Free Trouble in Warp Space by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

pseudonym.”
    “Mr. Reid, I think you’re worrying for nothing,” Iola said. “How could they kill Captain Winter? He’s the emotional center of the show.”
    “You know how this happened,” Reid said, ignoring Iola and pacing the trailer. “A lot of Web sites upload their news weeks in advance, and then the program displays it on the proper date. Sandy must have decided to write me out but hadn’t gotten around to telling me about it yet. The show’s ratings have been marginal. A stunt like this might perk them up.”
    “Or it could be just a prank,” Joe said. He shot Frank a look that said, if it were a prank, he didn’t think it was very funny.
    “O’Sullivan and Webb authorize everything that goes up on the site,” Reid said. “Sandy writes most of it herself. Why would the creator and head writer put it up on the site if it weren’t true?”
    “Sandy doesn’t post everything herself,” Claudia said.
    Reid sat down and put his head in his hands. “I need this job,” he said. “My last series tanked, and I really need Warp Space to fly. I’m not getting any younger, you know. And the rest of the actors around here are sharks—except for you, Claudia.”
    “There’s an easy way to settle this,” Frank said. “Go to Sandy and ask her.”
    “But what if it’s true?”
    “Better to find out now than spend time anguishing over it,” Joe said.
    Reid stood up and took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”
    “That’s the old Captain Winter spirit!” Iola said, clapping him on the shoulder. He smiled at her.
    “We’d better get back to the set,” Claudia said. “Webb’s probably having kittens by now. I’m in the next shot, too.”
    “But I’m not,” Reid said. “I’ll find Sandy and talk to her.”
    “We’ll be happy to go with you,” Joe said, “and lend some moral support.”
    Reid nodded. “Thanks, kids. I appreciate it. Theshow’s pretty lucky that your friend won the contest.”
    They all left Reid’s trailer and went back through the lengthening shadows to the soundstage. As it turned out, shooting hadn’t started again. Rich Millani was still repairing damage from the earlier fight. Webb had even called Stan Pekar in to help Millani after Pekar finished working on Chet’s helmet.
    Sandy wasn’t there, though, so Reid and the Hardys went to look for her. Iola stayed behind because she had a walk-through in the next set of shots.
    “Sandy’s probably in her office,” Reid said, leading the brothers across the studio to the brick building that housed the production offices.
    “Mr. Reid,” Joe said, “do you think someone could be trying to sabotage the series?”
    “I don’t know,” Reid said. “There’s been a lot of strange stuff going on around here lately, that’s for sure.”
    “What kind of strange stuff?” Frank asked.
    “Like the accident that put Wilson in the hospital,” Reid said. “There have been a lot of repairs, too—things are wearing out or being damaged faster than normal. Props have gone missing as well. All of this is contributing to the show’s budget crunch, and that’s made everyone—including me—jumpy. Whether any of it is deliberate, though . . .” He shrugged.
    Though darkness now covered the eerily silentlot, a light still burned in the old brick building that housed Sandy’s office.
    “Looks like she’s in,” Joe said.
    They walked through an empty reception room and knocked on a door that said Sandy O’Sullivan—Executive Producer.
    “Come in,” Sandy’s voice called.
    They entered an office piled high with papers, scripts, books, and memorabilia. Most of the souvenirs were from Warp Space , but there was a smattering from other SF shows as well. In the middle of the mess, Sandy O’Sullivan sat slumped over a laptop computer, typing furiously. She looked up as they entered.
    “Are we back shooting?” she asked, panic flashing across her gray eyes for a moment. “I’m still adjusting the plot to