ground in a heap. I heard a tremendous roar as the gun went off, and something kicked hard against my stomach. There was the sound
of shattering glass, and then a rain of shards fell down around us. The blast had nearly deafened me. I looked out at the audience. I could tell they were screaming because their mouths were open, but I couldn’t hear a thing.

That’s when the rest of the lights went out.

CHAPTER
17

JOE

THE FINAL CURTAIN

“You don’t understand. You have to let us inside!” I yelled. Frank and I had run all the way from Laurel’s apartment to the theater, and we weren’t about to let some stupid security guys stop us now. We’d made it through the first double doors and into the lobby, but there we’d run out of luck.

The stupid security guys had their own thoughts about the matter.

“No,” said the shorter of the two guards, who was approximately seven feet four million inches tall. I felt like I had to look up just to see his belt. And he was the smaller of the two.

“No one is allowed through these doors until intermission,”
rumbled the other guard, who sounded like a truck engine when he spoke.

“Please,” said Frank. “This is a matter of life and—”

But before he could finish, a shot rang out from inside the theater. Everyone in the lobby froze for a second. Then the door burst open and the black-tie crowd inside came rushing out. Ties flashing, gowns flapping, they were a raging river of riches that the security guards could not hope to stop. In fact, all the guards could do was huddle against the wall and hope not to get crushed—which left an opening for us!

“Come on,” Frank yelled, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the theater. It was hard going, fighting against the terrified ticket holders. Luckily (or perhaps not), this wasn’t our first time in a rioting crowd. It felt a little bit like one of those video games where you have to jump at just the right moment to make it through a moving opening.

Of course, it was made more difficult by the fact that I was on my cell phone, frantically dialing Bess, George, and Nancy. On the third try, Bess picked up.

“What’s going on?” I yelled. “Where are you?”

“I’m backstage! Claire is fine. Nancy found the killer and tackled her onstage, but she managed to get off a shot. It must have shorted the lighting system, because it’s pitch black in here! I can’t find Nancy.”

“We’re on our way. Keep an eye out for Linden!”

We finally pushed our way out of the lobby and into the theater. Sure enough, it was lit only by the dim red glow of the emergency exit signs, and a few smart phones being used as flashlights.

“Nancy might be injured. She’s somewhere onstage, but Bess can’t find her,” I told Frank. I dodged past an older woman in a sequined black dress and leapt over a row of seats. Slowly, we made our way up the central aisle toward the stage. I looked back to check on Frank, and as I did, I slammed into someone running out of the theater.

“Linden!” I yelled. He froze. I tried to pretend I didn’t know he was the guilty one, but the shock must have been clear on my face, because he turned the other way, pushed a young girl down on the ground in front of me, and took off.

“Stop him!” I yelled, but no one paid any attention.

“You stop him,” said Frank, who was a row behind me. “I’ll find Nancy. Go!”

That was all I needed to hear. If Frank said he would take care of Nancy, he would. And that left me to do what I do best: Stop the bad guy.

The girl was already stumbling to her feet, and I saw she wasn’t injured. I pushed past her with a quick apology and followed Linden. Even in the dim light, he was
easy to spot because no one else was running
toward
the stage.

I tracked him to within twenty feet of the stage. There was no audience left here, and he had nowhere to run.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Turn yourself in and this will go a whole lot better on you.”

But Linden didn’t even slow down. He ran full speed at the stage, then vaulted up onto it.

“Dang!” I huffed to myself as I hustled to keep up with him. “Why are these preppy killers
always
former athletes? I bet he was on some sort of brainiac team like debate or chess.”

Not that I couldn’t keep up with him. As I bounced onto the stage, I watched him slip out into the wings. I hesitated for a second—should I stay and look for Nancy? But if we didn’t catch Linden now, chances were he’d be long gone by the time the police came. I had to trust George, Bess, and Frank. I raced after Linden.

It was even darker backstage than in the theater itself. I saw a few people half-hidden in the shadows, but none looked like Linden. I stopped and stood still, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Eventually, he would have to make a move.

A groaning noise came from my left, then the crash of a metal door being flung closed. Linden was headed
into the subbasement! I raced across the darkened area and yanked the fire door open. I jumped down the steps two at a time. Somewhere ahead of me I could hear Linden crashing through the prop storage rooms. Either he had all the grace of a steamroller, or he was actively trying to knock everything down around him.

The subbasement was eerie at any time—all those odd pieces of giant scenery and weird props jumbled together in the dark. But when chasing a would-be murderer, it was downright scary. It didn’t help that the narrow aisle that once ran the length of the room was now filled with fallen props. I was Joe Hardy though—I wasn’t about to let fear slow me down! My bet was that he was hiding somewhere among all this stuff, waiting to ambush me. If he thought he could trick a member of ATAC, he had another think coming.

I jumped over a broken column that must have been left over from a Greek tragedy, when a face appeared in the darkness.

“Hi-yah!” I said, punching Linden right in the head.

“Oww!” I howled, as my hand hit the plaster mask square in its really hard, not-at-all-fleshlike face. That was definitely going to swell up. The mask, at least, had the good grace to collapse into a million pieces, which made me feel a little better.

“Linden!” I yelled into the darkness. “I’m going to find you. We know everything. You might as well give up now!”

I was answered by silence, followed by a loud series of crashes deeper in the subbasement.

“Why do I even bother?” I mumbled to myself as I climbed over a giant pumpkin made out of foam. “They never do it the easy way.”

