"Over what?" he pressed. Clearly he wasn't going to let this go.
Dana looked from him to me. She must have realized it was going to come out sooner or later, too. She sighed, lowering herself onto the bedspread. "He…made a pass at me."
That was a nice way of putting it. It made it sound like he'd winked at her over a manhattan in the 1940s.
"Made a pass?" Bartlett's bushy eyebrows headed north. He turned around to consult Lieutenant Stone Face at the door. "I'm thinking that means he propositioned her for some hanky-panky."
Stone Face didn't answer. Didn't even blink. That guy would clean up in Vegas.
Bartlett turned back to Dana. "I've heard about this on TV. My wife—she watches those news magazine shows. Men in the entertainment industry abusing their power." He shook his head at the shame of it all. "It's not right."
Dana did more lip licking. "Uh, no. It's not."
"Men like that ought to be taught a lesson."
"Uh…sure?" Dana said, her voice hitching up in a question. Her eyes cut to me again, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was. Was the detective trying to bait her?
"I guess someone did, didn't they?" He grinned. "Teach him quite a lesson."
Dana wisely did not answer.
"I just wonder who that someone was," he said, his gaze firmly on my best friend.
"Well, it wasn't Dana," I said, not able to silently watch this anymore.
But Bartlett didn't acknowledge me. Didn't take his eyes off Dana. "So, what did you do?"
"Do?" she squeaked out.
"When he made that pass at you."
"Oh. Uh, well, I left."
"You left?" He spread his hands out wide. "You just up and left?"
Dana nodded. "Well, I said 'no' first."
"Ah. There we go. Yeah, I figured there was a response." He nodded, still grinning. "And how did he take that? Your 'no'?"
"W-well, he understood."
"Did he?" He turned back to Pembroke. "Who knew he could be so understanding? I mean, everyone we've talked to"—he spun around, gaze intent on Dana again—"has mentioned how difficult he was. But it's nice to know he was understanding when it came to rejection."
Dana looked like a deer in the headlights of a Moose Haven elk hunter's car.
"Was there a question in that?" I asked, stepping closer to my friend in solidarity.
"Well, now, I guess there wasn't." Bartlett went back to his notebook. "You're, uh, married, aren't you, Ms. Dashel?"
She nodded. "Yes. To Ricky Montgomery."
"Oh, his name I know," Bartlett said. "My wife was a big fan of his TV show, Magnolia Lane. I tell you she was beside herself when it was canceled." He paused. "I don't imagine your husband would take too kindly to knowing Frost was propositioning his wife, huh?"
"Ricky is in France," I piped up. "He had nothing to do with this."
"No, no. I didn't say he did." He shot Dana a look that clearly said he had another suspect in mind. "So, Frost hits on you, you say no thank you, he's understanding, and you leave—that about the gist of it?"
When he put it that way, it did sound like a pack of lies. I glanced at Dana, remembering the way she'd charged out of his trailer, practically frothing at the mouth.
"Yes." She lifted her chin in a challenge. "That's the gist of it."
Bartlett narrowed his eyes at her. But instead of arguing, he shrugged and closed his little notebook. "Okay, well, I guess that's all." He sent her a smile before adding, "For now."
Bartlett turned and met Pembroke at the door, where I saw them both out. I flipped the lock after them then spun to face Dana, who was perched white-faced on the edge of the bed, clutching the comforter in both fists. All sense of composure had vanished, leaving her looking like a frightened child.
"I don't understand," she said. "How could my prints be the only ones on the sword? That makes no sense."
"Maybe the killer wore gloves?"
Dana shook her head. "Maybe. But how did my prints get there?"
I shrugged. "Maybe just the way you said. You used the sword in a scene, and there they were."
Dana nodded. "Yeah. Maybe." But she didn't sound very convinced.
I sat down next to her. "Try not to worry too much. They're just doing their job."
She shook her head. "I don't think Bartlett believes me."
Neither did I. In his defense, she had left out the part where she was angry enough at Frost to down two moose-tinis in a single sitting.
