Daretoread: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди
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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Carolyn Keene
The Nancy Drew Files: Volume Thirty-Four
Vanishing Act
Copyright © 1989 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Rock star Jesse Slade disappeared under mysterious circumstances several years ago. Now, as Nancy and her friends Bess and George watch a television retrospective on Slade's life, they notice something, and Nancy vows to reopen the case and solve the mystery.
Chapter One
"Nancy, get in here right away! The show's about to start!"
Nancy Drew glanced at her watch. "I'm ten minutes early, Bess," she called out through the open window of her car, smiling. Nancy slid out of her Mustang and started toward her friend. Bess Marvin was standing in the doorway to her house, almost dancing with impatience.
"Come on, come on!" she said as Nancy sauntered up the path. "George is already here. Do you want a soda or something? No, never mind. I'll get you one when there's a commercial. I don't want to miss even a second of this show."
"Well, you're certainly not going to," George Fayne commented dryly as Nancy followed Bess into the living room. George was Bess's first cousin, and she and Bess were Nancy's two best friends. "You have time to get fifty sodas if you want. I'm glad you're here, Nancy. It's too much for one person to deal with Bess when she's like this."
"I'm glad to be here, too," Nancy said. "I've been feeling lonely with Ned away."
Ned Nickerson, Nancy's boyfriend, had returned to Emerson College earlier that day after a long weekend at home. Nancy was delighted when Bess had asked her over. Now she wouldn't have to spend the whole evening missing Ned.
Bess wasn't listening to anything they were saying. "I just hope you programmed this thing right, George," she fretted, gesturing at the VCR. "This is one tape I have to have in my collection."
"Bess, no one can see if you keep standing in front of the TV," said George. "Just sit down and relax. It's all going to be fine. You'll have your permanent record of Jesse Slade to put in your hope chest. Not that it'll do you any good— unless he suddenly returns one day."
Bess sighed. "I still can't believe he's gone. My biggest idol—the greatest rock star in the world—gone. How could anyone have disappeared like that? Especially anyone so famous?"
"I wasn't as big a fan of his as you were, but I do understand. It seems unreal to me, too," George said. "I can't believe three years have passed since he disappeared."
Three years, Nancy thought. It did seem impossible. Three years before, Jesse Slade had been on the way to becoming the biggest rock star in the country. He'd been only nineteen then, but he had already cut two albums—composing all the music, writing all the lyrics, singing and playing, and producing. The first had gone gold, and the second platinum.
Jesse Slade had also been the only rock musician in history to have six singles in a row reach number one on the charts. He'd won two Grammy Awards. And on top of that, he'd been gorgeous—with long dark brown hair, coal black eyes, and a sad, haunting smile that drove his fans wild.
"He was talented, Bess—I'll give you that," George was saying now.
"But I didn't like him because he was talented!'* Bess protested. "And not because he was so cute, either. It was just— Well, there was something about him," she finished helplessly.
Nancy knew what Bess was trying to say. His talent and his looks weren't all that had made Jesse Slade so popular. He'd had a warm and intimate quality that made his songs seem as if they were a private conversation between each fan and himself. Jesse also made each fan feel as if he needed him or her.
Then, at the height of his popularity, Jesse Slade had vanished—without a trace.
No one knew how it had happened. Jesse and his band had been the main attraction at a huge outdoor concert on a beach in California. Jesse had been onstage for about forty minutes when he'd announced that he was going to take a short break.
He'd never been seen again.
The rest of the band was onstage when he'd disappeared. None of them had seen him vanish. Neither had anyone on the crew. And neither had any of the thousands of fans who'd been watching the concert. It seemed impossible—but he'd vanished and never come back.
But he'd never been forgotten—not by his millions of loyal fans, and not by the music industry. Both of his albums were still in the Top 100, and not a day went by that he wasn'tmentioned in the music press. He might have disappeared, but the mystery of his disappearance had kept his career alive.
"It's even too much of a mystery for me," Nancy mused aloud. "I was just thinking about Jesse," she said in answer to George's quizzical look.
The show the girls were going to watch that night would kick off a week-long celebration of Jesse Slade on TV Rock, a cable music-video station whose nickname was TVR. "Who's hosting the segment tonight, Bess?" Nancy asked, her thoughts returning to the present.
"Dan Kennedy," answered her friend. "He's in charge of the whole week." Dan Kennedy was one of TVR's most popular veejays. "Tomorrow TVR's going to be interviewing the rest of the guys in Jesse's band, and the day after they'll go out to Jesse's hometown to talk to people who knew him when he was growing up. And they're going to play one of Jesse's songs every hour on the hour, and—"
"And they're going to have a seance to try to find Jesse, aren't they?" George put in.
"George!" Bess protested. "How can you joke like that?"
"Well, how can you make such a fuss about a guy you've never met and never will get the chance to meet?" George countered. "I mean, I know he was incredible, and I've heard of longdistance love, but don't you think this is a little too long-distance? Like so long-distance it's nonexistent?"
"Oh, you're just—Wait, it's starting!" Bess said excitedly. She plunked herself down in front of the TV. "George, hand me that brush. I have to look my best."
"Right, Bess," George grumbled, but she gave her the brush anyway.
The TVR logo flashed on the screen. "TV Rock!** an echoing voice boomed. "Where the party never stops-ops-ops-ops-ops—"
"Oh, come on, get going!" said Bess. "We know it's TV Rock!"
Then Dan Kennedy strolled in front of the camera and sat down. "Hi, teen angels," he said with a grin, pushing his curly blond hair out of his eyes. "Like the shirt? A crazed fan just handed it to me on my way in." He pointed down at his T-shirt, which said "Evil Picnickers Unlock Secrets of the Pyramids" in huge black letters dripping with red. "I don't know exactly what it means," Dan Kennedy went on. "Maybe you do. Send your suggestions to me, along with ten dollars. When I have enough money, I'll retire!" he finished brightly. "Then I can devote my time to figuring out what my clothes are trying to tell me.
"Anyway"—Dan Kennedy's face became serious—"tonight marks the beginning of Jesse Slade Week. As most of you know, Jesse took off, or was taken off, or something, three years ago tonight. We're going to be remembering him at TVR this week—not that anyone who ever had anything to do with Jesse could really forget him. Tonight we're bringing you a very special tape of Jesse's last concert. TVR just uncovered it. It was thought to have been lost in a fire but was found mostly intact. We hope you'll be as moved by it as we were."
