Part 9 (1/2)

Nancy sighed and looked at her friend. ”Bess, as a friend, I've got to tell you this: You are totally insane!” Then pus.h.i.+ng her friend playfully, she whispered, ”But go for it. I hope she notices you. I'll see you when it's time for our scene, okay? I want to check out Rick's new dressing room.”

Rick was dressing and being made up in an improvised area across the hall from the costume room. He sat staring listlessly into s.p.a.ce, still stunned by what had happened the day before. Kay was with him.

”So, Rick,” she was saying, trying to cheer him up, ”are you going to give me a hand here, or do I have to do this all myself?”

But Rick didn't move. He seemed so scared-as though there was a voice inside his head telling him over and over again that someone was trying to kill him. And that he or she might very well succeed.

Nancy leaned up against a wall and watched as Kay put some warm water into the sink. ”No mirrors in here, I hope you've noticed,” she said, trying to make a joke. When she saw she wasn't getting through to Rick even a little bit, she sighed wearily and picked up a stick of makeup.

”Okay, here we go,” she said, uncapping it. Then, ”Oops!” she cried as the stick slipped out of her hands and fell into the wet sink.

”Clumsy me,” she said to herself, shaking her head. Suddenly, there was a hissing noise. The water in the sink began bubbling furiously.

”What the-?” Rick gasped. A sharp odor rose from the sink.

Nancy recognized the smell. ”That's acid,” she whispered.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” Kay cried, her hands on her cheeks as she watched the acid eat holes in the stainless steel sink. ”Rick, that could have been your face!”

Chapter Fourteen.

”THAT'S IT!” RICK exclaimed, ”I've had it!” He tried to pick up his suede jacket, but even a simple action such as this was difficult because of the bandages on his hands. Growling with disgust, he stormed out of the room.

”Rick?” Kay called, following him down the corridor. ”Where are you going?”

”Forget it, Kay. I'm taking a nice long walk and going someplace where n.o.body can find me.”

Just at that moment, a beet-faced William Pappas stepped into the hallway. ”What's going on here?” he asked as the handsome actor flew down the hall.

”I'm out of here. Off the show. I'm not taking any more chances.”

”But you're under contract, Arlen! You can't just leave!”

”Oh, yeah? Watch me.” With that, Rick pushed past the angry producer and made his way toward the entrance.

Pappas made a lunge for him, but a couple of crew members restrained him.

”Come on, Mr. Pappas, calm down,” they urged him. ”Give him a break. The guy's been under a lot of stress lately.”

Pappas let the men straighten his suit as he muttered under his breath, ”He's under tension? What am I-chopped liver? I'm behind schedule, and the network is breathing down my back. I have ratings to think of!”

But it was too late. Rick was out the door and gone. Nancy and Kay looked on as the producer fumed, powerless to stop him.

Seconds later Luther Parks hurried up to them, running a hand nervously through his silver hair. ”Bill, someone just said Rick Arlen left! What do you want me to do?”

But Pappas was in no mood for creative solutions. ”You're the director,” he snarled, heading back to his office. ”Think of something!”

Luther shrugged and turned to Lillian, who was standing beside him. ”We'll shoot the hospital scene with Mattie,” he said.

”Whatever you say,” Lillian drawled, throwing a wink Nancy's way. ”Report to duty, Nurse Drew. And try not to miss your cue.”

Standing in the make-believe operating room as the crew adjusted the lights, Nancy's spirits sank. Rick was out on the street somewhere, unprotected. And there she was on her last day in town, about to walk around in the background of a fictional scene instead of tracking down a very real criminal.

Someone had found a way to get around the set undetected, again and again. That was the key. In spite of guards at the doors, and people everywhere, Rick's enemy had gotten in. If she only knew how! If she could only discover the method behind the madness, she felt sure the rest would fall into place. But how could she do anything now?

”Action!” came Lillian's voice. Taking her medicine tray, Nancy crossed the set, put the tray down, and walked back again, heaving a deep sigh.

Action. That's exactly what was needed. If only there was some action she could take!

”Cheer up, Nancy.” Bess peered sympathetically into the mirror at her friend's reflection. Nancy wasn't used to losing and it hurt. Bess pulled a comb through her blond hair and twisted it up in one deft move. She fastened it in place, and searched for something comforting to say. ”I know it's a b.u.mmer, but you win some and you lose some.” Somehow those weren't the words she had been looking for.

”Well, I don't really feel like going out to dinner, that's for sure,” Nancy replied listlessly. She reached for her makeup case on the bathroom counter.

”But we're going to a really great restaurant! Your aunt, Eloise, said it's one of her favorites. And I can't wait to tell her about my big scene today. The videotape editor told me he was sure I got into the shot. Can you imagine? There I am, actually handing a paper to Mattie Jensen on national TV! My mother will flip!”

Nancy lifted the collar of her mauve jacket and fastened a rhinestone pin to the lapel. ”There's just so little time left and so many unanswered questions.”

Suddenly the door buzzer rang. ”Come on, Nancy. That's the signal. Your aunt and the cab are waiting!” Bess cried. ”Be right down!” she called into the intercom.

At the restaurant the girls were seated by a lovely young hostess, who looked more like a model than a restaurant employee.

”Pierre will be your waiter,” she told them.

Just then, a young man with twinkling eyes and a handlebar mustache approached the table.

”Bonsoir. Je m'appelle Pierre. Here I haf ze menu,” he said in a thick French accent. Bess couldn't help giggling as he handed the menus around the table, giving each of them a seductive look. ”I can tell zees table will be my favorite of ze night.”

”I didn't know this place served French food,” Eloise mused out loud, watching him go.

”It doesn't,” Bess remarked in surprise as she looked over the menu. ”A French waiter at an American restaurant. That's weird.”

”Not for New York it's not,” Nancy's aunt replied.

Nancy's eyes followed the waiter to the bar, where he put in an order for some other customers. ”Hey, Steve,” he yelled in a regular voice, ”give me three mineral waters and a c.o.ke.”