“It’s, uh…French. It’s pronounced ‘Fe-lay.’ ”
He narrowed his eyes again. “Fe-lay?”
I nodded, mentally crossing my fingers. “Yep.”
“Like a Fe-lay-o’-fish?”
“Uh…yeah.” I nervously glanced from side to side, sure that at any moment someone would stand up and yell, “Fake!”
“And you’re with the L.A. Informer?”
“Yes?” Which might have been more convincing if I hadn’t phrased it as a question. I bit my lip, tasting Raspberry Perfection lip gloss as I nervously shifted from one pink-pump-clad foot to the other.
Billy grunted. “Hmph.” He flipped through his list, his myopic squint searching for a “Fe-lay.” I held my breath, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder.
Finally he checked off an entry and handed the press pass back to me. “Okay, you’re cleared. Go on through.”
I did an internal sigh of relief so loud it echoed inside my brain. I took off my earrings and belt and pulled my stolen keys out of my pocket, depositing them all in a plastic tub to ride through the X-ray machine. I did a silent prayer to the gods of false disguises and stepped through the plastic archway.
Beep.
Oh, hell! I froze. What, what, what? I chewed my lip again, sure that panic was written all over my face.
Latifah glanced down. I think I heard her stifle a snicker. “Those your shoes?”
I looked down at my pink heels. “Yes, why?”
No disguising the snicker this time. “Nothin’.”
“Yeah, I know they clash with the red jacket.”
“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you wanna put them on the belt, there, honey. You know…take ’em off. Take ’em all off.” She snorted again and glanced at Billy. He was grinning, too.
“Uh…o-kay.” I slipped my shoes off and threw them into a plastic tub to ride through the machine.
I stepped back through again.
Silence. Blessed silence!
I gave Latifah a little wave, keeping my head low, and grabbed my belongings, just barely resisting the urge to sprint through the lot.
Step one accomplished.
On to phase two.
Ten minutes later I was slinking around the corner of stage 6G, carefully watching for any sign of a) Stein-man (lest he draft me for wardrobe duty), b) Ramirez (lest he notice me on wardrobe duty and slap a pair of handcuffs on me), or c) Dana (whom I desperately needed to get to before either a or b happened).
I entered the warehouse, keeping close to the walls and hoping I blended into the background as I slunk toward the soundstage. I picked my way over wires and ropes duct taped to the ground, thinking inconspicuous thoughts as I passed the Craft services area. Luckily, no one tried to stop me, though I did notice a couple of PAs looking at my shoes as I scuttled past. I think one even snickered, “Hot stuff, ” as I walked by. Okay, now I was starting to get a little self-conscious. Yes, they clash. I get it!
I was almost to the soundstage when a familiar voice hailed me from the wings.
“Hey, Maddie.”
I had a mini heart attack, spinning around so fast I feared whiplash. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who it was.
“Hi, Ricky.”
“What are you doing here? That big cop said you weren’t allowed on the set anymore.”
I cringed. Oh yeah, handcuffs were definitely in my future.
“I’m just here to see Dana. Know where she is?”
“Sure. She’s blocking out the next scene. Ashley and Chad are having makeup sex today. Apparently he doesn’t care who the baby’s daddy is after all.”
The wonders of television.
“Thanks, ” I said, turning to go.
“Hey, did that woman ever find you?” Ricky called.
I paused. “What woman?”
“There was this woman looking for you earlier. She didn’t leave her name but she had, like, really long black hair. And she seemed a little high-strung.”
Oh. Crap.
Isabel.
“She was here?” I squeaked out, sounding way too much like Minnie Mouse for my liking. I had no idea how she got onto the lot, but knowing she was anywhere in the vicinity of my person made my skin instantly break out in goose bumps.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah. Hey, you okay? You look kinda pale.”
I gulped down a dry lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure, fine. When was she here? What did she say?”
