“Is there something I should do differently?” I asked Daniel, feeling confused and frustrated.

  “She needs time,” Daniel said. “Being shy isn’t just a switch you can turn on and off. I’m guessing she really does want to talk to us, but she just gets all jittery inside when she gets the chance. Running is easier than talking.” He was speaking from experience. “She runs away. I stare at my feet. The burning desire to become invisible is the same.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I can be patient.” I’d take Daniel’s advice and hope that Mina would come around. I did, however, wonder what she had wanted when she started to head toward us. We might never find out.

  My cell phone dinged. I reached for it, but Charla playfully grabbed my phone first. She read the message.

  “Well, well,” she teased, holding the phone where I couldn’t reach it. “Marcia Harris’s assistant wants to set up a meeting.”

  “When?” Daniel asked. “I’m working at Color Wash tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday.”

  “We weren’t invited,” Charla said. Daniel frowned. She added, “Just Jessie.” She gave me back the phone, making a big show of being disappointed.

  I read the text. “Lunch tomorrow.” It was at the same café that Connor had ditched me at. “She’s ready for an interview.”

  My phone dinged again. I read the message. Then, grinning widely, I turned the phone to Charla so she could read it.

  “Cancel your plans, Daniel,” Charla announced happily. “We’re all invited after all.”

  “Cool.” Daniel said, “I’ll work double hours Sunday.”

  Lunch was over and our plans were set. I hung behind while Charla and Daniel went to get ready. Ms. Surovsky was sitting in a corner eating a sandwich, and I wanted to talk to her.

  Newspaper club met after school, but Fridays were crazy with getting the paper ready for publishing on Monday. I needed her help.

  “Can I sit down for a minute?” I asked my teacher.

  “Of course, Jessie.” She pushed up her glasses and shoved a long strand of dark, curly hair off her face. “Do you want to talk about next week’s reporter assignments?”

  I knew we needed to do that, but just now, I wanted to talk about something else. “It’s about my feature,” I said.

  “The one on Connor Wright?” She set aside the papers she was grading.

  “Yes,” I said. “I met his sister and his childhood best friend. And tomorrow, I’m talking to the director of Drop In,” I said. “Oh, and I also met some people who knew him growing up. They gave me some good quotes.”

  “Wow.” Ms. Surovsky raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been busy.”

  I didn’t actually feel like I’d made much progress. I said, “Connor seems to have disappeared.”

  “I heard,” she said. “Are you telling me this as the school reporter or as a local detective?”

  “Both,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table.

  “Should be an interesting article then.” She gave me a small nod. “Do you have a hook?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t tell her that I was thinking about fame and how people responded to celebrity. “That’s not what’s bugging me.” I considered exactly how I wanted to phrase my question. Time was running out and we both needed to go when the bell rang.

  She waited for me to continue.

  “How do you tell if someone is truthful in an interview? Maybe they’re just giving an opinion about…” I mentally reviewed the people I had talked to. “A friend, a sibling, their employee, a neighborhood kid.”

  Ms. Surovsky considered my question. “All reporters ask themselves the same questions. This is one of those situations where you need to set aside emotions and be objective.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said honestly.

  “Well,” she began to explain, “there are subjective and objective observations. The people at the restaurant. Did everyone you meet gush about how terrific a kid Connor was?”

  “They did,” I said.

  “That’s subjective,” she said. “Their opinions are influenced by personal experiences.”

  “And objective?” I asked.

  Ms. Surovsky looked at me in a way that told me she wanted me to answer the question myself.

  “Objective must mean that they aren’t influenced by feelings or anything like that,” I said. “It would be when someone sticks to the facts, right?”

  My teacher smiled. I’d gotten the definition correct.

  She said, “I knew the Chrises when they were young.” I was surprised to hear that. “No one gushed about them back then.”

  I wondered how well she had known them and was about to ask when she dropped an information bomb.

