Reel Murder

by Kennedy, Mary

  “So you’re telling me this is . . .”

  “Diet Mountain Dew.”

  Chapter 18

  Mom was in her element in the party scene, flirting with Sidney Carter, giggling girlishly, managing to edge herself into the frame as much as possible. It’s always fascinating to watch her working; she’s one part consummate professional and one part pure country ham, as Vera Mae would say.

  She’s a genius at making sure she’s in every shot. Even if she’s not talking, she’s smiling, laughing, emoting, reacting.

  Like most skilled actors, she’s always “on,” always performing. In the first run-through, she threw back her head and laughed gaily, even though Sidney hadn’t said anything. The back of Sidney’s head was to the camera, so the audience wouldn’t know that, of course. I heard a gentle click as the camera swung softly toward her, and I wondered if they were doing a close-up shot.

  Hank Watson has the reputation for shooting way more film than he really needs, which means he rarely brings a film in under budget. Or on time. He has the reputation of being a perfectionist in the industry and is more interested in getting a flawless shot than in cost control. He always does lots of establishing shots to set the scene, along with plenty of close-ups of the actors as they give their lines and, of course, “reaction shots.”

  It’s not a quick process, but it seems to work for Hank. His movies all receive critical acclaim even though they may not be major box office hits. During the editing process, Hank sits down with the cinematographer and together they pick and choose the very best shots to use from the raw footage.

  It was hard to imagine that Death Watch would be successful with Tammilynne in the lead. There might be a flurry of publicity because of Adriana’s death, but that would quickly die down and the critics were sure to be merciless toward Hank’s main squeeze.

  If Death Watch tanked, how would Hank ever find funding for future projects? And surely his investors in this film would be outraged over losing all their money?

  Nick always says to “follow the money” when you’re trying to solve a crime. I wondered how this rule would apply to Adriana’s death, but I was drawing a blank.

  I thought of Frankie Domino and wondered again what his role could be in the production. Was he somehow involved in providing the cash flow for Death Watch? Why else would he be hanging around the set? Was he trying to protect his investment? Was he keeping an eye on Hank Watson? Why? I was baffled.

  He certainly wasn’t part of the cast and crew and he didn’t seem to be a close friend of Hank’s. I noticed him standing off camera, talking earnestly on his cell phone, gesturing with his hands. He seemed angry and impatient but maybe that was just his perpetually jazzed New York style.

  From time to time, he glanced over at Hank Watson, and I thought I saw his upper lip curl in disgust. Finally, he snapped the phone shut, a sneering expression crossing his doughy features. He caught me looking at him, but I quickly looked away, pretending to be absorbed in the filming. There was something threatening, almost sinister about him, in spite of the cartoonish clothes (black shirt, white tie) and his Wiseguy accent.

  I glanced back at the set as another burst of feminine laughter floated through the balmy air. It was Lola, of course. Emoting her little heart out. Lola really comes alive when she’s performing and today she was in her element.

  Hank was probably thanking the climate gods because he had perfect weather for the outdoor party scene. The last moments of sunset were streaking across the sky and the waters of Branscom Pond were lapping softly against the shore.

  Mom seemed to sense whenever the cameras were on her, because she’d toss her hair over her shoulder, lift her chin to get a more flattering angle, and widen her eyes. She always said she learned this trick from Zsa Zsa Gabor, who certainly knew a thing or two about looking good on camera. Mom even tossed Sidney Carter a couple of saucy winks, and he gave a little bow and grinned back in acknowledgment.

  Whenever I thought about how Adriana had ruined his career by spreading that false AIDS rumor, I shook my head in bewilderment. How could someone do something so heartless, so unfeeling? Was Adriana really that cruel, or did she have some other reason for wanting to destroy him, to publicly humiliate him?

  No matter how hard I tried, I still hadn’t come up with a motive for Adriana’s murder that would satisfy me. A lot of people probably had wished she was no longer on the planet, but I couldn’t really see any one of them having a strong enough reason to kill her.

  I was sitting with Maisie and Hank Watson, watching the film when Hank suddenly yelled, “Cut!”

