“Hi, you two!” Nancy called up the stairs when the song was over.
“How was the party?” George asked.
“Nancy, George, you’re home!” Bess cried, galloping down the stairs. “The party was great. I now have the autographs of Billy Rutteridge, Malcolm Coleman, and every one of the Blue Mountain Boys,” she said proudly.
Louisa appeared on the stairs behind Bess, wearing a checked robe and a huge smile. “Are you two hungry?” she asked. “Bess and I ate so much at that party that we’re both stuffed. But there’s some macaroni and cheese that you can heat up in the microwave.”
“Thanks,” George said. “We never did get to eat lunch, and I’m starved.”
As they all went into the kitchen, Louisa’s face took on a more serious look. “How did your day go? Find out anything?”
“Whew,” Nancy answered. “Did we ever. Tell them, George.”
While Nancy fixed herself and George a couple of plates, George filled Louisa and Bess in on everything they’d learned about Melanie, J.J., and Spike.
“Seems to me,” Louisa said when George was finished, “that you’ve learned more about Curtis’s death in a few days than the police learned in five years.”
Nancy laughed. “That’s not quite fair, Louisa,” she pointed out. “Remember, the police weren’t even aware that there was anything to look for. They never saw the song or heard the tape.”
Propping her elbows on the kitchen table, Bess said, “Poor Tyrone. He has to live with Melanie and J.J. Do you think they might try to hurt him because he’s looking into Curtis’s death?”
“I hope not,” Nancy told her.
“Uh-oh,” Louisa said, pointing at the kitchen clock over her sink. “We’d better get ready. It’s only one hour to showtime, and there’s bound to be a lot of traffic tonight.”
Half an hour later Louisa, Nancy, and George were back in the front hall.
“Come on, Bess,” George called up the stairs, smoothing her red sweater dress. Nancy and Louisa were waiting with her by the door, Nancy in a brown leather skirt and silky white blouse, and Louisa in a belted green dress.
A moment later Bess joined them, wearing a black silk jumpsuit. “Okay, I’m ready,” she announced.
“We can take my car,” Nancy said as they stepped out of the house.
Ten minutes later, when Nancy turned onto one of Maywood’s main drags, she found herself in the biggest traffic jam she had experienced since the last time she’d been in New York City. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “We’ll never get there on time.”
Louisa leaned forward from the backseat, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I haven’t lived in Maywood fifteen years for nothing,” she said. “Take a left up by that doughnut shop.”
“You mean that little alley?” Nancy asked.
“That’s right. This town is filled with shortcuts, if you know where they are,” Louisa said, flashing a knowing smile.
Nancy squeezed her car out of the traffic and through the alley. After she’d dodged a couple of Dumpsters, she pulled onto a nearly empty street. “Just go down the hill here and under the railroad trestle. We’ll come out by the loading dock of the Civic Center.”
“Ha!” Nancy cried triumphantly as Louisa’s directions led them exactly where she’d said they would. “Louisa, you’re a genius.”
It took them another ten minutes to get into the parking lot and find a spot, but Nancy saw that they still had a few minutes before the show was due to start. They joined the stream of people who were invited to the rehearsal as they flowed toward the Civic Center. Nancy was filled with excitement. Not only was she going to see a great concert once, but she’d have a chance to see the same performers the next night.
Inside, Nancy and her friends took their seats, which were in the ninth row, as the house lights faded to black. The only light in the hall was the brilliant yellow radiating from the stage lights.
Rambling Rosie Rodgers, a comedian, was the first act on the bill. She warmed the crowd up with her funny jokes, which were punctuated by harmonica music.
After Rambling Rosie came Billy Rutteridge, singing a musical tribute to Curtis. Rutteridge was followed by the Blue Mountain Boys, who did a medley of bluegrass music.
“They’re fantastic!” Nancy yelled to Bess over the audience’s loud cheering. “I’ve got to get one of their albums.”
The cheers faded when Melanie Taylor stepped center stage for her first number, “Losing My Heart.” The moving strains of the piano introduction came, and then her smooth voice glided into the music.