  “Connor and Topher were blamed for vandalizing the school theater,” Ms. Surovsky told me.

  “Really? Did they do that?” I was stunned. “Why on earth would they hurt the theater? They loved the theater.” I squinted at Ms. Surovsky.

  “Find out,” she told me. “And think about everything you’ve been told about Connor Wright. Ask yourself: What’s the motivation behind each person’s statement? If they all genuinely love him, great. But maybe there’s more to know.”

  “Dig deeper?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Ms. Surovsky was always telling me to dig deeper when I was researching a story. Clearly, that’s what she meant now too.

  I considered my interest in the effects of fame. Could it be that some people in town, including Frances and Topher, were all so stunned that a kid from Greenfield had hit the big time that they were willing to create a new version of the past? A version where they were closer with Connor than they were in real life? What had Connor’s time growing up in Greenfield really been like? I had more questions than ever.

  Chapter 7

  Waiting in the Wings

  My lunch with Marcia Harris was all set for Saturday. Charla, Daniel, and I decided to get to the Lookout Café early. This interview was a major score. I was going to get background for my feature! Plus, I hoped we might finally get an answer about why Connor seemed to have disappeared. In other words: Lots of pressure to get the questions just right.

  We parked our bikes and were heading toward the café when Charla grabbed my arm. “Jessie,” she said. There was a strange tone in her voice. “Isn’t that Marcia over there?” She pointed through the front window of the building.

  Daniel spotted the director before I did. “Sure is,” he said. “Why’s she already here?”

  I checked the time on my phone. “Oh please,” I muttered, “don’t let us be late.”

  “We aren’t late,” Charla said. “She’s got someone else at the table.”

  The man she was talking to had his back to us. We ducked around the building, where we could peek in a window to see who was there.

  It was Topher Jackson.

  “I wish I’d known this was a spy mission,” Daniel said. He loved spies and spy gear. “I have a new sound amplifier I’ve been dying to try.” He glanced down at his red T-shirt and then at the trees behind us. “And I would have worn camouflage.”

  “Topher could benefit from your fashion advice,” Charla said with a grimace. “Camouflage would be a lot better than that crazy hat he’s got on.”

  “It sure does draw attention,” I remarked.

  The hat looked like it came from Abraham Lincoln’s collection—tall and thin with a stiff, black brim. There was a frayed silver feather tucked in the band. The hat and the feather had both seen better days. Maybe it was President Lincoln’s hat after all?

  “Some actors are into eccentric fashion,” Daniel remarked. “Leather suits. Wild jackets. Ugly hats.”

  “Promise us right now that you will never wear a hat like that.” Charla put out her hand.

  “Not even if I’m playing President Lincoln in a show?” Daniel asked.

  “Not with the feather,” Charla said. Then, seeing the sly smile creep onto Daniel’s face, she removed all potential loopholes. “Just never. That’s it.”

  “I guess I’ll have to turn down any stovepipe gigs,” Daniel told Charla, gripping her hand to seal the promise.

  I laughed. Quietly, of course, because we were hiding in the trees, trying to blend into the plants.

  “In The Language of Espionage, it says that successful lipreading requires anticipating what might be said,” Daniel told us, sharing a fact from his favorite book.

  Are you learning to read lips? I asked. Actually, I didn’t say it. I mouthed it.

  Daniel mouthed back, Yes.

  “Practical,” Charla put in. She spoke normally.

  “Let’s think about what they might talk about,” I suggested, back to my whispering voice. “Plays.” That was all I could come up with.

  Daniel said, “My guess is that they are talking about the musical.”

  “Right.” My brain kicked in. “Topher wanted to see if Connor’s role might be available.” I began tossing out ideas. “Daniel, look for words like ‘audition,’ ‘Connor,’ ‘musical,’ ‘director’…”

  “Kidnapping, disappearance,” Charla added. “Handcuffs, duct tape.”

