by Tess Lake
“If you leak me information or any stills from the set, I can pay you,” Carter said, changing tack.
“What?”
“I can get a lot of money for leaked stills. Or if you can gather anything on the director, Cyro Nash. Everyone knows he’s a psychopath deep down. Has he locked Bella Bing in a shipping container full of meat?”
I glanced around to see if there was anyone watching me. I was seriously considering hitting Carter with some kind of memory spell to wipe out what he knew and make him leave me alone. Unfortunately, there were too many people around and, yes, I guess there was something slightly unethical about it. I glanced over at the chain-link fence that separated the street from the set where today’s filming would take place. I had a pass around my neck that would get me away from Carter Wilkins and onto the set, and I wished I could simply teleport myself across there right now.
I had to do something to deal with Carter. Given what he was writing about the film and the director already, I had no doubt that he would continue to cause problems. But what he’d said about Cyro Nash being a psychopath caused me some concern. Yesterday I’d seen a fight at Bella’s rented mansion, and then Cyro had walked right by me before driving off. I decided I had to try to find out whatever Carter knew.
“Why do you think the director’s a psychopath?” I asked.
Carter waggled his finger at me. “No, no, no. Quid pro quo. You give me something and then I’ll give you something. Yes?”
“I don’t have anything to give you. I’m here reporting on the film, doing interviews, and that’s all. It’s a standard film set, and apart from Mattias dying yesterday, nothing else unusual has happened,” I said, telling a few lies all at once.
“Oh, c’mon, Harlow. Cyro Nash, renowned for making gritty, extreme cutting-edge films, ends up making a cutesy witch movie? He went bankrupt, you know. Plus, there’s plenty of evidence of him doing weird things and claiming it’s in the pursuit of a particular scene. Apart from those actresses in the shipping container, there were those other ones he took out to that farmhouse and handcuffed them for twenty-four hours in an old barn. They did the scene, but then one of them had to be treated for dehydration in the hospital. What’s he doing directing this charming little movie?” Carter asked.
I shrugged at Carter and refused to answer. If I’m honest (and I guess I probably should be), I’d been too caught up in the fact that I had a brand-new boyfriend to really do deep background research on everyone involved in the film. I knew vaguely that Cyro had done some strange things in the past, but I figured it was simply standard Hollywood director stuff. I’d heard of directors marching their actors twenty miles before making them film a scene so they were genuinely exhausted. I didn’t know the circumstances around Cyro locking some actresses in a shipping container, but I was sure it would have produced something amazing when you watched the film. I looked over at the set and saw one of the producers, Tobin Hemming, looking at me through the fence. When I caught his eye, he raised his eyebrows at me and then walked off to talk to someone else. I suddenly realized what this must look like: me near the set, talking with a known now-junk journalist who no doubt was going to whip up all kinds of lies about the film production. It wouldn’t be good for me to be seen with Carter Wilkins and certainly not anywhere near the film set.
“I have to go,” I said, hustling past Carter.
He turned on his recorder and spoke into it.
“Harlow Torrent has once again refused to do real journalism. She seems ignorant of the true nature of Cyro Nash.”
I walked away as quickly as I could, Carter still speaking into his recorder, no doubt saying one thousand and one insulting things.
At the gate, I showed my pass to the guard and went inside. The set today was a hive of activity, with people scuttling all around the place and yelling to each other. I saw Harriet, the set designer, having a conversation with Cyro in the distance. She was holding up one of the green dinner plates from yesterday’s scene and waving it around. I wondered if, now that Mattias was dead and they had to redo that scene, she was going to change the plates back to their original color.
I walked down the main thoroughfare towards some warehouses and out the other side.
The film was being shot in various locations around Harlot Bay, and the producers had rented whatever empty space they could find. Inside the warehouses were various sets that had been built, such as the one for yesterday’s kitchen scene. There was another lot across town where Jack was currently working building other sets. On the far side of the warehouses, they’d set up an entire street of a sleepy seaside town. It was really quite amazing. All the shops were simply façades, painted plywood with windows and doors glued on and bits of furniture behind them to give them the illusion of depth. I came around the end of the warehouse and was immediately stopped by a man in a fluorescent orange safety vest who had hearing protection wrapped around his neck.
“Stop. You need to wear a safety vest if you’re going onto the driving track today,” he said.
“Oh, okay,” I said. He had a small bin of safety vests next to him. He passed me an oversized one and I slipped it on.
“You’re Benton, right?” I asked.
“That’s right. You’re the journalist doing the behind-the-scenes stuff. Harlow?”
“Nice to meet you,” I said and shook his hand.
It seemed my idle studying of the crew sheet was finally starting to percolate through my brain. Benton was one of the main safety advisors working on the film. He was basically the guy who ensured that no one was injured during any stunts.
“What can you tell me about the stunt today?” I asked him.
Benton’s face lit up like it was Christmas.
