Can Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys stop the curtain from crashing down on a new Broadway spectacular? The producers of a huge new Broadway musical are worried about their star, a TV actress who has been receiving death threats. When the actress gets sick right before opening night, her understudy has to go on for her—and nearly dies in an “accident” on stage. So the producers call in the Hardy Boys to get to the source of the trouble. Baffled by all the backstage backstabbing, the Hardys call Nancy and ask her to come to New York and help them out. When she arrives, they realize that Nancy is a dead ringer for the lead actress, so they arrange for her to replace the injured understudy. Can the three supersleuths put an end to the accidents plaguing the show? Or is the curtain about to come down once and for all? Carolyn Keene is the author of the ever-popular Nancy Drew books. Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books. Stage Fright Chapter One WHY WOULD ANYONE want to burn down a theater?” Nancy Drew asked, peering at the road through the sheets of water that slipped down over the windshield. Her rental car crept along the dark country road, its headlights cutting through the watery dusk, the wipers battling the downpour. “Arson makes me so angry when I think of all the innocent people who could get hurt!” “Or even die,” added Ned Nickerson, Nancy’s boyfriend. He switched on the overhead light for a second to check the directions Nancy had scribbled down, then brushed his wavy brown hair back and squinted out the passenger-side window. “Looks like we’re coming to Bridgeville. The theater is a few miles past the center of town.” Nancy glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s four-thirty. This thunderstorm has really delayed us.” “I sure wouldn’t expect one in December,” Nancy’s friend, George Fayne, said, wiping the fog from the rear window. Her curly dark hair was tussled from the ski cap she had removed and tossed on the seat beside her. “Especially in Connecticut. If this were snow—” A jagged streak of lightning followed instantly by a cannon shot of thunder stopped her in midsentence. “Wow, that was close,” Nancy said. “Seems like this storm has followed us all the way from the airport.” “I just hope lightning doesn’t hit Aunt Evelyn’s. She has enough problems,” George said. Nancy drove past a wide green with a statue of a Revolutionary War soldier in its center. The green was bordered by a white church with a towering steeple, a town hall, a library, and ten or twelve large, comfortable homes aglow with Christmas lights. “Don’t worry, George, we’ll find out who set the fire at your aunt’s and who sent the threatening notes, too.” Ned put his hand on her shoulder and grinned. “If Nancy Drew can’t do it, no one can.” “I just wish we had more time,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “Opening night is Friday and it’s already Tuesday. Ms. Caldwell will have to cancel the show if we don’t move fast.” George leaned forward. “Dad said Aunt Evelyn can’t afford to cancel the play.” Nancy had never actually met Evelyn Caldwell, but she knew of her, of course. She was a famous actress who’d starred in dozens of Broadway plays and Hollywood movies. She had retired from acting three years earlier to run a summer theater and try her hand at directing. She wasn’t really George’s aunt, just a close family friend. She and George’s father had grown up together, and George was extremely fond of her. Now Evelyn Caldwell was the owner and artistic director of the Red Barn Theater, a historic little New England playhouse. Under her the theater had gained a reputation for excellence, attracting top actors from New York City and audiences from all over the state. But the theater was expensive to run. “I know about the financial problems,” Nancy said. “She told me on the phone that when she decided to run the theater year-round this fall, the actual costs of adding insulation and a heating system turned out to be much higher than she’d been told.” “Plus, she’s invested so much money in this play that it has to be a success,” George said. “She’s hired two stars and paid the playwright a fortune for the rights to the premiere of Alias Angel Divine.” “But if she does have to cancel this production,” Ned said, “can’t she make it up with proceeds from the rest of the winter season?” “Not if someone burns down the Red Barn.” George threw herself back against the seat, frowning. “Don’t worry,” Nancy said, reassuring her friend. As they left the lights of Bridgeville behind, Nancy felt the surge of excitement that always accompanied the beginning of a new case. This time, for George’s sake, she was doubly determined to find out who was behind the threats. “Hey, Nancy,” Ned said, “there’s the sign.” As Nancy slowed the car, she caught sight of a big wooden Red Barn sign. She turned left and drove down a muddy lane with pond-size puddles. Following the directions M