The Detective D. D. Warren Series 5-Book Bundle
Page 67
Thanks also to forensic anthropologist Ann Marie Mires, who gave generously of her personal time to help me understand proper protocol for exhuming a thirty-year-old grave. For the record, the information on wet mummification came straight off the Internet, is probably totally incorrect, and shouldn’t be held against Ann Marie. That’s what fiction writers are for.
To Betsy Eliot, dear friend and fellow author, who came to my rescue once more. Not many people will still take your calls after you’ve asked them to set up a shooting in Boston. Betsy not only assisted invaluably with Bobby’s first book, Alone, but when I called her up this time and told her I needed to tour an abandoned mental institute, she cheerfully drove me straight there. At dusk. In rushhour traffic. Love you, Bets.
To the real-life D.D. Warren, neighbor, dear friend, and good sport, who never questioned me using her name for what we both assumed would be a fairly minor character in Alone. Leave it to D.D. to steal the show and end up in two novels. The real D.D. is as gorgeous as her fictional counterpart and, fortunately for all of us, equally dedicated to serving her community. She is also blessed with a handsome, funny, brilliant husband, John Bruni, who got to be a lieutenant in Alone but had to sit this book out. You’re a good sport, John, and a wonderful poet.
To my brother Rob, who graciously volunteered his coworkers to populate and staff the Boston State Mental portrayed in my novel. See, I’m not the only member of the family who’s devious and twisted.
To good friends and seamstresses extraordinaire Cathy Caruso and Marie Kurmin, who provided some basic information on custom window treatments. I didn’t get to use as much as I would’ve liked—my fault, not yours. I swear I will do better next time.
And to the lucky Joan Barker, winner of the third annual Kill a Friend, Maim a Buddy sweepstakes at www.LisaGardner.com. Joan named her dear friend Inge Lovell to be the lucky stiff in my latest novel. This is what friendship will do to you. Hope both of you ladies enjoy, and for the rest of you, hey, come September the search for literary immortality will begin once again.…
Finally, under the care and feeding of authors: to Anthony, for all the reasons he knows best; to Grace, who is already at work on her first novel (she’s partial to hot pink ink); to Donna Kenison and Susan Presby, who let me crash at the gorgeous Mt. Washington Hotel so I could make my deadline and preserve my sanity; and to our dear neighbors Pam and Glenda, for Monday ladies’ night, cheese cookies, and leftover salmon. It’s the little things that make a neighborhood feel like home.
Lights, Camera, Hide the movie!
A behind-the-scenes look of how a bestselling suspense novel becomes
a TNT feature movie
By Lisa Gardner
Hollywood. Movie stars. Red carpet premieres. Authors are by nature book lovers, but even we’re not immune to the glamour of the two magical words, “Option clause.” In the book biz, that means someone wants to make a movie out of your novel. Maybe. Actually filming a movie is called exercising the option clause. First, a book must be optioned. One phone call, one tantalizing whisper of a promise.
In the spring of 2011, I got the first call regarding a possible option of my series character, Boston homicide detective D. D. Warren. Which book, I asked, trying to sound very professional and not at all giddy and starstruck. Pause. Longer pause. Extremely long pause. Turned out, the executive producer, Stephanie Germain, was less interested in a specific title as she was my character. Basically, she wasn’t after a plot. She wanted D. D. Warren.
I loved the producer already.
Author Lisa Gardner with executive producer Stephanie Germain.
Next thing I knew, Stephanie, who has developed many Nora Roberts novels for television, had secured an agreement with TNT to bring Hide to life. Better yet, she had hired a screenwriter and they wanted to talk to me about all things D.D. Where did she go to school, what was she like as a child, did she actually have parents? And while we were at it, was there a particular actress I could picture as Detective D. D. Warren? Because first comes the producer, then comes the screenwriter, and next comes casting.
Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren … a brunette?
I’ll be the first to confess I never picture real people as my book characters. Certainly, when I was writing Hide, I pictured D.D. to be, well, D.D. But for casting, of course, you need a star. From the very beginning, the powers that be wanted Carla Gugino, fresh off her buzzworthy turn in Entourage, as well as Watchmen, Night at the Museum, and Spy Kids. I believe my husband summed it up as “You mean that brunette bombshell?”
Book character Detective Warren is known for her short blond curls. A brunette would definitely be a departure, but I was the first to say Detective D. D. Warren is not a woman to be defined by her hair. What mattered to me most was attitude. I watched one clip of Carla’s D. D. Warren, dressing down Kevin Alejandro’s Bobby Dodge, and I was hooked. I think my favorite moment in the Hide movie is when Bobby questions D.D. about leaving his bed without a word in the middle of the night, and she asks him what did he really expect, for her to write a note and leave a cookie? I spent two days on set, and from everything I saw, Carla Gugino is D. D. Warren.
