"Just one," I admitted. "Under duress. Not really my style."
"Mine, neither. They made a fortune, though. Frost used to brag that they'd set him up for life."
"But he was still looking for a comeback?" I asked, remembering what she'd told me the previous day.
She shrugged. "Ego fuel maybe?" I watched her take another drink. Her eyes were on the TV, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing it, her mind clearly elsewhere. Possibly on Frost's ego.
"Dana, what did you and Frost argue about in his trailer?" I asked.
She put her glass down with a sigh. "I was wondering when we'd get around to that."
"The less you say about it, the worse it's going to look to the police," I reasoned.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then she finally nodded, seeming to see my logic. "I didn't want to say anything because it was just so…I don't know. Embarrassing, I guess."
"What was?"
"The guy…hit on me."
I stared at her. "Like, he hit on you?" That was the last thing I'd expected based on the way he'd been shouting at her all day on set. "Like…casting couch hit on you?"
She nodded. "Gross, right?"
"What did he say?" I asked, still having a hard time believing he'd be so brash.
She sighed. "He said I wasn't getting Pixnetta's emotion right. That I need more passion."
"Let me guess—and he was going to be the one to spark it in you?"
She scrunched up her nose in disgust at the memory of it.
"So what did you do?"
"I told him no, of course," she said. "I told him I was married. But he said if it didn't bother him, it shouldn't bother me. So I said it was a good thing for him that Ricky was away in Europe on a shoot. And then…" She hesitated.
I waited. When she didn't say anything, I prompted her. "Then what?"
"He laughed at me." She stared into her wine, her lips pressed together in remembered anger. "He said, who did I think I was kidding—my marriage was a sham, and I only married Ricky for the career boost. He as much as told me if it wasn't for Ricky, I'd be a nobody, and I'd have never gotten this part."
As disgusting, and wrong, as those things were, I could easily see them coming from Frost's mouth. That response to rejection sounded exactly like the man I'd seen on the set: a small man with a big mouth. A bully.
"You know none of that is true, right?" I said, feeling anger rise on her behalf. "I mean, he was only trying to hurt you because you rejected him."
"Yeah, I know. But it worked." She gave me a rueful smile.
"Listen to me," I said. "You're really talented, Dana. You earned this role. Don't let a me-too jerk like Frost ruin your confidence."
"Well," she said, "he can't do that anymore, right?"
"Right." I hesitated. "But don't say that in front of the police, okay?"
Her hand faltered when she reached for the wine bottle. "Do you think they'd actually believe I could have killed him?"
I feared they already did. "You were pretty mad when you left his trailer."
"Well, wouldn't you be?" she countered.
I nodded. "Very." I pursed my lips together.
"But it doesn't look good?" she said, reading my mind. "Almost everyone was gone by then, though, right? I mean, we'd wrapped for the day."
I nodded, thinking back. "Selma Frost was still there. I know because I was talking to her at the time. Some of the Elves. Maybe the lamb trainer?"
"And they all saw me?" Her voice was small.
I shrugged. Someone had clearly been Bartlett's witness.
Dana went to refill her glass, but the bottle came up empty. She shot me a look. "We're going to need more of this."
While I might have argued that it was a little early to be into a second bottle, I wasn't the one facing a person of interest label. Besides, a little fresh air might do us both good. I nodded sympathetically. "We could hit the Moose Mart general store?"
Dana sucked in a fortifying breath. "I've never missed smog so much in my life."
Ditto. I gave her hand a squeeze before we both grabbed our purses and I pulled my boots back on, only slightly unsteady on the three-inch heels after a little day drinking.
* * *
The Big Moose's lobby was decorated in the same peach and sage colors, though it was interspersed here with photos of—surprise, surprise—moose on every wall. A large oil painting of a moose in a serene meadow hung over the river rock fireplace, and the two sofas flanking it were covered in peach gingham cotton and pillows with embroidered moose heads on them. Beyond the lobby sat a parking lot to the left and a small pool area to the right, where we'd originally planned cocktails and sun tanning. As we pushed through the lobby doors into the warm air, I took one wistful glance toward the pool and the weekend-that-would-never-be. And I noticed one person sunning herself on a lounger despite the pall over the Lord of the Throne set.