Ricky scrunched up his face as if he were thinking really hard. “Um, it was earlier this morning, right after I got in. I told her I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but
she just said she’d hang around and ‘catch up to you.’ ”
Oh boy.
I mentally added one more name to the list of people whom I so did not want to run into today. In fact, I moved her name right up to the tippy-top of the list. I debated calling Ramirez and telling him that Isabel was lurking somewhere on studio property. But that would mean telling him I was lurking on studio property, and me in the back of his squad car wasn’t going to help Dana any.
So, instead I mumbled, “Thanks, ” to Ricky and made a beeline for the soundstage.
I spotted Dana right away. She was lying in Ashley Culver’s bed, dressed in a peach-colored tube top and tight briefs that almost exactly matched her skin tone. Unless you squinted, it looked like she was in the buff. Which, it seemed, was the idea, as Steinman directed her though a series of seductive poses, all the while shouting about the white balance and backlighting.
Long extensions had been added to her hair, so that Ashley’s curly blonde locks now fell over Dana’s shoulders. Her makeup was done to perfectly match Mia’s skin tone, and I think she was even wearing green contacts. The dread I’d been feeling all morning kicked up a notch. Even I might have mistaken Dana for Mia.
Then again, it was perfect for what I was planning.
I waited behind an unused camera crane while Steinman blocked out the rest of the scene, Dana beaming and making kissy-faces at the camera the entire time. Never mind that the cameras weren’t on; Dana was milking her fifteen minutes for all it was worth.
Finally Steinman signaled one of the PAs in a headset to go get Mia for the real deal.
Dana slipped on a pair of flip-flops and a robe before stepping off the soundstage. I grabbed her arm almost immediately, dragging her into the shadows.
“What the—” she started.
I did an instant shushing motion, holding an index finger up to my lips.
“Maddie!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” She scrunched up her nose. “And what’s with the hair?” she asked, fingering my newly brown tresses.
“It’s a disguise.”
“Totally good idea, ” she said, nodding sagely. “ ’Cause if Ramirez catches you here, you’re toast.”
“You’ve seen him?” There was Minnie Mouse again.
Dana nodded. “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure he used the words arrest and blonde in the same sentence. He gave me the total third degree about where you were. I told him that you were at your mom’s, and I think he’s on his way over there now.”
I cringed as an image of Ramirez interrogating Mom popped into my head. Though I wasn’t sure which one I felt sorrier for.
On the upside, having Ramirez out of the way for a couple of hours made things that much easier.
“Listen, I’ve got a plan, ” I said, dragging Dana behind the crane as a pair of grips walked by. I quickly filled her in on the idea that had been cooking in the back of my head all morning. And, yes, I’ll admit it was just a wee bit on the “harebrained” side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
All I needed to implement it was one more person.
Mia.
I realized that Mia was the key to all of this and the only person on the set whom I hadn’t talked to yet. And unfortunately, I needed her help if we were going to pull this off. I know Mia wasn’t exactly known around the set as the helpful type, but I had a feeling that
if anyone was eager to get rid of Mr. Poisoned Pen, it was her.
Dana and I watched from the wings while Mia and Ricky wiggled under the sheets of Ashley’s bed, pausing every few minutes for Mia to complain about Ricky’s hands skimming inappropriate places or the camera not zooming in on her good side. Finally Steinman was satisfied (or fed up) and yelled, “Scene, ” breaking for lunch. Poor Ricky looked infinitely relieved.
Dana and I gave Mia a three-count head start to her trailer before slipping out the back.
I was happy to see that Ramirez was still nowhere in sight (thank you, Mom!) as we tippy-toed between the corrugated-metal trailers, passing Ricky’s, Blake’s, and the one marked TALENT before coming to Mia’s. Dana rapped two knuckles on the metal door.
“Yes?” came the sharp reply from inside.
“Wardrobe, ” I called.
