Murder, Murder, Little Star

by Marian Babson

  'That's good,' Twinkle said. 'Because I want to talk to them. There are some things they ought to know.'

  She gave her mother a malignant look. 'And then we'll see who goes anywhere. Except to jail.'

  'Don't be silly, Twinkle,' Dick Brouder said wearily. 'You don't really imagine the police would listen to the lies of a nasty spiteful child, do you?'

  'They'll listen to the truth,' Twinkle said. 'Even if I am a child, they'll have to believe me. Other people can back me up. They all know these things happened.'

  'Baby, be sensible,' Laurenda pleaded, raising her head. 'You know Dick was down on the floor with the rest of us when Morrie fell. You can't make anybody believe that he was lurking up on the catwalk with a bucket of water to make poor Morrie slip on.'

  'He didn't have to be,' Twinkle said smugly. 'Not when he went up there half an hour earlier carrying a tray of ice cubes!'

  CHAPTER XVIII

  First took over the Direction while Dick Brouder went to talk to the police. The scene went smoothly, perhaps because Twinkle was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to be difficult.

  Would the police bother interviewing a ten-year-old child ? And, if they did, how much would they believe of what she told them ?

  Had Twinkle been lying? Or had she simply been telling the truth as she saw it ? Which did not necessarily mean that it bore any relation to reality. Why shouldn't Dick Brouder have been carrying a tray of ice cubes at some point? Everyone had access to the communal fridge and helped themselves freely. People - especially the Americans - were always delving in the fridge for ice cubes for their soft drinks. Dick Brouder was not the only person who might have been roaming around the set with supplies of ice cubes. And, even if they had originally been in his possession, that was not to say that they had remained in his possession. He might have set them down anywhere, after taking a few for his drink, and someone else could have taken the tray and turned the remaining ice cubes into a deadly weapon. If Twinkle had seen Dick Brouder with a tray of ice cubes and later saw someone climbing to the catwalk with a tray of ice cubes, she might have assumed that she was seeing Dick Brouder again.

  It was a natural mistake.

  'Cut! That's fine,' First said, only a trace of surprise in his voice. 'All right, you can all relax for a few minutes while we set the lighting for the next shot.'

  Most of the onlookers immediately dispersed, knowing from experience that those 'few minutes' could stretch out indefinitely.

  'I'm tired,' Twinkle said. 'I want to go back to my dressing-room and listen to music. I've got a new record.'

  'Sure,' First said expansively. 'Why not?' A question he was to regret shortly. 'Go ahead.'

  'Call me when you want me,' Twinkle said unnecessarily and walked off.

  Frances held a brief wrestling match with her conscience and managed to win, for a change. She remained on set watching technicians rearrange the lighting and keeping an eye out for Continuity,

  who must surely heave into sight sooner or later. She still wanted to have that talk with Continuity.

  'I shall take Fleur-de-lis walkies,' Cecile Savoy announced, managing to invest the statement with a spurious dignity, and stalked over to unloop her pet's leash from around the chair leg. The Peke frisked joyfully around her feet for a moment before making an abortive friendly dart towards the departing Twinkle.

  Cecile Savoy pulled so tightly at the leash that she brought Fleur-de-lis up on her hind legs, whimpering and pawing the air with her forepaws, unable to understand why she wasn't allowed to go and play with her dear friend.

  Twinkle did not look back, although she must have heard the whimpering. Cecile gave a final tug at the leash and Fleur-de-lis toppled over backwards, then gave the canine equivalent of a shrug and trotted after her mistress. They headed for the outer door of the sound stage and the green fields beyond.

  'So far, so good.' First rubbed his hands together uneasily and beamed at Frances. 'It is going well, don't you think?'

  'Oh, very well,' Frances agreed hastily. She judged it better not to mention her private suspicion that Twinkle was being so good only because she was channelling her main energies into plotting further mischief. It might be a Fool's Paradise, but First had earned his right to it. If her suspicion was correct, his complacency would be shattered rapidly enough.

  'That's what I thought.' First allowed satisfaction to creep into his voice. 'Is Dick still in there with the police?' He swivelled his head to look at the closed door of the Production Office and nodded with further satisfaction. The floor was still his for another scene or two.

