Lights! Camera! Explosion! 4 страница
“That’s it!” Alan Teppington said. He flew back inside like a man with a definite plan of action.
“When did this happen?” Sara asked Nancy.
Nancy wished she had something better to say. “I was asleep. I didn’t hear anything. I just found it,” she said.
“I’ll go call the police. We’re practically on a first-name basis,” Sara said.
When a squad car pulled into the driveway of Fenley Place, two officers and a sergeant got out slowly. The sergeant stared at the house, then ordered his men to get to work. Alan Teppington came back out of the house dressed.
“Sergeant Velez, folks,” the officer in charge said, introducing himself. “We’re going to check the porch and search around the house. It won’t take long.”
“Make it fast. We’re leaving as soon as you’re done,” Alan told the police.
The sergeant wiped his forehead. “It’s going to be a hot one today,” he said. “Anyone hear anything last night?”
“We were all asleep,” Sara said.
“Is the dog deaf?” Sergeant Velez asked.
“No, just useless,” Alan snapped.
“Sound sleeper,” Nancy said. It was the kindest thing she could say about her couchmate.
The noise of the investigation woke the Teppington children, and they appeared on the porch. Kate took one look at the house and then ran down the porch steps onto the lawn.
“Daddy, carry me,” Amy cried, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “I don’t want the blood to get on me.”
“It’s paint, Sergeant,” one of the officers called.
“Well,” the sergeant said to Sara and Alan, “if you get yourself a new paint job, you’ll never know it was there.”
Apparently, he thought he was giving the Teppingtons some good news.
“Have you seen the McCauley house?” Alan said.
“Sure,” replied the sergeant. “That’s where they’re making the movie.”
“The McCauleys are making a fortune letting Hank Steinberg wreck their house. And the city is getting a fat fee, too, for putting up with those phonies. But whatever happens to my house, happens for free! Except I’ve got to pay to replace my windows and for a new paint job. Is that right?”
Nancy could tell that the sergeant didn’t have an answer or an idea about how to help the Teppingtons.
“What happens there, happens here, huh,” Velez said thoughtfully. “Well, what are they going to do next over there?”
Since no one knew, he sent one of his officers across the street to find out. In the meantime, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead again.
Ten minutes later, the officer returned from the McCauley house. “They’re burning the house down tomorrow, sir,” she reported.
“They’re doing what?“ Sergeant Velez was aghast.
“That’s what someone said,” the officer answered with a shrug.
The sergeant loosened his tie and his collar button, and spoke to the Teppingtons.
“Okay, folks, right now we don’t have a single clue as to who did this,” he said.
“Or what did this,” Alan Teppington said, looking bitterly at his house.
“They only pay me to find the whos, Mr. Teppington,” the sergeant said. “I’m sorry. We’ll be in touch.”
Then Sergeant Velez and his officers got into their squad car and pulled away.
“I don’t believe those guys,” Alan said, slapping his hand on the red wall.
“Alan,” Sara said calmly. “I don’t think we should leave.”
“Why not?” Alan asked. “You want to stick around for the barbecue? I know you love toasted marshmallows.”
“All right, all right!” Sara said. “If it’ll stop your sarcasm, I’ll go. Maybe we can finally get some rest.”
“Great!” Alan looked truly happy for the first time since Nancy met him. “Now, girls, pack up your toys quickly. We’re going to stay in a motel for a few days. Hurry up, Kate.”
“No,” Nancy said. “Take your time.”
The Teppingtons looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
“I mean, I think going away is a good idea,” Nancy said. “But could you pack up the car slowly, so that everyone can see that you’re leaving?”
“What are you planning to do?”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay in your house,” Nancy said.
“Out of the question,” Alan answered quickly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s the only way I can find out who’s doing this,” Nancy said firmly. “If it is Josh Petrie or someone on the movie crew, he may not be so careful if he thinks you’re gone.”
“I don’t know,” Alan said doubtfully.
“You can tell me I can’t do it, but you can’t tell me it’s not the best plan,” Nancy said.
In the end, the Teppingtons loaded their station wagon slowly, locked their front door, and drove away. Nancy pretended to leave, too. She waved goodbye and walked all the way to the end of Highland Avenue. After about fifteen minutes, she walked back to Fenley Place quickly, glancing around to make sure she wasn’t noticed. She was relieved to find that no one in front of the McCauley house was looking her way. She crept quietly through the front gate and around to the back of the house. Then she let herself into the back door using Alan’s key.
