After a quick lunch and a detour to pick up magic supplies for my act, Clyde and I headed back to Liam's farm. This time, Liam wasn't around to greet us. Instead, we saw Jack Peterson talking to none other than Rip Hardcore. From the looks of things, neither of them appeared to be happy.
"With all due respect, Ms. Peterson, your studio has just been one muck-up after another," Rip Hardcore growled. "First the soundtrack, now this."
"I told you before, Mr. Hardcore. The producers forced that in at the last minute," said Peterson. "It certainly wasn't my idea."
"Doesn't explain how you managed to misplace those chickens."
"Trust me, Mr. Hardcore, I will be disciplining the one responsible for that. We're trying our best over here."
Hmm. Does that mean they found out who talked to Liam's meemaw about the chickens? Only one way to find out. I approached the two and cleared my throat.
"Excuse me, Ms. Peterson?"
Peterson and Rip both turned to look at me. Peterson sighed.
"Oh, it's you," she said. "Sorry, kid, but you caught me at a bad time. I need to sort some behind-the-scenes stuff with Mr. Hardcore. I doubt you'd be interested."
"A good detective never leaves a stone unturned," I proclaimed, tossing back my cape. "If this is relevant to our investigation, we need to know about it."
Rip raised an eyebrow. "Investigation? Peterson, what the bloomin' heck are these kids babbling about?"
"Long story," Peterson groaned. "Look, it's not that you don't have a point, kid; this could be connected. But this whole production is in hot water right now, and I need to convince Mr. Hardcore that I can pull this off."
"You can start by bein' straight with me, Peterson," said Rip, folding his arms. "I don't like being kept out of the loop; especially not on my own project."
Peterson clasped her hands together and took in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh of defeat. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Hardcore. I was hoping to do damage control on my own, but you have a right to know these things. Just… please don't fire us over this, yeah? We really need this gig."
Rip snorted. "I'll consider it, Peterson. Now, let's start at the beginning, yeah? What's all this about?"
"Allow me to explain, Mr. Hardcore, sir," I said with a salute. "Lincoln Loud, big fan and detective. This is my associate, Clyde McBride."
Rip raised an eyebrow. "Ain't you a bit young to be a detective?"
I feel like I should start keeping a tally of how many times we're gonna be asked that. Seriously, it's starting to get annoying.
"Trust us, Mr. Hardcore. We're professionals," I said. "So, let's start by getting you up to speed. Clyde?"
"Hmm? Oh, sure," said Clyde, taking out his notes. He then proceeded to recap everything for Rip. Rip gave Peterson a look.
"So, that's where those chickens ended up, eh? What were they doing there?" he asked.
"Someone on my staff dropped the ball," Peterson said. "I swear, this never usually happens, and it certainly won't happen again."
"So, you know who talked to Liam's meemaw about the chickens?" asked Clyde.
Peterson sighed. "Yep. I guess you guys wanna ask her some stuff, huh?"
"If you don't mind."
Peterson sighed again. "Not like I have a choice at this point." She then turned her head and raised her bullhorn. "Yo, Suzanne! Get your goofy butt out here!"
I looked to the trailers to see who would answer Peterson's call, and I had to do a double-take. Running up to her was someone who looked so much like Luan, she could pass for her identical twin. Same ponytail; some height; heck, she even had Luan's overbite and braces. The only real difference I could see was her nose was a bit more rounded, and she had a mole on her cheek.
"You rang, JP?" she asked. Holy smokes, she even sounds like Luan!
"Sure did," said Peterson, turning to me. "Kids, this here's Suzanne Hedger, a new recruit on my stunt crew. She's an intern, so she's still a bit green."
I know this sounds crazy, but now this kinda makes sense. As mentioned before, my family hired Peterson's stunt crew because they looked exactly like us. So to my way of thinking, the fact that they have a Luan double as well doesn't seem all that strange. I mean, I've seen way crazier things in my lifetime.
"Please to meet you, ma'am," I said with a nod. "Lincoln Loud. My friend Clyde and I are investigating a curious incident that took place at the Royal Woods Mall last night."
Suzanne tilted her head. "Aren't you a bit young to be doing this?"
Yep, saw that one coming. Honestly, are you surprised by this point?
"Doesn't matter," I said. "What matters is last night, a concert was interrupted by a flock of chickens that came from this very farm."
"And from what I understand, you were the one who talked to the farm owner about those chickens," Peterson added, giving Suzanne a dark look. "Care to explain yourself, Suzanne?"
Suzanne shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, "Sorry 'bout that, JP. I was just trying to help, but it looks like I just ended up with egg on my face." She laughed at her own joke. "Get it?"
Wow, now she really sounds like Luan. And she didn't even go through the training we gave the stunt team when we hired them. Nngh, focus, Lincoln. You can't go barking up every suspicious tree you see.
"What exactly happened?" I asked.
"Well, I just told the farm owner that we needed the chickens for a scene," said Suzanne. "But I had them delivered to the wrong place. I just got mixed up is all."
Peterson groaned. "How could you have gotten something like that mixed up? This farm is the only location we're shooting in!"
"Well, I didn't know that," Suzanne said meekly.
"How could you not know that?! I gave you a memo!"
"Uh, you mean this memo?"
Suzanne reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a paper hat. Peterson facepalmed hard.
