by Lee Winter
“What are you doing?” Alex asked.
“Getting a sample.” Sam held it up to the light. “I’m thinking pitchfork. Farm-sized? Where is Joe, anyway?” She glanced toward the farmer’s house. “I’ll see if he’s lost any tools.”
Oh. That sounded smart. Not to mention professional. Alex nodded.
“Um, do you mind if I finish my training run?” Kiri said. “My muscles are starting to seize, and I didn’t really dress for standing around in the cold for an hour.”
Alex’s eyes fell to her outfit. Sleek navy tracksuit, white sneakers, and a thin beanie. She must be an icicle.
With a curt nod, Sam waved her off.
Kiri sprinted away over the paddock, sure as a jack rabbit.
Sam wiped down the rubber square on the dewy grass and put it in her vest’s chest pocket, along with the pocketknife. “So, any suspects? Anyone on set being a troublemaker?”
“It wouldn’t be someone on set. It’s a local who hates what we’re making here. Or a certain young asshole I embarrassed in the pub. Fletcher?”
“That’s a big assumption.” Sam’s tone was icy. “Disgruntled employees would be most prone to committing sabotage. Far more likely than some local who thinks it’s a genius idea to get out of bed in freezing temperatures to poke holes in your movie’s little pond. And they had to know it even existed, right? It’s not signposted or well known, is it? You think Fletcher or his ilk know about this place?”
Oh. True. “No.”
Sam turned to Sid. “Any scuttlebutt about this pond around town? Has it ever come up?”
“Nah, Sis.”
Sam looked pointedly at Alex with an expression that said see?
“Well, that doesn’t prove anything,” Alex said in exasperation. “And it absolutely doesn’t mean one of my crew would do this. Why would they?”
“People have their reasons,” Sam said. “Grievances fester. Is it possible someone thinks they’re owed money, for instance?”
Oh for God’s… “Hey, I didn’t know Quincy would do that—”
“Sure you didn’t,” Sam cut her off. “Look, the question is, is the perp a local or someone on set? I don’t know; I’ll make inquiries. That’s all I can do.” She straightened.
“I really don’t appreciate being called a liar.” Alex took a step closer. “I tried with Quincy. He wouldn’t roll over, so I fixed it myself. Should I get out my hair shirt as well or parade through the village naked?”
“Heh, naked.” Sid snorted.
“What did you fix?” Sam snapped shut her notebook. “I’ve got a steep repair bill, and now you’ve got me dropping serious crimes to investigate some pinpricks in your kiddie pool.”
What does she mean, what did I fix? Of all the insufferable, idiotic, self-righteous, annoying women… Alex dug through her wallet and found the mechanic’s receipt shoved in the back of it. “I tracked down Roger’s A1 Mechanics last week and paid for your damned repairs.” She threw the paper at her. “Out of my own money. Exactly as I promised.”
Sid gave a soft, amused snicker from somewhere behind them.
Sam’s cheeks started to burn red as she stared in surprise at the receipt. “Right. Well. Why didn’t you just say?”
“I thought you’d been told. Roger said he would tell you when you went in to pick up the bike.” Alex glared at her, then at the empty mud hole costing them money by the minute. “Sabotage is no joke. Even a small thing like pinpricks in a kiddie pool can throw out our whole schedule. This is not trivial or a game. So, if you wouldn’t mind doing your job, I’ll do mine, and we can stay out of each other’s way the rest of the time I’m here. Okay?” Alex shouldered her way past Senior Constable Keegan, furious beyond words.
Quincy was waiting for Alex when she stormed back to the Production trailer, her jaw grinding.
“Yes?” she asked as he met her at the door. “Another crisis?”
“More like a win. The powers that be have replied to your script overhaul ideas. Check your inbox.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t read his expression.
“Fess up,” Quincy said curiously, “who told?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Don’t play coy, Levitin. I know you’re smart. How’d you know to put the #metoo hints in your email? The studio bosses told me on the quiet that’s what pushed it over the line for you.”
