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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Carolyn Keene
Nancy Drew Mystery Stories: Volume One Hundred-Twelve
Crime in the Queen’s Court
Copyright, 1993, by Simon & Schuster
Nancy serves a queen of England as she searches for a king of crime!
An Elizabethan festival has come to River Heights, and Nancy has joined the troupe as a lady to the queen's court. Aside from the music, dancing, costumes, and feasts, there are performances of Romeo and Juliet. But the true drama unfolds behind the scenes, as Nancy learns that she, the queen, and the entire festival have been targeted for sabotage!
Hidden ambitions… dark and secret schemes… deadly swordplay… More Shakespeare? No, it’s the real thing, and real people stand to get hurt. But who’s behind it all, and what are they after? Nancy may have to dig deep into the past for answers, but she has vowed to get to the bottom of the plot before masquerade turns into a real tragedy!
Merry Old England
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” Bess Marvin exclaimed with an exaggerated sweep of her hand. Turning to her friend Nancy Drew, she asked, “So, what do you think?”
Nancy smiled as she shielded her eyes from the bright sunshine. “Well, you probably shouldn’t give up your day job,” she said teasingly.
Bess giggled and tossed her long blond hair. “I guess I just got carried away. This Elizabethan festival makes me feel so… so…”
“Festive?” finished Bess’s cousin, George Fayne, as she guided Bess back into line.
Bess made a face at her cousin. “Well, it does. Admit it,” she said to George. “Doesn’t just being here make you think of crowns and royalty and England and ladies with long dresses and—”
“Okay, okay,” George said, throwing up her hands.
Nancy smiled as she listened to the two cousins. Bess was right, she thought as she moved up in line. There was definitely a feeling of old England in the air. The outdoor pavilion on the outskirts of River Heights had been transformed to look as though it belonged in sixteenth-century London. Its dark wood had been painted to look as if it were made from large stones. From where she was standing, Nancy could see an outdoor theater, part of a backstage tent behind the theater, and a town square with fake building fronts.
There were two rows of trailers parked on the far side of the pavilion. Nancy saw a man in knee-length pants, a vest, stockings, and a hat step out of a trailer. Then a woman in a high-necked dress with puffed sleeves, a tight waist, and full skirt hurried into the trailer. Beyond the trailers was the parking lot, where Nancy’s blue Mustang was parked.
For the third year in a row Her Majesty’s Players, a traveling acting troupe, had come to River Heights for a week-long festival. This year Nancy, Bess, and George had decided it might be fun to sign up as volunteers for the week.
“Earth calling Nancy,” George said, interrupting Nancy’s thoughts.
Nancy turned to find herself at the sign-up table at the front of the line. A woman wearing a deep blue, high-necked dress sat at the table, smiling at her. On the table were several sheets of paper—each with a different job description. Most of the jobs had already been taken by other volunteers.
“Good morning, ladies,” the woman said pleasantly. “Take a moment to look at the sheets, and then let me know which job interests you.”
“Oh, look!” Bess exclaimed, pointing to one of the lists. “‘Ladies-in-waiting.’” She looked excitedly at the woman. “Do ladies of the court get to wear dresses like yours?” she asked, admiring the Elizabethan dress.
The woman laughed. “Yes, they do,” she answered. “And there are a couple of openings left.”
Bess grabbed a pencil and signed her name on one of the lines. “Won’t this be fun?” she said.
George rolled her eyes. “Walking around in ruffles and layers all day? No, thanks.” But then a different list caught her eye. “Look, there’s an opening here to help out the props coordinator. Now, that could be interesting,” she said, signing her name.
“Props?” Bess said in disbelief. “What do you want to do? Carry a hammer around all day?”
Though Bess and George were cousins, they couldn’t be more different, Nancy thought. George, with her short, dark hair and dark eyes, was slender, athletic, and always ready for adventure. Blond-haired, blue-eyed Bess, on the other hand, would rather be watching the action from a safe distance. Bess was forever battling to lose five pounds from her slightly plump frame. And both girls looked completely different from Nancy, who had reddish-blond hair and deep blue eyes.
“So what are you going to do, Nancy?” George said, ignoring her cousin’s remark.
“I don’t know,” Nancy said, scanning the sheets. “There’s not much left.”
“There’s room for one lady-in-waiting,” Bess suggested.
Nancy looked at the ladies-in-waiting sign-up sheet. The job description sounded fun. Ladies-in-waiting had to wear Elizabethan dresses and attend all events as members of Queen Elizabeth’s court. The events included a hunting party picnic, staged duels, dances, the evening play, and more.
“Why not?” Nancy said, signing her name. “It’ll give us a chance to see the whole festival.”
“Oh, good,” Bess said. “It’ll be fun to do this together. But just remember,” she said, looking concerned, “we’re here to have fun—not to look for mysteries.”
Nancy laughed. “Don’t worry, Bess,” she said. Nancy had become known in River Heights as an amateur detective. But while her interest in sleuthing had brought her a good deal of recognition, it had given Bess more than one nervous moment.
“Thanks for volunteering,” said the woman at the table. She handed the girls volunteer badges. “Please wear these at all times,” she said. “Now you can head over to the theater, where the director, Philip Schotter, will be meeting with the volunteers. And I hope you have a wonderful week.” She looked at her watch. “Quick, he’ll be starting any minute.”
The three girls hurried over to the theater and sat down just as a tall, friendly looking man began speaking. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked to be only a few years older than the girls. His brown, curly hair hung down to his shoulders.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears,” he said to the group of about thirty volunteers. “I’m Philip Schotter—better known as Schotter—and I’d like to welcome you to our Elizabethan festival as official members of Her Majesty’s Players.”
A few people clapped, and Schotter continued with a smile. “We want you to know that we truly appreciate your volunteering. We’re a small group, and every bit of help counts.
“The festival officially begins today at noon. It will run for seven days, ending Saturday evening,” he continued. “But all volunteers will have a day off on Wednesday. The gates open at noon, and we expect everyone in the troupe—and that now includes all of you—to be in costume by then.”
Schotter went on to explain the different spectator activities. They could attend sixteenth-century duels, Shakespearean sonnet readings, hunts, and concerts. They could also learn dances, songs, and games. Every day, in the late afternoon, there would be a performance of Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet.
“We’re very proud to be joined this year by respected actress Martine DeVries, who will be the festival’s one and only Queen Elizabeth. The queen and her procession—the ladies-in-waiting and courtiers—will attend meals, the hunting-party picnics, and every play performance. If you’re a lady-in-waiting or a courtier, you have a choice of being part of the procession or inter- mingling with the spectators.”
