She brushed away the man working on making her lips pout even more and looked at me. “Hello, Lauren.” She settled back in the chair, obviously assuming I was just being friendly.
“Are you in one of today’s scenes?” I now stood beside her, and the woman fussing with her dark hair gave me a dirty look as she edged toward Lyanne’s other side.
“I hope to be.” Lyanne shrugged off her peeps and smiled at me. “I told Hans about my idea—showing Millie at a store near where the escaping dogs are running—without having them meet yet, since that’s not in the script. But it could be such a poignant scene. The audience will expect that their paths will cross then, yet they don’t for months.”
“And Hans was going to film it?” I asked.
“Well, no. He didn’t like the idea. But I’m planning on making an all-out effort to convince our new director, Mick Paramus, so I figured I’d be ready.”
Interesting. A bit flimsy as a motive to kill Hans, but I made a mental note of it.
“Why didn’t Hans like it?” I asked. Not exactly subtle, but I was digging for information about any strife between Lyanne and him.
“He’s—er, he was—such a by-the-script kind of director. A good guy, and his films were great. But he wasn’t all that creative himself.” Her frown evidenced her displeasure, but she wasn’t admitting to any huge disagreement with the guy, creative or otherwise, that could have led to something worse.
She’d remain in the computer file I always made about suspects, but her page would be near its end…for now, at least.
“See you in a bit,” I said noncommittally. Her assistants looked relieved when I walked away, as they could recommence their work.
Cyd hadn’t waited for me, but when I looked around I saw both her and Grant at the far end of this block. That’s where the dogs were, too—four on leashes held by the young dog handlers, Jerry and Elena; the trainer, Cowan; and the chief handler, Winna Darrion. I hurried in their direction.
The day was warmer than the last time we’d been here. I smelled a barbecue aroma in the air and realized that some enterprising local restaurant along this street must be attempting to make money by luring the cast and crew in to eat. Maybe they were using fans to make sure the delicious smell wafted around everyone.
The aroma seemed to inspire the dogs to do anything but obey commands. “Let them get it out of their system now,” Winna was saying as all four dogs strained at their leashes, apparently trying to get beyond the cordoned-off filming area. She was short, and her dyed red hair clustered in a poodle haircut of her own. The T-shirt over her jeans looked well worn, a gray tweedlike knit. “Show me where you want to go, Blanca.”
She loosened the dog’s leash, and Blanca strained even more in the direction the others seemed to want to head.
I looked up and saw a place appropriately called the Hamburger Hangout just down the street.
“You don’t let dogs ‘get things out of their system,’” Cowan contradicted. He was a short man, very thin, and reminded me of a greyhound with his elongated face. A couple of extra leashes adorned his neck. “They’re to obey us, not vice versa. We can distract them with treats. Let’s show them, Sheba.” The real Sheba sat on command and took the treat Cowan handed to her. But as soon as she was done eating, she again stood and tried to follow the other dogs.
Jerry and Elena laughed but dutifully followed Cowan’s lead in trying to get their leashed dogs to ignore the smell of hamburger.
I approached them all. “This is so cute,” I said. “But frustrating, I know. I’m always having to deal with trying to train the dogs at HotRescues not to go dashing off where I don’t want them, or to stop barking—whatever they do that could make people less inclined to adopt them.”
“It’s not cute,” Cowan growled. “This could cost time and money on the production if these people don’t work with the dogs correctly.”
I didn’t point out his failings. “I’ll bet poor Hans Marford wasn’t happy when the dogs didn’t do things on command the way they needed to for the filming.”
“Absolutely not.” Cowan’s elongated face grew florid. “He wanted things to go perfectly.”
“And when they didn’t?” I prompted.
“He had a system of rewards and punishments. I always received bonuses for getting animals to do what he wanted them to.”
Except, maybe, this time.
