She gave one more guilty over-the-shoulder glance before she ducked her head down and disappeared into the thick foliage.
What was the widow up to?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On instinct, I put down my coffee cup and followed her, careful to give the set a wide berth so I didn't attract any other attention. Luckily, everyone was busy setting up for the non-epic battle that was about to take place, and no one seemed to take notice of me. As I retraced Selma's steps, quickly plunging into the thicket of trees, the actors' voices faded away and the forest closed in behind me. A gentle breeze whispered encouragement while curious birds chirped overhead. It was peaceful, so much so that I almost forgot why I was there and nearly walked into the small clearing before I realized it.
A clearing where Selma stood talking in hushed tones with a second figure.
I paused, stepping behind a tree and cursing the brittle sticks that snapped beneath my boots. But if Selma heard, she didn't register it, seemingly fully engaged in what the other person was saying. I shifted to the left to get a better look at the object of her secret tryst.
Dark-haired, tall, smooth skin like he moisturized heavily at night—I recognized him right away. Jaden Plume, the Evil Prince.
As if feeling my eyes on him, he turned toward the tree that was sheltering me.
I ducked back and dropped to my knees behind some underbrush, ignoring the possibility of disgruntled insects. Something hard jabbed my left knee, but I didn't dare shift to dislodge it. So long as it didn't bite, sting, or rattle, it could stay there. I'd deal with the aftermath later.
I peeked around the bushes, luckily seeing Jaden's attention back on Selma—seemingly having not noticed me. I watched the exchange between the two. They were far enough away that I had to strain to hear their conversation, only bits and pieces making their way on the quiet breeze toward me.
"…anyone see you," Selma started. "…don't want…notice we're gone…"
As I'd suspected, Selma hadn't wanted to be followed. I shimmied forward, listening for Jaden's response.
"…distracted with their own thing. Elora's riding them hard…"
He said something else that was lost to the wind. But I watched Selma nod in response. Then he spoke up again. "Did you bring it?"
I perked up. Bring what?
Selma nodded again, doing another over-the-shoulder. I thought small thoughts, hoping she didn't spy me. Luckily, she returned her attention to the actor in front of her as she reached into the handbag slung over her shoulder and pulled something out. I couldn't see what it was from my vantage point, but she handed it to Jaden.
He grabbed the bundle and swiveled a half turn toward me so I got a decent look at what was in his hands.
Cash.
I watched him count it, his lips moving as he shifted through the bills.
"It's all there," Selma assured him. "Five thousand."
Whoa. That was a lot of cash for anyone to be carrying around. Let alone handing over to someone in the woods while glancing guiltily over one's shoulder every five minutes.
Jaden grinned as he finished counting. It was the same smile I'd seen the Evil Prince use when plotting out his revenge on Pixnetta. Wicked, greedy and, I realized, not all acting.
Jaden said something I couldn't catch as he stuffed the money inside his jacket. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he passed to her in return. I squinted at it, looking for any clue to its contents, but Selma tucked it away too fast.
My mind reeled, trying to process what I was seeing. Some sort of payoff for sure. But payoff for what? Possibly for Jaden having killed Selma's husband? Except, Jaden had been the only person on the set with an actual alibi during the time of Frost's murder—according to Brock the bartender, he'd been in the local drunk tank all night. Being in police custody was as solid as alibis came.
I chewed on my lip, thinking. However, that alibi didn't necessarily mean Jaden hadn't been involved in the murder, only that he hadn't actually committed the murder itself. It was possible he'd hired someone else to do his dirty work—maybe even one of the locals he'd argued with at the Tipsy Moose. Murder by proxy. Or in Selma's case, murder by contract.
The two of them continued talking, their voices too low to hear. Especially since flies were buzzing in my ears relentlessly, pleading to reclaim their territory. A soft gust of wind moved the underbrush against my knees.
If Jaden had arranged Frost's murder and Selma was paying him off, I wondered what was in the envelope he'd given her. Proof of a job well done? Of course, Frost's dead body kinda negated the need for that.