“Oh for God’s sake, ” I heard her respond, her voice growing louder as she moved toward the door. “We just finished the last scene.” The door popped open and Mia stood glaring at me. She was wrapped up in a red silk robe that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her lips were painted red to match, as if lipstick were the first thing she’d thought of putting on when she returned to her trailer. Her feet were bare, and her enviable blonde curls framed a face that was etched in a deep scowl.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “I have my own wardrobe person, you know?”
“Right. Um, listen, could we come in for just a minute?”
She put both hands on her slim hips, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why?”
I glanced nervously over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long Mom could keep Ramirez occupied, but I had a feeling even she had her limits. “I need to talk to you about your stalker.”
Mia blew a short puff of air through her ruby red lips. “What, you trying to sell a story to the tabloids? Think you can get a quote from me or something?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I…” I paused, not sure how to voice my idea without sounding like a bad Scooby-Doo episode.
But Dana jumped right in. “She has a plan to catch the killer.”
Gee, thanks, Shaggy.
Mia arched one slim, professionally shaped eyebrow at me. “So you’re a wardrobe assistant and a detective?”
“Look, can I please just come in for a minute to talk?”
I could tell she still had her doubts, but luckily her curiosity won out over skepticism. She stepped aside, silently allowing us entry. We navigated the two metal steps and quickly shut the door behind us.
“So?” Mia sank down into one of her velvet-covered sofas, arms draped casually over the back in a practiced pose straight out of a Marlene Dietrich movie. “What do you want from me?”
I gingerly perched on the sofa opposite, glancing out the brocade-covered windows to make sure the coast was still clear. Just a couple of grips smoking cigarettes. So far, no Bad Cop.
So far.
“Maddie has been helping the police investigate the murders, ” Dana started.
“Really?” Mia eyes roved my person, taking in the leather and clashing heels. “You’re working with the police?”
“Uh, well, sort of.” I shot Dana a look. “Loosely.”
“We’ve already questioned tons of suspects and narrowed it down to someone on the set, ” Dana continued.
“I’m not surprised.” Mia snorted. “They’re all jealous of me. Any one of them could want me out of the picture.”
“So you think the killer really is after you?” I asked.
“Of course! Veronika was just a stand-in. Who’d bother with her?”
I paused, wondering if I should mention Veronika’s extracurricular activities on the set. But I figured at this point, what did I have to lose?
“We think Veronika may have had a little side business going on. Blackmail.”
Mia raised both eyebrows and gasped out loud. “Blackmail? Who on earth was she blackmailing?”
I shrugged. “We’re not sure.”
“But we’ll find out, ” Dana piped up beside me. “Maddie’s a totally good detective.”
Mia turned to me. “Oh?”
“Um, well…”
“Don’t be so modest.” Dana chucked me on the shoulder. “She’s helped the police lots of times before. And we always get our man. Right?”
Mia’s lips quirked up; she seemed truly amused at this. “Just like the Mounties, huh?”
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, we have a small favor to ask. We think we might be able to find the identity of your stalker if we catch him in the act, so to speak.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“In the act of trying to harm you, ” Dana supplied.
“You want to use me as bait?” Mia’s voice rose to a level of shrill just slightly below dog whistle.
“No, no, ” I reassured her. “He’ll only think it’s you.”
“I’m the bait, ” Dana said proudly.
Mia gave her a slow up-and-down and made a face. “You seriously think someone would mistake you for me?”
“They mistook Veronika for you, ” I reminded her.
She sucked in her cheeks, thinking this over. “What do you need me to do?”
I felt my stomach lurch—maybe at the relief of getting her cooperation (no small hurdle, as the last week had taught me), or maybe at the thought that we were actually going to go through with this Lucy-and-Ethel scheme.
“All we need you to do is stay away from your trailer tonight.”
Mia frowned. “Why?”
