Murder on the Movie Set

by Sandi Scott

  "Shut up and help me find a place for us to hide," Georgie ordered.

  Bending low, they hobbled through the long grass and trees to an area away from the rest of the movie crew and sets, looking for any random trailers that were alone and unguarded.

  “What are you thinking?” Aleta pulled her hand away. “We can’t go in there. It’s probably locked.”

  “Well, we can either try our luck, or take our chances with Mr. Eleven Toes.”

  “I’m not going in there.”

  Georgie’s shoulders shrugged and her arms fell to her sides.

  “Fine. Hide here.” She pointed underneath a huge tire where a small black space showed between the grass and the bottom of the vehicle.

  “What?”

  “Quick. You’re thinner than I am and can squeeze underneath there.”

  "Where are you going to go?" Aleta slipped down to her knees and started to scoot backward on her belly underneath the trailer.

  Georgie pointed to the door of the trailer and smiled madly.

  “You’re crazy!” Aleta harshly snapped.

  Refusing to look behind her Georgie quickly climbed the steps and held her breath as she pulled the handle on the door.

  CLICK.

  It opened.

  Without hesitating she stepped into the cool, dark trailer and gently pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Don’t freak out, Georgie. You’ve done this before. You were just in Ryn’s trailer and didn’t get caught. You can do the same thing. No one’s even looking for you in here.”

  As she looked around, she saw stacks and stacks of papers on almost every flat surface—scripts. Every single one of them was a script!

  “The Movement by Clark Seems, Polly McGuire Has a Lover by Dean Harold, Star Bridge by Carmen Leoni—this has to be Robbie Dodson’s trailer.”

  Her luck couldn’t have been any better. The man must have been terribly overwhelmed to have scripts thrust at him from all sides by every crackpot with a laptop.

  "Some don't even have that," she muttered as she picked up a handwritten script—"The Dead Know the Truth: The Life and Times of Lawrence Pickle—by Lawrence Pickle. Wow, that one really sounded like a winner.

  Suddenly, there was the sound of voices outside the door.

  “I don’t care. You need to deal with it.” It was Robbie. “I can’t be bothered with breaches in the security of a location site.”

  As stealthily as possible, Georgie made her way to the bedroom and tried to close the door. It was one of those doors that slid inside the wall and it would not budge—not without making a racket and giving her away, that is.

  With a dry mouth and trembling fingers, she retreated further back into the room and slipped into a closet. She hoped Robbie wouldn't feel the need to change his shirt or take a nap.

  "Telly. It's Robbie." She heard him say. Obviously, he was talking on the phone. "Yeah, it's been hectic, but things are moving along. Hey, I was wondering if you've given any more thought to what we talked about?"

  Georgie leaned toward the door to listen closer.

  “Yeah. I know it’s a lot of money, but—” Robbie’s voice was agitated.

  “Telly, you’ve got to listen to me. This isn’t like last time. You’ll get your money back. This one is a sure thing. Well, I know there’s no such thing as a sure thing, but you know what I mean. No. Telly, please! Yes. Of course, but ... right. No. Okay. But Telly that’s not going to work. I can’t do that.”

  Georgie listened.

  “Telly, I don’t know how much longer I can wait? This will affect everything and...wait...Telly? Telly?”

  If Georgie hadn't assumed Robbie got hung up on, his reaction certainly made it clear. With the force of a rogue gorilla, he threw the phone against the wall and knocked several stacks of scripts to the floor. His voice gurgled like a man possessed and he swore for what seemed like several minutes.

  When he finally stopped, Georgie could hear him panting like he’d just run up seven flights of stairs after smoking a pack of cigarettes—then the swearing started.

  In the other room, Georgie looked around. It was a mess. Clothes were all over the floor, a couple of dirty dishes, Georgie counted three empty liquor bottles— that she could see. Looking toward the bathroom that was off to the right of the room, Georgie could see a handful of yellow prescription bottles as well.

