by Louise Lynn
I took a deep breath and looked ahead. I imagined the sea billowing underneath me, the dolphins jumping out of the water, but the sky was black and filled with sparks of red. “She will not take my crown from me. We must find our nearest sister before the sun rises.”
“And cut.”
Oh, no. It was going to be a long day.
I thought I’d only agreed to bake cakes?
Chapter Ten
When the shoot was finally over, I wish I’d stuck to my catering truck instead of even attempting the acting thing. And there was no way I was going to go home with my face covered in shimmering mermaid scales. For one, I knew my mom. She’d want to take a million photos before she let me shower, then post them all over Facebook for the entire world to see.
No way was I going to let that happen.
Thankfully, Sanjay had a bunch of makeup wipes that got rid of the worst of it, though my skin was still a bit bluer than normal.
Ivy had run off ahead to get the tubs from the catering truck, so we could take them all back home. I was going over my face one last time, until the skin turned pink.
“Oh, don’t rub so hard, sweetheart. You’ll break out," Sanjay said and put a manicured hand on my arm.
He has nicer nails than I do, I thought enviously, and smiled.
"You have no idea what our mother is like. Ivy will be sorry she didn’t cleanup when she gets home.”
Sanjay smiled. "We’ve got plenty footage of you today. But I understand what you mean. You remind me of myself, Olivia. You’re a behind-the-scenes kind of person. Not flamboyant and attention grabbing, the way Quinn was,” he said with a heavy sigh.
No one had ever spoken particularly kindly about her before, even after she’d died. So that made me blink. "Were you fond of Quinn?" I asked hesitantly.
Sanjay shrugged. "Fond is a strong word, but I understood her. You don’t know the kind of stress these actresses are under. Stay below a hundred pounds. Be a size zero. Look perfect a hundred percent of the time. Have all the latest fashions, because if they go out in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt it’s splashed all over the tabloids that they’re getting sloppy and lazy. It’s a ridiculous standard, especially considering male stars can gain all the weight they want and usually don’t get a lot of backlash for it," he said.
He had a point. Even though I didn’t much pay attention to tabloids or Hollywood culture, even I noticed that.
"So why did she keep at it, if it was so stressful?"
Sanjay threw his hands in the air and started organizing the make up on the vanity. "Oh, I’m sure you know what that’s like too. What if someone told you to stop running your tea shop one day. Would you do it?"
I opened my mouth and closed it. "No. But it is stressful," I admitted under my breath.
Sanjay laughed. "But you love it too much. I think that’s what Quinn was like. She loved it. The attention and everything. And you know what, I don’t want to sound crass, but I think she would have loved all the attention this is getting. Murder. You can’t buy those kinds of headlines!” A frown pulled at his lips. "Though, I don’t think she deserved it, poor thing. I can’t tell you how many times I had to give her cream to keep her eyes from getting puffy after all the crying she did. And that terrible marriage didn’t help," he said and shook his head.
Right. Clark Duncan. Suspect numero uno if there ever was one. I squeezed his arm. "Thank you. For realizing she was human and flawed not just a terrible person."
Sanjay gave me a sad smile and squeezed my hands. "You’re intuitive, just like me. Which means you can see below the surface things. And, you’re right. Even if Quinn didn’t always put on the politest face in public, she was just a poor, broken girl underneath. Kind of like Marilyn Monroe."
I nodded. Not sure I’d go that far with the comparison, but I saw where he was coming from.
It spurred me to march out there even faster.
Whoever killed Quintessence Lovejoy needed to be held accountable for their crime.
I ran into Ivy, halfway between the makeup truck and Unit Base. Her eyes were wide, and she had a smear on her cheek where she’d no doubt rubbed the makeup at some point after we finished shooting.
I shook my head. “I thought you’d wait for me at the truck."
"And let you walk alone around here? They already broke down the set and everything. Plus, you-know-who was wandering around," she said and dropped her voice to a grumble at the last part.