"I'm sure he's questioning everyone," I told her, patting her leg.
"You think?" she asked, a lift of hope in her voice.
No, not really. But instead of voicing that, I shot her the most comforting smile I could muster. Even while internally I was second-guessing my rejection of Ramirez's offer to fly into town. While he'd have no jurisdiction, it was possible he could at least vouch for Dana or explain to the detective why he was looking in the wrong direction.
I was contemplating that when Dana's phone rang, the shrill sound slicing through our nerves. She snatched it up and glanced at the readout. "It's Patsy. One of the production assistants," she told me before taking the call.
"Hello?" she answered. She paused. "Now?" she asked. More pausing. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be right there," she told Patsy before hanging up.
"Right where?" I asked.
"The Tipsy Moose. Tarrin wants all the cast and crew there for an announcement." She bit her lip. "You think she's going to tell us we're all out of a job?"
I put a comforting hand on her arm. "Want me to come with?" I offered.
She nodded. "Would you?"
Honestly? At that point, I wouldn't have missed it.
We both grabbed our purses and walked the few paces across the street to the tavern again. While it had been virtually empty an hour ago, it was now brimming with cast and crew, all mumbling quietly, the atmosphere of uncertainty almost palpable. Tarrin and Elora Paddington stood near the bar, Elora scrolling through her phone as Tarrin talked quietly to her. Alia stood along one wall, arms crossed over her chest as if to ward off what was coming. The actors who played Bobbits were seated at the bar, scowling at the Sworfs, who congregated near the pool table. I recognized several crew, including Ellie the makeup artist, gathering at tables in the center of the room.
Dana and I slid into seats at a table with a few of the Elven Warriors, who immediately asked if Dana knew why the meeting had been called.
"No idea," she told them honestly.
"Henry thinks Elora's pulling the plug," one of the Elves said. "She'll be sending us pink slips, and we'll be stuck here with nothing to do but watch the wind blow until the cops let us leave."
"Wouldn't surprise me," another one said. "This movie's got a dark shadow over it now anyway. Like a curse!"
"Are you kidding?" a third one asked. "She knows Frost's murder is only going to up the publicity for Lord of the Throne. See how happy she looks?"
We all looked over to Elora Paddington, grim-faced as she surveyed the room before mumbling something to Tarrin.
"She's practically giddy," the second one said dryly.
Tarrin clapped her hands, putting an end to their speculation. "Everyone, if I could have your attention, please?"
The chatter tapered down into expectant silence.
"Thanks for coming," Tarrin began, swiping her hair out of her eyes. "I know the untimely passing of Jasper Frost has been difficult for all of us. It's a real loss, and we're all going to miss him very much. In fact, why don't we take a moment of silence in his memory." She folded her hands and lowered her head.
She was practically the only one. Alia glanced heavenward, or maybe at the nearest moose head, before returning to an intense study of her nails. Elora scrolled through her cell phone. I noticed a few eye rolls. It didn't seem that Jasper Frost would be terribly missed.
"Thanks, everyone," Tarrin said after the awkward silence. "Now, I feel it's only fair to inform all of you of the fate of the p
roduction."
I could almost feel everyone in the room lean in a little closer.
"For that, I'd like to turn the floor over to Elora Paddington, our executive producer."
Elora Paddington scrutinized the room with hard eyes. "We're awaiting law enforcement's clear to return to the set. Once we have it, filming will resume immediately."
A collective murmur of surprise ran through the crowd.
"Unless anyone has a problem with that?" she asked, a challenging lift to her voice.
The murmur silenced, and I noticed several people shaking their heads in the negative. A few even cracked smiles of relief.
"Good. I expect you all to be rehearsed and ready by then, as we'll have a lot of ground to make up."
"But we don't have a director," Alia called out.
Elora frowned in irritation. "We don't have Frost. There are other people capable of spending my money, I can assure you."
I detected quite the note of disdain in her voice. In fact, as I thought back, she'd shown the same thing when I'd first seen her on set with Frost. I wondered just how much of Elora's money Frost had spent.
"So who will be taking over?" one of the queen's minions asked.