Schotter then introduced Josh Forster, the company’s creative consultant. “Josh is basically my right-hand man,” he said, looking at Josh appreciatively. “You’ll be able to count on his expertise in sixteenth-century England’s history and literature. Spectators will be asking all sorts of questions, and if you don’t know the answer, just ask Josh.”
Josh Forster, in his wire-rimmed glasses and tweed jacket, reminded Nancy of a college professor. He began to explain the Elizabethan period to the volunteers. “Queen Elizabeth came to power in 1558. She considered herself to be chosen by God to be the ruler of England, and believed, as many did, that she was responsible only to God,” he said.
“This is like being in school,” Bess whispered.
“Shh,” George whispered back. She had always liked history.
Adjusting his glasses, Josh continued in a quiet, serious voice. “Most of you probably know of a famous citizen of London at that time—William Shakespeare. This week our theater group will be performing one of his most famous plays, Romeo and Juliet. This play—”
Suddenly a booming voice rang out. “Josh, I think I should cover this part!” Nancy looked up to see a middle-aged man, whose hair was almost completely gray, appear from backstage.
“You?” Josh frowned. “What do you know—”
Schotter, the director, rushed to center stage to smooth things out. “Uh, thank you, Josh, for those important facts,” he said awkwardly. “We’re running short on time, and I still want to make one more introduction.” He gestured toward the man who’d interrupted Josh. “I’m sure most of you recognize the well-known actor Dean Batlan. He’ll be playing the part of Romeo.”
The man smiled and raised his hands to polite applause.
“That’s Romeo?” George said under her breath. “I thought Romeo was supposed to be a young man. This guy looks middle-aged. And I’ve never heard of him.”
“Well, Dean Batlan’s not exactly a teenager,” Nancy whispered back. “I think he played Romeo in some major productions a long time ago.”
As if he’d heard Nancy’s whisper, Dean Batlan began speaking in a loud, confident voice. “Yes, playing Romeo is second nature to me now. In fact, I think that by watching me perform you’ll all learn a lot about Shakespeare.”
“Thank you, Dean,” Schotter broke in quickly. He turned back to the volunteers. “Now, to find out which area you should report to first, check the lists at the edge of the stage. And thanks again for your help.”
“Well, that Dean Batlan sure thinks a lot of himself, doesn’t he?” George said as the girls went to check the lists.
“He sure does,” Bess said, nodding. “I couldn’t believe he interrupted poor Josh Forster like that.”
“Maybe Dean was starting his theatrical performance a little early,” Nancy said. She looked at a sheet of paper with “Ladies-in-waiting” written at the top. “C’mon, Bess. It says here that we have to head over to the costume trailer,” she said. The girls said goodbye to George, who was to report to the backstage tent.
Nancy and Bess headed toward the trailer lot and immediately found a large white trailer with a sign on the door that said Costumes.
A petite, dark-haired woman with a clipboard was standing outside the door. “Are you Nancy Drew and Bess Marvin?” she asked, looking at her clipboard.
“That’s us,” Bess answered.
“Then you’re at the right place,” the woman said. “I’m Donna Vasquez, the costume manager. Go into the trailer and one of my assistants will help you find costumes.”
Inside the trailer, dresses and petticoats hung on racks and on the backs of folding chairs. Screens had been set up to create dressing areas, and several full-length mirrors were propped against the walls. Two other volunteers had just been fitted and were picking out pieces of costume jewelry.
An assistant approached Nancy and Bess. “Are you two playing ladies of the court?” she asked. When Nancy and Bess nodded, she stepped back and eyed them critically. After a moment she turned to a rack of dresses and pulled off a green dress for Bess and an ivory-colored dress for Nancy. “You can change behind those screens there,” she said, pointing. “Leave your clothes in the lockers against that wall.”
A few minutes later Nancy and Bess came out from behind the screens. “Oh, Nancy, you look beautiful!” Bess exclaimed. The ivory dress set off Nancy’s deep blue eyes.
“Thanks,” Nancy said. “You look pretty elegant yourself!”
Bess smiled. “I love this style,” she said. “I can hide my legs under this full skirt, and the fitted waist isn’t even tight on me.” She admired herself in a mirror. “It’s a lot more flattering than a sweatsuit.”
“You two look great,” said Donna Vasquez, entering the trailer. “Help yourself to some costume jewelry in those trunks over there. A generous elderly woman, here in River Heights, gave us some of her old pieces. We’ve added them to our existing collection. They’re fakes, of course, but they look like the right time period. The festival regulars have already taken their pieces, but you’re welcome to whatever’s there.”
A few moments later, each wearing a bejeweled pin, Nancy and Bess stepped from the costume trailer. “I feel like we’ve really stepped into the sixteenth century,” Bess said.
“I know what you mean,” Nancy said, glancing at her watch. “We have some time before the procession begins. Let’s head back toward the town square.”
Suddenly they heard a hoarse cry. “Hey, look out! Oh, no—help!”
Nancy immediately ran in the direction of the voice, which seemed to be coming from one of the trailers. As she neared a larger trailer, she was joined by other men and women in costume. She stepped into the trailer and stopped in surprise. Sprawled out on the floor were three men in Elizabethan costume. And on top of them lay a large iron rack filled with spears, swords, axes, and long poles with sharp, oddly shaped blades at the end!
A Mysterious Poet
Nancy rushed over to the three men and began to carefully lift the weapons off them. Bess came up behind her and gasped.
“Is anyone hurt?” Nancy asked.
“I—I don’t think so,” one of the men said shakily. “I know I’m okay.”
A few men wearing stage assistant badges helped Nancy clear away the weapons. Together they lifted up the rack and helped the three men to their feet.
“I don’t know what happened,” said one of the men, who was dressed in a shirt, a vest, kneelength pants, and stockings. “I was just reaching over to take a sword to wear with my courtier costume when the whole thing collapsed.”
Nancy saw a stage assistant examining the wall. “Maybe the weapons were too heavy and the rack came loose,” Nancy suggested.
The stage assistant shook his head. “I helped put this up—just yesterday,” he said. “I know it was secure. We tested it several times.”
Nancy turned back toward the scattered weapons and noticed they had one thing in common—they all looked very sharp. The three men were lucky they hadn’t been hurt, she thought.
