I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but guilt gnawed at me so hard that I finally gave up and threw myself into a shower instead. I let the water wash over me, trying to wash away the icky feeling of being dishonest. But if I told Ramirez how I really got that sample, it would be tainted in the law's eyes. He couldn't test it. If we couldn't match it to Ravensberg, Dana might go to jail for a crime she didn't commit, and a crazed lunatic author might get off scot-free for murdering a Hollywood director. So, really, the little white lie was all in the name of justice.
At least, that's what I told myself as I ran out of hot water and traded the shower for a clean pair of jeans, a tank top, and a loose blouse. I'd just stepped into a pair of sling-backs and was brandishing a tube of mascara when I heard a commotion in the hallway.
I did a quick swipe, capped the tube, and hurried to the door to see what was going on.
"Which room did they say she was in?"
My hand froze on the doorknob. I knew that voice. But it couldn't be. There was no way they'd actually—
"I don't know. He gave you the little paper. Where did you put the little paper?"
"Why is the room so far from the parking lot?"
"Stop complaining. A little exercise will do you good."
"Oh, pfft. You know what will do me good? A nice knish."
I knocked my forehead softly against the door a few times. There was a way, and whether by plane, train, or automobile, they'd done it.
Forcing a smile, I opened the door.
Mrs. Rosenblatt, Marco, and my mother practically fell into the room, each lugging a rolling suitcase. And in the case of Mrs. Rosenblatt, an extra carry-on bag and a handbag the size of Kentucky.
"Maddie!" Marco air-kissed me on both cheeks. He'd outdone himself in hot pink jeggings, low heeled leather boots that looked shockingly like a pair I had in my own closet at home, and a camouflage jacket accessorized with sparkly yellow nail polish and spiked hair with hot pink tips.
Mrs. Rosenblatt had worn every pearl necklace she owned, and they were the subtle part of her ensemble. The necklaces draped over a flowing blue and orange muumuu that fit her ample frame like a tent over a giant pumpkin. One side had a knee-high slit, showing off her Birkenstocks and black socks, and her Lucille Ball red hair was piled on her head in a messy bun that looked like it could be home to an entire family of birds.
My mother, on the other hand, was the epitome of taste—if your taste ranged towards 1980s fashion. High waisted, acid washed jeans and a sweater with a cat swatting yarn balls embroidered on it above a pair of tie-dyed Converse. Which honestly, I barely noticed, because her violently red hair seized my attention. And, contrary to Marco's promises, it was less Julianne Moore red and more Bozo the Clown red. She'd coupled it with her usual light touch of makeup: vivid blue eye shadow, cat's eye black liner, and fire engine red lipstick.
These three fit into Moose Haven as well as a Bobbit on a Paris runway.
"Here we are!" Mom announced.
"Here you are." My smile wobbled. "Why are you here?"
I accepted kisses from Mom—who ignored my question—while Mrs. Rosenblatt went straight to the window, hands on her ample hips. "This is a view?" she demanded. "There's nothing out here but trees! Where's the pool? I expected to see some hunky Canadians up here!"
"The pool is on the other side of the hotel," I said. Forget the hunky Canadians. "Why are you here?"
"What do you need a pool for?" my mother asked her, ignoring me again. "You wrap yourself up like a mummy when you have to spend five minutes in the sun." She pointed. "Is that the bathroom?"
"Oh, I'm spending some time at the pool. I'm on vacation. I'm drinking some Mai Tais," Mrs. Rosenblatt insisted.
"It's Canada. They don't have Mai Tais." My mother slammed the bathroom door.
"They have moose-tinis," I offered.
Marco bounced on the edge of my unmade bed. "This is nice and firm." He ran his hands across the sheets. "But what are these, like a hundred thread count? Honestly, I'm gonna have to start packing my own sheets when I travel. This feels like sandpaper."
"Lucky for you," I said, yanking the comforter up over the pillows, "you don't have to sleep here."
He flicked his wrist in a dismissive little wave. "There's not enough body lotion in the world to heal that kind of chafing, honey."
"What exactly are you all doing here?" I asked yet again as Mom came out of the bathroom.
