Chaos on Camera

by Louise Lynn

  Ivy and I were kept busy enough that we didn’t get to ask what was going on until after we set out the breakfast snacks and tea buffet. By that point, crew members started trickling in, whispering amongst themselves.

  I listened as a couple of makeup artist dropped by for scones and tea, poring over the jars of jam and clotted cream.

  "Why are we even shooting today? How are they going to go on without … you know who?” the brunette one said.

  "I heard they got Cassandra Barnes to play the lead. Apparently, she was in talks for it before Quinn came along and snatched it from her,” the blonde girl said.

  The brunette gaped at her and put a healthy serving of clotted cream on her plate. "No way! Do you think this Cassandra Barnes girl is the one who did it? Maybe to get the role?"

  The blonde makeup artist shrugged. “Who knows? Anyone could’ve done it. I mean—I didn’t do it—but there were a few times I wouldn’t have minded. She was never happy with how I did her makeup. She always said it made her look bloated."

  The brunette snickered. "Maybe if she didn’t drink so much she wouldn’t have looked bloated."

  With that, they both wandered away.

  Mary Jones was a big drinker?

  “Didn’t Mom teach you not to eavesdrop?" Ivy chirped in my ear, and I jumped nearly five feet in the air.

  "I was investigating. There’s a difference."

  "Okay, Poirot, what did you find out?" Ivy asked and stuffed her hands into the apron pockets.

  I hustled back into the food truck before I told her what I’d … investigated.

  "Cassandra Barnes? That makes sense,” Ivy said. “She looks exactly like Mary Jones did before, you know, she died," Ivy added, a little unnecessarily.

  I couldn’t place that name. "They really look that similar? Well, what has she been in?"

  Ivy’s eyes widened. "That show I keep telling you to watch. The Cat Psychic. She’s a lot like you, but psychic. She solves crimes by talking psychically to cats. Because all the murders happen around cats for some reason. But it’s pretty good. I watched two seasons in one day.”

  I shook my head. It didn’t sound like I was missing out on much, and I didn’t have time for a lot of TV. “At least we can rest for a minute,” I said and went to sit when Ivy grabbed my arm.

  "Maybe not." She motioned outside of the food truck, and my heart jumped into my throat.

  Clark Duncan sauntered toward us, his eyes wandering over the tables laden with goodies, and I swear the man wore a permanent smirk on his full lips. The perfectly chiseled jaw and mussed hair only added to his smarmy looks.

  "He did it," Ivy whispered.

  I frowned. What Adam said made sense. Despite his threat and punching a hole in his apartment wall, he didn’t have a strong enough motive to kill Mary Jones. Well, unless you counted her spilling the beans about that kiss to Gina. From what I remembered of Gina, she was mighty jealous. In high school, she keyed a girl’s car who looked at her boyfriend wrong. Might she have broken off their engagement based on Mary’s word?

  On the other hand, Clark Duncan was trying to divorce Mary, and that would’ve been costly, and from what she had seen there was very little love lost between them.

  "How long have they been married?" I whispered in Ivy’s ear.

  She started mumbling to herself and counting on her fingers. "Almost ten years. Wow. I didn’t realize it was that long."

  Mary had a nearly ten-year marriage, and I couldn’t even manage to move past my engagement?

  Well, at least I was still alive. And hopefully people didn’t talk about me behind my back the way they did about her—even after she was dead. That reminded me of something Dean mentioned the night before, when mom asked about his divorce. It was amicable, and since they hadn’t been married for ten years, they didn’t have to split all their assets right down the middle.

  Right. It was a law in California.

  Which meant, getting divorced from Mary was of the utmost priority if he wanted to keep his cash.

  Clark Duncan was about to wander away when Ivy snagged my hand and yanked me out of the food truck. At the last moment, I took a cupcake from the tray, meant for a between meal snack, and plopped it on a plate.

  "Mr. Duncan?" Ivy called.

  He turned slowly, his eyes slipping over us like the slimy trail of the dog’s tongue. "Hello. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced," he said and put on a smile that would probably melt most women right where they stood.

