“Okay, fine. I want these things changed in the script.”
Papers rustled and someone kicked at the dirt.
“No problem,” Steven said. “Thanks a lot, Dirk. I’m really glad we could work this out.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Dirk said.
“Name it.”
“Fire the old lady. Either Amber West goes, or I do.”
I gasped. Aunt Amber wasn’t going to like that one bit.
5
High Noon Heist was starting to look more like a high noon ransom. I stood across the street and watched the set crews work frantically to accommodate the changes detailed in the script rewrites. I had never been behind the scenes on a movie set before. The frenzied activity that I had earlier mistaken for chaos was actually a finely tuned symphony of cast and crew. They moved back and forth, simultaneously performing hundreds of tasks to ready the set for the first scene. And probably a hundred unnecessary ones, all due to Dirk Diamond’s arrogance and unreasonable demands.
I hadn’t expected the script rewrites to be more than changes to the actors’ lines, but Dirk had actually demanded that the bank be painted a different shade of blue! Paint fumes wafted through the air as the painters cleaned up and dismantled their scaffolding.
I had renewed respect for the crew, forced to cater to the whims of a spoiled movie star. Despite Dirk’s last-minute rewrite demands, the set was at last ready to go. All that was left were a few last-minute script updates from Rick Mazure, mostly minor continuity changes stemming from Dirk’s latest set and script changes. Fortunately, they only involved a change in Dirk Diamond’s lines. The rest of the bank robbery escape scene remained unchanged.
I glanced around and was surprised to see Aunt Pearl standing a few feet away. I was glad she hadn’t talked to Aunt Amber yet because they might bicker and delay the filming even more. It wasn’t clear whether Aunt Pearl had a change of heart or had just come to watch the action. Either way, it was good. Once the cameras rolled, she would see how interesting the props assistant job could be.
Everyone seemed relaxed and happy now, eager to get underway. Except for Dirk, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than on set. Dirk’s impatience grew by the minute, and I just hoped he didn’t storm off the set before Rick reappeared with the final rewrites.
It still surprised me that Dirk had gone ahead with the movie shoot given his wife’s sudden death. Could it be that he was more dedicated to the movie than to mourning his wife? Given his tirade at Steven’s trailer, I doubted that. Rose Lamont had been both his wife and co-star. He was either very stoic or…something else that was too horrifying to think about.
On the other hand, I watched too many crime shows, so I always assumed the worst. Foul play was a distinct possibility, especially because Rose was decades younger than Dirk and a fitness buff. You just didn’t expect people like that to expire suddenly. I made a mental note to find out more details about her sudden passing.
Stranger still was my pension-collecting aunt as Rose Lamont’s replacement. The two weren’t even close in age or experience, and I doubted that Aunt Amber had the same box office appeal as a thirty-something woman. And armed with the knowledge that Dirk wanted her fired, I expected the worst was yet to come.
Oddly enough, Aunt Amber didn’t appear to even be in the opening scene. She stood a few feet away, posing for photographs. She had hired her own photographer to get pictures for her acting portfolio. Either she had been written out with one of the last-minute script rewrites or she had exaggerated her starring role. My hunch told me it was the latter.
“Turn a little to the left.” The photographer adjusted his camera. “Yes, that’s nice. Hold it right there.”
“Make sure you get lots of my good side.” Aunt Amber grinned at the camera. She already had dozens of shots of her good side, bad side, and off side. She also had stills with Dirk, Arianne, and a few other reluctant cast members who had grown increasingly annoyed with her distractions. So many in fact, that Steven had scolded her for holding up production.
“Here are the rewrites.” Rick Mazure strode hurriedly onto the set, breathless and disheveled. His suit jacket was wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “Pretty major changes, so check your lines, everyone.” He handed each member of the cast and crew a copy of the script from a big stack of blue pages.
The heavyset, bald man beside me swore under his breath. Bill Kazinsky looked exactly like Aunt Pearl’s description, but he hardly seemed lazy. Despite his cursing and complaining, he single-handedly adjusted the props for each one of Dirk Diamond’s demands without delay.
