“Nice,” Nancy said. “Do you wear those all the time, or only to climb trees?”
“I just got them a couple of days ago,” Spider said. “I’m trying them out for stunt work, and then we’ll see. Why?”
“Could you climb something like the wall of a house wearing those shoes?” Nancy asked.
“I guess, but I’d look like a cat trying to climb a greased tree,” Spider said with a laugh. He was about to give Bess a slap on the back but he stopped himself just in time. “I wear spiked boots for building work. Listen, do you have a reason for being so nosy?”
“Yes,” Nancy said, “but I’d rather not tell you what it is just yet.”
Nancy asked him what they’d be filming the next day, but Spider said he didn’t know.
“Hank keeps changing his mind. Makes it kind of hard to prepare for my stunts, if you know what I mean.” Spider sounded disgusted, but he shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was no big deal.
“Ask Hank Steinberg,” Spider called out as Nancy and Bess walked back toward the street. “He’s the man holding the reins and cracking the whip.”
Nancy had already decided it was time to talk to Hank Steinberg. She and Bess stationed themselves near Hank Steinberg’s personal trailer. They hoped to catch him there when he wasn’t too busy.
It was close to midnight when Hank Steinberg came walking briskly toward his trailer. Assistants trailed behind him like the tail of a comet.
“Mr. Steinberg?” Nancy said.
The director immediately turned toward them. “It’s the screamer and her friend, isn’t it?” he said, stopping before he climbed the trailer steps. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about Fenley Place,” Nancy said. “Do you have a minute?”
Hank Steinberg looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Detective dialogue out of a teenage girl’s mouth. I think there’s a movie idea in it,” he said.
Bess giggled, and Nancy could feel her face turning red.
“I’ll call it The Blushing Detective —just a working title, of course,” Hank Steinberg said. “But seriously, please come in and tell me what’s on your mind.”
He opened the door and motioned Nancy and Bess inside. The trailer was a mess. On one side, chairs were piled high with movie posters, script pages, and movie industry newspapers.
The other side of the trailer was filled with games: the newest computer games, the oldest board games, mechanical toys, and packs of cards.
The minute Hank Steinberg stepped into the trailer, he wound up a mechanical metal roller coaster and started the cars zooming and diving.
“Now, what about Fenley Place—and why are you staring at my shoes?”
“It’s a habit I’ve gotten into,” Nancy said.
“They’re Pacers. It’s the hot shoe in California,” Hank Steinberg said. “Have you got them here yet?”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “I’ve been seeing them everywhere.” Then to change the subject she asked, “Do you know about the things that have been happening over at the Teppingtons’?”
“Yes, I’ve heard, and I know everyone in the neighborhood thinks that I’m responsible. But I’m not. The crew thinks it’s a publicity stunt, but that’s crazy. We’re not looking for any publicity. Anyway, the incidents at Fenley Place are making my people nervous, and they’re making costly mistakes because of it.”
Hank Steinberg watched the roller coaster for a few minutes in silence. Then he said, “I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been happening on the set since we began filming in River Heights. It’s almost as if someone’s trying to sabotage my movie.”
He walked back to Nancy and looked directly at her. “So, Ms. Drew,” he said, “if you can solve the mystery, you’d be doing me a big favor.”
“What are you filming tomorrow?” Nancy asked.
Hank Steinberg turned and pointed dramatically at Bess. Nancy relaxed a little. Bess’s scene, with the red smoke, had already happened at Fenley Place. So there was nothing new to worry about, at least for a while.
“So, good night,” Hank said. “See you in the movies.”
Back in her car, Nancy looked up at the stars. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” she said. “My head’s too full of this case.” She turned to Bess. “Do you want to come over and spend the night? Maybe there’ll be a good, old movie on TV.”
“No thanks. I’ve got an eight o’clock call,” Bess said. She had begun using a lot of movie expressions. “We actresses need our beauty rest.”
“How about an old movie and popcorn?”
“Well… an actress needs her beauty rest and her popcorn,” Bess answered.
***
Bess borrowed one of Nancy’s nightgowns, and they sat on the couch in Nancy’s living room, munching popcorn and watching a black-and-white horror movie on TV.
“Why are we watching this movie?” Bess asked with a yawn. “It’s lousy.”
“We’re watching it because there’s nothing else on,” Nancy said.