"Uh, I will," Tarrin piped up, sounding more unsure than excited.
I heard a couple of scoffs from the Bobbits at the bar.
"This project will get finished," Elora cut in. "On time and on budget." She punctuated that last bit by jabbing her finger skyward. "That's all for now. Tarrin will let you know when to report to the set again. In the meantime, learn your lines and prepare yourself for some long days ahead." She gave the room a scowl before lifting her cell phone to her ear and clacking away on her heels.
"Gosh, I hope she sticks around," Dana said.
I bit back a smile. "She does seem to have a way with people."
"Well, long days or not, I'm just glad we're not shutting down. And I'm sure Tarrin will be easier to work with than Frost."
Mussolini would be easier to work with than Frost.
"You think Tarrin can handle this crew?" I asked.
Dana shrugged. "Elora must think so. I mean, if she didn't think it would be profitable, she wouldn't do it. That woman is all about the money."
"Yeah, I got that impression," I said as we got up and made our way toward the door. "Dana, did you catch that dig about Frost's spending?"
"What?" she asked.
"Elora said something about Frost spending her money. I remember she said something else along those lines back on the set too."
"Well, Frost was the director. He made the shooting decisions." She paused. "Why? You think he was overspending?"
"I get the impression Elora thinks that."
Dana arched one of her strawberry blonde eyebrows. "And you think maybe she put a stop to it? Maybe with a medieval sword?" Her eyes started to get that dangerous spark again.
I held up two hands to pause that train of thought. Before it became a runaway. "I didn't say that. I just wonder how much we're talking about. You know, was this the usual over-budget epic summer blockbuster, or was he really taking liberties."
"Let's ask Tarrin." Dana nodded toward the dark-haired woman who was poised just outside the door of the tavern, standing on the sidewalk shaking hands with a couple of cast members who seemed to be congratulating her on her promotion. "She knew every move Frost made."
I followed Dana as she approached the new director.
"Hey, congratulations," Dana told her, giving her a quick hug. "Director is a big deal."
Tarrin beamed. "Well, I'm sure it will still be billed as Frost's project, but it's nice that Elora has faith in me to finish it."
"She seems keen to get it done quickly," I noted. "To be honest with you, I expected her to pull her funding."
"Did you?" She waved good-bye to the Dragon Queen's minions as they headed back across the street to the hotel. "Well, I expect she's put a lot into this film. We all have. She wants to see return on her investment."
"Speaking of investments," Dana said, giving me a side eye. "She didn't seem too happy with how Frost had been spending money."
Tarrin shrugged. "Frost was a perfectionist."
"And that cost more?" I asked.
Tarrin nodded. "It can. Multiple takes, which means more film used, more paid time on the set for the crew, more elaborate props, more builders, more mouths for catering to feed," She paused. "Basically more of everything."
"Which was all costing Paddington Productions more money," I surmised.
Tarrin nodded. "Not that Elora has shared exact figures with me, but I get the feeling Frost was over budget."
Which sounded irritating if you were the financial backer but hardly an anomaly in the film industry. "Do you know how far over budget?"
"Like I said, she hasn't shared any numbers." She shrugged. "But I know for a fact we're several weeks behind schedule."
"That far?" Dana asked, disappointment in her voice. I could tell she was thinking of several more weeks away from Ricky.
I patted her arm. "Sorry."
"We're going to try to make up some time," Tarrin assured her. "Elora's got some ideas to speed things up."
"Yeah, I heard that long days thing," Dana joked, rolling her eyes.
But instead of laughing, Tarrin just frowned at her. "Well, we all knew this was going to be hard work when we signed up for it. But Elora is fair. She's not asking anyone to do anything she's not willing to do herself."
I thought of her manicure, her heels, and her cell phone. I had a hard time seeing Elora mucking around in the damp forest like the Elven Warriors. But I kept my mouth shut.
"Of course," Dana covered. "I didn't mean she was being unfair. I just meant she seems a lot more driven by the bottom line than Frost's artistic vision."
