"So, you think Frost gave her the part after she…spent some time on his casting couch?"
Tarrin nodded slowly.
Ick. I thought of the stocky director and the pretty, young actress. Alia must have really wanted that part. "Did you ever ask Frost about it?" I pressed, trying to erase the image from my mind.
"Yeah. I mean, I was the one who had to tell our first actress's agent we were backing out. I had to give her something."
"What did Frost say?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just that he changed his mind."
"He didn't give you a reason."
She pursed her lips together again and slowly shook her head.
"Did you ever ask Alia about it?"
"No. And I don't plan to. Look, if Frost took advantage of her, the last thing I'm going to do is hold it against her."
While I got that Frost was definitely in the power position here, it sounded like it had been Alia who'd sought him out, not the other way around. Frost's behavior was deplorable, but Alia didn't strike me as the innocent babe Tarrin was painting her to be.
"How has her relationship with Frost been since being on set?" I asked, wondering if maybe something had gone sideways in their arrangement.
Her gaze lifted to the sky, as if searching for guidance. "Frost didn't have relationships. He had conquests. He let you know he was in charge, whether you were his seamstress or his leading actress. And if you ask me, he abused that power." She checked her watch. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I'm already late."
Without another word, she got into the SUV and pulled away from the curb, leaving me standing alone, grappling with the contrails of her words.
Alia had said this role was her big break. If she'd slept with Frost for the part, it was all his say-so keeping her in the role. I thought back to the first day I'd been on set. Frost had threatened Alia, saying he wasn't above firing her. What if he'd been second guessing his casting decision? Or, worse yet, asked Alia back to his casting couch in order to keep her part, despite forgetting her lines? Would Alia have agreed? Or had she had enough, snapped, and killed the director rather than be his conquest again?
I made my way slowly back toward the tavern's entrance, mulling that scenario over in my head. I was mulling so hard that I almost didn't even see the man walking toward me until he was close enough that I could feel his gaze on me. Causing my head to snap up, my eyes to home in on his, and my heart to catch in my throat.
There, in the middle of Moose Haven, was my husband.
Ramirez.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I didn't move, partly because of the shock of seeing him there and partly because he looked so good walking toward me that I didn't want to miss a single step. Jeans—tight in all the right places. T-shirt—showing off the black panther tattoo on his well-formed left bicep. Eyes—dark enough to get lost in with just the slightest hint of something passionate and a little dangerous beneath. He might have been the father of my twins, but there was nothing Dad-Bod about my husband.
"What on earth are you doing here?" I asked as he approached.
"Nice to see you too, babe," he joked, pulling me against him with hard, muscular arms. He smelled as good as he looked, a subtle musky scent that just might have dissolved my clothes had we been alone.
It was possible I'd been away from home for too long.
"I've missed you," he said, setting me back at arm's length so he could take a good long look at me.
I returned the appraisal. As usual, his dark hair was overdue for a trim, curling a little on his neck. A day's growth of stubble was sprinkled across his strong jawline. He looked better than a double helping of my favorite dessert. "I've missed you too." I paused. "Wait, where are Livvie and Max?"
"They're fine. They're staying with my mother." He gave me a reassuring grin.
Oh boy. If they were staying with Mama Ramirez, they were likely to be spoiled rotten by the time I got home. And fed till they popped. And love every minute of it.
"So," he said, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "What's new?"
"You've been on Instagram, haven't you?" I guessed.
He cocked his head to the side. "Haven't seen that yet, but my captain did alert me to the fact that Dana was being called a suspect all over Good Morning, LA."
I winced. "It's on TV then, too, huh?"
He nodded slowly. "You two sure know how to do a girls' weekend."
I swatted his arm. "Hey, it's not our fault Frost got himself killed."
Ramirez raised an eyebrow my way.
"Despite what the media thinks," I added. "Dana had nothing to do with this."