There was a burst of guitar music, and onto the screen flashed a picture of Jesse Slade bent over his guitar. It cut to a shot of screaming fans leaping out of their seats at a concert, and then to another still of Jesse, vaulting through the air in one of the leaps that had been his onstage trademark.
"Jesse Slade—the man, the musician, and the mystery," came Dan Kennedy's voice-over. "Will we ever know what happened to him?"
"Nope," said George. Bess kicked her ankle.
"On this night three years ago, Jesse Slade played his last concert," Dan continued. "Tonight, we're bringing you that concert again."
The screen went to dark. At first Nancy wasn't sure what was happening. Then she realized that the screen was dark because the stage was dark. She could hear the occasional sounds of an expectant crowd—a catcall, throats clearing, a few bursts of applause. Then a tiny beam of light flashed onto the center of the stage.
A drum began beating—slowly at first, then fast. The beam of light grew larger—larger— larger. Now Nancy could see the huge outdoor stage that had been set up dramatically close to a cliff at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Behind the stage, a fading sunset was a background for the black water.
Then Jesse Slade walked slowly to center stage —and the crowd went wild.
"Show the fans!" George said. "I love footage of fans."
As if in answer, the camera panned slowly over the crowd: a sweat-drenched boy waving a hand-painted sign that said "Jesse Forever"; a girl screaming hysterically and jumping up and down, tears of emotion streaming down her face; a forest of hands clapping rhythmically in the anas Jesse picked up a guitar and began the notes of his opening song.
For the next half hour the three girls watched the screen in total silence. Jesse stepped forward and held up his hand. Gradually the crowd grew quiet.
"I'm going to do one more," Jesse said, "and then I'm turning the stage over to my band for a while. They're pretty good, too, you know." There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd. "This one's from my first album," Jesse said, picking up his guitar. "I think most of you know it."
And he began to play the first bars of "Goodbye, Sweet Life."
Bess gasped, and a chill ran down Nancy's spine. "I'd forgotten that was the last song he played," Nancy said.
"Me, too," Bess answered. "It's creepy, isn't it?"
"Totally," said George. "It's almost as if he'd planned it or something. I wonder if..." Her voice trailed off, and the three girls fell silent again.
"Goodbye, sweet life," Jesse sang.
"You won't be missed...
"It's much too late to cry..."
The crowd fell utterly silent for the next few minutes. Then, abruptly, the song ended. "See you in ten!" Jesse shouted jauntily as he strode off the stage to tumultuous applause.
"And that's all?" George said. "He doesn't come back?"
"No," Bess said sadly. "Well, I guess I'll get us a soda now. I don't care much about watching his band." Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet and went out to the kitchen.
Nancy picked up a magazine and began idly leafing through it as Jesse's backup band began to play. She wasn't really interested in them, either. She put down the magazine as Bess strolled back into the room carrying a six-pack of diet soda. On the television screen, Jesse's bass player was jamming with his guitarist. "How about switching channels for a little while, Bess?" she said. "This is getting kind of—"
Suddenly she broke off. What was that?
A strange flicker of movement in one corner of the screen had just caught her eye.
"What's the matter?" George asked.
"Something at the back of the stage," Nancy answered. "See, in that corner—there. Wait! What's going on?"
The back of the stage was dark and shadowy now. But Nancy was sure she wasn't imagining things.
She'd just seen what looked like it could have been a body. It was hurtling over the cliff beside the stage!
Chapter Two
"Bess, stop the tape!" Nancy said excitedly. "Did you see that?"
"See what?" Bess asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I think I saw someone fall off the cliff! I have to check it again!"
"That's impossible! Why would something like that happen during a concert? Anyway, I didn't notice anything. Can't it wait?" Bess asked. "I want to watch the end, And I want the whole tape, not just part of it."
"Okay," Nancy agreed reluctantly. But she was so eager to check out what she'd seen that the rest of the show dragged for her. At last Dan Kennedy's face appeared on the screen again.
"We'll have more tomorrow night on Jesse," he said. "Same time, same place, same Dan. And now, take a look at the new video by the Same, ours exclusively on TVR—"
George leaned over and snapped off the TV. "Okay, Nan. What did you see?" she asked.
Quickly Nancy rewound the tape to the point where she thought she'd seen the body fall. At first she couldn't find the exact footage. Maybe it was just my imagination, she thought. I can't—
No. "There," she said breathlessly, pointing to the side of the screen. "See?"
"I don't know," Bess said. "It's awfully blurry."
For a second it looked as if the "body" teetered precariously at the cliff's edge. Then it plummeted and vanished into darkness.
George drew a long breath. "If it is a body, why didn't TVR notice it before?" she asked.
"I wouldn't have noticed it, either, if I had been really interested in the show," Nancy said. "Anyone watching would have missed it, I bet— the rest of the action's so distracting."
"But if it is a body, it's horrible!" Bess said. "What are we going to do about it?"
"What can we do?" George asked blankly. "It all happened three years ago, and if no one caught it then—"
"But three years ago—" Bess broke off. "That was Jesse Slade's last concert, and he was never seen after that. What if—"
"No!" George said. "That's impossible, Bess. If Jesse had fallen off a cliff, someone would have discovered his body."
"We don't know that for sure," Bess insisted. "Nancy, don't you think it could be Jesse?"
Nancy shook her head. "I think George is right, Bess. There'd have been no way to hide something like that."
"But it all fits!" Bess said. "I bet someone murdered him! Nancy, this is your next case, I just know it! You've got to get in touch with TV Rock right away!"
"Whoa!" Nancy said. "I can see it now." She picked up an imaginary phone. "'Hello, Dan Kennedy? I think I know what happened to Jesse Slade.' They'd never take me seriously, Bess. There's just not enough to go on!"
"Okay. Okay," Bess said, tense. "But if they did take you seriously—if they asked you to investigate this—would you do it?"
"I guess so," Nancy replied slowly.
"Then it's all taken care of," Bess said resolutely. "You just leave this to me, Nan."