  Ivy grinned shyly, and I stepped up next to her and held the cupcake out. "We wanted to give our condolences after the terrible incident that happened yesterday. Your wife. We’re so very sorry," I said.

  He eyed the pink frosting like it might jump out and bite him, but took it nonetheless. "Right. You’re the cute new catering girls, huh? Word around set is you work some magic. So much magic that Mike came to you and managed to talk you into working here himself," he said, and dipped his finger in the pink icing. Slowly, he brought it to his mouth and lapped it off.

  “Er, yes. The director did personally visit my shop, and I’m glad everyone seems to enjoy the food. Do you like the cupcake?"

  “They’re fresh,” Ivy added. “Made just last night. We were so upset about what happened to Quintessence that we just had to bake." She put on an exaggerated frown.

  I did my best to mirror her.

  Clark Duncan let out a snort. "Oh, yeah. You’re really put out about it. You don’t have to play with me. Your acting is subpar, at best. Although, maybe I can give you both private lessons? We could do it one on one, or maybe together. It depends on you," he said, and gave me a smile that made we want to wash my eyeballs.

  I put a hand to my chest and sucked in a breath. "After what happened to your wife? I would’ think you’d be more upset."

  He peeled back the paper from the cupcake and took a generous bite. Chocolate crumbs and the smear of the pink frosting decorated his lips, and he swept them away with his tongue. I’d never be able to watch another one of his movies and not imagine him devouring this cupcake. Or being a completely sleazy creep.

  "Quinn Lovejoy made my life a living hell. If I knew who stabbed her, I’d thank him. She was dragging out our divorce, just so we’d have to split our assets. And you know why? Because she’s broke. That’s the only reason she was doing this movie. She kept spending all her money on houses and clothes and booze and it was all a big joke to her. Never mind paying her taxes. Got the IRS breathing down my neck, but not now. I don’t have to worry about any of that, thank goodness.” He finished the cupcake and tossed the wrapper on the ground.

  Ivy and I stared at him with wide eyes.

  He was happy his wife was dead? That was about a hundred times more suspicious than Adam had been that morning.

  And Clark wasn’t even hiding it.

  I needed to talk to Dean about this ASAP.

  “So, if you’re interested, drop by my trailer tonight," he said, gave us another creepy once over and wandered away when one of the PAs came looking for him.

  “Are you ready for makeup? Mr. Duncan?" The young woman asked and blushed as he squeezed her shoulder.

  I bent to pick up the discarded cupcake wrapper and frowned.

  "I feel like I have to take a shower after talking to him," Ivy muttered, and I nodded.

  "What did Mary even see in him?"

  “Well, he is handsome. But everything else …” Ivy gave him a big thumbs down and stuck out her tongue.

  I giggled, ready to return to the truck and text Dean, when another PA approached. This one was a man closer to Ivy’s age.

  "Are you Olivia Darrow?" he asked and glanced around.

  "Yes. Is something the matter?" I asked, and my stomach filled with lead. Had someone gotten sick from the scones?

  The PA shook his head. “Director wants a word after lunch. He has a proposition for you both."

  My gut clenched, and I forced myself to stand up straight. After the proposition
Clark Duncan gave Ivy and I, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear anymore.

  Chapter Nine

  After lunch, with the number of crew members, builders, caterers, and makeup artists running around the set, I was certain I had walked into a completely different set. Compared to the morning’s subdued atmosphere, the set felt entirely different. More alive and chaotic than in the morning.

  Ivy sighed and gripped a cup of coffee in her hands. “The world is ending, Olivia.”

  Yeah. I had to agree with her. It was only twelve p.m. and already I could barely see any of the floor.

  “Olivia. Ivy. There you are.”

  We turned to see Michael rushing up to us, an entourage of PAs at his heels. His dimpled cheeks were slightly flushed, his dark-brown hair still wet from what I assumed to be his shower, and instead of his usual crew uniform, he wore a rock shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. In winter? Couldn’t say it was his best decision.