  Instantly, there was dead silence. “Tami,” he said, his voice ragged, “you were looking at the camera. Remember, we talked about that, sweetie. You have to look anyplace but the camera.”

  Tammilynne tossed her blond mane of hair. “Well, honestly, it’s hard not to look at it,” she said irritably. “I’ve got to remember my lines and everything. It’s all too much; you know?” She glanced at her watch, an elegant Patek Philippe, the face studded with diamonds. “We should have stopped ages ago. You know I get dizzy if I don’t have something to eat every three hours. I think I’m hypoglycemic.”

  She looked like she might have a meltdown and Maisie rushed to intervene while Hank ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Tammilynne, it’s okay to look in the direction of the camera, but just don’t look at the lens. It looks really bad and it ruins the scene. Okay?” A beat and then when Tammilynne didn’t bother answering her, Maisie asked suspiciously, “Tammilynne, are you chewing gum?”

  “Not anymore,” Tammilynne said sulkily. She removed the offending gum from her mouth as a crew member rushed over with a tissue to whisk it away. “I forgot. My bad. So shoot me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Hank muttered under his breath. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Hank—” Maisie said warningly.

  “I know. I know,” he replied. He took a deep breath and clamped his headset back on, his expression tight. “Okay, take it from the top, everyone.” He glared at Tammilynne. “And try to look happy, okay? Remember this is a party, not a wake.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Tammilynne said.

  Half an hour later, Hank called a quick break and I decided to hit the craft services table for an iced tea. I stood up and stretched for a moment, then headed across the set. I’d gone only a few feet when a loud crash followed by a sudden scream made me turn back. It sounded like a car wreck, something glass and metallic smashing on concrete.

  “Ohmigod!” Maisie was staring at a heavy Klieg light that had fallen off the pole and had landed smack dab onto the chair next to her—the chair I’d been sitting in. The flimsy canvas-backed director’s chair had actually collapsed under the weight of the shattered lamp and was lying in pieces on the sand. The light was ruined, the metal frame twisted, the glass bulb smashed into a zillion fragments.

  My heart sped up and a chill went through me. If I hadn’t gotten up to get that glass of iced tea, I’d be toast right this minute. My brains would have been scrambled along with fifty pounds of glass and metal. I shuddered at the thought and some tiny hairs at the back of my neck stood up at attention.

  Hank jumped up, scowling. “What the devil? Who the hell’s responsible for this?”

  Maisie shook her head, helplessly. “I have no idea,” she said, her face suddenly turning pale under her California-girl tan. “Thank God no one was hurt.”

  “Hank, I have no idea how this happened.” Jesse, the AD, came running over, hands outstretched, palms turned up, all apologies.

  Hank shook his head and pushed him brusquely aside. Hank has a reputation in the business for being a tough director and for having high standards. Like Donald Trump and Ted Turner, Hank doesn’t like excuses and he can’t stand incompetence. I knew heads would roll after this incident. It didn’t matter if it was an accident, it shouldn’t have happened and that meant someone’s job was on the line.

  “Ma
ggie, are you okay?” Hank rushed to my side, his voice warm with concern. He touched my arm very lightly, his dark eyes worried. “You’re bleeding—you must have been hit with a piece of flying glass.”

  “I am? I didn’t even notice.” I glanced down. Hank was right. I must have been sprayed by a shower of glass fragments, because a series of tiny red dots were sprouting on my upper arm. I took a slow breath to ease the tightness in my throat. “It’s nothing, really—”

  “Maisie, take her to First Aid,” Hank snapped. He turned back to Jesse, who looked like he was one Valium away from a meltdown. “We’re wrapping for the day. Get everyone back on the set early tomorrow. Make them check the call sheet, tell them to be on time, and no excuses. I want to get some sunrise shots.” He gave the AD a long hard look. “You and I will talk about this later. I want the names of everyone who touched that light. In the meantime, get someone over here to sweep up this broken glass. I don’t want anyone stepping on it.”

