Act it Out (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 2)

by Deany Ray

  “It’s where the magic happens,” Kat told me with a wink.

  Turning my attention back to the tables, I noticed with amusement a definite divide: the actors were all bunched around the healthy options while the crew, identified by their equipment, went for the pasta and burritos.

  Torres was standing next to the cheese and fruit, talking to another man I recognized with a start as Fitzgerald’s newly named replacement. “David Rafferty,” I mouthed to Kat beside me. I hoped she would stay calm; this was a major sighting for the movie-star obsessed. Plus, the guy was hot. With sandy-blond hair and deep cheek dimples, David Rafferty was known for playing hunky villains, and his muscles were even more magnificent up close. As an extra bonus, he did not have on a shirt. Who cared anymore about my lost leisure hours? Totally so worth it.

  But something was wrong. Torres and Rafferty were doing that supposedly manly poking-each-other-in-the-chest-thing. Torres was promptly in the other actor’s face, jabbing a finger under his nose.

  Everyone went silent except for scattered murmurs.

  “Should we call the guards?” someone asked.

  “Oh no.” another one said.

  “Someone get between them! Now!”

  But before anyone could act, Torres had Rafferty in a hard grip, holding tightly to his arms.

  “It was you!” Torres yelled. “You killed Victoria!”

  Chapter Six

  The men were on each other. Punches and kicks were flying, and I watched, horrified, as Torres shoved Rafferty hard into a table. One dish, then another went flying to the ground, their contents forming a gross mosaic with clumps of food and streams of sauce. Several people gasped. Onlookers’ eyes were wide as they glanced at one another, not sure what to do.

  I had just turned to Kat, when both men crashed into me, knocking me flat on my back. The impact left me stunned, but I sat up slowly, trying all my limbs, and they seemed to be okay. Still a little dazed, I watched the scene play out as the fight grew more intense.

  Calling each other names, the men backed up against the table next to me, sending more food to the ground. Before I knew it, it was raining mac and cheese. Right into my face. The crowd gasped and backed away.

  I was thinking I really had to move away when Kat rushed to help me up. “Hailey, you okay?” She pulled me away to safety and handed me a napkin to wipe the gooey mess off my cheeks.

  The whirl of shoves and punches that was Rafferty and Torres began to move our way.

  “Why do I always seem to be exactly where I shouldn’t?” I asked Kat as we backed away.

  “She deserved to live her life,” Torres screamed at the other man. “Victoria was perfect, and you are scum, just scum.”

  “Get off me, you jerk.” Rafferty pulled his fist back and sent Torres flying—once again toward me.

  “Do I have a target on my chest or what?” I yelped to Kat as we scurried back.

  “I never in my life would ever harm a woman.” Rafferty’s face was red as he punched Torres in the cheek.

  “Ooomph, that looked like it hurt.” Kat winced.

  Also, it must have done some damage to that finely chiseled face. The makeup people’s job had just gotten harder, I supposed.

  “You’re full of lies!” Rafferty’s hands were now on Torres’s throat, which prompted one of the cameramen to finally jump into the fray. He was joined by four other men, and they managed as a unit to break up the fight. They held the two men back from one another until the combatants stomped off in a huff—thankfully in opposite directions.

  A woman rushed to me with more napkins for my face. She seemed to have moistened them, most likely with some of the bottled water, I noted gratefully.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “A bit shaken up, but yeah, all parts seem to be in working order.” I put one hand to a spot on my left leg that had begun to ache. “What was that about?” I asked, pulling yellow bits of pasta from my hair.

  “Men!” She shook her head. “I’m telling you, testosterone can turn them into other beings. On the other hand, the set is filled with divas, men and women both.” She stuck out her hand. “Hi. My name is Susi, stylist to the stars.” She had dark hair pulled back into a bun, and she wore thick glasses.

  “Hailey. I work with the caterer,” I said.

