Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  Debbie put her arms around Nicola and gave her a hug, patting her back.

  The crowd was beginning to disperse around us, the height of the excitement now past, but a tall man in his early forties hurried toward us. When he got closer, I realized that I’d seen him at the pancake house that morning, too. I thought his name was Del, but I couldn’t remember his job title.

  “Nic, what happened?” he asked, and I thought I detected a hint of a Jamaican accent. “Where’s Christine? I heard she’s unconscious.”

  Nicola sniffled and stepped out of Debbie’s embrace. “They took her to the hospital in an ambulance.”

  Del ran a hand over his short, dark hair and shook his head. He spotted Howard Eastman down the road, illuminated by the lights from the emergency vehicles still on the scene, and he strode off toward the assistant director without another word.

  “Del…” Nicola said, the anguish in her voice unmistakable, but he didn’t turn back and she didn’t follow him.

  “Poor man,” Debbie said, watching him go.

  “Are he and Christine close?” I asked.

  “They used to be married.”

  “And they’re still friends,” Nicola added, wiping her eyes. “I wonder if Jamal knows what happened.”

  “Who’s Jamal?” Sienna asked.

  “Del’s son,” Debbie replied. “He’s working as our videographer, doing some behind-the-scenes stuff. He and Christine get along really well.” Debbie turned her attention back to Nicola, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Nic. We should head back to the hotel for the night. Maybe we can get you a hot drink somewhere along the way. The craft services tent won’t be open until tomorrow.”

  Nicola nodded and the two women left us. I glanced around and realized that Sienna and I were among the few people remaining at the scene, Howard Eastman and Del being two of the others, both currently in conversation with Deputy Devereaux from the sheriff’s department.

  “This night definitely didn’t turn out as planned,” Sienna said. “Do you think it’s all right if we go home now?”

  All her enthusiasm had disappeared, and I couldn’t blame her. My mood had turned somber as well.

  “We’ll see what the sheriff has to say,” I told her as I spotted the man heading our way. “He might have some questions for us.”

  “Evening, Marley,” Sheriff Ray Georgeson said to me when he reached us. I knew him both in his professional capacity and as Brett’s uncle. He nodded at Sienna. “John and Patricia Murray’s daughter, is that right?”

  She nodded. “Sienna.”

  “Is there any word on Christine’s condition?” I asked.

  “Not yet, I’m afraid. I understand the two of you were first on the scene.”

  “That’s right.” I explained that Christine had invited us to visit her trailer and to see what her job was about. “But when we arrived, we were a bit early and figured Christine could use a few minutes to cool down since she’d just had an argument.”

  “An argument?” Ray repeated. “Do you know who it was she was arguing with?”

  “Alyssa Jayde,” Sienna said.

  “An actress,” I supplied when I realized that the name might mean nothing to Ray. “Is that important?”

  “I’m not sure at this point,” he said. “What happened next?”

  I told him how we were on our way back from the Abbott house when we smelled smoke and spotted the flames. I gave him a quick rundown of what I’d done when I entered the trailer, and ended with Howard extinguishing the last of the flames once Christine and I were outside.

  “Was it really a cigarette that started the fire?” I asked once I’d finished my story.

  “That has yet to be determined.”

  I coughed, unable to help myself, my throat scratchy from the smoke.

  “Maybe you should get checked out, Marley. How much smoke did you inhale?”

  “Not much,” I said as soon as I’d stopped coughing. “Only a breath or two. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you’re sure about that, you ladies can head on home now.”

  “Thank you. We’ll do that.”

  As Ray strode across the grass to speak with Deputy Devereaux, Sienna and I turned in the opposite direction, following the grassy verge of Wildwood Road once the sidewalk ended at the edge of town. We walked in silence, the hubbub behind us slowly fading away, and it didn’t take long for us to leave the glow of the streetlights for complete darkness.

  After Sienna tripped and almost fell, I dug out the small flashlight I kept in my tote bag to help me along the beach on my early-morning trips to the pancake house. It didn’t do us much good, though, the batteries dying almost as soon as I switched it on. In the end, we both took out our phones and used flashlight apps to help us find our way.

  “You know, I think I have some of that remover stuff left over from last Halloween,” Sienna said as we rounded a bend in the road.

  “Spirit gum remover?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. You want to come over to my place and see?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” That sounded better than spending ages peeling the rigid collodion off my skin.

  We passed my darkened driveway and continued on until we reached Sienna’s house. The light was on above the front porch of the yellow Victorian, so we were able to stow our phones once we reached the steps.

  Sienna dug a key out of her pocket and a moment later we were in the front hall of the Driftwood Bed-and-Breakfast.

  “Is that you, Sienna?” Patricia Murray’s voice floated down the hallway toward us.

  “Yes,” Sienna called back. “I’ve got Marley with me.”

  Patricia appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall and smiled. “Hi, Marley. Did you two have a good time?”

  Sienna and I glanced at each other before she said, “It definitely wasn’t what we expected.”

  As we joined Patricia in the kitchen, Sienna related the evening’s events to her mom, ending with Christine’s transport to the hospital. “You should have seen Marley,” she said to wrap up. “She saved Christine from getting burned in the fire.”

