Marco hovered over my shoulder. "Wikipedia's sparse," he noted.
He was right. Date and place of birth and a mention of her as the Dragon Queen in the upcoming Jasper Frost production. She wasn't yet famous enough to rate more than the bare bones.
"Let's try some other sites," Marco suggested, fingers tapping the keyboard.
While he searched, I checked my phone. No call from Ramirez yet. He'd been looking into those teenagers shooting cans for a while now. I hoped that didn't mean he was getting close to the truth.
"Here we go," Marco said, pulling up an Internet Movie Database page for her. The IMDB had a complete list of the shows and other films Alia had been in. A short list. And most of the characters she'd played were labeled things like "Waitress Number Two." I wasn't even sure half of them were speaking roles.
"Looks like Lord of the Throne is the first real big thing she's done," Marco noted.
I nodded. "She said it was her big break."
Marco clicked a link to Alia's bio. Which, like her work history, was short. Marco read out loud from the screen. "Let's see." He scrolled. "Raised by single mom, no dad in the picture, could have been a tragic story but for her innate talent, blah, blah, blah. Here it is. Mother's name is Vida Altor."
He clicked a link, coming up with an IMDB page for Vida. The screen filled with slightly older looking versions of Alia—blonde, blue-eyed, smiling for the camera in a professionally staged headshot. Vida's hair was styled in a distinctly 90s wave, and the eyebrows were a little more aggressively plucked than her daughter's, but I could see the family resemblance right away.
"Looks like she'd be in her early fifties by now," Marco noted, pointing to her birth date.
"And like she hasn't acted in a while." I nodded toward her credits. "Last thing listed is twenty years ago."
"I've never heard of any of these movies," he noted, going down her list of career highlights, which was almost as short as her daughter's. "Damon's Run. The Dark House. Renegade Road."
"Wait—click on Renegade Road."
Marco raised an eyebrow at me. "You've seen it?"
I shook my head. "No, but it sounds like one of Frost's titles."
Sure enough, as Marco clicked through to the film's page, a movie poster of a car speeding down a highway and lots of flames show up. "Fast and Dangerous number two," Marco said. "Good eye."
"So Alia's mom did work with Frost," I mused. "It's possible Allie Quick is on to something there."
"Okay, let's say for argument's sake the tabloid reporter was right." Marco rolled his eyes and shook his head. Clearly it pained him to even suppose. "Frost made some unwanted overtures toward Alia's mother. Maybe even took her to his casting couch in order to get the part."
"Okay," I said, playing along. "Alia finds out and realizes that in this political climate, she has some serious dirt on Frost."
"Weinstein style dirt." Marco nodded.
"Alia finds out Frost is directing the Lord of the Throne movie, and she sees an opportunity. She tells Frost he can give her her big break in the film, or she goes public with what he did to her mom," I added.
"But if Frost agreed and made her the Dragon Queen—"
"Which he did," I said.
"—then she has no reason to want him dead," Marco pointed out.
I frowned. He was right. "Okay, how about this: Frost sees Alia struggling with her lines and starts to second guess his decision."
Marco pointed a finger at me. "You did say he was unhappy with her that first day you were here."
I nodded. "Let's say he sees her tanking the movie. Ruining his big comeback. Or at the very least, they're going over schedule and over budget, and his backer Paddington Productions is getting upset. So, Frost calls her bluff about going to the press and decides to fire her in favor of a more seasoned actress?"
"And she kills him over it!" Marco said, his eyes shining. Clearly he was enjoying our little guessing game. "Or maybe this was her plan all along. She only blackmailed Frost to get the part in order to get close to him. Then she planned to kill him out of revenge for what he did to her mother."
"If he did anything," I said, trying to apply the brakes before we went too far off the beaten path of reality.
Marco paused. "Right. If." He turned back to the screen. "But it does look like Renegade was the last movie Vida Altor did."
"Which could mean she didn't have a very good agent. Or she just moved on to a different career."
"Or she'd had enough of being victimized by the male dominated Hollywood hierarchy."
I nodded. "Or that."
"You know, it's funny," Marco mused, clicking back to Vida's bio. "All these rumors about Frost. You'd have thought someone would have actually come forward to say me-too about him by now."