Nancy and Bess stared at the screen. The movie was an old horror film called Vampire Castle. Even though they had tuned in late, it wasn’t hard to follow the story.
A tall, pale man stood alone in the dimly lighted hall of a medieval castle. A beautiful young woman in a hooded cloak approached him. She folded down the hood to reveal her long, curly blond hair.
“Virginia,” said the pale young man in a strange accent. “I told you to leave. You must leave immediately.”
“I had to see you again,” the actress replied. “I love you, Nigel.”
“You can’t. I am no longer Nigel. Now I am only a terrible monster,” said the young man.
“Who are these people, anyway?” Bess moaned. “They can’t act, and I bet they can’t even scream.”
“It’s definitely not a Hank Steinberg film, that’s for sure,” Nancy agreed.
“Nigel, why are you staring at my neck?” asked the blond woman on the TV screen.
“Oh, no, Virginia,” said Nigel, tearfully. “The evil curse has started already. I am becoming a vampire. You must leave and never come back.”
Virginia wrapped her cloak tightly around her neck and turned slowly. Then the orchestra played louder as she walked out of the castle and closed the door. In a bright flash of light, Nigel turned into a bat and flew out the window.
The End. The movie credits started rolling by.
“Well, it’s over,” Nancy said. But Bess had fallen asleep with her hand in the pop-corn bowl.
Nancy was too tired to get up and switch off the set, so she just sat there watching the credits. Suddenly a name jumped out of the screen. It was the name of the actress who had played the starring role of Virginia.
Nancy ran to the set to make sure she had read it correctly. No—there it was in big black-and-white letters. The actress who had played Virginia was Pamela Teppington!
Nancy Spots a Suspect
“Bess, wake up,” Nancy said, shaking her sleeping friend.
Bess didn’t know where she was for a minute.
“Pamela Teppington,” Nancy said. “I just saw the name Pamela Teppington on TV.”
“It’s an okay name, Nancy,” Bess said drowsily. “But I don’t think I’m going to change my name for the movies—unless Hank thinks I should.”
Bess slid down and stretched out on the couch. “Good night and thanks for thinking about me, Nancy,” Bess said. She made a waving motion with her hand and fell back asleep.
Pamela Teppington—who was she? Nancy wondered. Was it just a coincidence? Or was she somehow related to the Teppingtons of Fenley Place?
Nancy grabbed a clock. It was two A.M. There was nothing to do but wait until morning. Then she’d spring the name on Alan Teppington and see how he reacted.
At eight A.M. Nancy hand-delivered Bess to Brandon Morris. He pointed them both to the makeup trailer parked at the end of Highland Avenue.
After Nancy had walked Bess over to the trailer, she said, “Now I’ve got to catch Alan Teppington before he goes to work.”
“Wait a couple of minutes, okay, Nancy?” Bess begged. “Don’t you want to see them put on my makeup?”
The trailer they were standing in was wall-to-wall lighted mirrors. There were also two sinks, plus a row of tall chairs facing the mirrors.
The door opened behind them and in walked a sleepy-eyed woman wearing a faded denim jump-suit. She had elaborate green and blue eye shadow on and bright red lipstick. Nancy could tell right away that she was the makeup artist.
“Hi, I’m Adele,” she said to Bess. “Are you a screamer, a bleeder, or a corpse?”
“Screamer,” Bess said.
“Good,” Adele said. “I don’t think I could take another bleeder this early in the morning. It’s gotten so bad I’ve even given up jelly doughnuts, you know what I mean?”
Bess nodded and sat down quickly in one of the chairs. “This will only take a minute, Nancy,” Bess said.
“Actually, Nancy, it’ll take a couple of hours,” Adele said in a friendly voice, acting as though she had known Nancy for years. “First we have to wash her hair and style it. Then we have to start on the face.”
Adele stuck a straw into a box of fruit juice and took a couple of sips. “Yeah,” she said. “Screamers are easy. We keep the face kind of pale and darken the mouth a little so it shows up nice and big like a train tunnel. And we add lines around the eyes so they look enormous. But it takes two hours anyway because the hair stylist and I hate each other and we spend most of the time fighting and calling each other names.”
“I really can’t hang around for two hours,” Nancy said, hopping off the chair she was sitting on.
