Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) by Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

before.
    A shiver shot down my spine. This place was creeping me out, and I’d learned what I could from the plane. It was time to get out of here.
    “I could have sworn this door opened out,” I said, as I pushed against the heavy fire door. I tried pulling on it, but to no avail. I grabbed the handle and rattled it as hard as I could, but the door stayed stubbornly in place.
    I ducked my head down and prepared to give the door a good shoulder slam, but something caught my eye: a plain white sheet of paper on the ground. In big penciled letters, someone had written “LEAVE!”
    Just in case I didn’t get the message, they’d underlined it. Twice.
    Too bad for them I wasn’t good at taking hints.
    “Hey!” I yelled, as I pounded on the door. “Let me out!”
    The heavy metal door absorbed the sound, and all I got for the effort was a sore hand. This could take a while, I realized.
    After fifteen minutes of calling for help, my throat started to get sore. After thirty, I could feel a bruise forming on my right hand, so I switched to hitting the door with my left.
    Finally, after nearly an hour, the door cracked open to reveal Bess, George, and Claire’s dresser, Jason.
    “Woohoo!” I whooped. “I’ve been pounding on that door forever.”
    “What are you doing down here?” George asked. “Jason was showing us around. If he hadn’t opened the door, we’d have never heard you on the other side.”
    “Long story,” I said, hiding the piece of paper behind my back so Jason wouldn’t see it. You could never be too careful.

CHAPTER 7
    JOE
    MY CUP RUNNETH OVER … WITH POISON!
    I can’t lie: I was excited to get off of Damien’s magical memorization tour. That guy knew more useless facts than Frank, and Frank studied trivia like it was his job! (And, okay, sometimes it comes in handy on a case, so I guess it is his job.) When Claire pulled me aside, I jumped on the chance to escape. We walked over to a quiet corner behind a giant piece of scenery meant to evoke Paris during the war.
    “So what’s up?” Claire asked, twirling her hair around her finger and leaning against a painted lamp post. “Nancy says you have a few questions for me?”
    I smiled big at Claire and got ready to work my patented “mo-Joe” on her.
    “I wanted to ask you about the other night. What happened that made you miss the show?”
    “You were there,” she said with a smirk. “You know what happened.”
    My mo-Joe must have been off. I tried again.
    “Yeah, but … what happened? Tell me like I wasn’t there.”
    “I got sick, okay?” Claire huffed. This was clearly a subject that made her irritated. “It sucks. I’m never sick. I can’t let down my fans like that.”
    I was pretty sure the juice box was our culprit, but I needed to make sure she hadn’t eaten anything else.
    “When did you start feeling sick?”
    “Right before we went on. I was talking to you, and I had my juice, and then my stomach started to cramp real bad. The next thing I knew, I was saying hi to my lunch.”
    “Where do the juice boxes come from?”
    “They’re in my rider. I require them on every set. Meredith used to stock them for me, but since she quit … I don’t know who’s been doing it.
    “Meredith?”
    “My personal assistant. She quit two weeks ago.”
    A recently departed employee? Someone who must have been super close to Claire? I smelled a suspect! Maybe the poisoned juice box was some sort of twisted good-bye present.
    “Really? How did you two get along? Where did she go?”
    “She was the worst!” said Claire with an exaggerated sigh. “She didn’t cut me any slack. Once, she dragged me out of bed for a meeting. I mean, literally dragged me. I’m a star! I don’t take that.”
    This was sounding better and better. The case was going to be wrapped up by lunch.
    “Of course, that’s why I loved her. I can’t have a bunch of yes-men around letting me do whatever I want, or I’d never do anything. Meredith