George spoke again. “You bet I’m a fan. I’ve read all twenty-seven of your books, and I read Death by Fear four times.” She gasped. “You’d like to meet me?” She shot Nancy a look, and Nancy gave her the thumbs-up sign.
“Uh . . . sure,” George said. “Any time is fine. . . . Tomorrow? . . . Breakfast? . . . Great! We’d love to! Oh, uh, I have another friend who’s also a big fan. Would it be all right if she came too? . . . Thanks. See you at eight!”
George hung up the phone.
“Perfect,” Nancy said. “Except did you have to tell her I was a fan? I’ve never read any of her books. What do I do if she asks me a question?”
“No problem,” George said. “I’ll do most of the talking, and you can just fake it.”
Nancy grinned. “I can just see Braddock’s next title—‘The Secret of the Phony Fan’!”
• • •
Early the next morning Nancy and George headed down the hallway of the tenth floor.
“Don’t forget,” Nancy said. “If she asks me a question about one of her books, you’ll have to cover for me.”
“Don’t worry,” said George confidently. “I’ll handle everything.”
The two stopped at Room 1027 and were about to knock when they heard a phone ring inside.
Nancy motioned to George to be quiet. She wanted to hear what Braddock had to say. It might be a clue to what was going on.
“You again?” they heard Braddock say in a loud voice. “I thought we agreed on an amount.”
Nancy and George exchanged a look. Maybe there would be a ransom demand after all!
“No, no!” Braddock was shouting. “No one could pay that much. You’ll never get a million. Better ask for less. . . . Listen, I’m expecting some people any minute. I can’t stay on the phone.”
Nancy heard the phone receiver slam down. She purposely waited a few moments so Braddock wouldn’t think they’d overheard. Then she knocked.
The door opened and the girls found themselves standing face-to-face with Eileen Braddock, world-famous mystery writer.
Eileen Braddock was wearing a hot pink warmup suit that emphasized her heavyset figure. Her rumpled blond hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed.
Braddock looked from one to the other questioningly. “Which one is . . .?”
Nancy waited for George to answer. But George just stood there, without saying a word. Nancy poked her in the ribs, but it didn’t help. How could George clam up at a time like this?
“Well?” Braddock said impatiently. “I haven’t got all day.”
Nancy stepped forward. “I’m Nancy Drew,” she said, “and this is George Fayne, whom you spoke to yesterday. We’re both really big fans of your work.”
Nancy mentally crossed her fingers to make up for the lie.
Eileen Braddock smiled. “In that case, come in. I’ve had room service bring up breakfast. I can’t spend too long chatting with you girls, though. I’m teaching a seminar on mystery writing, and it begins this morning at nine A.M. sharp.”
Braddock led the girls to a small round table covered with a clean white tablecloth. The table was set with fine china and silver serving dishes. Nancy sniffed at the air. French toast, coffee, maple syrup—it smelled delicious.
“Have a seat,” Braddock said.
The girls sat and helped themselves to breakfast.
“I always love hearing from my fans,” Braddock said. “It helps me see what works in my books and what doesn’t. I even get new ideas that way. So tell me—which of my books did you enjoy the most?”
Nancy looked over at George. George was staring at her plate, not even eating. She was still too nervous to talk. Nancy kicked her under the table, trying to get her to say something. George just stared back at her helplessly.
Nancy tried her best to remember the book George and Bess had talked about when the girls had first seen Eileen Braddock signing books at her booth. “Uh . . . I liked that real scary one . . . Death by Murder,” she said.
“You mean Death by Fear,” Braddock corrected her.
“Of course.” Nancy laughed. “It’s just that I’m so nervous meeting you, I can’t think straight.”
“That’s silly,” Braddock said, smiling. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m just a person like anybody else.” She turned to George. “What about you? Which book was your favorite?”
George swallowed a big piece of French toast and finally found her voice. “I have a couple,” she said. “Death by Fear, of course. But also Mist of Cobwebs and Secrets of Autumn.” George pointed to a large cardboard display poster that was propped up against the wall. The poster was a painting of a beautiful young woman dressed in fashionable workout clothes. “I’m a big fan of Fifi Spinelli,” she said. “She’s so daring.”
George and Eileen Braddock began to talk about some of Fifi’s more adventurous cases. As they talked, Nancy looked around the room.
A compact computer sat on a desk with papers spread all around it. The unmade bed was also littered with papers. Nancy also noticed Braddock’s bifocals sitting on top of the papers on the bed. Nancy turned her attention back to the table and peered closely at the author’s eyes. They were a brilliant blue. Nancy wondered if that was Braddock’s real eye color or if she was wearing tinted contact lenses.
“. . . and the part where Fifi’s crawling through the mud, wearing that designer suit and all the jewelry—that was great!” George was still talking about Fifi Spinelli. Nancy sighed. Now that her friend had finally started talking, it was going to be difficult to get her to stop.
“Excuse me,” Nancy cut in, “but I couldn’t help noticing you wear glasses. You don’t also wear contact lenses, by any chance, do you?”
The author looked startled at the interruption. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’m wearing them now. But what does that have to do with anything?”
Nancy thought fast. “Well, I came up with this idea for one of your books, and I just wanted to run it by you.”