  As she waited, her heart leaped into her throat and stopped beating when she heard his angry growls and stomping footsteps coming in her direction. There was nowhere to hide. She couldn't move fast enough. Squeezing her eyes shut Georgie waited for him to walk in and catch her. The weight of his footsteps felt like they were shaking the entire vehicle, but before he burst into the bedroom and discovered his intruder, there was a knock on the door. Georgie recognized the voice.

  "I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Dodson," Aleta stated nervously, "but I was sent to tell you that you are needed at the log cabin scene."

  “Who are you?” He snapped.

  "My name is Coral Steinmeyer. I'm with Craft Service."

  “Why are they sending you to tell me? Where’s Cassandra or Tom?”

  There was no answer.

  To that, Robbie answered with another flurry of swear words and foot stomping. To Georgie’s relief, she heard him bang open the trailer door and leave. Before Georgie could do anything else, the front door opened again.

  "Georgie!" Aleta hissed into the trailer. Without hesitation, Georgie sprang up as quickly as she could and dashed toward where Aleta was standing half inside, half outside the trailer. She was frantically waving her hands for Georgie to get out of there. Before Georgie made it to the door, though, something caught her eye.

  There was a trashcan on the floor, just a small wicker thing with a plastic bag wrapped neatly around the top like they have at hotels. Inside, in addition to another empty pill bottle, was a couple of wadded up Kleenex, some dried leaves, and a book—Herbal Drugs, Phytomedicines, and Poisons. Georgie grabbed the bag from the trash, ran to her sister, took her hand and they both dashed back to Aleta’s car.

  Chapter 15

  "What are you talking about, Stan? Don't you think this is enough proof?" She shook the book in front of her ex-husband. It was still in the plastic garbage bag. Georgie knew about contamination and didn't want her fingerprints on anything.

  “I’m not talking about what can be considered proof, or not, right now.” He leaned on his desk and folded his hands. “You illegally snuck into Robbie Dodson’s trailer, snooped around, and found this book that you think is the last nail in the coffin of this case. What I’m saying is that how in the world will we get a jury to understand you are just a busybody with a knack for sniffing out crimes to solve instead of a deviant woman looking to pin a crime on some innocent dude?”

  “Who in their right mind would think I was capable of such things?” Georgie tugged the collar of her shirt. “I’m an artist.”

  “Yeah, I know that, and you know that, but a jury only needs reasonable doubt—and you provide plenty of that,” Stan smiled wryly at her.

  “So, what are you going to do? I’m at the end of my rope. I can’t go back to the lot, they’ll chase me out with torches and pitchforks. Aleta can’t go by herself, especially with Dustin Stetson and his eleven toes roaming around the lot.”

  “That’s gross.” Stan wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s just an extra toe.” Georgie was exasperated, “It’s not like he has a third eye or something.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Stan pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his desk and snapped them on. Casually, he began to flip through the herbalist book. He stopped on a page that was dog-eared with several passages underlined. His eyebrows furrowed on closer inspection of the book.

  “What is it?” Georgie asked eagerly as she leaned forward.

  "Well, aconite has been underlined, the page was marked, and there are notes scribbled along the ends of the page." He grimaced. "It says here that aconit
e is some kind of poisonous buttercup—well, isn't that something—and in the margins, it says add to salad.”

  “I noticed that Lorelei added edible flowers to some of her dishes. Anyone not knowing what they were eating would just assume any flower was an edible one. Plus, in a salad, who is going to see every little piece of vegetation clearly. That makes sense.” Georgie quickly took a seat in front of Stan’s desk. “Jason Hobbs didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He probably ate salads every day. All Robbie would have had to do was bring him his meal and it’s ‘Bon Appetit’.”

  “Bon Appetit?” Stan snickered.

  “Can you do an autopsy? I thought there was a way for you to tell their last meal and what toxins are in their blood?”

  “Georgie, you really creep me out sometimes with your interest in all things gory,” Stan grimaced.

  “Well, you shouldn’t let it bother you. It’s why I was able to marry you in the first place.” She put her hand on her hip and squared her shoulders back.