Of course, as long as male viewers get Carla Gugino, what’s in it for us females? Screenwriter Janet Brownell created a very clever script with two answers: Kevin Alejandro playing Bobby Dodge, as well as Mark-Paul Gosselaar playing Alex Wilson, a criminologist and other D. D. Warren love interest, who in the book world doesn’t appear until Live to Tell, but is a great addition to Hide.
Kevin Alejandro is best known for the series True Blood as well as Southland. On set, he nailed Bobby’s quiet intensity, the sniper turned detective. In the movie, unlike the novel, Bobby and D.D. are currently lovers, or maybe more like friends with benefits. Until, of course, Alex Wilson comes along.
I still remember Mark-Paul Gosselaar as Zach Morris from Saved by the Bell. Trust me, he’s grown up nicely, while retaining the sort of arrogant charm needed to challenge D.D.’s take-no-prisoners attitude. In an interesting twist of fate, Carla Gugino and Mark-Paul Gosselaar have acted together once before—nearly twenty years ago when she played his first girlfriend on Good Morning, Miss Bliss, the prequel to Saved by the Bell. Let’s just say, twenty years later, sparks still fly.
One D. D. Warren. Two hunky male leads. What’s not to love?
Lisa Gardner with the stars of Hide: from left to right, Carla Gugino as Detective D. D. Warren, Lisa Gardner,
Mark-Paul Gosselaar as criminologist Alex Wilson, and Kevin Alejandro as Detective Bobby Dodge.
Filming a scene with Carla Gugino, Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and Kevin Alejandro.
It takes a village …
After casting comes filming, of course. In the book world, Hide takes place in Boston. In the TV world, Hide takes place in Some Major Municipal City. Basically, TNT already has a Boston TV show (Rizzoli & Isles, based on Tess Gerritsen’s fabulous thrillers), so the network opted to set Hide not-in-Boston. For filming, that translated to New Orleans, where moviemaking is a major industry, filled with tax incentives for the production companies and opportunities for the locals.
Shooting a movie is intense! One hundred and forty people working long hours to prep and film the entire movie in less than two months. There’s film crews, lighting and electrical crews, costume and wardrobe departments, makeup, sound, props, production department, location scouts, craft services, extras, stand-ins, drivers, and about half a dozen production assistants (PAs), which seems to be a catchall position of doing whatever it is that must be done right now that no one else is doing. Riding herd over this madness is the director, John Gray, of Ghost Whisperer fame. Then, generally standing beside him at video village, the director of photography (Jim Chressanthis), the executive producer, plus the script supervisor. Finally, there’s the line producer, who has already figured out everything the filming crew needs before they even started filming. I could use a line producer in my life. I’m convinced of it.
As an author, I
was fascinated by all the positions you never think about. For example, the props department. Two people who think solely about props. For wardrobe (guns, badges, backpacks). For settings (I was particularly impressed by the beer stein collection they devised for Dr. Schuepp’s office). For other props: There’s a scene in the novel where D.D. opens an old storage box to find a clue. I describe the clue, but, of course, what else is in the box? Leave it to the brilliant props department to come up with really cool Old Things in a Storage Box.
Most of us fantasize about one day being a movie star. But who grows up saying, “I want to be the props department”? (Film students/artists, I’m told, who enjoy creative, never boring, and pretty challenging work, given what it takes to track down some items.) For that matter, how does one end up in craft services, feeding 140 people sixteen hours a day with everything from a truck filled with candy and chips to trays of freshly prepared hors d’oeuvres? (A man, I was informed, met in a bar. Isn’t that always the case?)
I was extremely impressed by the production department. I don’t consider myself the most descriptive writer. I like action, dialogue, drama. Meaning the production department had the tough job of fully fleshing out roughly detailed scenes. Catherine Gagnon lives in a mansion. What kind of mansion? Brick, wood, stucco? I describe the opening crime scene as an earthen pit in the ground. But how big, containing what other items, and hello, TV is a visual medium so let’s up the creep factor here.
The inside of the earthen pit from the opening action sequence.
What you don’t see here is going to scare you.
To get the ball rolling, the production designer produces many, many sketches. Proposed hospital rooms, D.D.’s homicide unit, abandoned mental institutes. Once the “look” is devised, then the production department goes to town. The earthen “pit” was actually built aboveground, like a giant wooden bowl with sod planted on top. Inside the bowl, the art department worked Halloween-worthy wonders, creating a spooky labyrinth of cobwebs, crumbling cinder blocks (spray foam), and treacherous debris. I won’t tell you everything they did, but I think the designer is even more twisted than I am, and the finished result was so scary, one of the makeup artists refused to enter.
As the director, John Gray further enabled the spine-tingling suspense with cool camera angles and freaky lighting. I’m not sure which scene he enjoyed shooting most: the underground pit filled with mummified remains, or the aboveground ambush scene when D.D.’s attacked by a dog. He’s a man who enjoys his job, and can film the scariest moments with the biggest smiles. I liked him.