  Kat began to clear the mess, but I saw an opportunity to play detective here. “So, why does Vicente Torres think David Rafferty was behind the murder?” I asked in a low voice.

  Susi looked around and then moved closer to me. “Well, word is that Victoria had something going with both David and Vicente,” she told me quietly, “but Vicente seemed to be the one who fell the hardest for her.” She sighed. “You could tell it nearly broke the man to know she was gone.”

  I wondered how Victoria had kept all her lovers straight since she seemed to also have been involved at one point with Fitzgerald.

  My new friend seemed to have read my thoughts. “Actors!” She gave me a wry smile. “Every movie, someone new.” Then she lowered her voice again. “Vicente, from what I understand, was pretty tight with Amery Fitzgerald, and now he thinks there is no way Amery would have fired that bullet if he knew the gun was real. Now, for whatever reason, he’s got it in his head that David was the one. I guess he thinks David planned it out so he could play the lead, but that’s just too extreme, in my opinion.” She shrugged. “If you’re new to this world of the movies, don’t expect the people you meet here to make any sense. You have entered into the realm of pampered crazy divas, and they don’t play by our rules.”

  I joined Kat at the tables to clean up, and it wasn’t long before the crowd began to move away after picking through the dishes that had survived the ruckus. It seemed the dinner break was through. We began to load the dirty dishes and leftovers back into the van.

  “That was an interesting first day,” I said.

  “Not what I expected. More war zone than a movie.” Kat wiped a table, looking tired.

  Twenty minutes later we had driven through the gauntlet of eager fans, who had grown in number, and we were on the road to Cocoa. As the traffic cleared farther from the set, I picked up some speed and updated Kat on what I had learned from Susi.

  “No big surprise,” she said, “if you keep up with the news.” In the world of Kat, “news” largely consisted of where the big stars went, with whom, and what they wore.

  “I get what you mean,” I said. “Love triangles and affairs, they happen all the time, but murders don’t. What if this time, on this set, things went way too far? What if some jealous lover lost his mind and decided his ex had to die?” I thought about it more as I pulled onto the interstate. “Or it’s just that simple and Fitzgerald did it. The cops could have it right.” The whole date-me-save-me thing could just be a ploy to cast himself as a victim in the public eye.

  “You know,” I said to Kat, “I’m beginning to think that hunky actors are lame-o in real life. They steal your money and your friend’s truck. They get into fistfights and knock you down. And they don’t even care. None of them said ‘sorry’ or anything like that. Bozos.”

  “You got that right.” Kat sighed. “So far, I have to say, I like those guys much better when they stay up on the screen.”

  We were quiet, lost in our own thoughts, for most of the drive back. I parked the van at Cocoa and rapped on the back door to let them know we had arrived. Two men came out to unload.

  “So, you two are new. How’d it go?” one of them asked.

  “Interesting,” I said, too tired to explain.

  I could tell the man was trying hard not to stare at the bits of dried cheese on my face.

  By the time I’d dropped Kat off and made it back to my place, it was almost 10 p.m. No staying up tonight since tomorrow was a Monday, but I had to decompress. After I took a shower, I turned on the television and found one of the comedies I really liked, then I headed to the fridge to see what kind of riches would be on offer there. After all, I had mis
sed dinner. A tub of strawberry-vanilla ice cream seemed to call my name, and I took the carton to the couch. I deserved it, damn it.

  ***

  The next morning at the paper, I smiled and winked at Sandra, the receptionist, whose hair, piled up messily on her head, seemed to be showing more brown roots than usual. She was known for hardly ever smiling back, but I waited, always hopeful. Sure enough, her overly lipsticked mouth stayed in a long, flat line as she stared back at me. She glanced down as the phone buzzed. “Palm Shores Gazette. This is Sandra,” she announced in a voice that signaled she could not care less about the caller’s business. “How may I direct your call?”