“I’ve got to go. Good luck, Bess. I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous!”
Nancy ran out of the trailer and across the street to Fenley Place. The dark old house seemed to watch her with all the silent patience of a panther watching its prey.
Kate answered the door, wearing her pajamas.
“Hi, Kate,” Nancy said. “Is your dad home?”
“He went to work. You just missed him.”
“Oh, too bad.” Nancy shook her head in disappointment. Then she noticed the dark circles under Kate’s eyes. “Do you feel all right, Kate?”
“Amy had nightmares again. Nobody got much sleep,” Kate said with a yawn. “We’re making a welcome-home party for Boris. Want to help?”
“I can’t, but give him a hug for me,” Nancy said. “And tell your dad, I’ve got to talk to him. It’s important.”
Nancy headed back toward the makeup trailer. But as she approached it, she heard two angry voices arguing loudly. Adele and the hair stylist were at it already.
So instead of going in, Nancy veered toward the catering tent in the park. It was crowded and filled with delicious aromas. Nancy worked her way through the hungry movie cast and crew until she found George stationed by two juice dispensers and trays of warm miniature Danish.
“Hi, George, is it okay if I hang out here for a while? I want to eavesdrop. ” Nancy whispered this last word.
But before George could answer, Pat Ellis, the owner of Elegant Eats walked up to them.
“George,” said Pat Ellis, her dark eyes studying Nancy, “who’s this? A friend?”
“This is my best friend, Nancy Drew.”
Nancy opened her mouth to say hello, but Pat Ellis cut her off before she could get the word out.
“Are you busy?”
Nancy shook her head no.
“Well, would you like a job for a few hours? Three of my helpers didn’t show up this morning. The pay is minimum wage plus all the Danish you can eat.” Pat Ellis paused, as if to catch her breath. “What do you say?”
This might not be a bad place to observe everyone from, Nancy thought. She grinned and said to Pat, “George said the Danish are worth it. So why not!”
Pat put Nancy to work behind a steam table of poached eggs, in charge of either serving them bare or transforming them into Eggs Benedict.
As long as the food and the customers lasted, Nancy enjoyed the work. But as the morning wore on—and the food ran out—boredom set in. And she wasn’t finding out anything new about Fenley Place.
How am I ever going to solve this mystery from here, Nancy thought to herself. Sipping a glass of orange juice, she looked around at the movie people talking and laughing.
Suddenly she almost choked. There was Spider Hutchings sitting under a tree talking to none other than Josh Petrie—the boy who had vandalized the Teppingtons’ house!
“I thought he was in the army!” Nancy said out loud.
“Who?” the script girl standing nearby asked.
“Never mind.”
Nancy quickly untied her apron. At the same time George came rushing up to her.
“Nancy, you’ll never guess who’s here,” George said excitedly.
“I know. And I’m going to try to catch him,” Nancy said, not taking her eyes off Josh Petrie for a second.
“Catch him? But he’s here to see you!” George said.
“Huh?” Nancy said. “What are you talking about?” But she couldn’t wait for George to explain. Josh was getting up and moving away. She zipped around the egg table and ran smack into the young man standing in front of her. It was Ned Nickerson, her boyfriend!
“Oooff! Hey—nice tackle! Maybe you should take up football,” Ned said.
For a moment, Nancy was confused. She had been thinking about catching Josh Petrie, and here was Ned Nickerson. But Ned was supposed to be at his parents’ summer house, at Cedar Lake. Nancy stared into his face as though he were the last person she expected to see, which he was.
“Ned?” she asked.
“Well, at least you haven’t forgotten my name.” Ned laughed. “For a second, I thought you were looking for someone else.”
Nancy’s eyes darted over to the tree where Josh and Spider had been sitting. But they were gone now. Two actresses in blood-stained clothes were sitting there instead, eating blueberry muffins.
“What are you doing here?” Nancy asked.
“Hank Steinberg doesn’t come to River Heights every day,” Ned said. “So I came to check out the action.”
So far, the action had consisted of a puff of red smoke, a ghost in a window, a footprint in the dust, a drugged dog, and a terrorized family. Nancy figured it was more action than Ned had counted on.
“What’s going on?” Ned asked. “I hear they’re saying the movie is jinxed.”
