Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “We’re at a crossroads. Which way do we go?”

  “Make a right, Jack, we’re headed back behind the Animation Building to Soundstage 4.” As Jack made that turn, I deliberately adopted my best spokeswoman voice and delivered the rest of the spiel. “Soundstage 4 encompasses fifteen thousand square feet of film space with audience-rated stages, comprehensive production support with computer-controlled access, high volume air-conditioning, and comfortable areas in which the talent can relax in private when not needed onstage.” Jack glanced sideways at me and raised one eyebrow. That was the look he gave me when I went into corporate speak as though they had brainwashed me.

  “What do you expect? I’ve heard that spiel again and again. I’ve even had to deliver it a few times. I’m not sure I appreciate what all of it means, but Max does. He brags about it frequently and assures us that it’s ‘top drawer,’ ‘state of the art,’ ‘on the cutting edge.’ Blah, blah, blah. I can dish it out as well as he can.”

  “Another reason they regard you as a legend, I’m sure. Does it matter where we park?”

  “No, not if you display that pass Al gave you on the dashboard. The newest soundstage is adjacent to the Animation Building, accessible at ground level and below ground where utility corridors link the facilities. We could have come over here from underground, but since we’re on our way to lunch, we’ll need the car.” Jack just nodded. He knows all about that system of corridors that serve the entire corporate complex as well as the nearby Arcadia Park and Resort Hotels.

  “The underground tunnels provide a ton of room to store props and equipment. There are break areas, too, for Marvelous Marley World associates. Extras hired as temps for minor roles or to fill in the background during the filming of a scene hang out down there, too. They don’t have private dressing rooms like the stars,” I said as I slid out of the car and slammed the passenger door.

  “Let’s go join the circus, Jack. It’s hard to believe that Max is back in full swing after losing his daughter in such a brutal way and discovering how much trouble she’d cooked up to make sure dear old dad would never be the same again.” As we walked the few feet to the entrance, I pondered the distant, gloomy, apathetic version of Max who hung about after Mallory’s murder. “It sure looked like she had succeeded for a few months, but he’s back now, wilder than ever. From what Imogene said, the ringmaster is center stage, cracking the whip today!”

  “It has to be a three-ring circus, given all Max has going on,” Jack commented.

  “He’s not going to be ringmaster at our wedding! Not even if we’re the smallest ring in his three-ring circus. I’d prefer not even to be a minor sideshow.”

  Jack had it right. Step right up folks! In the center ring, Mad Max presents New Arcadia. Not another Arcadia as in a theme park, but an entire city to be built out in the California desert near Palm Springs. That area’s already renowned for its midcentury modern architecture. Max promised New Arcadia would do for the 21st century what architects like Neutra, Alexander, and Frey had done during the 20th.

  It’s a marvelous world—a Marvelous Marley World. The Marvelous Marley World of Tomorrow, yours today, in New Arcadia! Max had already adapted the Marvelous Marley World theme song and tagline for use with his grand new dream. A dream large enough to scare most mortals. Not Mad Max.

  Circus ring two in which we now stood, was smaller than the one in which he featured the launch of New Arcadia. It was bigger than the one in which Max had apparently placed my wedding. Max had started filming the remake of a classic Marvelous Marley World animated feature, The Lonely Swan Prince. Only instead of cartoon characters, Max proposed a live action film.

  Well, mostly live action, since they would set the story against a fantastical backdrop that the film crew could only fully realize with the help of computer-generated special effects. Filming had apparently stopped when we arrived. The double glass doors to the building admitted us when I swiped my key card. During filming, even someone in upper management, like me, would not have been allowed entry. Not even into the outer area in which Jack and I stepped. Inside, a set of large doors slid open as we approached, allowing us entry into the spaces in which filming took place. I glimpsed the telltale blue walls used as a backdrop for action by real people that would be filled in with wildly imaginative animation later.

  I heard Max before I saw him.

  “This is the reason I don’t like doing films with people!” Max bellowed. Jack recognized the voice too.