  I headed to my cubicle, wishing some of the reporters a good morning as they passed me, rushing off to their assignments. Just over a month into the job, I was still enamored with the bustle of the place. The pay was, unfortunately, crap, or else I could be in this for the long haul. The job had come available at the perfect time, just after I had called off my engagement. Because my ex was at the publishing business where I used to work, I kind of had to break up with the job as well.

  I dropped my purse on my desk and headed to Jerry’s office to check in. Maybe he had news about the search for Fitzgerald—and Mike’s truck. I passed Mike’s desk on the way, but his chair was empty. I peeked into the open door of the editor in chief. As usual, my boss was on the phone. Also par for the course, the person on the other end seemed to have committed some infraction to make Jerry’s face turn red. He held up a finger to indicate he’d be with me in a minute.

  The office was in its normal state of disarray with papers piled up on every surface. Empty cups and chip bags were scattered everywhere. Jerry’s decorating vibe, if it had a name, would have been “Don’t have time and don’t care.”

  “Unacceptable,” he barked into the phone. “I need it yesterday.” My boss was heavyset with a graying beard. Although I couldn’t see the bottom half of him, I knew his pant legs were too short, and there was less than a fifty-fifty chance his socks would match.

  He hung up, and a smile broke out beneath his bushy mustache when he looked up at me. “Well, if it’s not the star of our weekend chase. Pun intended, Webb.” He grinned even bigger. He was proud of that one. “How come you got into trouble? Again?”

  I shrugged. “Trust me, I didn’t ask for it.”

  “He went at you with a crowbar?” Jerry asked.

  I nodded.

  “Jesus, what a nut.” He leaned back in his seat. “You okay?”

  “I’ll admit it wasn’t the most pleasant moment in my life, but today’s another day, and I lived to see it.” I paused. “Speaking of Fitzgerald, have you heard any news?”

  Jerry shook his head. “That guy is really something. I don’t know how he does it, but they haven’t got him yet. Nobody saw him since he drove off in Mike’s truck. Mike is out now trying for some new angle to the story. We have to give our readers more. They can’t get enough of this Fitzgerald thing.”

  I cringed. I knew Jerry would go crazy if he knew where I’d been last night. “Hope Mike finds new leads on this one,” I said.

  “Yeah, the boy is out there working all his sources, or as he would put it, he’s flirting with the waitresses and the lady cops on the paper’s dime.”

  I headed back to my desk with an uneasy feeling. Not about (I think) Mike flirting with half of the women in the city, but about not mentioning the new job. It felt kind of like a lie. If Jerry knew, however, he’d be all over me for information—whoppers like the Torres fight as well as other tidbits for the features' page. One major star accusing another one of murder would be the kind of thing to send Jerry into orbit.

  On the other hand, it would feel like a betrayal of Cocoa and her trust to use her trays of food as a cover to spy for the Gazette. This was personal for me. It was not about a headline. It was about my hard-earned savings. It was about my dignity and sticking it to that nut Fitzgerald. It was about Mike’s truck.

  I had to do everything I could so Fitzgerald would come out of the shadows with my money, my things, and the truck and put the world to rights. Well, not to rights exactly. The memories would probably wake me in the night for many years to come.

  I sighed as I turned on my computer, thinking it was crazy that it had come to this. One moment, I was grabbing Kat’s arm in delight as Amery Fitzgerald, shirtless and triumphant, burst into a movie scene. The next moment, I was freaking out when that very guy burst out from the truck. One moment I was swooning over the ripped muscles on his chest; the next I was filled with determination to bring him down.

  I needed some strong coffee before logging in and getting started on the day—and the break room had good coffee, all because of me. I had saved us all from coffee horror by working out a deal to replace the muddy sludge that used to fill the coffeepot. It was a good start to the job; I felt I had proved my worth. One cannot underestimate the value of a good cup of java.

