A Wrench in the Works

by Kate Carlisle

  Someone could make a fortune selling soft drinks and popcorn, I thought, as I scanned the faces of the crowd. Was the killer watching me at this very moment?

  I had to rub my arms to chase away the shivers that slithered through me at that grisly thought. And like the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud, I caught sight of Mac standing with Wade and Sean over by the stacked lumber. He saw me looking and smiled so warmly, I wanted to sigh. How did I get so lucky? I wondered. He blew me a kiss and I almost melted. I blew one back to him and he reached out and caught it, then slapped his cheek, and we both laughed. It was a sweet moment and I couldn’t wait until I could hold him close and just talk for a while.

  “Hey, Shannon,” Blake called. “Let’s work on this next segment.”

  I gave Mac a final wave and a smile and then jogged over to the side of the house, where Blake and I strategized for a few minutes. Diego joined us and Blake gave him his cues.

  While I could admit to enjoying these guys, I still missed Chloe. As we waited for the countdown to start the scene, I had an abrupt and overwhelming burst of guilt hit me. Was I betraying my sister by having too much fun with her co-stars?

  “And . . . action!”

  Luckily the camera was on Blake. I sucked in a breath and let it go, then did my quickie arm-shaking routine to get rid of the guilt and calm my nerves.

  Blake gazed down at me from the second step of the new extension ladder. He didn’t dare go any higher because along with his lack of coordination, he had a fear of heights.

  “What do you think, Shannon?” he asked. “Can we clean out those old cedar shake shingles?” He glanced into the camera. “Say that three times fast.”

  I laughed. “It’s going to be a dirty job. And it would be almost impossible if we didn’t have this little miracle worker.”

  The camera zoomed out to include the articulated arm that was now stretched up to the third floor.

  “Our extension ladder will go thirty-two feet up the wall. But this baby”—I patted the motor on the boom—“can go up to fifty feet in the air and hold two workers. It’s called a boom lift and it features an articulated arm that stretches and expands to reach anywhere we want to go. We’ll be able to get up there and rip off those old cedar shingles in no time flat.”

  “Then let’s get ’er done,” Blake said.

  “And . . . cut.”

  Blake stepped out of the shot. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I climbed onto the boom platform and the first thing I did was check to make sure that the guardrails were secure. Bob the cameraman climbed on after me. He wore a headset and would convey the director’s cues to me.

  Wade would be on the ground operating the lower controls that kept the motor running and moved the lift cylinders up and down. I would take care of the upper controls that would allow me to rotate the platform or move it forward and backward and up and down.

  “Everybody set?” the stage manager asked. I gave a thumbs-up and twenty seconds later, she counted down to action.

  “And here we go,” I said to the camera, and we slowly climbed forty feet up to the third story, where we could see the cedar shake shingles peeling off the wall. Bob held the camera on me with the house behind me.

  “A common feature of Victorian homes,” I said, as the platform rose slowly, “is the many different styles of exterior façades, all in one house. So you saw the horizontal clapboard siding on the first story, and here’s the second story where they’ve used the same clapboard siding but painted it a contrasting color. And finally we get to the third story. As you can see, it’s covered in these cedar shake shingles.”

  Bob zoomed in to get a close-up of the ratty old shingles.

  “These are in bad shape,” I said, scraping at a row of shingles. They peeled right off and fell to the earth below like confetti at a party.

  “When we were on the ground looking up,” I continued, “these shingles didn’t look too awful. But now that we can see them up close, you can see what’s going on here. This is the sort of damage that will cause water to seep into your home. And it’ll raise your heating costs because the wind and cold will breeze right through.”

  Another row of shingles bit the dust. “So while it may be costly to make these repairs,” I said, “it will save you money in the long run.”

  I knocked yet a few more shingles off, then turned back to the camera. “Once Diego and I remove these shingles and patch and prime the wall beneath, we’ll be replacing these old shingles with a classic clamshell-style shingle that I think will look beautiful on this home.”

  “And . . . cut,” Bob said. “Good job, Shannon.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Bob. Ready to get back on terra firma?”

  “Yeah.” But he revved up his camera so he could get more shots of the world from forty feet up in the air. “We’ll use these as transition shots throughout the programs.”

  “That’ll be nice,” I said. “This really is a gorgeous property.”

  “And I love how it’s surrounded by woods. You just don’t see much of that in Los Angeles.”

  I pushed the controls and we started our descent. Bob kept the camera rolling until we were settled back down on the ground.

  “That was fun. Thanks, Shannon.”

  “You bet,” I said, and watched him walk back toward the equipment truck. I checked my watch. Almost noon and time for a lunch break. Which meant it was time to go check on Chloe.

  I had stowed my purse in Emily’s catering truck so I swung by to grab it, then headed toward the street to get my truck. But before I could make it to the sidewalk, I heard someone shouting my name.

  “Shannon Hammer! Get back here.”

  I turned and saw Whitney Reid Gallagher storming toward me. She was wearing sneakers today so I figured she’d learned her lesson with her stilettos.