Tarrin's frown deepened. "Elora's a businesswoman. She has to keep her eye on the bottom line. Without that, none of this is possible."
"Right. No, I mean, I didn't mean…" Dana trailed off, obviously floundering.
I was about to step in and save her when someone beat me to it.
"Dana!" Alia Altor hailed her from the sidewalk with a wave, Ellie the makeup artist beside her.
I could see relief visible on my friend's face, at the possible out to the awkward situation. "Will you excuse me?" she said, giving Tarrin a big smile. "Congrats again on the new position. I can't wait to work with you more." Then she quickly scampered off to join Alia and Ellie.
"Thanks," Tarrin mumbled to her retreating back.
"She's taken this whole thing very hard," I said, trying to cover for my friend. Which was mostly true—she was definitely not enjoying being a murder suspect, even if she wasn't losing sleep over Frost's demise.
"Yes," Tarrin said, contemplating that. "Well, I supposed she had every right to be upset, after what he did to her."
My radar pricked up. "Did to her?"
Her eyes met mine. "You know. In his trailer. Before she stormed out."
I froze. "Tarrin, did Frost talk to you about what happened in his trailer?" I asked her slowly.
She broke the gaze and shook her head. "No. Like I told the police, I didn't see Frost again after that." She gave me a sympathetic smile. "But I've worked with Frost before. I can guess what went on."
I licked my lips, not really liking where this was going. If Tarrin could guess, I was pretty sure other people could too. Namely the police. While Dana had spun a very polite scenario for them, I had a feeling Tarrin's version was grittier. And was closer to the truth.
"Has Frost had trouble with actresses in the past?" I asked, choosing my words carefully.
She let out a small laugh, though it was humorless. "They've certainly had trouble with him." She sighed. "Look, Hollywood is an old boys' club. Always has been. I know it's the trendy thing right now to talk about women in the industry being empowered, but until someone does something to actually empower them, it's just that—talk."
Which was a great girl-p
ower speech, but I was more focused on the first part of her statement. "Any specific actresses who have had issues with Frost?" If Frost had propositioned more than one unreceptive woman, it could certainly widen the suspect pool for Bartlett.
But Tarrin shrugged. "I couldn't say for sure. I know there were some rumors about a girl on his last set. A low-budget indie flick he filmed in LA."
"But not here?" I asked.
"No," she admitted. "I haven't heard anything about anyone here."
Which didn't do me a lot of good. I had a hard time seeing a disgruntled actress tracking Frost down in Moose Haven, when she could easily have waited in sunny LA for a few more weeks and killed him there.
"Look, the reason Frost was able to find work in Hollywood for so long is because he was a chauvinistic pig." She shook her head. "I can't imagine how Selma put up with him all those years. Or why."
While I'd wondered much the same thing when I'd met her, my mind immediately went to the fight between Frost and his wife that Manny the server at the Tipsy Moose had witnessed. Selma had been angry at Frost. Now that I thought back on it, Selma had been there when Dana had stormed out of Frost's trailer too. If that hadn't been the first time he'd tried to get frisky with one of his actresses, maybe Selma had guessed—as Tarrin had—just what had gone on in her husband's trailer that could have had a beautiful young woman so upset.
Maybe Selma had had enough putting up with Frost. Maybe, in fact, she had refused to "stand for it" any longer. She'd known exactly where Frost would be at the time he was killed and that he'd be alone that night. And hadn't she been the one to point out to me how sharp those swords were? Maybe she'd finally reached her limit and killed her husband in a fit of jealousy and fury.
"Anyway, I have to go," Tarrin said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I've got a shooting schedule to lay out."
"Sure. Good luck," I told her, my mind still reeling.
I watched her jog across the street toward the Big Moose Hotel and scanned the area for Dana. There were still several cast and crew members mingling outside, but I didn't see any sign of her or Alia and Ellie. Though, I did hear a few Bobbits inside the tavern still, loudly celebrating the fact they still had jobs.
I pulled out my phone and was about to text Dana to see where she had gone off to, when a flash of sunlight glinting off metal caught my eyes.
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 7