  “We were on our way to find you,” Ivy said.

  I’d never seen Michael in casual wear before. But with what had gone on yesterday, I could hardly blame him. The whole set had changed, and it just kept on changing.

  Michael laughed and took my hand in his. The callous on his palm scraped against my thumb, but they were warm and not entirely unwelcome. “So, after a long—and I mean loooong—meeting with Sandra, we have decided to go on with the movie. But, we’ll be switching things up a bit.”

  “The main star?” Ivy asked, her eyes wide. “I mean, she died, right, and you’re going to replace her?”

  Michael nodded grimly. “Yes. Her body was taken away yesterday for an autopsy. But I’ve managed to pull some strings and bring in our back up actress, Cassandra Barnes. She and Quinn look extremely alike, and with the studio’s technology, we can still make the movie work. Trouble is …”

  I held my breath and waited. Was he going to say I’d have to double my baking or something? My shoulders and neck stiffened at the prospect. I’d barely managed to make the quota already, and had little idea of how I would’ve made it last night if not for Mom.

  Michael breathed in. “You see, we’re on a really tight schedule. So, we can’t stop to properly mourn for Quinn like we should. But, the good news is, now we have a replacement actress, we’re not going to lose any time on this. However, some of the extras got spooked and quit. So, last minute, we really need to hire some people. And it’s easier to hire people who are already here than to have to go through a whole big process. And when I thought about you, I thought you’d be perfect on screen," he said, and I swear his dimples winked at me.

  A flush rose to my cheeks. "Me? In a movie?" I swear my voice also rose about five octaves.

  His grin widened. "‘Course. Like I said, I think you’ll be absolutely perfect."

  I was so flustered I didn’t even notice Sandra arrive by his side. She rolled her eyes. "It’s a bit part with only two lines. You’re not giving her a lead role. And if you agree, get over to costume and makeup and hurry it up," she snapped and marched away. “We’ll be shooting soon.”

  Michael leaned forward. "Don’t mind her. She’s always in a bad mood when we shoot. I think it reminds her of her stunt woman days. What do you say?"

  His boyishly handsome face, and those dimples, looked at me so eagerly that it reminded me of a puppy who wanted a belly rub.

  There was no way I could say no to that.

  Plus, it meant I’d get to keep an eye on Clark Duncan—no matter how much I didn’t want him to keep an eye on me.

  I straightened and pictured my prized oven and new kitchen. “What would you like us to do then?”

  Michael’s features softened, and he smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry about the catering today. Our other caterer will deal with everything. Today, I just want you to focus on acting. Grab something else to eat and head over to the makeup trailer. Sanjay will be waiting on you, and he’s a little … always on schedule, shall we say.”

  In other words, don’t be late.

  I had no idea who Sanjay was, but I had seen various peoples coming and going from the pink trailer in the middle of the parking lot. I thought it would’ve been Quintessence’s, but turned out it was the makeup artists.

  “Umm, Michael.”

  The director stopped and turned around. “Ya?”

  “What exactly will be we doing?” I asked. “The role, I mean.”

  “Oh, nothing big. You’re the evil mermaid sisters of Quinn—I mean, Cassandra, and you’re trying to track her down to cut her tail off so she can’t claim the throne. Don’t ask. It’s a kid’s film.”

  Why were kids’ movies so much darker nowadays? I still hadn’t gotten over the first ten minutes of Pixar’s Up.

  Ivy burst out laughing. “Evil step sisters? Oh, my. How fitting!”

  I elbowed her in the side. “I will warn you, Michael, I’m not the best at acting.”

  “Or singing, but she still does it in the shower.” Ivy eyed me.

  Thanks, Ivy. How about I tell him you still sleep with your light on?

  “You’ll both do great,” Michael said, then he made his way toward the green screens, where the film crew waited with bated breath.

  “We’ll both do great,” Ivy repeated, her eyes sparkling and grin wide. “Yeah, except for you.”

  “Umm, are you forgetting about the time you played Belle in your Beauty and the Beast school play, and you broke your arm walking down the steps? You might be good at acting, but your coordination is all over the place.”