There’s camaraderie on set. Most of the crew are nomads, having left behind family and loved ones to film in New Orleans. Hollywood is a feast-or-famine kind of industry, where people may go months without a job, then be on location working 24/7. But like publishing, it’s the kind of job people do for love, and they take great pride in their work, whether it’s wardrobe, hand-cleaning and tailoring an outfit for one scene, just to rip it and coat it with “blood” for the next. Or the sound crew, with hundreds of thousands of dollars in equipment, piled on one rolling cart, topped by an evil doll’s head for … luck, inspiration? I could never figure it out, but I swear the entire two days I was on set, that doll was watching me.
Everyone present has a role to play, whether it’s finding the right prop, tailoring the proper officer’s uniform, focusing the right camera lens, or perfecting the opening scream. Together, the cast and crew weave a perfect seam of make-believe. Then they do it again, and again and again (Screaming Kid 1 got to perform for 6 hours!), just to make sure they have it right.
Meaning, on December 6 we can all kick back, relax, and enjoy a very good show. Detective D. D. Warren. Brunette, sassy, and ready to rumble. Look out bad guys. There’s no place to hide.
Author Lisa Gardner sitting in one of the director’s chairs, bearing the movie logo for Hide.
The Neighbor is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Lisa Gardner, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gardner, Lisa.
The neighbor / Lisa Gardner.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90663-9
1. Missing persons—Fiction. 2. Boston (Mass.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3557A7132N45 2009
813′.54—dc22
2009009861
www.bantamdell.com
v3.0_r1
Contents
Master - Table of Contents
The Neighbor
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Acknowledgments and Dedication
| CHAPTER ONE |
I’ve always wondered what people felt in the final few hours of their lives. Did they know something terrible was about to occur? Sense imminent tragedy, hold their loved ones close? Or is it one of those things that simply happens? The mother of four, tucking her kids into bed, worrying about the morning car pool, the laundry she still hasn’t done, and the funny noise the furnace is making again, only to catch an eerie creak coming from down the hall. Or the teenage girl, dreaming about her Saturday shopping date with her BFF, only to open her eyes and discover she’s no longer alone in her room. Or the father, bolting awake, thinking, What the fuck? right before the hammer catches him between the eyes.
In the last six hours of the world as I know it, I feed Ree dinner. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, topped with pieces of turkey dog. I slice up an apple. She eats the crisp white flesh, leaving behind curving half-smiles of red peel. I tell her the skin holds all the nutrients. She rolls her eyes—four going on fourteen. We already fight over clothing—she likes short skirts, her father and I prefer long dresses, she wants a bikini, we insist she wear a one-piece. I figure it’s only a matter of weeks before she demands the keys to the car.
Afterward Ree wants to go “treasure hunting” in the attic. I tell her it’s bath time. Shower, actually. We share the old claw-foot tub in the upstairs bath, as we’ve been doing since she was a baby. Ree lathers up two Barbies and one princess rubber duckie. I lather up her. By the time we’re done, we both smell like lavender and the entire black-and-white checkered bathroom is smothered with steam.
I like the post-shower ritual. We wrap up in giant towels, then make a beeline down the chilly hallway to the Big Bed in Jason’s and my room, where we lie down, side by sid
e, arms cocooned, but toes sticking out, lightly touching. Our orange tabby cat, Mr. Smith, jumps on the bed, and peers down at us with his big golden eyes, long tail twitching.
“What was your favorite part of today?” I ask my daughter.
Ree crinkles her nose. “I don’t remember.”
Mr. Smith moves away from us, finding a nice comfy spot by the headboard, and begins to groom. He knows what’s coming next.
“My favorite part was coming home from school and getting a big hug.” I’m a teacher. It’s Wednesday. Wednesday I get home around four, Jason departs at five. Ree is used to the drill by now. Daddy is daytime, Mommy is nighttime. We didn’t want strangers raising our child and we’ve gotten our wish.
“Can I watch a movie?” Ree asks. Is always asking. She’d live with the DVD player if we let her.
“No movie,” I answer lightly. “Tell me about school.”
“A short movie,” she counters. Then offers, triumphantly, “Veggie Tales!”
“No movie,” I repeat, untucking an arm long enough to tickle her under the chin. It’s nearly eight o’clock and I know she’s tired and willful. I’d like to avoid a full tantrum this close to bedtime. “Now tell me about school. What’d you have for snack?”
She frees her own arms and tickles me under my chin. “Carrots!”
“Oh yeah?” More tickling, behind her ear. “Who brought them?”
“Heidi!”
She’s trying for my armpits. I deftly block the move. “Art or music?”
“Music!”
“Singing or instrument?”
“Guitar!”
She’s got the towel off and pounces on me, tickling anyplace she can find with fast, poky fingers, a last burst of energy before the end-of-the-day collapse. I manage to fend her off, rolling laughing off the edge of the bed. I land with a thump on the hardwood floor, which makes her giggle harder and Mr. Smith yowl in protest. He scampers out of the room, impatient now for the completion of our evening ritual.