Double Trouble Read online

“Let’s talk suspects,” I said after Ryan was out of earshot.

  “I think one might have just been standing here talking to us,” Joe noted.

  “Me too,” I agreed. “Did you notice that he talked about Justin throwing girls into the garbage? Just like the letter Ryan showed us.” I frowned. “But then almost right after Ryan seemed like he was about to punch Justin, Justin got him laughing.”

  “Yeah. Maybe Ryan shouldn’t be at the top of our suspect list. But we’ve got other contenders.” Joe looked over at the little cluster of Cleen Teeners. Most of them had started to boo now that Justin was getting ready to perform again.

  “Let’s see what we can find out. Two middle-America boy-next-door types should be welcome over there,” I said.

  “But . . . director’s chairs.” Joe looked longingly at the empty chairs right next to the director.

  “But . . . mission,” I said.

  “Right.” Joe and I left the secure area and dove back into the crowd. We worked our way to Cleen Teens central. “Hey, that’s Caro Whittier.” Joe pointed to a girl in the middle of the CT group.

  Caro’s this girl who goes to Bayport High. I’ve never really talked to her. But I figured my brother had. He doesn’t have the blushing issue. “Do you know her?”

  “We were lab partners for a semester last year,” Joe told me. “She was always whipping out this little bottle of hand sanitizer. So I knew she was clean. But I didn’t know she was Cleen.”

  “Let’s use her as our in,” I suggested.

  Joe nodded and changed course slightly so that we were heading directly for Caro. “Hi,” Joe said when we reached her. “You cut class too, huh?” We’d had to skip school today to be here when the shoot started. I have to admit, I’d gotten pretty good at forging those “please excuse” notes with one of our parents’ signatures.

  “I’ve never cut,” Caro replied. “My parents gave me permission to miss school today. They are really behind the Cleen Teen cause.”

  “Maybe I should join. I wouldn’t mind having parental permission to cut,” Joe teased.

  Caro didn’t seem to think he was funny. “Cleen Teens is a serious organization. We’ve actually gotten some legislation changes to give harsher sentences to underage drunk drivers. And we’ve organized Promise to Stay Cleen pledges all over the country. I’m in charge of heading it up in Bayport during the fall.”

  “That’s, uh, great,” Joe said. “Put me down.”

  Now Caro smiled. “Really? You’d be interested in helping out?”

  “Definitely. Frank too,” Joe told her.

  “Awesome. You guys have to meet William Bost. He’s the president of the national group. I know he’ll want to talk to you. Be back in a sec.” Caro squeezed between two other protesters and vanished into the mob.

  “You know we’re going to have to work on the pledge thing now,” said Joe. “She will hunt me down if we don’t.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a bad group. I’m for a lot of what they’re for,” I answered.

  “Unless they threaten people to get what they’re for,” Joe said.

  “Unless that,” I agreed.

  Caro returned with a stocky, dark-haired guy. I wondered if he was the one who had yelled, “Someone should shoot you for real, Carraway!”

  “This is William,” Caro said proudly.

  “Good to meet you,” William greeted us. He stuck out his hand. I shook, and felt something sticky on my fingers. I looked down at them. “Oops. Sorry,” said William. “I was just eating a Goo Goo Cluster.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s this candy they have in the South,” Caro said. “William never leaves home without a box.”

  “They’re good, but really, well, gooey,” William said, licking some chocolate off his palm.

  Caro wrinkled her nose, then pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of her purse. She offered me a squirt, which I took, then held the bottle out to William. “I’m good,” he said, giving his fingers a last lick. Unlike Caro, he clearly was just about the Cleen, not the clean.

  “Caro told us your group has gotten some changes in drunk-driving legislation,” I told him. “That’s really impressive. You’re really making a difference. Who knows how many lives you’ll have saved?”

  I’ve found flattery a useful tool when I’m trying to get info. But I meant it too. I did think working against drunk driving was vital.