The first thing Nancy did was to look up inside the chimney again. Yes, the lump was still there. Sooner or later, Nancy decided, she was going to find out what it was.
But something made her stop looking up the chimney and look behind her instead.
She felt as though someone were watching her. No, that couldn’t be—not in an empty house.
Suddenly Nancy realized that she had been up for hours without eating. She was starving.
She went down the hall to the kitchen, stopping at the stairs leading to the second floor. It was dark and quiet up there.
Nancy kept walking to the kitchen.
There’s no bigger mystery than someone else’s kitchen, Nancy thought, remembering one of Hannah Gruen’s old sayings.
The refrigerator was almost empty. There were only a couple of eggs and some butter. In the bag of bread only heels were left.
Nancy pulled open a cabinet drawer. It was filled with sharpened knives and shish-kabob skewers. She closed it quickly and tried another drawer, but it was locked.
Finally, she left the kitchen, munching a handful of sweet dry cereal.
In the hall, Nancy stopped at the steps to the second floor again. An unpleasant odor wafted down to her on a thin, hot breeze. She decided to go upstairs.
Floorboards creaked under her feet as she crept up the steps. She wondered why she was trying to sneak upstairs when there was nobody else in the house.
On a carved wooden table on the second-floor landing, cut flowers had been left too long in a vase. The water was murky and the smell of rotting flowers was quite strong.
They had to be thrown out. She was just about to carry the vase away, when she heard noises downstairs. Someone was walking back and forth on the porch. Nancy listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, then started again. Whoever it was was probably looking in the windows, she reasoned.
Nancy hurried downstairs and yanked open the door to give her guest a little surprise.
She and her guest were both surprised. Chris Hitchcock, the boy she had met on the day of Bess’s audition, stood on the porch with his arms around a heavy basket of Hawaiian fruit and flower leis.
“Hey, I didn’t even ring the bell. You must be psychic,” Chris said, laughing. “Peace offering from Hank Steinberg. Tell ’em I’m here. I can’t wait to see Alan Teppington’s face.”
“You’ll have to wait. They’re gone,” Nancy said.
“They are? When will they be back?” Nancy shrugged. Chris set the basket down on the porch and knelt to tie the shoelace of one of his Pacer track shoes.
“Nice shoes,” Nancy said.
“They’re in this week. Everybody got them before we left L.A.,” Chris said. “So what are you doing here—snooping around or guarding the house?”
“A little bit of both,” Nancy said, then she changed the subject quickly. “Tell me something: Why does Hank Steinberg want to make peace?”
“I don’t know,” Chris said. “I guess just in case there’s any bad blood between them.” Chris laughed and then stopped. “I guess that wasn’t so funny, was it?” Nancy had to agree.
“Okay, here’s the truth: Hank’s feeling guilty about all the stuff going on over here,” Chris said, more seriously. “I mean, Hank is so into horror movies that he actually thinks this house might be haunted. He thinks he brought the bad luck to River Heights.”
“I’m not so sure he’s wrong,” Nancy said.
“Well, Hank can’t blame this basket of fruit on the supernatural,” Chris said. “This is his own mistake.”
“What do you mean? It looks delicious,” Nancy said.
“Hank doesn’t know that Alan Teppington is allergic to pineapple,” Chris said. “He ate some when I was here, scouting for a location. One bite and he started wheezing like crazy. Do you think he’s going to suddenly love movie people after he sees this? No way!”
As Nancy and Chris talked, another voice joined their conversation. It was a thin voice, interrupted by static and it came from Chris’s walkie-talkie.
“They’re calling me. Well, I’ve got to run,” Chris said, taking the porch steps in one jump. “Enjoy the fruit.”
After he left, the sun moved slowly overhead, raising the temperature in the house. Nancy went back upstairs to throw out the dead flowers and wash the vase.
Standing by the table on the landing, she became aware of a flapping sound in the house. It would beat out a message, then fall quiet and start again.
Curtains blowing in the wind, Nancy thought, but there was no wind blowing through Fenley Place. She was keeping the windows closed, so it would look like the Teppingtons were really gone.