Suddenly a white piece of paper, stuck to one of the spears, caught Nancy’s eye. After carefully removing it from the pointed end, she turned it over to find a note written in large, old-fashioned writing:
“O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this.”
Shakespeare used words as his weapons of choice,
But methinks these weapons have a much stronger voice.
And keep this in mind—there’s still much more fun,
Because my little stunt is only Act One.
“Act One?” said a voice behind Nancy. It belonged to the man dressed as a courtier. Looking over Nancy’s shoulder, he read the note out loud to the several people who had gathered there. Nancy noticed that Dean Batlan, Josh Forster, and Philip Schotter had all arrived.
When the man finished reading, Bess gasped. “Do you think someone did this on purpose?” she asked.
“It sure looks that way,” Nancy said quietly. Who could be responsible for the falling rack and the note? she wondered. Could one of the cast or crew be playing a cruel joke?
“Well,” Josh said, “at least we know somebody’s been reading their Shakespeare. The lines at the beginning of the note are from Romeo and Juliet.”
Nancy’s concentration was broken by the sound of Dean Batlan’s loud, theatrical voice. “This is outrageous! That silly note is just an attention-getting device. Obviously someone is jealous of the star of this production—me.”
“But you’re not the one who got hit—we were!” the courtier protested.
Dean gave him an exasperated look. “But I’m the one this really affects. I have the lead role, and I’m being forced to work under these dreadful conditions.”
George was right, Nancy thought. Batlan did think he was very important.
“What’s happened in there?” came a voice from outside.
The courtier put his hand on Nancy’s arm. “Brace yourself,” he muttered under his breath. “We’re about to face the wrath of Martine DeVries.”
Nancy saw everyone in the trailer become tense as an exquisitely dressed woman entered the trailer. Her sandy blond hair was pulled back in a soft bun, and she wore a small crown on her head. Nancy knew she had to be portraying Queen Elizabeth.
Schotter explained to the actress that a rack had fallen over.
“Well, I’m glad you’re all right,” Martine said, narrowing her eyes at Schotter. Her voice was cold and sarcastic. “I’m sure that was the first thing you were worried about.” Then, as abruptly as she’d entered, she left the trailer.
Everybody let out sighs of relief. Why did Martine DeVries make everyone so nervous? Nancy wondered. And why had she spoken so coldly to Schotter?
But the director didn’t seem bothered at all. He calmly announced that the queen’s procession and feast were about to begin. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Schotter said, “head over to the pavilion and start lining up. I’ll be there once I see about getting this rack repaired.”
As everyone began to scatter, Nancy saw Schotter turn to Josh Forster and say, “Can you check into that note, Josh? I want to know what’s going on here.”
Deciding she’d been given the perfect opportunity, Nancy said, “Excuse me, Mr. Schotter, but I was just going to suggest that I might look into this incident. My name is Nancy Drew, and I’m a volunteer. I do a bit of detective work here in River Heights,” she finished.
“Well, I’d really appreciate that, Miss Drew,” Schotter replied earnestly. “I have quite a bit of work to do this week, but I’d like to find out what’s behind this note.”
Josh let out a soft chuckle. “C’mon, Phil, you don’t believe that it’s anything more than a joke, do you? I think some of our troupe members just got carried away.”
“Maybe,” Schotter said doubtfully, “but I don’t think it would hurt to have Miss Drew here check it out. What do you think, Josh?”
Josh looked at Nancy and shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I just think it might be a waste of your time.”
“I’ll let you know what I find,” Nancy said as she left the trailer.
Outside Nancy found Bess talking to George. “Oh, Nancy, I’ve just been telling George what happened,” Bess said, grabbing Nancy’s arm. “I had no idea that a festival like this could be dangerous. Who do you think could have written that strange note?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said slowly. “George, do you know if any members of the stage crew were working in that trailer?”
George shook her head. “I’ve been backstage the whole time. As far as I know, most of the stage crew was there, too. Everybody’s pretty busy getting ready for tonight’s performance of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Maybe somebody from the stage crew went into the trailer at the last minute—just before those three men went in,” Bess suggested.
Nancy nodded. “Someone could have gone in to loosen the rack from the wall,” she said, “but that note was definitely not written at the last minute. That style of old-fashioned writing takes time. And it’s a good way to disguise a person’s handwriting. Someone had to have planned it in advance.”
“But why?” George asked.
“That’s what I want to find out,” Nancy said. “But we have to get over to the procession now. We’ll see you later, George.”
At the entrance to the pavilion Nancy and Bess found a line of ladies and gentlemen of the court, waiting to walk behind Queen Elizabeth as she made her grand entrance into the banquet area. The men wore stockings, breeches, and fitted coats, while most of the women had on dresses similar to those Nancy and Bess were wearing.
Six men were approaching, carrying the queen’s litter. The litter was a thronelike seat balanced on two long rods that the men carried over their shoulders. The seat was covered by a canopy held up by four poles.
The men set the chair down and helped Martine DeVries into the lavishly decorated seat. Then, lifting the litter to their shoulders again, they led the procession into the pavilion, where the queen and her “court” were to have their banquet.
As they entered the pavilion, spectators turned and pointed at the queen. Martine DeVries held her head high, giving dignified smiles and nods to everyone—especially to the children.
“Isn’t this fun,” Bess said. “Look, Nancy, those people are pointing to us. I feel like part of the royal family.”
Nancy laughed. “It is fun—as long as you don’t have to do it for every meal.” They had reached several rows of long wooden tables. The queen had already taken her seat of honor at the head table, which meant that the members of her court could sit down, too. Nancy and Bess sat down at a table adjoining the queen’s with a few other ladies-in-waiting.
Platters of food had been placed on the tables. Slices of meat were artfully arranged on one, a variety of cheeses on another. Loaves of bread and biscuits sat in large baskets at the end of each table, and water pitchers were scattered about.
“I’m not sure this is exactly what they ate in Queen Elizabeth’s court,” Nancy said with a grin. “But this version looks terrific.”
“I hope it tastes like twentieth-century food,” Bess admitted. “I’m starved.”
Spectators began to fill the remaining tables. Members of the troupe dressed as kitchen servants walked around with trays of free samples, but the rest of the spectators’ food had to be purchased from a snack stand.
As the food was passed around and eaten, Nancy and Bess had a chance to observe the scenery and spectators.
“Martine makes a pretty convincing queen,” Bess said as she watched the woman chatting with a family of seven. “But she didn’t seem too friendly toward Schotter in the trailer.”