Nancy noticed that even Louisa was enraptured by her singing. By the time Melanie finished three numbers, Nancy suspected she had made more than a few new fans—namely, everybody in the audience.
“Tyrone is on after this,” Bess said excitedly as the crowd cheered for Melanie. “Wait till you see his neon guitar light up.”
There was no time for Nancy to remind Bess that she’d already seen the special-effect instrument, so Nancy just leaned back in her seat, ready to enjoy the act.
Tyrone looked fantastic in the gold lamé cowboy outfit, Nancy thought. As he played the opening bars of “Loose as a Goose,” Tyrone swooped and jumped with the guitar from one side of the stage to the other. Colorful sparkles of light shot out everywhere from the guitar.
“Oh, I’m loose as a goose, as a goose on the loose. I was caught in a noose, but—”
Suddenly Tyrone gave an agonized, guttural cry that made Nancy flinch. In an instant smoke was pouring from the guitar as sparks flew around Tyrone. The singer writhed in agony, trying to disengage himself from the instrument.
“Oh, no!” Nancy exclaimed, grabbing Bess’s arm. “Tyrone’s being electrocuted!”
Chapter
Ten
NANCY WATCHED IN HORROR as Tyrone collapsed on the stage floor.
“Help him!” Bess shrieked, jumping to her feet. “Somebody help him!” Other people around the girls started moving from their seats, surging forward to get a closer look at the stricken performer.
Onstage two men with hand-held fire extinguishers appeared, smothering the flames in a steaming mist. Several other people approached Tyrone, circling him, but not touching him. They seemed to be anxiously awaiting someone else—a doctor, Nancy presumed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a disembodied voice echoed through the hall. Nancy guessed it was someone from the management talking from the sound booth above the arena. “Please remain in your seats and stay calm. Mr. Taylor will be attended to immediately. Meanwhile, we ask you to be patient. In a few minutes we’ll announce whether the rehearsal will proceed as planned. Thank you.”
That announcement had some effect on the crowd, and Nancy was relieved to see that most people did as instructed.
“I’m going up there,” Bess said, pushing her way past Louisa and George, out into the aisle.
“Bess, no,” George said, grabbing hold of her sleeve. “You can’t do anything for him now. You’ll only get in the way.”
Just then a man carrying a black medical bag ran onto the stage toward Tyrone. The people around the singer made space, and the doctor knelt beside Tyrone, checking for vital signs.
“Oh, good, a doctor’s there now,” Bess said in a small voice, her blue eyes filled with tears.
With a wave of his arm the doctor summoned two large men carrying a stretcher. An audible cry of relief went through the crowd as Nancy and the others noticed Tyrone move slightly. Seconds later he was rushed off the stage on the stretcher.
“I’ve got to find out where they’re taking him,” Bess said, getting up again and hurrying down the aisle toward the stage.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, Louisa called after Bess. “Probably to Maywood Medical Center. It’s the closest hospital.” But Bess didn’t seem to hear.
“Let’s go with Bess,” Nancy said, turning to George. “I want to check out a few things onstage.” She reached for her car keys and gave them to Louisa. “Woul
d you mind bringing my car around back to the loading dock and waiting there?” she asked.
When Louisa gave her a quizzical look, Nancy explained, “They’re definitely going to cancel this concert, and I want to be able to leave for the hospital before the crowd pours out of here.”
Hurrying down the red-carpeted aisle, Nancy and George caught up with Bess near the edge of the stage, talking to a security guard.
“He’s already on his way to Maywood Medical Center,” Bess informed Nancy and George. “Come on, let’s go.”
But Nancy and George held back. “Louisa’s bringing the car around to the loading dock to wait for us, but I need to look around the stage first,” Nancy said in a low voice so the guard wouldn’t hear. “Do you see anyone who might let us up there?”
Grinning, Bess fished around in her bag and pulled out a pass that read Stage Crew—Curtis Taylor Five-Year Memorial Gala. “I saved this from when I worked with Tyrone yesterday. She showed the pass to the guard, who immediately let the girls up the short set of steps that led to the stage.
