“We had an advantage over you. The receipt was lying on the floor in all that mess the CSIs sorted out. We already interviewed the young woman who dropped off the food. She’s the one who helped us with that sketch of the coffee cart guy. Almost the same description you gave us except she said big and creepy, not big and burly.”
“Not the food?”
“What?” Jack asked.
“The receipt was there but no food? That’s odd, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s in the fridge or Brigit dumped it in the trash in a fit of anger.”
“I don’t remember smelling food. What do you make of that?”
“I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“There’s something ‘off’ about this abduction. That cat’s missing, too, by the way. Mara checked with the cat wrangler this morning. Marmalade’s gone. He was in Brigit’s room when I left.”
“Why wouldn’t there be something ‘off?’ Crimes rarely go as planned. That’s how we get the bad guys. If you’re implying that the ruthless delivery guy impersonator bludgeoned Ben Davies, abducted Brigit Margolis, and then stole her lunch and a big yellow cat, that’s a stretch.”
“You have a point. Even Max wouldn’t come up with a plot line that ridiculous, would he?”
12 The Dress
As I rode the elevator down to the tunnels, I tried to figure out what was bothering me about Imogene. My second phone conversation had been very different from the first one. Imogene admitted that it had been her idea and not Max’s for me to wear that dress. She had not reacted well to Brigit’s complaints about the dress being heavy even without the hoops. With one lovely dress already hanging in Wardrobe, she had become furious at the prospect Brigit might not wear the new one either.
How that fury became a reason to try to make me wear the original dress wasn’t clear. I had accepted her statement that she was perfectly content for that first dress to be part of her legacy, even if it turned out that it would never end up in the film. Only minutes later, though, she had contradicted herself. No way was that original dress going to become a museum piece now that someone had trashed the one in Brigit’s dressing room. Max had made it clear she needed to do whatever it took to get a new dress ready ASAP so they could resume shooting once Brigit returned.
I hadn’t been able to explain it well to Jack, but there was something “off” about Imogene, too. Her demeanor was strange. She was not only illogical, but furtive, as though she were hiding something. Could she be involved in Brigit’s disappearance? Mara had called Imogene’s scream “dramatic.” What if Imogene had acquired acting skills after all the years she hung about on film sets?
When I arrived at Wardrobe about fifteen minutes later, I walked into a large open room. Several workstations were set up in various locations. Some had large flat surfaces for cutting and bins containing the notions for mending or sewing. Dress forms, fabric steamers, and a couple of sewing machines were also in that workspace.
Fitting rooms were off to one side. On the other side were shelves lined with shoes, hats, belts, and other accessories. That included a few unusual items given that this was a fantasy film. Sparkles, rhinestones, and feathers could be seen here and there, in addition to spools of ribbon, lace, and twine. I spotted a sword and a shield, and what looked like a bird’s beak. In another area where the film crew handled props and makeup, there would be scads of them.
Even though there were cutting surfaces and sewing machines in the room, this wasn’t a place where costumes were designed and sewn. Wardrobe’s primary function was to store them. Costumes could also be fitted, cleaned, mended or altered as needed. At the back, I imagined I'd find more storage and a small laundry. The fragrance of laundry soap hung in the air.
What I could see from where I stood was an automated rack like they use to hang clothes in a dry-cleaning store. The layout was familiar to me since similar areas were set up for associates who worked in Arcadia Park or the resort hotels. For years, before I moved into management, I had picked up and dropped off my work clothes there.
“Hello,” I called out. An eerie silence greeted me as I entered the space. Had all the uncertainty about filming kept staff from reporting for duty today? Did Jack and his team of investigators have them upstairs, grilling them about Brigit’s disappearance? An oversized Marvelous Marley World wall clock with Catmmando Tom at its center hung in front of me. One of Catmmando Tom’s outstretched arms pointed to a yellow-colored section of the clock with a cartoon character chomping on a burger. That part coincided with a two-hour block—11:00-1:00. Maybe the staff had left for lunch since Catmmando Tom’s pointing paw indicated it was almost 11:30.