  “C’mon Maggie; over this way.” Maisie steered me away from the shattered light and dabbed ineffectually at my arm with a tissue. “We’ve got some first aid supplies in the production office.”

  “But, it’s nothing, just a tiny scratch. I feel really silly—”

  “Hey, there’s nothing silly about nearly getting brained by a piece of lighting equipment.” She lowered her voice. “Let’s just get some alcohol for it and a bandage, okay? Hank will be furious if you don’t come with me.” She locked eyes with me. “Do it for me, please?”

  “Okay, but it’s only a scratch. I had to admit I was a little surprised at Hank’s reaction.” I struggled to keep up with her as she crossed the sandy beach at a good clip, making her way to the trailers.

  She let out a little sigh. “Things have been really tense today and I think Hank’s coming unglued. The last thing he wants is another accident on the set.”

  I nodded. It would be hard not to be upset after what happened to Adriana, I decided. Maybe everyone’s nerves were on edge.

  “An accident? I don’t think Adriana’s death was an accident, sweetie,” a familiar voice piped up. Carla Townsend was standing right behind us, flushed with excitement. “And maybe this wasn’t an accident, either. Or didn’t that thought occur to you?” she purred.

  “I didn’t know you were on the set today, Carla.” Maisie’s voice was chilly but the celebrity journalist grinned at her and didn’t seem to be the least bit miffed. Maybe she was used to being persona non grata on movie sets; she had a hide like an elephant’s.

  “Oh, I’m everywhere,” Carla said. “That’s how I get all the good stories. All the exclusives. I get in first and I get the dirt.” She winked at me. “That’s the only way to be successful in this business. It’s all about the story.”

  And if there isn’t a story, you make one up, I caught myself thinking.

  “Well, there’s no story here,” Maisie said flatly. She ushered me into the production office and opened a cabinet with first aid supplies. Carla trotted along with us, and I noticed she’d whipped out a notebook, ready to get down to business.

  “Now, Maggie, let’s start with you,” she said in a conversational voice. “How did you feel when the Klieg light nearly killed you?” Her tone was friendly and low-key, and I wondered if she deliberately used a soothing tone, hoping to disarm her subjects. A nice bit of psychology, if it was deliberate. “It must have been quite a shock.” She peered at me closely, standing a little too close, resting her hand on my arm. “You look a little pale, dearie; I think I’ll make a note of that.”

  Oh yes, she was flashing a fake-concerned look at me. Another nice touch. Carla was quite a manipulator, up there with the best of them.

  “Carla,” I said, bewildered, “what are you talking about? It didn’t nearly kill me. As you can see, I’m standing right here and I’m perfectly fine.” Maisie was busily swabbing my upper arm with antiseptic and I winced as she slapped a Band-Aid on the tiny cut.

  “Yes, but it was just a matter of blind luck, wasn’t it? I saw what happened. Two seconds later and you would have been smashed like a bug on a windshield.” Carla chortled, showing her back teeth. I winced at the image of myself splattered and bloody. I hate anything gory or gruesome; that’s why I didn’t go to medical school and became a psychologist instead. It’s easier to play around in people’s minds than in their large intestines. “So tell me why did you stand up, anyway? Did you have a premonition?” Carla had her pen poised, all set for a juicy quote.

  “Hardly,” I said dryly. “I felt like an iced tea, that’s all.”

  Maybe if I stuck to the bare facts, Carla would lose interest and leave me alone. There really was no story here, no sinister plot at work here, right? I felt a funny little tingling along my spine, and willed it away. Accidents happen and I just happened to be sitting in that chair at that time. Certainly no one planned it. So why did I feel a little queasiness in the pit of my stomach?

  I gave myself a mental shake. It was an accident, that’s all. If I listened to Carla any longer, I’d end up completely paranoid. Time to rein in my always-too-vivid imagination.

  “Maybe not, but it was certainly a lucky break for you,” Carla said casually. Her beady-eyed stare was beginning to unnerve me. “That iced tea saved your life, Maggie. Another couple of seconds and you would have been sitting in the Death Chair.” She paused, deep in thought and then smiled. “You know, I really need to get a shot of that chair before they clean up the broken glass. And I need to make sure I get the words Death Chair in the headlines.”

