“Tinkie, you know full well how some publications blow things way out of proportion.” I was still a bit annoyed that the telephone had so rudely interrupted the kiss.
“True, but I don’t know when the story is dead-on or when it’s exaggerated. That’s why you should call home and let us know.”
I sighed. She was right. I’d been so caught up in my life that I’d forgotten my responsibilities to my friends. “We’re fine.”
“Are you?”
“Except that I’m missing you and Zinnia and everyone.” Giving voice to that sentiment told me how real it was.
“How’s the movie business?”
“The screen test was good. They’re writing Sweetie into the movie. Graf is wonderful to act against. Everything is good here.” I’d only been gone a couple of days, but it seemed an unbridgeable gap now. Tinkie no longer shared my life. We reported on events to each other. I thought of telling her about the message on the mirror in Bobby Joe’s house, but I decided against it. While it would intrigue her, it would also worry her.
“Cece is planning a big story about you once the movie starts production. She hinted she’d like an invite to the set.”
“Absolutely, and of course you and Millie might come with her?” My heart lifted at the thought.
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
“You’ve made my evening.” I couldn’t wait to see them, to show them the little I’d learned about Tinseltown.
“Stay in touch, Sarah Booth. Life continues here in Zinnia, but it isn’t the same without you.”
“I’ll be a better caller,” I promised before I hung up. I walked out to the porch to talk with Graf. He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.
“Let’s start dinner. If I stay here with you, I won’t be able to honor my word not to press you. I want to give you the time you asked for.”
Before I could ask him to stay with me, he went into the kitchen and began rattling pots and pans. I was left with a million-dollar view and a body and heart at war with each other.
Graf had an early call the next morning, and Sweetie and I took advantage of a brisk March sunrise to head down the canyon for a hike. I’d lost at least fifteen pounds during my false murder accusation, and I was determined to keep it off. Climbing up and down the steep trails was the best exercise I could find, and I’d get to spend the morning with Sweetie Pie.
We went far down, dropping into cool shade and then barren patches of sun-soaked ground. When I got to the fire zone, I took great care. Sweetie stayed near me as I moved around the west side of the scorched area.
I was absorbed in trying to understand how the firemen had determined it was arson—I didn’t see any empty gas cans lying around. Fire investigation was a talent I’d never looked into. Maybe later Tinkie and I could take a course.
Sweetie froze at my side. Her lips drew back and she bared her teeth. A growl I’d never heard came from her. Instinctively, I reached for her collar. Before I could grasp the leather, she jumped forward with a wild, unearthly howl and disappeared into the brush.
“Sweetie!” I ran after her, remembering how blithely I’d dismissed Graf’s warning about mountain lions and coyotes. “Sweetie Pie Delaney!” I made my voice stern as I pushed and panted my way through the dense underbrush that hadn’t burned.
A long, low howl, as eerie as anything Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had created in The Hound of the Baskervilles, floated over the air. I struggled into a small clearing protected by jagged rocks in the shadow of one of the cliff faces. Sweetie stood over something blue, her muzzle lifted in a low, mournful cry.
“Sweetie.” I rushed forward, my only thought to grasp her collar and snap on the leash that I wore around my waist.
I was upon her before I even looked at the blue object, which registered instantly as the size and shape of a human body.
Sweetie waited for me to get close enough to see that it was a woman. From the position of her body, I knew she was dead. Bones didn’t grow at those angles. Sweetie nuzzled the dead woman softly with her nose and howled again.
“Stop that,” I told her as I hooked the lead. The dog was creeping me out, howling as if she were in a ghost story.
I walked around the body, taking in the platinum blond hair, the manicured hands, adorned with expensive rings that seemed to clutch the dirt. I was no expert, but I’d be willing to bet the woman had been alive when she fell. I looked up the cliff face and saw where she must have slipped. Along with the blue athletic clothes, she wore hiking boots.
Sweetie had come home the night before—the night of the fire—with a piece of blue material in her mouth. I noticed that the dead woman’s pants leg was torn, a piece of material missing. The poor woman had been lying out in the canyon with flames raging a short distance away.
“We have to call the police,” I told Sweetie.
Sweetie had other ideas. She tugged the leash from my hand and went straight back to the body. She nudged the dead woman again with her nose. A draft of wind caught the woman’s blond hair and shifted it.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered. I recognized the woman. It was Suzy Dutton, the actress.
CHAPTER FIVE
“And you say you didn’t know Miss Dutton?” Sheriff King asked me for the fiftieth time.
“Only as an actress.” I gave the same answer I’d given fifty times before. In truth, the good sheriff was working on my last nerve. I’d called him to report the body, led him and some deputies to the place where I’d found her, and I’d been in his “custody” for the last few hours with only his aggressive behavior for my good citizen’s reward. My butt was numbed by the hard chair in the sheriff’s office, and I was worried about where they’d taken Sweetie Pie.
“There aren’t any other houses near yours.” Grady King spoke as if I’d personally destroyed a subdivision somewhere.
“Where’s my dog?” I asked. King had finally allowed me to call Graf, and he and Federico were on the way. If I could keep from losing my temper until they arrived, things would get better.