"I know," Ramirez assured me. "Which is why I'm here. Seems like this whole thing has gotten out of control quickly."
"That's an understatement," I mumbled. While the strong, independent woman in me was a little irked that he felt the need to fly all the way to Canada to rescue us from said "thing," a part of me was actually relieved he was here. Chances were Bartlett would listen to my husband—a fellow member of law enforcement—a lot better than he'd been listening to two blondes from Hollywood. Like it or not, the boys' club still existed, especially among the boys in blue. And if I couldn't do anything about that, at least I was glad to have this particular boy in my corner.
"Have you talked to the local police yet?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "I just got into town." His grimace encompassed the three block radius that comprised Moose Haven. "I've got an appointment with the detective in charge in an hour."
"Bartlett," I supplied.
He nodded. "That's the one. But I wanted to get your take on all this first."
"Dana's ordering us lunch at the Tipsy Moose." I pointed toward the tavern. "We can fill you in over cheeseburgers."
He grinned. "You had me at cheeseburgers."
* * *
An hour later we'd given Ramirez the full rundown on all things Moose Haven and Frost—in a slightly edited version that didn't include us being shot at by a crazed author or breaking into the files of the local rental office. Some things it was kinder to gloss over. And I was all about being kind when it came to my husband.
He'd listened in grim silence to most of it, asking a few pointed questions to Dana about how and where the prop swords were held overnight (in a trailer near Frost's that was accessible to anyone), what security was like on set (sparse and largely unneeded until now), and how far away the set was from town (two miles, which was enough to put a person in wilderness). All of which led to very little.
We parted ways with Ramirez promising to get as much as he could from Bartlett about the case he was apparently building against Dana.
Once he left, Dana and I stopped at the Big Moose only long enough to change our clothes and swap out our muddy heels for clean footwear—sneakers for her and a pair of slip-on, low heeled boots for me—before I tagged along with Dana as she reported back to the film set as directed for hair and makeup.
The vibe on the Lord of the Throne set was distinctly different than when we'd first been there. An undercurrent of excitement that everyone was going back to work buzzed through the cast and crew, but it was tempered by an air of uncertainty. No one knew what to expect with Tarrin at the helm, and there was still a murderer somewhere out there. Possibly among them, if the news was to be believed. I could feel a few of the Bobbits giving Dana sidelong glances as she transformed via hairstyle, artfully applied makeup, and wardrobe into Pixnetta. And even the lighting crew seemed a little skittish around her as they set the white balance for her first scene.
To her credit, Dana ignored them all, staying focused and in character as they began filming. I had to hand it to her—I had the deepest respect for her focus and concentration. I was having a hard time feeling comfortable under the cloud of suspicions, and I wasn't even wearing a ten-pound headpiece.
The filming of the first two scenes went smoothly—Pixnetta rallying her Elven warriors for the epic battle against the Prince's
army of newly recruited Sworfs. Crew moved through the motions without fear of Frost's wrath coming down on them. Hair and makeup did their work efficiently, making sure everyone looked the parts. Elora hovered in the background, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings, and even Selma Frost was on set, apparently wanting to oversee the last act in her husband's legacy as well.
The actors knew their lines. They delivered them solidly, and Tarrin didn't fuss with the details, quickly moving on as she flipped through her script.
"Perfect! Great delivery, Dana," she said, sending a smile my friend's way.
Dana returned it, her shoulders relaxing. "Do you think we should do one more take, just in case?"
"Nope. That was perfect," Tarrin said. "Okay, moving on to scene seventy. Patsy, are the extras suited into armor?" She turned to one the production assistants.
"Uh, yes. They're ready." Patsy the PA pointed to half a dozen day players who were awkwardly standing near the craft services table in stiff metal armor, tufts of fur peeking out of the tops.
Tarrin frowned. "Where are the rest of my Sworf Soldiers?"
Patsy blinked. "Rest? Um, this is all of them."
