by Zara Keane
“Absolutely none.” I was careful to keep my tone neutral. Rita was a gossip, and I had no desire for her to pick up on the current tension between my sister and me.
The woman tilted her chin down and frowned at the newspaper. “That’s a shame. I’m hoping to get picked for the wedding scenes they’re filming out on Dolphin Island.”
“Have they confirmed the dates yet?” Lenny asked, visibly perking up. “Last I heard, they were waiting for the weather report.”
“The weather’s due to improve over the weekend. The film crew will be shooting tomorrow through Sunday.” Rita exhaled in a dramatic sigh. “I have a three-day weekend. It’d be perfect timing for me, but I guess I’ll just have to keep checking my phone for news.”
“I imagine everyone involved with the film is pleased the outdoor scenes are finally getting the green light,” Lenny remarked. “They finished shooting the indoor scenes in the Belfast studio weeks ago.”
The lousy summer had delayed the filming of the outdoor scenes for Wedding Belles. Instead of the early June start they’d planned, the cast and crew had just begun trickling onto the island. My sister had been one of the first arrivals. She’d moved into a luxury suite at the Whisper Island Hotel ten days ago. I’d left a message on her voicemail, but she hadn’t bothered to return my call. Stung by her rejection, I hadn’t bothered to make a second one. It seemed the tentative truce we’d established over the Christmas holidays was at an end.
“What about Eliza?” Rita demanded, inadvertently reading my thoughts. “Can’t she put in a good word? After all, she’s practically one of us.”
I sucked in my cheeks in an effort not to laugh. Eliza Donati, born plain Beth Doyle, would be horrified at the idea of being considered a native Whisper Islander. We’d spent several summers here during our childhood. Whereas I’d loved my time in Ireland, Beth had hated every second of those vacations. She’d spent most of the time complaining about the food, the weather, and the general un-Americanness of Whisper Island and its inhabitants.
“It’s her first movie role,” I prevaricated. “I imagine she’s crazy busy learning her lines.”
“But maybe she—” Rita began, but Lenny interrupted her.
“I’ll take Maggie into the waiting room. She’s pretty shaken up after her fall.”
Rita cast another horrified look at my hair. “I can see that. Go on, then. I’ll give you a shout when it’s your turn, Maggie.”
“Thanks, Rita.” Lenny tugged me in the direction of the waiting room.
I stopped short at the entrance. “There’s no need for you to hang around.”
“Oh, I’m staying. What if you need to go to the hospital on the mainland?”
“I can take a cab to the ferry,” I replied, “and another from the ferry to the hospital.”
“Noreen will have my head if I abandon you. Besides—” he lowered his voice, so Rita wasn’t able to listen in, “—you haven’t finished telling me about your visitor.”
I surveyed the waiting room. It was jam-packed with patients. Thankfully, Theresa wasn’t one of them. “It’s pretty crowded. Not sure now’s the moment to finish that story.”
“Hey, Lenny.” Geroid O’Sullivan, Lenny’s grandfather’s best friend and a regular customer at the Movie Theater Café, squinted at us over his copy of the Whisper Island Gazette. “Is that Maggie with you? What’s she wearing?”
“Clothes.” I glanced down at my crazy pants. “Of a sort.”
Geroid’s wheezy laugh turned into a coughing fit. “I’m used to seeing Lenny looking like a walking freak show,” he said when he’d recovered, “but you don’t usually join in with his costume capers.”
“She auditioned for the film, Geroid,” shouted an elderly lady seated next to the vending machine. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Actually—” I began but was interrupted by several people peppering me with questions about the movie. My shoulders sagged under the barrage of questions, and my aching wrist made it hard for me to discern one speaker from another. The words melded into a persistent buzz.
Eventually, Dolly O’Brien, owner of The Cupcake Café, waved her copy of the Gazette in the air and raised her voice above the din. “Is it true the last round of extras for the wedding scenes will be announced this evening? I have my phone on all the time in case I miss a message.”