“Everyone seemed to be expecting some big blowup from her,” Nancy said.
“Well, you know what they say—actors are supposed to be temperamental,” Bess said, shrugging.
“I don’t know,” Nancy said doubtfully. “Martine seems pretty controlled to me.”
“All I know is that playing Queen Elizabeth looks like a lot of fun,” Bess said. “Who wouldn’t want to be carried around in a litter?”
Nancy smiled and reached for the water pitcher. “We’re out of water,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get an extra pitcher from one of those empty tables.”
Walking to another table, Nancy noticed the actor Dean Batlan and Josh Forster, the creative consultant, sitting at the end of the table by themselves. Josh was speaking quietly to Dean. As Nancy reached for a pitcher, she noticed the gray-haired actor begin to rise from his seat. Then, in a low, threatening voice, Dean said, “Don’t push me, Josh—I can bring this whole show down whenever I want!”
Rehearsal for Disaster
Nancy watched while Dean Batlan walked away from the table. Josh Forster shook his head, and then he, too, got up from the table and left the pavilion.
With Dean Batlan’s threat still ringing in her head, Nancy walked back to her table. What was Josh pushing Dean to do? she wondered. And how could Dean bring the show down? More important—why would he threaten to do that?
Her mind raced back to the note that she’d found on the weapons rack—it, too, had threatened harm to the festival. Suddenly she stopped short. Could Dean have had something to do with the falling weapons rack? she wondered. Could he have been trying to “bring the show down” that way?
“Nancy?”
Nancy was startled to see Bess tapping her arm. “Are you all right? You look a little dazed.”
Nancy sat down next to Bess. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking.” She told Bess about Dean’s threatening remark.
Bess’s eyes grew wide. “What do you think he meant?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “It might not mean anything at all. Dean seems to have a pretty high opinion of himself. Maybe he was just boasting.” She paused. “But something tells me there was more to that threat. He did look pretty angry at Josh.”
“But why would Dean want to hurt the festival?” Bess asked in a confused voice. “He’d be losing his job.”
Nancy shook her head. “I think I need to find out more about our Romeo,” she said.
Just then a trio of musicians began making their way through the rows of tables. Two of the men played guitars, and the third played the flute. Nancy had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that a group of dancers and a couple of clowns had also entered the dining area. They were entertaining the crowd with music, dancing, jokes, and riddles. Nancy and Bess joined in the applause as the dancers finished a set.
Bess sighed. “That was beautiful,” she said, watching the dancers pull a couple of spectators out for a spin. “I’d love to learn that kind of dancing. But I’m afraid it takes a little more coordination than I have.”
“Don’t be silly,” Nancy said. “Why not give it a try?” Getting up from the table, she added, “I think I’ll wander over to the trailer where the accident happened this morning.”
“Okay,” Bess said. “I’ll stay here and watch for a bit. Be careful, okay?”
But Nancy was already gone.
Approaching the trailer, Nancy was surprised to see George step out the door.
“Hi, there,” Nancy said. “What brings you here?”
George grinned. “Guess who had to clean up the mess in there?” she said, pointing toward the trailer.
“Did you have to put the rack back up?” Nancy asked.
George shook her head. “No. J.Z. had us move the weapons to a safer place.”
“Who’s J.Z.?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, Jerry Zimmer, the props coordinator,” George said. “He’s the person I’ve been helping. But what brings you here?”
“I thought I might look around a bit,” Nancy said, peeking inside the trailer. “But I see all the weapons have been moved.”
“Any new developments?” George asked.
Nancy told her friend about Dean Batlan’s threat.
George raised her eyebrows. “That’s funny,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.
“Well, from what I’ve heard, Dean is lucky to be in the show at all,” George said. “Apparently, he asked for a lot of money and publicity to be in the festival. But he didn’t get it. He’s a good actor, but he’s not as popular as he was, or, at least, as he thinks he was.”
Nancy paused for a moment, taking in George’s information. “If that’s true, then Dean might think he has a reason to be angry with the festival’s producers,” she said thoughtfully.
George glanced at her watch. “Sorry, Nan, but I’ve got to run to the art supplies trailer. The play begins soon, and there’s lots to do.”
Nancy said goodbye and quickly headed over to the outdoor theater, hoping to catch Dean Batlan before the opening of the play. The afternoon sun created a soft glow on the empty seats and the semicircular stage. Nancy thought that it would be a perfect afternoon and evening for the first performance of Romeo and Juliet.
Seeing that the stage was empty, Nancy went into the large tent behind the theater. The tent had been set up so the audience couldn’t see what was going on backstage. Inside the tent stage crew members were scurrying around making last-minute adjustments to costumes and scenery. Off to one side Dean Batlan and Joanna Messerman, the actress playing Juliet, were going over their lines as Josh Forster watched from a chair. Nancy recognized Joanna from the picture she’d seen in the troupe’s program. The pretty, brown-haired actress was dressed as Juliet, in a simple ivory-colored gown. Nancy moved closer to hear them.
“‘Good night, good night!’” the young actress recited. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow! That I—’”
Dean Batlan threw up his hands. “No, no, no!” he exclaimed. “That’s all wrong, Joanna! You’re being too forceful. These lines are supposed to be said delicately.”
“Listen, Dean,” Joanna said, trying to stay in control. “I’ve told you before that I appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but this is ridiculous! There’s nothing wrong with the way I’ve been playing this scene. I think you just want to criticize me.”
“Now aren’t we being a little sensitive?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “I think that I, of all people, know how Romeo and Juliet should be played. If you can’t accept professional advice, then you don’t belong in a professional production.”
“ I don’t belong?” Joanna said. Her mouth hung open in disbelief. Then she drew in a breath and said calmly, “I think the scene is fine as it is.”
“But this scene is extremely important—” Dean began.
“Dean, Dean—Joanna is right,” Josh Forster interrupted. “That exchange was fine,” he said calmly. “We don’t have much time left, so we need to move on. Now, what really needs work is your fighting scene in Act Three.”
“What? My fight scene?” Dean exclaimed. He looked at Josh indignantly. “Well, I’d like to know who suddenly made you the director.”
Nancy stood off to the side, watching the scene with fascination. Dean Batlan was definitely someone to watch, she thought.
Josh adjusted his glasses and said in a superior tone, “Well, if you’d like to talk about credentials, that’s fine. I may not be the director, but I think all my years of study and research in London speak for themselves. And when I tell you that the way you’re using a rapier is wrong, believe me, it’s wrong. I happen to be a student of fencing, as well.”
