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made of particle board—in other words, not real wood. The pieces are covered by a thin panel of stained wood so that the furniture looks nice. Usually the kind of people who buy furniture from O’Reilly Bros, are young married couples just moving into their first home, or college kids looking for cheap dorm room furnishings. Definitely not rich guys who live in mansions up in the Mission Hill neighborhood.
    But Jeffrey had thrown his arms around this armoire as if it was one of his prized antiques. Could he have been confused and mistaken it for a more valuable piece? Or did this particular armoire have sentimental value for some reason? There had to be some explanation for why a wealthy man who collected antique furniture would have a cheap piece like this.
    “I’m going to need you to move back, Nancy,” Chief Cody said, striding up to me. “You’re too close to the fire. A spark might catch your hair or your clothes.”
    “Sorry, Chief,” I replied. “I’ll get out of your way.”
    I hurried toward my car, fighting to breathe in thesmoky air. At the end of the driveway I spotted a mailbox that I hadn’t seen on the way in. When I saw the name on the side, I gasped.
    “Allman,” I read aloud. “That was Jeffrey Allman!” He was the man who had recently retired as the CFO of Rackham Industries. My father and I had been talking about him only this morning.
    I shuddered. It was terrible to think of a retiree losing his whole house and all his money. Poor Jeffrey Allman. Compared to his troubles, my stage fright problem seemed completely silly. I started up the car and pulled out. I could hardly wait to get back to the set. After the sad reality of the fire, a little moviemaking glamour would be welcome.

The Natural
     
    T he instant I set foot in the makeup trailer, Pam and Degas pounced on me.
    “I was about to send out a search party!” Degas joked. He spun the makeup chair around and gestured for me to sit.
    “We only have ten minutes to transform you into Esther,” Pam said. “We’re lucky you look so much like her to begin with!” It was true. One of the reasons Morris had asked me to play the Rackhams’ sister was because I happen to resemble the old photos of Esther.
    Degas pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail and began forming it into a proper nineteenth-century bun. Pam whipped out my makeup chart. It listed everything she needed to use on my face to make me into Esther. Before production shut downdue to Herman Houseman’s sabotage, these two had spent hours experimenting with makeup on me. Now I could understand why they’d done such an in-depth job. Because they’d figured out what to do back then, they now had a list of everything that was needed. It was as if they had a blueprint of my face; all they had to do was follow their directions, and I’d become Esther Rackham.
    Before I knew it, I was made up and on my way to the wardrobe trailer. It was the same story there. I stepped inside, and within five minutes Julie Wilson, the wardrobe assistant, had me costumed in Esther’s long dress.
    As I wrapped myself in a robe to keep the dress clean, Luke Alvarez knocked on the trailer door.
    “Is Nancy here?” he asked, sticking his head in.
    “I don’t know about Nancy, but Esther Rackham is here,” Julie teased.
    Luke looked me up and down and whistled. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d want to ask you on a date,” he said.
    “Even with this ugly bun?” I asked, putting a hand up to my hair. I wasn’t used to such severe styles. Usually I just let my shoulder-length hair fall loose around my face.
    Before Luke could answer, his brother Ben called from outside. “We’re late!”
    Luke rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Nancy,” he said. “But Ben and I have been sent to find you. Morris wants to get started on our scene. It’s the last one of the day, and everyone is anxious to get it over with and go home.”
    “I’m ready,” I said, tying the robe closed. With a wave to