“I don’t think so.” Grant had been standing at the edge of this group. He’d shot me a worried-looking smile. “Isn’t that part of the reason he wanted to do that last scene with the dogs and cars running free—because the dogs weren’t doing things the way he told you he wanted them?”
“Of course not.” But the color of Cowan’s face grew a brighter red.
He was rising to the top of my suspect file.
“If you all had worked with them the way I told you for that scene,” Cowan continued, facing Winna, “everything would have worked out. Didn’t Hans tell you that, too?”
The handler suddenly looked furious. “We did fine, didn’t we?” She looked at her two young assistants. “Mr. Marford liked to come over and pat the dogs when filming wasn’t going on, and he always seemed pleased with how they acted. Right?”
Both Elena and Jerry nodded, their eyes wide. Neither responded verbally.
This scenario appeared to give Winna and Cowan more motive to fight with each other than to harm the director.
And my approaching everyone here didn’t seem to be as productive as I’d hoped. But I could continue to observe them.
Plus, getting them off on their own, without having a group around that they had to impress, might be a better way for me to conduct my inquiry.
But that wouldn’t happen now. Niall darted over. I hadn’t noticed him before but I wasn’t surprised he was here.
“Hi, Lauren,” he greeted me. “Cyd, hi. All of you—our new director, Mick, is about to talk to us. Please go over there”—he pointed to the far end of the roped-off street, where people were already starting to congregate—“right now.”
I was definitely interested in what Mick Paramus had to say. “Can we bring the dogs?” I asked Niall.
“Why not? They’re part of this production.”
I therefore found myself surrounded by two poodles, as well as their young handlers, as I walked toward the new director’s meeting.
“Good idea,” Elena said. “I’d hate to have to leave all the dogs in crates while people here are just talking.”
The white poodle whose leash she held was walking calmly at heel then. “Looks as if you really do have this pup trained.”
“Somewhat. This is Velda.”
“And this is Rossi,” said Jerry, at my other side, introducing an older, golden poodle. “Elena and I are working with these two. They’re not portraying Sheba so they don’t get as much attention.”
“They’re both very cute,” I said. “And on the road to being well-behaved, I think.” I paused. “What was your opinion of how Mr. Marford treated the animals?”
“I think he liked them but didn’t like that he couldn’t make them obey his commands the way he did with people,” Jerry said. His sandy hair was better combed than I’d seen it last time, and his expression didn’t look as strained. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Elena, on the other hand, looked a lot more harried than when I had last seen her. It had been soon after Hans had been killed, when we had both been walking some white poodles.
“How’s Stellar?” I asked. That was the dog she’d worked with then.
“He’s okay. So is Velda. I still think this film has so much potential, but…”
Her voice trailed off and I looked at her.
“But what?” I asked.
“But…well, despite what Grant is trying to do here, I’m not sure that no animals are being harmed.”
Chapter 11
I wanted to hear more about Elena’s opinion and where it came from, but she went loping
ahead of me with Velda panting and pulling ahead of her. Jerry and Rossi joined them.
“Sorry,” she called, turning her head to look back. “These two need their exercise. And—about what I said?”
“Yes?” I had speeded up to try to catch them.
“I didn’t really mean it. Everyone’s fine, especially now.”
We had caught up with the throng of people who’d surrounded Hans Marford only a few days ago but were now circling Mick Paramus in the middle of the street blocked off for filming.
At least this noisy and energetic bunch appeared to be comprised of mostly the same people. I recognized those who worked with the dogs, or whose faces had appeared in the news, along with some others I knew I’d seen either here or on the Solario Studios set.
I hadn’t paid much attention to Mick before, since he’d been an underling. Now, I glanced at the people closest to him. One was a young lady with long, straight blond hair who seemed to glance at him every few seconds, then at the electronic device she held and apparently used to take notes. Mick might have been an assistant before, but now it looked like he had an assistant of his own.
