Free 10 A Script for Danger by Carolyn Keene Page A

about my unsettling encounter with Sal.
    â€œShe’s making new friends.” George pointed to a spot on the lawn, where Bess was huddled with Cora and her camera. “Bess somehow convinced Cora to show her the footage she’s shot so far, so she could look for clues.”
    â€œThat’s our Bess,” I said, perking up. Bess has a knack for buddying up to even the prickliest of characters. “How’d she do it?”
    â€œShe probably told Cora she could be vice president of the Brian Newsome Fan Club!” George snorted.
    â€œOkay, this is the martini shot, guys!” Nysa called out.
    â€œThe what?” I asked.
    â€œThat means it’s the last shot of the day,” Raina said. I hadn’t noticed her before, but there she was, planted in front of the monitors.
    â€œWhy don’t they just call it the last shot of the day, then?” George asked. “Why make it more complicated? You movie people are nuts.”
    Raina shrugged. She looked exhausted.
    A few moments later an excited Bess motioned to us. We did our best to remain nonchalant as we dashed over to the dark patch of grass where Bess and Cora sat.
    â€œGuys, look what Cora found!” Bess exclaimed.
    Cora held up her camera screen. “Last night after wrap, I was testing out settings for shooting in low light. This might explain how Zoë’s necklace disappeared,” she said quietly.
    She pressed play on a video clip that showed the outside of Zoë’s trailer. On the screen, someone in a black cap tiptoed up the stairs and into the trailer, then emerged a few moments later. I squinted at the mysterious person; he or she was clearly taking great care not to be seen.
    But Cora paused the video on a single frame in which she had managed to catch the person’s face. It was only for a split second, but that was all we needed to identify her.
    Kendall.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Old Frenemies
    I DROVE TO THE SET early the next morning, hoping to have a chance to speak to Alex about our suspects. I told George and Bess to come later; I didn’t want Alex to feel overwhelmed. My attempts at cornering Kendall the night before had failed. She had darted back to her hotel as soon as the shoot wrapped.
    I parked my car and headed to base camp. Alex wasn’t in the catering tent, so I decided to check his trailer. When I got to the trailer area, there was nobody around, but I noticed that Zoë’s door was ajar.
    â€œZoë?” I called. No answer. I listened at the door; I could hear movement, but according to the call sheet, Zoë wasn’t due on set for another two hours.
    I slowly pushed the door open all the way. There was someone inside, but it wasn’t Zoë.
    It was Kendall—and she was placing something on Zoë’s dressing table.
    â€œWhat are you doing in here, Kendall?”
    â€œHey, Nancy,” she said calmly, meeting my eyes in the dressing table’s mirror. “Lali finally admitted that you’re some kind of teen detective after I asked her to kick the ‘journalists’ off the set. Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but there’s no mystery here.”
    She held up the object in her hand—a thick manila envelope with Zoë’s name written on it.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked, but Kendall just smiled. She handed me the envelope, and I opened it to find . . .
    â€œContracts?”
    Kendall nodded. “ Signed contracts. I had to be a little sneaky about picking them up yesterday because I don’t want Brian to know that I’m signingZoë as a new client. He can be a little territorial sometimes.”
    So that explains Cora’s video, I thought.
    â€œBut the ketchup in your car . . . ,” I began, and Kendall laughed again.
    â€œYou are a good detective,” she replied, not missing a beat. “I stopped at the store, thinking I could cover up the terrible-tasting hotel