“Well… well!” Dean Batlan managed to sputter.
With that Josh got up and picked up the rapier. Flourishing the long, light, sword, he began demonstrating various movements and thrusts.
“Now, remember,” he said to Dean, “when you go to stab Tybalt, your enemy, the lunge has to be placed—”
“Oh, this is really too much!” Dean exploded. “I’m being treated like a child. I don’t care what kind of so-called expert you’re supposed to be. I’ll play the role as I see fit.”
“But, Dean, Josh has some really good ideas,” said Joanna, who had been watching them from the side. “I think you ought to listen to him,” she added.
“I think I’ll do exactly as I please!” Dean retorted.
“You’re completely unreasonable,” Josh put in.
“That’s enough!” a voice called. “Let’s stop all of this bickering and get ready.” Nancy turned to see Schotter approaching the stage. “The audience is starting to arrive. Let’s go!”
Nancy slipped out of the tent. She had learned at least one thing—Dean Batlan seemed to be very angry and pompous. Dean acted like someone who wasn’t getting the money and respect he thought he deserved.
Hurrying back toward the pavilion, Nancy found Queen Elizabeth’s procession being formed. The queen was to be the guest of honor at every performance of Romeo and Juliet. Nancy slid into line behind Bess, who was still flushed and excited from her dancing efforts. Nancy filled Bess in on the events at the last-minute rehearsal.
The girls watched as Martine DeVries was helped onto the litter to be carried in. The actress inserted an old-fashioned fan into a bejeweled fan holder. The holder was an antique case that held the triangular bottom of the fan. She popped open the fan for a dramatic effect.
One person after another, the procession entered through the back of the theater and walked down the aisle to the front row, which was reserved for the court. Nancy saw that Martine’s usual scowl had been transformed into Queen Elizabeth’s smooth, regal smile. Nancy also noticed the hushed solemnity of the audience. Everyone acted as if they were full of respect for the queen.
But in the next instant the quiet was shattered by a sharp cracking noise. Nancy spun around in time to see one of the rods that held the litter break in two. The litter lurched to the side, plunging Martine toward the ground!
Quickly the actors carrying the broken side of the seat grabbed the frame. But their actions came a moment too late. With nothing to hold her in, Martine DeVries came tumbling off the side!
An Unlucky Break
Nancy and Bess looked on helplessly as Martine landed in a heap on the ground. The audience gasped.
The queen’s ladies-in-waiting and courtiers immediately gathered around her, including Nancy and Bess.
“Are you all right?” Bess asked anxiously.
Martine looked up in a daze. “I—I’m all right, I think,” she said shakily. The hooped skirt of her heavily brocaded dress stuck out awkwardly to one side, while a bit of wire was poking out from the high collar. Her crown had been thrown off, and strands of hair hung over her face. A low buzz of voices filled the theater as the audience stared in astonishment.
Snapping back to attention, Martine held her arms out to those closest to her. “Help me up,” she whispered fiercely.
“But are you sure you’re okay?” one of the actors asked.
“I’m fine,” she said impatiently under her breath. “Now get me up!”
As Martine was brought to her feet, the audience burst into applause. Though still a bit shaky, Martine gave the crowd a regal smile.
Turning to the ladies and gentlemen of her court, she said quietly, “Okay, let’s just head down to our seats. And,” she said, gesturing toward the broken litter, “get rid of that thing.” She smoothed her hair back, put on her crown, and adjusted her dress.
The procession headed down to the reserved seats as the litter was quickly carried out of the theater by troupe members dressed as footmen. Martine took her seat in the middle of the front row, and the rest of the procession sat around her. As they sat down, Nancy was deep in thought, wondering how the litter could have broken.
Suddenly Martine grabbed the sides of her seat. “My fan!” she exclaimed, looking about her. “Where’s my fan?”
Immediately, Nancy, Bess, and the other ladies of the court began looking for the fan she’d been carrying.
“I must have dropped it when I fell,” Martine said. She nudged a courtier sitting next to her. “Go see if you can find it before the play starts. Hurry!”
A few minutes later the actor came back, shaking his head. “Sorry. I don’t see it anywhere,” he said.
“Oh, great,” Martine said irritably. “It’s not enough that I’m thrown to the ground. Now someone steals my fan, too.”
Nancy leaned toward Bess. “I think we should go check out that broken litter,” she whispered. “I heard someone say it was at the storage shed.”
“Now?” Bess said. “The play’s starting.”
Nancy nodded. “We can watch the play tomorrow night,” she whispered. The two girls got up and left the theater.
On their way to the storage shed, they met up with George. “I saw the whole thing from off-stage,” she said. “Martine’s a real trooper. It’s lucky she wasn’t seriously hurt. Aren’t you going to watch the play?”
“Not tonight,” Nancy said. She explained her plan, and George decided to join them. As the three girls entered the storage shed, the troupe members who’d been carrying the litter were just leaving.
“Poor Martine!” Bess said. “I think I’d be a little angry, too, if I got dumped to the ground in front of a theater full of people.”
“I think she’s probably more than a little angry,” Nancy said. She began to inspect the red cushioned seat, covered in an antique floral pattern. Suddenly she saw a piece of paper lodged in the seat. She grabbed it, unfolded it, and raised her eyebrows. “Uh-oh,” she said. “Looks like our note writer is back. Same old-fashioned writing as the first.” She began to read to Bess and George.
“What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me?
Help, ho!”
The queen was wise to be afraid of Hamlet
Even though her final hour hadn’t come yet.
And you’d be wise to take care, too.
Because your final hour may be upon you!
“I don’t like this at all,” Bess said, her eyes wide with fright.
“I don’t, either,” George admitted. “That note is almost a death threat.”
Nancy nodded. “It’s a pretty forceful warning, all right.” She scowled at the piece of paper. “The lines quoted here are spoken by the queen in Hamlet. Since Martine is the queen, and she’s the only one who rides the litter, this threat must be aimed at her.”
Nancy paused. “But who would want to harm Martine? And why? She wasn’t the target of that falling weapons rack or the first note.”
“It’s like trying to figure out a riddle,” George observed.
“A pretty gruesome riddle,” Bess added.
“Well, no matter who the target is, the note seems to indicate that the litter breaking was no accident,” Nancy said. She bent down to examine the broken pole. It had snapped near the back end, just in front of where the rear footman gripped it. The end was smoothly split about three-quarters of the way through.