  I looked at her sideways. Apparently we had the same dark thoughts rattling in our heads.

  “Let’s see what I can find out,” Daniel told us.

  We moved in closer. There was a place between two empty tables where Daniel could see both the director’s and Topher’s lips perfectly. Charla and I hung back while he ducked just below the window frame.

  “Connor…” Daniel began. He wiggled his mouth oddly as he said the name again, “Connor. Yes. They are talking about him!”

  I wished the conversation were going faster. Something big was about to happen. I could feel it in my bones.

  “And?” Charla stared at Daniel’s lips. He was mouthing along with Marcia and Topher.

  “I trust you to keep the pizza,” Daniel said in an imitation of Marcia Harris’s voice. He quickly corrected the last word. “Secret.”

  Secret! They were hiding a secret!

  “I like pizza better,” Charla remarked softly. “But secret seems more appropriate.”

  “Go on,” I told Daniel. We needed more.

  In Topher’s voice, Daniel said, “No one will ever bind him.”

  “See?”

  Charla was so loud I had to shush her.

  She whispered, “Bind! He’s been kidnapped for sure.”

  “Oh, my bad,” Daniel said. “It was find. No one will ever find him.”

  “You’re making me crazy,” Charla moaned.

  “I’m doing my best,” Daniel told her.

  “What else?” I said. I had my phone out and was taking as many notes as I could. I deleted “bind” and wrote “find.”

  “She’s handing him an envelope,” Daniel reported.

  “Who said that?” I asked, fingers ready to type it.

  “No one.” Daniel clarified. “She literally handed him an envelope.”

  “Oh.” I fixed my note.

  “Argh,” Charla said. She squeezed in next to Daniel at the window. “You’re going too slow.” My thoughts exactly. “I’m helping now.” She reported, “It’s a big envelope. The kind a script would fit in.”

  “Do you think Topher is taking Connor’s role in Drop In?” It seemed to be what Charla was implying.

  “What else would be in an envelope that size?” Charla asked me.

  I wracked my mind. What else could it be? I’d ask myself to think bigger, more widely. I tried to picture things in a big envelope, and my head kept saying, Script. Script. Script.

  Charla grabbed my attention, saying, “If you asked me what I thought right now, in this second, I’d tell you that Marcia Harris hired Topher to get rid of Connor. There are the rumors about them arguing. If Connor was irritating Marcia, she had motive. Either she’s paying Topher in big bills, or she’s giving him an acting job.”

  This was huge. We finally had a motive behind Connor’s disappearance. Marcia didn’t want Connor around, so she hired Topher to do the dirty work.

  Topher was stuck in Greenfield while Connor had broken free. Jealousy can make people act in all kinds of bad ways.

  “Duck!” Daniel flopped to the ground. Charla and I crashed down next to him. The patio door opened, and Topher walked out. It was sheer luck that he headed toward the steps on the other side and not toward us.

  I peeked up, and that’s when I saw the envelope for myself. It really was script size. There was writing on it, but from here I couldn’t see what it said. Charla didn’t have her glasses on. And Daniel was covering his head, as if that might make him invisible.

  A second later, Topher was gone.

  Whew.

  We dusted ourselves off and went around to the front of the café. It was time for our interview.

  Before we went inside, I said, “Don’t let on what we just witnessed. Marcia has to think we just got here.”

  Daniel huffed as if he were getting off his bike, a little out of breath.

  “Good acting,” I told him. Charla did the same heavy breathing and I laughed. “Yeah, not really selling it. You and I should quietly walk behind Daniel.”

  “No acting?” Charla pouted.

  “Leave it to the pros,” Daniel told her. He opened the door for us and led the way.

  Marcia Harris stood as we approached her table. The same fancy scarf she’d worn to the theater hung over the back of her chair.

  Daniel ran a hand over his head. “Sorry we’re late,” he said. “That hill’s a tough one on bikes.” He blew out a breath and pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead.

