Jesse slammed her tray on the table. “Paul! You’re the director. Direct yourself over here and take care of this. This woman is trying to poison me. I want her ass fired!’’
I looked around the catering tent. Paul Watkins was nowhere in sight.
“Will somebody go find our has-been director, PLEASE?’’ Jesse’s face was red, and the veins stood out on her neck. She screamed, “I want this bitch fired! Now!’’
She glared at C’ndee, who backed down not one inch. “Just try to get me canned.’’ C’ndee’s spoon passed so close to the young star’s head, it parted her hair. “You’ll find your latest Teen Diva Meltdown posted on the Internet faster than you can say ‘tweet.’’’
Jesse hauled back and slapped C’ndee across the face. If this were six months ago, I’d be rooting for Jesse to kick C’ndee’s butt all the way back to Hackensack. But I liked Sal’s cousin now, so I was pulling for her as the two women circled one another.
“Odds favor C’ndee,’’ I said.
“If she gets Jesse on the ground, she’ll have her,’’ Maddie agreed. “She’s got a sixty-pound advantage, at least.’’
“Yeah, but Jesse can kick like a mule,’’ Mama said. “Remember that little show with the cowboy hat this morning, Mace? C’ndee better back out of range and keep her eye on that gal’s pointy-toed boots.’’
We were settling in for a good catfight when Sal appeared from nowhere. He moved surprisingly fast for a man who stood six-foot-four and weighed more than three hundred pounds. He stepped in between the two warring women, separating them with his bulk.
“Break it up! Back to your corners, da two of youse.’’
“She started it.’’ C’ndee rubbed at her cheek.
Sal had one massive hand on C’ndee’s shoulder. He gave her a hard shake. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself. You’re the adult here.’’
He shook Jesse with the other hand, but not as hard. “And you need to grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than whether you like your lunch. A man died here this morning.’’
“Big F’ing Deal.’’
Sal stared at Jesse. Maddie tsked. Even C’ndee gasped at the young woman’s callousness.
“Look, I couldn’t stand Norman. Neither could anyone else, though we’re bound to hear all kinds of wonderful eulogies now that he’s dead.’’
People had stopped eating in every corner of the tent. All eyes were on Jesse. She tossed her hair and continued.
“I could act like I’m all mournful and sorry, but I’m not. The man was a pig. Call me whatever you want, but I’m not a hypocrite. The only acting I do is for the cameras.’’
With that, Jesse gave a final shake of her curls. Then she exited, stage left.
“Bad news.’’ I found Carlos stepping out of the “honey wagon,’’ a trailer with toilets for the movie crew. “An army of paparazzi is marching our way.’’
He scowled at me. I raised my hands, surrender style.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Plus, it gets worse: The gals from Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow beauty parlor called Mama. They say it’s all over town that your police chief is going to be interviewed on three different cable news shows tonight.’’
He rolled his shoulders; a vein pulsed at his temple. “We don’t know squat yet. I hope he doesn’t oversell.’’
“You mean brag about how his hotshot homicide detective from Miamuh is going to hunt down and catch the perpetrator of this hay-en-ous crime?’’
Wincing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something like that, yeah.’’
I took a quick look around the movie production’s outdoor encampment, known in Hollywood lingo as base camp. Transformed from ranchland, it was a small city of semi trucks and white trailers. Some held movie-making essentials, everything from props and wardrobe, to cameras and lights. Others housed office equipment. Red stars on several trailer doors denoted actors’ quarters.
Awnings had been rolled out and portable tents erected to shield cast and crew from the searing Florida sun. With the murder interrupting the shooting schedule, the movie people sat alone or in small groups. Some talked; others read. The catered lunch was over, but the craft services truck was busy, as cast and crew helped themselves to cold drinks, sweets, and afternoon snacks.
No one seemed to be paying attention to Carlos and me, standing beside a plastic picnic table behind a towering pallet of bottled water. Rolling his shoulders again, he kneaded the back of his neck.
“Have a seat,’’ I said. “Let me see if I can get some of those kinks out.’’