“No clue.” I directed a desperate mental appeal at Lenny, willing him to come up with an escape plan.
“Do you know when they’ll start shooting the scenes at the hotel?” Geroid demanded. “I’m here to get my hemorrhoids fixed so I’m ready to dance.”
I shuddered. “Thanks for that mental image. Now I need mind bleach.”
“Did you hear Julie and Günter will fly back from their trip early if they get picked for the scenes at the hotel?” Dolly demanded. My cousin and her German boyfriend had wisely escaped our terrible Irish summer. Instead of languishing in the rain, they’d gone to Italy for a cycling trip.
“That’s dedication,” I said, looking around for a free seat, preferably far away from everyone else. “I didn’t know they’d applied to be extras.” Not that the news surprised me. My cousin had talked nonstop about the movie shoot during the last Movie Club meeting. Günter had seemed less enthusiastic but willing to indulge Julie’s obsession.
“And Philomena said she’ll fly home from Lanzarote if she gets picked,” Dolly added. “She’s disgusted that John booked their trip during the film shoot. Isn’t that just like a man?”
“The crew will be shooting until the end of August,” I reminded her. “And they’re giving priority to islanders for the extra parts. There’s plenty of time for all of them to get in on the action.”
Dolly’s expression grew serious. “I hope having a film crew on the island will mean an uptick in business. So far, this summer’s been brutal.”
A chorus of agreements followed this statement.
“Do you think Eliza would pose for photos in front of local businesses, Maggie?” Dolly batted lashes so long that they had to be false. “And maybe other members of the cast? The pictures would be a great promo for us to use on social media.”
The pain in my wrist was unbearable, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. “I don’t know,” I said in a curter tone than I’d intended. “I imagine all the actors will be busy with the shoot. You should contact my sister directly.”
“The sofa’s free, Maggie,” Lenny interjected, swooping to the rescue. “With your bad arm, you need a comfortable seat.”
His pronouncement made no sense, but I was more than willing to cling to the lifeline. “Exactly what I need.” I clutched my sore wrist for dramatic effect. “I’m starting to feel faint.”
This wasn’t entirely untrue. I was woozy from the pain, but I mostly wanted to escape another bombardment of questions.
I didn’t need to tap into my non-existent acting skills to droop convincingly against Lenny’s side. Picking up on my unspoken message, he put an arm around my shoulders. “Good luck with the movie roles, everyone. I’ll get Maggie settled on the sofa. She’s exhausted.”
Ignoring the clucks of concern from the others, I allowed Lenny to lead me to the waiting room’s most coveted corner. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I whispered once we were far enough away not to be overheard. “The pain’s making it hard for me to stay civil.”
“No problem.” Lenny’s mischievous grin widened. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive for wanting to get you alone. You need to tell me the rest of the Theresa story.”
5
Theresa Crawley was the last person I wanted to think about. I’d used the car ride to the medical center to fill in Lenny on the gist of my encounter with Theresa Crawley. We hadn’t had time to discuss it in detail, and he was keen to learn more.
“Okay,” I said. “At least it’s a change of topic from the movie.”
I sank onto the saggy sofa, ignoring the loose springs sticking into my back. The added discomfort fit m
y day so far, and I was beyond caring. A fish tank divided this area from the rest of the room, affording us a modicum of privacy. As long as I was away from questions about my sister’s movie, I’d deal with loose springs and sore wrists and obnoxious food truckers.
Lenny flopped down beside me. “People are losing their minds over this film shoot.”
“I’m so over that darn movie.” I shifted my position to give him more space and gasped when I hit my wrist off the arm of the sofa. “I don’t even like modern rom-coms.”
He grinned. “This one describes itself as a ‘woke’ rom-com.”
“What does that even mean? It sounds like marketing speak for trying to tap into pop culture.”
“I think the ‘woke’ part refers to the diverse cast of characters. Which is a joke because both of the leads are white and straight. Your sister plays a gossip columnist who agrees to marry her gay best friend to help him inherit an Irish castle.”