“Well, you know me,” Nancy said. “I figure it’s something a lot more real than a jinx or a rash of bad luck. But I haven’t figured out what, yet.”
“You will,” Ned said. “You always do.”
That was the great part about Ned Nickerson. Nancy could always count on him to stick up for her.
“Did you see Josh Petrie a minute ago?” Nancy asked.
“He’s not in town. He’s in the army,” Ned said.
“That’s what I thought, too.”
Just then Nancy heard a loud bell-buzzer—the signal that called the crew to work.
It meant they were about to shoot a scene.
“Come on—we’ve got to go see Bess! She’s got a part in the film,” Nancy said.
“Screamer, bleeder, or corpse?” Ned said.
“That’s what I like about you, Ned Nickerson. You catch on fast.” Nancy grinned.
She looped her arm in Ned’s and they hurried off toward the McCauley house. George had finished work until the next meal, so she went with them to watch Bess’s scene.
On the sidewalk in front of the McCauley house stood Bess. Her face was made up, her hair was styled, and she was wearing a dress she couldn’t afford even if she saved up all summer.
Hank Steinberg talked softly in her ear, giving her directions. He pointed to the McCauley house, but not at the chimney. From where Nancy stood, it looked like he was pointing at the walls.
Suddenly Nancy realized that Hank Steinberg had changed the script. He wasn’t going to do the scene with the red smoke coming out of the chimney. But what was he going to do instead?
“Quiet! This is a take!” one of the director’s assistants called through a megaphone.
As Bess walked backward down the sidewalk, she focused her eyes on the front of the McCauley house.
Slowly, a small dark stream appeared on the wall. It trickled down from under the window ledge in a thin line. But soon it grew and spread out, forming large red blots. The house was bleeding, dripping with blood that poured slowly from under the roofline and the window sills, until nearly half of the front of the house was red. Bess screamed her now-famous scream, and not even her friends knew whether she was faking it or not.
“Cut!” yelled Hank Steinberg.
Ned, standing next to Nancy, gave her a little poke with his elbow. “Hey, Nancy,” he said. “Why are you looking away? You were never afraid of a little blood before? And this blood isn’t even real!”
But Nancy wasn’t looking away from the McCauley house. She was looking at Fenley Place, expecting at any minute to see blood begin to drip from its walls. It had to happen. It was in the script.
“Wash off the wall. I want to do it again,” Hank Steinberg said.
During the next hour, they heard him give that order five more times. And they watched Bess scream five more times, each time sounding more terrified than the last.
And every time the red paint ran slowly down the side of the McCauley house, Nancy’s blood turned cold. She couldn’t keep herself from looking behind her, hoping it wasn’t happening at Fenley Place at the same time.
“This is great,” Ned said. “And everything looks fine on the set. This movie doesn’t look too jinxed to me.”
But before the words were even out of Ned’s mouth, a klieg light slipped off its scaffolding above the sidewalk. It came crashing down to the ground, hurtling toward Bess’s head.
Alan Teppington’s Story
It all happened too fast, before Nancy could shout out a warning to Bess.
As soon as Dallas saw the klieg light start to drop, he made a leaping dive from the sidelines straight at Bess. She didn’t see him coming. And when he tackled her like a linebacker, her face had a look of genuine fear and pain.
A split second later the klieg light crashed to the sidewalk, shattering and sending glass fragments in all directions.
On the front lawn lay Bess and Dallas, both stunned and bruised by the impact of the collision.
Almost immediately they were surrounded by crew members and Hank Steinberg. Nancy, Ned, and George had a hard time getting through the crowd to Bess.
Dallas rolled on the grass, clutching at his left shoulder in pain. Stunt men like Spider Hutchings knew how to fall and roll. But a lighting man-turned-hero had to take his lumps.
“She’s all right, Nancy,” Ned said. “You can tell because she sounds all right.”
Bess yelled in Hank Steinberg’s face, “Did you do that just to scare me?” He was kneeling on the ground next to her, while crew members were helping Dallas to his feet. “You, you…” She stammered and searched for a word. “Jerk!”
“I realize you’re upset—” Hank Steinberg said, but his voice wasn’t rock-steady either.
“I’m not upset,” Bess shouted. “I’m hysterical!”
“It was just an accident,” said the director.
That word made Dallas furious.