“Oh, it’s gonna be a great one. After they get some shots of Bella driving the car, we’re going to reset with the stunt double, who’s then going to accelerate as the car goes out of control. The stunt double will wave her hand, which will later get CGI’d in that she’s doing some magic, and then the car will slide to a stop ending one inch before that brick wall. If everything goes according to plan, we might be able to get it on the first shot,” he said.
I peered behind him at the roadway that had been set up. There was a line of green spray paint across the road. Benton saw me looking at it.
“That’s the braking point. The stunt driver, Kaylee, will hit the brakes right there and then slide and land it just before the wall. She is our best driver,” he said.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” I said. His enthusiasm for his job was infectious. I remembered that I should probably be recording this, but as I fumbled in my bag for the recorder, someone yelled out to Benton and he had to walk away.
I made a mental note to interview him again. The behind-the-scenes of the stunts was certainly a lot more interesting than the vacuous trite nothing that Bella had fed me yesterday during our interview. Perhaps if I focused on that, I’d be able to produce some work that was really great. I was standing looking around the set when I saw the ghost of a small boy appear next to the warehouse. He was naked and covered from head to toe in stripes and whorls of paint. I recognized him immediately. He was Mattias Matterhorn in one of his early roles, back when he was a child actor. He’d played a child king ruling over an ancient kingdom. At the peak of the movie, he’d painted himself in sacrificial colors and then offered himself to the gods. In doing this, he’d won over his people. The child ghost of Mattias looked across at me with his arms folded across his chest.
“Well? What are you doing to find out who murdered me?” he asked.
It was strange seeing a child talk like an adult and even stranger still to hear Mattias’s voice sounding so youthful.
I walked across to him and, after glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, pulled out my phone and put it to my ear.
“Can you stay in the one form so I can talk to you properly?” I said, pretending to talk to someone on my phone.
Mattias sighed d
ramatically, again an award-winning moment of acting that only I got to witness, and then transformed into the twentyish-year-old version of himself. He was strong and slender and layered over in muscle, and he wore nothing more than a loincloth and some Viking boots. His costume didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Choose something else,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You don’t like the shape? I was so handsome when I was younger. Do you think your Aunt Cass might like this?” Mattias said.
“I’m one of the few people who can see you, so if you don’t start behaving, I’m going to ignore you and then you will never figure out who murdered you,” I bluffed.
Mattias frowned at me. My goddess, he had been hot when he was younger. Sparkling blue eyes, a jawline you could cut yourself on, and a touch of blond in his hair like a surfer. Younger Mattias had certainly known the effect his physical attributes had on people. After a moment, he transformed again, turning back to his fiftyish-year-old self. He was now dressed in a black graduation gown with a four-corner hat. I couldn’t exactly remember which movie that was from. I think it was some kind of biopic of a man who had gone back to college to study medicine so he could help cure his grandson of some rare disease.
“Is that better? Shall we start trying to solve my murder now?” Mattias said, his voice slightly gravelly.
“First we need to find out what you’re tied to. Yesterday, you were pulled away. Is there some important object that you feel yourself bound to?” I asked. On the set, I could see they were getting ready to start filming, so I had to finish this conversation.
I could only hope that Mattias knew what he was bound to. Most ghosts had no idea, and then it was simply trial and error, picking up things and moving them to see whether the ghost was pulled along.
“I studied the script quite a lot. Now it’s missing from my trailer. I don’t know where it is, though.”
“Well, that’s your first job. Track down the script and then I’ll collect it to see if you’re tied to it.”
Mattias crossed his arms and frowned at me. With him dressed in his all-black graduation gown, the effect was quite intimidating, or would have been if he hadn’t been a ghost who couldn’t do anything to me except for break a cup, maybe.
“I am not your servant. You find out who stole the script,” he instructed.
“What, you have better things to do?” I asked.
I was willing to help Mattias discover how he had died, but only to a point. I had enough on my plate between my job, my boyfriend, helping John Smith recall his memories and helping my cousins and family without adding his problems on top of it.
“I do. They’re screen-testing my replacements today. I’m going to make sure that hack Hemingway doesn’t get the job.”
I felt the air currents high above me twitch as a new problem landed on my plate. I was sure that Mattias couldn’t do much to disrupt the production, but then again he had broken a cup, and film equipment is quite sensitive. If he chose, I was sure he’d be able to ruin the cameras, break lenses and cause all kinds of problems.
“Do you mean Gustaf Hemingway?” I asked.
“Gutless Hemingway! The hack that’s been following behind me my entire career, trying to copy me every step of the way. Do you know he even married one of my ex-wives?”
I looked over at the stunt car that had been set up. This was only my second day on set, but already I was understanding there was a certain point when all the scurrying began to quiet and then the scene would take place. Anyone talking on a phone at that point would be in serious trouble. I had to put a stop to this if I could.
But it was tricky with ghosts. Although they might be aware they were dead, many didn’t really understand what that meant in a very real sense. It was a complete disconnection from the world, if they could interact at all. They became an observer stuck in their own little world, sometimes tied to a location or an object, unable to change anything. Unable to take part in the world any longer. For someone like Mattias who had an ego the size of a house, I thought it would take him a while to adjust to this new reality.