  “But I don’t get what you’re doing here,” I went on. I’d already given Joe my theory on why the group was so focused on Justin, but I wanted to hear what William would say.

  William pulled another Goo Goo Cluster out of his shirt pocket and began to unwrap the candy as he talked. “If Justin Carraway joined our group, it would be the equivalent of millions of dollars of advertising. Reporters would write about our group every time Justin mentioned it—and forget about what would happen if he attended some events.”

  “So you want him as a spokesman?” Joe asked.

  “That would be awesome,” William said. “But before Justin could ever become a spokesman for Cleen Teens, he’d have to get his act together. Right now, that’s what we’re focused on. Even if Justin never becomes interested in the group, he could influence so many teenagers to become better citizens and people just by changing his own behavior.”

  “Right now he’s more of a poster boy for what not to do,” Caro added. She flicked the top of her hand sanitizer open and closed, staring at William’s fingers. They were already chocolate-coated again.

  William looked over to where Justin and Emily were getting some last-minute instructions from the director. “If he could only turn himself around, he could change the whole world with his influence.”

  I shot a fast glance at Joe, and I knew he’d realized the same thing I had. William had almost quoted a part of the stalker letter Ryan had showed us.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: William Bost

  Hometown: Huntersville, North Carolina

  Physical description: Age 17, 5’7”, 160 lbs., black hair, brown eyes.

  Occupation: High school student/national president of Cleen Teens

  Background: Member of the National Honor Society and Junior Achievement. Father a minister. Mother a lawyer.

  Suspicious behavior: Said something that was almost a quote from one of the stalker letters.

  Suspected of: Being Justin’s stalker.

  Possible motive: Justin’s current behavior is everything Cleen Teens is fighting against. It could be better to have him dead than for him to continue to be a negative influence.

  “The way he is right now, he’s influencing people to be the opposite of Cleen Teens,” Caro added. “Like Emily Slater. She used to be the perfect role model for teens. She always talked about animal rights and going green in her interviews. And you never saw her behaving badly on one of those TV shows that are all about celebrities. There were never any negative magazine articles. But now—”

  “Now she’s turning into a girl version of Justin,” William finished for her. “She isn’t any kind of role model anymore. I just saw a news story about her throwing a glass of water at a waiter. He had to go to the hospital to be treated for a possible concussion.”

  “And in an interview I read last week, she was raving about a new liquid diet she’s on. Eating disorders are a big problem with lots of teenage girls. And it’s like Emily has become a spokesperson for anorexia,” Caro said. “I find her—”

  “We need quiet. Quiet please,” a man in a Hawaiian shirt called to the crowd.

  It took a few moments, but the crowd hushed. Justin lay down in the street, a puddle of fake blood running off his shirt and down to the asphalt.

  Hawaiian Shirt stepped in front of him. “Scene forty-seven, take one,” he announced, slapping one of those movie clapboards together. I’d never seen anybody do that in real life.

  Emily let out a high shriek and raced toward Justin. She dropped down on her knees next to him and
cradled him against her body, murmuring into his ear.

  Then she sprang to her feet, letting Justin fall back. “I can’t believe you!” she shouted.

  Justin jumped up. “What? You’re saying it’s not true?” he yelled back.

  Flash, flash, flash. Flash, flash. The paparazzi were going nuts, firing off shots of Justin and Emily.

  “Cut!” the director called. “What just happened?” she demanded.

  “She was whispering stupid stuff in my ear, trying to make me break character,” Justin answered.

  “Only because he—,” Emily began.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Justin interrupted.

  “You’re actually saying that. When you know you hurt me so bad,” Emily exclaimed.

  “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you,” Justin told her.

  “Well, you did. And you knew it while you were doing it,” Emily cried.

  “Over here, Emily!” Elijah called. She turned her head. Elijah snapped picture after picture, along with the rest of the photographers.

  “How can we fix this?” asked the director. “What needs to happen so you two can work together for more than one minute at a time?”