Jesus. What had the execs been up to? It did explain the exodus of suits at the studio around the time Caroline Bassett had been hired. Skye must have known something. All her innocent “I never interfere” lines. Please. Alex shot Quincy a bland, neutral smile.
“Anyway,” Quincy continued, “I suppose you also know that’s why you were hired, too? They wanted a diversity pick—a female, feminist, lesbian, whatever, someone they could hurl back at their critics.”
So much for it being her impressive CV that had won her the job. “Right.” Alex gritted her teeth. “So they’ve approved my changes then?”
“With one stipulation.” He hesitated. “They want you to slot in a male character, someone easy on the eyes. A nice guy.” He paused a beat. “White. American. Relatable. Not as a love interest,” he added quickly, “more, um, as rugged wallpaper. All looks, no action. Well, no romantic action. Okay?”
Was that all? Alex could live with that. “I’m sure the existing anti-poacher ranger could be made to fit the bill.”
“A white ranger out here? Wherever ‘here’ is?”
“Maybe he’s here on exchange? Or married a local?” Alex stuck her tongue in her cheek.
Quincy snorted. “Yeah, okay, whatever. They want Mr. Good Guy to pop up at various intervals and provide a bit of square-jaw scenery to offset your…” He flapped his hand… “wall-to-wall girl power.”
“God forbid anyone might feel irrelevant for three seconds,” she murmured.
“I didn’t hear that.” Quincy smirked. “They said no to a title change. One of the VPs loves it. No accounting for taste. Anyway, the main thing is, your ideas have been approved. Kick your requests over to the writer.”
“Great.” Finally!
“And a heads up that I’m grabbing the First AD to organize Chloe and Melody for costume publicity pics this afternoon. The studio loved that idea. They want to start showering the internet in publicity stills of the new and improved looks.” He exhaled. “Oh, and Levitin?” Quincy’s voice lowered. “Good strategy keeping the gay out of your email. They’d have definitely shot it down if you’d asked for it outright.”
How had he known? The email wasn’t obvious. Was it?
Quincy rolled his eyes at her expression. “Come on, I saw those two in rehearsal. It’s not exactly subtle, their eye-fucking. I put two and two together.”
“People can choose to see their chemistry as either friends or lovers,” she said evenly.
“Ri-ight. I don’t think the studio’s as stupid as you think. They’ll spot it, too. Look, just don’t name the horse and everyone’ll live with it. They have way more to worry about right now than a bit of subtext in a B-list fantasy flick everyone’s already written off. Right?”
“Okay.”
“Hell, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but this thing’s turning out so damned subversive that I’m almost wanting to watch Shezan now. Even if it’s just to see if you can land this fuckin’ nose-diving plane.” He looked faintly stunned.
Alex knew the feeling.
CHAPTER 10
The Hardest Word
Sam glanced at her watch again, and then peered at her beer. The seven p.m. dinner stampede was about to come through Te Wharariki’s doors.
Staring into her amber brew, she sighed. It was a bit hard not to feel like the worst piece of pekapeka shit since she’d found out two days ago that Tiger had been paid for and was just awaiting collection. She’d asked Roger why he
hadn’t thought that was worth mentioning, and the elderly mechanic had just waved her off, saying he had a lot of things to remember and an old brain. Either way, her day off couldn’t come soon enough; she was anxious to pick it up and hit the trails.
In the meantime, there was the matter of a certain apology.
“You okay, bub?” Gina asked from behind the bar. “Need a top up?”
“I’m good.”
“You haven’t been in here much lately, not since your big dust-up with the movie folks. I was starting to wonder if you were going to avoid the pub for the rest of the shoot. Yet here you are, right on seven. That’s interesting.” Gina leaned forward as if waiting for some delicious confession.
“Can’t a woman just enjoy a beer?”
Gina lifted her hands. “You really okay? Fletcher packed a wallop.”
“I caught up with him and charged him. That put me in a good mood.”
“Your face doesn’t look like it heard you’re in a good mood. Is something going on, love?”
