I narrowed my eyes in a scowl.
As he left, Jackson glanced at me, a smirk on his face.
“Not a word,” I warned.
He crossed his arms. “You’re not going to be able to leave this alone, are you?”
I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I looked down. It was a text from Alistair.
He wanted all of us back on set.
Now.
“Death to the one who seeks to oppress us and benefit only himself!” someone yelled in the distance.
It was one of the pirates. But his words stayed with me.
Generally, people killed because of betrayal, vengeance, or to eliminate a threat. Which one of those fit Bucky’s death?
If I could figure that out, maybe I could figure out who killed him.
Maybe me and my grandson Jackson could.
Chapter Twelve
“Crazy everything that happened, huh?” Mindy powdered my nose as I awaited my turn in front of the camera. We’d apparently been cleared to use part of the beach again. “Crazy and disturbing.”
“Definitely,” I agreed. “Too many things are going wrong here.”
“You can say that again.” Sarah joined us, hugging a clipboard to her chest and wearing a frown. “I can’t afford for filming to be shut down.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My pay here barely covers my student loans.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “I hope my cashflow will get better as I become more experienced.”
In a few minutes, we’d begin filming again. I knew Alistair had to be relieved that he would be able to accomplish something today, given our tight schedule.
As we geared up to begin production, I glanced at Jackson from my spot near the ocean and frowned. I was so thrilled he had come to see me and that I could spend time with him. But I hated the fact that I couldn’t really spend time with him.
Mostly Jackson would be sitting in a chair behind the cameras, watching everything that happened while silently proclaiming to be my Stud Muffin. I loved him even more for being willing to sit around, bored to tears, just so he could be with me.
As I watched, Eva approached Jackson wearing a low-cut shirt and tight jeans. I must have scowled as I watched them.
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Sarah whispered, following my gaze. “She only likes people who can advance her career.”
Comforting . . . maybe. But there was something about the woman that made me not trust her. I tried to put it out of my mind and gear myself up for filming.
As I continued watching everyone around me, I saw Washington emerge from his trailer. He crumpled as he trudged across the sand.
“What’s going on with Washington?” I asked, my gaze following him. “He looks like he got bad news or something.”
“Rumor has it he has a drinking problem,” Sarah whispered.
“Really?” I stored that information in the back of my mind.
Alistair called, “Action,” and Washington began reciting his lines. He had two pages of dialogue where he talked on the phone to someone unseen.
As the crew focused on him, I scanned everyone around me. I remembered what Cassidy said about someone who was a part of this cast or crew being responsible for Bucky’s death—if it had been malicious.
While I still held the belief it could be a pirate, I also understood that Bucky’s death mimicked the scene from yesterday’s fake script.
Could someone I worked with be a killer? I repressed a shudder.
I didn’t want to think that anyone I knew and trusted could be responsible. Then again, how many of these people did I really know?
I had worked with Alistair before. I had met Eva twice. I had been briefly introduced to Washington at a press event. But, mostly, all these people were new to me.
I felt a certain level of comradery with them because we were all working on this film together. But it didn’t mean they could all be trusted.
I knew that better than anybody. This was a cutthroat business. People whom you thought were friends weren’t necessarily your friends. People in my line of business liked to look out for themselves.
Washington George? I didn’t know a lot about the man. But Sarah said he turned into a different person when he drank, that he had a tendency to fly off the handle.
Mindy? Right now, she stood by so she could powder our noses when needed. The girl seemed too sweet to do anything nefarious.
My gaze went back to Alistair again.
Alistair . . . he had a large personality, a self-centered disposition, and he was known for his emotional tirades. Still, I couldn’t see why he would kill a pirate and leave him in the lighthouse.
Unless it was to possibly get more attention for this upcoming movie?
Because some people did believe that bad publicity was good publicity, and something like this would definitely get attention. But why send out an altered script? That had to be connected to this crime, right? It was the only thing that made sense to me.
And then there were those numbers on the paper found in Bucky’s pocket. My name had been on the paper. How did that fit with all of this? It just didn’t make any sense.
The next person my gaze fell on was Rick. I’d only talked with him a couple times, but he seemed nice, and he seemed knowledgeable about his job. I supposed I didn’t really know enough about him to determine if he had the motive, means, or opportunity to kill Bucky.
Sarah was just out of college and worked for little to no pay. I suppose she could be responsible, but I had no idea why she would do anything like this.
I supposed anybody could be responsible, and I could be poring over suspects for days and days.
Not that anyone had asked me to pore over suspects. In fact, it was quite the opposite. People had asked me not to pore over the suspects. But my mind just couldn’t help it.
“Joey!” Alistair shouted. “It’s your line! Aren’t you paying attention?” He snapped his fingers. “I need everything you’ve got right now. We have no time to waste. This is no time to stare off into space!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Alistair,” I said.