Nancy couldn't help smiling a little. "Uh, Bess? How exactly are you going to take care of this?"
"Oh, TVR will take me seriously. You'll see."
Bess answered. "Now, I think the best thing for you and George to do is go home and start packing."
"Bess, I have to hand it to you," Nancy said two days later. "You're very persuasive."
"I'll say," George chimed in. "If anyone had told me I'd be in Los Angeles today, I'd—well, it's hard to believe, anyway."
Twenty-four hours earlier Nancy had gotten a phone call. At first she'd thought it was a joke— that the guy at the other end was some friend of Bess's who'd been asked to play a joke on her. But soon she realized that the caller really was Dan Kennedy. And he really had been calling to find out whether she'd take on this case.
"I have to admit I'm intrigued by the whole thing, Mr. Kennedy," Nancy had said, "but I'm not totally sure there is a case to take on."
"Call me Dan," he'd answered. "You may be right, Nancy. But I agree with your friend Bess. Jesse Slade disappears at the same concert where a body mysteriously falls off a cliff—well, it's too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. And I'm willing to fly you and your friends out here—and put you up at TVR's expense—if you'll agree to take a look around. I hear you're quite a detective. Bess told me about your work with Bent Fender, and I'm impressed."
Bent Fender was a rock group whose lead singer, Barton Novak, had disappeared just minutes before a concert at Radio City Music Hall. The case had been one of Nancy's most challenging, but she had had more to go on then.
"All right, Dan. I'll give it a try," Nancy said. "But don't you have to get some kind of okay on this?"
"I'll get it okayed later. For now, I'll just put it on my expense account—and if there's a problem, I'll deal with it."
"Well, that's generous of you," Nancy said. "I'll come out with my friends, but I can't make any promises. In fact, I hardly know where to start!"
"Well, let me think about that. I'll try to come up with a few leads by the time you get here," said Dan. "And listen, Nancy—thanks."
That had been a day ago. Nancy had booked a flight for Los Angeles right after talking to Dan. She, Bess, and George had gotten on the plane that morning. They'd arrived just after lunch and rented a car at the L.A. airport. Now they were inching through a four-lane traffic jam toward the TVR studio.
"This is an incredible car," Nancy said. "I've never rented one with a cellular phone and super-Sensurround stereo! All this and traffic jams, too? I guess we really are in California!"
"If only I'd started my diet when I was supposed to," Bess said wistfully. "I mean, here we're going to be hanging out with rock stars— and I'm five stupid pounds overweight as usual. My one big chance, and I blew it!"
"Bess, you look fine," George said. "How many times have we been over this before?" -
"Besides, I bet there aren't going to be a lot of rock stars hanging around TVR," Nancy put in, glancing into the sideview mirror as she carefully changed lanes. "Videos of stars, yes. Stars, no."
For a second Bess looked crestfallen. Then she brightened. "But the TVR veejays are almost like rock stars themselves. I can't wait to meet Dan Kennedy!"
"Whoops!" was all Nancy answered. Honking wildly, a flame-colored Jaguar had abruptly cut in front of the girls' rental car. "This traffic's going to take some getting used to! Let's hope it's not like this all the time."
An hour later Nancy pulled up in front of the three-story limestone building whose address Dan had given her. "Here we are," she said, climbing out and audibly sighing. "Boy, if that's how crowded it gets on the freeways, what's it like to drive on regular roads around here? Well, I guess we'll find out."
She pushed the glass door open into a lobby that was nothing like any other lobby she'd ever seen. It was painted hot pink, and filled with giant plastic palms. In back of the receptionist's desk was a huge screen showing a constant stream of rock videos without the sound. And next to her desk was parked a gleaming silver Porsche with a sign on it that said "Drive Me."
Even the receptionist looked perfectly suited to this place. No older than Nancy, she was wearing a hot pink rubberized dress, lime green stockings printed with tiny neon yellow polka dots, and electric blue high-top leather sneakers. On the black steel desk next to her typewriter was a tiny forest of palm trees just like the ones looming above her. She looked up expectantly as Nancy and her friends approached.
"What's the story with that car?" George asked before Nancy could say a word.
The receptionist smiled. "It belonged to the lead singer of the Slickboys. He gave it to us as a thank-you present when one of their videos went to number one. We didn't know what to do with it, so we just left it out here. Anyway, can I help you?"
"I'm Nancy Drew, and these are my friends Bess Marvin and George Fayne," Nancy told her. "We have an appointment to see Dan Kennedy."
"Have a seat," the receptionist said, gesturing toward a waiting area a few feet away. "I'll give him a call."
She picked up the phone and punched a few numbers. "They're here, Dan," she said. "Oh. Oh, really? Well, okay. I'll send her down."
She hung up and turned back to Nancy. "Dan says you're to see our president, Mr. Thomas, right away," she said. "Your friends can wait here, Dan will be along in a minute to pick them up, and when you're done with Mr. Thomas you can come and meet them."
Uh-oh, Nancy thought. Why do I suddenly feel as if I'm being sent to see the principal? Aloud, though, she just asked, "Which way is Mr. Thomas's office?"
"It's down at the end of the hall. The office with the double doors," said the receptionist.
"See you in a little while," Nancy said, and headed down the hall.
The secretary's desk in front of the office was empty. I guess I'll have to announce myself, Nancy thought.
"Mr. Thomas?" she asked softly, peeking inside the double doors at the man speaking on the phone.
He didn't seem to notice her at first. "Okay. Book them for Friday. I don't care how, and I don't care what it costs—I just want it done!" he said into the receiver. "Now I have to go." Without saying goodbye, he hung up and turned to Nancy. "Yes, I'm Winslow Thomas," he said, "and you must be Nancy Drew." He jumped to his feet to shake her hand. "Please, have a seat."
Except for a huge, bushy ginger-colored beard, Winslow Thomas was the most correct-looking man Nancy had ever seen. He was wearing a navy pinstriped suit, a white shirt, and a navy checked tie. His wingtip oxfords had the burnished shine that could only have come from a professional polishing, and his short, wavy hair looked as though it had been trimmed five minutes ago.
What's he doing at a place like TV Rock? Nancy wondered as she sat down. He should be the head of a bank!