“Imogene, it’s Georgie.” Imogene had suggested we meet here. Surely, she wouldn’t have left for lunch already? The faint aroma of food reached me. Next to that wall filled with accessories was a door marked “Private.” With the door closed, perhaps she couldn’t hear me. I knocked. Imogene must have shut the door, but not latched it. It opened as I knocked.
“Imogene, are you in there?” I asked as I opened the door all the way and stepped inside. Her suite was much like the dressing rooms for “The Talent” upstairs, although it was dimly lit right now. A small cart like those used by room service at hotels sat off to one side. Our caterers use them, too. That explained the source of those food aromas that were much stronger in here.
I heard murmuring coming from a large, high-backed chair in front of me. A plate of half-eaten food sat on a side table next to that chair. When I moved around and stood in front of that chair, Imogene looked up at me, pale as a ghost. Her eyes, unfocused, stared into space.
“Imogene, are you okay?” I asked.
“No, no, no. It can’t be.” For the first time, she acknowledged my presence. “It’s gone, Georgie—stolen!”
“Stolen? What are you talking about?” I asked pouring a glass of water from a pitcher on a sidebar. Imogene was obviously distraught. She was agitated, trembling even.
“Christiana’s dress,” she said, taking a few sips of water.
“The one with the hoop skirt?” I asked.
“Yes, that one. I took it out of storage and put it on a dress form last night before I left. My plan was to get in early and work on it. That didn’t happen because there were a series of small wardrobe problems on set. I should have sent someone else to take care of them, but I did it myself.”
“Was the dress there when you got in this morning?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I even checked before I went upstairs. Then I came back down here to find something. I had a cup of tea and before I knew it, my food arrived. Everyone left for lunch. That’s when I went to look for the dress. Or maybe I did that first, before my tea, or before my lunch.” She took another sip of water, and then looked me in the eye. “Georgie, I should have told you about this before. I’m scared. There’s something wrong with me. I fly off the handle. I lose things. Not just that dress. The king’s crown was here and then it wasn’t. I doze off. When I wake up, I’m not sure where I am or how much time has passed.”
She finished that glass of water and appeared calmer. “More water, please?” A loopy grin came over her face. Was she drunk? I took that glass from her and gave it a sniff. I didn’t smell alcohol. I poured another glass of water from that pitcher and handed it to her.
“Maybe you’re working too hard,” I said as I sat down across from her. “Have you spoken to a doctor?”
“What?” she asked, drinking more water. “Doctor? No. Why?” Imogene looked at me with a kind of dazed expression on her face. “I’m just so tired. Maybe if I rest a minute, I’ll feel better.” With that, she leaned back and nodded off.
“Imogene, wake up.” Nothing. I took that half-empty glass of water from her hand before she could drop it. I shook her shoulder a little as I called her by name once again. Still no response.
Without waiting any longer for a reply, I called 9-1-1. Waiting for the dispatcher to pic
k up my call, I checked Imogene’s forehead. No fever. Then I checked her pulse. I found one, but it was weak and fast.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
Before I could respond, Imogene moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and then shut again. She raised a thin arm and pushed me away. “I don’t want to eat anymore. It doesn’t taste good.” With that, she slumped over the side of her chair and vomited on the floor.
“Hello,” the dispatcher said. “Are you there?”
“Yes, yes. I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m on Soundstage 4 at Max Marley Studios. Please send EMTs and an ambulance. I’m with a woman who works here. She’s in her mid-seventies…” Imogene reached out and touched my arm. Her head resting against the back of the chair rolled back and forth.
“Shush,” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “I’m 78, but don’t tell.”
“Make that late seventies. Her pulse is weak. She’s pale and vomiting, and not making much sense.”
“EMTs are on their way. Is she on any medication? Has she taken anything?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll ask.”
“Imogene, are you taking any medication?” She didn’t answer. “Imogene, wake up.” All I got was a whispered, “No,” and a moan.
