Deadly Intent | Chapter 7 of 19 - Part: 1 of 4

Author: Carolyn Keene | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1213 Views | Add a Review

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GEORGE, CAN YOU think of any reason why Harold Marshall would want his biggest star out of the way?” Nancy asked, helping herself to a breadstick.

“How do you know he’s not telling the truth?” George held down her napkin as a breeze drifted across the outdoor table at the café where the two girls were having lunch.

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble. It’s so confusing. But George, even if Barton isn’t in trouble, I’m absolutely convinced that something fishy is going on.” Nancy rubbed the back of her head as proof. “But how am I supposed to know where to look when I don’t even know what I’m looking for?”

“You tell me, Nan. You’re the detective.”

“All I do know is that Harold Marshall is creepy. Poor Alan, getting his dream shattered by that goon.”

“Well, someone was going to do it sooner or later. That concert last night really put stars in his eyes. I mean, he’s acting totally blind as far as realistic expectations go.” George leaned over sideways to allow the waiter to put down a bacon cheeseburger in front of each girl and a basket of french fries between them. “Thank you,” George said, reaching for a fry. “Anyway,” she continued, “Bess isn’t helping matters. The way she’s been talking, you’d think Alan was going to be the next Bruce Springsteen.”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious that Harold Marshall cleared up that misconception quickly.”

“Mind if we join you?” Nancy heard a familiar voice behind her. She turned around to find Bess and Alan, both smiling broadly.

“Hi! What are you guys doing here? Bess, you said you and Alan were going to have lunch together somewhere.”

“We were, but we stopped off at the hotel first and got the most incredible news. We just had to tell you. The hotel manager said he’d recommended this place.” Bess plopped down in an empty seat beside Nancy. Alan sat next to George.

“So what’s happening?” Nancy asked, noting the looks of pure happiness on their faces. She was more than ready to hear some good news.

“They’ve decided that—” Bess and Alan both began speaking at once.

Bess laughed. “You go ahead and tell them, Alan. It’s your news.”

“Well, Vivian from the record company called,” Alan said breathlessly, “and they’ve decided they want me to cut an album for them!”

“What?” Nancy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But I saw Harold Marshall after you did and he said . . .” Her voice trailed off. There was no point in repeating what would only hurt Alan.

“I know what he said.” Alan nodded. “But he must have changed his mind. There was a message from Vivian waiting for us when we got back to the hotel. I returned her call, and she told me to come right over to World Communications. Mr. Marshall wanted to congratulate me in person!”

“What made him change his mind?” Nancy could picture the sneer on Harold Marshall’s lips as he mentioned Alan. She wouldn’t have expected him to change his mind for all the gold in Fort Knox.

“I think it had something to do with Barton,” Alan said.

“Barton!” Nancy sat straight up in her chair.

“Yeah, that’s the other piece of great news,” Bess put in. “Alan saw him!”

“When? Where?” Nancy’s head swam.

“Right after I went back to Marshall’s office. Barton wanted to thank me for filling in for him, and he asked me to do his next couple of gigs while he stays out of the public eye for a while.”

“You’re kidding,” Nancy said.

“Nope. He was hanging around, waiting for a limo to take him to his beach house, that purple bandanna around his neck, sitting in an armchair drinking a beer and watching some movie on a VCR.” Alan leaned back in his chair with a happy sigh. “I guess he sort of coaxed Marshall into signing me on. And to think that until yesterday Barton was just someone I dreamed about meeting!”

“Nan, George, isn’t it unbelievable?” Bess leaned over and grabbed Nancy’s arm.

“Unbelievable,” Nancy echoed, meaning it more literally than Bess had. Was she to believe that Harold Marshall had so completely changed his mind about Alan? Or that the only person Barton Novak had asked to see was not a member of his own band, not a close friend or relative, but a fan he’d spoken with for no more than a few minutes?


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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