"Is that your costar?" I asked, gesturing to the woman. "The Dragon Queen?"
Dana nodded. "Alia Altor." We both watched as she rolled over in her bright red bikini, adjusting her sunglasses against the glare off the water. Without the long dark wig, her own blonde hair shone with sparkling highlights, and the body that had been wrapped in robes before was now on full display, showing off a dedication to either the gym or a serious Keto lifestyle.
"She doesn't seem to be steeped in grief," I observed, watching her examine her pink, manicured nails.
Dana shrugged. "Well. You met Jasper Frost." She shot me a knowing look.
"Point taken."
Alia must have noticed us, as she looked up and gave a wave, gesturing us over.
We complied, detouring the few steps to our right through a waist-high metal gate that creaked in defiance as we pushed though.
"Hey," Alia said, sitting up as we approached. "I thought everyone was at the Tipsy Moose."
"Oh?" Dana said.
She nodded. "Ellie said they were all going to have a drink in Frost's name."
"But not you?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I just couldn't face it." She took off her sunglasses, and I amended my previous assessment of her grief level. Her wide blue eyes were red and puffy, like she'd been crying, and I could see remnants of streaked mascara in the creases still.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," I told her.
"Alia, you met my friend Maddie yesterday, right?" Dana said by way of introduction.
Alia nodded. "The fashion designer?"
"Yes, shoes," I said.
I noticed that up close and without her Dragon Queen makeup, Alia looked barely old enough to be out without parental supervision, although her eyes held a weariness at odds with her unmarked features. She gestured to the lounger beside her, where Dana and I sat, gingerly perching on the edge so as not to tip it over.
"It's just so hard to believe, you know?" she said, shaking her head. "That he's really gone. I mean, just yesterday he seemed so full of…"
Anger? Meanness? Spite?
"…life," she finished on a sigh.
"It's been an awful day," Dana agreed.
"I doubt it's going to get better. Chances are they'll have to put Lord of the Throne on the shelf now." Alia sniffed hard, and I realized her grief was possibly over the death of the film more than its director.
"Has Elora said anything about that?" Dana asked.
"Not to me. But then, she wouldn't tell me anything. Who am I, right?" She rolled her eyes. "I saw her on her phone doing damage control before I left the set. Yelling about cost overruns and unnecessary delays. I swear the woman has a calculator for a heart."
"Is she staying here?" I asked. "At the Big Moose?"
Alia shook her head. "No, all the 'important people,'"—she made air quotes with her fingers and rolled her eyes again—"are staying at the Grande Moose down the street. Us cast and crew peons are stuck here."
"Peons?" I said, surprised at her language. "You're the stars of the movie."
Alia let out
a humorless laugh. "Oh no. On Lord there was room for just one star—Jasper Frost."
"He did seem kind of difficult to work with," I noted.
She grimaced. "Perfectionists usually are." She stared out at the sparkling blue swimming pool for a moment, clearly lost in some thought.
"Had you worked with Frost before?" I asked her.
"Hmm?" she said, pulling the attention back to us.
"On the set I got the impression that you had worked together before."
She shrugged. "I've had a few roles in the past. This is the first starring one, though."
"You're lucky," Dana noted. "I wish I'd had my big break as young as you."
"I'm twenty-three," Alia said defensively.
I tried not to smirk. Her tone held the same youthful indignation as my daughter Livvie when she corrected me about being three and three-quarters instead of just three.
"Well, I'm sure Frost must have seen something special in you," I told her, watching her reaction. I notice she still hadn't quite answered my question about her history with him.
Alia shrugged, though the compliment seemed to soothe her twenty-three-year-old ego some. "He knew how to use talent."
That was an interesting way of putting it.