“What reason would Suzy Dutton have for being in Lettohatchie Canyon?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Sheriff, I don’t know much about the canyon or the road that leads to the house or the lifestyle of movie stars. I just got into town.” My words were a lie. I suspected Suzy was lurking around the canyon to spy on me because of the role of Matty that was mine instead of hers. But to tell King this would guarantee that I’d be a suspect in her death. I’d just played that role in Zinnia, and I had no desire for a repeat performance. I’d keep my lips zipped.
“Were you and Miss Dutton in competition for the same role?”
The question brought me up short. Grady King had some inside source into the movie business. “Not to my knowledge,” I said. “Federico Marquez offered me the role after I took a screen test. I never heard it was offered to anyone else.” That was all truthful. I had simply omitted the conversation I overheard between Suzy and Federico.
“When was the last time you spoke with Miss Dutton?”
“I met her recently at Michael Mainheim’s house at a party. We passed in a hallway. That’s the only time I’ve ever crossed paths with her.”
“I hear that Miss Dutton was distraught because the movie role you’re playing had been promised to her.”
“I’ve already told you, I don’t know anything about that.”
“Miss Delaney, I shouldn’t have to point out that you were charged with the murder of another rival in Zinnia not two months ago. This appears to be a pattern. Kill off the competition.”
Anger made me clench my fists, an action that King immediately noticed. My sudden fury wasn’t directed at him, but I wanted to throttle Coleman Peters. His false accusation of me would haunt me the rest of my days. “The charges were dropped. Renata Trovaioli committed suicide. She wasn’t murdered by anyone, most certainly not by me.”
“And you got the role she was playing, which resulted i
n your most recent film success.” He sat back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him.
“I got this role because I did a screen test and it was good.” I shifted in the hard-bottomed chair, checking my watch. What was keeping Graf and Federico? “Have you found evidence that shows foul play in Miss Dutton’s death?”
“I’m asking the questions here, not you.”
“Fine, but that’s a pertinent question, don’t you think? As far as I could tell, it looked like Suzy Dutton slipped from the cliff. Maybe it’s a simple accident.”
“Or maybe not. Would Miss Dutton have any reason to want to burn you or Mr. Milieu to death?”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s a big stretch, Sheriff King, even for you. Have you found evidence that connects her to the fire?” I sat forward.
“We haven’t finished the forensics yet, but we will find something, I promise you. We have state-of-the-art equipment, something you probably aren’t used to in Podunk, Mississippi.”
“No, Sheriff, in Zinnia, we rely on brains, not technology. Maybe you could hire someone with some smarts before you end up with egg all over your face.” My temper overrode my good sense, but instead of getting angry, King smiled.
“I don’t need to tell you that the media is all over this, Miss Delaney.”
“That’s not my problem.”
He sat forward suddenly. “But I could make it your problem with very little effort.”
“Are you threatening me?” I asked sweetly. “Let me point out that you should have found the body when you were investigating the fire. If it weren’t for me and my dog, Suzy Dutton might have remained out there for a long, long time.” I’d scored a point, but it was going to cost me. I could see it in the glitter of his pale eyes.
“You had a message written on the mirror in your house—”
“Bobby Joe Taylor’s house,” I reminded him.
“Telling you to go home. That sounds a bit personal to me.”
“I have no way of knowing if the message was directed at me. I told you that.”
There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Graf and Federico. The director looked slightly gray. The news of Suzy’s death must have hit him hard. They’d been a couple for nearly four years before they’d split up.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Suzy is really dead?”
“She is. Her neck was broken in a fall.” Sheriff King delivered the news without any attempt to soften it.
“This is terrible. What was she doing in that canyon?” Federico looked at each of us as if he hoped one of us could explain her death in a way that made sense.
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Sheriff King stood up. “You can go for now, Miss Delaney, but don’t leave the county.”
“Are you charging her?” Graf stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder. “This is absurd.”
Federico cleared his throat. “She must go, Sheriff. We’re set to begin shooting day after tomorrow in Petaluma, Costa Rica.”
Sheriff King’s eyes narrowed. “Very convenient.”
“The schedule was set months ago. The camera crews and set designers left this morning. Miss Delaney must go. Without her the filming will be halted. Each day of delay will cost thousands of dollars.” His shrug was eloquent. “If you have no real evidence against Miss Delaney, you must allow her to work. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to sue the county for any losses and damages to my film.”
King’s smile widened, and I was reminded of a barracuda. “You movie people think you’re above the law.”
“Do you have any grounds to charge Sarah Booth?” Graf asked. “What evidence do you have?”
Sheriff King gave him a calculated look. “Not enough. At least for the moment.”
Federico nodded and gave a courtly little bow. “Thank you, Sheriff. If you need her to come back to Los Angeles, we’ll see that she gets back. Until then, she needs to focus on her work.”
Graf offered me a hand to rise. His arm came around me protectively. “Sarah Booth wouldn’t harm a fly. Keep that in mind before you start making accusations you’re going to regret.”
