We met the next morning, as we had planned, at the offices of John Rockaway and Sons, the contractor whose receipts I’d seen the day of the incident with the glass. Claud, using her deductive reasoning techniques (courtesy of Nancy Drew), had figured we might find some clues there. “After all,” she’d said, “that pane of glass had to come from somewhere, and that company is as good a place to start looking as any. If they did supply it, maybe they can check their files and tell us who ordered it, and we’ll have our culprit.”
We parked our bikes near a big trailer, and picked our way through the piles of rubble and around the heavy machinery that littered the lot the trailer sat on. “Nothing suspicious so far,” said Shannon, peering around at the scene.
“This trailer must be the main office,” said Stacey. We went up the steps, peered through the screen door, and saw a man sitting behind an incredibly messy desk. It was covered with papers in foot-high stacks, cardboard coffee cups, and empty doughnut boxes. The guy behind the desk was gesturing as he shouted into the phone. “No, not tomorrow,” he yelled. “I need it today! And if it’s not here by three —” He listened for a moment and then slammed the phone down. “Bums,” he said, shaking his head. Then he looked up and saw us peeking through the door. He smiled. “Come on in,” he said, waving us in.
We walked in, edging our way around file cabinets and piles of tools. “How can I help you girls?” he asked. “Here to rent a bulldozer?” He laughed.
“Um, no,” I said. “Not exactly.” I was trying to figure out how to ask him about the glass without raising his suspicions, when the phone rang.
He brushed aside a pile of papers and answered it, “Rockaway!” he barked. He listened for a moment. “No, no, no,” he said. “That was two backhoes and one crane —”
We heard another phone ringing. “Hold on,” he said, “I’ve got another call.” He brushed some more papers aside and jabbed a button. “Hello?” he said. “Rockaway speaking.” He listened again. “I told you before,” he said, “It’s a three-man crew, and they’re working as fast as they can. Hold on a minute, will you? I need to finish up this other call.” He jabbed at a button again. “Hello?” he said. “Hello?” He rolled his eyes and grinned at us. “Lost them,” he said. “Happens all the time. My secretary’s the only one who knows how to work these darn phones.” He pushed another button and found the call he’d put on hold. “Now, who is this again?” he asked.
Just then, two men wearing tool belts and Rockaway and Sons baseball caps walked into the office. The man on the phone turned to them, knocking over a half-filled cup as he did. The coffee ran all over a pile of papers, and started to drip down the side of his desk, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Pete! Dave!” he said. “Just the men I was looking for.” Then he spoke into the phone again. “Hold on one more second, okay?” He pushed a button, laid down the receiver, and started talking to the two men about a foundation that needed work. “I’ve got the work order right here,” he said, shuffling through a stack of pink forms. He scratched his head. “At least, I thought it was here.”
By this time, Shannon, Stacey, Claud, and I were just standing there with our mouths open. I, for one, could not believe how incredibly disorganized the office was. I raised my eyebrows at Claudia and shrugged. She shrugged, too. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “We’re not going to get anywhere with this guy.”
We headed for the door, and the man behind the desk smiled and waved. “ ’Bye, girls,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Come back some other time, when I’m not so busy.”
We piled out of the trailer, and as soon as we were clear of the office we collapsed into giggles. “Some other time?” gasped Claudia.
“When he’s not so busy?” I said.
“Like when?” asked Shannon.
Stacey just laughed until she could hardly breathe.
“I have never seen anybody so disorganized,” I said.
“And so clumsy,” Shannon added. “How can he possible run a successful business?”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “But obviously he’d never remember if he did supply that glass, and even if a miracle happened and he could, he’d never be able to find the purchase order. This was a definite dead end.”
“Sorry, guys,” said Claudia, looking sheepish. “I guess deductive reasoning doesn’t always pay off.”
“That’s okay, it’s not your fault. But I vote that we head for the set,” said Stacey. “I mean, we should at least check up on Derek, don’t you think?”