"Have the police talked to you yet?" Alia asked Dana.
Dana was such a good actress, she didn't even flinch. "I think they talked to everyone."
Alia nodded. "They said Frost was killed sometime last night." She shivered, as if imagining the cool night air, even though I was starting to sweat in the unrelieved sunlight.
"Around midnight," I added.
"Was it?" she asked. She shook her head. "So sad."
"Any idea what he would have been doing out on the set at that time?" I asked.
"No." She paused. "But like I said, he was a perfectionist. Maybe he was just going over something for the next day's shoot."
"Did he say anything like that to you?" Dana asked.
Again she shook her head, her huge sunglasses going from me to Dana as if suddenly reading some meaning into our questions. "But, then, he wouldn't have," she added. "I didn't see him after we wrapped last night."
"Where did you go after Frost wrapped?" I asked.
"I came back here. To work on my lines." She turned to Dana. "After yesterday, I figured I'd better know them backwards and forwards."
"He did seem to come down on you pretty hard," I sympathized.
"He wasn't wrong, you know. An actress is supposed to know her lines. This isn't some high school production here," she said, stretching her legs out and leaning back in the lounger again.
I wondered if she'd felt this blasé about it the night before. Frost had all but threatened her job. And she hadn't seemed to take it in stride at the time. Had she been worried enough about his backlash to return to the set that night to confront him? Maybe the conversation had gotten out of hand, she'd picked up a prop lying around, and suddenly Frost wasn't her problem anymore?
"And you were here all night?" I confirmed.
"Didn't I just say that? Yes, I was memorizing my lines." She shifted her gaze back to the pool. "Waste of time, as it turned out."
"You really think they'll shut down production?" Dana asked, worry etched on her forehead.
"Search me." Alia leaned her head back, lifting her face to the sun's warm rays.
"Did anyone see you here?" I asked, still focused on the fact that maybe Dana was not the only cast member who didn't like Frost and had no solid alibi.
"What?" Alia asked, lowering her sunglasses to look at me.
"Last night. Did you see anyone or talk to anyone?" I pressed.
She scoffed at me before turning to Dana. "Your friend needs to work on her detective act. She's so transparent, she's practically see-through."
I mentally rolled my eyes.
"But, to answer your question, no, I didn't see anyone. I was here alone. No alibi," she said, doing jazz hands in the air to illustrate how silly she thought I was being. "Then again, no motive either. With Frost gone, we're both out of a job." She nodded toward Dana.
Which was possibly true. However, they were also out one abusive director who had threatened for the show to go on without Alia. Losing the role to a tragedy was far better than having your career derailed before it even started by getting fired by a respected director.
"Who do you think could have done it?" Dana asked, leaning in.
"I dunno. Some deranged moose hunter," Alia said.
While there appeared to be no shortage of those in town, I found it unlikely they were wielding medieval prop swords.
"Or maybe Ravensberg," she added.
"The author?" I asked, surprised. "Why would you say that?"
"Well, Frost had him thrown off the set last week," she informed me.
"He did?" Dana frowned. "I don't remember that."
Alia shook her head. "You weren't there. We were filming the Evil Prince's battle speech to the Sworfs."
"Oh. Right." Dana turned to me. "Frost took a whole day to do pick-ups on one speech, and my call time kept getting pushed. Elora practically had a heart attack."
Which was all very interesting, but… "What happened with Ravensberg?"
"He showed up on set ranting about the script," Alia explained. "I guess his agent sent him a copy, and it wasn't what Ravensberg expected. He was yelling that Frost had massacred his masterpiece. That he had no right to make the changes he'd made to it."
"What kind of changes?" I asked. Partly out of curiosity about Alia's theory and partly as a fan. I loved the books, and I hated to think of them being butchered on the silver screen.
"Well, my role for one. I guess I was supposed to be a troll or something in the original?"
I blinked at her, realization dawning on me. "Mugmore the Troll Queen!"
Dana wrinkled up her nose. "Mugmore?"