I raised an eyebrow. You-know-who? "Ohh, Clark Duncan?"
She nodded so quickly she looked like a bobble head on a dashboard. "Yeah, I didn’t want either of us to be alone with that sleaze."
She had a good point. "You know, Mom is gonna force you to take a million pictures before you take shower," I said and grinned at her.
A look of abject horror spread across her face. "Oh no, you’re right. I didn’t think of that. I just wanted to take a couple of selfies for a new profile pic. You think I can sneak past her?"
I shook my head. “I already called her. She’s gonna have half the town waiting out front just for you," I said and poked Ivy in her painted nose.
She slapped my hand away playfully. "You did not. I’ll bet you forgot your phone again," she said and hooked her arm in mine.
She was right, but I didn’t tell her that. And I mentally vowed to put it in my purse as soon as I got home.
We slowed as we approached the trailers. Crime scene tape surrounded Quinn’s, and my stomach turned to lead. Then, I glanced at Clark Duncan’s trailer. The light was on, and I heard voices inside.
I pursed my lips. "That reminds me, how can we prove Clark did it?"
"I thought you’re just going to tell Dean about it, and he’d do detective stuff," Ivy said and squeezed my arm.
Since I realized I didn’t have my phone, again, I hadn’t texted Dean yet. But I wasn’t sure he’d take our hint seriously unless we had something solid.
“Not yet. Clark has the best motive, but that doesn’t mean they could find proof he did it."
Ivy shrugged. "It has to be the husband. It’s always the husband."
"Really? You’re just saying that because it was Matthew last time. That doesn’t mean it’s the husband every single time."
Ivy straightened her shoulders. "My excellent investigative skills tell me that it is."
I snorted. "Okay, Inspector Gadget, but it’s still not proof."
I found myself slowing and heading toward his trailer. Ivy hesitated a bit, but since our arms were locked she fell in step beside me.
We both dropped our voices and hunched, sneaking around behind it.
“Go-go Gadget spying!” she hissed into my ear.
One of the far windows was cracked open, and we planted ourselves in the shadows underneath it.
Clark’s voice rose from inside. "Come on, sweetheart. This business doesn’t change anything. Not how I feel about you," he said, sounding as sleazy as ever.
Ivy shivered, and I understood why.
No way would we step foot in that trailer. Alone or together. Not without Dean at our side, at least.
The other voice was muffled and female. The only words I caught were: ‘affair’ and ‘can’t do this anymore.’
I raised an eyebrow at Ivy, who mirrored my expression. "He was having an affair too?" she whispered.
I shrugged. "Wouldn’t put it past him."
It seemed like they both had a vague and loose definition of marriage.
"I open doors for you, you know. No one would’ve hired you if it wasn’t for your little partner, Michael, and both of our connections in the industry. You can’t deny that," Clark said.
Who was he talking to in there?
He obviously liked to hit on women, and she wouldn’t be working here if it wasn’t for Clark’s connections? Was it that new actress—Cassandra Barnes?
Ivy’s mouth dropped open, and I stood a little straighter to see if I could hear the woman respond.
There was
nothing but a sharp laugh in return. And a muffled ‘yeah right.’
"You walk out of here and you can forget about your job," Clark said.
The woman obviously didn’t seem to care. After that, the trailer door flew open and slammed shut a moment later.
We scrambled and looked around the corner.
Sandra, the producer, stomped away, shoulders hunched against the cold and a scowl on her face.
Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
I was ready to run after Sandra, and see if she’d say anything about that particular conversation, when a phone rang from inside Clark Duncan’s trailer and he spoke again.
"Well, this is a surprise. Why exactly should I talk to you after what you did? Well, I guess I can thank you."
My blood ran as cold as ice, and Ivy dug her fingers into my shoulders.
"What, you’re not happy about this? Then why did you do it?" There was a moment of silence, then Clark Duncan laughed. “Well, we’ll see what the cops have to say about that."