“You’re dead, Mattias. Everything you have done is now your legacy. It doesn’t matter what Gustaf Hemingway does. Focus on finding out who murdered you and you might find peace,” I said gently.
The look on Mattias’s face told me instantly that I had made a gigantic tactical error. For someone who had had multiple wives and a serious drinking problem and had been involved in all kinds of fights over his life, clearly taking the position that he should seek to find peace was the wrong one.
“Discover who murdered me or I’ll haunt you forever,” Mattias said coldly. Then he transformed again, this time to a young Roman general complete with sandals, a sword and leather armor. He scowled at the people setting up the stunt car and then vanished.
“Quiet on set,” someone called out.
I put my phone back in my pocket and walked over to join everyone else observing today’s scene. One of the tiny perks of this job was that I had a chair with my name written on the back of it. It was slightly cool. I sat down and watched as Bella came onto set and then got into the car and pretended to be driving it. There are many things in films that look incredibly odd when they’re being filmed, and driving was one of them. They’d put the car on some sort of large treadmill and had the camera in front of it, and then various crew were on each corner, pushing the car to gently rock it. Behind the car, they’d set up a large vivid green screen, where I guess later on they would use CGI to put in the street that Bella was driving down. Cyro was on set dressed in all black again, swooping about the place like an angry crow. Bella did the same scene at least six times before Cyro finally nodded and then Bella went back to her trailer, closely shadowed by Ru. As I watched the filming, I felt myself slowly start to relax. If Mattias was going to do something to Gustaf Hemingway, then there was nothing I could really do about it. The best thing I could do for him and me and the film production would be to either find out what he was tied to and move it so he couldn’t interfere, or discover how he had died. For all we knew, it might have been a simple heart attack, and then if Mattias understood that, he might move on.
There was a break between scenes as the crew scurried around setting up the stunt car. I was about to wander over to the food table to get myself coffee when Tobin Hemming appeared out of nowhere, gliding up to me like a shark. He held out his hand to me and grinned, his entire face crinkling up. This guy didn’t do facial expressions by halves.
“Tobin Hemming, executive producer, and you’re Harlow Torrent, scribe and official behind-the-scenes reporter. Let’s do an interview in my trailer right now,” he said in one blur of a sentence. He shook my hand and then pulled me with him, only letting go after a few steps. I think I followed him on inertia alone. I walked up to a nondescript trailer and followed him in through the door that was opened by an assistant. The outside may have looked boring and standard like an RV, but the inside was pure luxury. There was a rich deep red leather sofa, artwork on the walls, vases, a separate kitchen, and subtle lighting that gave the instant impression of comfort and wealth mixed together. There was also what looked like a full bar in the corner. Tobin went over to it and immediately started mixing up some drinks.
“Get your recorder out, let’s go, let’s start the interview,” he said to me quickly as he poured and measured alcohol.
I found a chair, a single luxurious padded white thing, but when I went to sit in it, Tobin snapped at me and told me to sit on the sofa instead. Then he immediately made a joke, becoming instantly so warm and funny it was almost like the angry expression I’d seen on his face a moment ago had simply been my imagination.
“I love your small town, it’s so very charming. Your mother runs Torrent Mansion Bed and Breakfast, correct? What an amazing house. I love the styling of the windows. Is the interior fully renovated?” he asked.
I turned my recorder on and set it on my knee as I tried to parse
his quick sentences.
“The mansion is partially renovated. They’re working from the inside out,” I said.
“Terrible thing, the fire that destroyed the bakery. How is your mother taking it?” he asked.
I gave a sort of double blink at him and tried to get my bearings. I hadn’t really planned on interviewing Tobin, although it had been somewhere in the back of my mind that I might. I hadn’t really prepared any questions for him, figuring I would gain my feet after talking to the actors and the other people who worked on set before going to talk to him. I was feeling very pushed off balance by him. At this moment, he was so deeply concerned with me and my family that I felt my heart ache. A part of me was saying, “He’s such a good man, so caring, he really cares what happens to you.” At the same time, I knew this was a complete lie.
He was a movie producer who would only be in town for a few weeks, and a moment ago I’d seen him snap at me with such an angry look that it had appeared he would murder me without even a second thought.
“They’re doing well, delivering baked goods around the town now. But let me ask you some questions,” I said. Tobin zipped around from behind the bar and over to the sofa, where he sat down beside me and passed me a short glass that contained some kind of cocktail. It smelled strong.
“Have a drink, let’s have a great interview,” Tobin said, pushing the glass up towards my face.
I admit I nearly swallowed it down at that point from the intense peer pressure. It was barely nine in the morning and I was supposed to be interviewing him, not getting drunk. And from the smell of the drink he had made, I was sure I’d be staggering if I drank it.
“No, thanks,” I said as cheerily as I could and looked for somewhere to put the glass. There was no coffee table, so in the end I had to put it on the floor next to my foot.