We hopped on our bikes and rode over to the set. It was a beautiful day, with white puffy clouds sailing through a perfect blue sky, but I wasn’t paying much attention to the scenery as I rode. Instead, I was thinking hard, trying to figure out what to do next. None of our detective work had paid off so far. Maybe it was time for more drastic measures.
I went over our list of suspects. Sheila May-berry? I couldn’t really imagine her causing the accidents, even though she was sure getting a lot of mileage out of them. Zeke Hill? I just saw him as a guy who was out of a job and desperate to be hired back. Frank Bottoms was a definite possibility: he looked like a villain, since he always wore black and loved to puff on those huge cigars. But somehow my gut instinct was to take a closer look at Carson Fraser. At first, I had thought he wasn’t smart enough to pull off all those accidents. But a lot of things pointed in his direction: I could tell he couldn’t stand Derek, since he didn’t bother to hide it. He was always nearby when accidents happened. And he probably figured his star status would protect him if he was ever found out.
“Carson,” I said out loud, as I rode along. “He’s the one to watch.” If I could only figure out a way to learn more about him. I worked on the problem during that whole bike ride, but no great ideas came to mind. Carson wasn’t exactly the most approachable guy on the set. If he was nicer, my job would be easy: I’d just try to strike up a conversation with him. But instead, he was a creep, and I was going to have to think of another way to find out more about him.
* * *
When we finally arrived at the set, I led my friends over to the actors’ lounge, where Derek and Todd were sitting with their parents. Frank Bottoms was there, but I didn’t see Carson.
It felt strange to be on the set without any official reason. “How’s it going?” I asked Derek.
“Don’t ask,” he said. He shot a quick glance at Frank, who appeared to be napping in his chair with the ever-present cigar still in his mouth. “Carson’s been flubbing his lines all morning,” Derek whispered. “I don’t think he even read this part of the script before today. Harry told the rest of us to take a break, and he pulled Carson into his trailer for ‘a little talk.’ ”
“Oh, really?” I asked. That was interesting. Carson was in Harry’s trailer. And Frank Bottoms was napping in his chair. That meant that Carson’s trailer would be empty. Suddenly, I had a great idea.
I pulled my friends off to one side. “Listen,” I hissed. “I’m going to go snoop around in Carson’s trailer. I just know I’ll find some evidence there.”
“Kristy!” said Stacey, looking shocked. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You can’t do that!” Claudia added.
“It’s too dangerous,” put in Shannon.
“I guess that means none of you are coming with me,” I said. “That’s okay. Just keep a lookout for me, will you? I don’t want to get caught in there. Give a whistle or something if you see Carson coming.” I took off toward Carson’s trailer without waiting to hear any more arguments about my plan.
As I approached the door with Carson’s name next to it, I looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Then I took a deep breath, eased open the door and slipped through it.
The inside of the trailer was dim, since the mini-blinds were down, but as soon as my eyes adjusted I could see just fine. Now, I have to say that I don’t advocate snooping around, but just this once I let my curiosity get the better of me. After all, there was
a chance I’d find something important. Here’s what I learned about Carson: His favorite snack food appears to be those little miniature Ritz-cracker-and-peanut-butter sandwiches — there were several opened boxes lying around. He is even more in love with himself than I had guessed, judging by the number of mirrors in the place. He has a friend in Missouri named Neil, to whom he sends boring postcards: there was a half-written one on the coffee table. And he must be flattered by the attention he gets from that girl who always wears a rose in her buttonhole. I knew that because there was a whole bowl full of roses, ranging from fresh to very, very wilted, which he had saved. She must give him the rose she wears every day. Next to the bowl was the freshest rose of the batch, and next to that was a pile of notes. The one on top said, “From your favorite fan, you-know-who.” It had X’s and O’s and little hearts drawn all over it, and a lipstick kiss near the word “fan.”
But nothing I’d seen made me suspicious. There wasn’t a single, solitary clue to prove that Carson was out to get Derek. I had just started to poke around in a tiny, overstuffed closet when I heard a strange hissing noise. I stopped to listen, and realized somebody was whispering my name. I ran to the window, peeked through the blinds, and saw Shannon. Her face was bright red, and she looked awfully anxious. “Kristy!” she hissed, louder this time.
