Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) by Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon Page A
Authors: Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon
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before?”
“It’s the stuff that’s holding together Linden’s glasses. Remember who’s in charge of fixing them?”
“Damien!” Joe yelled. “It’s been that little weirdo all along! We need to warn the girls, and get back to the theater pronto. Opening night curtain call is in a few hours!”
“Let’s not leap to any conclusions,” I cautioned Joe, although I was pretty sure he was right. “After all, we still have some big questions for Laurel, too.”
“Either way, we need to get back to that theater!” replied Joe. He was running before he’d even finished the sentence.
CHAPTER 13
JOE
OPENING NIGHT JITTERS
We ran back so fast that I was almost winded by the time we arrived. Almost. I am Joe Hardy, after all.
The crowd outside the theater was out of control—a mass of crazy fans, paparazzi, and ambulance chasers who wanted to be able to say they were there the night someone tried to kill Claire Cleveland. It didn’t help that the show had a ticket lottery: Each night ten randomly chosen fans would get free seats. There were tons of people camping out just for the chance to see the show.
“Coming through!” I yelled, pushing my way through the crowd. “Out of the way, important business.”
I tried to get past four women in matching Claire Cleveland fan club T-shirts, but they wouldn’t budge.Their big hair swayed in the wind as the crowd milled around them.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, trying to be polite and worm my way past.
“No,” said the first woman, an older blonde. “I have been waiting for this night for the last seven months, so don’t show up here right before the show opens and expect to be first in line.”
“Seven months?” I stopped in my tracks. These people really were crazy.
“We work on the show,” Frank tried to reason with her.
“Hmph,” said another one of the women. “Nice try.”
She turned to one of her friends. “We work on the show,” she repeated, in an impression of Frank that was both surprisingly accurate and surprisingly cruel. Then they turned their backs, creating a wall of Claire Cleveland faces staring back at us from their T-shirts. I tried to go around them, but it was no use. The crowd wouldn’t let us through. There was something very wrong with these people.
Suddenly the crowd parted, like in one of those nature documentaries, when a shark swims through a school of fish. People were moving out of the way, quickly! The line of women in Claire Cleveland shirts moved apart, and Jason appeared between them, his pink hair shining in the sun.
“Oy!” he shouted. “Come on. Real business going on. Some of us work here, you know. Now move!”
He flashed a smile at us.
“I was out getting lunch, and I saw you two trying to work your way back in,” he said. “Figured I’d give you a hand. You have to remember—these aren’t people. They’re fans. Whole different kettle of fish.”
Although he was small—maybe only five feet four inches—there was something about Jason that made people listen. As we followed him, the crowd parted easily before us. It was almost magic. Once we were inside, he told us that Claire and Linden were still rehearsing. He hadn’t seen Laurel or Damien all day. Nancy, Bess, and George were “somewhere,” but he couldn’t get more specific than that.
“We should talk to Claire,” I said. “We need to warn her.”
“Yeah, but warn her about what?” said Frank. “Until we get some answers from Laurel or Damien, I don’t want to go spreading rumors.”
“Good point,” I agreed. “But maybe she can tell us where they are.”
I knocked on the heavy door that led to the rehearsal room. I heard a vague voice respond from inside, and I decided that was my cue to open the door.
“Hi guys!” said Claire, who was brandishing a pistol at a seated Linden. “Come on in!”
She pointed the gun at us.
I threw my hands up in the air.
“Whoa, hey, calm down now,” I said, mentally
“It’s the stuff that’s holding together Linden’s glasses. Remember who’s in charge of fixing them?”
“Damien!” Joe yelled. “It’s been that little weirdo all along! We need to warn the girls, and get back to the theater pronto. Opening night curtain call is in a few hours!”
“Let’s not leap to any conclusions,” I cautioned Joe, although I was pretty sure he was right. “After all, we still have some big questions for Laurel, too.”
“Either way, we need to get back to that theater!” replied Joe. He was running before he’d even finished the sentence.
CHAPTER 13
JOE
OPENING NIGHT JITTERS
We ran back so fast that I was almost winded by the time we arrived. Almost. I am Joe Hardy, after all.
The crowd outside the theater was out of control—a mass of crazy fans, paparazzi, and ambulance chasers who wanted to be able to say they were there the night someone tried to kill Claire Cleveland. It didn’t help that the show had a ticket lottery: Each night ten randomly chosen fans would get free seats. There were tons of people camping out just for the chance to see the show.
“Coming through!” I yelled, pushing my way through the crowd. “Out of the way, important business.”
I tried to get past four women in matching Claire Cleveland fan club T-shirts, but they wouldn’t budge.Their big hair swayed in the wind as the crowd milled around them.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, trying to be polite and worm my way past.
“No,” said the first woman, an older blonde. “I have been waiting for this night for the last seven months, so don’t show up here right before the show opens and expect to be first in line.”
“Seven months?” I stopped in my tracks. These people really were crazy.
“We work on the show,” Frank tried to reason with her.
“Hmph,” said another one of the women. “Nice try.”
She turned to one of her friends. “We work on the show,” she repeated, in an impression of Frank that was both surprisingly accurate and surprisingly cruel. Then they turned their backs, creating a wall of Claire Cleveland faces staring back at us from their T-shirts. I tried to go around them, but it was no use. The crowd wouldn’t let us through. There was something very wrong with these people.
Suddenly the crowd parted, like in one of those nature documentaries, when a shark swims through a school of fish. People were moving out of the way, quickly! The line of women in Claire Cleveland shirts moved apart, and Jason appeared between them, his pink hair shining in the sun.
“Oy!” he shouted. “Come on. Real business going on. Some of us work here, you know. Now move!”
He flashed a smile at us.
“I was out getting lunch, and I saw you two trying to work your way back in,” he said. “Figured I’d give you a hand. You have to remember—these aren’t people. They’re fans. Whole different kettle of fish.”
Although he was small—maybe only five feet four inches—there was something about Jason that made people listen. As we followed him, the crowd parted easily before us. It was almost magic. Once we were inside, he told us that Claire and Linden were still rehearsing. He hadn’t seen Laurel or Damien all day. Nancy, Bess, and George were “somewhere,” but he couldn’t get more specific than that.
“We should talk to Claire,” I said. “We need to warn her.”
“Yeah, but warn her about what?” said Frank. “Until we get some answers from Laurel or Damien, I don’t want to go spreading rumors.”
“Good point,” I agreed. “But maybe she can tell us where they are.”
I knocked on the heavy door that led to the rehearsal room. I heard a vague voice respond from inside, and I decided that was my cue to open the door.
“Hi guys!” said Claire, who was brandishing a pistol at a seated Linden. “Come on in!”
She pointed the gun at us.
I threw my hands up in the air.
“Whoa, hey, calm down now,” I said, mentally
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