"That's Hollywood," Dana said. "Waiting for lighting to set up or the director to review footage or sitting in makeup or just waiting for something to happen."
I was about to respond when a terrified scream shredded the quiet.
Alia and her minions fell out of warrior pose.
The Elves leaped to their feet, startled.
Dana and I had only a second to trade concerned glances before Tarrin came rushing out of Frost's trailer.
Her face was bloodless, her eyes wide like a cartoon character's.
"Police!" she shouted. "Someone call the police!"
"Tarrin?" Ellie, the makeup artist, stepped forward. "Are you okay?"
"No," she choked out. "I'm not. He…he's dead. Frost's dead!"
A gasp rippled across the set. My gaze drifted over the cast and crew knotted together in shocked silence. No one was teary-eyed, but no one was rubbing his or her hands together in sinister glee, either.
I turned back to Dana, who stared at me with an expression of utter disbelief.
"Looks like something just happened," I said.
CHAPTER FOUR
"He was late to the set," Tarrin explained. "We were due to start filming at seven thirty sharp. You have to understand, Frost was never late. He's very professional that way. When he didn't show up after nearly an hour, I went to his trailer to check on him, and…" She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to her lap.
"And that's when you found him." Detective Bartlett, a barrel-chested, ruddy-faced man of indeterminate age but excessive sun exposure, took notes as she relayed the timeline.
As soon as the local law enforcement had arrived on the scene, the cast and crew had been herded to the far side of the set to be interviewed singly, while police had awaited a forensics team and coroner from the nearest large city, Saskatoon, to arrive. Dana and I had already given our statements to one of the dozen uniformed officers who'd been circulating among the cast and crew, but after the big guns had been called in to process Frost's trailer, the plainclothes detective had arrived and made the rounds to interview some of the key witnesses personally.
A routine I was fairly familiar with.
Unfortunately, this was not my first experience at a murder scene. In fact, I was almost what you'd call a veteran at it. I'd like to think it had something to do with my husband being a homicide detective back in LA, but in reality, it was more some sort of dumb luck. My mom's best friend, Mrs. Rosenblatt, a part-time Venice Beach psychic, said it had to do with my aura and some karmic lessons for my soul. At this point, with the number of dead bodies I'd encountered, my soul must be getting very wise.
"Was anyone else in or near the trailer at the time?" Bartlett asked.
Tarrin shook her head as Dana held her hand, trying to comfort her. "He was by himself. He looked like…" She swallowed hard. "He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday."
Which surprised me. With his wife in town, it seemed odd he wouldn't have gone back to the hotel. But I wisely kept my mouth shut.
"Did he normally stay the night in his trailer?" Bartlett asked.
She shook her head. "No. I mean, sometimes if we were working late. But…not normally."
"Were you working late last night?"
Again she shook her head.
"And your job here was…" He looked down, consulting his notes. "His assistant?"
"I'm the 1st AD. The assistant director," she said with just a hint of irritation in her voice.
"That's what I said," Bartlett told her, a grin on his ruddy face that was totally at odds with the reason for us all being there. "He was the director—you're the assistant."
"No, I wasn't his assistant. I created the storyboard, I break scenes into specific shots, I run the day-to-day operation on set and supervise the PAs and runners."
He gave her a blank look.
"I wasn't his assistant," Tarrin repeated.
But he just shook his head, moving on to the next question. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Frost?"
Tarrin's eyes strayed to the trailer. "Uh, yesterday. When we wrapped for the day. He went to his trailer."
"And that was the last you saw of him?"
"Yes." She nodded then paused. "Well, he did pop his head out afterward to call for Dana."
I felt my friend tense beside me.
"Dana," Bartlett said, consulting his notebook. "That would be…"
"Dana Dashel," she piped up bravely. "Me."
Bartlett's eyes lifted to meet her. "Oh. Hi, there." He gave her one of his genial smiles.
Dana gave him a weak one in response.
"And what exactly do you do around here?" he asked, shifting his stance to face her.
