Murder at the School Musical

© 2013 Bruce Kimmel. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 4/30/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4894-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4893-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4892-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013907860

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Front cover design by Doug Haverty Book design by Grant Geissman

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Acknowledgements

For my favorite Hofstetters in the making…

Jenna, Sami, and Sarah.

May you, like Adriana, always march

to the beat of your own band.

CHAPTER ONE

She was excited. Any new adventure was always exciting for sixteen-year-old Adriana Hofstetter, and as she stood there looking into the huge, cavernous room filled with books and dealers and people, she knew this adventure was going to be very interesting and would probably result in a very good story for the school newspaper, not that anyone in her school would read it. No, most of her schoolmates could barely form a sentence that consisted of more than four words and most of them wouldn’t be caught dead around a book that wasn’t for school. Even if they did read, it wouldn’t be an actual book, it would be on their computer or iPhone or iPad or Kindle or Nook or any of those things that, in Adriana’s opinion, were robbing the culture of its, well, culture.

It had been her mother’s idea to come to the Antiquarian Book Fair. Margaret had read about it in the LA Weekly and suggested that they have an outing, do something they’d never done before. Adriana had immediately seen the potential not only for doing something she hadn’t done before, but also for a good story.

She’d then researched the Antiquarian Book Fair on her computer and it did seem interesting, that whole subculture of book collecting. It was a world she knew nothing about and she loved learning about new worlds. Best of all, her best friend Billy Feld-man had tagged along, so even if it turned out to be boring, being with Billy was never boring.

They’d left at ten in the morning. The skies were overcast, but it was still nice out and they’d all dressed accordingly: Margaret in her usual jeans and sweatshirt, Billy in a Book of Mormon T-shirt and green corduroy pants, and Adriana in an authentic 1970s lemon-yellow shift dress, which everyone had to admit looked really good on her. Her hair was down and partly in a ponytail.

By the time they’d hit the 101 the sky had turned fifty shades of gray and by the time they were approaching downtown it was pouring. Of course, they hadn’t brought umbrellas-why would they? The weather was supposed to be overcast but nice, not yucky and rainy. Luckily, the parking was underground and they went right from there inside to the book fair, which was located in the Pasadena Civic Center building on Green Street.

Look at this, Adriana said, whispering, looking at the hundreds of people roaming the room, talking to dealers, looking at books. This is amazing.

Why are you whispering? Margaret asked. This isn’t the library.

She didn’t know why she was whispering. She’d somehow got it into her head that it would be very quiet, but quiet it wasn’t with hundreds of voices yammering away sounding like a bunch of radio stations all playing at the same time.

Where do we even start? Adriana asked.

I choose there, Billy said, pointing to the first booth at the aisle nearest to where they were standing.

Why? Adriana said, laughing.

I don’t know, it’s close and I like that guy’s hair, he said, looking at the older man in the booth with shoulder-length gray hair.

You’re so weird, Adriana said to Billy. Okay, let’s go.

Well, I guess that’s as good a reason as any, Margaret said. We have to start somewhere.

Wait, Billy said, pulling out his phone. I want to take a picture for my Instagram.

Adriana looked at him. Your what? Never mind, I don’t even want to know what that means.

Billy laughed. You need to know what it means. It’s fun. I already put it on your phone.

You put what on my phone?

The Instagram app. You can post pictures and you have followers, like Twitter but with pictures.

I’m not going to post pictures and have followers. Who are these followers?

Your friends.

I don’t have any friends, except you, freak.

Then I’ll follow you and you can post pictures and do hash-tags and you’ll love it.

What language are you speaking? Hashtags? Don’t explain it, it’s already giving me a headache.

Billy took a picture of the room and typed something into his phone. There, done-quick, easy, hashtag done. And since I already set up your Instagram to follow me, you can see the photo on your phone right now.

Why do I have to see a photo? I’m here.

Adriana already had an uneasy relationship with her new phone. Her trusty iPod with its years of service, which she’d used for recording countless interviews with people, had given up the ghost and Margaret had bought them both iPhones. Because the latest and greatest new model iPhone had come out, the previous model was dirt cheap and she got them a family plan for the service.

The best thing about the new iPhone was that she now had what was essentially a phone and iPod in one and she didn’t need the stupid external microphone she’d had to use with her ancient iPod. This phone had a built-in voice memo recording thing, although she didn’t care for it that much. But Billy had immediately grabbed her phone and found her iRecorder, a recording app that she absolutely loved. He’d also put on a bunch of free apps, none of which she’d looked at or opened, including Instagram.

Can we go walk around the room now? Margaret said. You kids today.

Hey, I’m not one of those ‘You kids today’ kids. You moms today.

They walked over to the first dealer booth that Billy had pointed to. It was at the head of a long aisle, both sides of which were filled with dealers selling their books. This booth, like most she could see, had two cases forming a kind of L at the front of the booth. Both cases were filled with books. Then there were several bookshelves filled with books and you could just walk past the cases and peruse.

The three of them looked in the cases. There were some books autographed by the authors and other books that looked old. She didn’t really know what any of them were.

They walked back to the bookshelves and looked there. There were so many books, all hardcovers, all nestling neatly next to each other, like cozy friends. Her measly collection of books numbered about thirty, and most of them were paperbacks. But she’d always loved books, from the time she was little and Margaret had introduced her to a book called Nancy and Plum, which had been Margaret’s favorite childhood book. From that point on, Adriana Hofstetter had read everything she could.