“Don’t you have someone else to shakedown for gossip?”
“Why would I do that when you’re here?” Gina chuckled, glancing up when the door opened. “Ah, my best customers are here.” She bustled away, calling to Dutch to get ready for incoming orders.
From behind her beer, Sam watched the motley group of Americans and Kiwis head for the ordering counter. A few made straight for their now-favorite tables. Alex brought up the rear, in discussion with some crew members.
“Hey.” Sid appeared at her side. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Did everyone have to look so shocked whenever she socialized? “Just enjoying my downtime.”
“If you say so.” He grinned. “How many locals cornered you tonight?”
“Only three. There’s the case of the lost farm duck, graffiti on a garage door written in an ex-boyfriend’s handwriting, and a hubcap thief at Buy-Lo’s Supermarket.”
“We get the best criminals around here, eh?” Sid’s easy-going smile relaxed her tension.
“Yep.” She sipped her beer.
“So why are you in here when the crew of a certain oh-so-evil film are here now, too?”
She didn’t bother arguing; he’d buy it was a coincidence about as much as Gina. “I’m investigating the sabotage.” Sam hoped that sounded plausible. “Maybe you can help? With your insider intel?”
“Sure.” He plonked himself onto the bar stool next to her. “Happy to help. ’Specially since I was the investigating officer at the time of the incident.”
Investigating officer? Time of the incident? Sometimes Sam wondered if Sid still dreamed of becoming a cop. He’d applied a few years back but had just missed out due to his test scores. Books weren’t his strong point. It was a shame. Sid was genial, honest as the day was long, and far too big to shove around. She gave him an indulgent look. “The pitchforks at Joe’s farm didn’t match the holes in the pond lining. Then I went through the movie set’s tools with one of the assistants. No matches.”
“Thorough,” Sid said approvingly.
“Mmm. Maybe one of these days I’ll get to solve a real case. You know the one.”
“The meth? I hear George at the hardware store’s now hooked. Why’d he go and do that? He’s got a young family!”
Damn it. She’d wring Dino’s ugly neck for turning Ika Whenu into a drug town. “Shit.” Taking another stalling gulp of beer, Sam finally aired the question she most wanted to know the answer to. “So back to the set vandalism. What do you hear about your boss?”
“You think Alex did this? Torpedoed her own shoot? No way, Sis. No. Way. She’s dedicated to this Shezan thing. And, like, wicked smart, right? First day on the job, I heard she just walked in, took one look at a set, and chewed through all the shit she saw. Had the builders and props guys redoing the whole thing.”
“So she’s a pedant? Picky?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s unpopular.”
Sid snorted. “You can talk. You’re the most details-crazy person going. You think I don’t know you’ve been feeding Dino’s dogs for months on the off-chance you have to raid him later?”
“That’s just practical forward-planning. And they’re nice dogs when you get to know them.” She stopped. “How’d you know?”
“Dutch. Okay, remember that time when we were kids, and you caught a bully at school taking Kiri’s lunch money off her? You demanded it all back, not just that day, all of it, and you calculated interest he had to pay.”
It sounded so mercenary when he put it like that. “He needed to pay restitution.”
“He shit his pants you scared him so much.”
She shrugged. “I fail to see what any of this has to do with your director.”
“Right, so, here’s a list: Detail-oriented, dedicated, driven, goal-focused, smart, risk-taker, community minded.”
“Wow,” Sam drawled. “She’s a damned saint.”
“Actually, that’s you.” Sid met her eye. “And it’s her. Ever think that’s why you’re butting heads?” He bumped his fists together. “Just two sides of the same coin.”
Sam gaped at him. “I’m nothing like her!”
“No? Tell me how you’re different.”
“I respect the locals.”
“So does she. The new costumes?” Sid shook his head. “Amazing. She’s respectful as hell of our people.”
“Well, I do good for the community through my job. Not shallow…tripe.”
“Alex and her film employ stacks of people, though,” he said cheerfully. “Many of us are locals.”