The sound seemed to be coming from the third-floor attic. As Nancy climbed the stairs to the third floor, the noise definitely got louder.
She opened the door and walked slowly into the attic. For a moment, all was still.
Then suddenly a bird darted toward her face. She ducked and it flew out the front window, the way it had come in.
How did that window get open? Nancy wondered.
She pushed boxes out of her way to get through to the window so she could close it.
And that’s when she saw the silver blue tack hammered into the molding. Dangling from it was a thin, clear plastic line, like fishing line. She stretched out the plastic line and found that it reached to a tack on the other side of the window.
As Nancy removed and coiled the line, something crashed on the roof over her head. She held her breath and waited.
Next she heard steps, quick steps. They came from above her on the roof!
Moving quietly on tiptoe until she reached the stairs, Nancy listened to the footsteps still tapping above her. She ran downstairs as fast as she could run, her heart beating quickly.
In seconds she was out of the house and on the front lawn. Squinting into the sun, she saw a hunched figure darting across the roof.
“Hey!” Nancy shouted. “What are you doing up there?”
But the figure disappeared around the chimney before Nancy could see who it was.
Special Effects
Nancy ran around to the side of the house just in time to see the figure of a young man climbing over a dormer window which stuck up in the roof.
“Hey!” she yelled. “You’ve got to come down sometime!”
“Catch me!” the guy called back.
She ran back to the front yard again.
“Chris?” Now Nancy recognized him and his white jeans as he stepped into view. “What are you doing up on the roof?”
“What are you doing down there?” he answered playfully.
“Watching you break your neck. Now get down!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw that she wasn’t alone on the front lawn of Fenley Place. Standing nearby was a girl who was about four inches taller than Nancy, which made her almost six feet tall. She was looking up at the roof, too. She had dark curls that fell down the back of her Terror Weekend T-shirt.
“Hi, I’m Jane,” the tall girl said.
“I’m Nancy. Maybe we can ride to his funeral together.”
“Don’t worry about Chris,” Jane said. “You should have seen him climb up there—it’s like he was born to be a stunt man. But he’s got bigger dreams than that.”
“What kind of dreams?” Nancy asked.
“He wants to be a director. Like his idol, Alfred Hitchcock,” Jane answered. Then she added, “Hitchcock’s not Chris’s real name, you know.”
“I know.” Nancy looked back toward the roof. “Come down, will you?” she shouted.
“I can’t,” Chris yelled back. “I’m looking for something I lost.”
While she watched and waited, Nancy studied the plastic wire she had found in the attic. Then she placed it back in her pocket.
“Got it!” Chris shouted waving a bright red frisbee in his hand. He tossed it down to Nancy and Jane. Then without thinking twice, Chris leapt onto the limb of a tree that was overhanging the roof. He hoisted himself up onto the limb and, straddling it, scooted to the tree trunk. Then he climbed down.
“You look like you’ve done that before,” Nancy said, when Chris joined them.
“My uncle’s got an apple farm. I’ve been climbing his trees for years,” Chris said. “I can’t let a little roof stop me from finishing my game.”
Jane laughed. “I swear you threw it up there on purpose,” she said. “I mean, I’m tall, but I’m not that tall, right?”
Chris pretended to be offended. “Well, if you’re going to make fun of me,” he said, “I’ll just take my toy and go home.”
He walked off in the direction of the McCauley house. Nancy thought he was just kidding and that he’d come back, but he didn’t.
“He’s a crazy guy,” Jane said, laughing again.
“Yes, he is,” Nancy said, shaking her head.
“He loves movies,” Jane said. “He loves to make them, and he loves to talk about them. I heard his mother’s a movie star, but who knows? Chris would probably make up that rumor himself.”
“Jane, who would I see if I needed more of this stuff?” Nancy asked. She held out the thin plastic wire from the attic.
“Special effects,” Jane said. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Jane took Nancy to the special effects trailer which was part laboratory and part storage vault.
The man who ran the place looked like a modern-day mad scientist. He wore a gray sweat-shirt and he had a scruffy brown beard. His hair seemed to have been given a life-time dose of static electricity.
“Bo Aronson, this is Nancy. See you later,” Jane said.