  Stan pushed himself back from his desk. He was wearing blue jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up again. The smirk on his face could convince an Eskimo she was running low on ice. Georgie cleared her throat and looked back at him as if he were nothing more than a plain potted plant, or maybe a lamp.

  Stan picked up the phone without taking his eyes off Georgie. He only looked down for a second to dial and then his gaze locked on her again. She rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, Peters. Detective Toons here. Jason Hobbs. Yeah, I’ll need an autopsy done. We’re looking for a poison in his system. That should be okay. Let me spell it for you.”

  Stan gave the coroner instructions to remove Jason Hobbs' body from the fridge and get to work. He was to call as soon as he found anything, or even if he came up empty-handed.

  "So, what are your plans tonight?" Stan asked as he began to unroll his sleeves. "Have you eaten? Maybe we could get a bite?"

  Georgie narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously at her ex-husband.

  “What’s the catch?” She asked cautiously.

  “No catch. I just thought you might like to come back to the movie set with me. We could have dinner at the Craft Service station and find a few minutes to talk to the director.”

  “So, you do think it might be him?” Georgie asked eagerly.

  “That was a very good impersonation of Peter Lorre you did right there,” Stan teased. “I think it’s worth looking into.”

  Georgie clapped and bounced on her toes.

  Before long they were on the dirt road heading toward the movie set. Even though it was after seven o’clock at night the place was lit up brightly, people were still working, and there was just as much life as if it was starting time at eight a.m.

  “I don’t need to tell you that I’ll do all the talking, right?” Stan asked as he climbed out of the driver’s side of the car.

  “Of course not,” Georgie gasped. “I’d never dream of trying to usurp the law.”

  “How long have you been waiting to use that word?”

  “Everyone knows what usurp means. You are really a stone’s throw away from being a caveman. You know that, don’t you?”

  Stan chuckled as they approached the set.

  “Miss Kaye?” Cassandra Paine nearly gasped as if she saw a ghost. “I’m sorry but you are no longer allowed on the lot. You received your daily pass, and then some. If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll have no choice but to call the police,” she scolded as she looked toward a group of stagehands, Max being in that group, and scowled.

  "Relax, Miss Paine," Stan grumbled while flashing his badge. "Ms. Kaye will be staying with me. I need to see Robbie Dodson. Can you tell me where I can find him?"

  Cassandra looked suspiciously at Georgie.

  “Well, I still need to know what this is all about. We can’t have people interrupting shoots just because they feel like it. I mean—”

  “It’s regarding the possible murder of Jason Hobbs.”

  Georgie watched Cassandra’s face go white.

  "Murder?" She mumbled. She pressed her headset to her ear to hear. "Clyde, is Robbie in his trailer?" She looked nervously at Stan, and then Georgie.

  She nodded her head then looked at Stan, pinching her lips together.

  “He’s in his trailer. If you walk past the production designs and then down by—”

  “I know where it is,” Georgie interrupted. “This way.” She began to march in the direction Cassandra had attempted to tell them.

  Before they could knock on the door, a very nervous looking assistant making notes on his iPad stepped aside for a very angry Robbie Dodson to come barreling down the steps of his trailer.

  “What is this all about?” Robbie snapped. He was drenched in sweat and his eyes were sunken inside dark circles.

  “Mr. Dodson, I know we spoke a few days ago. I just wanted to ask you a few follow-up questions.” Stan flashed his badge.

  "I already told you everything I know," Robbie replied.

  “You’ve been very accommodating, Mr. Dodson. I do appreciate that,” Stan soothed.

  “I don’t know what you think I could possibly add. I mean, I already told you everything. Nothing has changed. Unless Jason is back on his feet again,” Robbie chuckled nervously. “The guy didn’t rise from the dead or something, did he?”

  “No, but we did find trace amounts of a poison in his system,” Stan lied. Georgie knew they hadn’t gotten the autopsy done. It probably hadn’t even been started. Nevertheless, she studied Robbie’s face and there it was. A person didn’t need to be a body language expert to see that wince as a telltale admission of guilt. Well, maybe not guilt, Georgie thought, but certainly some culpability.