  'Excuse me,' he said to Frances. 'I have to go and check a couple of points with Sparks and Props.' He bustled off happily, an understudy who had been given his chance at the starring role. No matter that the few scenes he directed would be indistinguishable when the entire film was cut and assembled. For the moment, he was a happy man.

  Muted, vaguely familiar orchestral strains began to emanate from behind the closed door of Twinkle's dressing-room. Frances could not immediately identify the composition and was unable to discern why it should compound her uneasiness.

  Across the set, the office door opened and Dick Brouder came out. He glanced towards Twinkle's dressing-room and hesitated, then walked purposefully in the opposite direction.

  Almost immediately, the door of Twinkle's dressing-room opened, releasing a burst of melody and Laurenda who looked around the set, blinking, like someone emerging from a darkened cave. As though by instinct, Laurenda turned and walked off in the direction Dick Brouder had taken.

  Laurenda had looked distraught. But then, Frances comforted herself, Laurenda usually did. Or bad there been a further scene with Twinkle in the dressing-room? Twinkle was being too good on set - she must be reserving her energies for trouble-making elsewhere.

  'Right!' First was back at her side, rubbing his hands together briskly. He had missed seeing Dick Brouder finish with the police and did not realize that his precarious authority might be taken from him at any moment. 'Let's get on with the next shot, shall we ?' He signalled to the Second Assistant Director, who went scurrying towards the dressing-rooms to assemble the principals.

  Uncharacteristically, Twinkle opened her dressing-room door herself to his knock and nodded agreement to his summons. She did not leave her dressing-room, however, nor did she close the door firmly.

  Distracted by the partly-opened door, Frances barely noticed that Mr Herkimer had reappeared on set and was standing close to her.

  Julian Favely had also appeared. 'Which scene are they going to do?' he asked. 'Everything's turned upside down today and the Call Sheet's useless. Am I supposed to be "on" or not?'

  'I don't know - ' Frances began, but Mr Herkimer cut her off.

  'You just stand by,' he ordered. 'The police are interviewing and we don't know who they'll want to see next. If it's Cecile, you'll do the scene where Mr Carmichael discovers Sara is his dead partner's lost child - the one he has been looking for in order to share the proceeds of the diamond mine with her, as he promised Captain Crewe. But if the police don't require her, Cecile will do the scene where Miss Minchin discovers that Sara is an heiress after all and that she should have treated the child better.

  Twinkle's costume is the same in both scenes, so that will be all right.'

  'Suppose the police want to talk to Twinkle?' Frances could not refrain from asking.

  'What would they want to talk to her for?' Mr Herkimer dismissed the idea out of hand. 'Listen, even I wouldn't talk to her if I didn't have to.'

  'What about Continuity?' Frances asked. 'I haven't seen her at all today. Where is she ?'

  'Poor dear girl, she was still not feeling well. I told her to stay home and we would manage without her today.' Mr Herkimer tried to look noble and succeeded in looking shifty.

  'But surely the police will want to talk to her. After all - '

  'No, no, no!' Mr Herkimer said. 'They must not talk to her. It would only conf
use them. What happened to her was an accident. One accident on the set, they could accept - two accidents and they would try to make something more out of them. We don't want Continuity dragged into this.'

  There was sudden action at the far side of the sound stage. Cecile Savoy had entered and was advancing on to the set, Fleur-de-lis frisking at the end of her leash.

  The door of Twinkle's dressing-room quivered and swung farther ajar.

  Props darted on set and made some last-minute adjustments to the arrangement of furniture.

  Somewhere in the background, Sparks must have been busy, for the lights brightened and darkened in strategic spots.

  Through it all, nearly everyone on the set must have been keeping a surreptitious eye on the Production Office door watching to see who would be summoned next. Was one of them someone with a guilty conscience ?

  'Be a good girl,' Mr Herkimer cajoled, 'and don't mention Continuity. Don't even think about her!'

  Cecile Savoy looped the end of the leash around one leg of her camp chair, gave Fleur-de-lis a final pat, and came towards the others. 'Are we ready to start?' she asked.