“I thought they were minor.” Bill snatched the last copy from Rick’s grasp and scanned the pages. He jabbed his forefinger on the script. “What the hell is this? It’s supposed to be knives, not guns. How am I supposed to deal with this?”
“Is that such a big deal?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s huge deal.” He swore under his breath. “I’m hundreds of miles away from the studio and all my bloody props are wrong. Why can’t they just get it right in the first place?”
Rick held out his hands, palms outward. “Sorry, Bill. I just rewrote it the way I was told. If you’ve got questions, talk to Steven. He’s the boss.”
From what I had seen so far, I doubted that. Dirk Diamond ran the show.
“Yeah, right.” Bill cursed under his breath and stomped off to an area a few feet away. Props and equipment were stacked five feet high in a semi-circle with a small opening only a few feet wide. The stacked equipment was a fortress, configured to allow only one point of entry and protect everything inside.
I followed behind him and stopped just outside Bill’s prop circle. The mini-Stonehenge allowed only one person entry at a time. Bill turned sideways and slid in through the opening. He scanned his inventory with a frustrated expression.
“Now where am I going to find five early twentieth-century guns? They don’t exactly grow on trees, you know.” The obese man sat down on a stool inside the fortress and rubbed his forehead.
“You need guns? I’ve got guns.” Aunt Pearl materialized beside me. She brandished a pistol in each hand. “I can get more in a jiffy.”
I mouthed a silent no. This wasn’t the time or place to show off her witchcraft or imply she had an inside track with arms dealers. A weaponized Aunt Pearl scared the daylights out of me. Guns were much worse than fire.
“Uh…let me see those.” Bill emerged from his cave and grabbed one of the guns. He turned it over in his hand. “This might actually work. We need six of them, though.”
“Not a problem, wait a sec.” Aunt Pearl disappeared around a corner, only to return in less than a minute with a tote bag on her arm. It was so heavy her shoulder sagged. She handed the bag to Bill. “Try these.”
I was pleased that Aunt Pearl seemed interested in the props job again.
Bill took a gun from the bag. “Hey, these look really old. Where did you get them?”
“Not important, as long as you like them.” Aunt Pearl fake-curtsied and batted her eyelashes. “At your service, Mr. Bill.”
I turned to Bill. “Don’t you have to test the guns first to make sure they work?” Aunt Pearl’s sickly sweet demeanor meant she was up to something. I suspected it was a way to undermine Aunt Amber. Witch sibling rivalry was the worst kind.
“Oh yeah, you’re right. Except there’s not enough time to do that.” Bill frowned. “Now that I think of it, I’ve got some handguns that might work. Why can’t Rick just write the scene properly in the first place?” Bill glared in Rick’s direction. The screenwriter was either out of earshot or was purposely ignoring him.
Bill knelt down and peered into a large box. “Damn, I don’t have them in my prop box. I’ll have to run back to the trailer to get them.”
Aunt Pearl held up her hand. “I’ll go find them—just tell me where they are.”
Bill shook his head. “They’re locked up somewhere safe.” He poin
ted at Aunt Pearl. “You—watch the box. Don’t let anyone take anything.” He turned on his heels and left.
Aunt Pearl swore under her breath. “I do all the work and get no respect. I got him his guns. Yet instead of doing something productive, I’m stuck here babysitting this stupid box of toys. They don’t pay me enough for this.”
“You just started. You haven’t actually done anything yet. Besides, nobody’s paying you anything. You volunteered to help with the props, remember?” It was pretty clear Bill didn’t really need her help.
“Yeah, well. I expected a lot more excitement from an action movie. I’m really starting to regret this. I just might have to stir up a little trouble of my own.” Aunt Pearl rubbed her chin, deep in thought.
A shiver ran through me. A thinking Aunt Pearl was a very dangerous thing.
“Don’t you dare conjure up more guns. People might get the wrong idea.” Nobody would ever mistake Aunt Pearl for a terrorist, but people would freak out if she was armed to the teeth with half-a-dozen handguns.
