He held out his arms to block their way. “You are not on the approved list,” he announced, hard-faced. “What do you want?”
“Cindy Sunderland invited us,” Nancy explained.
“You’re not on the list,” the guy repeated. “This is a film studio, not a tourist attraction. Please do us a favor and go away.”
“Now wait a minute,” Bess said, raising her voice. “We came all the way from River Heights because Cindy asked us to. Why don’t you check with her if you don’t believe us?”
Just then an older man with bushy steel gray hair appeared in the doorway. His faded T-shirt advertised a Mexican restaurant in Paris. “Is there a problem?” he asked, giving Nancy and Bess a warm smile. Laugh lines radiated from his twinkling blue eyes.
“I’m Nancy Drew,” Nancy said, returning the smile. “And this is—”
“Ah yes,” the man said, interrupting her. “Cindy told me about you. I believe you are a famous detective, Ms. Drew, no?” Hearing his slight accent, Nancy guessed he was from Italy.
Nancy smiled modestly. “I have solved a case or two,” she admitted. “And this is my friend, Bess Marvin.”
“I help Nancy out with her cases from time to time,” Bess put in, trying to sound modest, too.
“Well, I’m very glad you could come,” the man said, shaking their hands. “I am Carlo Festa, director and producer of Festa Films. I am supposed to be in charge of this madhouse.” Carlo turned to the guy with the ponytail and added, “Why didn’t you tell me they were here, Miklos?”
“I was sending them away,” Miklos replied, holding up an open notebook. “They are not on the approved list.”
Carlo snorted, took the notebook, and scribbled Bess and Nancy’s names at the bottom of the page. “Now they are,” he said. “In future, please consult me before you send away our guests. Is that clear?”
Miklos, red-faced, muttered, “Yes, Carlo.” As he turned away, Nancy heard him add something under his breath. She didn’t catch the words, but the resentful tone was all too clear.
“Come, I will show you what we are doing,” Carlo said, taking Nancy and Bess by the arm. He led them toward an inner door.
As they stepped through the doorway, Nancy’s eyes widened. The room they had entered was at least as big as a basketball court and jammed with people and equipment. Thick black cables snaked across the floor, held in place by strips of shiny silver tape. Nancy saw a man at the top of a tall stepladder, adjusting the big stage lights hanging from a grid just below the high ceiling.
Under the lights, one corner of the room had been set up to look like a sleek modern kitchen. A woman in a blue smock was carefully polishing the chrome handles of the cabinets.
A man in jeans, a purple sleeveless T-shirt, and a black leather vest hurried over. “Carlo?” he said. “That china pattern is a disaster! It makes the cereal look like a bowl of puppy chow!”
“It was Wei Lee’s choice,” Carlo replied in a calm voice. “She’s the set decorator.”
“And I’m the food stylist,” the man retorted. “How can I make Healthibits look delicious in the close-up shots if I’m forced to put it on ugly dishes?”
Carlo sighed. “All right, Stefan. How long will it take to change the plates?”
“No time at all,” Stefan assured him. “I happened to bring some lovely china with me this morning. It’ll be exactly right. It’s from my personal collection, but I won’t charge the client for using it.”
He turned and walked back to the set before Carlo could reply. The director shrugged and looked over at Nancy and Bess. “In my next life, I want to be a lion tamer,” he confided. “I am sure it is much easier on the nerves. Now, let me show you—”
He broke off as a woman in her forties strolled over. Nancy admired her elegant dark red dress and three strands of pearls.
“Ah, Stella,” Carlo said. “Let me present Nancy Drew and Bess Marvin, friends from Cindy’s hometown. Stella is from McVie and Martin, the advertising agency in charge of this campaign,” he informed the girls.
“Hi there,” Stella said, without even looking at Nancy and Bess. “Carlo, is everything set? You know how important it is to finish this on schedule. We’re already running behind.”
“I could not start until the script was written and approved,” Carlo pointed out.
“No, of course not,” Stella said, sighing. “I’m not complaining about you. But we’ve had such problems every step of the way. It’s almost as if this campaign is jinxed.”
A man of about thirty, with gold-rimmed glasses and slicked-back hair, joined them in time to hear this. “Getting superstitious, Stella?” he joked, with an odd, sneering smile. “Why don’t you let my team at the agency handle this one? You could even go off on a little vacation. You could certainly use one.”
Stella’s nostrils flared. “I’m very grateful for your help, Erik,” she said. “But I’m quite capable of supervising the campaign myself.” Nancy exchanged a glance with Bess. She saw that her friend, too, had picked up on the tensions gathering in the studio.
Carlo put one hand on Stella’s shoulder and the other on Erik’s. “Erik, meet Nancy and Bess. Erik is also from McVie and Martin,” he explained. Then he added soothingly, “I want us all to have fun and make a wonderful commercial. There are just one or two details about the script I need to discuss. Girls, will you excuse me for a moment? I’ll ask my assistant, Charmaine, to show you around.”
He glanced around the busy studio. Just then a young woman with her black hair braided in cornrows came striding over. The dozen silver bracelets on her left forearm jingled as she walked.
“Ah, Charmaine,” Carlo said, smiling. “I was just looking for you. Could you—”
“We’ve got a problem,” Charmaine interrupted him. “It’s Cindy.”
“The makeup artist is not done with her yet?” Carlo asked. “Don’t worry. We have the lighting and sound checks to do before we need her.”
“It’s not that, Carlo,” Charmaine replied. “Cindy isn’t here yet.”
Carlo stared at her, then looked at his watch. “Impossible!” he exploded. “She knew she was to be here by eight-thirty, and now it is almost ten! Is this what people in the business mean when they tell me she’s reliable?”
Then he paused and took a deep breath. “Call her apartment,” he suggested, calming himself down. “Perhaps she overslept. Tell her we’ll have a car at her door in ten minutes.”
Charmaine tugged nervously at one of her big hoop earrings. “I did call,” she said. “I spoke to Ann Bowers, her agent. Cindy lives with her, you know. Ms. Bowers said Cindy was already gone when she got up this morning.”
The assistant drew a trembling breath. “She thought Cindy must have come straight here, skipping her morning run and everything,” she went on. “But now she’s afraid that something may have happened to Cindy . . . something terrible!”
2