“As one does,” I said, deadpan.
“In true rom-com fashion,” Lenny continued, “havoc ensues when the heroine falls in love with the best man, and the groom reunites with his ex.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad, actually,” I conceded with reluctance, “but the only movie I’m interested in seeing is this month’s Movie Club pick.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to rewatching Some Like It Hot,” he said. “Plus, we always get a bigger crowd attending the meetings when we show rom-coms.”
“I’ve noticed that.” A thought intruded through the cloud of pain. “Why didn’t you apply to be a movie extra? It’d be right in your wheelhouse, especially with Storm as part of the crew.”
Storm MacKenzie, an American makeup artist, had recently moved into one of the holiday cottages next to mine and scored a job on Con’s movie set. Storm and Lenny had formed an insta-bond over their shared passions for horror movies, disguises, and special effects makeup.
“They’re hiring extras,” Lenny said, “not amateur makeup artists.”
“I was wondering if being near her would be an added incentive for you to apply to be a movie extra.”
I was fishing for info. Lenny had invited me to join him and Storm for a couple of movie nights, but the invitations coincided with evenings I had to babysit Hannah. Due to Storm’s severe cat allergy, we couldn’t relocate the movie nights to my place. I wondered if my assistant and the makeup artist had moved out of the friend zone.
Lenny’s cheery expression didn’t provide enlightenment. “Storm won’t have much time for hanging out once the shoot starts. This is her first job on a movie set. She wants to make a good impression.”
I sighed. Why were men so dense? “You two seem pretty close, Lenny. How does Sile feel about you spending so much time with Storm?”
As his fledgling relationship with Whisper Island’s youngest police officer never seemed to get off the ground, I was hazy on their current status. Lenny and Sile had met during a stint of juvenile community service. They’d reconnected when Sile had been posted to Whisper Island Garda Station.
Lenny’s face clouded at the mention of his not-so-secret crush. “I have no idea. Sile met up with her ex recently. I guess she’s busy with him.”
This was not good news. Sile was small and fine-boned with a penchant for Goth hair and clothing when she was out of uniform. She was also prickly and quick to take offense. Underneath her awkward exterior lay a smart, kind, young woman. Unfortunately, Sile’s tendency to pull back and Lenny’s to get goofy when under stress, hadn’t helped them launch their relationship.
“Did Sile meet up with her ex or get back together with him? There’s a significant difference.”
Lenny fiddled with his fingers. “I don’t know. Sile got annoyed when I asked for details, and I backed off.”
“Sounds like you more than backed off. If you want to persuade her to date you, spending all your free time with another woman won’t help your cause.”
“Storm’s a friend. No more, no less. Yeah, she’s good-looking, but she’s only on the island until the shoot wraps.”
“Then make sure Sile knows that.”
“She ought to,” Lenny muttered. “I’ve made my feelings for her pretty clear. If she’s not interested in a relationship, I’m not going to push her.”
“Your idea of making your feelings clear and Sile’s might mean very different things,” I observed dryly. “And you’re even worse when you text. Talk to her in person.”
“Okay, I’ll sit her down this weekend. She’s away on a training course until this evening, but she’ll be back at work tomorrow. I’ll stop by the station and ask her out for dinner.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan. Now that we’ve sorted out your love life, you still haven’t told me why you didn’t apply to be an extra.”
Lenny gave a rueful smile. “I would have, but I didn’t want to abandon the bus company case.”
I frowned. “The movie only wants extras for a couple of days. I’m okay with you taking off Friday, and you don’t need to work on weekends.”
“I do if we want me to clear the bus company case and get paid before the end of the month.”
His words were a mental sucker punch. In the unlikely event that I found Quibbles, the prize-winning runaway Maine Coon, Trudy Nelson’s finder’s fee would barely cover next month’s electricity bill. I sucked at hustling, but hustle I must if we were to keep Movie Reel Investigations afloat.
“The movie shoot doesn’t wrap for weeks,” Lenny said, correctly reading the guilt on my face. “Maybe they’ll need extras for later scenes.”