“I could save everyone a lot of time. Bill isn’t exactly fast on his feet. There’s a lot of high-paid talent just standing around.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “I offer to help, but he won’t take it. He obviously feels threatened by me.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “He’s been doing this for many years. He might be slow but he knows what he’s doing.”
Aunt Pearl shook her head slowly. “If he had read the script, he’d know that the latest script rewrite added explosives.”
“How do you know that?”
Aunt Pearl rolled her eyes and pulled a sheath of papers from her back pocket. “Let’s see…right here, on page three.” She tapped the page with her forefinger.
“Where did you get that?” I leaned closer to get a better look. The footer at the bottom said version five, which was one version newer than the copy Rick had just given Bill.
“Rick gave it to me.” She snatched the script away and held it above her head. “It’s an advance copy.”
“You’re sure you read it right?” Her smug smile told me she was lying. About the script, the explosives or both, I wasn’t sure. What I was absolutely sure about was that her involvement had been a huge mistake.
“Of course I’m sure. Rick gave me the script as a precaution because he knows how disorganized and incompetent Bill is. Maybe I’ll go and see Steven Scarabelli myself. He’ll probably hire me on the spot as head of props and pyrotechnics. I can do a much better job.”
I couldn’t imagine pyrotechnics in a Western, until I remembered that they had dynamite back then. I shuddered as I imagined Dirk Diamond blowing up a bank safe and the old bank building collapsing into a heap of bricks. I had a feeling that any dynamite provided by Aunt Pearl would be real. The building was far too old to withstand such an event, and we couldn’t afford the repairs. I hoped Aunt Pearl was lying, but I couldn’t take it on faith. I had to find Rick Mazure to confirm her claim.
Or Aunt Amber. She was probably the only one who could reign in her sister’s ruthless quest for power.
Aunt Amber.
I glanced to where she had been posing for photographs but she was gone. Only the photographer remained, fiddling with his equipment.
I scanned the set for Aunt Amber and spotted her at the opposite end, talking—or rather shouting—with Steven Scarabelli. Judging by her tear-streaked face, the news was out. Steven had succumbed to Dirk Diamond’s demands and had fired her.
I fought the urge to rush over and hug my aunt. Knowing that I knew would only humiliate her further. I debated telling her about the conversation between Dirk and Steven, but what good would that do? Nothing I said or did would change the outcome.
I also didn’t want to jeopardize the movie even further. The cast and crew brought money to Westwick Corners. Our family Inn was fully booked, and Mom was earning catering revenue too. It would be a disaster for all of us if Steven Scarabelli left town to film somewhere else. That is, if any actual filming ever got underway.
“You’re going to regret this!” Aunt Amber spun around and stormed off the set, headed in the direction of her trailer. She almost collided with Bill, who had just returned with a wooden case. She cursed and elbowed past him.
Bill swore and stepped out of her way. He strode towards the cast members on set. He placed his wooden case on the ground and unlocked it before pulling out guns and distributing them to each of the actors one by one. Then he snapped the case shut and walked towards us. He held the wooden case above the large box he had been looking in earlier. Then he dropped it on top of the larger box with a thud.
The photographer’s head jerked up, startled by the noise. He frowned when he spotted Aunt Amber off set.
“Cen? You listening?” Aunt Pearl tugged on my arm, apparently unaware of Aunt Amber’s firing.
“Huh?” I nodded, though I hadn’t heard a word Aunt Pearl had said. Luckily I was saved by the director’s call. I watched the actors take their places and made a mental note to check in on Aunt Amber once the scene was shot.
Filming was underway at last.
“Places, everyone.” Steven Scarabelli had returned to the set, flushed and breathless. He waved a hand towards the set, desperation now replaced with optimism.
“That better be the last change. Watch the stuff, Pearl. I need a smoke.” Bill pointed at Aunt Pearl before heading across the street.
“What’s in it—?”
I clamped a hand down on my aunt’s bony shoulder and held a finger to my lips.
She scowled but stayed silent.
“Action!” cried Steven.