“I’ll pretend I’m you, ” Dana chimed in, “and after we wrap, I’ll go into the trailer, seemingly alone. Only Maddie will be watching from the bushes, ready to call for help as soon as the killer appears. But if he sees two of us, well, he’ll know I’m a fake. So we need you to stay out of sight.”
“Can you do that?” I asked.
Mia nodded slowly. “All right. You really think this will work?” she asked, watching me carefully under her sculpted brows.
I took a deep breath. “I hope so.”
The rest of the day passed in slow motion as I hid out in the talent trailer, drinking coffee, playing solitaire on the tiny laptop computer, and feeling the bundle of nerves in my stomach escalate higher than the price tag on a pair of Blahnik originals. I diligently ignored the piling messages on my voice mail from Felix, all of them promising bodily harm if anything happened to his Neon, and none of them using language I could repeat in polite company. But they paled in comparison to the escalating threats from Ramirez. He’d gone from a peeved, “Where the hell are you?” last night to this afternoon’s growling, “Goddammit, Maddie, call me or I swear to God I’m going to…” Then it trailed off into Spanish curse words. I almost felt bad. I almost gave in and dialed his number. Almost. If he had any inkling I was within ten feet of the set, he’d probably cuff me to a radiator somewhere and throw away the key.
Instead I kept a close eye on the windows, watching for any sign of Bad Cop or his buddies in blue. None. Though my heart leaped into my throat when I saw a swish of black hair disappear into Blake’s trailer. I think I forgot to breathe for two full minutes until Kylie skipped out, wearing the black wig for her scene as Tina Rey’s evil twin sister from Baltimore.
By the time the sky was beginning to turn a dusky blue, I was nursing my fifth cup of coffee and my nerves were strung tighter than Felix’s wallet.
“Hey, ” Dana said, popping her head in the door.
I yelped, spilling coffee on my wrist. “Geez, you scared me.”
“Oops, sorry. Next time I’ll knock.”
I wiped at the coffee with a napkin. “You finished?”
Dana nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yep, we’re done blocking. Ricky and Mia are shooting their last scene, and then we’re a wrap.”
And Operation Bait was a go. I felt those nerves do another flip and sipped at my drink.
Dana stretched and yawned into her hand. “Man, I am beat. Any more of th
at left?” she asked, gesturing to my cup.
“I’ll make a new pot. Stand-in work more tiring than you thought?” I asked, slipping a filter into the Mr. Coffee in the tiny kitchenette.
Dana nodded. “It’s exhausting. Plus I had kind of a late night last night.”
“At SA?”
“What?”
“Sexaholics Anonymous? That’s where you were last night, right?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Right.”
I paused, a scoop of French roast hovering over the basket. “You were at SA last night, right?”
Dana shifted on the sofa and gave a nervous laugh. “Where else would I be?”
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me—that extra with the cute butt? The PA with the van? Please tell me it’s not a grip?”
“No! Geez, none of the above. I’m celibate, remember?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me that this new stand-in job of yours is not the product of your sleeping over at the shifty-eyed AD’s house.” “Maddie, please!” For the first time in her life, I thought I saw Dana blush.
Yikes. This was more serious than I’d thought. I was about to further lecture my best friend on just what Therapist Max would have to say about all this when the trailer door burst open again. I jumped, spilling coffee grinds onto the counter. Maybe I should switch to decaf.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here, ” Deveroux said, stepping into the trailer. Then he took one look at my pink heels and blushed like a schoolgirl.
“Oh, you’re wearing them again.”
I stepped around the counter, obscuring his view. “Long story. I didn’t have time to change.”
Deveroux sat down on the sofa beside Dana. “Maddie, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “For?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. Usually those Web sites are so discreet. I don’t know how this clip got out.”
“Clip?” My internal radar pricked up. “What clip?”
He looked down toward my feet again. “You know, from yesterday. I have no idea how it got out.”
“Wait…” I held up a hand, crossing the room to face him. “What do you mean, ‘got out’?”
Undercover in High Heels Page 23