"It's a scary thing," I told him. "And it's possible some women don't even realize how victimized they've been. It's just been such a part of the culture. What did Tarrin tell me? That it's more the norm than not."
"So sad." Marco shook his head, scrolling through some of the other cast listed in Renegade Road. "Dana's been lucky she hasn't had to deal with it until now."
"Agreed." Though, she's certainly getting the full force of it now—first Frost and then the police.
"Geez, this guy did these car movies forever. Renegade came out in '97. And number seven in the franchise was all the way in 2011."
I frowned, something about that date clicking. "Wait—when did you say?"
"2011."
"No, Renegade Road. When did that move come out?" I looked at the screen over his shoulder.
"June of 1997," Marco read.
"When did they shoot it?" I asked, doing some mental math. "Does it say?"
He scrolled down to continue reading. "I don't know when they started, but there's a photo from the wrap party dated October of '96." His perfectly painted eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"Twenty-three years ago."
"Okay," he said.
"Go back to the bio of Alia," I said. "Does it give her birth date?"
Marco clicked. "I don't know. Why?"
"Look!" I leaned over his shoulder and stabbed at the screen. "June 15—"
"—1997," he finished.
"That's eight months after filming wrapped on the movie," I said.
Our eyes met and held.
"Ohmigod. What if Jasper Frost was Alia's father?" Marco gasped. His eyes went comically wide, and he put a hand to his mouth in mock surprise.
I thought about the stocky, wild eyed director and the beautiful young actress. They could not have looked more opposite, but stranger things had happened. "That would put a whole different spin on things." I sat back on the bed, digesting this new possibility.
"If Alia knew he was her father," Marco said, "maybe she went to him to help her break into Hollywood. Maybe that's why he gave her the role."
"They didn't seem like they were on great father-daughter terms," I told him, thinking back to the way Frost had snapped at her on set. Then again, he'd snapped at everyone.
"Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite that cozy. Maybe we were on the right track with the blackmail in the first place. Only the blackmail was that Daddy gives Alia her big break or else Alia goes public about being his love child."
I nodded. "I could see that. But he gave her the part. Why kill him?"
"Abandonment issues?" Marco floated. "Revenge for forcing himself on her mother? Who knows—maybe she even wanted some daddy time and he rejected her?"
All of which were great theories, but unfortunately that's all we had—theories. One B-movie twenty-three years ago and a rumor that Frost was handsy with actresses. I wasn't sure how that would stack up in Bartlett's mind. But one thing was for sure—Alia definitely had a history with Frost that was more complicated than she'd let on. At the very least, her mother did.
I was about to suggest another chat with Alia, when my phone rang from my purse. I pulled it out to see Ramirez's name on the readout.
"H
ey," I answered.
"Hey, yourself. I only have a few minutes," he said. "What's going on?"
I glanced guiltily at the computer screen. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice only slightly higher than normal.
"I mean, you called and left a voicemail." Did I detect a note of suspicion in his tone?
"Oh. Right. Yeah, I, uh, have something I wanted to show you," I hedged.
"Can it wait a bit? I'm kind of tied up here."
"The shooting?" I asked, biting my lip.
"Yeah. Turns out it was at J.R. Ravensberg's place. That author you like."
"Oh really?" There went my high voice again.
"Yeah. Really." There went his suspicion again.
I scrunched my nose up, making such a face that Marco mouthed, You okay?
That remained to be seen.
"Uh, so what happened at Ravensberg's?" I asked, trying my darndest to keep my tone even. Normal. Innocent.
"J.R. claims someone broke into his place last night and damaged his hauberk."
"What's a hauberk?"
Marco gave me a palms-up shrug, although I hadn't directed that question to him.
"Good question," Ramirez said. "Apparently it's his chain mail shirt. Ever seen one?"
That sounded like a trick question to me.
"Did he see who it was?" I countered.
"Apparently not. He only saw two figures dressed in black running away. He got a shot or two off but isn't sure if he hit them." His pause was meaningful. "Someone could have easily been killed last night."
"Thank goodness Ravensberg's a lousy shot," I said, keeping my tone light.