“This wood doesn’t look as if it splintered under pressure,” she said. “It looks as though this rod has been sawed partway through.”
George bent down next to her. “So someone cut through the wood just enough to make it easier to break.”
Nancy nodded. “As soon as enough pressure was put on the piece, it was bound to break.” She thought for a moment. “George, do you know who has access to this storage shed?”
George shrugged. “As far as I know, just about everybody in the festival.”
At Nancy’s suggestion the girls searched through the shed for clues, but besides a few pieces of trash, the shed was empty. “We might as well go back to the theater,” Nancy said with a sigh. “I’d like to talk to Philip Schotter.”
As the girls approached the theater, they saw spectators milling about the refreshment stands. “This must be inter-mission time,” Nancy said. “Let’s go backstage and find Philip.”
The girls found the director congratulating actors on their performances and giving directions for the next scene. Suddenly loud, quick steps were heard coming across the backstage area. Nancy turned to see Martine DeVries heading toward Schotter.
Schotter exclaimed, “Martine! Thank goodness you’re all right. How on earth could that litter have broken?”
Martine stared at him coldly. “As if you didn’t know,” she said in a biting voice. “You’ve been waiting to see me fall on my face, haven’t you? You want me to make a fool of myself, right?”
“What are you talking about?” Schotter said, sounding surprised. “I don’t know what happened with the litter. But we’ll find out and—”
But Martine was no longer listening. Pushing her way through the crowd of actors, she marched up to J.Z. “And you,” she continued in her bitter tone. “Your shoddy props could have killed me.”
J.Z. immediately began to protest. “Look, I’m real sorry this happened,” he said, holding up his hands. “I promise you, Martine, that litter was thoroughly checked this afternoon.”
“He’s right,” George said, rushing to his defense. “We looked it over when we cleaned it, and it was fine.”
Martine turned her deadly stare to George. “Who on earth are you? ” she said. Seeing George’s volunteer badge only made her angrier. “Do you actually think I’d trust one of you volunteers?” she asked. “Maybe it was you who stole my fan and fan holder.” With that, she marched offstage.
“Whew!” Bess exclaimed. “Gracious queen becomes ice queen.”
J.Z. shook his head. “I respect Martine a lot as an actress,” he said. “She’s a real pro. But that temper of hers…” He trailed off with a long whistle. “Anyway, thanks for backing me up, George. And thanks for all your help today,” he added, before turning away.
“Martine sure makes it hard for anyone to feel sorry for her,” Nancy said to Bess and George. “But I still don’t think that would make someone want to actually harm her. And that note sounded pretty threatening.”
“Well, at least we know one thing about the person writing these notes,” Bess said.
“What’s that?” Nancy said with interest.
“He or she must know Shakespeare,” Bess said.
“Great,” George replied. “That narrows it down to just about everybody here.”
Nancy began to look around for Schotter again. She wanted to tell him about the latest note before the play started again. Finally she spotted him in a corner of the backstage area. He was talking to a man in a business suit with his back to Nancy. The two seemed to be deep in conversation.
The man in the suit turned slightly, and Nancy caught a glimpse of his face. She immediately recognized him as Louis Romero, a local businessman. Handsome and dark-haired, Romero was becoming well known in River Heights as a flamboyant and ambitious business promoter and developer. Nancy was surprised to see him at the Elizabethan festival. She hadn’t known he was interested in local arts.
Moving casually toward the two men, Nancy came close enough to hear their conversation. Schotter’s voice rose to an angry pitch.
“Look, I don’t know how many ways I can say no,” he said. “Our festival has been well received in River Heights for three years. I have absolutely no interest in changing it.”
“Phil, I’ve been a patient man,” Romero responded smoothly. “But you’re making this difficult. I don’t have to tell you again that my fair would be a great business opportunity for you.”
“You don’t have to say one more word about your medieval fair,” Schotter said, gritting his teeth. “I’m not sharing our pavilion space next year. River Heights doesn’t want your fair, and I don’t want any so-called partners. You’ll have to make other arrangements.”
“You’re crazy!” Romero shouted. “With my high-budget, high-tech fair here to pull people in, your rinky-dink, one-week sideshow could finally start counting on some serious profits.”
“I said no,” Schotter said, trying to control his anger. “And that’s my final word.”
“That’s too bad, Phil,” Romero said, losing his cool. He pointed a finger at Schotter. “But with or without your cooperation, my festival is in—so I guess yours is going to be out!”
Her Majesty’s Secret Service
As Nancy watched Romero stomp off stage, new questions came to her mind. Apparently, Romero wanted to develop another festival in River Heights, a medieval fair. And if he needed to share pavilion space with the Elizabethan festival, then he must want the fair to be at the same time as the festival. But Schotter was obviously not interested in sharing his spot with Romero’s flashier production. So, Nancy wondered, how far would Romero go to get the pavilion space? Would he be willing to sabotage the festival?
As Schotter walked across the backstage area, Nancy approached him. She told the director about the second note. “I don’t get it,” Schotter said, sighing. “And I’m not sure I have the energy to think about this now. The next scene’s about to start. But I do appreciate all your help so far, Nancy. Let’s try to talk tomorrow.” Nancy nodded in understanding. The festival director looked worn out.
It was already past nine o’clock when Nancy left Bess’s house, where she had eaten dinner with the two cousins. George was staying there for the week while her parents were out of town. Over BLT sandwiches, Nancy had given them a brief account of Louis Romero’s appearance. As she drove toward her own house, she reviewed the mysterious events of the day, focusing on the two threatening notes. Leaving notes was pretty bold, she thought. The note writer had obviously spent a lot of time on the wording. And it took someone who had access to the trailers and props.
There were so many possibilities, it was frustrating. Nancy wasn’t even sure who, if anyone, was the target of the notes, or why. Martine seemed to be one of the direct targets. But the weapons rack could have fallen on anyone. So how were the two incidents connected? she wondered.
Romero’s threat to Philip Schotter was still ringing in her mind, too. Perhaps the acts of vandalism were his first attempts to drive the Elizabethan festival out of town. They were certainly scaring the members of the troupe. And, like any other spectator, Romero had access to the storage facilities.
Nancy recalled Dean Batlan’s threat to Josh about “bringing the show down.” Dean seemed to feel he deserved better treatment and, perhaps, more money. Maybe he was directing his anger at the festival, she thought.