  “Not really,” I said. “I couldn’t get her out of the trailer on my own. Luckily, the assistant director showed up. He did most of the work.”

  “But she’s going to be all right?” Patricia asked.

  “I hope so.”

  Patricia put an arm around her daughter and gave her a squeeze. “How terrible. I’m glad you two weren’t hurt.”

  “I was never in any danger,” Sienna assured her. “But Marley’s got a bit of a cough from the smoke.”

  “And I’m afraid I smell of it, too,” I said, tugging at my jacket. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry.” Patricia reached for the kettle. “Let me get you a drink to soothe your throat, Marley. Something hot? Or would you prefer cold?”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine. Really. I should head home.”

  Sienna clapped a hand to her forehead. “I almost forgot. Let me go get the spirit gum remover.”

  She hurried off out of the kitchen. When I saw Patricia’s questioning look, I showed her my hands and explained what had happened. Less than a minute later, Sienna returned, a small bottle in hand.

  “You can keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”

  “Thank you.” I accepted the bottle. “I’d better head out.”

  Patricia addressed her daughter. “And you’d better finish that book report that’s due tomorrow.”

  Sienna rolled her eyes, but in a good-natured way. “I can’t wait.”

  “Do they know how the fire started?” Patricia asked as the three of us walked along the hall to the foyer.

  “The assistant director assumed it was a cigarette, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure yet,” I replied.

  As we approached the foyer, I noticed a shadow shift behind a door to my left that was open only a crack. A second later, the door clicked shut.

  “That’s Max, one of ou
r guests,” Sienna whispered. “You know, the guy who was at The Flip Side this morning.”

  I nodded and said my goodbyes when we reached the front door. Then I headed out into the night, using my phone to once again light my way along Wildwood Road.

  Perhaps Max had simply failed to latch his door and realized that was the case when he heard us out in the hall. Yet I couldn’t shake the impression that the B&B guest had been eavesdropping.

  Chapter 5

  I was glad to reach home after my unexpectedly eventful evening. When I let myself in the front door, Flapjack was there in the foyer, waiting to greet me. I reached down and gave his head a scratch as he wound around my legs. I wanted to pick him up for a cuddle, but I decided to take care of my hands first. With Flapjack following, I took Sienna’s bottle of spirit gum remover into the powder room and spent the next several minutes getting the rigid collodion off my skin.

  Once my hands looked scar-free again, I made my way to the kitchen, where I put out fresh water for Flapjack and drank down a glass of my own. That didn’t help my throat much, but the scratchiness wasn’t too bad, and I doubted it would keep me awake. Picking up Flapjack, I carried him upstairs with me. Instead of purring and rubbing his furry cheek against my chin as he usually did, he sniffed at my shirt with great interest and a good dose of wariness.

  “I know, I smell like smoke.” I set him down in the second-floor hallway. “I’ll have to take a shower before going to bed.”

  I did that right away, scrubbing my hair and skin clean until every last trace of smoke was gone. Once dressed in cozy pajamas, I took my pile of smoky clothes down to the laundry room and then returned to the second floor, where I found Flapjack already curled up at the foot of my bed. I climbed under the covers but didn’t switch off the bedside lamp. Instead, I used my phone to look up the remake of The Perishing on IMDb. There, I discovered that Christine’s surname was Gallant, and I followed the link to her profile page.

  There was no picture to go with her profile, and the biography section was empty as well. Farther down the page, however, I found a list of the movies and television shows she’d worked on, along with her job title for each. She’d clearly been working in the industry for quite a while—close to two decades, though I guessed she wasn’t any older than forty. She’d started out as a regular makeup artist, but over the past ten years most of her roles listed her as a special-effects makeup artist.

  I wasn’t sure why I was looking up Christine on the Internet, other than perhaps because I felt a connection to her now that I’d helped save her from the fire and smoke. I was interested in knowing more about her, finding out whether she had family who would be concerned about her now that she was in the hospital. I typed her full name into a search engine and followed a couple of the links that popped up, but there wasn’t a whole lot of personal information about her available online. As far as I could tell, she’d been married only once, to the gaffer Del Harris. She’d been Del’s second wife; a search of Del’s name indicated his first wife and the mother of his son had died of cancer when Jamal was only four years old.

  Finding nothing else of interest, I set my phone aside and settled back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Flapjack padded his way up the bed and curled up against my shoulder with a rumbling purr. My thoughts strayed to Brett and what he wanted to talk about, but my mind was growing fuzzy and my eyes kept drifting shut. Deciding it was well past time to get some sleep, I switched off the bedside lamp, not the least bit sorry that the day was at an end.

  —

  Monday was one of my two days off each week; The Flip Side didn’t open again until Wednesday morning. I hadn’t set my alarm the night before, deciding to let myself sleep in, and by the time I woke up it was already past seven, more than two hours later than my usual rising time.

  As soon as I stirred, Flapjack was up and sticking his face close to mine, purring as he tapped my shoulder with one of his paws.

  “I know,” I said after a big yawn. “You want breakfast.”