Someone gasped nearby.
“I’ll get my knickers in a twist if I want to,” Alistair stepped closer. “Do you understand?”
I was many things . . . but I wasn’t afraid of Alistair. “Twisted knickers aren’t a good look on you. A nice sequined pantsuit might do you better.”
Someone snickered.
Alistair stared at me, derision in his gaze.
Before he could respond, I flashed a smile. “Now, back to filming, right?”
He stepped back. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Your Majesty? That sounded an awful lot like what someone who might have called me a diva would say. Was Alistair the one who’d leaked information for that article?
I snapped back into character and stared off into the distance.
“Betrayal is like a game of roulette in which no one wins,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
I shuddered.
Why did that statement sound so threatening right now?
Just before seven, Alistair released us from filming. He would’ve kept us longer, but the sun had set and he needed daylight in order to film the scenes. I, for one, was happy to call it quits for the day.
As the crew began packing up, I started toward my trailer. Washington and Eva had already left. The last few scenes had been just me, talking to my imaginary friend.
I was exhausted. Partly because I hadn’t slept last night. However, being out in the sun and on my feet for hours, and working with Alistair, when put together, left me feeling as bushed as a chicken on a treadmill.
When I’d initially read the script—well, read was a strong word. It was more like I’d skimmed it—I thought it seemed decent. But now that we were really diving into it, I wondered what this would do for my career.
It wasn’t my normal action
-packed adventure. No, the scenes were slow. The dialogue was heavy. The twist . . . well, I still wasn’t sure what to think about the twist. People would either love it or hate it.
This film will be the death of you.
Was that literal or figurative?
I knew it was too late to get out of this. I had signed a contract and agreed to do the film. So I needed to carry it out. But I wasn’t happy with the way things were progressing.
Jackson rose to join me but paused on the steps to my RV. “I’ll wait out here.”
“I won’t be long,” I told him.
I stepped into my trailer and walked over to my dresser so I could change out of my costume. A strange paper sat on top of the wood there.
I paused, almost not wanting to know what it was. But I couldn’t stop myself from picking it up—while only holding the corner with a tissue, of course.
I blinked at what I saw there.
It was a picture of me, dressed as Drusilla. Below the photo were the words, “A picture of a dead woman.”
Chapter Thirteen
After transforming back into Joey, I put the threatening picture into my purse and met Jackson outside. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the lighthouse and beach behind him. He was a very nice distraction from all the bad things that had happened.
At the moment, he struck me as someone who could be in the scene of a very romantic movie. He could easily be a swoon-worthy hero waiting to sweep someone off her feet. I loved it even more that he wasn’t the Hollywood type. He was so grounded in reality that I halfway expected Julie Chen to show up and give commentary on his life.
Jackson’s eyes lit when he saw me. That was something worthy of a movie itself. There was nothing like seeing that look of love in his eyes. It never failed to warm me through and through.
He stepped closer and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Are you ready to go?”
“Wherever you’re going sounds like a good place to be,” I told him.
He grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”
We climbed into his truck. He cranked the engine, but we just sat there for a moment. I could see the last remains of dusk in the distance, and it was beautiful with its muted gray and pink.
I could watch this all day. Especially with Jackson.
I almost didn’t want to bring up the picture that had been left on my dresser. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. But I knew I couldn’t keep this information from him.
I frowned as I pulled the paper from my purse. “This was left in my trailer.”
His eyes widened as he looked at it. “You just found this?”
I nodded.
His expression darkened. “Someone was in your trailer. I don’t like that.”
“Me neither. But it seems to confirm your theory that someone in this cast or crew is involved.”
“You didn’t see anyone lingering around it, did you?”
“I didn’t.”
Silence fell for a minute.
“Should I tell the police?” I finally asked.
“Of course. Speaking of which, you might have the perfect opportunity. I know this is kind of last minute, but Chief Chambers—or Cassidy, as she told me to call her—asked if we wanted to do dinner with her and her husband tonight.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“I think so too. We don’t know each other well, but it would be fun to get to know her. You know law enforcement—we’re all one big family sometimes.”
Staying occupied would keep me out of trouble and stop me from running around town looking for answers and clues that I wasn’t supposed to be hunting. That seemed like a good idea to me.
“Okay, great. Do you need to go back to your place and get changed?”
I glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt I wore. Normally I would want to put on some fresh makeup and maybe even fix my hair. But, for some strange reason, I felt okay looking like I did.
Maybe dressing up like Drusilla Fairweather was teaching me a few things about the importance of working on character makeovers rather than physical transformations.
“No, I think I’m fine going like I am.”
“I think you’re beautiful, however you look.”
“Warts and all?”
He grinned. “Warts and all.”
“So, Joey,” Cassidy said over dinner, “I have to say, I love your TV show, Relentless. I’m not much on watching TV, nor do I really have a lot of time. But that is one series that I’ve binge watched.”