Before she could speculate further, Winslow Thomas cleared his throat. "I'll come right to the point, Nancy," he said. "Dan Kennedy told me this morning that you were coming to investigate the Jesse Slade disappearance." He had a slight southern accent, and his diction was so perfect that it almost sounded affected. "I have to say that I don't think it's a great idea," he continued. "And, frankly, I'm a little irritated at Dan for giving you the go-ahead without checking with me first. If he had, he'd have found out that I think a thing like this is definitely not in TVR's best interests."
"Why not?" Nancy asked, startled.
"A couple of reasons." Winslow Thomas leaned back in his chair. "First of all, the police have officially declared the case closed. It makes us look foolish to open it again with no more substantial evidence than a few seconds of film. Jesse Slade going over a cliff? How farfetched can you get?"
"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Thomas," Nancy said. "At first I thought it was a little farfetched myself. But don't you think we should explore any possibility if it could lead us to the right answer?"
"Not in this case," Winslow Thomas said. "I'll be honest with you, Nancy. The police don't think anything violent happened to Jesse. They suspect that he had reasons for dropping out of sight—reasons that wouldn't look too good if they became known. I'm afraid I agree with them. From the rumors I've heard—and I hear quite a lot in this business—Jesse Slade wasn't as perfect as his fans believed. But, what's the point of trashing his image now? What's the point of bringing the past to life if all it does is disappoint people?"
"I see your point," Nancy said slowly, "but I don't think that's a good reason for abandoning this case. What if those rumors you've heard aren't true? What if there was some kind of violence involved? I think it's more important to find out what really happened."
Winslow Thomas paused for a second. "Okay, I'll tell you what," he said briskly. "If you agree to work undercover in the record business—and to work as fast as you can—I'll agree to bankroll you for a reasonable amount of time. But I don't want any publicity. If the answer to this mystery turns out to be unpleasant, I don't want TVR getting a tainted reputation. We're a music station, not a muckraking business. And I don't want you getting my staff all fired up about this. They have jobs to do—and they don't include playing amateur detective."
Was that a dig? Nancy wasn't sure. "You mentioned my going undercover," she said. "Do you have any suggestions what cover I could use so I could ask lots of questions."
"We use a lot of guest veejays at TVR. A contest-winner who was supposed to be our next guest veejay had to back out at the last minute. Maybe I could tell people that you're here to fill that slot. You could go undercover right here at the station. You'd have access to just about anyone you'd need to talk to."
"That sounds great," Nancy said.
"As long as you really pull your weight," Winslow Thomas added warningly. "As I said, I don't want my staff suspecting anything."
"Don't worry, Mr. Thomas," Nancy said. "I'll work hard. I promise."
"That's settled, then," said Winslow Thomas. "You can start tomorrow. I'll have my secretary call Dan, and he can start showing you the ropes. I've already told him not to let anyone know who you are, by the way. You can go up to his office now. It's one flight up—Room Two Twenty-four."
"Well, I will say one thing, Dan," Nancy said dryly a few minutes later. "Your boss is very efficient. Obviously he had decided to let me work here, but he made me convince him to reopen the case. Even with all of that, he had me in and out of there in five minutes flat."
"You don't have to tell me what he's like," Dan said, wincing a little. "We've had our share of run-ins. I'm not too efficient. I'm kind of relaxed, myself."
"Yes, we'd noticed that," George said with a smile.
Nancy had arrived at Dan's office—a tiny cubbyhole of a place filled with wind-up toys, heaps of cassette tapes, and leftover pizza boxes —to find Bess and George chatting with him as if he were an old friend. She could see why. Dan was as easygoing and relaxed as Winslow Thomas had been brisk and formal. He had a mop of curly blond hair and laughing blue eyes, and he was dressed in black jeans, black running shoes, and a Bent Fender T-shirt—"put on in your honor," he'd told her. He was just as funny in person as he was on the air.
"I've got to do a taping before the end of the afternoon," Dan said, "so maybe I'll show you around tomorrow. But are there any questions you have now? I feel kind of responsible for you, since I brought you all the way out here."
"Well, I'd like to take a look at the site of the concert," Nancy said. "And I want to talk to someone on the crew that taped Jesse's last performance."
"Well, you're in luck. I've got a friend who worked on that tape," Dan said. "I'll give you her number."
"Great!" Nancy said. "And maybe you can help me make a list of the people I should talk to.
People who worked with Jesse, I mean. His manager, for instance. I don't even know who that was—"
"Tommy Road." Dan's voice was suddenly clipped and urgent. "Funny you should mention him. You know, since Bess's call I've been thinking a lot about Tommy Road. Did you know he vanished at the same time Jesse did?"
"That's strange," Nancy said.
"Very strange." Dan leaned closer. "I'd look into Tommy Road's disappearance closely if I were you," he said in a low voice. "If you want my opinion, Tommy murdered Jesse and hid the body before he disappeared!"
Chapter Three
"You see, Nancy? I told you Jesse Slade was murdered!" Bess said triumphantly.
"Wait a minute," Nancy said. She turned to Dan. "That's quite an accusation, Dan. Where did it come from?"
"Shhh! Don't talk too loudly," Dan murmured. "After my conversation with Mr. Thomas this morning, I don't want him to think I'm taking time away from my job to work on this. Anyway, I don't have any hard evidence or even evidence of any kind.
"But I know that there were bad feelings between Jesse and Tommy Road before they disappeared," he continued. "I was a radio dee-jay then, and I interviewed Jesse a couple of times. I asked him something about Tommy once, and suddenly Jesse got really angry. I guess that's why I can still remember his exact words. He said, Tommy's done nothing to help me—in fact, it's the opposite. Off the record, I'm looking for another manager.' I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn't tell me anything more. Said it was nothing he could prove, and he'd appreciate my forgetting what he said. I did— until now."
"And Tommy Road vanished at the same time Jesse did?" George said slowly, thinking out loud. "I wonder why I never heard about it."
"It got some coverage, but Jesse was such a big star, Tommy's disappearance got buried."
"What was Tommy Road like?" Nancy asked.
"Kind of obnoxious," Dan answered. "I met him at a couple of parties. He was British, and he was always going on about how weak the American music scene was compared to that in England. I always wanted to ask him how he could complain when he was making so much money off an American like Jesse."