“Accident? There’s been one too many accidents around here, Mr. Steinberg,” he said. “If there’s another one, or if anything else strange happens to that house across the street, I quit!”
Hank Steinberg saw a hot situation getting hotter and knew that he’d better act quickly to cool it down.
“Take thirty minutes,” he called to everybody. He thanked Bess for her scream and then personally asked the crowd of onlookers to go away and come back another time.
Nancy and her friends rushed over to make sure Bess was all right. She was a little shaky and bruised but otherwise unhurt.
“Well what do you want to do now?” Ned said in a disappointed voice. “Now that Hollywood Heights has asked us to please leave.”
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” Nancy replied. “Find Josh Petrie! I’m positive I saw him with Spider Hutchings this morning.”
“I say we forget about Terror Weekend and Fenley Place, at least for today,” George said, “and go for a swim!”
Bess agreed. She asked them to wait while she changed her clothes and took off her makeup. Then the four friends made quick steps to pick up their beach gear and headed for a nearby lake.
By the end of the day, they were all a little sunburned but relaxed and happy. Even Nancy agreed that she was glad to forget about the Teppingtons for a while.
But at the pizza restaurant that night, the four of them found themselves once again thinking about the events over on Highland Avenue.
“You know, if I lived on that street, I think I’d be spooked,” George said. “And I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Can you imagine how the Teppingtons feel?” said Bess. “I mean, they’re just sitting around waiting for something awful to happen.”
Nancy kept time with her thoughts, tapping one fingernail on the table until Ned put his hand over hers.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“The script,” Nancy said. “Why did Hank Steinberg change the script?”
“Nancy!” George said. “Look who’s here!”
“Who? Where?”
“At the corner table with those creeps from the bowling alley.”
Nancy followed George’s eyes and saw Josh Petrie. He was just getting comfortable at a small table with some very rough-looking friends.
“This time he’s not getting away,” Nancy said, standing up. She marched over to Josh’s table.
“How’s it going, girl detective,” Josh said, briefly glancing up at Nancy. Even when there wasn’t a sneer on his face, there was one in his voice.
“Hi, Josh,” Nancy said. “I thought you were in the army.”
“And I thought you were sitting over there,” he fired back. Josh Petrie did everything quickly. You could tell he never thought about what he said before he spoke.
“Seriously, I heard you enlisted,” Nancy said, trying to look into Josh’s brown eyes.
He held the plastic laminated menu in both hands and drummed the edge of the table with it. “It didn’t go,” he said. I got kicked out. Dishonorable discharge, stealing. Have I made your night? Now, bug off!”
Josh pushed his chair back to get away from Nancy, but she didn’t leave.
“I said, get out of here!” Josh was almost shouting.
“Listen, Josh, a friend of mine almost got killed on the movie set today,” she said. “And weird things keep going on at Fenley Place. What do you know about it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly. “I haven’t been near there.”
“Let me see your shoes, Josh.”
“Take a hike,” he said.
Nancy turned to leave, but Josh was leaning back in his chair, and she couldn’t get through.
“Excuse me,” she said to the man sitting at the table behind Josh. The man scooted his chair sideways and accidentally bumped into Josh. Josh fell backward and landed on the floor with his feet stuck straight up in the air, showing Nancy a brand new pair of Pacer track shoes.
“You’d better be telling me the truth, Josh,” Nancy said, walking away.
“Listen,” Josh yelled after her. “Anytime the Teppingtons get dumped on is okay with me. Got that?”
After that, Nancy wasn’t too hungry. So she and Ned said good night to Bess and George and headed toward Ned’s car. The night was strangely quiet. Only a handful of crickets were chirping in front lawns when usually there were choirs.
“Josh Petrie is never happy unless he’s causing trouble,” Ned said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Nancy said. But she tried to put Josh Petrie out of her mind for the moment. “What time is it?” she asked Ned. “I’ve still got to catch Alan Teppington and ask him a question.”
“Almost midnight. I’ve got to get back to my parents’ place.”
“You’re not staying?” Nancy asked Ned.
“I can’t,” he answered. “We have guests coming tomorrow. I just came to check out the movie stars, watch Bess almost get mashed by a klieg light, and catch you picking a fight with Josh Petrie. Who could ask for more?”
“Very funny,” Nancy said. “So where’s your car?”