“All of you get out of my office before I change my mind. The dog is waiting for you at the front door.”
I didn’t need another invitation. I meant to retrieve Sweetie Pie and get out of there. It was only when I was on the sidewalk, Sweetie’s leash in my hand, that I heeded Graf’s tug on my hand. He nodded to Federico, who was using one hand to support himself against the building.
“Can we do something to help?” Graf asked him.
He shook his head. “It’s the shock. Suzy was very special to me.”
“You were together for several years.” Thanks to Millie’s penchant for reading the celebrity magazines, I knew my share of Tinseltown dish.
“Do you really think someone pushed her off a cliff?” Federico asked me. The idea of such a thing brought him great pain.
“It could have been an accident. That’s what I tried to tell the sheriff. Those trails are steep and difficult. I’ve almost fallen a few times.”
“But what was she doing in Lettohatchie Canyon?” he asked. “She had no friends there. Suzy wasn’t the kind of woman who would go hiking, and certainly not alone. Why was she even there?”
“Did she know Bobby Joe Taylor?” I asked.
Federico’s eyes widened. “Perhaps. It’s possible he was writing a script for her.” The relief that touched his features told me a lot about his feelings for Suzy. He might have broken up with her and pulled the role of Matty out from under her, but he still cared about her.
“But if she was looking for Bobby Joe, why didn’t she come to the front door and knock? Why would she be hiking around the canyon?” Graf looked from me to Federico.
I didn’t have an answer, so I kept my mouth shut. It occurred to me that Jitty would be astounded and proud at this most recent display of maturity.
“Suzy often did things the hardest way possible,” Federico said with sadness. “When we were seeing each other, she wouldn’t ask a simple question. She created these complicated scenarios.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure the autopsy report will answer some of our questions. I’m just sorry that the last time I spoke with her was so long ago.”
“When was that?” I asked. The question flew out of my mouth.
“I saw her at M.M.’s party, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.”
That was an outright lie. “King implied that you’d promised the role of Matty to Suzy. Is that true?”
“Sarah Booth, you got the role because you earned it.” Federico straightened his jacket and squared his shoulders. “I never promised Suzy the role of Matty. She assumed it would be hers. Now I should get back to the set and you two get some rest. Tomorrow, Sarah Booth, you’ll be flying to Costa Rica, and we begin filming the very next day.”
I started to say something to Graf about Federico’s shading of the truth. I’d heard him talking to Suzy. Arguing with Suzy. And she’d claimed he promised her the role. But as I turned to tell Graf, he kissed me. Concerns about Federico’s messy relationship with Suzy Dutton were scorched from my mind.
By the time we got up the mountain to the house, both Graf and I had regained our senses. We studiously avoided any physical contact—even eye contact—and began the job of packing. We were both excited about going to Costa Rica. Federico had some family ties there, and we were filming the seduction and scenes between Matty and Ned and the murder scenes at an old family home. Between the excitement and the kiss we’d shared, I feared one or both of us were candidates for spontaneous combustion. We managed to steer clear of each other for the remainder of the night. The power of our attraction had frightened both of us, I think. Opening Pandora’s box while we were acting together was dangerous.
Federico had hired a private plane for the entire cast, and we celebrated and drank our way across Mexico and into Central America. A shadow of sadness followed Federico, but he didn’t mention Suzy to me, an
d I decided not to bring up her name. So they’d had an argument. I’d had plenty of them with friends, lovers, and even a ghost. That didn’t mean I would be involved in violence.
Besides, I was certain that Suzy had accidentally fallen to her death. That was the only explanation that made sense.
The house at Petaluma was nothing less than spectacular—ochre stucco with a red tile roof, an interior courtyard complete with the most interesting sculptures of various Greek goddesses, enormous bedrooms lavishly appointed, and a staff that met us with trays of mojitos and canapés.
My room had a marble fireplace, and above it a magnificent portrait of a beautiful woman in a red gown, dark-haired with eyes of fire. She looked like someone I would have enjoyed knowing. I was about to unpack my luggage when I heard someone behind me.
A young woman stood in the middle of the room, her slender legs encased in breeches and boots. Her hair, lush and thick, was contained in an elegant French twist, and her white riding shirt was starched and immaculate. She’d opened the door and entered without me hearing her.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” the young woman asked, nodding to the portrait.
“She is.”
“Her name was Carlita Gonzalez Marquez.”
“Federico’s wife?” I guessed.
“Federico has led a very interesting life.” She spoke with contempt. “You should ask him sometimes. This was her home, a wedding gift to both of them from her father, Estoban Gonzalez.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Some people say it’s haunted.”
I couldn’t tell if she was challenging me or not. “My home in Mississippi is also haunted. I think ghosts are drawn to me.”
Her face hardened. “Don’t humor me as if I were a child. If the film company stays here, you’ll get more of a ghost story than you ever bargained for.”
She swiveled and strode out of the room, her boots ringing on the stone hallway and then clattering down the stairs. I was about to turn to my luggage when the sheer curtains at the bedroom window puffed on a gust of wind. They took the shape of a slender female form before settling back against the wall.
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