As she pulled into her driveway, Nancy remembered Bess’s words of warning that morning about not getting involved in another mystery. I guess it’s too late for that now, she thought, smiling.
The next morning Nancy pulled her blue Mustang into the festival grounds a few minutes before noon. She felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep. She headed for the costume trailer, where she had planned to meet Bess and George, who’d driven over in Bess’s car.
Bess was just leaving the trailer when Nancy arrived. “Hi, there!” Bess said cheerfully. She was already in costume, wearing the green dress of the day before. But today she also had her hair pulled up under an elaborate hat. “George had to head backstage already,” Bess explained. “I’m going to watch some of the afternoon games. Should I wait for you?”
Nancy shook her head. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”
After quickly changing into her ivory-colored dress, Nancy headed toward the town square. The afternoon was warm and sunny, and spectators were spilling into the festival grounds. Musicians, jugglers, and clowns strolled through the square, filling the air with excitement.
Three sides of the square were made up of false sixteenth-century building fronts. The fourth side remained open, so visitors could enter the square. A grassy area was in the middle.
On a lawn outside the square Nancy came upon a group of men playing a sixteenth-century game called bowls. She thought it looked like a combination of bowling and horseshoes. The men took turns rolling balls toward a single ball set as a mark some distance away. The object was to roll closest to the ball. A large group of spectators had gathered to watch, some taking turns themselves.
Nancy walked up to another area where several men in costume were demonstrating firearms. While an audience watched from a safe distance, they showed how to load gunpowder and bullets. Once the bullets and gunpowder were packed in, a lighted match was held to loose gunpowder. It looked to Nancy like a slow, dangerous process.
After strolling through the festival a bit longer, Nancy headed for Philip Schotter’s office. She hoped he might know something about Dean Batlan or Louis Romero that could help her.
Approaching Schotter’s trailer, she noticed that the door was slightly open. Hoping this was a sign that the director was there, she reached up to knock—but she suddenly stopped. A woman’s low throaty voice could be heard inside the trailer.
Nancy immediately recognized the voice as Martine DeVries’s. At first she thought Martine was talking to Schotter, but when Nancy didn’t hear Schotter’s voice, she realized that Martine was speaking on the telephone.
Quietly positioned outside the door, Nancy heard the actress say, “No, darling, I don’t have any real evidence yet. But I’d have to be a fool not to see what’s going on here.”
Darling? Martine must be talking to her husband, Nancy thought.
After a short pause Martine resumed speaking. “Well, it’s obvious. I’m being treated like yesterday’s news. Schotter must think I’m not much of an attraction for the festival anymore, so he’s going to replace me. But I have a little surprise for him.”
Nancy’s heart skipped a beat.
“No, of course he didn’t say he was going to fire me,” Martine said irritably. Nancy smiled. The person on the other end of the phone must have asked the same question she had been thinking.
Lowering her voice, Martine continued. “I think Schotter’s been secretly looking for some one to replace me. He’ll just wait for the right opportunity, and then he’ll quietly fire me.
“I’ll tell you something, though,” Martine said after a pause, her voice colder than before. “He won’t get rid of me so easily. Maybe he’s forgotten about my contract, but he has to keep me to the end! Listen, darling, I have to be going.”
Nancy quietly hurried around to the back of the trailer. As soon as she heard a door slam, she peeked around the corner to see Martine walking down the row of trailers.
Nancy let out her breath. She understood now why Martine had seemed so angry at Schotter after the play the night before. She believed that Schotter wanted her out of the festival so badly that he tampered with the litter.
But that doesn’t seem right, Nancy thought as her breathing became more even. Schotter had seemed pleased that Martine, who had many years of stage acting to her credit, was part of the festival. But maybe Schotter didn’t really feel that way, maybe he was an even better actor than Martine. Perhaps Martine, in her anger at being replaced, was the one creating the disturbances at the festival.
Nancy warned herself against jumping to conclusions. Martine’s anger about her contract might lead her to take action against the festival, but Nancy had no proof of that. And how would that explain the falling weapons rack? Still, Nancy decided to keep her eye on Martine. And she resolved to try to speak to Schotter about Martine’s contract.
“Do you really think Schotter wants to replace her?” Bess asked when Nancy filled her in on Martine’s telephone conversation. The two friends were seated at a banquet table for the queen’s feast.
“I don’t know,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “If he does, I haven’t seen any indication of it.”
As it was already late afternoon, Nancy suggested that they walk over to the theater, to meet up with the procession. They didn’t want to miss the performance of Romeo and Juliet, especially since they had missed it the previous evening.
A few moments later they were part of the queen’s procession headed toward the front row of the theater. The litter had been repaired, but Martine looked nervous as she was carried down the aisle. To everyone’s relief, she was delivered to her seat without harm. Nancy and Bess took their seats to await the start of the play. Before the lights went out, Nancy was surprised to see Louis Romero sitting a few rows away. His tanned face was set in a permanent scowl. She wondered what he hoped to gain by watching the play.
The play began and immediately drew the audience into the story of the feuding families, the Capulets and Montagues. The sword fight in the first scene was very well done, and Nancy found herself absorbed in the drama.
When Dean Batlan entered the stage, as the lovesick Romeo, his booming voice and dramatic presence immediately commanded attention.
Bess leaned over to Nancy. “I’m no theater critic,” she whispered, “but doesn’t he seem to be overplaying the role a bit?”
Nancy nodded in agreement. But the audience seemed to enjoy it. At the end of Act One, after Romeo and Juliet’s first scene together, applause filled the theater.
As the second scene in Act Two began, Nancy and Bess exchanged smiles. They recognized it as the famous balcony scene. From the ground Romeo spoke to Juliet as she stood outside her bedroom on a balcony. The stage was decorated to look like an orchard. To the right, a large wooden prop, painted to look like the side of Juliet’s house, had been rolled out. There was an actual balcony on top, along with French doors that opened out to it. Although the stage was about level with Nancy, the balcony looked to be at least ten feet high.
Nancy could see Joanna Messerman, as Juliet, hovering behind the thinly curtained doors, waiting for Romeo to finish his opening speech. Finally she stepped out to the balcony, and putting her hand on the railing, she began, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
But just as she finished the line, the balcony railing gave way from under her. In the next instant Juliet toppled from the balcony toward the stage!