  “Kill him,” Emily answered. “I could definitely do the scene if I was really holding his dead body.”

  And the suspects kept on comin’.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Emily Slater

  Physical description: Age 17, 5’6”, 115 lbs., long blond hair, green eyes.

  Occupation: Actor

  Background: Discovered while performing in a high school play by a friend’s director father. Played the best friend in a short-lived TV show. Undercover is her first film.

  Suspicious behavior: Announced that she’d like someone to kill Justin.

  Suspected of: Being Justin’s stalker.

  Possible motive: Heartbroken after Justin broke up with her.

  The Dillweed

  “That’s enough!” the director yelled at Justin and Emily. “I’m starting to feel like a kindergarten teacher. I’m trying to make a movie here.”

  “Keep her away from me,” Justin yelled back. “When we don’t have a scene together, I want her to be kept one hundred feet away. Ryan, call Slick. Tell him to get my lawyer to slap a restraining order on her. You heard her say she wants me dead!”

  “I want a restraining order too!” Emily screamed.

  Elijah ducked under one of the barriers and crept closer, circling around Emily and Ryan to get a photo from a different angle.

  “Ryan, tell Slick that my restraining order has to include my trailer.” He whipped his head back toward Emily. “You’re the one stealing from me, aren’t you? You’re a complete stalker.”

  “Slap him, Emily!” Elijah coached. “He deserves to be slapped for that.”

  Justin jerked around toward the photographer. With two long strides, he was on Elijah. He grabbed Elijah’s camera, hurled it to the ground, then stomped on it. “I want a restraining order on you, too!” Justin bellowed.

  “I said enough!” the director snapped. “Back to your starting places, both of you. Somebody fix the blood. The pool on the street is all smeared now, thanks to the foot stomping and leg kicking from the children.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And you!” She pointed at Elijah. “You’re out of here.” She signaled to one of the security guards.

  “This is public property—,” Elijah began.

  “And we have a permit to use it,” the director answered as a security guard took Elijah by the arm. “Didn’t you two hear me?” she asked, her attention on Justin and Emily again.

  Sydney did her reappearing act. One minute she was nowhere, the next right in the middle of things.

  “He heard you, he heard you,” she said, patting the director’s arm with one gloved hand, while waving Justin back into place with the other.

  Justin opened his mouth, like he wanted to say more. But he lay back down on the street without another word. Emily stalked over to her initial position in silence. Nobody looked happy. Not Justin, not Emily, not the director, not Sydney. Definitely not the Cleen Teens.

  Caro clucked her tongue. “Emily never would have thrown a tantrum like that before she met Justin.”

  Guess Frank and I were going to have to find a chance to talk to Emily. She had just announced that she’d rather work with Justin’s dead body than the live version. You know, sometimes being an ATAC agent is really hard. Having to go up and talk to beautiful movie stars and all.

  Actually, for Frank that probably is the hard part of the job. There are times I’m very glad I’m not my brother.

  FRANK

  Okay, okay, I know it’s your turn, but can you stick to the story if it’s your turn to tell it?

  JOE

  You’ve got one thing right, Frank—it’s still my turn. Anyway, as I was saying . . . Hawaiian Shirt slammed the clapboard down, announcing the second take of Scene 47. Again, Emily ran toward Justin and dropped down next to him. She cradled him close . . . then started to laugh.

  “Cut!” the director yelled.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Emily exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “I just . . . I don’t know. Seeing him lying in the blood and everything.” She giggled.

  “That’s it for today,” said the director, her face flushed with anger. “Shut it down!” she called to the crew.

  “Guess we should head home too,” I said to Frank as the crowd began to break up. “We’ve got phone calls to make and toothpicks to acquire.”

  “Who do you think we should ask?” Frank said. “After what we just saw, I’m not sure how much fun this party is going to be for anyone. I doubt Justin’s going to be in a happy mood.”

