Lights, Camera . . .

  I’m a detective, not an actor, so who would think I’d be involved in a crime both offscreen and on? A producer has come to River Heights to film a reenactment of the heist that gave our town its name, and he thinks I’m perfect for the part of Esther, the sister of the thieving Rackham boys. So I figure, why not give it a try?

  But once the cameras start rolling, the trouble begins. Food poisoning. Broken generators. And worse! If I don’t sniff out some suspects soon, this might be my final act.

  Lights,

  Camera . . .

  Catch my next case:

  Action!

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Cover photograph copyright © 2004 by

  Michael Frost

  Cover designed by Debra Sfetsios

  Ages 8–12

  kids.simonandschuster.com

  0504

  Lights . . . camera . . . cut?

  “So how was Rita, Nancy?” Tripp asked as he pulled some dresses off the rack. “Totally hyper, I bet. She acts like the only reason the computers went down was to inconvenience her.”

  “If you ask me, it’s kind of a blessing,” Julie said, pinning up my hem.

  “Blessing?” I repeated. “How do you mean?”

  “This whole production was a mess long before this morning,” she answered. “It’s probably a good idea for everyone to stop and take a breath.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Aren’t you just getting started? How could it be a mess already?”

  #1 Without a Trace

  #2 A Race Against Time

  #3 False Notes

  #4 High Risk

  #5 Lights, Camera . . .

  Available from Aladdin Paperbacks

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition May 2004

  Copyright © 2004 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  NANCY DREW and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  NANCY DREW: GIRL DETECTIVE is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2003115226

  ISBN-10: 0-689-86570-8

  ISBN-13: 978-0-689-86570-1 (Print)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-442-45944-1 (eBook)

  Contents

  Chapter 1: There’s Something in the Air

  Chapter 2: Bugged!

  Chapter 3: Stealing Thunder

  Chapter 4: Lights!

  Chapter 5: Camera!

  Chapter 6: Cut!

  Chapter 7: Stunt Double

  Chapter 8: Over-the-Shoulder Shot

  Chapter 9: Danger in the Dark

  Chapter 10: What’s My Motivation?

  Chapter 11: Take Two

  Chapter 12: Action!

  There’s Something in the Air

  Shopping for clothes would never be my first choice of things to do on a perfectly beautiful Saturday afternoon. My name is Nancy Drew, and although my friend Bess Marvin might disagree, I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to fashion. But I’m not interested in wasting a lot of time on it either. Not when there are so many more exciting things to do.

  Last Saturday was a perfect example. Bess and her cousin George Fayne—my best friends—and I had planned something for that day, although I honestly don’t remember what it was now. But I know George needed new running shoes and insisted we shop for those first. So we headed to Step Up, the best sports shoe store in River Heights.

  My presence was especially important because George was a little short of money, and I said I’d float her a loan. After all, what are best friends for?

  George is a real athlete, so these shoes were important. I understood that, because I run too. But she and Bess found about a zillion ways to debate . . . well, argue . . . about the merits of one shoe over another! I drifted away from my friends and stood by the front window, looking out on downtown River Heights. Because the weather was so great, there were a lot of people strolling through the streets, skateboarding, and shopping.

  “. . . Don’t you think, Nancy?” Bess asked from the other side of the store.

  “She’s not listening,” George said before I could answer. “She’s off in her own world.”

  Frankly I was beginning to feel a little caged in, and was wondering whether we’d ever get out of there. I felt rescued when I saw Luther Eldridge scurrying across the street. He’s an expert in the history of River Heights and always has interesting stories to share. And he’s also a good friend—so he can be counted on to jolt me out of a major boredom attack.

  “Luther!” I called, stepping outside the store. He didn’t seem to hear me, so I called to him again. This time he stopped abruptly and waved.

  “Nancy, I’m glad to see you,” he answered as he hurried over to my side of the street. The bright sun highlighted the worried expression on his face.

  “Have you heard about the movie?” he asked. “They’re filming a movie here.”

  “Yes, isn’t that great?” I answered. “Dad and I were talking about it last night. It’s going to be a TV movie. Dad’s doing some of the legal work for the location shots around the area. He couldn’t tell me what the film’s about, though. I guess it’s confidential until the official announcement.”

  Luther looked around and then leaned in a little closer. “I know what it’s about, Nancy,” he said. “I just found out a little while ago. Sam Sherman’s place down by the river is going to be one of the shooting locations, and he told me. It’s about us!”

  “Us? What do you mean?”

  “It’s going to be a reenactment of the Rackham Gang heist.”

  “Wow. I know that was a pretty famous crime around this area,” I told him, “but I’m surprised that major movie producers know about it.”