“Just a sec,” he said. He was working on a severed hand at his workbench. Finally he looked up and asked the inevitable question.
“Screamer, bleeder, or corpse?”
“Visitor,” Nancy said.
“Great. Stand right there. Don’t move,” Bo Aronson slid his chair over to Nancy, carrying the fake hand. “Hold it near your neck.”
Nancy examined the hand first. It was heavy, and seemed to be metal inside and rubber and plastic outside. Then she did as he had asked.
Bo picked up a remote control unit, the kind that came with battery-powered toys.
“Got an itch?” Bo said, moving one of the control sticks.
A finger on the hand began to scratch Nancy’s neck.
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life,” Nancy said, with a shudder.
Bo moved another control, and the hand opened and grabbed Nancy’s throat. She pulled it away.
“After the movie I may put it on the market. I’ll call it the Babysitter’s Friend, guaranteed to quiet noisy kids. What do you think?”
“I think you ought to sell gloves to go with it,” Nancy said.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Bo said. “That’s a shame because I’ve got a dozen of them in a cabinet just waiting around.” They both laughed.
Nancy changed the subject. “What’s this wire?” she asked, tossing Bo the plastic wire she was carrying.
“This is monofilament wire, and it’s everything to a special effects man,” he said. “It’s so superthin and transparent, it’s practically invisible.”
Bo showed her how he might use the wire in a movie. “I can send a knife zipping straight into your heart. I can make a dozen cobras stand at attention ready to strike. I can make furniture fly around the room or bats flap outside your window.”
“And you can’t see the wire in the movie?” Nancy said.
“Not if the lighting is right,” Bo said. “In one movie, I attached a ghost to the tail of a horse with monofilament. When the horse ran, the ghost took off like a kite. It looked like the ghost was chasing the horse everywhere. And that was during the daytime. A much trickier shot.”
He rummaged over a desktop crowded with blueprints and plastic dead rats, tubes of paint, and tools. Finally he held up something in a white plastic bag. “Do you know what this is?” he asked holding it above his head.
Nancy was afraid to ask.
“It’s ham and cheese on whole wheat. It’s my lunch!” Bo laughed. “Want to share it? We can wash it down with this.” Bo held up a bottle with a red liquid.
“Blood?” gasped Nancy.
“Cherry soda,” Bo said. “But the blood is drinkable too. It’s corn syrup with red dye.” He flipped open a cabinet that contained twelve bottles of fake blood.
Bo took a big chomp out of his sandwich, and Nancy started to leave. But then she noticed something with an unusual shape on his table. It was covered over by a large cloth. Bo could tell she wanted to know what it was.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Take a look.”
Nancy moved toward the table and lifted the cloth. Underneath was a wooden model that looked like the McCauley house. It was perfect in every detail.
“Say goodbye to the McCauley house,” Bo said. “We’re burning her next week.”
“How can you burn the McCauley house?” Nancy asked incredulously.
“We can’t,” Bo said. “That’s why we’re going to burn this model in my special effects studio back in L.A. I’ve been working on this all week. In fact, when I’m done I’ll have built the whole neighborhood.”
“Are you sure they’re not going to burn any part of the real McCauley house“, Nancy asked anxiously.
“I didn’t say that,” Bo replied. “We’ll make some flames shoot out of the windows. And Hank insists that we set a few fires on the roof. But we’ll use a fireproof pad under the fire, don’t worry.”
“When?” Nancy asked.
“Tomorrow,” Bo said.
Well, Nancy thought, at least that gives me one more day.
“I’ll show you something else,” he said, stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. He opened a cabinet and banged around the shelves looking for something. “Can’t find it,” he said. “This film has been the worst.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” Bo answered.
Nancy guessed what he was talking about. As George had said, things were disappearing from the set.
“Bo, have you heard about what’s been going on at Fenley Place?” Nancy asked.
“Sure,” he said. “The Double Horror of Fenley Place, I call it. Everything that we shoot happens over there for real. It would make a great movie.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to solve the mystery,” Nancy said, dropping her voice. “In fact, I found that piece of monofilament wire in the attic at Fenley Place. If you can help me, maybe I can help you find out who’s been stealing from you.”
“A detective, huh?” Bo asked with a smile.
Nancy had heard this kind of mocking reaction before, and she always ignored it.