"I'm an actress. I'm playing Pixnetta the Elf Princess."
"I see," he said, flipping to another page of notes. He pursed his lips, muttering quietly to himself. "Dana, Dana, Dana… Ah, yes, here it is. Dana Dashel, actress. Seen exiting Frost's trailer at seven twelve p.m." He looked up again. "You're the last one to see him alive." He said it with a lift in his voice, as if she'd earned a prize.
I felt her stiffen beside me again. "Last one besides the killer, of course."
"Of course," he agreed. "So the Elf Princess, yes? You, uh, use those big swords a lot in that role?"
"I, uh…no. I mean, not really. I guess we all use the swords some…" She trailed off, looking to Tarrin for confirmation.
Tarrin nodded. "There are a lot of battle scenes."
"Why do you ask?" I could sense purpose beneath his offhand demeanor.
"Hmm?" Bartlett said, seemingly noticing me for the first time. "Oh, yes. Well, he was killed with one."
Tarrin looked pale.
Dana sucked in a breath. "With a sword?"
"Yep. Stabbed right through the middle with a real fancy looking sword." His glance took in the castle walls and drawbridge. "I'm guessing it came from here. Not a lot of folks running around Moose Haven with swords these days."
As he chuckled at his own joke, my thoughts went immediately to the cache of swords sitting out in the open after filming had wrapped the day before. Selma had mentioned them being dangerously sharp.
"Any idea who'd have access to them?" he asked.
Tarrin cleared her throat. "Any number of people. I mean, they're taken out of the property trailer in the morning, but it's not like someone babysits them all day. They're tools for filming."
"How about at night?" he pressed. "Anyone have access to them then?"
"They're usually stowed in the prop trailer at night," she said.
"And who does that?"
"The property master."
"Well, we'll want to speak with him, won't we?" He jotted something down in his notebook. "So," he said, eyes still on whatever he was writing, "what did Frost want?"
"What?" Tarrin asked.
But when Bartlett looked up, his eyes were on Dana. "What did he want when he called you into his trailer?"
Dana licked her lips. "He, uh, wanted to speak with me."
"Uh-huh. About?"
She hesitated, and I felt a niggle of unease in my stomach.
"It's personal."
His eyes homed in on her face. "Personal…as in not about the film."
"Yes. I mean, no, it…it was about the film."
"Uh-huh. And this personal conversation…it was heated, no?"
"I-I wouldn't say that."
He consulted his notes again. "According to witnesses, you 'stormed outta there like a cat on fire.'"
I narrowed my eyes. That did not sound like a Californian phrase. "Someone actually said that?"
"More or less." He pierced Dana with a look. "So what was the fight about?"
"It wasn't a fight," she protested. "We were both tired after a long day, and I overreacted to silly comments. That's all."
While I knew with 100% certainty that Dana had nothing to do with Frost's death, I also knew that the way she'd reacted yesterday had not been the result of being overtired. I'd
seen her overtired—she whined. She didn't fume the way she had been all the way to the bar the previous evening.
"You overreacted and then…?" Bartlett asked.
"Then I left his trailer. And he was definitely alive when I left him," Dana said. "In case you're wondering."
He studied her. "I was wondering."
Uh-oh. I didn't like the way his eyes were assessing her.
"Where did you go after leaving Frost's trailer?" he asked.
"Maddie and I went to the Tipsy Moose for a couple drinks and then took burgers back to the hotel."
"What time was that?" he asked.
Dana thought about it for a few seconds. "Eight, maybe? I had an early call this morning, so I didn't want to stay out too late."
"And your hotel would be the Big Moose," he said, consulting his notes. Clearly he already knew where everyone was staying.
She nodded.
"The tavern has great burgers, right?" He gave her another friendly smile, as if he hadn't just been accusing her of murder.
"Um, yeah. They're good," she said, shooting me an uncertain glance.
"Marci grinds the meat herself. Even adds a little elk when they're in season."
I made a mental note not to order burgers during elk season.