It took a long while to make my way over, under, and around all of the trash that Linden had thrown in my path, but I relentlessly tracked him farther into the storage rooms. Finally, the hallway ended in an open door. Judging from the broken statue of a bear lying in front of the room, Linden was in there. Cautiously, I stepped inside.

The subbasement must have extended beyond the walls of the theater, because this room was so tall it would have hit the orchestra pit if we were still below it. It was here that the biggest props were stored: towering marionettes that looked like they belonged to the children of giants, a black obelisk with creepy red runes carved into it, and an entire wall of shelves that ran up to the ceiling, holding every conceivable kind of light and prop you could imagine. Aside from my panting breath, the room was still and silent.

“Linden?” I said, stepping gingerly deeper into the
room. It was darker here than in the rest of the subbasement. I wished I’d paused to find the light switches back at the entrance, but it was too late now.

I walked into the center of the room, far away from any of the giant props Linden might be hiding behind. There was an energy, a presence in the room—I could tell he was here, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out where. Over by the wall of shelves, I heard something skitter.

“Come on, man,” I said, turning to face the sound. “Let’s just stop this. We have Laurel in custody, there’s nothing you can do.”

The noise came again, louder this time. It was like metal pushing against metal, and it sent a painful shiver down my spine. Whatever Linden was up to, it couldn’t be good. Was it possible there was another exit down here? Was that the sound of a rusted door being pushed open?

I crept closer to the props, trying to stay alert for any sudden movements. There was no way Linden was getting out of here, not on my watch. High up on the shelves, something shifted. I looked up, and there he was!

“Linden!” I yelled. “Come down here!”

But Linden ignored me. He was sitting on one of the tall shelves, fiddling with something against the wall.

“Sorry, kid,” Linden called down. “But I’m afraid this show is about to become a tragedy.”

Linden kicked out as hard as he could, pounding the wall with both of his feet at the same time. The shelves tipped and pulled away from the walls. That’s what he was doing, I realized: He was removing the screws that held the shelves in place. A ton of lights and props was about to come crashing down on my head!

I raced back the way I had come, hurtling toward the bright door and my only chance of survival. The shelves were so big that they moved slowly, but they were quickly picking up speed. From high above, large pieces of metal began to rain down as the heaviest objects rolled off the now tilting shelves. I sprinted through the deadly hail. Glancing up I saw the shelves rushing toward me from above. I was just a few feet from the door! I threw myself forward with all my might, just barely clearing the door frame before a humongous prop smashed into the ground where I had been standing.

I hit the ground head first and rolled. My hands were skinned and my shoulder felt like I might have dislocated it, but I’d made it out alive.

There was a roar as the shelves hit the other wall in the room and an avalanche of stuff smashed to the ground. Great clouds of dust flew up and the echoes of the crash reverberated through the subbasement. But when the echoes stopped and the dust settled, the room was as quiet as a grave.

I poked my head in. The room was unrecognizable. It looked like a junkyard. I pitied whomever’s job it would be to clean this all up—Damien, I bet.

One of the giant puppets had collapsed into a heap right by the door. As I watched, it began to move and groan.

“Mr. von Louden, how good of you to join me!” I said, as I pushed aside one giant arm to reveal a stunned, but basically unhurt, Linden.

He shook his head, clearly still confused from the fall. I patted him down, checking for injuries and weapons. Amazingly, he didn’t seem to have either. I slipped a handcuff around his wrist and helped him to his feet.

“I want you to know, there is a very special seat reserved for you tonight,” I told Linden as I led him out through the basement. “It’s in the back of a police car! I really hope you like it.”

“Look,” said Linden, his voice sounding desperate and dry. “If this is about money, I can get you money. I have a lot of it. You don’t even know, kid!”

“This isn’t about money,” I said, as I kicked open the door to the backstage. “It’s about justice.”

To my relief, the first people I saw backstage were Nancy and Frank, handcuffing a crazy-looking woman in a Nazi uniform.

“Look!” said Frank. “Between us we have a matched set.”

“Nancy!” I couldn’t help but shout with joy. “You’re okay!”

“Barely,” she responded, holding up her wig to show me where the bullet had torn the hair off one side of it. “Should we bring these two out onto the red carpet?”

“Let’s!” I said, taking her arm gallantly.

CHAPTER
18

FRANK

OPENING NIGHT, TAKE TWO

“Claire! Look over here!” the paparazzi yelled, as Claire walked by in a fantastic green gown. She waved, then caught sight of Nancy, Joe, Bess, George, and I, and added a wink. Then she was gone, back into the theater for opening night, take two. She’d invited us to walk the red carpet with her, but we had decided it was best for everyone if we kept a low profile.

“So she’s taking over the entire show?” Bess asked, sounding impressed.

“She bought out Linden and Laurel,” I answered. “Apparently there was a clause in her contract that gave her first option on buying the show, should they fold. And boy, did they ever fold!”

“By noon on the day after we captured Linden,
she’d replaced half the cast and two-thirds of the crew!” added Joe. “Turns out she’s a smart business woman, too.”

Only a week had passed since we’d captured Linden and Laurel, but it had been a century in the lifetime of
Wake
. The press attention had been incredible—Claire had been on the cover of every paper around the world. Ticket sales went through the roof—and then continued going! Rumor had it the show was sold out for the next year. It was the hottest ticket on Broadway, and Claire was the hottest star … and producer … and director!

“We should get inside,” said Nancy. “I’m excited to see the show from the other side of the stage this time!”

“So your fifteen minutes of fame haven’t changed you?” teased George. “You’re not leaving River Heights for the bright lights of the big city?”

“Hardly!” laughed Nancy. “If I never have to go onstage again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Hey! Hey guys! Hey!”