“What kinds of things have been stolen, Bo?”
“I’m used to losing some blood capsules here a trick knife there,” he answered. “I can understand people taking the fun stuff for souvenirs and all. But this time you’d think someone was planning to rob a bank or something. I lost some explosives and a remote detonator—small stuff, but enough to liven up somebody’s Fourth of July.”
Nancy kept quiet because she wanted to hear more.
Bo opened a drawer and handed Nancy a medicine bottle full of capsules. “Maybe you’d be interested in this,” he said.
“What does it do?” Nancy asked.
“It’s not a special effect,” Bo said, shaking his head. “It’s just a bottle of pills. I found it on the floor in here one morning when I came to work. Later that day I noticed some things were missing.”
Now that she realized the thief may have dropped the bottle, Nancy looked at it more carefully. The medicine was ordinary looking. It was the prescription label, glued around the outside of the bottle, that was strange.
The top half of the label—the half with the name of the patient—had been deliberately torn off. Only the medication instructions remained: “Take one tablet every six hours for allergy and asthma.”
“Now, why would someone tear his name off his prescription bottle?” asked Bo.
“Yes,” Nancy agreed. “Especially since he couldn’t know he was going to drop it in your trailer.” Nancy thought for a moment.
“Do you know anyone on the movie crew who has asthma or a serious allergy?” Bo shook his head. “This is a pretty good mystery,” he said.
“Well,” Nancy said. “I just found out today about someone who is very allergic to pineapple.” She rolled the bottle of pills in her hand.
“Who is it?” Bo asked.
“Alan Teppington,” she answered. “But what I can’t figure out is this: why would a man want to vandalize his own house and terrorize his own family?”
Prescription for Terror
The bottle of pills made Nancy think about Alan Teppington in a new light. Maybe he wasn’t just a victim of the double horror of Fenley Place as he said. Maybe this man with his explosive temper hated Fenley Place so much that he created the terror. But why?
“It’s hard to believe,” Nancy said out loud.
“Thanks,” Bo Aronson said. He assumed her comment was a compliment for the half-dozen mechanical cockroaches he had just set off on the floor.
Nancy, who had been staring off into space, looked down at the floor for the first time and screamed.
“You should have auditioned,” Bo said.
Nancy calmed down quickly as soon as she realized the roaches weren’t real. “I’ve got to find out whose pills these are,” she said, as she stepped carefully to the door.
“Yeah, sure,” Bo said, still watching his roaches scurry around. “Listen, would you like to take a couple of these to remember me by?”
Nancy looked at the bugs on the floor and shook her head no.
“Not those guys,” Bo said. “These.” He handed her two small red plastic capsules. “Blood capsules. Squash ’em in your hand, crush ’em with your teeth. Everybody goes crazy over these.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said, although she didn’t know how she could possibly use them. After leaving Bo’s trailer, Nancy’s first stop was the Elegant Eats tent. Nancy wanted to find out if someone in the movie company had a food allergy—an allergy that required medication. And maybe, she hoped, George would be the person who could tell her.
The afternoon sun was hot, and the gold chain Nancy wore around her neck clung to her skin. For a moment, as she walked, it felt like the mechanical hand on her throat.
The catering tent, as usual, was crowded, but George was nowhere to be seen.
So Nancy stopped the first person she saw wearing one of Pat Ellis’s striped aprons. The girl used one hand to carry a large tray of dirty dishes and her other hand to straight-arm people out of her way.
“Do you know where George Fayne is?” Nancy asked.
“Who’s he?” asked the girl who was chewing on what seemed like ten sticks of gum.
“George is a she,“ Nancy said.
The girl looked at Nancy and shouldn’t have. It caused the tray of dishes she was carrying to tilt, slip, and then fall all over two men unlucky enough to be sitting nearby.
Nancy had looked away before the crash, and when she turned back she saw that the dishes had fallen on Deck Burroughs. Spider Hutchings was sitting by Deck, but the dishes missed him completely.
“Hey, you’re my stunt man,” Deck said to Spider while he brushed food off his T-shirt. “Stuff like this is supposed to happen to you.”
Spider was laughing too hard to answer.
“It’s all her fault,” the girl said, pointing at Nancy.