  “Even if it’s not fun fun, everyone we know is going to want to be there,” I reasoned.

  “So who?” Frank asked.

  I thought about it as we walked. We hadn’t bothered to take our motorcycles. We had figured there’d be no place to park even a cycle anywhere near the shoot, and we’d been right. “Chet, for sure,” I said, naming the guy who’d been our best friend since forever.

  We managed to come up with four more people—two more guys and two girls—by the time we reached our front walk.

  “Hey, we forgot about Dad,” I said to Frank.

  “What?”

  “You know Dad will want to be there,” I told him. “He’ll want to make sure we’re safe.”

  Frank stared at me for a long moment. Then he cracked up. So did I. We’d been working really hard to train our father to treat us like any other ATAC agents. Meaning hands off. Letting us use all the hours and hours of prep ATAC had given us to complete our mission in the way we thought was best.

  We were still laughing when we walked in the front door.

  “Something funny?” Dad asked as we passed through the living room. The question made us laugh harder.

  “Don’t get so caught up in the fun part of—” He lowered his voice. “Your mission. Hanging out with movie stars and all that. You have to stay alert. Always. You two could be all that stops Justin Carraway from getting attacked or worse.”

  That killed the laughter. Was Dad ever going to get that we were really good agents? Not agents-in-training? That we had already stopped people from getting attacked—or worse—without him to remind us?

  “We’re always on alert when we’re working, Dad,” Frank said. I knew he’d been thinking pretty much what I had.

  Dad sighed. “I know that. I trust you. I trust all the agents. But I’m always going to worry about you more. It’s not only Justin who could get hurt. You’re always in danger too. Every mission. There are times I wish I’d never brought you into ATAC. Except you are exactly the kind of kids—agents—I had in mind when I founded the organization.”

  Wow. I never thought I’d hear Dad say that.

  “Thanks,” said Frank.

  “Thanks,” I echoed. But I couldn’t help adding, “Now excuse us, we have to go get ready to par-tay
!”

  • • •

  I couldn’t believe what I saw when Frank and I walked into the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel, where Justin was staying.

  “What—” Frank didn’t seem able to complete his thought.

  “What is Chet wearing?” I finished for him.

  Frank nodded.

  “It appears to be a T-shirt with lapels and a bow tie drawn on it to give it, unsuccessfully, the appearance of a tuxedo jacket,” I said. “And a pair of purple pants made of some extremely shiny material I am unable to identify.”

  “Hey, guys. I decided to wait for you down here,” Chet said as he hurried over to us. “I didn’t want to go up to the room without you. Even though I know I’m invited and everything. I’m invited, right?”

  “You are totally invited,” said Frank. Even though I’d told him exactly what Chet was wearing, he was still staring at our friend like he was trying to figure it out.

  “And also, I kind of wanted to keep watching her.” Chet nodded toward the front desk. For the first time, I realized that Emily Slater was standing in front of it. Now you know exactly how startling Chet’s outfit was. “Is she going to be at the party too?”

  “Doubtful,” I answered. “Extremely doubtful.”

  “She and Justin aren’t really friends,” Frank added. Understatement of the decade.

  “Why don’t you two go on up to the room? I’ll wait down here. The other guys might want someone to go in with too,” I suggested.

  Frank flicked his eyes toward Emily, then back to me. “Good idea,” he said, and I knew he’d figured out that I wanted to use the opportunity to talk to one of our suspects. I think he was relieved he didn’t have to do it himself.

  I waited until Chet and Frank were on the elevator, then walked over to Emily. “Hi, I’m Joe Hardy,” I told her. “I’m part of the Bayport High committee to welcome you and the rest of the movie group to Bayport.”

  “I think I saw you talking to Justin before,” she answered, sounding as if she’d already decided not to like me because of that.

  The clerk passed a key across the counter to Emily. “If you have any problems with your new room, don’t hesitate to let us know. I’m sure we can find something you like, Miss Slater.”