Yet another possibility occurred to me. Maybe I had it completely backwards. Maybe the cash wasn't a payment for a job well done, but more a payment to keep quiet about something Jaden knew. What if Selma had been the one to follow her husband back to the set that night, tired of his antics with his young costars? She'd killed Frost, and Jaden had somehow found out. And now he was blackmailing her to keep quiet about it, trading whatever proof he had in that envelope for a cool five grand.
My eyes flittered to the clearing again as the two parted ways. Jaden stomped unceremoniously back toward the set. Selma waited a beat, clearly not wanting to be seen in his company by anyone noting their arrival. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking up to the treetops, and again I got the impression that she was lost and out of place here. Not that it meant she wasn't a murderer, but I could see conflicting emotions at play in her.
I tried to stay still as my legs cramped up, praying she wouldn't glance to her right as she finally turned back toward the set. Fortunately, she was as lost in her own thoughts as I was, and she didn't notice me as she hurried back in the direction of the faux castle. Just to be sure that they'd both cleared the area, I waited another few minutes before I stood, brushed off the dirt and pine needles, and followed them at a safe distance back to the set.
I stomped my feet to get feeling back into my cramped limbs as I traversed the wooded area. Voices came back into earshot, and as I rounded the corner of the castle, I noticed that the next scene was already underway, Alia and her minions being positioned around the sparse grouping of Sworf soldiers. Someone had, indeed, procured a mirror, which the cameraman was trying to arrange to best effect.
I didn't see any sign of Selma, though I spotted Jaden being powdered down by the makeup artist, Ellie, in preparation for his big scene.
Just to his left, I spied Dana, in her battle armor, ready to give her lines to her army.
Only it wasn't a legion of Elves she was currently facing, but Bartlett and Ramirez—one looking concerned and the other flipping through his notebook with a deceptively genial grin.
I hurried over to them, catching the end of Bartlett's pointed question. "—about your history with Jasper Frost."
As I silently joined the group, Dana's eyes flickered to me before she answered. "I told you, I don't have a history with him. The first time I met him was when I auditioned for Lord of the Throne."
"Uh-huh. And how'd you two get along then?"
"F-fine," she replied. "I mean, I read my lines, he watched. That's it."
"And you claim this was the first time you met Mr. Frost."
"Claim?" Dana's gazed bounced from me to Ramirez and back to Bartlett. "It was the first time I'd met him."
"Look, Hollywood isn't some small town," I said, jumping in on her behalf. "It's not like everyone knows each other there."
But Ramirez gave me a look like maybe I should sit this one out and leave it to him. Normally not a look I enjoyed, but in this case I clamped my lips shut. The last thing I wanted to do was dig a bigger hole for my friend.
Especially when she seemed to be doing a bang-up job of digging one for herself.
"Well, we may be a small town here in Moose Haven," Bartlett said, giving me a pointed look. "But the same laws still apply. It's still illegal to lie to a police officer."
"Lie?" Dana looked downright pa
nicked now. "I'm not lying."
"Detective, what is this about?" Ramirez asked.
"You might want to think about that answer a little more," Bartlett said to Dana, ignoring my husband. Which was a feat. Ramirez was a hard man to ignore. I should know. I'd been on the business end of his Cop Face many a time.
"What answer? What is this about?" Dana flapped her arms up and down in frustration.
"Did you have a question, Detective?" Ramirez cut in on her behalf.
Bartlett nodded slowly, flipping his annoying little notebook pages again. "I do. I'd like to discuss the Price of Fame."
"The price of fame?" Dana asked, still clearly confused. "What price?"
"No, no. Not like that. I'm talking about the film. The Price of Fame."
Dana froze, her confusion gone. Arms still. Back straight. Face slowly draining of color.
Uh-oh.
"You do know the film I'm talking about, then?" Bartlett said, obviously having noticed her change in demeanor as well.