“Hey!” a burly man from the crew shouted when he noticed the girls were about to step onstage. “No one’s allowed—”
But he stopped the minute Bess looked up. “Oh, it’s you. Come on up, Bess.”
“These girls are with me, Frank,” Bess explained. “Where’s the nearest exit to the loading dock from here?”
The stagehand pointed across the backstage area. “Back past those backdrops, over by the wall—you’ll see a door.”
“Thanks,” Bess said. Looking expectantly at Nancy, she asked, “What do you want to check out?”
“You and George look around and see if you can find out where J.J. and Melanie are,” Nancy told her. “Meanwhile, I want to check out this equipment.”
Nancy stepped close to the place where Tyrone’s guitar lay on the floor, then followed the charred cables across the stage.
“Spike,” she said, practically bumping into the long-haired former drummer where the wires crossed into the backstage area. “What are you doing here?”
Curtis Taylor’s former drummer was leaning against the backstage wall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants. “What are you doing here?” he shot back. “I’ve been coming here off and on since this circus came to town. I’ve got a lot of old pals I like to hang out with, do you mind?”
“It was just a question,” Nancy said. When he walked away, she stared after him for a moment, then continued following the cables.
Behind a trunk filled with unused stage equipment, Nancy found what she was looking for. A section of two cables was taped together. Carefully unwrapping the silver tape, which was still hot to the touch, she saw that the cables had been stripped of their insulation. A deliberate short circuit if there ever was one, Nancy thought.
She looked excitedly around for Bess and George. A moment later she spotted them hurrying toward her from the stage’s left wing.
“Well, J.J. and Melanie were both here,” Bess told Nancy. “We saw Eddie—you remember, the guy George was dancing with at that party? Anyway, he said J.J. was in Melanie’s dressing room for an hour before the show, and they had a huge fight. Eddie heard her say she wanted to break off the relationship, personal and business. When he asked why, she told him she was in love with another man.”
“Eddie didn’t hear her say who it was, though,” George added.
Nancy blew out a breath as this new information sank in. “Spike is here, too, which means that any of our suspects could have been the one who did this.” She gestured to where the wires had been bared and taped together.
“He could have been killed!” Bess gasped. “Whoever did that deserves to be locked up.”
With a firm nod Nancy said, “That’s exactly what I intend to do. Come on, you guys. I want to show this to a security guard. And then let’s go to the hospital.”
• • •
A large group of people were assembled at the hospital in the visitors’ waiting area. Among them were photographers and reporters, even a videotape crew.
Melanie was there, too, Nancy saw. The singer was still wearing the glittery outfit she’d performed in earlier. Her usually pretty face looked tired and drawn as she slumped down in one of the turquoise vinyl chairs lining the waiting room.
Looking around, Nancy’s eyes were drawn to the other side of the room, where a gray-haired man sat in a corner, wearing slacks, a knit turtleneck, and a beige cap.
“Vickers,” she called out, going over to him. Bess, George, and Louisa were right behind her. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”
“Good evening, ladies,” he said quietly. “Tonight was my night off, so I thought I’d take in the dress rehearsal.” With a miserable shake of his head the butler added, “It certainly didn’t turn out to be a very festive occasion.”
Just then one of the doors marked Authorized Personnel Only swung open, and a well-dressed young woman wearing a white lab jacket stepped in front of the assembled crowd. “I have an announcement,” she said in a loud voice.
Nancy and her friends stepped closer to her. As videotape crews flashed on their lights, the woman began reading from a clipboard. “Half an hour ago Mr. Tyrone Taylor was admitted to this center, the victim of a severe electrical shock, which he received in an accident during a performance this evening. Mr. Taylor is alive, but his condition is quite serious. Our staff will report to you again in one hour. Thank you.” With that, she turned on her heel and pushed back through the swinging door.
“At least he’s alive,” Bess murmured as George threw a comforting arm around her cousin’s shoulders.