  “Well, Morris Dunnowitz apparently does. He’s a big Hollywood producer and director, and he heard the story somewhere.”

  “Cool. Luther, this is going to be really fun! When do they start shooting?”

  “I don’t know, but they’re already starting to set up camp. No matter when they start, it’ll be too soon as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think it’s going to be fun at all. I think it’ll be a disaster!”

  “Why? It’s an exciting story. I think it’ll make a great movie.”

  “Yes, but sometimes moviemakers change the facts or add things,” Luther pointed out. “They completely change history.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “But maybe that won’t happen this time.”

  “Well, I just don’t see how an outsider like this Morris Dunnowitz—and whoever he’s got writing the screenplay—could possibly know everything about that robbery. And that means the film won’t be the true story.”

  “I know one way we can make sure the moviemakers get it right, Luther. They can hire you as a consultant. You’ve spent a lot of time uncovering all the facts about that case. Who better to make sure they have their facts straight? Where are they setting up camp?”

  “About four miles out of town, on the bluff above Rocky Edge.”

  “So why don’t you just go out there and offer your services? They might jump at the chance to have a local expert filling in some of the details.”

  “Yeah, or they might kic
k me out the door!”

  I could tell Luther needed some support. “I’ll go with you,” I offered. “Come on. It’s worth a try.”

  A small smile creased Luther’s face. I was really fired up, because hanging out on a movie set was a far better escape from shoe shopping than I could have thought up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I told him.

  I told Bess and George where I was going, handed George a wad of money, and told them that I’d be back in touch later. Then I rejoined Luther and we walked to his car. He drove out of town along River Road until we reached Rocky Edge, where the deep Muskoka River curves to the south.

  “That’s got to be it,” I told Luther. I pointed to a group of trailers clustered on the bluff. A couple of unmarked moving vans were parked nearby, and a few people were strolling around from trailer to trailer. Luther pulled the car into a spot under a huge old sycamore. I was surprised to see there was no fence around the area, and no guards watching for trespassers.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go get you on the payroll.”

  A large metal building anchored the nearest end of the compound of trailers. The building’s door was open, and it rocked a little on its hinges as the wind came up the side of the bluff from the river fifty yards below. A sign above the door announced OFFICE in red paint. I led Luther to the open door and peered inside the building.

  The front room looked like a small office—a very busy office. Three women and a man were working at separate desks. Fingers flew over computer keyboards, and voices babbled into headsets.

  I gave Luther a gentle prod, and he stepped up to the first desk.

  “I’m . . . I’m here to see Mr. Dunnowitz,” he said in a soft voice. “Where might I find him?”

  The girl at the desk never looked away from her computer screen or disconnected from her phone, but she managed to answer Luther. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked. “May I have your name?”

  “No, I don’t have an appointment,” Luther said, his voice stronger and more forceful. “But it is imperative that I speak with him. If he can’t see me now, could we just set a time when I can come back?”

  The girl finally stopped typing and looked at Luther, then at me, then back at Luther. “Actually, he’s out on the grounds somewhere. Just ask anyone where he is. Try the lighting trailer first. He’s in a pretty good mood today. If you can find him, you can probably talk to him now.” She turned back to her work.

  Luther and I left the building and started toward the trailers. Small metal signs next to each door identified the activity inside: WARDROBE, MAKEUP, FIRST AID, COACHING.

  At the far end of the compound stood two large temporary buildings. The doors of one were open, revealing a lot of activity inside. It was outfitted with metal and carpentry shops, and a half dozen tradesmen were hard at work.

  “There’s the lighting trailer,” I said. “Let’s check it out.”

  Luther went to knock on the trailer door, but there was no response. I climbed up the three steps and pulled the door open.

  “Hello,” I said. “We’re looking for Mr. Dunnowitz. We were told he might be here.”

  “He just left,” someone called from the back room. “Try the sound studio.”

  A huge building had been constructed where all the movie’s interior sets were being built. Luther knocked on the door, and this time someone answered with a friendly “come in.”

  The first room was filled with computers and electronic video machines and playbacks. Two men were huddled over a notebook full of handwritten pages dotted with simple drawings. They both looked startled to see us.

  “You’re not who we expected at all,” said one man with a slight smile. “You must be new. When did you join the team?”

  “That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Luther said. “Is either of you Morris Dunnowitz?”

  “I am,” the other man said, walking toward us.

  “This is my cinematographer, Lee Chang.”