There were books assigned for high school English, but she’d already read all of them long before she was required to. Unlike most of the kids in her class, for whom reading those classics was sheer drudgery, she’d loved them—To Kill a Mockingbird, Animal Farm, Lord of the Flies—they were amongst her favorite books. She found it funny that the only books that girls her age seemed to like were the Twilight books. She’d tried reading the first book in that series and couldn’t even get thirty pages into it. And amusingly, most of the kids her age, if pressed, would probably admit they hadn’t actually even read Twilight—they’d seen the movie.

Can I help you with anything?

Adriana turned around and there was the man with the long gray hair, smiling at her, Billy, and Margaret.

We’re just looking, thank you, Adriana said. She continued, Is this your booth?

It is. He pointed at the sign, which read: Hobo Books, Orange County, California. That’s us. I’m Paul and that’s my wife Ellen.

He pointed to a lady sitting in a chair by one of the cases. The lady looked over, smiled and waved at them.

Hi. I’m Adriana Hofstetter, this is my mother, Margaret, and this is Billy.

Paul smiled a goofy smile and said, Welcome to the book fair Adriana, Margaret, and Billy. Are you looking for anything in particular?

No, it’s our Saturday adventure, Margaret said.

And I’m doing a story for my school newspaper, Adriana added.

Ah, said Paul, a writer. We love writers. Obviously. Well, you let me know if I can help you.

Paul walked away to say hi to some other people.

He’s like an aging hippie, isn’t he? Margaret said.

Kind of like you, Mommy, Adriana replied, laughing.

And what’s so bad about being an aging hippie? Hippies were fun.

Okay, Mommy, don’t have a seizure.

Adriana noticed there was a copy of The Hunger Games on the shelf. She removed it carefully, wondering why a relatively recent book like The Hunger Games would be at an Antiquarian Book Fair. The dust jacket flap had a price of $17.99. She turned the first page and almost had a heart attack when she saw a pen-ciled-in price of $750. Apparently, Paul saw the look of shock on her face, and was walking back to her, smiling his goofy smile.

You’re a fan of the book? he asked.

Not really. But why is it so much money? You can buy it anywhere.

Ah, but this is a first edition, you see. And this book has become really hard to find in first edition.

That’s a good thing? A first edition? Don’t people just want to read it?

This is a show for book collectors-a strange and wacky breed. So, this show is all about first editions-the very first printing of a book. Some books go through hundreds of printings, like the Harry Potter books, but collectors really only want the first edition, the first printing of the book. I’d hate to tell you what the first edition of the first Harry Potter book sells for—the true first edition from England.

This was like hearing a whole new language and she was entranced by it. How much?

Well, for a fine copy the asking price would probably be between twenty-five and thirty-five thousand dollars.

Adriana’s eyes widened. For a book? One book?

Margaret was listening, too, as was Billy, whose eyes were as wide as Adriana’s.

For one book. You have to understand, the first printing on that book was tiny and most of the copies went to libraries in England. Only a couple hundred got out for sale, so it became a hugely rare book right from the beginning.

And people pay that kind of money? Adriana asked. You could live for a whole year on that kind of money.

We do live for a whole year on that kind of money, Margaret said.

Paul laughed and it was a warm and genuinely friendly laugh and Adriana just liked him immediately.

Well, he said, there are some very wealthy book collectors who build incredible libraries, and price is no object for them as long as they are getting beautiful copies of the books they want.

This was so fascinating to Adriana and she wanted to get some of what he was saying recorded. Can I interview you for my story? I mean, actually record what you have to say?

Sure, just come back in a bit and I’ll have my wife take care of the booth. Walk around, check out some of the other dealers—if you think our prices are high, wait till you see theirs. Think of questions and then we’ll sit down for a few minutes, how’s that?

That’s great, Adriana said.

That’s very sweet of you, Margaret chimed in.

I’ll do anything for writers, Paul said, and there was that goofy grin again.

They spent the next hour walking up and down the aisles, stopping in at the booths, looking at books. Most of the dealers were very friendly and answered any questions Adriana had. Billy was his usual funny self, making comments about the dealers and the collectors, some of whom really were the most peculiar-looking people he’d ever seen. He was taking pictures like mad, especially of the most peculiar of the peculiar-looking people, and, Adriana guessed, was putting them on Instagram for his followers to see.

There was one bookseller who had a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, which Adriana had read and enjoyed. It was in one of those glass cases and it looked beautiful. She asked the bookseller what the price was and he patiently told her that The Great Gatsby was one of the most sought after books in all of book collecting—a kind of Holy Grail for serious collectors of 20th century literature and was almost impossible to find in a dust jacket, especially a dust jacket as nice as the one his copy had. If the $750 copy of The Hunger Games had almost given her a heart attack, she almost had a stroke when she heard the price of The Great Gatsby. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the dealer said. Adriana noticed a gleam in his eye, and then he said, chuckling, We do layaways.

Do you think you’ll sell it? Adriana asked.

I don’t care, actually. If we do, I can take it easy for a few months. If not, all these other dealers can just be envious. And don’t let any of them tell you they aren’t.