“Do you think we should stay here or go home?” Louisa asked the girls.
“Stay here, of course,” Bess answered.
Shrugging, George said, “Whatever you all want to do . . .”
With the case still unsolved, Nancy wasn’t sure whether to stay at the hospital or leave. She had a feeling that Tyrone’s accident was connected to Curtis Taylor’s death, that whoever had killed Curtis was sending Tyrone and Nancy a strong message to back off the case. And that meant it was extremely urgent that she find Curtis Taylor’s killer as quickly as possible.
The case had been frustrating so far. Since Curtis had died five years earlier, it wasn’t as if there was still any concrete evidence lying around.
Or was there?
Nancy’s head snapped up suddenly. “You guys, I just thought of something. Remember what Vickers said about the formal living room being unchanged since the night Curtis died?”
Louisa, Bess, and George all nodded.
“Well, I was thinking about that. Melanie told the coroner that Curtis had one bourbon every night at eight,” Nancy went on. “If he was killed, maybe there’s some clue in that bar we saw in the formal living room.”
“Sounds like a long shot,” George put in doubtfully, “but I’ll go with you to check it out if you want.”
Nancy noticed Vickers getting up to leave. Calling over to him, she asked, “Would you mind giving us a lift to Greenwood? There are a few things I’d like to look at over there.”
“Of course, Miss Drew,” he answered.
After making arrangements for Bess and Louisa to pick them up at the estate in an hour and a half, Nancy and George left with the butler.
Half an hour later the girls found themselves alone in Greenwood’s formal living room, where Nancy made a beeline for the bar.
“Melanie told the coroner that Curtis had one bourbon every night at eight.” She searched through the row of colored glass decanters until she found the one marked Bourbon. Uncorking it, she sniffed inside the bottle. “It doesn’t smell very strong.”
George walked over to the bar and handed Nancy a glass from a nearby hanging rack. “Pour some,” she suggested.
“I thought bourbon was a kind of orange color,” George said, staring skeptically at the clear liquid Nancy had poured into the glass. “Maybe that’s gin or vo
dka. They’re both clear, like water.”
After dipping her finger into the glass and tasting it, Nancy raised an eyebrow. “This is water.”
“Do the other decanters all have water in them, too?” George asked, uncapping them one at a time.
A simple sniff was all the answer either of them needed. “These are all full of the real thing,” Nancy said.
“Which means—?” George began.
“Somebody tampered with this decanter,” Nancy concluded. “Probably the same person who put barbiturates in it for Curtis to drink.”
“So whoever killed Curtis Taylor had to have access to the formal living room in order to come back and get rid of the evidence after Curtis’s death.”
Nancy nodded, walking distractedly over to one of the living room windows. Her brow knit in concentration as she stared out over the grounds.
“Melanie Taylor, J. J. Rahmer, and Spike Wilson,” she murmured, letting her eyes rove over the public part of the estate, now dark except for a few security lights. “Which one did it?”
“Hey, Nan, look,” George said, walking up beside her and leaning closer to the window. “Someone’s down there.”
Focusing more sharply, Nancy glimpsed a shadowy figure swinging something down by Curtis Taylor’s memorial.
“I can’t believe it,” she gasped a moment later. “Someone’s out there trying to smash Curtis’s gravestone!”
Chapter
Eleven
COME ON!” Nancy cried, running toward the kitchen. There was a door there that led out to the formal gardens, she remembered. That seemed like the most direct way to the public part of the estate.
“Vickers, call the security guards right away!” she exclaimed when she saw the butler reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. “Better tell them to contact the police, too!”
George was right behind Nancy as she flew across the lawn and past the gardens. In seconds large floodlights blinked on, spilling bright light all over the public part of the estate. The separating wall was down the knoll from Nancy and George, and Nancy was able to glimpse a shadowy form run into the trees. In the glare of the emergency lights, she could also make out a large gash in the neck of the marble guitar-shaped statue next to Curtis Taylor’s tombstone.