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

love this city!” I said, as we passed three mendressed like superheroes. They were carrying briefcases, and aside
     from the spandex, looked as if they were headed to work. Next to them, a wedding party
     was being pulled down Broadway in a series of horse-drawn carriages. “I mean,
     don’t get me wrong, Bayport is awesome. But New York City is … New York
     City!”
    “Huh?” said Frank, who was too busy staring at his phone to
     appreciate any of the awesomeness that was all around us. “Right. What you
     said.”
    I recognized the tone in his voice instantly. It was Frank’s
     I’m-thinking-about-something-on-a-case-and-not-really-paying-attention-to-you-Joe
     voice. I heard it a lot.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    Frank handed me his phone as we dodged through the crowds in Times
     Square.
    “Look at this photo,” he said. “Look
     familiar?”
    “Whoa! That dude’s getting wasted by a chick.”
    I looked more closely.
    “Oh, snap! That’s Nancy and Linden. You took that?” I
     asked.
    Frank shook his head.
    “Vijay forwarded it to me. Apparently, it showed up on a website
     called Broadway Buzz last night. It was headlined UNKNOWN ACTRESS SLAMS
     DIRECTOR . It’s already been picked up by two major news
     agencies.”
    My heart sank. This wasn’t good news.
    “At least you can’t really make out her
     face,” I said, staring at the photo. As detectives, it was never a good idea to
     get in the papers before the case was done. You never knew who
     might get tipped off, or recognize you later. “Who do you think took it? And who
     put it up?”
    Frank grimaced.
    “That’s the worst part. This isn’t the only photo out
     there. Look!”
    Frank scrolled down, showing me images of the fiery plane, an injured
     Madonna being carried out of the theater, and a host of other accidents that had
     happened on the set of Wake .
    “Who’s always around the set, with her phone at the
     ready?” I murmured, half to myself.
    “Laurel,” said Frank, and I nodded agreement.
     “That’s what I’m thinking too. No one else was in that rehearsal room,
     unless Bess is a secret celebrity blogger.”
    “But why would Laurel do that? Is she out to sink the
     show?”
    “I don’t know. Why would she bring us in to protect Claire if
     she’s the one harassing her?” Frank wondered.
    “What if Linden forced her to bring us on board?” I
     answered.
    “What if Linden is in on it? They are brother and sister, after all
      …”
    Frank trailed off, lost in thought, staring at all the gossip photos.
     Finally, he clicked his phone shut.
    “Man!” he said. “The list of
     suspects on this one is just getting longer and longer. Maybe Madonna can shed some
     light on all this.”
    We’d arrived at her hospital, an impressive complex of glass and
     pink stone buildings that took up more than an entire city block. Over the automatic
     doors, the sign read BELLEVUE . A cluster of doctors and nurses were
     chatting across the street, as a steady stream of patients and families—some
     anxious, some excited, some tired—moved briskly through the entrance.
    We walked up to the front desk, where a woman in green scrubs sat behind a
     computer. Her nametag read DOLORES . For five minutes, she acted as though
     we weren’t there.
    “Excuse me?” I said finally. “We’re here to see
      …”
    “Visiting hours don’t start for another fifteen
     minutes,” she interrupted me without looking away from the screen. Was everyone in
     New York like this? “Name?”
    “I’m Joe Hardy, and this is my brother Frank.”
    Her eyes flicked away from the computer screen for a second, giving me a
     look of contempt. “Not your name. The patient’s name.”
    “Madonna de la Varga,” I replied. If Dolores wanted to keep
     this short and sweet, I could play that game too.
    Dolores tapped on her keyboard for a few minutes. The ancient yellowed
     printer on the desk next to her slowly rattled to life.
    “These are