He settled sideways, straddling the bench seat. I sat behind him, my legs on either side of his rear. The skin at the insides of my thighs felt hot where it touched his hips. Softly, I traced a cowlick that defies the straight hairline at the back of his neck. Then I went to work, massaging out the tension and stress trapped in his neck and shoulders.
“Ahh,’’ he moaned. “That’s great. You can go harder if you want.’’
Harder is exactly where I wanted to go, but I restricted myself to the knots in his neck. I ratcheted up the pressure. A grunt escaped his lips, and I knew I was getting the job done.
Strong hands are a benefit of being the kind of girl who rode right alongside the boys in high school rodeo. These days, I easily heft forty-pound bags of animal chow at the makeshift wildlife shelter I established at Himmarshee Park. And I’ve won more than a few rounds of beer in bars, arm-wrestling tough-guy wannabes.
Like my cousin Henry always says, “It’s not bragging if it’s fact.’’
For the next several moments, I rubbed. When I quit, Carlos rolled his head. I heard a couple of soft pops. He leaned back against me and sighed. “You’re a miracle worker, Mace.’’
“You don’t have to leave a tip, just return the favor.’’
He shifted to look over his shoulder at me, a half smile on his lips. “Oh, I intend to.’’ His black eyes smoldered. “I have a long list of ways I plan to return the favor.’’
“I’ll take you up on all of them, after you solve the case.’’
As soon as I saw the furrowing between his eyes, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. Again.
“Uhmm … I didn’t mean it’s contingent on you solving the case. I’d feel the same way about you even if you never solved another case.’’
He cocked his head at me, the frown line getting deeper.
“I mean, of course you’ll solve the case, Carlos. You’ll work it out. You always do. You’re an incredible detective …’’
He put a finger to my lips. The frown faded. “It’s okay, niña. I know what you mean. It’s just that these film people are a different breed. I feel like I did when I was nine years old and came to this country from Cuba. I need a guide, or a translator, or something.’’
His eyes roamed around the tented quadrangle outside the trailers. They caught, and stayed, on Kelly Conover, seated a short distance away in a camp chair in the shade.
“Maybe she’s your gal,’’ I said. “She knows everybody on the set. And she speaks Hollywood.’’
Carlos rubbed his jaw, thinking. The tendon in his forearm tensed, exposed by the rolled-up sleeve of his white dress shirt. I had the urge to trace it with my tongue, traveling up along his arm, and then continuing on a steady path across his broad chest, up the other shoulder, lingering on his neck, and then onward until my mouth met the full, masculine curve of his lips.
But we were in professional mode, so I tamped down my naughty thoughts. Just to be safe, I plunged my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.
“Go ahead and talk to her,’’ I said. “It might help the investigation. You know you want to.’’
Gazing at Kelly across a short expanse of well-trodden pasture, he licked his lips. I chose to interpret this is a sign of nervousness, not desire. “She does seem well connected,’’ he said.
“Well, of course she does, Carlos. She’s been around fo
r who knows how many years.’’
Meow!
With my eyes following him as he strode toward Kelly, I didn’t notice Maddie sidle up beside me.
“I’m surprised you let him go.’’ Maddie shoveled in a spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream, a craft services treat.
I turned. Marty stood watching Carlos, too. Mama wasn’t with them. I hoped she was staying out of trouble.
“It’s a free country, sisters. Besides, Carlos and I are past all those games.’’ I swiped a finger through Maddie’s bowl. “Mmm, good. We’re in an adult relationship. I’ve moved on from junior high.’’
Marty stuck in a spoon and took a bird-sized bite of ice-cream. Maddie shot us both a look, and yanked the bowl tight against her chest.
“So, you’re ready to get married, then?’’ Marty turned her blue eyes on me, her gaze as sweet as a baby’s. But I recognized the goading tone. I backpedaled, just as she probably knew I would.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve still got time to walk down the aisle.’’
“Not as much time as you think,’’ Maddie butted in. “You’re not getting any younger.’’