  “Devil Max is out for sure,” Jack said.

  “Worse—he’s into full-blown Rumpelstiltskin mode,” I whispered as we stood taking in the cavernous space before us. That space was broken up into what I imagined were several sets. Near a set that had to be the one used for the Swan Prince’s wedding, I caught sight of the purplish-red hue of Mad Max’s face lit by eyes that were sparking wildly. “You know I've warned you and him about this before. One of these days, he’ll be jumping up and down, then crashing through the floorboards, cracking the earth’s crust, and falling into an enormous crevice resulting from his tantrum. My wedding troubles will be over.”

  “You won’t have anyone to walk you down the aisle,” Jack reminded me, still speaking in hushed tones.

  “One word will take care of that, Jack. Vegas.” That wasn’t the only option. I have three older brothers, and any one of them would be happy to stand in for my father. We huddled near the threshold we had just crossed. “If we weren’t up against a deadline, I’d do this later, dang it!” I stole a glance at Jack standing close enough that I could feel his body heat. Marrying Jack sooner rather than later still seemed like a such a splendid idea if we could pull it off.

  Carol, my devoted administrative assistant, had taken Jack’s side when he told her to convince me we weren’t getting any younger, so why wait? She offered to pitch in with the planning, and so did my best friend Jennifer. Jennifer, a travel agent, had a honeymoon cruise with a Maui destination booked for us in no time. Carol, Jack’s daughter, Beth, Jennifer and her daughter, Meredith, picked out gorgeous bridesmaids’ dresses in dark red. I had chosen red because that’s Jack’s favorite color. Christmassy, too, like the bouquet I planned to carry.

  Everything had fallen into place so quickly, until Mad Max became involved. Suddenly, what I had imagined would be a small wedding with family and close friends here in Orange County—the OC—as we say, ballooned into an extravaganza. There were now more than one hundred people coming to our wedding, and more than that invited to the reception at the New Arcadia Visitor Center that would someday serve as the Town Hall. Still, we had managed to make it work. With less than a month to go, though, I had to take care of the bridal dress impasse, or it was time to buy one off the rack somewhere.

  “I’m sorry, Max, she won’t come out of her dressing room,” a young woman said.

  “Well, then, go in and get her. I insist!” I waited, not saying a word. Max balled up his fists and thrust them down at his side. He followed that with foot-stamping, but no jumping up and down.

  “Maybe you need to go tell him no kid stuff or fisticuffs, Jack,” I said in a low, conspiratorial tone. One of these days, the more likely outcome of Mad Max’s tantrums was a stroke or heart attack rather than falling into a crevice in the earth. “Someone needs to calm the man down,” I mumbled.

  “Not me. I’m backup, remember? Besides, I may be a Georgie-whisperer, as Carol calls me, but Max is far more likely to listen to you than to me.”

  Carol had indeed called Jack a Georgie-whisperer. Her face was one of those that haunted me when I seriously considered canceling the Marvelous Marley World version of our wedding before it spun further out of control. I am no starry-eyed young girl who would be broken-hearted not to have an elaborate white wedding. Why not just pull the plug? Jennifer’s face appeared in my mind alongside Carol’s and held me to the spot, despite an urge to run for it after eavesdropping on the chaos at hand.

  “Who do you want me to send in there
, Max? The last time I tried she threw a bottle of Perrier at my head. She’s got darn good aim, too. It’s a good thing I ducked, or you’d have a wounded director on your hands. At this point, I’m part of the problem. Her disagreement with my direction in that last scene is one reason she's in a snit.”

  Max was clearly thinking about how to respond to the gentleman who was speaking. I recognized him as Nelson Jenkins. A well-regarded member of the film community, the news that he had signed on to direct the feature-length romantic fantasy film had created a sensation. Our Public Relations Department at Marvelous Marley World had made the most of it. Suddenly, Max laid eyes on me.

  Uh-oh, I thought when I saw the glint in them.