“Sorry, she’s out of it. She said ‘no,’ but I’m not sure that means no drugs or no to my request that she wake up. Please tell them to hurry.” As soon as I hung up, I called Jack.
“You need to get down here as soon as you can. Imogene’s passed out. I’m almost sure someone has drugged her.” I filled him in on what I had just witnessed and told him about that call to 9-1-1.
“Why would anyone drug her?”
“I don’t know. Another attempt to slow progress on making this movie, or to cover up a theft, maybe. Imogene says Christiana’s dress has gone missing. Not the shredded one you took into evidence, but the dress. She says someone has stolen that original wedding dress, hoops and all.”
“Brigit’s lunch, that cat, and now a wedding dress, how weird is that?” Jack asked sighing heavily. “I’ll make sure Big Al directs the EMTs to Soundstage 4 as soon as they arrive. Then I’m going to get the CSIs to come collect the food and water, so don’t touch anything else, okay?”
“I won’t, Jack. I understand.” I ended the call and put the back of my hand on Imogene’s forehead again. Her skin felt cold and clammy. This time when I touched her, she didn’t even stir. A moment later I heard noise coming from the outer room. I jumped up.
“Wow! That was fast,” I said. “We’re in here, Jack.” I dashed to the doorway of Imogene’s room ready to greet him. It took me a few seconds to make sense of what I was seeing. Only a split second longer than that to slam and lock Imogene’s door. I wedged a chair under the door handle before calling Jack again.
“I’m on my way,” Jack said when he answered my call even before I could speak.
“Jack, hurry and you’d better bring help. It’s the coffee cart guy. He’s back!” Imogene let out a cry, then slumped forward. “Imogene needs me. I’ve got to go.” I hung up and ran to grab her before she could tumble out of that chair and onto the floor. Then, I froze. I heard movement in that outer room. Were they going to try to break in here?
13 Another Tristan
Minutes passed that seemed like hours. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the outer door to the workroom slam shut. I kept the door to Imogene’s private quarters locked. The two men I had seen must have been more intent on getting away with that dress than harming Imogene or me. Still, my heart leaped into my throat when someone jiggled the door handle and then pounded on the door. It wasn’t until I heard Jack’s voice, that I removed the chair and opened the door.
Jack stepped into the room with a uniformed officer at his side. Ralph Emerson was with him, too. When I opened my mouth to speak, I was interrupted by a voice I recognized as Mara’s. She rushed into the room nearly colliding with Ralph.
“This way. They’re in here,” she said as she ushered in two EMTs who crowded into Imogene’s room. Jack, the police officer, Ralph and I all moved out of the way. Mara joined us as the EMTs tended to Imogene.
“You want to tell us what’s going on?” one of the EMTs asked. I went through the explanation I had given to the dispatcher. Just then the outer door opened and shut again.
“Detective Wheeler,” a voice called out.
“In here,” Jack hollered. A CSI stepped into the room still wearing the jacket issued to investigators by Orange County. She set down a kit she carried, slipped out of that jacket, and put on gloves. Jack pointed to the half-eaten plate of food.
“We need you to take that back to the lab and see if there’s poison or drugs in it as soon as you can. The water in that pitcher and any other food on that cart. That, too, of course.”
“Eew,” Mara said, as Jack pointed to the spot where Imogene had vomited on the floor.
“Got it,” the investigator said without hesitation. She glanced sideways at Mara as she pulled containers out of her satchel. “Finding out what’s in the food and water, if anything, might make a big difference for that little woman.” She nodded in Imogene’s direction. Her hands moved rapidly as she began to collect the evidence.
Imogene did look tiny. The EMTs were working fast, too. They had tried to rouse Imogene and got a mumbled reply. They checked her vitals, started an IV—I presumed to keep her hydrated while they transported her to the hospital. In no time, they had lifted her onto a stretcher and administered oxygen. One of the EMTs was speaking to an ER while the other one wheeled her out on the stretcher. By my take, all of that had occurred in five minutes or so. I placed a hand on my forehead. I had to be sweating—not from exertion but stress.