I glanced toward Carlos. Kelly was standing now, with a hand on his arm. That famous body of hers was plastered against his side. He swallowed like a high school freshman asking out the homecoming queen. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. Kelly laughed, a seductive purr.
“Better stand back, Maddie. You might get burned from the steam pouring out of Mace’s ears,’’ Marty said.
Our big sister surveyed the set of my mouth, which I knew was pretty grim. She took in the way I held my arms, one clutching the other, tight across my chest.
“Oh, yeah. You’re an adult now. Maybe you can get Marty to go pass a note to Carlos during recess: Do you still like Mace? Check yes or no.’’
I was thinking up a smart remark when a hush fell over the tented area. It was followed by the sound of breathless murmuring. “Talent on set,’’ someone said, and I heard a snicker.
Greg Tilton paused. When nearly every eye was on him, he puffed out his chest and John-Wayne-walked to the coffee urn in the craft services truck. I swear he flexed his bicep before reaching for a cup.
“Why do these Hollywood people always look like they’re making an entrance in a Broadway play?’’ I asked.
Neither of my sisters answered. Both stared at Tilton as if mesmerized by a cloud of golden stardust around his body. I don’t think either of them was breathing.
“He’s even better-looking in person,’’ Marty finally whispered.
“The man is a Hollywood god,’’ Maddie sighed.
I tore a few paper towels off the roll on the picnic table. “Here you go, sisters. Sop up that drool before it drops off your chins and soaks through your blouses.’’
“Gross!’’ Marty jabbed me in the ribs.
“I do not drool.’’ Maddie surreptitiously ran the back of her hand under her mouth, just in case she was wrong. “Drooling is not becoming for a school principal.’’
We watched as Tilton, coffee in hand, strutted over to Kelly Conover. Carlos turned unreadable eyes and an impassive face toward him. Tilton’s arrival gave me the excuse I needed to get closer to eavesdrop more easily on my boyfriend and the gorgeous actress. My sisters moved right along with me.
Tilton leaned toward Kelly. As he whispered something in her ear, he grabbed hold of her elbow. She tugged backwards, but he stepped with her. He looked to be hanging on even tighter. Possessive.
“Were they ever an item?’’ I asked under my breath.
My sisters shrugged.
“We’ll have to find out what it says in People magazine. The shampoo girl at Hair Today will definitely know,’’ I said.
“Mama will know. He’s her favorite actor,’’ Marty said.
Kelly inched back some more, and Tilton quickly closed the gap between them. Carlos put a heavy hand on the action star’s shoulder.
“The lady isn’t interested.’’ His voice was quiet. Dangerous. “Why don’t you back off ?’’
Wisely, Tilton did just that. He dropped his co-star’s elbow and gave a good-natured shrug. “Sorry, Kel. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m not myself.’’
His gaze returned to Carlos. “Thanks, man. I need someone to keep me in line. You’re the real deal, you know that?’’
Carlos raised an eyebrow. His face was still closed; hard-looking. It was his Miami face.
Tilton went on, “Being a cop and all. A detective, I mean. I just respect you guys on the force so much. I always end up acting like a complete idiot when I get around real cops. I’ve played so many—not to mention firefighters, paramedics, and soldiers. I try to act too familiar.’’
Tilton kicked self-consciously at the ground. Could that be a blush spreading up his neck?
“I forget I’m playing a role. You guys play for keeps.’’ He stuck out a hand toward Carlos. “I’m sorry, man, for being a jerk.’’
Carlos hesitated just a second or two, and then shook. The tense posture of his body seemed to relax, the line of his jaw softened. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but it was something less than a scowl.
Just as Carlos opened his mouth to respond, a gunshot ripped through the air. In one fluid motion, he drew his own weapon, whirled toward the sound, and shouted out a command.
“Everybody, get down!’’
I didn’t argue, scrambling under a table for cover. My sisters followed. Most everyone followed suit, including Tilton and Kelly. I peeked out from behind a plastic tablecloth. Apart from Carlos, Toby Wyle was the only person I saw still standing. I pulled the cloth aside and pointed, so my sisters could also see the young star.