“I don’t have a felon for a father.”
All humor drained out of Sid’s face.
Oh. Why had she said that? Sam desperately tried to turn it into a joke. “Come on, I’m a cop, I’m not supposed to like criminals, right?”
“Sam.”
One word, but it was layered with so much disappointment that she felt the deep shame of it. Yeah. It had been a shitty, shitty thing to say.
Sid’s voice cooled. “I don’t think you get to judge someone based on their parents, do you? Your dad bolted before you could talk, and your mum…wasn’t able to do the job.”
Shame burned under her ribs. “I’m well aware.”
“Bottom line: Alex is great, and I think you should get to know people properly before you write them off.”
“People only disappoint when you give them a chance.” She cocked an eyebrow.
Sid sighed. “Sad thing is, you act like you’re joking, but I know you mean it.” He gave her a long look. “Y’know, I’m going to go hang with people who don’t hate their life so much.” He left, joining his Shezan workmates gathered at the bar.
That was unfair. She didn’t hate her life… It was just…hard to explain what her issue was. Sam’s mood was shot to hell.
Maybe I should just cut my losses and leave.
Standing, she wiped her hands down her jeans and debated her options. Leave now with her dignity intact. Sam slid her eyes over to Alex, now seated at a table with two other women. The director’s shirt—white and stiff at the collar, with three buttons undone—flattered the curve of her delicate neck. Alex ran a hand absently through her red hair and then dropped it back to the table with an amused slap to punctuate some point. Her gentle, low laugh infected her companions, who joined in. Then Alex smiled, small and teasing, flashing white teeth.
On the other hand, Gina had never raised a quitter.
No, she damned well hadn’t.
As the weeks rolled on, Alex had begun looking forward to time out at the pub at the end of each day. She no longer noticed the worn floors, dated décor, or faded memorabilia tacked to the walls of Te Wharariki Hotel. Photos of winning sports teams long past their glory days dotted the walls, and now she was starting to recognize the people in those yellowed p
hotos within the lived-in faces at the bar.
Tonight’s drinks to celebrate the approval for script rewrites was something she’d been eagerly anticipating, even if it had trapped her in a typically random discussion with Skye and Chloe.
“Why,” Skye asked with immense seriousness, “does everyone assume pumas are black? They’re honey brown.”
“Because of panthers,” Chloe said after a beat. “Which are black.”
“That makes no sense,” Alex chimed in. “But yeah, that’s why.”
“So everyone just wrongly remembers them as black?” Skye pondered. “How interesting to be an animal so misunderstood.”
“Or…it could be because the Puma sporting logo is black?”
At the new, familiar voice, Alex glanced up to find Sam standing over their table. Irritation flooded her.
“Can we talk?” Sam’s expression was tight.
“No—” Alex started to say, but Skye clamped onto her wrist, halting her objection.
“Why, hello there, dear, you must be Sam?” Skye cut in. “I’ve heard all about you from our security guard. Darling man, Sid. And yes, I’m sure you’re right about pumas. Maybe advertisers have far more to answer for than any quirky mass delusion?”
Sam slid her hands into her jeans pockets.
Skye barreled on. “I’m Skye Storm.”
“Really?” Sam blinked.
“I know, dear, I’ve heard all the jokes. Anyway, I do Shezan’s costumes. The new ones.” She laughed. “Let me stress that point! And this is Chloe Martin, our film’s talented star.”
Sam nodded a hello.
Chloe waved in greeting. “Can I just say, your bro is so nice. Is he single? He’s…arghh…divine.” She fanned herself.
“Um…” Sam squinted at her. “Who, Kev?”
“No, Sid. The security guy with a voice to die for.”
Sam glanced back at the bar as if trying to mentally picture the odd pair together: a genial, rough-around-the-edges, heavily tattooed giant of a man and a beautiful, sleek, otherworldly international model. “Seriously?”
Chloe shrugged. “Sid’s been totally useless at hints, so I wondered if he was taken.”