Mom blinked at me. "Well, we're here to help, honey!"
I shook my head. "Like I said on the phone, there's really nothing you can do here."
Mom waved me off. "Nonsense."
"Baby doll, you know you need us!" Marco protested. He glanced at my blouse. "If for wardrobe consultation alone."
"I brought candles, and we could do a séance right here." Mrs. R looked around, assessing my room.
I really wished I'd stayed in bed. Or left with Ramirez. Or was still hiding behind Ravensberg's couch. Anything but this.
"Look, Ramirez is doing everything he can to help Dana," I told them.
Mom nodded. "Good. I'm sure that will help." She paused. "Some."
I opened my mouth to protest that my husband was great help, but I didn't get a chance, as Mom ran right over me.
"But I know he's got to do everything by the book, which will hinder our investigation."
"Our what?"
Mrs. R nodded sagely. "That's right. We can operate renegade."
"No. No investigations. No renegades." I was getting dizzy from shaking my head so much.
Mrs. Rosenblatt turned from the window. Fortunately the backlighting couldn't penetrate the muumuu's hectic pattern. "I think we should interrogate the wife. Everyone knows it's always the wife."
"No one's doing any interrogating!" I said.
But no one was listening to me.
"I was reading about their marriage on the plane," Marco jumped in. "Us Weekly did a big exposé, and girl, it's a wonder she didn't kill him years ago. I know I wouldn't put up with that kind of womanizing. How's the coffee in this place? I hope it's better than the décor."
"No coffee for you," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "You're already a live wire."
Marco beamed at her. "You got that right, dollface."
"You must have met Mrs. Frost," my mother said, addressing me. "What's she like?"
"Grieving," I answered. "Sorta."
"I bet it's an act," Mrs. R decided.
The thought had crossed my mind.
"And I wanna know what was in that envelope she got from the Evil Prince in the woods!" Marco said.
I froze. "Wait—how do you know about that?"
He blinked innocently. "Dana told me. I called her from the airport this morning."
I thought a bad word. I was going to have to have a talk with my sidekick slash accomplice.
"Anyway, I think we need to start with the Prince," Marco said.
"How big was the envelope?" my mother asked.
"Big's a relative term, dear," Marco said.
My mother stared blankly at him.
"Was it a manila envelope?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked.
"It was an envelope," I said. "A regular, run-of-the-mill envelope."
She nodded wisely. "A number nine."
"I vote for interrogating him about the envelope," Marco said.
"Okay, the wife can wait," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "I wouldn't mind meeting a hot actor."
My mother rolled her eyes. "You're probably old enough to be his mother."
Or grandmother. Or great-grandmother. But who was counting?
"Oy, don't be such an old goat," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "Eye candy won't put any weight on you."
"Okay. Fine." My mother threw up her hands. "You want to talk to the Evil Prince, we'll talk to the Evil Prince." She looked at me. "Where do we find the Evil Prince?"
No way was I going to unleash the three of them on an unsuspecting Moose Haven. This morning had gone downhill at bobsled speeds. I lo
oked from one eager face to the other, my mental hamster quickly jumping on his wheel. The last thing I wanted to do was "interrogate" a potential blackmailer. Or for that matter, killer-for-hire-who-hired-a-killer-for-hire. But I knew too well that these three would only forge ahead without me even if I didn't agree. Case in point—they'd apparently flown all the way from LA despite my pleas not to.
Like it or not, they were going to find Jaden Plume. The best I could do was be there to make sure they only talked to him when they did instead of going full-on interrogation.
I glanced at the bedside clock radio. "It's still early. Why don't we try his room?"
Mrs. Rosenblatt waved grandly. "Lead the way."
A few minutes later we were standing three doors down, at the room I'd seen my snake rescuer return to two nights ago. I said a silent apology to him as I knocked on the door, the troublesome threesome a step behind me.
There was no answer.
"Maybe he's a hard sleeper," my mother said.
"Maybe he's in the shower," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "One of us should check. I'll take one for the team."
"Honestly," Marco said. "Do you hear water running? Because I don't hear water running."