  'Any minute now,' First assured her. He divided a worried glance between Twinkle's dressing-room and the impatient Cecile. 'You just have time to fix your hair.'

  Cecile's hair was not at all disarrayed, but the ruse succeeded. She raised a hand to smooth it unnecessarily. 'Call me when you need me,' she said, and retreated, not noticing the whimpers following her from Fleur-de-lis.

  'Where's that kid?' First demanded. 'She said she was coming. All hell will break loose if she keeps Cecile waiting any longer.'

  'I'll get her.' Frances hurried towards the dressing-room.

  Twinkle was hunched over her hi-fi equipment, making some adjustments to the volume.

  'They're waiting for you,' Frances told her.

  'Already?' Twinkle straightened up and squared her shoulders, looking more grimly resolute than the simple playing of a scene warranted. 'Tell them I'm coming,' she said. 'I'll only be another minute.'

  Frances was halfway across the set to deliver the message before she realized that she had been expertly manipulated out of the room. She halted uneasily, maternal echoes of 'Find out what the children are doing and tell them to stop it' hovering in her mind, and half turned to go back to Twinkle.

  As she turned, she caught a movement in the shadows and saw Continuity lurking there. Catching her eye, Continuity put her fingertip to her lips and slid towards the Production Office. Continuity looked around nervously, assuring herself that everyone's attention was still centred on Frances, then tapped on the door and entered abruptly, almost as though she feared pursuit.

  Frances was conscious of a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Despite Mr Herkimer's determined optimism, it had been almost inevitable that the police would want to talk to Continuity. It had obviously not occurred to any of them that Continuity would want to talk to the police. And yet, they should have thought of it. Whose life had been endangered? Whose reputation had been

  impugned?

  Frances realized that the others were watching her expectantly and started forward again. 'Twinkle is coming in just a minute,' she reported to First. There was no point in reporting anything else. They would find out soon enough.

  'That's fine,' Mr Herkimer nodded approval. 'You're a good influence on her. I knew it as soon as I saw you.' He lowered his voice. 'You could be a good influence on me, too, if you'd only - '

  First cleared his throat, reminding Mr Herkimer that he had an audience. Mr Herkimer fell back a step, scowled at his watch, then looked up and across the set and his scowl cleared.

  'You see - ' He gestured triumphantly at Twinkle, who was coming towards them. 'A minute! What did I say ? A good - a very good influence.'

  Frances noticed that Twinkle had left her dressing-room door wide open. She tried to fight down the qualm assailing her. There was nothing sinister about an open door. Just because Twinkle had always insisted on having it closed in the past -

  'Places, please,' First said. 'We'll just do a quick run-through before we start shooting.'

  Obediently, Twinkle and Cecile moved to their chalk marks and faced each other. Faint strains of music sounded in the distance. The others paid no attention. It didn't matter since they weren't actually shooting.

  It was a key scene in the film and Frances was not surprised to see that the other actors and technicians were standing on the sidelines to watch. Tor Torrington, perhaps mindful of his budget, had also made one of his rare appearances on set and was standing motionless in the shadows behind one of the lights.

  'Right,' First said. 'This is the scene leading up to the number "It Was All for Your Own Good". Miss Minchin, you've just found out - ' He broke off and looked around frowning, having just noticed the music in the background. 'What is this ? Someone needs mood music?'

  The unseen orchestra built to a crescendo and a chorus of voices suddenly trumpeted: 'There is nothing like a Dame - '

  Cecile Savoy went white with fury.

  'Oh God!' Julian Favely moaned. 'And just when she was getting over it and looking forward to the next Honours List!'

  Twinkle faced Cecile Savoy, smirking, while the record on her hi-fi continued to blare out the song.

  There could be no doubt that the insult was calculated and deliberate.

  'You brat!' Cecile Savoy took a step forward, hand upraised.

  'She's just a child!' Surprising herself, Frances moved forward and caught Cecile's hand on the downward swing just before it struck Twinkle's face.

  'Easy, girls, easy.' Somehow, Mr Herkimer was between them and had captured both their hands.

  'You've got good reflexes,' he complimented Frances absently, then turned his full attention on Cecile.