  I sighed. I really didn’t want to deal with her special brand of baloney again today.

  “What do you want now?” I asked.

  “My cousin died because of you.” She was screeching and I wondered if she had taken an extra dose of mean pills today. “I know you had something to do with it! You hated him and you hate me and it’s all your fault.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said, “but I’m sure that won’t stop you from spreading that vicious lie all over town.”

  “Every time a murder happens anywhere in town, you’re right there.” Her eyes were wide and angry. “So why aren’t you in jail?”

  “You’re obviously crazy or maybe just high,” I countered. “So why aren’t you in rehab?”

  She frowned. “That’s just stupid.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you’ve lost your last marble.”

  She stomped her foot. “You’ve always hated me and this time you took it out on my poor cousin Richie. I know exactly what’s going on here.”

  I had to ask. “What’s that?”

  “This is an attack on me.”

  She was so ludicrous, I had to laugh. “Yeah, it’s all about you, Whitney. Everything is all about you. Two people are dead, someone was drugged, my sister’s been attacked at least twice, but it’s all about you.”

  “But why else would you be so awful to poor Richie?”

  I just goggled at her. Even Whitney couldn’t be that dense. “Because he was a schmuck?” But that was a mean thing to say, even to Whitney. “Listen, I’m sorry he was murdered. No one deserves that. But I had nothing to do with it, and neither did my sister.”

  “Hey, you,” a woman nearby said loudly. “Did I hear you say you were Richie Stoddard’s cousin?”

  We both turned and saw Mrs. Wagner standing a few feet away. I almost didn’t recognize her without her angry, hulking husband, Rolly.

  Whitney was certain she had a sympathetic ear so she sniffled loudly and said, “Yes. He was my cousin. The poor
man is dead because of her.” She pointed her finger at me.

  Mrs. Wagner grabbed my hand and shook it firmly. “In that case, I want to thank you, miss!” she said. And to Whitney, she snapped, “Richie Stoddard deserves to rot in hell!”

  And with that, the woman turned and sashayed down the sidewalk.

  Whitney’s mouth hung open and she blinked in shock. Maybe I did, too, because I never in a million years would’ve expected the lollygagging Mrs. Wagner to be my champion. Happily though, the older woman distracted Whitney enough for me to take a chance and sneak away, dashing down the street to my truck.

  I climbed into the truck, locked the doors, and drove away.

  On the drive to the police department, I thought about Mrs. Wagner and how she stepped right up to give Whitney some grief. I was so grateful, I was almost willing to take her off my suspect list. Almost. Her husband, however, was still on the list, right near the top until further notice.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled to a stop in the city hall parking lot next door to the police department.

  I climbed out of the truck and slammed the door shut.

  Staring at the façade of the police department, I had a lightning-bolt realization. I suddenly knew who had snitched to the police about Chloe’s run-in with Richie Rich.

  It had to be Whitney Reid Gallagher.

  Who else could have done it? Whitney was married to the assistant chief of police, namely Tommy, which made it super convenient for her to drop the hint without even leaving the house. She’d probably even mentioned the subtle death threat Chloe had made to Richie. Although calling it a threat was a stretch.

  Whitney had known every little detail about the confrontation between Chloe and Richie. That had to mean that the sniveling coward had gone directly to his meaner, tougher cousin Whitney to whine about it. And then shortly after that, Whitney had shown up at the Bloom house and accused Chloe of propositioning him.

  Which was still so absurd, I began to snicker—in spite of Richie turning up dead as a doornail.

  I walked into the station and waved to the desk sergeant, another Lighthouse High alumnus. “Hi, Kevin.”

  “Hey, Shannon. You here to pick up your sister?”

  My eyes lit up at the good news. “Yes. Is she cleared to go home?”

  “I think so. Let me check.” He typed something into his computer and saw something that caused him to frown. He glanced up at me and winced. “Sorry, Shannon. Guess I should wait to hear from the chief before I open my big mouth like that.”

  “Oh.” That didn’t sound good. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh, nothing. No worries. I mean . . . hmm. Give me a minute, will you?”

  “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  He picked up the phone. “Yeah, Chief. No. Yes. Okay.” He flashed me a hopeful smile, paused another moment, then said, “Yes, sir,” and hung up the phone.

  “Go on back, Shannon. The chief wants to see you.”

  “Oh.” Was that a good thing or a bad thing? “Thanks, Kevin.”

  I’d been here enough times that I knew the way to the end of the hall where Police Chief Eric Jensen had his office. The door was closed, so I knocked.

  “Come in.”

  “It’s me,” I said, walking in. I didn’t sit down because all I wanted to do was get Chloe and get out of here.

  “Have a seat.”

  So much for that plan. I sat down. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t want you to panic.”

  “Really? Because when someone says ‘don’t panic,’ it’s a pretty clear indication that you should panic.” I glared at him. “What did you do?”

  “My job.”

  “Eric . . .”

  “Look, I warned you.”

  “Warned me about what?”