  “Poison?” Robbie choked. “That’s queer.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of poisons or herbs or flowers or anything like that, Robbie?” Stan asked patiently.

  “I make movies, detective. I don’t have time for slipping poisons into someone’s food,” Robbie snickered.

  “How did you know it was in his food?” Stan asked, like he was speaking to a child.

  “I just assumed,” Robbie laughed nervously. “Isn’t that usually how you poison someone?”

  “I don’t know? I never poisoned anyone,” Stan replied. His eyes were bright and sharp as he stared at Robbie.

  “Well, I can assure you that I never poisoned anyone either.”

  “I never said you did. You are the one who suggested Jason’s food was poisoned.”

  “That was just a guess. I have no idea how he was poisoned.”

  “But you do think he was poisoned?” Stan was relentless.

  “You said he was." Robbie looked wild-eyed like a mouse cornered by a cat. His chest was heaving and the sweat started to shine across his forehead. "You said you found poison in his system."

  “You’re right,” Stan concurred. “We also found this in your trailer.”

  Stan pulled out the herbal dictionary wrapped in a protective plastic evidence bag.

  “What were you doing in my trailer?” Robbie muttered.

  "Is this your book? It appears to have some extensive notes in it and some very interesting passages underlined. Have you ever heard of aconite? It's a poison that could easily be slipped into someone's food. Practically untraceable. Kicks the victim like only a heart attack can. Now, what are the chances of that being what was found in the autopsy report and a book with that underlined, with notes in your handwriting, in your trailer? That's queer, right?"

  Robbie began to tremble.

  “Okay,” Stan soothed. “Okay, Robbie.”

  The assistant stepped back, his hand over his mouth as he watched the situation unfold.

  Stan put his hand gently on Robbie’s shoulder and helped him take a seat on the trailer steps.

  "Just tell me what happened. It'll be okay." He knelt down next to Robbie. For over half an hour they talked, Robbie sounding like a broken sinner confessing to a compassionate pr
iest. Georgie kept her distance and watched. At the end of their conversation, Stan stood up and called for reinforcements. He slipped a pair of handcuffs on Robbie, quietly read him his rights, and led him inside his trailer to await their police escort out of sight of most of the film crew.

  When the uniformed officers arrived, they greeted Georgie. Everyone on the force knew her as Stan’s ex-wife and dear friend. Without flashing lights or mobs of reporters they quietly ushered Robbie Dodson to their vehicles. Before the news spread over the lot, Robbie was on his way to the police station to be charged with the murder of Jason Hobbs.

  “Are you okay?” Georgie asked Stan when they finally got into his car to head back home.

  “Yeah. It’s just sad to see.”

  “What did he tell you?” Georgie quietly asked.

  “That guy is a broken man. He said that Jason Hobbs was his last hope at getting this film made, but the guy made it impossible.”

  “Impossible how?”

  “According to Robbie, he was constantly making changes, altering the scenes, and cutting dialogue to add other bits of dialogue. He would insist on filming at certain times, but then change his mind and postpone things for a couple hours. Robbie felt like he was working for Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he deserves to be murdered!”

  “No, it doesn’t. But a desperate man will resort to desperate measures to get what he wants. Robbie Dodson wanted to be back in the blockbuster business. The only route there was through Jason Hobbs and Jason reminded Robbie of that every chance he got. The pressure was just too much.”

  “Robbie must have really thought this through. I mean to hunt down a toxic flower and slip it into Jason’s food is a pretty intricate method for murder.”

  "Yeah," Stan mumbled. "Those Hollywood types might be loony in the head, but they are fanatical about their bodies. Jason was no different. His obsession about eating only organic, cage-free, natural stuff made Robbie think the best thing would be to poison his food. He said so. He figured that if the guy did cocaine or drank, he would have had an easier time and, probably, would have gotten away with it. I concurred."