Poetry in Motion
The audience gasped in horror as Joanna Messerman fell toward the stage floor. Dean Batlan instinctively threw out his arms to catch her. He tried to stop her fall, but the force of the impact brought him to his knees. There was a loud thud followed by momentary silence. Joanna, lying partly on Dean and partly on the stage, slowly lifted her head. Her face wore a shocked expression.
Dean, still on his knees, helped her to a sitting position. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. Joanna nodded, looking stunned.
In the meantime the actors in the previous scene had run onstage to assist Joanna and Dean. They helped the two actors to their feet and pulled the railing backstage. Standing up, Dean and Joanna realized that the audience was watching their every move.
Schotter stood anxiously in the wings, motioning for them to exit the stage.
Instead, Joanna turned to Dean and took his hands. “Oh, Romeo,” she said in a melodramatic voice. “It is no secret anymore. I have really fallen for you!”
Dean looked at her in surprise, then smiled. “Juliet, my love, you are truly an angel come down from heaven.”
The audience burst into laughter and gave the two actors an enthusiastic round of applause.
“I’m so glad they’re not hurt,” Bess said to Nancy, her hands clasped tightly. “What a terrible fall!”
Nancy nodded grimly as she continued clapping. “They sure made a professional recovery, though,” she said to Bess. “I guess the show really must go on.”
As the applause subsided, Dean and Joanna smoothly picked up the scene from where they had left off before the fall. But now there was no balcony.
Although Nancy was impressed by the actors’ recovery, she couldn’t concentrate on the scene. All she could think about was the balcony. As the scene came to an end, she nudged Bess. “I’m going to run backstage,” she whispered. Slipping quietly from her seat, she moved quickly across the front row and around the side of the stage.
Soon the balcony scene was over, and the props crew brought the balcony backstage and began to set up a new backdrop in its place for the next scene. Dean and Joanna entered the backstage tent and were immediately surrounded by the concerned cast and troupe members.
Dean was furious. “Can someone tell me what in heaven is going on here?” he said to no one in particular. “These second-rate props will kill us all! It was only my—uh, our— professionalism that saved that scene from disaster. I’ve probably permanently injured my knees! I—”
Schotter interrupted him. “Dean, I’m sorry, but we haven’t time. You’re in the next scene.”
“I’m aware of that!” Dean bellowed, turning away abruptly.
Nancy saw Joanna Messerman as she practically fell into a chair. Though she had bravely finished the scene, it was obvious that her fall had weakened her. “I think I just need to rest before my next scene,” she said to those standing around her. “My ankle is a little sore.”
“Should I call a doctor?” Schotter asked in a worried voice.
“Oh, no,” Joanna said. “It’s nothing serious. I’ve sprained my ankle before, and it hurt much worse than this. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”
Nancy turned to check out the balcony, which the props crew had rolled backstage. J.Z. was already at work, repairing the railing. George, who was standing near him, looked up as Nancy approached.
“That was a close one, huh?” George said.
“A little too close,” Nancy responded, frowning. “What happened?”
Before George could answer, J.Z. angrily said, “Somebody’s been messing with the props, that’s what happened. The screws holding the railing to the balcony had all been loosened. As soon as that poor girl leaned against it, the railing was sure to go.” He paused for a moment. “You have to be pretty sick to do something like this,” he muttered, going back to work.
Nancy walked around to the back of the wooden structure. There she noticed a set of stairs leading up to the French doors that opened to the small balcony, where Joanna had been standing.
Nancy walked up the stairs and stood at the glass doors, looking through the almost transparent curtains. Looking up and down, Nancy spotted what she thought was a fold in the curtain. Reaching up to smooth it, her hand closed on a piece of paper pinned to the curtain.
“Uh-oh,” George said, watching from below. “I’ll bet I can guess what that is.”
Nancy unpinned the note and unfolded it as she came down the stairs. Sure enough, it was another note written in the familiar old-fashioned printing:
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Look out from the balcony and oh! what a view:
The spectators think this show is through.
They’re right, you know, for I’ll bring you all down
It’s time to move to a new town.
“Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?” George commented.
“I don’t think the writer is too concerned with the poetry,” Nancy said. She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “George, do you think J.Z. could have had anything to do with any of this?”
George shook her head firmly. “He’s about the hardest worker in the troupe,” she said. “And he’s very loyal to Schotter. Besides, I was with him all afternoon, and he didn’t go near the balcony.”
Nancy nodded, still frowning. “Just about anyone could have had access to the balcony, right, George?”
George nodded. “As far as I know, this tent is open. People run in and out all day.”
“So someone could have loosened the screws earlier this afternoon,” Nancy said. “And no one would have bothered to check the balcony, since it was fine last night.”
“But why would anyone want to hurt Joanna?” George said. “She’s the only one who uses the balcony, and she seems pretty popular around here.”
Nancy looked at the note again. “I have a feeling our mystery poet is choosing his or her words very carefully here,” she said. She read from the note: “‘I’ll bring you all down.’ I don’t think he or she is trying to hurt a specific person. He or she wants to hurt the whole show.”
“So I guess this note writer just doesn’t care if an innocent person happens to get hurt in the process,” George said angrily. “It’s so frustrating! And why would someone want to hurt the festival, anyway?”
“Maybe because that someone is afraid of getting fired,” Nancy mused. She filled George in on Martine’s telephone conversation.
“Martine does seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t go down without a fight,” George remarked.
“But she’s not the only person who has a problem with the festival,” Nancy said. She reminded George of Louis Romero’s plan to start another festival. “And I can’t stop thinking about Dean Batlan’s complaints about the way the festival is run.”
“And don’t forget—he thinks he deserves more money, and he hasn’t been too happy about that,” George said. “Come to think of it, he did some quick thinking to catch Joanna. Maybe he knew the balcony was about to break.”
The two girls looked up to see Josh Forster, the consultant, walking toward them. “Good evening, Miss Drew,” he said politely. He nodded at George and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “I see our poet is back,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he spotted the note in Nancy’s hand. “What does this verse say?”
Nancy shrugged. “Not much. Someone is threatening the festival again. I don’t know who it is yet,” she admitted, “but I’m working on it.”
“What happened tonight was just terrible,” Josh said, shaking his head. “I’d hate to think that someone could be seriously injured. Do be careful yourself, Miss Drew.” Then he added in his reserved manner, “Philip Schotter wants to meet with all volunteers after the play.”
“Tonight’s stage accident was pretty scary,” Schotter began when he had everybody together. “And we intend to find out who’s responsible for it,” he added, looking at Nancy. “In fact, I’m o