The bank doors burst open and Dirk Diamond bolted from the building. He ran into the street towards an idling black Ford Model T, his long black coat trailing behind him. He held a handgun in one hand and a bag of loot in the other. Another man in jeans and a suede vest followed behind, pointing his gun in a defensive arc around them as they crossed the street.
The Model T’s driver jumped out of the driver’s seat and stood beside the car, waving frantically at Dirk with one hand and clutching a knife with the other.
Then three men jumped from behind a building on the opposite side of the street, brandishing handguns at Dirk and the other man. The one in front opened fire, hitting Dirk’s accomplice. The man dropped his gun and screamed. He staggered to the car, clutching his arm as he dove into the backseat.
Arianne Duval ran from the bank, screaming. She froze on the wooden sidewalk as she spotted the men. The knife-wielding driver jumped back in the Ford’s driver’s seat just as Main Street erupted into a spaghetti western gunfight. Bullets flew, horses shied, and dogs barked as they ran frantically around the melee. When the dust finally settled, five men laid motionless in the dirt.
“No!” Arianne screamed. She ran over to Dirk and knelt beside him. Then she turned to the camera and whispered, “He’s gone.”
“Cut! Great work everyone!” Steven’s voice boomed. He gave a thumbs-up as he hurried off the set towards the trailers.
The actors stood and brushed the dust from their costumes.
Everyone except Dirk Diamond.
He never got up.
6
“Dirk’s been shot!” Arianne shrieked.
“Save it, Arianne. We’re on a break.” A tall, blond actor, one of the shooters in the scene, waved her off the set.
Aunt Pearl snorted. “Of course he’s been shot. He’s in a shootout, dummy. That’s what’s supposed to happen.” She turned to me. “Nobody here knows what they’re doing.”
“Stop it, Aunt Pearl! This is no time to be sarcastic.” Dirk wore a white cowboy shirt under his coat. From my vantage point, I saw a red circle slowly expand on his shirt. I realized in horror that the stain wasn’t part of the movie. A fake shot required fake blood, but since the scene ended as soon as the shots rang out, fake blood was completely unnecessary.
Arianne had noticed it too.
My hand went to my mouth
as realization set in. All the other actors except Arianne were leaving. Dirk remained motionless on the ground. He hadn’t moved an inch.
“I’ve had it up to here.” Aunt Pearl tapped her chin with the back of her hand. “You have no idea what it’s like, taking orders from that incompetent buffoon. I’m asking Steven for a raise. I could do a much better job than Bill with one hand tied behind my back.”
I glared at her. Luckily everyone was so distracted by Arianne’s screams that they didn’t hear Aunt Pearl’s tantrum.
Aunt Pearl shook her head and shrugged. “I tried to help him, but he’s too stubborn to see the error of his ways.”
I ignored her. Dirk should have gotten up by now.
We had just witnessed a tragic accident, or, quite possibly, murder.
Arianne raced frantically back and forth between the building and the street, where Dirk’s lifeless body laid on the dusty street. “Somebody help—he’s not breathing!”
A split-second of silence followed as the gravity of Arianne’s words set in. Then everyone rushed towards Dirk.
“Too late.” One of the actors knelt down beside Dirk. “I think he’s dead.”
A collective gasp erupted from the twenty or so members of the cast and crew who had gathered around Dirk in a loose semi-circle. While no one looked quite as grief-stricken as Arianne, there were plenty of fearful faces. Everyone was in shock.
“He’s been shot for real. That’s no act.” I turned to Aunt Pearl beside me, but she was gone.
I spun around and spotted her walking briskly away from the set. She was already a half-block away, having caught up to Steven. He must have left the set immediately after the scene had ended. Judging from his casual, unhurried gait, he was completely unaware of what had just happened to Dirk.
Bill ran towards me, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He inhaled deeply, then pulled it from his mouth and ground it into the dirt with his foot. “What the hell just happened? Why is the crew just standing around?”
I shook my head. “Dirk’s got a bullet in his chest. He’s dead.”
Witch and Famous--A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery Page 5