  I headed to the break room and returned, taking a slow sip of coffee before checking the tasks for the day. It turned out to be all research and no errands, which was good since I had to head out early to pick up my mother and take her home after her surgery. After that, it would be another—hopefully less eventful—evening on the set. It was going to be a long day. I began to regret the heels I had chosen to complement my skinny jeans and ruffled top. Those shoes might make a statement, but by the time I had loaded up the last of those big food trays, they would just mostly hurt.

  The sad part was, I knew why I’d taken more care than usual in getting dressed that day. I’d done it for my mother, who was always quick to tell me what was wrong with my clothes or my makeup or my hair. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I often tried hard to please her. It was a reflex today, and a dumb one at that, because, duh, she would be having surgery on her eyes. She wouldn’t have any idea if I had on Chanel or some quirky off-brand from the half-price rack. For the ride over there, she would be too wrapped up in the drama of her surgery to give me a second look. Well, maybe later she would hear the click-clack of my fine heels, and the fashionista in her would recognize the quality by the sound alone.

  I began some research for a special section on environmental issues. It got rather complicated, and I didn’t even notice it was time for lunch until Cecil, one of the other assistants, dropped off the sandwich I had ordered. I was biting into the ham and cheesy goodness when my phone began to vibrate beside me on the desk. I looked down to see Mike’s name and eagerly grabbed the phone. I’d checked his desk throughout the morning, and he seemed to have been out all day, hopefully digging up some news.

  “How’s it going, Mike?”

  “The cops found my truck. I’m off to get it now.”

  A sense of relief swept through me. “That’s awesome.”

  “I thought you might like to come,” Mike said.

  “Hell, yeah, I would. Tell me where to meet you.”

  He gave me the address.

  “What about my stuff?” I asked.

  “Um . . .” Mike started. “I’m so sorry, Hailey, but your stuff wasn’t in the truck.”

  Chapter Seven

  I followed Mike’s directions to an industrial part of Palm Shores past the edge of town. I couldn’t believe my stuff was gone because of that jerk, stuff I had chosen with such care. I could feel my knuckles getting whiter as I gripped the steering wheel. Did he take it with him? What would he do with it even? Wasn’t it bad enough he cleaned out almost half of my tiny savings?

  I looked down at my phone, thankful again that at least he left me that. I decided he could have gotten one of those burner phones like bad guys carry on TV, afraid of getting tracked.

  After hanging up with Mike, I’d quickly packed some things to finish my research after I got home from my mother’s surgery. Helping out my mother and driving to Mike’s truck had made the workday pretty short.

  My drive was interrupted by “Darth Vader’s Theme” blaring through the Jeep.

&nbs
p; I hit “accept,” feeling it was better to get it over with. For a moment, I decided it would have served Fitzgerald right if he had driven off with my cell in the truck.

  “Mom!” I said before she could even speak. “Your surgery! I know! I said I’ll drive you there.”

  Operation Pick Up Mom was burned into my brain forever.

  “Well, excuse me for wanting to make sure you didn’t forget,” she said.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Um . . . nothing.” I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget.”

  She went on and on about how delicate the surgery would be and how weak it would leave her, and then she took a breath at last.

  “Yes, of course, delicate. Sure. I understand. I’ll be there,” I cut in and quickly wedged in a “Love you, got to go.”

  I took a deep breath and refrained from smacking my head against the steering wheel.

  Fifteen minutes later I saw the sign for Donahue Street, where I was meeting Mike. As I made the turn, I could see he was already there, along with the police. Lights were flashing from two cop cars, sending streaks of blue across the vacant lot.

  As I drove closer, I blinked twice at the sight of Mike’s truck. All four tires were missing, and the windows were smashed in, glass littering the pavement. Crap. It would have been more practical to just steal the whole truck.

  Mike stared at the scene, his arms folded across the chest. He had taken a cab there, he told me on the phone, and the cops needed me to come describe the items that were taken from the truck.

  I parked and ran to him. “OMG, this is unbelievable.”

  “Yeah. I thought it was good news when they said they found the truck, but seeing it like this . . . well, this is kind of worse.” He turned to the cops and made the introductions.