by Mara Webb
“Careful,” a voice said, I turned around and saw Leonard Bell, the gangly but smooth talking writer, standing a few feet in front of me. “Talking to yourself, people might think you’re crazy.”
“This coming from the guy that plays free form jazz to his salmon lunch.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Leonard said. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you back here Miss Sponks, didn’t the police pen your own mother as the culprit?”
“Actually the case is still wide open,” I said. “There’s no compelling evidence either way, and your tip about the director was a waste of time by the way. Marty Miller can’t lift his arms—”
“Above his shoulders, yes, yes, I know all about his disability.”
“You think he’s faking?”
“Let’s just say I like to keep a close eye on people. We produce TV flicks in this studio Miss Sponks, bad actors are a dime a dozen here, but none are worse than Marty Miller.”
“Mr. Bell if you have information that would cast doubt on Marty’s condition then you are legally obliged to provide me with it. It could help close this case.”
Leonard immediately started to splutter. “W-Well I have nothing concrete. Just supposition really. The guy is a fraud, everyone knows it. It’s a nice check in his postbox once a month!”
“You’re wasting my time, I’m going now. Come talk to me if you have anything useful.”
“I’ll be in the theatre again at lunch if you’d like to listen!” he called after me.
“Jazz sucks and your piano sucks!” I shouted back.
I made my way through the bustling crowds of the studio and into the central courtyard with all the trailers. Though I had already spoken to most of the key players in this little mystery there was one person that had so far eluded my attention, and that was Tyson’s secretary, the same woman that had pinned the murder on my mother in the first place.
I had no idea where to find the woman, and I was just about to head back to Larry’s booth to ask him when I saw him behind me with a coffee.
“There you go,” he said. “One large latte, extra cream, vanilla shot and double sugar. Just how you like it.”
“…I’ve never told you how I like coffee,” I said as I took the cup.
“Oh, I know, but this is how I take it, and I can guarantee you’ll love it.”
I took a courteous sip and tried to stop my face from screwing up tight. “Oh wow.”
“Good right?” Larry smiled.
“Very sweet. Very, very, sweet. You drink this every day?”
“At least twice!”
“I’d say you should talk with your doctor about diabetes, but I practically run on sugar and coffee, so who am I to judge? Listen, I’m looking for Tyson’s secretary. Where could I find her?”
“Mary-Belle? She’s still based in Tyson’s office, of course Mr. Miller works there now. It’s the big white building opposite Studio 2, just over there.” He pointed across the square. “Do you want me to escort you?”
“No, I’m fine, but thanks Larry. I’ll see you later.”
I made my way across the bustling square and found the building I was looking for. It wasn’t much work to find Tyson’s secretary, Mary-Belle, she was sitting behind a desk in the lobby, and the first person I saw.
As soon as she noticed me her eyes widened, and she pursed her lips tight. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, me,” I said as I walked up to the reception desk. “Considering I barely know you, you seem fairly incensed.”
“You have some nerve coming back here, aren’t you the daughter of that dreadful woman? You should be ashamed of yourself! I’d throw you out myself, but I already heard you’ve somehow swindled your way in with the police.”
“I’m just investigating this murder, I want to catch Mr. Bryce’s murderer, just like everyone else. I don’t know why you’ve got such a negative opinion of my mother and me.”
“Because she’s guilty! You can’t see it because it’s your mother, but heaven’s alive! She’s been trouble since day one, I—” She stopped herself suddenly, looking as though she had said too much.
“You knew my mom before this,” I said in realization.
“I—she—” It looked like the secretary wanted to back track, but she knew she couldn’t take the words back now. “She might not remember me, but I remember her. How could I forget her?”
“How do you know her?” I asked.
“I have been Tyson’s secretary for thirty years,” she said. “I’ve been there for him right since the beginning. Did he ever notice me? No. I was a fool of course, falling in love with a man that wanted every woman apart from me, but I stayed, I wanted to be near him. I had to sit by and watch as she stole him away from me.”
I suddenly became aware that I might be standing face to face with Tyson’s killer. What if this woman had killed him in a moment of blind rage, deciding to pin the accident on my mother so she could get her revenge?
“…Did you kill him?” I asked.
She looked utterly blindsided by the question. “Are you mad, girl!? Of course I didn’t kill him! I loved him! No one knows who killed him!”
“So you don’t really suspect my mom at all, you were just trying to get her in trouble.”
“It worked didn’t it? She did threaten him after all, I only used the words that came out of her mouth.”
“I could argue in a court of law that you deliberately steered a murder case in the wrong direction to satisfy one of your own personal vendettas. Obstruction of justice is another term for it, and it’s a criminal offence, one that can result in prison time.”
Mary-Belle straightened and paled, looking as if she was now taking this far more seriously. “I was just trying to help,” she stammered.
“I believe maybe you were, but I know one thing for sure, you’re not helping right now, and if you don’t start cooperating there could be serious repercussions.”
She gulped. “What do you want to know?!”
“Why did Marty, the director, stop me from coming on the set?”