The trailer door opened and shut again, and we watched him stalking off toward Unit Base.
I let out a long sigh. At least we wouldn’t run into him since Ivy already loaded the truck with the empty tubs.
"What was that about? It sounded like he was talking to the killer."
I nodded. "What if he hired someone to do it? Like a hitman or an assassin."
Ivy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Yes. There’s an episode of the Cat Psychic just like this. Someone hires an assassin to kill his wife, so it didn’t look like he did it. But the cat saw everything.”
"It seems like that with every episode of the show, right?"
Ivy shrugged. “I still think you should give it a chance."
Of course she did.
I did resolve to send Dean a detailed email of everything I’d heard as soon as I got home.
As we rounded the corner toward the parking lot, I spotted Sandra again. She stood half in an alley, and whoever she was talking to was draped in shadow.
My eavesdropping skills had been heightened the last few days, and I slowed my steps and tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to arouse suspicion.
"As far as I’m concerned, she’ll be better than Quinn ever was. You need to get over this and move on. The movie is gonna get made regardless. Everything’s gonna be fine," she said, her voice sounding softer than I’d ever heard it.
Usually she was snapping at people.
Whoever she was talking to didn’t respond verbally, and she leaned forward, her hands gripping them by the arms.
"You did great today. And you need to hold it together a little longer. No one’s gonna take this from us. I promise," she whispered the last bit and leaned up on her toes.
I looked away at the last minute, and saw Ivy still watching. I was sure she flushed, but under the makeup it was difficult to tell. Then, we passed through security.
We didn’t speak until we got to the truck. "Did she kiss someone?" I asked.
Ivy snorted. "She tried. They pulled away at the last minute, whoever it was. I didn’t see a face.”
I nodded and wondered if that mattered. "She didn’t tell him about that threat Clark Duncan made to her."
"Yeah, but I don’t see how a movie star can ruin a producer’s career. I mean, he’s big, but is he that powerful?"
I shrugged. He sure acted like it, but I had no idea if that was true or not.
When we got home, I realized I hadn’t asked Michael if I was supposed to make more cakes for the next day or not. Driving all the way back to set to find him wasn’t going to happen.
"After a shower, will you help me again?" I asked.
Ivy yawned and nodded. "Course. But you have to make sure Mom only takes a hundred thousand pictures and not a million."
I grinned. "Deal."
Chapter Eleven
"Did you text Dean last night?" Ivy asked around a yawn, as we drove to set the next morning. Mom had, thankfully, completed half of the baking again prior to us arriving home so we got to bed at a decent hour.
"No, I emailed him. Like a civilized person."
Ivy wrinkled her nose. "Civilized, or old?"
I gave her a brief scowl, but couldn’t linger as I had to keep my eyes on the road. As we drew close to the set however, I noticed something was wrong.
For one, it was crawling with even more police cars than it had the day Quinn died.
My heart leapt into my throat. "I bet he came and arrested Clark," I said and smiled.
Ivy grinned back, and I managed to find a parking space, though it was further back than I would’ve liked.
We both grabbed a load of tubs in our arms and carried them toward the catering truck.
Security waved us past, but a line of officers stood after them.
I stopped at one of them. “We’re the caterers, and our truck is right over there. What’s going on?"
The officer shook his head. "Sorry. It’s confidential at the moment," he said and kept his face stony.
However, he did let us pass.
Ivy snorted. "I went to school with that guy. Two grades younger, and he always acted kind of stuck up. So, don’t take it personally."
We got inside and could set everything down. I didn’t look forward to making a second trip, but it couldn’t be helped unless I could convince a few of the crew to help us. I was about to step outside and do just that, when Michael rushed by, his face an ashen mask—a far cry from his normally warm, olive complexion.
"Michael, what’s going on?" I asked and stepped out to intercept him.