"So, you had a drink, went back to the Big Moose," Bartlett recapped, "and then about midnight…where were you then?"
"I-I was still at the Big Moose. Asleep."
"Alone?"
"Yes!" she said hotly. "My husband is in France."
"Huh."
"Huh what?" I couldn't help piping up again.
"Oh, nothing. Just interesting no one can vouch for her. Guess sometimes it doesn't pay to sleep alone, does it?"
Dana scoffed and opened her mouth to refute that, but I didn't give her the chance.
"Is that when Frost was killed?" I cut in.
Bartlett turned his gaze to me again. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, he was killed between midnight and two a.m. Close as we can tell. Might know more once the coroner opens him up."
I cringed, trying to decipher if he was being intentionally blunt to rile us up or if it was just part of his small town charm.
"What was your name again?" he asked, giving me his full focus now as his pen hovered over that notebook I was beginning to resent.
"Maddie Springer," I told him reluctantly. Reluctantly because I wasn't sure how much information law enforcement shared between borders. I had a vision of my husband finding out I was involved in a homicide investigation in a foreign country during my girls' weekend. "I'm a friend of Dana's."
"She's just visiting for the weekend."
"Is that so?" he asked, grinning. "How you liking Moose Haven so far, huh?"
"It's great," I lied. "Real charming."
"Yeah, we don't get too many tourists this time of year. Though, this production sure has brought some excitement into town." He flipped his notebook shut, shoving it into the pocket of his jacket. "Well, I'm sure it goes without saying, but I'm gonna have to ask you all not to leave Moose Haven."
"Wait—what do you mean, don't leave?" I asked. "Like…not today?"
He chuckled. "No, not today. I 'spect not tomorrow either. Could take us a while to sort this mess out."
"A while…no, no, I can't stay in Canada. I have to be home on Monday." My gaze went from Detective Jovial to Dana to Tarrin. I had to go home. I had work waiting for me. I had Max and Livvie waiting for me. I had Ramirez waiting for me. I had a nonrefundable airline ticket waiting for me.
"Well, just think of it as an extended vacation in our charming little town," he said with a grin.
Which did nothing to sweeten the deal.
"But I—"
"Thanks for your cooperation, ma'am," he said, giving me a nod. Then he moved off in the direction of the production crew.
Dana touched my arm. "Maddie, I'm so sorry about this."
I tried unsuccessfully to shake off my growing unease. Not only at being stuck in Moosetown and mentally scrambling to figure out who would take the kids to Gymboree on Monday and watch them while Ramirez pulled his usual double shift on Tuesday, but also at the entire line of questioning the detective had chosen to take. He hadn't seemed to buy Dana's account of her conversation with Frost any more than I had. And while I knew she was innocent, the way he'd pointed out her lack of an alibi made me think he certainly had his doubts.
"Can I have everyone's attention please?" Tarrin had apparently regained her composure, as she clapped her no-nonsense hands together. "We'll all be staying on in Moose Haven until further notice from the authorities." She nodded toward Bartlett, who stood beside her. "Obviously, under the circumstances," she went on, "we're going to have to shut down production for a few days."
"Is that really necessary?"
That question came from the steel-haired woman who'd quieted the set with just a few words the day before. She held one finger up to Tarrin in a signal to wait before she turned to the phone at her ear. "Let me get back to you when I have more information," she said to whomever was on the other end. "Yes, of course I'll give you an exclusive. I realize that. But you have to give me a day or two." She disconnected the call and stalked toward Tarrin and Bartlett. "We're in the middle of shooting a film. Every day that we're here is time and money wasted."
Bartlett gave the woman a wan smile. "I understand, ma'am. But we do have a death to investigate."
"Are you aware that we didn't even shoot an entire page of the script yesterday?" Her gaze blazed into Tarrin, as if it were her fault. "That was bad enough. But to cancel filming for days on end for no reason is completely unacceptable."
"No reason?" Bartlett's eyebrow went up. "Your director was murdered."