  “Yeah,” Charla put in. “Big hill.”

  I tossed her a strong look that meant No acting!

  She smiled and ignored me.

  “It’s fine. I just got here myself,” Marcia Harris said.

  We knew that wasn’t true. What was she hiding? And why?

  She kissed me European style, once on each cheek. Then she did the same to Daniel and Charla.

  “Lovely view of the patio,” Daniel said.

  I kicked him.

  “I hadn’t looked outside yet,” the director said. She eyed me slowly up and down. “Adorable sweater, Jessie. Where did you get it?”

  I’d actually forgotten I was wearing a new sweater today. Violet had found it on a trip to the mall and bought it for me, since I rarely shopped for myself. This was the first time I’d taken the short, blue knit out of the box.

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t remember ever getting a compliment on my clothing before. I told her about the mall.

  “I need to get out of the Playhouse and see more of Greenfield,” she said. “It’s such a lovely little town.”

  I felt like she was being honest. I mean, Greenfield was great. And if I were visiting, I’d want to explore it too.

  Charla was wearing a new shirt too. She’d made it special for today. It said “Tech Crew,” which was a play on computer technology and theater techs, the technicians who made sure a show ran smoothly.

  She seemed disappointed that Marcia didn’t mention her shirt as well.

  We all took chairs at the table. Daniel was sitting across from Marcia in the seat Topher had vacated. Charla and I filled out the square table.

  I opened my phone, and since we’d been spying outside a few minutes ago, my notes popped right up.

  “How’s the musical going?” I asked. A simple question—unless of course her star performer was missing. Then it was a more complicated question.

  “Swimmingly,” she said, smiling wide. I waited for more, but that was all I got.

  This was difficult. I needed to dig deep, but digging was hard when your interview subject answered in short replies. She’d said more about my sweater than about the show.

  “As you know, we’re thrilled Drop In is in town,” I continued. “Everyone’s talking about it.” At that, Marica smiled. I knew she loved publicity, so I added, “We’re all very excited to have someone of your talent here.”

  Her smile widened.

  “I thought I’d focus the article on Connor Wright,” I said. “Since he grew up here and went to our middle school.”

  “A local connection always drives interest,” Marcia said.

  “I’m sure it’ll push people to buy tickets,” I assured her. Then I asked, “What made you cast Connor Wright in this show?”

  “Connor has a special charisma,” she said, and I remembered the feeling I’d gotten from the photos I’d seen at Frances’s house. “The audience eats him up. It’s hard to take your eyes off him when you see him under that spotlight.”

  That something-something. Sparkle. It.

  Daniel was drawn into the conversation. “Is that kind of attraction something that can be taught?” he asked.

  “In part,” Marcia said. “But some people just magically attract more attention than others.” She didn’t realize that Daniel’s question was really about himself. But I knew it. This was what Ms. Surovsky was talking about—the emotions behind the scene. Daniel was invested in the interview, but he also wanted to learn from Marcia how he could have his own theater career.

  “What else would you say about Connor?” I asked. “For the article.”

  “He knows how to improvise and roll with things that go astray,” she said, praising him. “Every actor needs to be flexible.”

  Charla cut straight to the chase: “Rumors are going around that Connor has disappeared.” There was no question. Just a pause. I wished she’d have let me slip into that topic more slowly, but here we were.

  “I don’t know why anyone would say that,” Marcia said. “Rehearsals are on track. Everyone is looking forward to the show.”

  We’d heard her say pretty much the same thing outside the community theater. If Connor was missing, Marcia wasn’t admitting it.

  “Charla brought it up”—I hoped to get into the question another way—“because I had an interview scheduled with him and he didn’t show up. We were worried.”

  Marcia waved at a server and asked for water. We all ordered drinks.

  “Connor is very in demand,” she said. “Everyone in town wants his time. I’m not surprised he’s having trouble balancing commitments in his hometown.”

 

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