Tarrin shook her head. "No, no, no. There are supposed to be hundreds of Sworfs. This is an epic battle scene. The script calls for—"
"I canceled them," Elora said, coming up behind her.
Tarrin spun to face the producer. "You canceled…but how are we going to film the battle scene?"
"We'll CGI the rest of them in later," she said, waving the little detail off.
"CGI…" Tarrin shook her head. "Elora, this is supposed to look realistic."
"Have you seen a medieval Sworf battle lately?" Elora asked her.
Tarrin blinked. "No…"
"Exactly," Elora snapped. "Neither has anyone else. No one will know the difference."
"But they have lines, Elora! There are cut scenes all through the battle."
"Not anymore," she snapped. "I got rid of those. And while we're at it, let's lose that scene between the Evil Prince and Pixnetta before the battle. No one cares if he gives her the rose. This isn't Romeo and Juliet."
"You're rewriting the script now?" Tarrin asked.
"Not rewrite," Elora said. "Cut. Tighten. Save."
Tarrin's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. "I-I suppose we can call the writers and get them to change—"
"Unnecessary," Elora said, shaking her head. "We don't need to pay them to write anything. Just cut. Even you can do that, can't you, Ms. Director?"
More sighing from Tarrin. "Yeah. Sure. I can do that." She paused, looking at the six soldiers she had to work with. "And the battle scene?"
"Use mirrors," Elora said. "Double the Sworfs, half the cost."
Tarrin and the PA exchanged disbelieving looks. "Okay," Tarrin finally said to Patsy. "I guess go buy a big mirror."
"Where am I supposed to do that?" Patsy asked. "There aren't any stores around here that would carry a big mirror. We'll have to ship it in. And that will be expensive…"
"Less expensive than paying a hundred extras," Elora said before her phone rang. She swiped to take the call, stalking off to the trailers and leaving Tarrin and the PA to figure out how to turn six soldiers into an army.
"I guess we'll just have to shoot tight, lots of up-close shots, make the most of the Sworf soldiers we have." Tarrin glanced again at the six guys in armor, awkwardly scratching at their itchy fur. She shook her head in defeat before turning to her star. "Uh, Dana, can you please get into your battle armor?"
Dana nodded, heading toward the wardrobe trailer.
"And everyone else, just…take five I guess. We'll need to set up new camera angles, and we'll have to take this part out," Tarrin mumbled, taking a pencil to her script as she walked toward the director's chair that still bore Frost's name, mumbling to her flustered PA.
The crowd on set dispersed, crew preparing to reset their equipment as actors wandered to makeup for touch-ups, to the craft services tables for snacks, and to the edges of the clearing to try to find phone service. I spotted Alia among them, grabbing a cup of coffee at a folding table, and took the opportunity to join her.
"Coffee any good?" I asked, gesturing to the shiny espresso machine.
She nodded. "It's caffeinated. That's all that matters."
"Agreed." I filled my cup from the carafe and emptied two sugar packets into it.
She passed me a plastic spoon. "Try a croissant, though. They're super good. Although I probably should watch the carbs. My costumes are kind of form-fitting."
"I don't think you have to worry about that." I stirred my coffee and took a sip. "Your scene's up next?"
She nodded. "It's good to be back on the set," she said. "Honestly, I was so worried they were going to cancel everything. I mean, you only get so many opportunities like this to get a big break, you know?"
I sensed an opening but knew I had to tread carefully. I emptied a creamer pod into my cup. "You never said how you got this opportunity?" I asked.
"What?" Alia turned her big blue eyes on me.
"How did you land this role?" I asked again in what I hoped was a causal tone. "It's a big one for a new actress, isn't it?"
She frowned, her posture hardening. "I'm not brand-new. I've done some commercial work."
"Sure. But this is a big step up from commercials," I pointed out.
Alia shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "Frost recognized my talent."
"How did you meet Frost?" I asked.
She scrunched up her nose. "Well, everyone knows who Jasper Frost is."