“Because you’re a pain in the butt, and I don’t need any more distractions on my set,” Marty said as he stepped into the building. “Sweet mother goose, you’re like a rash that won’t go away, can we get this over with already? I’ve got a film to shoot.”
“Get what over with?”
“I assume you’re here to waste my morning with more asinine questions.”
“We already spok—” I stopped myself, remembering that when I talked to Marty, he didn’t know it was me. I had used magic to take on the appearance of my late Grandfather Eustice and looked like an old-time strongman. “I only have one question. If you’re innocent, then why stop me from coming onto the set?”
“Because this production has already had enough disruptions, it doesn’t need anymore. Do you know how many scenes I have to shoot in a day?! Just ask Mary-Belle, she can tell you what the schedule is like in this job! Now what else do you need from me?!”
“That’s all I need from you, so if you’re busy then please be on your way. This film won’t shoot itself.”
“Gladly! Goodbye!” Marty stormed out the building, leaving me alone with Mary-Belle once more. I turned to look at her.
“I promise I just want to help,” she said in a panic. “Just let me know how, and I’ll try.”
“Marty might have already helped actually,” I said. “He gave me an idea then when he mentioned his schedule. I take it you have to help organize his day, was that the case with Tyson too?”
“Yes, I keep detailed diaries to help ensure that things go smoothly.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a notebook. “Every minute of Tyson’s day, up until the day of his death.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Can you tell me what he was up to the day he died? In the evening specifically. Why was he in that studio if filming had finished?”
Mary-Belle flicked through pages until she came to the las
t entry in the diary. “He was on set most of the day, and when they wrapped, he went to the editing room to watch the takes. That’s actually pretty standard procedure for Tyson.”
“Can you take me there?” I said.
“Of course. Follow me.” I followed Mary-Belle out of the building and back across the studio, entering a soundstage opposite from the old theatre where Leonard Bell liked to play jazz to his salmon. “There are multiple suites,” she explained as we entered a room with twelve numbered doors, “Tyson always used Suite 3. It’s off limits for everyone else. I don’t think anyone else has been in there since his murder in fact.”
“Do you have a key? I’d like to see inside.”
“I do, I have a copy here in fact.” Mary-Belle pulled a small ring of keys out and unlocked the door. We stepped inside the suite. There was a desk and a computer, and some fancy looking equipment that I didn’t understand. The computer was still on, with some video editing software open on the screen.
“This must have been what Tyson was watching right before he left,” I said and took a seat at the computer. I hit the spacebar and watched the scene, it was Winnie and her co-star, Sam, involved in a romantic scene in which they seemed to get carried away.
“All right, that’s enough!” Tyson’s voice came from off camera. “I said cut!”
The young actors both carried on kissing for a moment longer before breaking away. I hit pause again and looked at Mary-Belle. “This was the last thing he watched before he left and went back to the soundstage. Interesting.”
“That girl was bad trouble from the start,” Mary-Belle said. “The writing was on the wall, it was shameful how she disrespected Tyson, considering everything he’d done for her. He gave her a career!”
“I think I’ve seen everything I need Mary-Belle, thanks. We can go now.” We headed back outside and the gears were turning in my mind.
“How else can I help?” she asked.
“Head back to your office for now. I’ll be in touch if I need anything. I have a phone call to make.” Mary-Belle nodded and went on her way. I pulled out my cell and called Deacon.
“Want to get lunch?” he asked.
“Cell records for Tyson Bryce, did they turn up anything interesting?”
“Uh… I’ve got them here on my desk…somewhere,” he said. I heard the rustling of paper in the background. “Got it! What did you want to know?”
“Last activity before he died, specifically in the evening. Did he make any calls, send any messages?”
“Uh, let’s see…” he said, I imagined his finger slowly working down lines of cell data. “Ah, here it is. Looks like he placed a call just after six in the evening. That’s the final piece of activity.”
“Can I get that number?” I asked. Deacon read it back to me over the phone and I wrote it down.
“Sounds like you’re working on something,” Deacon said.
“Potentially. There’s a few more things I need to clear up, but I think an answer is in sight.”
“Hallelujah! Does that mean you’re too busy for lunch?”
“I think so, sorry. The faster I wrap this up though, the better. I’m thinking a weekend away somewhere.”
“My uncle has that cabin up north. Me, you, an open fire, some hot cocoa,” Deacon teased.
“Heaven! I’m already there! Ugh. I gotta go. I’ll call you if there’s an update. Love you.” I paused. We hadn’t actually said that to one another yet. I’d never actually said that to anyone. “Oh Deacon, oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“I love you too,” he said, laughing to dispel the awkwardness. “See? Nothing to worry about. I’ve been wanting to say that to you actually.”
“I’m so dumb, I shouldn’t have done this over the phone, it was an accident, really, but… I do mean it.”
“Me too. Stay safe. Do you need backup?”
“Probably at some point, not yet. Talk soon.”
I ended the call and chastised myself for my own idiocy. I couldn’t believe I’d just bumbled my way through an important moment like that, but at least Deacon was cool about it. My stomach was fluttering to hear him say those words back. If I didn’t have so much to get done, I’d be flying right now.