  “Georgie, I’m so glad to see you. We’re having a problem with Christiana. Our lovely princess bride walked out on us.” Some of the exasperation in his tone had shifted toward wheedling. Max was working me.

  “I’m sorry, Max. Jack and I were just on our way to lunch. I didn’t mean to barge in on you while you’re dealing with a problem. I need to talk to you, but it will only take a minute.” I took two or three steps toward Max who charged me like a bantam rooster. It’s surprising how much space the man seems to take up despite his small physical stature. When he reached me, he grabbed me by both arms. At 5’6” I was eye level with Max. The spark in his eyes had burst into flaming determination.

  “I know, I know. Imogene told me. No hoop skirt. No problem. I don’t even remember suggesting that you wear a hoop skirt. Why would that matter to me?”

  I tried not to register the surprise I felt. Then why would Imogene have blamed Max for that idea? I wondered. Imogene Delacroix is a skilled designer and an excellent dressmaker. That’s the reason I hadn’t balked when Max offered her services as my wedding dress designer. I’d known her for years. Never an outspoken woman around Max, she didn’t always do his bidding either. When she hadn’t protested, I accepted the offer.

  Now that I thought about it, though, Imogene had dragged her feet. Despite the short timeline, she put off appointments to take measurements. Now, apparently, even after we had met to discuss the dress she had not heard or heeded my preference for something simple. A dress with a sheath silhouette or an A-line, but no billowy ball gown.

  Maybe she didn’t want to make the dress, and this was a ploy to aggravate me so that I’d get a dress somewhere else. My mind had begun to wander down the path to bridal shops in the OC, near where I live, or between my office in Irvine and my house in Crystal Cove. Neiman Marcus at Fashion Island would have a huge selection. Something would fit, or I could have it fitted. Max interrupted my reverie in a plaintive voice.

  “Go get our Christiana to come out here and finish the scene, please. She’s about to marry a prince, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I don’t know why you think she’s going to listen to me—a perfect stranger, Max.”

  “At least she’s not already mad at you,” Nelson sniffed indignantly. “She and our sad prince bridegroom, Tristan, are feuding which I suspect is another reason she fled. Maybe he looked at her the wrong way. Who knows? Mara’s already tried and got cussed out for her efforts. Our princess can be downright vulgar!”

  “She’s between Personal Assistants—again.” A despondent-looking young woman who had spoken earlier interjected in what was something of a non-sequitur. “I’m Mara, and I’m also persona-non-grata, as Nelson says. I failed her in my Production Assistant role today—her morning matcha latte too hot, bottled water too warm, and I didn’t warn her that there would be cats on the set.” She pushed the glasses she wore upon her nose and then went back to marking items on a list with a highlighter.

  Cats on the set—hmm, I thought. I was curious, but I didn’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary, so I held my tongue. Just then, a lanky-looking young man rushed by in pursuit of an enormous orange cat.

  “Last one,” he said. “I can’t believe she let them all out at once!” The young man with hair almost the same color as the cat’s hesitated for only a moment before dashing after that cat. “Come on, Marmalade. Treats!”

  Ah, the universal strategy for cat wrangling—an offer of treats. Marmalade seemed more intent on exploring new territory than taking the young man up on that offer. The big cat was high-tailing it, quite literally, with a magnificent tail pointed at the ceiling. I smiled as Marmalade stopped, then took off again just as his pursuer closed in on him.

  I wasn’t as crafty as that cat in escaping my pursuer. At this point, my quickest option for getting out of here seemed to be to take a shot at actress wrangling. How many times had I let Max back me into a corner like this? I asked myself as I launched into my concession speech.

  “Okay, it sounds like you all are out of options. I’ll go chat with your star, but I’m in no position to force her to come back here.”

  “Good enough, Georgie. Ask her how much longer she plans to pout so we can decide what to do next. Don’t worry about lunch. The caterers are setting up right now. We’ll feed you and Jack.” From experience, I knew Max had dismissed me. Max moved on, directing his focus elsewhere.

  “Hey, Jack, good to see you!” Jack said nothing but waved in response to Max’s greeting.