  “That I was going to make some changes on the film set.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t freak out, but I’m holding your sister in jail overnight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I jumped out of the chair. “What?” Again, a little shrill, but who could blame me? “Why?”

  Eric waved both hands in a calm-down motion. “It’s for her own protection, Shannon. I think she may be a target.”

  Well, that was like throwing a bucket of ice water in my face. “A target? You mean, of the killer? Do you know why?”

  He scowled. “She knows something or saw something.”

  “If she did, she wasn’t aware of it.”

  “It happens that I agree with you, and so does Chloe.” Eric frowned even deeper. “But someone out there thinks she’s onto them or witnessed something incriminating.”

  I frowned, too. It made sense and I really wished it didn’t. I hated the thought that Chloe was in danger, and having Eric say it out loud made it all the more real. “This is like a bad movie.”

  “Again,” Eric said softly, his voice deep and dangerous. “Agreed. The ladder was the last straw. Somebody’s trying to hurt your sister and I’m here to stop them.”

  “Okay. I appreciate that.” I paced in front of his desk. “But how long does she have to stay here? And why in jail at all? My house is safe enough. And let’s face it. It’s prettier. More comfortable. Better food. Friendly pets.”

  A hint of a smile curved his mouth briefly. “I’ll grant you it’s not as pretty here, but our beds aren’t bad. We’ve got memory foam.”

  I just stared at him. “You’re scaring me, Eric.”

  “And as far as food goes, I was planning to order a pizza from Bella Rossa.”

  I nodded. Heck, now I wanted to stay in jail. “That’s hard to turn down. But look, this is crazy. She should come home. You can assign someone to stay with us. Or you could sleep on the couch. Or I could ask Mac to come over. Or all of the above. I don’t care. But please, not jail. It’s just wrong. Everyone in town will think she’s guilty of something. It could cost her her job, Eric.”

  “It’s safe here.”

  “It’s primitive.”

  He looked hurt. “We have running water.”

  I peered at him for a long moment. “Have you arrested my sister?”

  “No.”

  “So she can leave anytime.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll just go get her and we’ll be going.”

  “She’s staying. Voluntarily.”

  “What?”

  “She’s safe here, Shannon,” he said softly. “She wants to stay.”

  All I could do was shake my head. When Eric Jensen’s voice revealed how kind he could be, there wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t go along with him. I smiled briefly, but then brought it back to the real topic. “Who do you think is behind the murders?”

  His brow furrowed. “I’ve narrowed it down.”

  So had I, I thought, but I wasn’t about to share my theories with him. He would only tell me to buzz off.

  “But I’m not ready to make an arrest. Not yet.”

  “Well, why not? You’re willing to keep Chloe in jail but not willing to arrest someone? Come on, Eric. What aren’t you telling me? Make an arrest so I can take my sister home.” Did I sound as aggravated as I felt? I was trying to be nice. He was the police chief, after all. And more than that, we were friends. But this was really pushing the limits of friendship.

  “Just let it go, Shannon.”

  “Not much chance of that. We’re talking about my sister. I’m not going to let it go.”

  “You need to trust me.”

  “Really?”

  He stared at me for a long moment. “Would you like to see her?”

  I let loose a frustrated groan. “Of course I want to see her.”

  “Come with me.”

  I followed Eric halfway down the hall until he stopped and unlocked a heavy steel door. “This wa
y.”

  I glanced around. We were in the section of the building that housed the jail. I stared at the iron bars in front of me and counted four cells.

  I spotted Chloe right away, sitting in a comfortable chair and playing with her phone.

  “Chloe.”

  “Shannon!”

  I glanced back at Eric, who didn’t seem inclined to leave us alone. So I ignored him. “Eric says you’re not under arrest, but since you’re sitting in a jail cell, I’m calling him a liar.”

  “It’s okay, Shannon,” she said. “Eric’s been a real sweetie to me. And I feel safe here.”

  A sweetie? I wasn’t feeling that generous toward him. “But I could keep you safe at home.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too risky.”

  I turned to Eric. “This is your fault.”

  “Don’t yell at Eric, Shannon.”

  I frowned. “I’m not yelling. Yet.”

  Eric grinned. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  He walked away and when the door shut behind him, I gripped the bars of Chloe’s cell. “What is going on? I’m really worried.”

  “Me, too,” she said, as she pushed her chair closer to the bars. “First I got sick from that coffee. And then there was that weird thing with my makeup. Eric said they found some kind of poison added to it that seeps in through your skin. And then I fell off the ladder. It was rigged to break and I can only assume that I was the target. So I’m starting to believe Eric’s right. I think I might be in danger.”

  “Danger from who?”

  The door opened and Eric walked back into the hall carrying a chair. He set it down in front of Chloe’s cell and walked away.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, and sat down.

  “He’s so nice,” Chloe said, with an indulgent glance at the hall where Eric had stood a few seconds ago.

  “I used to think so,” I muttered. “Now I’m not sure.”

  “I know you’re kidding. He’s your friend.” Chloe pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And he’s promised he’ll stay here tonight so I’ll feel safe. He’s going to sleep in that cell over there.”