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Rosenblatt clutched her pearls in a dramatic and totally phony show of concern. "He might have slipped and fallen in the bathtub. Right now he could be lying there naked, waiting for rescue."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Or," I said, "he could have gone for breakfast fully clothed. Or maybe even to the set."
"That sounds like fun," Marco said. "I love a good movie set."
"It's not as exciting as you'd think," I said.
"I wouldn't mind a bite of breakfast," Mrs. Rosenblatt said.
"Later," my mother said. "We need the element of surprise on our side."
I know it had worked on me. I was still reeling from their arrival.
Since I knew Dana'd had an early call time anyway, I agreed to escort the three to the Lord of the Throne set. Marco insisted on a tour of Moose Haven first, so we piled into his rental car and headed out. A minute later, we wrapped up the tour and drove to the set, which was already buzzing with activity. Pillaging Sworfs, shirtless and sporting mats of carefully applied fur to their chests above long skirts, rushed about collecting their prop weapons. Bobbits were getting the last bit of trollness artfully applied to their faces by Ellie. Alia and her minions were huddled around Tarrin, taking last-minute direction.
"Is that Alia Altor?" my mother asked. "I read on the plane that she's poised to be a break-out star."
"She's got gorgeous hair," Marco said.
"It's a wig," I said. "For the dragon queen."
"She's got a gorgeous wig," he said, envy clear in his voice. I made a mental note to keep him away from the hair and makeup trailer.
Mrs. Rosenblatt elbowed me. "Is the Evil Prince here? Do you see him?"
She was way too enthusiastic about this.
I surveyed the set. "I don't see Jaden."
"Maybe he's in his trailer. Or in makeup. Let's wait a few minutes. I'm sure he'll show up," Marco said.
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of him.
I grabbed hold of a pillaging Sworf as he rushed past. "Do you know when Jaden's due to be here this morning?"
He slid his sword into its scabbard. "I haven't seen him. I don't think he's filming today."
"Are you sure?" my mother asked.
He shrugged. "He's not on the call sheet. I think it's just Sworfs today," he said, walking away.
"What's a Sworf?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked.
I pointed. "He's a Sworf."
She looked. "He's a hairy guy in a skirt."
"You haven't read the Lord of the Throne books, have you?" I asked. I glanced around. "Where'd Mom go?"
"She's talking to Alia Altor," Marco said. "Maybe she wants an autograph."
Bad enough that she was holding up Alia's scene. Worse that she moved from Alia over to the Bobbits and finally to some of the crew members. Finally she wound her way back to us. "No one's seen him since last night."
"Since last night?" I repeated.
She nodded. "Is that important?"
I had no idea. Maybe Jaden Plume was just sleeping in. I had seen him pound back quite a few beers the night before.
"People!" Tarrin clapped to get everyone's attention. "Change of plans. We're not going with the dragon today after all."
"But the dragon is supposed to terrorize the village," Alia called out. "What's going to replace the dragon?"
Elora stepped forward. "Fred."
Utter silence fell over the set.
"Fred?" Alia repeated finally. "What's 'Fred' stand for?"
Elora did a grand arm wave, and Patsy the PA rushed forward, leading a goat on a leash. The goat looked around placidly while he munched on a mouthful of grass. Patsy fidgeted and seemed hugely embarrassed.
"This," Elora said, "is Fred."
Alia stuck her hands on her hips. "This is a joke, right? How is a goat supposed to terrorize the village?"
Elora nodded to Patsy, and she plunked a cone on the goat's head. "Voila," she said. "It's a uni-goat."
"There's no such thing as a uni-goat," Alia said.
Elora's eyes narrowed. "There is now, because I say there is. Unlike you, Fred will work for free. Bonus, he'll eat the set when we're finished with it. Now, anyone have a problem with Fred?"
Alia crossed her arms but said nothing.
"My goodness," Mom said. "Who is that?"
"She's the producer," I said.
"She certainly has a creative mind," Mom said. "From a dragon to a uni-goat?"
"She's cheap," Mrs. Rosenblatt said bluntly. "Anyone can see that."