"What did he look like?" asked George.
"Extremely weird," Dan replied. "He shaved his head way before anyone else did, and he had tattoos on his face."
"Ugh! That sounds a little too weird." Bess shuddered.
"Yeah," Dan continued. "Two lizards, one on each cheek. And he wore a long cape all the time." Dan shot a quick glance at his watch. "Look, I've got to go back to work. You'll be here tomorrow, won't you?"
"I sure will," Nancy answered. "I start work for you guys tomorrow!"
"Well, we can talk more then," Dan said. "Oh! Before I forget—that friend I was telling you about, the one who worked on the concert tape, works near here. She's over on Hollywood Boulevard." He picked up his phone book and handed it to Nancy. "Her name's Cari Levine. Here's her number."
Nancy jotted it down. "Can I use your phone to call her?" she asked.
"Be my guest. Okay, I'm out of here. See you tomorrow," Dan said and vanished out the door.
Nancy picked up the phone and began dialing the number Dan had given her. Bess sighed. "What a great guy."
"Really," George agreed. "Nan, can't you figure out some way to get us a job here, too?"
"Oh, I'll be keeping you busy enough. Hello, is this Cari Levine? My name is Nancy Drew. Dan Kennedy gave me your name. I'm doing some research on Jesse Slade." Nancy couldn't mention the fact that she was a private investigator. She didn't want to blow her cover. "I know this is short notice," she went on, "but I was wondering if you could spare a moment to talk to me and my friends about the night of his last concert."
"No problem," Cari said warmly. "Come right over."
"Hey! There's Melrose Avenue," Bess said as they drove toward Cari's office. "There are supposed to be incredible shops all along there. You know, I've been needing a little bit of L.A. to take back home with me. Like that stuff there." She pointed at a store window filled with peach-colored leather clothes being worn by mannequins turned upside-down. "Nancy, don't you think we could—"
"Not now," Nancy said firmly. "You'll get a chance to shop, I promise. But not now."
Cari Levine's office, which was on the ninth floor of a black glass skyscraper, was even messier than Dan's. Cans of film were everywhere, and snipped-offbits of tape littered the floor. The posters taped to the walls had all come unstuck on at least one corner.
Cari herself looked bright and energetic. She was wearing a scarlet jumpsuit with matching ankle boots, and from elbow to wrist her arms were lined with a mass of jangling silver bracelets.
"Sorry about the mess," Cari said. "I keep meaning to clean it up, but somehow every day goes by without my touching a thing. So, enough of my apologies. What can I do for you?"
Nancy explained. "We were wondering if you'd noticed anything out of the ordinary that night," she said, finishing up.
"I was just a lowly assistant back then," Cari said. "I never actually talked to Jesse, but even I couldn't help notice that he was kind of edgy. He kept yelling at people while we were setting up—and that was the kind of thing that never happened with Jesse. Normally he went out of his way to be nice to camera crews and roadies and people like that."
"Did he say anything that seemed strange to you?" Nancy pressed.
"Well, it was three years ago..." Cari thought for a minute. "And the main thing we were all paying attention to was the weather."
"The weather?" George repeated.
"Yes. We were all afraid it was going to rain. The sky looked incredibly dark and threatening, and you could hear thunder in the distance. As a matter of fact, there was a big storm right after the concert ended. Perfect timing! If the concert had been the next day, the whole stage would have had to have been rebuilt—the rain made half the cliff collapse."
Nancy looked up, suddenly alert. "Does that happen often?" she asked.
"Well, we do have a big problem with the coast eroding out here," Cari answered. "I'm sure you've heard about all the big beach houses on Malibu that have wound up in the ocean because the shoreline erodes so badly."
Nancy didn't answer for a second. "The timing..." she finally said. Bess, George, and Cari all stared at her, but Nancy didn't notice. "It's another case of the timing being too good," she said slowly. "Jesse disappears... the cliff he was performing on crumbles... and a body that may have fallen off the cliff is never found."
"You're not saying someone made the cliff collapse, are you?" George asked. "Nancy, that was obviously just—just nature! It can't have anything to do with Jesse's disappearance!"
"Oh, I'm not saying anyone engineered the collapse," Nancy said quickly. "All I mean is that the body might have been buried under the cliff when it collapsed. That might account for no one's discovering it!"
Nancy jumped to her feet. "Well, I wanted to see the site of the concert anyway," she said. "And there's no time like the present. Let's head out to the beach and take a look. It's not much of a lead, but it might tell us something. Can you give me directions to the site, Cari?"
"Sure," Cari said. "It's about an hour north of here. Now, if I can just find a map in all this mess... Forget it; I'll just tag along and show you."
"I can't believe how beautiful this is," Bess said half an hour later. "It looks like something from a movie!"
"From many movies," Cari answered. "This shot must be in hundreds of them."
The four girls were standing at the edge of a cliff that jutted out into the churning, white-capped ocean. Below them waves pounded relentlessly against glistening black rocks, and the air was filled with the cry of sea gulls.
"Where are the surfers?" Bess asked. She sounded disappointed. "This place is totally deserted."
"Well, look at the water!" George said. "No one could surf or swim here. It's much too wild, and those rocks would be horrible to crash into." Suddenly she shivered. "I feel sorry for Jesse if he did fall off this cliff. I don't see any way he could have survived."
"You're right," Nancy said. "It would have been almost impossible to investigate, too, especially once the cliff had collapsed.
"Let's see. The band must have been over there." Nancy gestured to a point about thirty feet away. "Right?" Cari nodded.
"And the taping crew was right where we're standing now," Cari added. "That means that the body I saw falling had to have been standing over there."
There was a spot at the edge of the cliff that overhung a huge boulder. Bess eyed it nervously.
"You're not planning to investigate that, I hope," she said. "Because if you are, I have to tell you I'd rather be shopping."
"Well, it would be nice to get a closer look," Nancy said. "I wonder what's the best way to get down to the beach."
Cari shrugged. "That, I don't know."
Nancy and Cari walked over to the spot and stared down at the shore.
"It's kind of windy, you two," Bess said fretfully. "Get back a little, will you?"