Dana sucked in a long breath then nodded slowly. "Yes. I auditioned for a film called The Price of Fame. Last year."
"For the lead in that film, am I right?" Bartlett pressed.
Again, Dana nodded slowly, as if not quite sure what she was admitting to.
"Dana auditions for a lot of movies. She's an actress," I said.
"I'm sure she does," Bartlett agreed. "But this particular role was a big one. One you didn't get, did you?" he asked Dana.
She shook her head. "No. In the end they went a different direction."
"The director decided to go a different direction," Bartlett amended, consulting his notebook. "Very last minute, actually. The casting director we talked to said they'd all but decided to give you the part." He paused, looking up at Dana again. "A part that would have been quite a career stepping-stone for you. But the director went against everyone and chose another actress instead."
Dana shifted uncomfortably. "I-I don't know whose decision it was. My agent handled all of that."
"Uh-huh." Bartlett flipped his book shut. "Well, it was the director's decision." He paused, watching Dana closely now. "You do know who that director was, don't you?"
I had a bad feeling we all did at this point.
"Frost?" Dana said hesitantly.
Bartlett grinned like the cat that dragged a confession out of the canary. "That's right. Jasper Frost. The director you said you never met before this film."
"But I didn't!" she protested quickly. "I swear. I auditioned for a casting director and a couple of producers. They videoed the audition and sent it to the director. I never met him!"
Bartlett's smile faltered a little. "Well, I don't know how all this Hollywood audition stuff works, but you knew who was directing The Price of Fame. Didn't you?"
Dana licked her lips. "Yes," she admitted.
"But that's not what you asked her," I pointed out. "You asked if she'd ever met Frost before. Not if she'd ever auditioned for him. She didn't lie to you."
Bartlett's eyes flitted momentarily to me, as if I were as insignificant and annoying as those flies that had been buzzing in my ear in the clearing.
"You lost a big role because of Frost," Bartlett said.
"Actresses lose roles all the time," Dana countered.
"You fought with him in his trailer."
"We had a difference of opinion."
"And he died."
"But I didn't kill him!" Dana yelled.
At this point, her voice was rising in volume and the whole set was giving us their attention. I could see the uncertainty in her fellow cast mates' eyes growing. Crew whispering to each other.
"Well, that's quite a statement." Bartlett glanced at the three of us in turn. "Guess I've got it all wrong, then."
No one said anything.
"Appreciate your time," he told Ramirez. He nodded to me. "Ma'am." He gave Dana a pointed look but said nothing.
When he was out of sight, Dana let out a shaky sigh. "How did he know about The Price of Fame? I never even met Frost." She turned to Ramirez and me. "I swear it!"
"I believe you," I told her. I glanced at Ramirez. While I knew he believed her too, his expression was grim, and I could tell he was going over what Bartlett had said and assessing the threat level from a law enforcement standpoint.
"I thought he was going to arrest me right here in front of everyone," Dana said. Her gaze darted around to the cast and crew, who all suddenly weren't making eye contact.
"He doesn't have enough evidence to arrest you," Ramirez told her.
"You sure about that?" I asked him.
He sighed. "Not entirely. Bartlett said he has your prints on the murder weapon."
"Look around," I told him. "Everyone is touching everything here. The swords, the castle, the chalices."
Ramirez nodded. "A good argument to a jury."
"Jury?" Dana looked pale again.
"Look, Bartlett can't have any evidence because Dana didn't do it," I emphasized.
"I know," Ramirez said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"He doesn't believe anything I say," Dana said. "I can tell."
"He won't find anything," I told her. "There isn't anything to find."
"But innocent people go to jail every day. Some of them for a long time."
I had no answer for that.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ramirez cut in. "Bartlett wasn't extremely forthcoming to me—not a big surprise. But I'm going to make some calls. See if I can find out exactly what it is they're trying to build a case on." Ramirez dropped a kiss on my hair. "I'll text you later. Try to meet up for dinner?"
I nodded as he walked away, back to a black rental car parked at the road.