Mick was a lot more nondescript than Hans had been. He was of moderate height, and his facial features were not nearly as attention-grabbing. His hair was dark, somewhere between black and brown, and he didn’t look as if he had shaved that morning.
One thing similar to Hans, though, was the way his voice carried. He didn’t need a microphone as he greeted the people around him. “Good morning. Busy day planned—but first, a minute of silence in memory of our wonderful lost director, Hans Marford.”
He lowered his head, and so did a lot of the others. I was among them, at least at first. But I kept an eye on Mick and noticed the way he moved his arm to observe the time on his wristwatch.
I didn’t count the seconds but thought we were shy by about twenty or so when he called out, “Farewell, Hans. Now, here’s our plan.” He described that the filming would be divided into two parts. “We’ll only need the dogs here for the morning.” He looked in our direction. “We’ll get some more takes now of them running down the street so we’ll have extras to choose from. This afternoon, we’ll only take shots of cars and trucks driving in the same area. Then we’ll be able to use our excellent computer animators to blend them together digitally.”
The others in charge of dogs on the set—Cowan and Grant—had joined us. So had Cyd Andelson. I saw Grant’s face light up. Maybe this was a new beginning for “No Animals Were Harmed” in this movie. I felt happy for him, and even more so for the dogs.
“Excellent plan, Mick,” Grant called. He proceeded to make notes on the pad attached to the clipboard he carried.
“Great,” Mick said. “Now, I want to do things as well as my predecessor. Even better, if that’s possible.” Nice compliment to Hans, although I didn’t believe he meant it. Didn’t people in showbiz have to have enormous egos to succeed?
I hadn’t talked with Mick yet. I had no feel so far for whether his success in getting the top director’s spot here had been a product of his own ingenuity—like getting rid of the predecessor he’d just sort of lauded.
For now, I figured he wasn’t at the top of my file of most likely suspects, but not at the bottom, either.
“Are you open to suggestions, Mick?” Lyanne had been standing at the front of the crowd to Mick’s right and now strode up to him.
“I’ll always listen,” he responded loudly enough for everyone to hear.
I couldn’t make out what Lyanne said, but my assumption was that she described the scene she’d hoped to get inserted into the film—where her character Millie was in a nearby store while the scary yet uplifting scenes of the poor, abused, dogs escaping played out at the same time.
“Hey, good idea,” Mick boomed in his director’s voice. He motioned for some of the crew to join him. “We’ll shoot a few more scenes in the area, then decide whether to use them.”
The crowd around him seemed to have heard him call “Action,” although I hadn’t. Maybe they were all just restless. But in moments they had dispersed.
I watched the initial filming of the dogs. Grant might have the final say-so about whether any animals were harmed, but I wanted to feel comfortable about it, too, especially since I’d need to report to Dante.
I’m happy to say that the scenes I watched were amazing and even heart-wrenching, with dogs running, and later with their standins sitting and panting on command, or lying down and looking frightened, again on command, as cars—imaginary at the moment—zoomed by.
But not one of them looked even worn out, let alone hurt. It almost seemed as though they enjoyed it, with treats and pats afterward like applause after a great performance.
I imagined what this could wind up looking like in the final movie, with the audience fearful for the escaping dogs, cheering them on, loving them. This was the kind of rescue, fictional or not, that could help to call people’s attention to the plight of abused or unwanted pets, and more than once my eyes teared up.
And I’m not an overly emotional kind of person.
I’m also not the kind of person who allows opportunities to get by me, so between the shots when we were all instructed to be quiet I edged up to other people who were also watching.
Most who weren’t currently involved with the shoot were clumped in groups rather than engaging in the whole film-crew-united thing when Mick had taken charge.
Niall was among them, standing with some people I assumed were technically oriented since they carried computers plus other gadgetry I didn’t recognize. I edged up beside Niall. When I told him how impressed I was so far with Mick, he agreed.