Cari inched back one foot, but Nancy kept looking down. "I guess I was expecting to see a collapsed cliff," she mused. "But, of course, that doesn't make any sense. Three years of tides moving in and out would smooth over the spot, wouldn't they? So there'd be no trace of a body now or of the rubble."
Bess's voice was edgy. "Nancy, Cari, you know I hate heights! Let's get out of here and go back and check into the hotel. I'm starving!"
"In one second," Nancy promised. "I'm just trying to fix this scene in my—"
Then she gasped. Under her heels, the cliff was starting to crumble, and the momentum shot her forward.
Instinctively Nancy threw herself back. Her arms flailed the air wildly—helplessly.
Cari made a lunge for her, but came up with nothing but a handful of air.
Nancy's frantic backpedaling only made things worse. Before she could draw a breath to scream, she was sliding down the rocky face to the treacherous boulders below.
Chapter Four
Nancy slid with her arms stretched above her head, grasping for any handhold. She held her breath, waiting for the terrible moment when she'd smash onto the rocks below.
Then a third of the way down, her shirt shredded and her back skinned, Nancy sped past a small bush rooted precariously in the rock. She opened her hand and clawed at it. Her fall was stopped, but the impact was terrible. Nancy hung, dangling by one arm, her shoulder wrenched and aching.
But she was alive!
She eased her toes down onto a narrow outcropping of rock—just a yard wide—jutting out from the cliff. Below her, the sea licked at the rocks as hungrily as ever.
Nancy lay there trembling. Every inch of her body was throbbing with pain, but she knew nothing was broken. Her shoulder was not dislocated. She ran a hand across her eyes and glanced back up at the cliff top. The others were staring down at her, ashen faced.
"H-hi," Nancy stuttered.
There were tears in Bess's eyes. She opened her mouth to return Nancy's greeting, but no sound came out.
"Don't move," George called. "I'll be right down to help you."
"No, I'm okay!" Nancy called back. "Just a little sore. And embarrassed," she added. "I can climb up myself."
Now that she looked, she noticed that the cliff was covered with scraggly bushes. Nancy slid along to the end of the ledge and pulled gingerly on the nearest one. It didn't move. She gave it a harder tug. The bush certainly seemed well rooted.
"I can use these bushes to pull myself up," she called up to the girls. "But keep an eye on me."
"We will," Bess said fervently as Nancy edged herself off the ledge and began her ascent.
"No, Ned, I'm okay. Really!" Nancy insisted. "A little bit scraped up, that's all." She felt the pain shoot down her arm when she eased her shoulder back and tried not to groan audibly. "It's sweet of you to want to fly out here, but I'm just not going to let you. Not with that big paper to finish..."
It was nine at night, and Nancy had just put in a good-night call to Ned at college. She still couldn't believe her good luck. She'd made it back up the cliff with very little trouble. Her knees and elbows were rubbed raw from the climb—but she would be okay soon.
"The fall did tell me something," she said to Ned. "It's entirely possible that whoever fell in that tape slid down just the way I did—because of the cliff's collapsing."
"So there might not have been any kind of'foul play' involved?" Ned asked.
"Exactly. But I don't know what it all proves. It's just something to file away."
"Well, keep me filed away somewhere, too," Ned said. "I hate having you so far away."
"Me, too." Nancy sighed. "I'd better hang up. I've got a lot going on tomorrow—first day on the job, you know. I love you."
"I love you, too, Nancy. Call me again as soon as you can."
"Nancy, hi! You're right on time!" Nancy turned to see Dan Kennedy striding toward her. "I'm starting to get the hang of driving around here," she said. "You just leave an hour earlier than you think you need to."
"That's about it," Dan said. "What have you done with Bess and George?"
Nancy hid a smile. Her friends would be delighted to hear that he'd asked about them. "They're working," she said. "I gave them their assignments last night. Before we left for L.A., I called Jesse's estate to find out who his accountants were. It's a firm called Lawrence Associates, and Bess is over there now trying to get permission to go through Jesse's financial records. George is at the library looking at old newspaper clippings of that last concert. Something might turn up—you never know."
"Well, tell them hi for me. Now, I'll take you around and introduce you to the people you'll be working with this week." Dan lowered his voice. "I've told them you're a guest veejay, even the receptionist."
Speaking normally again, he took Nancy by the shoulders and piloted her down the hall. "Let's go find out what a rock TV station looks like," he said.
"Here's the control room," he said, stopping beside one door. "There are three directors inside—the director, the associate director, and the technical director. The technical director's responsible for making sure the right tape's put on when it's time to show a video." Nancy pulled the door open a crack and peered in to see a man and two women sitting at a paneled board covered with what looked like millions of buttons.
On the wall in front of them were four television screens, each showing the set from a different angle. She eased the door closed again.
"And here's the sound room," Dan continued, indicating a room with a sliding glass door adjacent to the control room. "It's just what it sounds like—the technician here monitors the show's decibel level."
Dan stuck his head into the sound room and tapped the shoulder of a man wearing headphones. "Wake up, Ken! This is Nancy Drew," he said after the technician had turned around. "She's our new guest veejay. She'll be—"
"I have a lot of work to do," Ken said flatly, interrupting. "I'll talk to you later." And he turned his back on them.
For a second Dan looked bewildered. "Well, he's sure got something on his mind," he said. "Maybe one of the higher-ups has been giving him trouble."
They peeked into the makeup room, the editing room, and the preview room—a soundproof chamber where tapes could be played at all different sound levels to make sure the sound was undistorted. A bright red and white electric guitar was propped up against one wall of the sound room. "What's that guitar for?" Nancy asked.
"Oh, that! We had a demo band practicing in here a couple of days ago, and—if you can believe it—they forgot that. I don't think they're going to get far in this business."
Dan introduced Nancy to several more people. She couldn't understand it, but no one she met was very friendly—and a couple of people were even downright rude. As she and Dan continued on, Dan looked more and more confused.
"They don't know who you really are, do they?" he muttered.
"I don't see how they could!" Nancy whispered back. "And even if they did, why would they be angry at me?"
"Beats me," said Dan. "But something's going on, that's for sure. Here's the studio. They're taping now, so we'll just slip in the back door. Be very quiet. This is where it all happens."
The studio was an enormous room three stories high—the height of the whole building. The first thing Nancy noticed was that it was freezing in there. "It's so hot under all those lights that the rest of the room has to be kept cold so the veejays won't get too sweaty," Dan whispered.