  “Jeez. Thanks for the reminder, Olive.”

  “You know I love you, little sis.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s grab some food then head to the pink trailer.”

  “Sanjay’s,” I corrected.

  “To the pink trailer,” Ivy shouted, and I clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “How much coffee have you had already?”

  “Mom gave me a double espresso before I left.”

  “Uh-huh.” We strolled through the Unit Base, where the main catering truck was located. I’d usually stuck to Wilson’s Italian selection, and they’d always been delicious. “Hey, when’s your date with Wyatt?”

  Now, Ivy’s boldness faded, and she blushed. “Oh. Umm. I wanted to talk to you about that. He wants to take me out this Sunday.”

  “Where to?”

  Wilson’s huge, elongated truck swam into sight. I could already smell the organic food spitting on the grill. With the huge line accumulating in front of the truck, it would be a little wait until I sank my teeth into their juicy sausages. Eating seemed like a good way to flush out the memory of yesterday. Not that I could. I knew Dean and Detective Woods would be on set again that day, questioning and investigating.

  “Apparently, it’s a surprise, but something I’ll like. And it involves cake. You know how I love my cake.”

  “I do know,” I grinned, squeezing her shoulder as we stepped in line. “Don’t think I didn’t see you eating some of Mom’s croissants earlier.”

  She grinned and shrugged her shoulders, a sheepish grin on her plum-painted lips.

  Once we had eaten, we made our way to Sanjay’s trailer. Inside, we found an Indian man with shocking white hair and green eyeliner covering his eyelids.

  “Oh, my beautiful doves. Are you the extras?” He twirled around, flawlessly, and held a myriad of makeup brushes and contour kits. “Mhmm. I see. Well, let’s get started. These scales don’t pain themselves, you know. Any particular colors you’d like?”

  “You mean … we get to choose?” I said in disbelief.

  “I choose black and red,” Ivy said, raising her hand.

  Sanjay turned to one of the artists at the back of the trailer, who was adjusting the wide lit up mirrors. “Write that down.” Then, facing me again, he asked, “And you, turtle dove?

  “Umm. What would you recommend, Sanjay?”

  I didn’t know the first thing about makeup or colors or contour. That was Ivy’s area of expertise.


  He looked me up and down, his gold lips smacking together. “I think blue, to bring out your gorgeous hair, and perhaps some green to match those beautiful avocado eyes. We’ll add some amethyst in there, too, since you’re the Sea King’s beloved daughters.”

  “Michael said we were evil sisters,” I noted, raising a brow.

  “Oh, yes. You two were infected by a poisonous eel and are sent to kill your sister. Pardon the expression.”

  Right. The “sister” was killed not even twenty-four hours ago.

  “Okay, ladies.” He clapped his hands together, addressing his artists, who sprung to him like witches around a cauldron. “Let’s fabulous these ducklings up!”

  Turned out, I wasn’t a great actor.

  Ivy was right.

  And I sort of hated when she was. In those circumstances, anyway.

  “Cut! Olivia, it’s okay,” Michael said, pushing up from his deck chair. “You’re new to this, so don’t beat yourself up.”

  I pulled Ivy’s arm back, who was about to rub her face and ruin the makeup. I had to admit, Sanjay and his assistants did an amazing job. Our entire faces had been painted in intricate scales and they looked so authentic, often catching and glimmering in the lights.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m really not good at this.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and I fought not to melt away in my black motion capture suit. “Ivy’s going to do most of the speaking. All we need you to do here is stand on that rock—” he pointed to the makeshift rock on the middle of the set, surrounded by various CGI screens “—and say: she will not take my crown from me, we must find our dearest sister before the moon rises. But really shout it, you know? Put some force into it.”

  “Force? Okay,” I said, climbing onto the rock. “I can do that. I think.”

  I hoped. It was only two lines and so far, I had gotten them wrong three times.

  “Good.” Michael sat back into his chair and signaled a member of crew, who slapped the clapperboard together. “Take fifteen. Action.”