  “Point me in the right direction, please.” Half a dozen arms moved, aimed at signage that read “The Talent.” An arrow indicated that those rooms were in a corridor off to one side of the main entrance Jack and I had used moments earlier. “How will I know which room is hers? Is her name on the door?” I asked, already on the move.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll know,” Nelson replied.

  “Actress wrangling, huh? Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. “I’d rather chase the cat.”

  “If all else fails, grab her by the scruff of the neck and drag her back in here,” Jack whispered as I passed. He gave me a thumbs-up and then sidled over to Max who was speaking to him.

  “Come join us, Jack, while we wait for Georgie to do her magic. Mara can tell us what’s on the menu for lunch.”

  Circus music was playing in my head as I turned the corner and headed down the corridor. Half a dozen doors lined the hallway. Most had nameplates or blank spots for nameplates, but one of them was covered entirely in a poster bearing a life-size picture of the star. I knocked, lightly, on the door. No response, so I rapped harder on that door.

  3 The Talent

  “Who is it?” A voice said just as I turned away in the hope that I was off the hook. No talent, no wrangling.

  “Georgie Shaw.”

  “Who?”

  “Georgie Shaw. I’d like a moment of your time, please.” As soon as I uttered those words, the door swung open. There, in all her glory, stood “the talent.” Hollywood’s 20-something superstar, Brigit Margolis, appeared annoyed. I detected no sign of concern about holding up a multimillion-dollar movie production.

  “You’d like a moment of my time, would you?” she asked, looking me up and down. “Are you someone my agent hired to teach me to speak old maid?”

  I felt like turning on my heels and stomping off. I’d had more than my share of annoyances for the day. Time was of the essence, as they say, so I stood my ground. The manager part of me understood the plight Max and his crew were facing. Even after filming was complete, the studio would need every minute they had left to get it ready for release as the summer blockbuster Max hoped it would become. Maybe she was too young and inexperienced to know that.

  “No. Max asked me to check on you—to make sure you’re alright. He said you left the set in a hurry and he’s concerned that you’re indisposed.”

  “Indisposed? Really? You go around saying stuff like that? Are you an actress in one of those Downton Abbey shows?”

  In all honesty, I had chosen that word “indisposed” realizing it might irk her. She succeeded in irritating me back. I fought for control, remembering my promise to Jack not to resort to any childish outbursts. Someone in the room needed to act like an adult. Before I could speak again, the princ
esses’ phone rang.

  “Where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. Thanks to your tardiness, I remain indisposed, and Max has sent the Vice Principal after me,” she said in a haughty tone as she smirked at me. “Hurry up, please?”

  At least she said please, I thought. My dislike for this young woman was growing by the moment. The bratty look on her faced softened a bit as whoever was on the other end of that phone must have responded appropriately to her command to hurry up. I gave her the once over as she had done to me moments before.

  She did look the part of the princess bride. Brigit was the spitting image of the cartoon figure of Christiana, Tristan’s love interest in The Lonely Swan Prince. A willowy blond waif with perfect features, bright blue eyes, and blinding white capped teeth; even the smirk, seemed perky. A few more years, though, and the bitter, cynical personality would completely spoil the angelic cast to her face. Sooner rather than later, depending on what she had in that glass she held. I could smell alcohol when she spoke. Drinking would take a toll on her voice, too. A shame since that had also been labeled angelic by some.

  It was going to take some acting skills, however, for her to play the humble daughter of a toymaker. In the story, a kind-hearted, innocent commoner, Christiana, asks her father to put the lonely prince to work believing he’s a down on his luck townsman. Of course, she’s soon smitten and has no idea the young man is, in fact, the Swan Prince who’s gone into hiding to avoid marrying a woman he does not love. Not just any woman, either, but the beautiful, cunning Black Swan Queen. A skilled sorceress, only true love can prevail against her dark arts. A classic fairy tale of two women pitted against each other—one evil, the other innocent. Not such an easy distinction to make in the real world.