  “I’m Luther Eldridge, and this is—”

  “No!” Mr. Dunnowitz said, extending his hand for a shake. “That’s uncanny. I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon! You’ve heard about our film, I’m sure. I’m the director, and I’m also producing it. Probably a dumb idea to do both, but I want to make sure it’s done right. I love this story, and I want everyone to love it the way I do. Nothing like century-old crimes to grab an audience’s attention. But you know that, don’t you? I understand that you’re sort of the resident historian for this splendid town. So are you ready to go to work for us? We really need you! In fact, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Mr. Dunnowitz finally stopped talking, and Luther seemed sort of dumbstruck. So I stepped in.

  “That is exactly why we’re here, Mr. Dunnowitz,” I began. “Luther—”

  “It’s Morris,” the director said, turning to smile warmly at me. “Please call me Morris.”

  “Morris,” Luther said. “I came to talk to you about being hired on as a consultant. I really know the history behind—”

  “Exactly,” Morris said, interrupting the conversation again. “I’ve researched this town—every nook and cranny, every business and government office, every citizen. I know all about you, and would love to have you on board—and we’re prepared to make it worth your while.” He named a figure that made Luther’s eyes pop out a little in shock. It wasn’t a really huge sum—but it was pretty huge for Luther. “Of course, if there are schedule extensions, you’ll be paid more accordingly.”

  Luther and Morris shook hands again, this time to seal the deal.

  “And you, young lady.” Morris turned to me. “What’s your story?” he asked. “Who are you?”

  “This is Nancy Drew,” Luther said. “She’s—”

  “The famous detective,” Morris said. “Of course.”

  “You know who I am?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he explained. “Anyone who’s studied River Heights is going to know about Nancy Drew. I hoped I’d meet you. Maybe we can find some time to talk while I’m here. You might have some other cases that we could turn into movies.”

  I was really surprised that he’d heard of me. In fact, it made me feel really good. But the best part was seeing Luther’s beaming smile. I could tell he felt a lot better about the way the movie was going to be made.

  “Let’s get you a script, Luther,” Morris said, striding to the door. “The screenplay was written by Althea Waters, and she’s here on the set. I think you’ll like each other. You’d better,” he added, with a broad grin. “You’ll be working pretty closely together for a while!”

  Morris led Luther and me out of the building and across the compound.

  “Speaking of working on the production,” Morris said, “we plan to use some of the local residents as extras and even for some smaller roles. We’re on a fairly tight budget, so the pay won’t be outstanding, but it will be pretty good.”

  “What are you getting at?” Luther asked.

  “Nancy, I think you’d be perfect in the role of Esther Rackham,” Morris said.

  “Yes!” Luther exclaimed. “Of course. The sister of the thieving Rackham boys. You know, Nancy—she’s the one who tried to keep them from stealing the money. He’s right—you’d be perfect.”

  “And she died without revealing anything she might have known about the fate of her brothers,” Morris added. “It’s a small role, but a juicy one, Nancy. Have you had any acting experience?”

  “Not professionally,” I told him. “I’ve done some local productions—in high school and in a community theater. I don’t know . . .”

  My heart was pounding. Actually the idea was really exciting. Me—in a real movie. But I wanted to think about it.

  “Think about it,” Morris said, as if he was reading my thoughts. “But I’d love to have you on board. After all, the movie’s about the original mystery in River Heights, and you’re the town’s most original detective. Here we are—the supply trailer.”


  He tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Then he checked his watch.

  “My supply chief must be on break,” he told us. “We always keep this trailer locked if there’s no one on duty inside. Fortunately, I have my own key.”

  We went inside, and Morris headed straight for a double-door closet at the front of the trailer. He opened the door. “Hmmm . . . the light’s not working,” he muttered. “It’s supposed to go on when the door opens. Let me see. I think the scripts are stacked up here.”

  My eyes followed his arm as it reached up toward a deep shelf piled high with papers. Something flashed from the back of the shelf behind his hand. At first I thought it might be the automatic closet light, sputtering on after all. But then I saw the flashes again. Two of them, glinting yellow as they reflected the light from the room’s fluorescent ceiling bulb.

  My stomach turned over as my eyes got used to the dark at the back of the closet. A huge cat—or something—was lurking in the corner of the shelf.

  “Morris!” I yelled. “Get back!”

  With a flash of yellow eyes and sharp teeth, a large blob covered in long black hair lunged from the back of the shelf.

  Bugged!

  It wasn’t a cat—it didn’t take more than a second to find that out. When the hairy blob flew off the shelf toward Morris, the acrid stink of skunk spray filled the room.

  A flurry of paper drifted from the shelf as the skunk skidded into the air. Morris ducked slightly, and his back became a landing pad on the skunk’s path to escape. Morris reached around, waving his arms to bat off the intruder, but the skunk sank its incisors into Morris’s hand.