At the mention of the M word, there was a mass averting of eyes by the cast and crew, most unconsciously taking a few steps back as if to distance themselves from the whole thing. The steel-haired woman must have noticed too, as she lowered her voice.
"This production is already sucking us dry. We cannot afford to keep all these people here doing nothing indefinitely."
"Well, these things take time, ma'am," Bartlett said. I almost thought he was intentionally drawing the words out slowly. "We need to preserve the crime scene."
"He was killed in his trailer." She pointed to where CSI were currently filtering in and out of it. "Nothing happened on the set, did it? It's perfectly usable."
"I'm sure if we just let the police do their job—" Tarrin started, clearly trying to play the mediator.
But the other woman was having none of it. "How long?" she demanded of Bartlett.
He shrugged. "These things take as long as they take."
She gave him a look that could freeze a volcano. Then she turned her ice ray on Tarrin. "I'm telling you right now, I will not throw more money at a sinking ship. I'll shut the whole thing down first."
Tarrin visibly winced.
"Who is that?" I whispered to Dana.
"Elora Paddington," she mumbled back. "She owns the production company that's bankrolling Lord of the Throne. She flew down a couple of days ago to make sure Frost stayed on schedule."
"So much for that," I mumbled back.
Suddenly I heard the unmistakable chorus of Dire Straits' Money for Nothing, prompting Elora Paddington to glare at her phone as if she'd just discovered a mustard stain on her brand-new silk blouse. The disgust didn't last long—almost immediately, her face brightened as she saw who her caller was. "I need to take this. CNN probably wants an interview." She hurried away.
I stared after her. "You don't really think she's talking to CNN, right?"
Dana shrugged. "All publicity is good publicity?"
I shook my head. "Not if it airs in LA. Not if Ramirez sees it."
Dana cringed on my behalf. She knew firsthand how my husband felt about me and dead bodies. "On the bright side, it's not like it's the first time. He's probably used to it by now."
"Not helpful, Dana."
"Come on." Sh
e headed for her trailer. "Let me get out of this thing, and we'll go back to the motel for comfort food and bad TV."
CHAPTER FIVE
Two hours later, Dana had changed into a simple pair of jeans and a classic white T-shirt, and we were back in her hotel room. I pushed away my empty plate with a groan. "Is it possible to gain five pounds in one meal?"
"I gotta hand it to Marci. These burgers are insane." It was a testament to how upset she was that Dana had actually had hers on a bun. With cheese and mayo, no less.
"You don't think it's elk season, do you?" I asked, looking at my empty plate.
"Who cares? It was delish." She reached for the bottle of Zinfandel wine she'd ordered with our meal. Apparently her temple was in full-on comfort food mode. "Ready for a refill?"
I held out my glass. "Do you think this is a good idea?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "I do. Zin goes perfectly with beef or elk."
I gave her a look. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Come on, Mads. It's not every day my director gets killed."
I sipped my wine, thinking. On the TV, an old sitcom played. Family Ties, with Michael J. Fox. We had a tacit understanding to watch anything but the news. "What if the police want to talk to you again?"
"I have nothing to hide," she said. "Don't worry about me."
Too late for that. I had a strong suspicion we hadn't seen the last of Detective Bartlett. I slid my finger around the base of the wineglass. "Do you think Elora will really shut down the movie now?"
She sighed. "I really hope not. My agent had to pull a lot of strings just to get me an audition for this role."
"Maybe she could just hire a new director to replace Frost?"
She shrugged. "It's possible, I guess. Depends on who they can get on short notice."
"I'm sure she'd want to try, right?" I said, knowing how much this role meant to Dana. "I mean, she's probably got a lot of money sunk into the project already."
She let out a long sigh, swirling wine in her glass. "Who knows? She might not want to tie up any more cash in it now that Frost is gone. He was no picnic, but his name did carry weight. Or used to, anyway, back in the day." Her eyes drifted to the TV, where the Keatons argued to the accompaniment of a laugh track. "Did you ever see any of those Fast and Dangerous movies?"
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 3