“Head spinning?” Jack asked.
“You bet. If there were enough room on that stretcher, I’d go with Imogene.”
“What did you do with those two guys?” I asked looking at the uniformed officer just standing there.
“Who?” Jack and Ralph responded, almost in unison.
“Are you telling me you didn’t nab them?” I moved past Jack, and he grabbed my arm.
“Hang on. I know you said someone was down here, but we didn’t see anyone. Who was in here?”
“Tristan, and that coffee delivery guy,” I said. “How did you miss them? They had that wedding dress on a mover's dolly, dress form and all, wheeling it out of here.”
“What are you talking about, Georgie? Brad’s upstairs. Trust me. He is not in costume.” Jack had more to say, but Mara piped up.
“You didn’t have any of Imogene’s food or water, did you? She seems wasted.” Mara wore a look of disgust on her face. If I hadn’t been in such a big hurry to sort things out with Jack, I might have had a few words for her.
“I'm telling you. I saw Tristan.” I paused for a moment to take a breath and calm myself. “He was in a costume Imogene designed for Tristan to wear in the big wedding scene. Now that I think about it, it didn’t fit well. If it’s not Brad, who cares?”
Jack, Ralph, and Mara all still stared at me the way I must have gawked at Imogene earlier. “I only saw Tristan from behind, but I got a good look at his helper, and it was the same man I saw pushing that coffee cart yesterday.” With that, I took off, almost running for the outer door. Once I was in the corridor outside Wardrobe, I looked both ways.
“They couldn’t have gone far, Jack.”
“They didn’t head in that direction, or we would have seen them when we stepped off the elevator,” Jack said, pointing to the right.”
“Okay, it’s this way then.” I tore down the corridor in the opposite direction from that elevator. As I moved, I checked for doorways or alcoves in which the thieves could have hidden. Nothing. After moving at a fast pace, it didn’t take long to get to a place where the tunnel branched off in both directions. I turned and looked back over the distance we had just covered.
“If they got this far, it’s no wonder you could
n’t see them.” All the adrenalin that had been surging through my body gave out. My shoulders slumped as I fought not to have one of those “Oh, Rob” moments right here in front of everyone. Jack must have sensed it. He put an arm around my shoulders, more collegial than intimate, but supportive nevertheless.
“Ralph will get a search team down here. He won’t let them get away.”
“I already called them when Jack told me there were intruders in the tunnels. We have Security Associates posted at exits to the closest buildings leading out of this section of tunnels. No one’s leaving the studio complex without a vehicle search. We’ll find them, Georgie. Here come my guys now, see?”
Four Security Associates walked toward us from the elevator. One of them went into Wardrobe while the others continued heading in our direction. We were on the move again, too, joining them about midway. The Security Associate who had gone into Wardrobe came back out and ran to catch up with us.
“We can search more thoroughly, but there’s no wedding dress anywhere in plain sight, Ralph.”
“That’s good enough for now. Here’s what I want you to do…” With that, he walked off with them shouting at us over his shoulder. “I’ll catch you all later. If we find them, we’ll call you right away.”
“Good luck,” I muttered. “That’s a lot of tunnel to search, Jack. If they're not roaming the tunnels, they’ll have to search every workroom, break area, and storage space, too."
“Don’t worry, Georgie. That’s exactly what Ralph and his team will do. We’ll get them.”
“You and Imogene sure were lucky, Georgie. Those guys must have been hiding in here when you arrived,” Mara said.
“Georgie was quick on her feet. She had that door locked and barricaded in a flash.” I nodded, even though my brain was numb. Jack began to amble toward the elevator.
“Lucky for us they were after that dress. Why?” I wondered aloud.
“They could auction it off on eBay. It would be worth a lot to collectors if they don’t trash it like they did that one in Brigit’s room. Or mess it up by playing dress up in it.”
A Merry Christmas Wedding Mystery, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #4 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series) Page 10