I went to the door and opened it a crack. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Kristy! Get out of there, fast!” she said, looking as if she were about to pass out. “Carson just came out of Harry’s trailer, and he’s heading this way!”
I jumped down from the trailer, closed the door behind me, and ran off with Shannon. When we met up with Stacey and Claudia, the relief on their faces was obvious. “Do me a favor, Kristy,” said Claudia. “Don’t ever, ever do anything like that again!”
I crossed my fingers behind my back and promised. Even though the only thing my visit to Carson’s trailer had produced was some very nervous friends, I knew I would do it again if it would keep Derek safe.
Brilliant — that’s me. Not that I like to boast about it or anything, but I do have to admit that Mary Anne’s entry in the club notebook was right on. But maybe I’d better back up and explain everything.
First of all, what Mary Anne was congratulating Mal for was this: the day before, Mal had finally made it over to the set. Since it was late in the afternoon, she was through sitting for Claire, and she had come to watch the filming for a while. She was hanging out on the sidelines with me and Claud, watching Derek film a scene. Right in the middle of one of his lines, I felt a sneeze coming on. I tried to stop it — I really did! — but it popped out. It was a loud one, too.
“Cut!” said Harry disgustedly. Everybody on the set turned to stare at me, including Harry himself.
“Sorry!” I squeaked.
But then I realized Harry wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at Mal, and he was smiling. “Hey, you,” he said. “Red! Ever acted before?”
“Me?” asked Mal. She had suddenly turned white.
“Yes, you. You with the glasses and freckles and that great hair. You’d be perfect for this walk-on I have planned for tomorrow. You wouldn’t have any lines, understand. And you’d only be on the screen for about a half-second —”
“I’ll do it!” said Mal, grinning.
Later, as we walked home, Mal was beside herself. “I can’t believe it!” she said. “He liked my looks. He liked my looks!” She reminded us of the time we were all in California, and she and Jessi were visiting Derek on the set of his TV show. Earlier, Jessi had gotten a part as an extra, and that day the director was asking for extras again. When Mal volunteered, he gave her a glance and said her looks were wrong. She was crushed, especially because she’d been going through this makeover phase — dyeing her hair blonde and wearing makeup — and she thought she looked great.
Anyway, Mal’s California experience only made it that much better when Harry picked her out of a crowd based on her own, true looks. We were all thrilled for her, and Mary Anne volunteered to take care of Vanessa and Margo and Claire the next morning so Mal could get to the set early.
So Mary Anne was sitting for Mal’s three little sisters. And the second she arrived that morning, Vanessa and Margo started in on her. “We have to go to the set,” said Vanessa. “Mal’s going to be a star!”
“We promised her we’d come and watch,” said Margo.
“I’d love to see her, too,” said Mary Anne, glancing at Claire, who hadn’t said a word yet. “How about it, Claire?”
“Uh-uh,” said Claire, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not going.”
“Don’t you want to see Mal make a movie?” asked Mary Anne. “That’s not something that happens every day, you know.”
“I don’t care,” said Claire, pouting. But Mary Anne thought she saw a glimmer of interest in Claire’s eyes.
“Come on, Claire,” begged Margo. “If you won’t go, we can’t go. Don’t be a scaredy cat.”
“I’m not a scaredy cat,” said Claire with dignity. “Everyone’s afraid of vampires.”
“But vampires aren’t real!” said Vanessa.
“They are to me,” said Claire.
Mary Anne sighed. “We could have ice cream on the way home,” she said, hating herself for trying to bribe Claire.
Claire stood her ground. “We had ice cream last night,” she said.
At this point, Margo lost it. “It’s not fair!” she yelled. “Just because Claire’s a big chicken, she has to spoil everything.” She stomped off to her room, and Vanessa followed her.
“It’s not my fault I’m scared,” said Claire, when she and Mary Anne were alone. “I can’t help it.” She looked upset.