"Sure." I nodded. "But I meant did your agent get you an audition, or did you go to an open casting call, or…" I left the thought hanging, hoping she'd fill in the blanks.
She shifted, turning her attention back to her steaming paper cup. "I don't remember."
That seemed unlikely, considering it was the biggest break of her career.
"You know, I heard Frost had originally cast someone else in the role of Modura," I said, baiting her.
Her shoulders were stiff, but she shrugged nonchalantly again. "Happens all the time. Things fall through. You know. Schedules conflict. Actors drop out."
"Is that what happened?" I asked, noting that was a very different story than the one Tarrin had told me. "The other actress dropped out?"
"I guess." I noticed she wasn't meeting my gaze again.
"Well, that was lucky," I said.
She spun on me again, this time her blue eyes narrowing.
I gave her a big, innocent smile.
One she did not return.
"It was more than luck," she said, and I could hear irritation rising in her voice. "I was just right for the part."
"More right than the person he originally cast?"
"Yes!" she said emphatically. "Frost recognized my talent."
So she'd said. I pursed my lips, trying to come up with the right way to broach the subject. "Alia, did you know that Frost had a reputation?"
"Of course. He was a big director."
"Not that kind of reputation." I paused. "I mean, he had a history of being…inappropriate…with women."
Her eyes flickered away from mine. "People spread all kinds of rumors."
"Alia, what really made Frost change his mind about casting?"
She scoffed, turning to me and putting a hand on her hip in obvious indignation. "I know what you're implying, and you have it all wrong."
"Do I?" I asked softly.
Alia shook her head. "I got this part on my merit. That's all."
"No one is saying you aren't a great actress," I told her.
"You know what—just stay out of my business, okay?"
"I wasn't trying to pry," I lied. Prying was exactly what I was doing.
"Well, I'm the Dragon Queen now. And Frost is gone. So, just…stay out of it," she repeated before she turned on her pointed heels and stalked away to her trailer, her cup of coffee abandoned.
I watched her, clearly feeli
ng like I'd hit a nerve. Enough of one that Alia had felt the need to lie to me—again.
Whatever had gone on when Alia had visited Frost's production office in LA, it was clearly something she did not want to talk about. It was possible that Tarrin was right and Frost had used his power and influence to manipulate Alia onto his casting couch. But it was also possible the scene had played out quite differently. Alia was young, but she didn't strike me as entirely naive. Could things have been more mutual between the actress and the director? Maybe they'd even had a secret relationship. As much as I'd found Frost repulsive, that didn't mean Alia had.
Then again, if Frost had been sleeping with one of his stars, that gave someone else a whole lot more motive than Alia to want him dead.
His wife.
I glanced across the meadow, spying Selma Frost hovering near the castle walls at the edge of the little village. She seemed somehow lost, like she didn't really belong there and didn't have a role. Yet, clearly she didn't have anywhere else to be either. I wondered if she'd heard the same rumors as Tarrin about her husband and that actress on his last low-budget set. If his assistant director had known, it was hard to imagine Selma was totally blind to it. She'd apologized for Frost's behavior on our first meeting. I wondered if she'd only meant his brusque manner on set or something more? She'd been there when Dana had stomped out of his trailer. If Dana hadn't been the first starlet to be propositioned by the director, maybe Selma had guessed at what had gone on. Confronted her husband about it later? Possibly followed him to the set to put an end to his philandering once and for all?
I took a step in her direction, intending to put a few answers to those questions.
But before I could get her attention, she gave an exaggerated look over both shoulders—as if worried someone was watching her. Good instinct. Only, she must not have seen me across the way, as she pulled her sweater tighter around herself and quickly walked toward the edge of the woods, clearly moving with a purpose in mind. Though, what purpose, I couldn't imagine. There was little in the woods but more woods. Possibly a garter snake or two. One with a two-hundred thread count pillowcase.
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 12