Nancy looked up at the ceiling. It was hung with massive lights, each burning down onto the set.
"Why do they need three cameras?" she whispered to Dan, staring at the set.
"One's for the center, one's for closeups, and one's for the guest chair," he answered.
The center chair was where the veejay sat. One was sitting there then in front of a large screen that was pulsing with color and weird shapes.
"What does he do when the video's on?" Nancy asked.
"Anything he wants—for as long as the video lasts. They run the tape in from the control room. Well, I've got just one more person to introduce you to, and that's Renee Stanley. I think she's in the dressing room. She's the veejay who'll be your boss this week."
"I've seen her on TV. She's great," said Nancy as they headed down the hall again. "But I thought my boss was going to be you."
"I wish I could be." Dan sounded genuinely regretful. "But all this Jesse Slade-week stuff's going to keep me too busy. I'll do everything I can to help you, though."
"Okay," Nancy said. She was trying to fight down the rush of nervousness that was rising in her stomach. I know this is just an undercover job, she thought. But if everyone's got a grudge against me, I'm going to need an ally. Maybe Renee will—
But one look at Renee Stanley and Nancy knew she wasn't going to be on her side.
The dressing room door was open. Three of the walls were lined with signed photos of rock stars, and the fourth was hung ceiling to floor with one huge mirror. Renee was sitting and brushing her hair, staring fixedly at her reflection when they walked into her office. She didn't stop brushing—didn't even turn around—as Dan introduced Nancy. Then, very deliberately, she put her brush down and swiveled her chair around to face Nancy.
She was even prettier in person than on TV. She was wearing zebra-print tights and a low-cut sleeveless black T-shirt with a loose-fitting leather belt riding down on her hips. Tousled blond ringlets framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a startlingly deep blue—almost violet— with lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks.
But there was nothing pretty about her expression, or about the silence that hung in the air as she stared first at Nancy and then at Dan.
Dan cleared his throat nervously. "I don't know whether you have time to talk to Nancy before you go on—" he began.
"Not really," Renee interrupted. "But I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" She glanced briefly at Nancy and picked up a hand mirror. "Well, you might as well sit down, Nancy," she said in a bored monotone. "Got a pad? I want you to take notes."
"Nancy, you look awful!" George said anxiously as Nancy walked slowly across the lobby of TVR. "I didn't find out much at the library—but I guess that had better wait. How was your day?"
Nancy tried to smile. "Not the greatest. I thought four-thirty would never come. If this is the glamorous world of music television, you can have it." Wearily she ran a hand across her face. "Where's the car?"
George had dropped Nancy off that morning. Since Bess had been headed in a different direction, she took a taxi. "It's over there," George said, pointing across the street. "Do you want to go back to the hotel? You look as though you could use a rest."
"Not yet," answered Nancy. "We're going to see someone. I did get one lead today. Do you have the keys, George? I'd like to drive. Okay?"
"I don't know what I've done, but everyone at TVR is mad at me," she said as she pulled the car onto the freeway and headed toward the suburbs. "They must have been told something really horrible about me. But what? And by whom, I keep asking myself.
"Renee Stanley's really got it in for me," she continued. "All I did today was clerical stuff— that and errands. Renee treated me like a secretary. She sent me out to get her lunch. She made me type letters for her—thank-you notes for some birthday presents. She made me alphabetize some files. I wouldn't have minded—I mean, it's nice to help out—but she didn't say a civil word to me the whole day!"
"You should tell Mr. Thomas," George said indignantly.
"Oh, I can't do that," said Nancy. "I'm sure it would get out if I did, and then people would be angry at me for tattling. I'll just have to tough it out. But somehow I don't think I'll be learning a lot about the music business or meeting the right people to ask my questions."
"Say, where are we going?" asked George. "You said something about a lead?"
Nancy brightened. "Yes. I did get a chance to talk to Dan in the afternoon—he said to say hi to you, by the way—and he suggested that I talk to Vint Wylie. He was Jesse's bass player, and Dan thinks Vint probably knew Jesse as well as anyone in the business. So I made an appointment with him. He lives in a suburb called North Claibourne—we have two more exits to go."
"What's Vint Wylie doing now?" asked George.
"I don't know. Maybe he's playing in another band," Nancy answered. "Whatever he's doing, I hope he's nicer to me than the people at TVR," she added with a sigh.
They reached the exit and drove for a couple of miles before Nancy reached the right neighborhood. "This is North Claibourne. How gorgeous!" she exclaimed. "Look at all those beautiful gardens!"
They were beautiful. Every yard was lushly planted, every lawn an emerald rectangle. Flowering trees were everywhere, and their colors were nothing like those near Nancy's home— flaming reds, corals, arid yellows. The houses were no less beautiful. Most of them were one story high, and most looked vaguely Spanish, with red-tiled roofs and stucco walls.
"It all looks sort of tropical," George said. "But so respectable, too. I can hardly believe a bass player would live around here. But I guess he has to live somewhere. Are we almost there, Nan?"
"Right there. Right now," answered Nancy as she looked at the address Dan had given her. "Wow! Vint Wylie's certainly done well for himself!"
At the end of a long, winding, flower-edged driveway, behind impressive wrought-iron gates, was a sprawling Tudor mansion—the only two-story house on the block.
The gates were open. "He's expecting us," Nancy said, turning carefully into the driveway and switching off the ignition. "He sounded very nice on the phone—said to come over."
There was no answer when she rang the bell. Nancy stood on tiptoe to peer in through the little lead-paned window in the door. All she could see was a dark, deserted-looking interior. There was no trace of anyone inside.
Gently Nancy tried the door. It was unlocked.
She and George eyed each other questioningly. "Should we go in?" George whispered.
"I don't know," Nancy whispered back. "Wait, why are we whispering?" she said in full voice. "Of course we should go in. He's expecting us. Maybe he's on the phone or something."
But no one was inside the dark, cavernous house with its carpets so thick the girls' steps were completely muffled. And the phone in the hall was off the hook.
Nancy stepped into the gleaming kitchen, which looked big enough to serve an entire restaurant. Through the kitchen window she could see the bright turquoise water of a swimming pool. "He must be out in back," she said, walking resolutely toward the kitchen's french doors.