"Dana?" Tarrin called, clapping her hands. "We're ready for you."
Dana gave a weak laugh. "Great. Now I've got to go fight Sworfs."
"Just imagine them all with Bartlett's face," I encouraged her.
She took a deep breath, closed her, eyes, and let it out, trying to arrange her features in Elven Princess form before walking into battle.
* * *
"So, what do you think Selma was giving Jaden cash for?" Dana asked, sipping at her moose-tini.
I shrugged. "It must have been some sort of payoff."
"Or payment," Ramirez argued, putting his elbows on the table.
We paused while Brock delivered two steak sandwiches—for Ramirez and me—and one plain grilled chicken breast atop undressed kale—for Dana—and went away. It was seven o'clock, and most of the cast and crew had descended on the Tipsy Moose for dinner. Selma Frost wasn't among them, but Jaden Plume held court at another table with his pillaging Sworfs, sharing pitchers of beer. I glanced his way, trying not to be too obvious about it. Not that he seemed to be paying us any attention. If I had to guess, his beer glass was his main interest at current.
I bit into a french fry. "What could Selma possibly be paying Jaden for?"
"Acting in the movie?" Ramirez asked. "Want to take some of these mushrooms off my hands?"
I pushed my plate toward him so he could fork some mushrooms out of his sandwich. "Acting payment in cash?" I turned to Dana. "That seems odd."
"Very," she agreed. "No, Paddington Productions sends out all the checks—usually to our agents. It's all processed back in LA. No actual cash changes hands."
"Cash hardly ever does," I noted. "Unless it's for something illegal."
Ramirez cocked his head at me. "I saw you pay Max a dollar in quarters for sweeping the living room floor last week. Raising a master criminal?"
"Very funny." Just for that, I stole his pickle. "But you know I'm right. Cash means you don't want a trail. At least cash in those quantities."
"Plus, they snuck off somewhere secret," Dana added. I could tell she was liking this idea. Then again, I'm sure she liked every idea that ended in someone other than her as the killer.
"Feel like eating all those fries?" Ramirez asked me.
I pushed my pl
ate toward him again so he could help himself to some extra fries.
"So what do you think the payoff was?" Dana asked.
"Blackmail?" I floated.
Ramirez shot me another warning look. As much as Dana was enjoying these theories, my husband was more of a just-the-facts kind of guy. Evidence was the language he spoke best—not speculation.
"Blackmail over what?" she asked. She hadn't touched her food. "What could Selma have done that might expose her to blackmail?"
"Well," I said, "her husband was murdered."
"You think she killed Frost?"
"Someone did," I said. "And it wasn't you."
Her moose-tini glass landed on the table with a thump. "So you think Jaden might have seen her kill Jasper?"
"Maybe not seen—he was in jail that night, remember? But possibly overheard something. Or stumbled on some proof." I paused. "You should eat something."
"I am eating something," she said. She raised her glass. "There's fruit in this."
I gave her a look, and she picked up a wilted kale leaf and ate it.
"What do you think?" I asked my husband.
He chewed his bite of sandwich and swallowed. "I think you two are great at jumping to conclusions."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Who asked you?"
He chuckled, holding his hands up in an innocent motion. "Look, I'm just pointing out that there are lots of possible explanations for what you saw. There's no way to know what went on between them."
I hated that he was right. I glumly took a bite of my sandwich. Dana abandoned her food again, sipping her cocktail.
He must have noticed the damper he'd put on our mood, as he sighed. "Okay, I'll see if I can run a background check on this Jaden character. Happy?"
I shot him a grin. "Getting there," I said, swallowing my mouthful. "You get anything out of Bartlett this afternoon?"
"Not a lot," he admitted. "He clearly saw a conflict of interest here, but as a courtesy to fellow law enforcement, he did give me the broad strokes of their investigation so far."
"And?"
"And Frost died at roughly twelve thirty a.m. Clean wound, hit several major organs, died very quickly. Wouldn't have taken a lot of force to be fatal either."
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 13