“I hope so. I don’t want you to miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” The clinic’s sliding doors opened, and a group of new arrivals bustled inside. I stretched my neck to see if I recognized them and then sank back on the sofa. “Still no sign of Theresa.”
“She might’ve been exaggerating about her bad back for effect. She was pretty mad at us.”
I patted the pocket of my ridiculous pants. “Maybe, but if Theresa doesn’t show, I’ll have to hunt her down to give her back the letter.”
“I don’t get why she didn’t go to the police,” Lenny said, frowning. “I mean, the letter you read was a full-on death threat.”
“Theresa seemed more annoyed than scared,” I mused. “Not the reaction I’d have to a death threat. I’d like to know if the previous letters contained similar threats.”
“If they did, maybe she stopped taking them seriously when nothing happened,” he said. “Like online trolls who are big on talk but small on action.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I fingered the envelope in my pocket. “If she doesn’t show up here, I’ll have to swing by her food truck later and try to persuade her to talk to the cops.”
Lenny grinned. “With that busted wrist, you won’t be doing any swinging.”
Before I had the opportunity to respond with a fitting retort, Luke Vaglietti strode into the medical center, phone clutched to his ear. Luke was the personal bodyguard to the director of Wedding Belles and my sister’s current squeeze. He fit the stereotypical “tall, dark, and handsome” description. He also matched my mental image of a bodyguard, right down to the burly figure squeezed into a suit.
“Hey, Luke.” I waved my uninjured hand.
The man stopped and stared at me as though he couldn’t place me. His gaze traveled over my wild hair and wilder clothes, and his eyes widened. “Maggie?”
“Guilty as charged,” I quipped. “I hope you’re not sick.”
A smile broke through his confusion. “No. I’m here to collect a crew member who has an appointment. Funny seeing you here.” He held up his phone. “Con and I were just talking about you. That’s why seeing you caught me by surprise.”
“Seriously?” I’d met Con Ryder, the movie director, over the holidays. He was a decent guy, but we weren’t friends. I hadn’t seen him since he’d returned to Whisper Island to shoot Wedding Belles.
“Hang on a sec, Maggie. I need
to ask Con a question.” Luke pressed the device back to his ear and disappeared outside. A moment later, he returned and held the phone out to me. “Con wants to talk to you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Would you mind taking the call outside for privacy?”
It was my turn to stare. I indicated my sore wrist. “I’m waiting to see a doctor.”
“No worries,” Lenny said. “I’ll let you know if you’re called.”
My pain-addled brain finally connected the dots. If Con Ryder wanted to talk to me in private, either my sister was in trouble, or he wanted to hire Movie Reel Investigations. After a momentary surge of panic, I dismissed the first idea. Luke was acting way too chill for that scenario. So did it mean Con wanted to hire me? And if so, why?
My hand tingled with anticipation when I took the phone from Luke. I retraced my steps through the medical center’s foyer. Once I was safely on the other side of the sliding door from Rita and the other town gossips, I held the phone to my ear. “Hey, Con.”
“Maggie, you’re just the person I need to talk to.” Con’s strong American accent elicited a pang of homesickness. Although I loved living in Ireland, there were times I missed the other side of the pond.
“What’s up?”
To my relief, he cut straight to the chase. “I’d like to hire you. Any chance you can swing by my hotel and discuss the details?”
“Now?” I glanced back at the sliding doors. “I have a doctor’s appointment. Can it wait until later?”
“Sure. I have video conferences all afternoon, but I’m free this evening. Want to meet me at my hotel at eight o’clock? I’m in the John F. Kennedy suite.”
I was dying to pump him for more info, but experience had taught me to read people’s cues. Con didn’t want to divulge the details over the phone. If I pushed him to talk, he’d clam up. The last thing I needed today was another lost client. “Eight sounds good, but there’s a chance I’ll have to travel to the mainland today, and I don’t know how long my trip will take. Can I confirm the time with you later?”