White-faced and trembling, gun still in his hand, Toby stared across the tent. My eyes followed his and found Johnny Jaybird, the assistant director. He was hanging on to the back of a folding chair, trying to stand.
“Place the weapon on the ground,’’ Carlos shouted. “Slowly.’’
Toby looked at the gun he held like it was a foreign object that had magically come into his possession. He stared again at Johnny Jaybird, who had knocked over the chair. Johnny staggered, clutching his side. A dark stain seeped through his pearl-colored cashmere sweater.
“Put it down!’’ Gun drawn, Carlos closed in on Toby.
The teenager’s eyes were enormous in his colorless face. He looked once more at Johnny, and then at the gun in his hand. He dropped to his knees, the gun dangling inches from the ground.
It landed with a thud, just as Johnny Jaybird collapsed onto the floor.
“Someone call 911!’’ Jesse Donahue pushed past stunned onlookers. “Do it now.’’ Her voice was urgent, but calm.
She kneeled on the ground beside Johnny Jaybird. Without a wasted motion, she felt for a pulse, and then lifted his cashmere sweater and dress shirt to check the wound. Whipping off a scarf that was tied at her neck, she balled up the fabric and held it to his side.
She looked up, her gaze finding Toby. “Good thing you’re such a bad shot.’’
Carlos stood close to Toby, unloading and checking the gun while keeping an eye on the young star. Toby’s gaze was fastened on the fallen assistant director.
“It wasn’t supposed to be live ammunition,’’ he kept repeating. “It was supposed to be blanks.’’
The crowd pressed in: Watching. Straining to hear Toby’s sing-song chorus of disbelief.
It was supposed to be blanks. It was supposed to be blanks.
“Get outta the way!’’ A loud, raspy voice announced the arrival of Barbara Sydney. “I’m Toby’s manager.’’
I thought he needed an attorney more than a manager at this juncture, but I held my tongue.
She pushed her way to her client, who was still dangerously pale and trembling. She put an arm around his shoulder, tenderly smoothed his hair, and whispered something into his ear. Slumping toward her, he placed his head against her chest. Then he dissolved into sobs.
Sh
e raised her eyebrows at Carlos over Toby’s head. “Somebody will surely get all this as a video on their cell phone. He’s just a kid. Can we take him someplace a little more private? Someplace he won’t wind up on YouTube?’’
Things happened quickly in the next few moments: The movie’s set medic rushed in. He waved away Jesse, and conducted a professional assessment of Johnny’s condition. He briefed Carlos, who then summoned Sal via his cell to help handle security in the base camp. Soon, Sal was in place, Johnny was getting emergency treatment, and a county ambulance was en route to the movie location. Carlos returned his attention to Toby and Barbara.
“He’s coming with me,’’ he said. “Is he a minor?’’
“He won’t be eighteen for two weeks,’’ she said.
“Then I suggest you find his parents or get him a lawyer.’’
“I’m an attorney as well as a manager,’’ she said. “I’m staying with him.’’
Carlos scowled at her. “Suit yourself.’’
Like a mother lion protecting a cub, Barbara bared her teeth at Carlos. She stalked along beside him as he took Toby by the arm and led him away.
_____
“You’re pretty good in an emergency, Jesse.’’
Jesse shrugged at me, popping her gum. It seemed she’d returned to her more typical demeanor: dumb, spoiled starlet.
“My father’s a doctor,’’ Jesse said. “I went with him every summer to work at a camp in upstate New York. You wouldn’t believe some of the scrapes those little brats can get into.’’
“Seen a lot of gunshots, have you?’’ I asked, amused.
Another shrug. “A few,’’ she said. “It looked to me like Toby’s shot only grazed Johnny. Didn’t hit anything vital.’’
When I raised my eyebrows, she explained. “My dad’s specialty is emergency medicine. I’ve also shadowed him in the ER. He’d love it if I followed in his footsteps.’’
Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery Page 4