Deck and Spider stood up, looking at Nancy, and she blushed. Deck Burroughs’s clothes and black hair were a mess, but his eyes were still a bright, electric blue.
“I’m really sorry,” Nancy said. “Can I get you something? A paper towel or some napkins?” She grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby table and handed them to Deck.
“She probably just wanted to look at your shoes,” Spider said. “She’s got a thing about shoes.”
Nancy and Deck both looked down at Deck’s feet at the same time. He was barefoot, except for some scraps of fruit salad.
“I don’t know what to say,” Nancy said, smiling. “I don’t usually dump food on people.”
“Well, I’m not used to being dumped on,” Deck grinned. “Why don’t we just say it’s been an experience.”
“Good idea,” Nancy said.
He held out his hand to shake hers. “Deck Burroughs,” he said, as if she didn’t know.
“Nancy Drew,” said Nancy, trying to ignore the potato salad in his palm as she shook his hand.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Deck said very formally to Nancy, Spider, and the gum-chewing catering helper. “I think I’m beginning to attract flies.”
He left the park quickly.
Nancy made a quick retreat into the kitchen area, where she found George. Her friend was cleaning and cutting mountains of vegetables and tossing them into a large caldron of broth on a stove behind her. When she saw Nancy, she stopped working for a minute and picked up a carrot stick.
“What’s up, doc?” George asked, chomping into the carrot.
“I just accidentally made someone dump a tray of dirty dishes on Deck Burroughs,” Nancy said. Her face grew warm again at the memory.
George giggled. “Well, just tell him he’s going to have to wait for the second course. The soup’s not ready yet.”
“Ha, ha,” Nancy said dryly. “He was very understanding about it—understanding and very sticky.”
“I’ll bet,” George said. “He’s really nice, though, did you notice? I mean, he hangs around with the crew members and eats with Spider every day. Not like some of the other actors, who complain about the food, even though it’s delicious. Some of these guys are real pills.”
“Pills! George, that’s exactly why I was looking for you!” Nancy said. She held up the medicine bottle between her thumb and index finger.
“What’s that?” asked George.
“A real clue, if I can find the owner of this bottle,” Nancy said excitedly. “Any of the movie cast or crew ever talk about having asthma or a food allergy?”
“Come on, Nancy. With so many people screaming, choking, and just acting strange in this movie, someone with asthma would have a tough time getting noticed,” George said.
“I guess,” Nancy said.
But suddenly George’s face lit up and she pointed a finger at Nancy. “Spider Hutchings,” she said.
“What about him?” Nancy asked.
“He wouldn’t take a piece of date nut bread from me,” George said. “I said, ‘Go ahead. Take it. You can always work off the calories by jumping out of a tree, or something.’ But he said no. He’s allergic to nuts.”
“Spider Hutchings!” Nancy cried. “He’s right outside.”
Nancy ran back into the park which was just as crowded as it was before.
Where was he?
Nancy stopped the first person she saw, which happened to be the gum-chewing waitress. This time, she wasn’t carrying any dishes. “Did you see Spider Hutchings?” asked Nancy.
“Is that a he or a she?” asked the girl, as she snapped her gum.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Never mind,” she said, rushing out toward the street.
She looked up and down both sides of Highland Avenue, but she couldn’t see Spider anywhere.
Maybe he’s shooting a stunt, she thought, and started walking to the McCauley house.
“Is Spider Hutchings here?” Nancy asked the security man stationed at the front door of the McCauley house.
“Not yet, but he will be. He’s got to jump through a window this afternoon.”
“Great! Can I wait for him? It’s very important,” Nancy said.
“You’ll have to ask the assistant director about that, miss,” said the guard.
The assistant director said Nancy could wait if she kept out of everyone’s way. So Nancy tried to melt into the wallpaper in the McCauley house’s lavish living room.
The crew was working some of Bo Aronson’s magic that afternoon. At the director’s command, a button was pushed, a pulley turned, and the living room couch lifted off the ground. Next, a reading chair, a table, and a TV taxied and then launched themselves around the room.
“Monofilament wire,” Nancy said to herself.
Just when all of the furniture was in the air, the phone on the writing desk started ringing and ringing, even though its handset was off the hook. It was all just as Nancy had read in the shooting script.
The crew kept trying different effects. Nancy was starting to feel impatient. When would Spider show up?