Cassidy grabbed a roll from the center of the table as we sat outside on the deck, a nice ocean breeze floating around us. Their dog, Kujo, a golden retriever, sat beside us and made me miss Ripley. Ripley was Jackson’s Australian shepherd. A friend from the police station was taking care of him while Jackson was here.
A surge of satisfaction rose in me at Cassidy’s words. She said she loved my show.
I was proud of my work on Relentless. That was a good thing since I’d dedicated years of my life to it. “Thanks. I love hearing that.”
“She’s telling the truth,” her husband, Ty, said. “I’ve never seen her so addicted to a TV show.”
He cast Cassidy a glance that was clearly full of love and adoration. I could practically see cartoon hearts floating between them. It was sweet.
The two of them lived in a little cottage right on the ocean. The place was nothing fancy. But they’d recently done some upgrades and added some cabanas at the back of their property. A welcoming, homey vibe surrounded us.
I’d learned that Cassidy’s husband, Ty, was a former Navy SEAL, and he had started an organization here called Hope House for wounded veterans and military. He sponsored the participants to come here and helped facilitate their inner healing. It was a noble calling.
I loved being here this evening. Moments like these were what I wanted for my life—simple moments sharing a meal, enjoying the weather, and spending time with interesting people. Cassidy and Ty seem like the perfect people to do it with. They were both welcoming and kind, and there was nothing not to like about them.
It was nice also because Jackson and Cassidy could talk their police work stuff. Ty interjected, sharing his experiences as a SEAL. I listened to everything, putting a mental “research” stamp on it all.
But, just as I hoped, as Ty pulled out coffee and blueberry cheesecake, the conversation turned to what was going on here on the island right now—the death of Bucky Belching.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Jackson started. “Are there any updates on the case?”
I’d never been so proud. I’d so been hoping somebody would bring it up.
Cassidy took a sip of her coffee before saying, “I’ve been looking into it all day and talking to people and trying to piece together what happened in the moments leading up to his death.”
“Did you discover his real name yet?” I asked, before taking another bite of my cheesecake. The creamy, sugary goodness practically melted on my tongue.
As Cassidy set her mug on the table and leaned back, Ty draped his arm around the back of her chair, creating an idyllic picture.
A picture that I wanted for my own future.
The two of them just seemed so settled and happy. Would this ever be Jackson and me?
“No, it’s strange,” Cassidy said. “This guy had no driver’s license or credit cards. His fingerprints weren’t in the system. Even his car belongs to someone up in New Jersey. The owner apparently is out of the country, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”
“How about his personal belongings?” Jackson asked. “Any leads there?”
“That’s the other strange thing,” Cassidy said. “It almost seems as if someone came, grabbed all his things, and got rid of them. There’s a chance they could have been dumped in the ocean and we’ll never find them.”
“Sounds like you’ve dealt with stuff like this before.” I pulled my sweater around my shoulders as the breeze turned cooler.
&nb
sp; “Unfortunately, I have.”
“Is there anything you can share about Corky?” I asked. “Were you able to look into him?”
She picked up her phone and showed me a picture of the man. “Here he is. Real name is Terry Keeling. He had an alibi for the evening.”
I stared at the picture a moment. I was pretty sure Corky Keelhauler was the man I’d earlier referred to as Blackbeard. He’d been part of the mob that had stormed the set.
Cassidy paused. “Joey, is there anybody on set that you can think of who might want to sabotage things?”
“I’ve been thinking about that all day, to be truthful,” I told them. “I mean, I suppose if you dig deeply enough, anybody could have a motive.”
“So you haven’t seen anybody fighting or arguing?” Cassidy asked. “Nothing specific?”
I remembered what Mindy told me about Eva and Alistair being an item. Remembered Washington’s drinking problem. Were either of those things significant? I had no idea. I wasn’t even sure I should bring it up. Both things were hearsay.
“There’s really nothing that I know of,” I finally told her. “But if I learn anything, you’ll be the first one I tell.”
Cassidy straightened. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Tell her about the picture,” Jackson said.
Cassidy cast a curious look at me. “Picture?”
After a moment of hesitation, I pulled it from my purse. I’d left the tissue with it, just in case there were prints. “This was left for me.”
“Who is that a picture of?” Ty asked.
“That’s me. In character.”
He squinted before nodding and letting out an indiscernible grunt.
I really needed to get used to that reaction.
“I’ll test this for fingerprints,” Cassidy said.
I nodded. But all I could see were the words “dead woman.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jackson and I climbed back into his truck after dinner. It was ten o’clock, and I was beat. But I was really glad that we had gone over to the Chambers’s place. It had been good to talk to Cassidy and Ty, and, for a moment, it had felt like Jackson and I were a normal couple with a normal life on a normal outing.
Joke and Dagger Page 7