“I know,” said Mary Anne. She gave Claire a big hug. “Why don’t you look at your book for a while?” she said, settling Claire on the couch. Then she headed for the phone and dialed my number. As Mary Anne knew, I was home that morning because once again both Mr. and Mrs. Masters were planning to be on the set all day. I was still going to go over there, just to watch Mal do her scene, but for the moment I was enjoying a morning off.
“Kristy,” said Mary Anne, when I answered the phone. “You have to help me.”
“What’s up?” I asked, gulping down the last bite of my pancake.
“It’s Claire,” said Mary Anne. “She refuses to go to the set, and Margo and Vanessa really want to watch Mal. So do I, for that matter.”
I felt bad. I’d sworn to solve Claire’s vampire problem, but I hadn’t done a thing about it. It was now or never. I thought hard, but my mind was a blank.
“I know vampires are scary,” Mary Anne was saying, “but after all, there are scarier things in the world. Why on earth did Claire have to pick vampires?”
“That’s it!” I said.
“What’s it?” asked Mary Anne.
“There are scarier things than vampires,” I said, excitedly. “Suppose Claire were to dress up as the scariest thing she could think of. Maybe you could convince her that if she looked scary enough, the vampires would be afraid of her.”
Mary Anne was silent for a second. “Kristy,” she said, finally. “You’re amazing. I think you’ve done it again. I’ll give it a try, and maybe we’ll see you at the set!”
When she’d hung up, Mary Anne went to find Claire. “Claire, let me ask you something,” she said. “What’s the scariest thing you can think of — besides vampires?”
“Witches,” said Claire, promptly. “But they’re only scary for some people. I’m not afraid of them. I was a witch last Halloween, and everybody was scared of me. Even Nicky.”
“Perfect!” said Mary Anne, under her breath.
“What?” asked Claire.
“Nothing,” said Mary Anne. “It’s just that I was thinking …”
“Thinking what?” asked Claire.
“What if you got out your costume and put it on?” asked Mary Anne. “If witches are that scary, maybe even vampires would be afraid
of you. You could wear your costume to the set, and you’d be perfectly safe.” She crossed her fingers and hoped for the best.
Claire thought it over — for a total of about two seconds. Like most kids, she loves to dress up. All she needs is an excuse, and Mary Anne had just given her a great one.
“Stay right here and don’t move,” she told Mary Anne. “I’ll be right back.” She dashed upstairs.
Mary Anne waited patiently, and about ten minutes later she was well rewarded. When Claire came back down, she was completely transformed. She was wearing a long black gown that trailed on the floor, a black wig that was almost as long as the gown, and a pointy black hat. “Boo!” said Claire proudly, making a scary face and holding out her fingers like claws.
“Woo!” said Mary Anne, admiring the effect. “You sure do look scary. Tell me, are you a real witch?”
Claire giggled. “No, but don’t tell anybody, okay?”
“I won’t,” said Mary Anne. “I especially won’t tell any vampires. Ready to head for the set?”
Claire paused. “Are you sure I really look scary?” she asked.
“I’m positive,” said Mary Anne.
Fifteen minutes later, Mary Anne and Claire were on the set, along with Margo and Vanessa. “Mal!” yelled Margo, spotting her sister emerging from the makeup trailer. “We’re here! We’re here!”
Mal waved, looking a little bewildered when she saw Claire.
“No more yelling,” Mary Anne told Margo. “We have to be really, really quiet if we’re going to stay and watch.” Mary Anne looked up just then and spotted me. We gave each other the thumbs-up sign, and I headed over to join them. Then, all of a sudden, I noticed Mary Anne looking at something behind me. Her eyes had gotten very, very wide. I turned to find out what she was looking at, and almost jumped out of my skin. Following me was a vampire in full costume and makeup, and he was heading straight for Claire. Her back was to him, so she hadn’t spotted him yet, but he was approaching fast. Mary Anne and I exchanged looks. There wasn’t a thing we could do but cross our fingers and hold our breath.