"Suzanne, you think just because you're an intern, you can just goof off like this?" she scolded. "Mr. Hardcore is considering firing us because of this! I need you to take this seriously!"
Suzanne flinched. "C-c'mon, JP. I-it was just an accident. No foul play here." She laughed. "Get it?"
Peterson groaned again. "Suzanne, I know you like having fun. I'm not saying you can't. But these little games of yours can't interfere with your work. If I hear one more complaint about your behavior, you're outta here. Do I make myself clear?"
"C-crystal," Suzanne whimpered. "I'm super sorry about those chickens, JP. Won't happen again, I promise."
"Make sure it doesn't," said Peterson sternly. "You can go now."
"Y-yeah, sure. No more yolks, I-I mean jokes. Welp, that's all, folks!"
With that, she was off like a shot. Peterson pinched the bridge of her nose and let out another groan.
"I cannot begin to apologize for this, Mr. Hardcore," she said. "Suzanne should know better than to go behind my back like that, but she's a bit… loopy, to put it mildly. I don't know where he brain is half the time."
"Well, why'd you hire her?" asked Clyde.
"To be fair, her resumé is actually pretty solid," said Peterson. "She's done a bunch of her own stunt work before, in a manner of speaking. She's got the skill, but she's lacking discipline."
I'm not entirely sure what that has to do with our mystery, so I think it's best to talk about something else. At least now we know how those chickens ended up at the Royal Woods Mall.
"Mr. Hardcore, was there something else you were unhappy about regarding Ms. Peterson's production?" I asked.
"Just those two pop music clowns that are doing the soundtrack," said Rip. "I don't know how you let the studio get away with this, Peterson."
"Like I said, that decision was out of my hands," said Peterson. "On the plus side, Hitmaker Records is pouring a lot of money into this production. We cut them loose now, and we could be losing a significant portion of our budget."
Rip scoffed. "That hasn't stopped me before. When I started out, all I had was one partner with a camcorder, and that's all I needed."
That's actually true. If you compare the production values of Rip Hardcore's early work to his latest stuff, there is an increase in quality. But I guess that sort of thing can go too far.
"Well, this isn't gonna be any old documentary, Mr. Hardcore," said Peterson. "The big screen isn't for your usual stuff. You need my crew to help you bring this to life."
"Ain't disputing that, Peterson. And I hired you 'cause you're the greatest action director in Royal Woods," said Rip. "But I'm not letting you turn this project into something it's not, nor am I gonna tolerate this kind of unprofessionalism."
"I assure you, I'll do everything in my power to make sure this keeps in line with your vision, Mr. Hardcore," Peterson promised. "Nothing else is going to go wrong, I promise."
Rip arched an eyebrow. "When you're fighting to survive, you have to expect anything to go wrong."
Whoa~. I-I just got goosebumps. Rip Hardcore is so cool. Nngh, snap out of it, Lincoln. You don't have time to gawk.
"I-I'll be sure to make a note of that, Mr. Hardcore," said Peterson. "Now, are we done here? I need to discuss your complaints about the soundtrack with Hitmaker Studios. I'll try to find some sort of compromise."
Rip nodded. "Alright. But if I'm not happy with it, I reserve the right to talk to those stooges myself."
"Duly noted," said Peterson before turning to us. "Sorry, kids, but I gotta run. Good luck with your investigation."
With that, she took off, and Rip Hardcore went back to his own trailer. Huh. Looks like we're at a bit of a dead end. I have some theories, but none of them point to a culprit.
"What're you thinking, Ace?" asked Clyde.
"Let's go over what we know, Jack," I said, pacing back and forth. "Suzanne Hedger is the one who talked to Liam's meemaw about the chickens, probably trying to take initiative for her boss, Ms. Peterson. But she somehow managed to pass them off to some unknown delivery person, who in turn handed it off to mall security. From there, the chickens made it to the stage and ruined Luna's concert."
"You think whoever did this manipulated Suzanne into making that mistake?" asked Clyde.
"It's possible," I said. "It's also possible that Hitmaker Records have a hand in this, but we don't have any evidence to that effect. And even if we did, we can't interview them right now because Ms. Peterson is talking to them."
"So, we're kinda at a dead end," Clyde sighed.
"I hate to say it, buddy, but yeah. There's not much else we can do," I said solemnly. "I was really hoping to have this figured out before Lola's pageant, but seeing as we have about half an hour left, that's probably not gonna happen."
…
Wait, half an hour left?! Dang it, how'd I lose track of time like that?! Sheesh, it must take longer to get to the farm from the mall than I thought.
"Clyde, I gotta hustle!" I said. "Lola's gonna throw a fit if I'm late to this thing!"
"Right," said Clyde. "I'm coming with you. Someone needs to keep an eye on things."
He pointed to his eyepatch as he said that. Ah, classic One-Eyed Jack. Somehow, that joke never gets old.
"Thanks, pal," I said. "Okay, let's move!"
With that, we pedaled as fast as we could to the pageant hall. Now, hopefully, this prankster was only targeting Luna, and nothing else is gonna happen. But I remember what Rip Hardcore said. When you're fighting to survive, you need to expect anything to go wrong. And I feel that applies here, too. Part of me hopes that I'm wrong about that, but let's face it. I'm not that lucky.