"Shhh." I patted the air in a not so loud gesture. "We don't want to cause a problem for Dana."
"So what's next?" Marco asked. "We tried the hotel and the set. Is there another place Jaden might be?"
I shrugged. "He was drinking at the Tipsy Moose last night. We could try there again later."
"Tipsy Moose?"
"The tavern slash restaurant slash meeting place," I said. "You must've seen it on your way in."
Marco frowned. "You don't mean that tiny building on the corner? The one with the moose head over the door?"
"Get used to that," I told him.
"It sounds quaint," Mom said.
That wasn't quite the word, but I let it go, watching Tarrin walk away from the set shaking her head at the uni-goat as it tried to nibble on Alia's skirt.
"Be right back," I said over my shoulder, jogging to catch up to her. "Uh, Tarrin?" I called.
She looked up from her clipboard as I approached. "Yes?" she asked, a slight frown of irritation crossing her features. "Did you need something?"
"I was just wondering if you've seen Jaden Plume today?"
She shook her head with a nearly imperceptible sigh. "No. Sorry, I haven't seen him."
"He wasn't at the hotel either," I said. "I guess I could try the tavern later."
"Oh great." Tarrin looked pained. "Please don't let him be there again."
"He does seem to like to drink," I noted.
"A lot." She shook her head. "If he doesn't cut it out, Elora's liable to fire another prince."
"Another one?" I asked, noting the word.
Tarrin nodded. "Jaden's our second prince so far. We already had to reshoot several scenes."
"What happened to the first one?"
"Frost fired him." Tarrin shrugged as if it were a usual occurrence. "Why were you looking for Jaden again?"
Right. Why would I be looking for Jaden? "I wanted to return something to him for Dana," I said.
"You can leave it with me," she offered. "I'll give it to him when I see him."
"I appreciate the offer," I said. "But I'd feel better if I did it myself. I guess I'll catch him later."
"Excuse me." Mom stepped up beside me. "Are you the director?"
Tarrin nodded. "Do I know yo
u?"
"This is my mother," I said. "Mom, Tarrin Walsh."
Mom stuck her hand out. "It's a great pleasure. My daughter tells me—"
"Tarrin Walsh?" Marco elbowed his way into the conversation. "I don't believe it! I read about you in the L.A. Informer when you got the lead in Rocketman. I have to say, you don't look anything like Elton John."
"That was Taron Egerton," I hissed.
"Was it?" Marco swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Whew! I was gonna say, those makeup artists deserve an Oscar for that one."
Tarrin just looked at me.
I gave her a weak smile. "That's Marco."
Marco extended his hand like the pope offering the ring for a kiss. "Delighted."
"Nice to meet you," Tarrin said doubtfully.
"Look, they've got raspberry scones!" Mrs. Rosenblatt appeared next to my mother, sticking the scone under her nose. "I haven't had a good scone in years!"
Not sure she was going to get one in Moose Haven, Saskatchewan, either. But her eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as she gobbled it in one bite, licking crumbs off her fingers, one at a time. "Mmm. I wouldn't mind another one of those. Think it'd ruin my figure?"
Tarrin stared open-mouthed at her. No one said a word.
"I don't think so, either," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "Come on, Marco. You need to see this spread."
"I'm all over a good scone," Marco told her. "Just lead the way."
Mom watched them trundle off together. "I really shouldn't let them loose on the buffet. Excuse me. It was very nice to meet you, Tarrin."
Tarrin gave her a little wave, and my mother rushed off after them.
"Sorry about that," I said. "They mean well. They won't be here long." God willing.
She made a sound that was part laugh, part choking.
"Uh, anyway, do you know when Jaden's next scheduled to be on set?" I asked.
Tarrin shook her head, as if trying to shake herself back to reality. "Uh, yeah. I don't think he's shooting anything until tomorrow," she said, walking away.
On the bright side, that was one less person I had to worry about my friends terrorizing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I caught up with my entourage before they decimated the entire craft services table and managed to corral them to Dana's trailer, where she was getting her finishing touches from Ellie. She was also, as it turned out, getting some interesting gossip.
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 15