“Hard to tell how things will go with the whole film, though,” he cautioned. “I’ll keep in close touch with Dante and assume you’ll do the same.”
“Do you think Mick will be a better director than Hans would have been?” I asked, my tone utterly innocent. I genuinely didn’t want Niall to be a suspect. I liked the guy. Plus, he was a close friend of Dante’s.
But I was a close friend of Carlie’s and wanted the truth to prevail.
Niall bent and spoke softly so only I could hear—though I doubted the crew members around us paid any attention. “Hard to tell this soon,” he said, “but judging by this morning, I think so.”
“Even though he seems amenable to adding that scene that Lyanne wants in?” Since Niall had been the screenwriter, he might not encourage such modifications.
“Is that what she talked to him about?” His voice rose. Uh-oh. Maybe this hadn’t been a good time to mention it.
“I think so. It could have been something else. Even if Mick shoots a few scenes where Millie could be dubbed in later, that doesn’t mean he’ll do it.”
“Yeah.” Niall drew out the word. His expression looked thoughtful. Maybe he was considering how a scene like that would work into the script he’d written.
Or maybe he was considering how to do away with Lyanne, too.
I kept my sigh as muted as I could. Getting involved with murder investigations was definitely affecting how I looked at life, and other people.
Maybe, for now, that was a good thing. I had a whole bunch of others I could question here, and at least a few might be suitable additions to my suspect files.
At the lunch break, I called HotRescues and spoke with Nina. All sounded fine. Even so, I didn’t want to stay away much longer.
I also wanted to continue to take advantage of having so many people involved with the movie together here.
Because filming of the dogs was over, most of those I’d been hanging out with were leaving for the day. I watched Elena, Jerry, and a couple of other dog handlers who’d shown up pack the dogs’ crates, under Winna’s direction, into the back of one of the white trucks to be transported back to the studio.
“They’re all great pups,” I said to Winna. “Your work with them, and Cowan’s training, have definitely helped. I’ve heard that at least some
have been spoken for and will have new homes when the filming is over, right?”
Her expression looked bleak beneath her bright red hair. “Yes, some, I think. But not all of them.”
I gave her a reassuring look. The more people who knew of my intentions, the more likely it was that they would come true. “What you all do is shoot great films. What I do is to find new families for homeless pets. If I’m given the go-ahead when the shooting is done, I’ll make sure they’re all taken care of.” Assuming that they’d all be considered owned by the production company, which could do an owner relinquishment to HotRescues. We’d work that out somehow.
“Really? Oh, Lauren, that’s wonderful!” Her smile was enormous, and she gave me a hug, which I returned. There was a lilt to her step as she walked to the front of the truck and got in.
I decided to head for that burger joint that had smelled so good. But I wasn’t only going to grab lunch there. I figured other people from the set wouldn’t be able to resist any more than I could.
I’d join them—and engage them in conversation, I hoped, about Hans.
I left the area cordoned off for the shoot, waving to the guy wearing a security uniform. I wasn’t sure if that was the same person I’d shown my ID to before, but I’d probably want to get back inside later. It wouldn’t hurt to stand out a bit as someone who’d already passed muster.
The aroma of those grilled burgers met me again as I got closer to the hamburger joint. When I got inside, I looked around. It was one of those places where you ordered your food, got it on a tray and paid for it, then sat down. The decor was a bit cutesy for me—pictures on the wall were caricatures of smiling and dancing burgers—but the crowd suggested that the food was as good as it smelled.
I recognized a lot of the patrons occupying its tables. Fortunately, it seemed large enough to accommodate a substantial crowd. And that crowd included one of the people I especially wanted to speak with: Mick Paramus’s assistant.
I stood in line and got my burger, keeping my eye on my target. She was busy chatting with others at her table. I was delighted to see a couple rise and depart, leaving empty seats. I headed there as soon as I could.
Oodles of Poodles (A PET RESCUE MYSTERY) Page 8