  'Cecile, darling, you can't hit her now. You hit her, she'll cry, her face will swell up and go all red, her make-up will be ruined, and we won't be able to do any more shooting today. For God's sake, somebody shut off that damned record!' he snapped over his shoulder.

  Tor Torrington detached himself silently from the onlookers and hurried to the dressing-room. The music stopped abruptly in mid-line.

  'That's better,' Mr Herkimer said. 'Now, let's get back to work. Cecile! Twinkle! No more nonsense!' He glared at them both sternly, then leaned forward and pecked Cecile on the cheek. He also murmured something in her ear. It seemed to calm her, even to cheer her. A faint smile flitted across her lips and she looked more relaxed as she faced Twinkle and they began the scene again.

  Mr Herkimer had not released Frances's hand. When she struggled to free it, his grip tightened. 'You remind me of my third wife,' he murmured. 'She didn't understand me, either, but she had Class.'

  'What did you say to Cecile?' Frances tried a diversionary tactic. 'She looks a lot happier.'

  'She is,' Mr Herkimer said. 'I promised her she could hit Twinkle later. After we've finished the picture.'

  CHAPTER XIX

  'That kid is poison.' Tor Torrington came over to join them. 'This is the last picture we ever make with her.'

  'It probably will be . . . anyway,' Mr Herkimer said. Tor looked more cheerful, as well.

  'PLEASE - ' First shouted. 'QUIET ON THE SET!'

  'He's right. We're out of order.' Tor led them farther away from the rehearsal.

  Frances was relieved to see that the door of the Production Office was still in sight from the corner where they paused. She wanted to see what happened when Continuity came out. She was also

  beginning to realize that she might be next on the list of interviewees. Yet, what could she tell them?

  She had not actually seen or heard anything that might be considered valid evidence.

  'That's it.' Mr Herkimer's attention was still on the scene behind them. 'They've settled down and they're working again. They're nearly ready to shoot.' He met Tor's eyes. 'If we can just keep them at it, we may bring this picture in on target, after all.'

  'We may.'
Tor did not sound encouraging. He was watching the actors avidly, his gaze concentrated on Twinkle.

  Frances had the abrupt, unnerving thought, if looks could kill . . .

  'What's the matter?' Mr Herkimer was suddenly alert to his partner's preoccupation. 'What's she doing now?'

  'It's all right.' Tor relaxed and turned away. 'For a minute, I thought - '

  'What? What did you think?' Mr Herkimer stepped towards the actors suspiciously. 'What was she trying now?'

  'QUIET!' First shouted again. 'Quiet, please. This is a take!'

  The clapperboard snapped out its warning and the cameras began whirring.

  Uneasily, Frances glanced around the set. Surely Laurenda ought to be somewhere close at hand to watch Twinkle through this key scene, supporting her with silent encouragement from the sidelines.

  But Laurenda was not in sight. Neither was Dick Brouder. Presumably they had found each other and were oblivious of the fate of both daughter and film.

  To be fair, Twinkle obviously neither needed nor expected outside encouragement. She kept a professional eye on First, responding expertly to any silent instructions he mimed, modifying her performance in accordance with his direction. In fact, she worked more smoothly with him than she had done with Dick Brouder, which was, perhaps, not to be wondered at.

  Or was it? Gould it be that Twinkle was deliberately trying to give the impression that First was a much better director than Dick Brouder ? Certainly, it seemed that she hated Dick Brouder enough to do anything to blacken his name, if not ruin his reputation.

  Was the hatred mutual? Despite his guise of tolerant amiability, did Dick Brouder hate her as thoroughly as she hated him? And could he really be blamed if he met hostility with hostility?

  In front of the cameras, the scene continued smoothly. Both Twinkle and Cecile Savoy knew what they

  were doing and did it well. Even Frances could see that they weren't going to need any retakes, although First would probably order one or two just to be on the safe side. If there were any faults, they would be technical.

  With a pang, Frances realized abruptly that the picture must be nearly finished. Time had gone so swiftly and the off-screen personality clashes had absorbed so much of her attention that she had not noticed how much of the picture was actually being shot despite the difficulties surrounding the shooting.