She stepped outside—and gasped.
Sunlight was dancing on the little ripples in the pool, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the trees overhanging the yard. It was a picture-perfect setting—except for one thing.
A man's body was lying facedown next to the pool!
Chapter Five
"Oh no!" Nancy cried.
As George looked on, horrified, she raced up to the motionless figure sprawled on the tiles and grabbed his shoulder. "Call an ambulance!" she ordered George. "There's a cordless phone on that table over there!" George dashed over to it.
Then the man stirred a little, groaned, and lifted his head. Now Nancy could see that he was very handsome, with a bronzed, appealingly craggy face. But he looked completely stunned.
His dazed eyes met Nancy's. "Wha—" he began.
"Mr. Wylie?" Nancy asked. He nodded. "I'm
Nancy Drew. It's all right. We're getting help," she reassured him. "You just take it easy."
"But I—" Vint Wylie groaned again and rolled over onto his back, raising himself up on his elbows.
Nancy patted his shoulder. "You'd better not move too much—just in case," she said. "Not until the ambulance gets here."
"But I'm okay," Vint Wylie said thickly. George had been dialing, but she stopped and stared at him. He gave an enormous yawn. "Sorry. I was just, uh, meditating."
"Meditating! You look as if you were—" George exclaimed. Nancy cut her off quickly. She knew George was about to say "asleep." And she was sure George was right. But there was no point in embarrassing Vint Wylie unnecessarily —he would talk more freely if he didn't feel self-conscious.
"Sorry if we startled you," she said. "We— well, obviously we thought there was something the matter. I guess I jumped to conclusions."
"It's sure lucky I hadn't reached the ambulance company yet," George said, a shade tartly. "It would have been embarrassing to have them get here and find out Mr. Wylie was okay after all."
"Call me Vint, you two. 'Mr. Wylie' sounds too weird. I don't think anyone's ever called me that before." He brushed the dark-brown hair out of his eyes and yawned once. He had meditated himself right into a deep sleep. Suddenly he grinned at Nancy, a slow, infectious grin.
"Great intro!" he said. "Shall we start all over?"
Nancy smiled back. "Sounds good," she replied. "Vint, this is my friend George Fayne. She's helping me on my—uh—research."
Vint gestured toward some teak chairs, and the three of them sat down while Nancy explained why they'd come. "Dan Kennedy said you knew the most about Jesse," she finished. "You two were pretty close?"
"Sort of." Vint bit his lip. "Jesse wasn't— wasn't that easy to get to know, really. He was probably the most private person I've ever known."
"No family?" Nancy asked. "No close friends?"
Vint looked away. He cleared his throat a couple of times, then sighed. "No. He did have a girlfriend," he said slowly. He drummed his fingers nervously on his knee. "I—I don't know about his family, though."
Why does he seem so tense? Nancy wondered. I'm not asking him anything to make him nervous. Aloud, she just said, "Do you know his girlfriend's name? Maybe I should talk to her."
"I—I don't know what her name was," Vint said quickly. "I can find out for you, though."
"That would be great. What about your band's manager, Tommy Road? Did you know him well?" asked Nancy.
"That creep? I knew much too much about him," said Vint. He put his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out in front of him. In this elegant garden, his faded jeans and cowboy boots seemed out of place. "How much time have you got?" Suddenly he looked much more relaxed.
"Well, Dan Kennedy mentioned something about Jesse's wanting to fire Tommy Road. Had you heard anything about that?" Nancy asked.
"Jesse wanted to fire him?" Vint sounded astonished. "I can't believe it! He would never hear a word against him. I mean, we all knew what a loser Tommy was, but Jesse always refused to consider switching managers."
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Though there was some problem with money. Jesse was always short."
"Short of money?" George asked. "How could that happen? I mean, his records sold in the millions."
"I know. But it's true," Vint said. "He used to talk a lot about it. He paid me and everyone else who worked for him on time, but he was always grumbling about how he didn't have enough. That could be what finally came between him and Tommy. But as I said, I didn't know anything was up between them.
"I can tell you one person who might be able tohelp you, though," he said, straightening up in his chair. "His name's Martin Rosenay. He lives out in Chelmsford—that's a town about twenty miles east of here. He really gets around in the music business—he's a dealer in rock memorabilia. And I hear he's done pretty well selling stuff related to Jesse. He probably has tons of photos, letters, and junk."
Vint stood up abruptly. "I guess I haven't been much help," he said. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure this guy Rosenay will be better."
It was definitely a dismissal. Nancy and George stood up, too. "Thanks, Vint," Nancy said. "Actually, you've been very helpful." Not that helpful, really, she said to herself. "Can I call you if I have any more questions?" she added.
"Sure! Any time!" Vint sounded a little too enthusiastic.
"Oh, there is one thing I forgot to ask," Nancy said. "What are you doing now? For a living, I mean?"
Now Vint looked troubled. "I'm in another band," he said. "You've probably heard of them. The Crisp."
"The Crisp! But they're—"
"Doing incredibly well," Vint finished for her. "It's true. But I'd trade it all in just to be able to play with Jesse again."
And this time Nancy was sure he was telling the truth.
"Well, what did you think?" George asked, when they were safely back in the car again.
"There's something going on," Nancy said, "but I'm not sure what. Did you notice it, too?"
"How could I miss it? When you asked him about Jesse's friends and girlfriend, he just about shriveled up."
"Yes, that's it," Nancy agreed. "But I was afraid that if I pressed him harder, he'd clam up altogether. I'll try again later."
She glanced at her watch. "It's almost supper-time. Let's go back to the hotel and meet Bess and hear how her day went."
The "hotel" where the three girls were staying was actually a group of small bungalows, each with its own kitchen and garage. "Boy, am I exhausted," Nancy said as she parked the car in their garage. "I feel so dirty, too. All I want to do tonight is—"
"Nancy!" Bess was at Nancy's elbow before Nancy was out of the car. "George! You're back! I've been waiting for you guys forever!"
She practically dragged Nancy out. "I've found out something very interesting about Jesse Slade," she said breathlessly. "A huge amount of his money is missing—and I'm sure Tommy Road was embezzling it!"
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