  Flapjack walked to the edge of the bed and looked back at me, waiting.

  “All right, all right.”

  I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, stretching before picking up my phone from the bedside table. It had died during the night, I realized, the battery drained by my use of the flashlight app. I plugged the device in to charge and crossed the room to open the curtains, a smile stretching across my face as the gorgeous ocean view greeted me, the water steel gray and topped with whitecaps.

  Clouds still hung low in the sky, but no rain was falling. I enjoyed the view even on rainy days, but at the moment the weather looked perfect for a long run. The light wind responsible for the whitecaps had set the tall tufts of grass at the top of the beach bending and swaying, and I itched to get outside and smell the fresh, salty air, to run until my head was clear and my body invigorated.

  First, however, I had a few other things to attend to, as Flapjack wasn’t about to let me forget. He bumped his head against my leg and let out an insistent meow that I had no trouble interpreting.

  “Five more minutes, buddy,” I told him.

  I quickly switched my pajamas for running gear. Then, to the tabby’s delight, I headed downstairs to the kitchen and dished out his breakfast. I ate a banana for my own breakfast and then wandered out through the French doors to the back porch.

  The breeze whisked my curls up to dance around my face, and the hint of autumn chill in the air was enough to make me shiver, but not enough to send me back indoors. With the summer weather and the tourist season now over, Wildwood Beach was quiet, with only a few souls out walking or playing with their dogs. The tide was on its way out, exposing a wet sandbar and making the beach roomier for those who were out enjoying the fresh air. One such person tossed a tennis ball into the ocean, and the sight of a golden retriever bounding through the shallows to chase after it reminded me of Brett and his goldendoodle, Bentley.

  I had no idea what it was that Brett wanted to talk to me about, but I hoped it wasn’t anything too serious. A flicker of worry stirred deep in my chest as I recalled the solemnity in his eyes the night before. Though whatever was on his mind, I doubted it had to do with our relationship. That was solid, as far as I knew, although it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been blindsided by boyfriends in the past.

  I quashed my worries before they could grow any stronger. I wasn’t going to let my imagination run wild. Instead, I’d give him a call and arrange a time to meet so I could find out what was on his mind.

  Not quite ready to start out on my run, I went indoors to fetch my phone from my bedroom. I switched on the partially charged device and tried calling Brett. He didn’t answer, so I left a brief message, asking him to call me when he had a chance. As soon as I hung up, a notification of a new text message from my friend Lisa Morales popped up:

  Have you heard the news? Someone from the movie crew died last night.

  My heart dropped like a heavy stone.

  Christine had died? I didn’t want to believe it.

  Maybe Lisa was wrong. News always spread quickly through Wildwood Cove, and the story could have been distorted as it passed from person to person. I hoped that was the case.

  Are you absolutely sure? I wrote back. You mean the makeup artist, right? I knew the paramedics were doing CPR, but I was hoping they resuscitated her.

  I knew Lisa would be at work that morning and might not be able to reply before her lunch break, but although I tried to keep busy with stretching in preparation for my run, I kept glancing at my phone. I was about to slip the device into my armband when another text message came through:

  Were you there when the fire happened? I guess they weren’t able to revive her. And yes, I’m sure. I heard it from Mr. Ogilvie, and he heard it from his niece. She’s working as an extra in the movie.

  I sank down on the edge of my bed, my plans for a run temporarily forgotten. I didn’t want to believe the news, but Lisa had convinced me
of its truth. Mr. Ogilvie, her boss, wasn’t one to spread unverified gossip.

  Tears welled in my eyes without spilling over as a flurry of thoughts rushed through my mind. If I’d been stronger, if I’d been able to get Christine out of the trailer a few seconds earlier, would she have survived? If I’d run faster to the trailer, if…if, if, if.

  I knew I’d drive myself crazy if I thought that way, but I couldn’t entirely erase the feeling that I might have been able to do more for her. My tears subsided as I drew in a deep breath, though I still felt sad and shaken. I stared across the room, unable to find the motivation to move, until my cellphone rang in my hand. Brett’s name popped up on the screen and I rushed to answer the call, wanting more than ever to hear the familiar sound of his voice.

  “I’m so glad you called,” I said by way of greeting.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked right away.

  I wasn’t surprised that at least some of my emotion was evident in my voice. “I just got some bad news. There was a fire in one of the trailers last night and Christine—the woman Sienna and I were going to meet—was taken to the hospital. I was really hoping she’d be okay, but I just found out that she died.”

  “I heard about that, too,” Brett said. “I would have called you even if I hadn’t got your message, because Ray told me you were there when the fire happened, that you got Christine out of the trailer.”

  “With the help of the film’s assistant director.”

  “I’m sorry Christine didn’t make it,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m feeling a bit shaken.”

  “Understandable. How about physically? Ray said you were coughing a bit last night because of the smoke.”

  “My throat is almost completely fine now,” I assured him. “It’s a bit scratchy, but I haven’t been coughing today. And I wasn’t hurt otherwise.”

  “That’s good. Are you up to spending some time together today then?”

  “Definitely. I really want to see you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” he said, and the sincerity behind his words warmed me, despite the distance between us.