  “The Death Chair?” I asked. This woman was shameless!

  “Yes. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?” Her smile widened; she was clearly pleased with herself. “Death Chair.” She dragged the syllables out in a sepulchral tone. “It’s the kind of thing that could end up on eBay. It would fetch a good price, I imagine. Of course, if you’d been killed, it would fetch even more.”

  “The Death Chair?” Maisie turned from the first-aid cabinet to give me a little eye-roll. “Oh Carla, please. Let’s not get all dramatic here. It was an accident, that’s all—a very minor accident. Things like this happen all the time on movie sets, and they don’t make front page news. Even in the tabloids,” she added, giving Carla a little dig.

  “Is that so?” Carla was waiting with pen poised. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure. It was just a technical glitch. Apparently someone didn’t tighten the screw enough and the light could have come slamming down from the pole at any moment—” She stopped talking suddenly and glared at Carla. “Oh God, you’re not writing all this down, are you?”

  “You bet I am!” Carla chuckled. “A technical glitch,” she said, parroting Maisie’s words. “It doesn’t sound like the production company is showing much concern for the safety and well-being of the actors, does it? Sounds like carelessness to me. You know, Maisie, you’re calling it an accident, but I think my editor will have quite a different take on it.”

  “You do?” Maisie asked.

  Carla nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Oh yes, definitely. First Adriana, and now another nasty accident on the Death Watch set.” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe the set is cursed?” She bit the end of her ballpoint pen, lost in thought.

  “The set isn’t cursed!” Maisie tossed her a furious look.

  Carla smiled. “You know, that’s another good angle to explore. Paranormal is very hot these days. That would make a good lead. I’m thinking there’s enough here for a three-part special.” She paused. “And I like that line about the screw not being tightened; it’s kind of like someone cutting the brake lines on a car, isn’t it? I’ve gotta remember that.”

  Maisie’s eyes flashed, her lips tightening. “I was just guessing when I made that remark about the screw and the pole. Anyway, this isn’t an interview, is it? You tagged along with us into the production office. Uninvited, I might add. I thought this whole conversation was off the record.”

&n
bsp; “Really?” Carla was unruffled. “You honestly thought that? That was very silly of you, my dear. With journalists, nothing is off the record. You should know that by now, Maisie. I need a little background, honey; you know, something to pad out the piece.” She licked her index finger and flipped through her notebook. “How long have you been working with Hank? I probably have that in my notes somewhere, but it would be quicker if you could just tell me again. I want to file this story tonight.” She gave us a broad smile. “And of course, I want to make sure I spell everyone’s name correctly.”

  Chapter 19

  Mom caught up with me just as Carla and I were walking out of the production trailer and heading across the set. Carla was still trying to weasel a blow-by-blow account of the Klieg light episode out of me and I was doing my damnedest to get rid of her. After all, what could I possibly have to say to her? I hadn’t seen a thing. I knew that wouldn’t stop her and I dreaded seeing the tabloids tomorrow.

  “Honey, are you okay? I ran back to wardrobe to get another pair of shoes and I just heard there was an accident. I’m afraid I missed all the excitement.” Mom gave me a quick embrace, her eyes looking teary. Thirty-two years old but I’m still her baby. Her blue eyes widened in alarm when she got a look at my bandaged arm. “Oh Maggie, you’ve been hurt! No one told me.”

  “Hurt? She was nearly killed,” Carla said flatly. “And I don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  “It wasn’t an accident?” Mom looked baffled.” I heard that one of the lights fell down, that’s all. I figured it was some sort of technical problem.”

  “Really? Then you don’t know the half of it, sweetie.” She gave Mom a calculating look, her mouth twisting into her trademark sneer. “Maybe you have a comment for me, Lola? I’m filing the story in half an hour and I just need a few good quotes to punch it up. Something from the mother of the victim would be good. Readers always like that. It tugs at the heartstrings, as my editor always says.”