“Focus Chelsea, the end is in sight,” I said to myself and made my way over to one trailer in particular in the courtyard. I already had an idea who this phone number belonged to, but I decided I would pay them a visit in person too. I was just on the way to do that when I saw something very unusual.
Marty Miller, the silver-haired director, sneaking into Winnie’s trailer. No one else had seen it, and he hadn’t seen me either. I could certify that he looked darn suspicious. “Right Marty, time to figure out what you’re up to.”
I marched over to the trailer and knocked on the door. “Open up!” I said. There was no answer in turn. Marty was obviously hiding. I turned the handle and the door to the trailer opened. “Come on, I know you’re in there!”
“Excuse me?” came the voice of Winnie from behind me, she was standing expectantly outside her trailer. “Detective lady, what are you doing in my trailer?”
“Dealing with a trespasser, there’s—”
My words cut short as a figure exploded out of the trailer and knocked me back off my feet. I had no time to react or do anything useful, I just watched helplessly as Marty Miller pushed me over and sprinted into the crowd. “Stop him!” I shouted. “He’s the murderer!”
To my surprise Marty hit the ground a second later, and as I stood up, I saw the rotund figure of Larry the security guard, proudly holding a taser in hand. “Got him!” he said before taking a bite out of a donut.
“Looks like this is a wrap,” Winnie said.
“Hey, I’m the detective. Don’t steal my cool lines.”
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
14
“Hey, good job!” Deacon said as his men loaded Marty Miller into the back of a police cruiser. “Another one bites the dust.”
“I’m telling you, I’m innocent!” Marty shouted as Mark—or Clark—Stark shut the door behind him.
“Well… I have to admit I’m a little confused. That wasn’t the outcome I was expecting.”
“Really?” Deacon said. “You had someone else in mind?”
“It just doesn’t make sense. Marty has arthritis, he can’t lift his hands above his head. How could he have lifted a bowling ball?”
Deacon shrugged. “If you want something bad enough, you find a way. Anyway, I’m gonna go back to the station with the boys and we’ll get a confession out of Miller. Hey, finally matches on that missing handkerchief, right? You said the initials were MM. Marty Miller. It was his.”
“You’re right. There’s no other explanation. All signs point to Marty.”
“You almost sound disappointed,” Deacon laughed. “Relax. I know what you’re like. Another mystery will be along in no time, and you’ll have something brand new to solve.”
“I’m legitimately looking forward to a little break actually, but as things stand there are already a few things on the horizon buzzing for my attention.”
Deacon turned his head. “Oh? Like…” he lowered his voice. “Magical things?”
“Potentially, but before I think about any of that I’m taking a few days off for sure.” I remembered my mother was currently staying with me. “As best as I can anyway.”
He chuckled. “All right. Go put your feet up. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” He kissed me on the forehead and headed back to his cruiser. Just as he left my phone started ringing, the screen told me it was Jack Valentine, my vampire lawyer.
“Jack, what’s up?” I asked.
“I just finished running those scans on the names you gave me. Nothing of interest really, but I can dive a little deeper if you like. Might take a few days to pull up something really interesting.”
“No need Jack, it looks like we got our guy, thanks for looking into it anyway.”
“No prob
lem! Hey, how about that dinner I talked about? We can even get Italian, as long as there’s no garlic!”
“I’ll check my schedule, talk to you later, Jack. Thanks again.”
I ended the call and Winnie walked over to me, looking a little shaken from the whole exchange.
“Well, that was scary!” she said.
“I’ll say. Are you okay? I can appreciate things have been a little unusual around here lately.”
“I’m all right, I think, just shaken. What did Marty say? Did the police get anything out of him?”
“Nothing yet, but he’ll likely give a confession soon. Too much of the evidence aligns with him, and we literally found him sneaking around in your trailer, things don’t look good for him.”
“Do you think he was going to murder me?” Winnie said and shivered. “Just the thought gives me the creeps.”
“One thing is for certain, he was up to something, or he wouldn’t have tried to run like that. Thankfully Larry was paying attention and stopped him from getting away.”
“Well, I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds here Miss Sponks, but I do believe that I possibly owe you my life. It looks like we’re not going to do any more filming here today, so I’m going home to relax with a drink in the pool. I’d like to formally extend an invitation your way. What do you say?”
For a few seconds I tried to think of a polite way to say no, but then I decided again. “You know what, what the heck, yeah. I’ve been working non-stop for like two months now, and I deserve a break! Drinks in a pool sounds fancy, although, I haven’t got a bathing suit.”
“I’ve got a ton up at Tyson’s house,” Winnie said, “most of which I’ve never even worn, come with! It’ll be fun! We can take the convertible!”
Winnie pointed across the lot to a shiny red sportscar and I knew I couldn’t say no. “There’s a small yellow car that will be very disappointed to find out I just fell in love with a new vehicle, but I don’t care. I’m ready when you are!”
With little hesitation I jumped into the car with Winnie and the next thing we were speeding off, following the curving road that let up to the fancy houses on the hill.