Nancy and Ned turned the corner toward the city lot where Ned had parked earlier that day.
Because Ned had a long trip ahead of him, Nancy insisted that he drop her off at the corner of Highland Avenue. She said goodbye and promised to write to him soon—as soon as she solved the case.
“Good luck,” he called as he pulled away from the curb.
A nearby church tower clanged twelve as she walked down the street toward the Teppingtons’ house.
Was she too late? Was it happening right then to the walls of Fenley Place? Would the house be covered in blood as the McCauley house had been?
When Nancy saw Fenley Place, she sighed with relief. The large mustard-colored house shone gold in the moonlight. There was no sign of blood.
A light in the den, visible from the street, lured her on.
Alan Teppington, in his baggy, striped robe, answered the door and led Nancy into the den, where he and Sara were playing cards.
The Teppingtons wanted to know how Bess was. Sara had seen the klieg light fall.
“Then you must have seen the McCauley house dripping with red paint.” Nancy made sure to use the word paint instead of blood.
The Teppingtons nodded.
“I never liked the color of this house anyway,” Sara joked half-heartedly.
“Mr. Teppington,” Nancy said, coming to the point of her visit. “I watched the late show last night. The movie was called Vampire Castle. ”
Alan Teppington’s whole expression changed. He looked as though he didn’t want to talk about the subject Nancy had brought up. He scooped up the cards and started laying out a hand of solitaire on the table.
“Who is Pamela Teppington? Is she a relative of yours?”
Boris, asleep on the floor, gave a low growl that stuck in his throat. His legs twitched.
“Pamela Teppington is my ex-wife,” said Alan Teppington.
Above their heads, Fenley Place creaked and sagged. Nancy’s back straightened.
“It was twenty years ago. I was very young. We weren’t married for very long,” Alan said. “Six months.”
Snap! went the cards as he continued to deal the solitaire hand.
“Pamela and I met in high school and got married right after graduation. Then we went out to Hollywood together. But I think she just married me to get out of River Heights. She loved the idea of being a big star more than anything else. After she did Vampire Castle, I never saw her again.”
He swept his arm across the table and the cards flew to the floor.
“So you can see why I despise show business people.” He stood up to go to bed.
Was there a coincidence, Nancy asked herself? Alan’s ex-wife was in a horror movie, and now there was a horror movie being filmed across the street. Was Pamela Teppington somehow connected with Hank Steinberg’s production?
“Mr. Teppington, where is your ex-wife now?” Nancy asked.
“I told you. I haven’t seen her in twenty years!” he exploded.
The den door slammed against the wall as he opened it and stomped out.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy said to Sara. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right. He always acts like that when Pamela’s name is mentioned,” Sara said. “Fortunately, it doesn’t get mentioned very often.”
“Mrs. Teppington,” Nancy began.
“Sara,” the woman reminded her.
“Right. Sara. If I’m going to find out who’s been doing these terrible things to you, I’ve got to be here when it happens. Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”
“Are you expecting something to happen, Nancy?” Sara asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “But I think I should be here, just in case.”
***
Later, sitting on the living room couch alone, Nancy listened to the house.
Click, click, click.
Nancy caught her breath. It was Boris’s paw nails on the wood floor. He jumped up on the couch and fell asleep. Nancy fought him for foot room the whole night.
But finally she, too, fell asleep.
At six.A.M. something woke Nancy up. She sat up on the couch and saw the first pink splashes of sunlight in the morning sky.
But what had awakened her? Was it a sound on the front porch?
She slipped on her shoes and walked softly to the front door. As she stepped out onto the porch, Nancy could see the answer.
There was red everywhere—streaks of dark red blood.
The whole front of the house was covered with it.
Alone in the House
Right away, Nancy could tell that it was paint and not real blood. Just the same, it looked awful. The color was perfect—it looked exactly like blood. Nancy touched the paint and found that it was dry.
Just then Boris charged out of the house, barking and snapping fiercely.
“Quiet! It’s me!” Nancy said in exasperation.
The dog finally stopped barking and lay down glumly on the porch, blocking the steps. He put his chin on his front paws.
“What’s going on?” Alan Teppington asked, stepping out onto the porch in his robe. “We heard Boris barking.”
Sara was only a few steps behind her husband. They were both looking at the dog, but then they turned and saw what had been done to their house.