I nodded. "That's why I didn't remember your character. Did Frost change it to a Dragon Queen?"
Alia nodded. "He said dragons were sexier than trolls."
While I had to agree, I could well see Ravensberg having something to say about it. Mugmore's character had been pivotal in turning the wolf-man-like Sworf race against the Elven kingdom. I couldn't imagine how Frost had reworked that moment for the young, sexy Modura, the Dragon Queen.
"What did Ravensberg say about the changes?" I asked.
"That they sucked," Alia answered. "You know, in so many words. I mean, I know he wrote the series and all, but everyone knows books are a dead medium."
I cringed. Spoken like a wise old millennial.
"You'd think the characters were members of his family or something," she went on. "The way he accused Frost of killing them."
Killing was an interesting word in light of recent events. "How did Frost respond to that?" I asked.
"Not well!" Alia said with feeling. "He had security toss Ravensberg out. Said he was banned from the set. Even told Elora he refused to film if Ravensberg showed up again."
"Did Ravensberg go quietly?" Dana asked.
Alia shrugged. "Not especially. He said he was contacting his lawyer. That one way or another, he'd put a stop to Frost."
I pursed my lips. The story painted my favorite author in an entirely new light. What if Ravensberg had put a stop to him…possibly with a medieval sword through the chest? I could well see the author finding poetic justice in that after watching Frost "kill" his characters.
CHAPTER SIX
"So you think Alia was just throwing shade at J.R. Ravensberg, or you think there might be something to it?" Dana asked as we left the Big Moose and headed down the main street in town—Moose Tracks Boulevard—toward the Moose Market.
I shrugged. "I don't know. Her alibi seems shaky. And I got the feeling she had some history with Frost."
"You think so?" she asked, shading her eyes from the sun as she turned to me.
"I do. Yesterday Frost clearly mentioned something that had happened back in LA."
"Huh. Guess I didn't catch that."
"Makes me wonder if maybe they had some past."
"Couldn't have been very long ago. She's practically still an infant."
"Correct—she's a ripe old twenty-three," I joked.
"Excuse me." Dana grinned. "Still, I'd love to know where Ravensberg was last night."
I glanced down the street. "Well, if he was staying in town, there are only two choices. Big Moose," I said, pointing behind us, "or Grande Moose." I gestured to the larger hotel just ahead on the corner.
"I haven't seen him around the Big Moose," she noted.
"Think it might be worth popping into the Grande?"
Dana cocked her head to the side. "This wouldn't be more about getting that autograph, would it?"
"Hey, I'm just curious if what Alia said about their feud was true. If Ravensberg happens to be in the mood to sign my copy of Lord of the Throne: The Final Throne, that's just a perk."
"Well, considering it's probably the only perk you're getting on this disaster of a girls' weekend, how can I deny you?"
* * *
Instead of the two-story motor-inn style of the lesser Big Moose, the Grande Moose was comprised of several small individual log cabin bungalows, each with its own front porch facing the nearby wooded area. A community clubhouse shared the central building with the front office, and that's where we found Irwin the clerk, behind a desk made of polyurethaned planks of wood. The scent of pine air freshener laced the air. Tourism pamphlets littered the desk. A Keurig machine sat on a side table with an assortment of coffees, mugs, and a small tray of pastries. A single copy of the Moose Haven Chronicle lay folded at the far end of the desk. It seemed very thin. The headline above the fold screamed Hollywood Director Found Dead! accompanied by a small and old photograph of Frost circa the Fast and Dangerous era, when he'd had more hair and less paunch.
"Welcome to the Grande Moose, ladies." Irwin's smile pivoted to each of us in turn. "Do you have a reservation?"
I returned the smile. "Actually, we were hoping to visit one of your guests. J.R. Ravensberg?"
"Oh. I see. Well. This is awkward." He cleared his throat. "We're strictly forbidden from sharing any information regarding our guests' stays to, well, anyone." He paused, his pleasant smile slipping. "So, I bid you good day."
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 4
