They crossed the street to look at the big metal container. Nancy knelt down and studied the wide steel wheels. “See that?” she said to Bess. “The wheels at one end have simple brakes built into them. Either they weren’t set properly . . . ”
“Or somebody deliberately released them,” Bess said, finishing Nancy’s sentence. “Then whoever it was gave the thing a shove to start it down the street in our direction. Thank goodness we had plenty of time to get out of the way.”
Nancy nodded. “Whoever did it was more interested in sending us a warning than in really hurting us,” she speculated. “Though he or she obviously didn’t care if we did get hurt.”
“Look what that thing did to my car!” the guy from the store exclaimed. “Do you have any idea who did this?”
“Sorry, no,” Nancy told him. “But if we find out, we’ll let you know. Come on, Bess. Let’s go look at where the Dumpster was parked before it went on its joyride.”
As she and Bess walked up the block toward the corner, Nancy studied the street. The Dumpster had left faint muddy tracks on the pavement. As they approached the spot where the other Dumpster was still parked, Nancy caught her breath.
The mud in the gutter was trampled, as if someone had stepped all over it. And just next to the curb was a clear footprint.
Nancy went down on one knee and studied it. Then she rummaged through her shoulder bag. She pulled out the sketch she had made the day before, on the stairs down to the freight tunnel.
Bess, peering over her shoulder, said, “Nancy! They’re the same shoe!”
Nancy nodded grimly. “It looks that way,” she said. “Whoever rolled that Dumpster at us is probably our eavesdropper from yesterday.”
“But how did he know we were here?” Bess wondered.
“Ann Bowers and Cody Charles were the only people who knew that we were back in town,” Nancy pointed out. “At least I think they were.”
Bess looked dubious. “I can’t imagine Ann Bowers wearing sneakers,” she said. “She’s more the type for expensive Italian slingbacks. Besides, as you said yesterday, this shoe is too big for most women.”
“She could have hired someone else to do it,” Nancy said. “What if she invented this whole kidnapping plot to cover up for Cindy’s running away? Giving us a scare would make it all even more believable.”
“But Cody got a call from the kidnapper, too,” Bess objected.
“That could have been Ann, using one of those voice distorters,” said Nancy. “Look, there’s a pay phone on the corner. Let’s call to see if she’s home.”
A couple of minutes later, she hung up and turned to Bess. “Well,” she said, “I talked to Gayle. She said Ms. Bowers was on the other line, talking to some designer in Milan. And according to Gayle, she’s been home, on the phone, for at least the last half hour. I wonder if she was lining up somebody to attack us?”
Bess looked worried. Nancy knew what she was thinking: they were staying in this woman’s apartment. If she was determined to hurt them, she’d have plenty of opportunities.
Nancy went on. “I tried to question Gayle, but she was on her way out. She said she’s working on a commercial this afternoon—at the Film Center, Studio 6B. I persuaded her to talk to us there.”
Nancy and Bess got back in the Mustang and drove to the Film Center. They found their way up to Studio 6B and rang the bell.
A young woman in a black leather miniskirt opened the door. “Come on in,” she said softly, “but don’t make any noise.”
She led them inside. The studio was a bit smaller and more cluttered than the one Carlo was using. The set was decorated to look like a suburban living room. Half a dozen teenage girls in pajamas were sprawled on the floor around a huge bowl of popcorn.
One of them was Gayle. She looked up, noticed Bess and Nancy, and waved. Then another girl playfully threw a fluffy kernel of popcorn at her. Gayle giggled and threw one back.
Bess tugged urgently on Nancy’s sleeve. Nancy looked to where she was pointing and halted in surprise.
A tall, thin man was bending down to peer through the viewfinder of the camera. When he straightened up and looked around, Nancy recognized him.
It was the same man she and Bess had noticed in the hall outside Carlo’s studio the day before.
“Paul, come check this out,” a lighting director called to him. Nancy and Bess exchanged glances. So it was Carlo’s rival, Paul Norman!
Nancy swiftly glanced at his shoes. She felt a touch of disappointment. He was wearing brown tassel loafers without socks, not Ourson running shoes.
Gayle’s boyfriend, Jason, was standing on the other side of the set. He noticed Nancy and Bess and came around to join them.
“Gayle asked me to come, for moral support,” he whispered. “She’s really upset about Cindy’s being kidnapped. Upset, and scared, too.”
Before Nancy or Bess could reply, Paul Norman called out, “Okay, everybody, five-minute break. But, girls, stay on the set. I don’t want you to lose that pose now.” Looking over his shoulder, he added, “Porfirio? Start another big batch of popcorn, please. The aroma helps to create just the right mood.”
He beckoned to the young woman who had answered the door. He spoke to her briefly, then looked over at Nancy and Bess, his eyes narrowing. He walked over to them. “You must be the girls Gayle had asked to meet her here,” he said. “You’re detectives?”
“Yes. We need to talk to Gayle for a couple of minutes,” Nancy replied. “But could we ask you a few questions first about Cindy Sunderland?”
Norman raised his eyebrows. “Cindy? Why not ask Carlo Festa? He’s using her in the new campaign he’s filming, you know.” His voice had a sarcastic ring.
“We know,” Bess said. “But Cindy didn’t turn up for the first day of filming. No one knows where she is or what’s happened to her.”
“Well, I certainly don’t,” Paul Norman told her. He looked surprisingly unconcerned. “I don’t think I’ve seen her for weeks and weeks.”
Nancy took a deep breath. “Was it a big disappointment when Carlo was given those cereal commercials instead of you?” she asked.
Norman stiffened. “Who told you—” he began, then broke off with an exaggerated shrug. “Half the people in this business live only to gossip,” he scoffed. “No, it wasn’t a big disappointment. A very tiny one, frankly. Carlo lucked out this time, but luck goes around. It was not a big deal at all.”
Bess started to ask another question, but Norman held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Sorry, girls, I have to get back to work,” he said. “The future of American popcorn is riding on my talent.”
He turned and strode back to the set, cupping his hands around his mouth to call, “Places, please! Places, everyone!”