He turned to me and blinked bloodshot eyes. His shoulders slouched, and he grabbed my hands and squeezed. Warm and calloused, like usual. “Olivia. You’re a sight for sore eyes. You brought all your stuff today? I should’ve called, sorry. I don’t think we’ll be able to get much shooting done."
“Why not? Oh, did they arrest Clark Duncan for Mary Jones’s murder?" Ivy said.
Michael’s mouth thinned into a line. "What? No. Something worse happened. Clark’s dead."
"What?" I breathed and glanced between him and Ivy.
Michael nodded quickly. "Yeah. Someone slit his throat in his trailer with a shard of glass. It looks like there was a scuffle and he banged his head into the mirror and—it’s not pretty."
If he hadn’t been holding my hands, I’m sure a stiff wind would have blown me over.
“But Clark is the one who killed Quinn. We were sure …” The words spilled out my mouth, and I clamped them shut and bit the inside of my cheek.
Michael didn’t seem to notice it was an outburst not intended for his ears. "Why would Clark want to kill Quintessence? They were getting a divorce."
"Because. He got all the money that way. He didn’t want to split it with her, so he stabbed her," Ivy said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She was broke, right?"
Michael finally released my hands and wiped a tear from his eye. "Quintessence may have had financial troubles, but she was getting that under control. She had a payment plan set up with the IRS, and I’ve seen the divorce papers. She wasn’t even going for half of Duncan’s money. Plus, he broke the rules just as much as she did according to their prenup," he said—his voice lowering into a growl.
"The cheating, you mean?" I asked and rubbed my arms.
Michael nodded toward the catering truck. “It’s cold. Let’s talk about this inside."
We all stepped inside the snug catering truck. There wasn’t a lot of room for two people to walk around in there, so three people standing was even more crowded. However, at least it was blessedly warm.
Michael ran his fingers through his hair and they twitched nervously. "Both my leads are dead. There’s no way we can finish the picture now," he said.
"You replaced Quinn. Can’t you do that with Duncan?" I asked and fetched a scone from one of the tubs. In a few seconds, I had a dollop of raspberry jam and clotted cream on it, just like Michael liked it.
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He gave me a faint smile as I handed it to him, and he chewed absently while staring into space.
Ivy and I let him eat while we tidied up the catering truck. I wasn’t sure if we should unload if they weren’t going to be needing our services that day. I didn’t bother asking what else was running through my head. It was a bit selfish to demand full payment for only a few days of work—after all.
"It was written in Quinn’s contract that she could be replaced if something happened. Not murder—just if she fell off the wagon again," he said with a heavy sigh. "It was supposed to be a secret, but I guess it doesn’t matter now."
"There was nothing about replacing Clark Duncan?" I asked.
Ivy snatched a cupcake from one of the other tubs and took a bite out of it.
I did the same. The bile turning in my stomach needed something to keep it at bay.
"That’s the thing. The investors wanted Clark Duncan on this picture more than they wanted Quintessence.” He shrugged. "Listen, I’m really sorry about this whole mess. I was really excited to have you on board and now …” His voice trailed off and he turned to the door.
“We’ll stick around for a bit, if that’s alright." I said.
Michael nodded and stepped out.
Ivy licked a dollop of chocolate frosting from her top lip. "You know what this means? Our lead suspect is dead.”
I nodded. "And Adam isn’t. But, how is he connected to Clark Duncan?"
Ivy’s eyes lit up. "I don’t know. I know how we can find out. But, there might be a slight problem.”
My gut clenched. “And what is that?”
“It involves a crime scene.”
Chapter Twelve
“Well, what should we do?” I asked, throwing the cupcake wrapper into the trash.
Ivy still hadn’t finished hers, and she continued to eat in silence, her eyes occasionally fluttering to meet mine. She’d looked around the truck again. Her mouth opened but snapped shut.
“Ivy!” I tapped her forehead. “Are there any ideas left in there at all?”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking … I got nothing. Maybe one more cupcake.”