"Thank goodness," Ramirez said dryly. "Did you happen to hear anything about the break-in today on the set?"
"No," I said honestly. "Not a word." I did not add that I wasn't currently on said set.
"Well, Bartlett took the thing as evidence, so it's out of my hands. Coincidentally, now he can compare it to the piece of metal left at the crime scene."
"That's convenient." Relief flooded through me. Looked like our break-in had the desired affect after all. If not strictly as planned.
"Anyway, I want to stick around while forensics does their thing," Ramirez said. "I should be out of here by four. Meet up at the hotel then?"
"Sounds good," I said, checking the bedside clock radio. It was 1:15 now.
"You can show me whatever it is then."
"Hmm?"
"The thing you wanted to show me?" he said. "That you left the voicemail about?"
"Oh. Right. That. Yeah, not really that important." At least not now.
"Uh-huh."
"Okay, well, I've gotta go," I said quickly. "See you at four."
"Stay out of trouble," he warned me.
I was pretty sure that was just a figure of speech.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I had a bad feeling I'd already left Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt to their own devices on the set of Lord of the Throne too long, so as soon as I hung up with Ramirez, Marco and I grabbed a couple of to-go burgers from the Tipsy Moose and headed back to set. I munched on french fries as we rode the five minutes it took to go from civilization (relatively speaking) to the middle of nowhere. But as we approached the set, I realized the middle of nowhere had become a lot more populated than when we'd last left it.
The news vans had trickled their way out to the spot, lining the road beside the clearing where the small set had been built, and several cars were parked nearby, creating a makeshift parking lot of the dry grass.
"What is going on now?" I asked as Marco found a spot between a tall pine tree and a Dodge minivan.
We got out, noting several other people exiting cars, all moving in the direction of the film set.
"I don't like the looks of this," Marco said, following two guys with cameras toward the small castle in the distance.
That made two of us.
"You don't suppose your mama and Mrs. R had anything to do with this mess, do you?"
That hadn't occurred to me. I sincerely hoped not. We quickly made our way to the set to find dozens of other people—mostly news crews—crowded there as well.
"Excuse me, darling," Marco said, cutting a swath through the crowd. "Excuse me. Oh, cute shoes. Pardon me, honey." He glanced over his shoulder. "Try to keep up, will you?"
Eventually we broke through the ring of reporters to find a harried looking Tarrin standing at their center, waving her hands in the air to ward off a slew of questions being shouted her direction. Behind her stood some of the cast and crew, looking as perplexed as we were about the sudden crowd. Dana was still in Pixnetta garb, and I could see Elora hanging back, phone to her ear, surveying the scene with her customary icy gaze.
"We're trying to shoot a movie here," Tarrin said. "If you could please move off set so we can work."
"Have the police made an arrest?"
"Is your star a suspect?"
"Will Frost be laid to rest in Moose Haven?"
"What?" Tarrin asked, her eyes bouncing from one microphone to the next as reporters lobbed questions her way. "No, no. We have no comment. We're just trying to shoot a movie here. We're on a tight schedule." Her tone was pleading, but no one was paying attention.
"Did Dana Dashel kill Jasper Frost?" one female voice yelled from the back. I could have sworn I saw a flash of hot pink accompany the question.
"No!" Tarrin shouted loudly. Her eyebrows drew down in a frown. "Look, if I give you a statement to print, will you all leave?"
Murmurs of approval at that deal made their way through the crowd. Dana stood back from the crowd, looking just about as distressed as the director sounded. Mom and Mrs. R were nowhere to be seen. I prayed Dana had tucked them away in her trailer somewhere.
"Dana Dashel is not a killer," Tarrin said emphatically.
A couple smirks from the crowd told her that was not the headline they were looking for.
Tarrin licked her lips before stepping up onto a nearby crate for extra height. "Dana is the victim here!"
"Was she run though with a sword too?" someone yelled. More snickers followed.
"We must put an end to crucifying strong women like this!" Tarrin said. "It's unacceptable that women in every walk of life are subjected to behavior like Jasper Frost's. I blame the entire patriarchal environment of Hollywood. This woman"—she pointed at Dana, who was trying unsuccessfully to go unnoticed behind a Sworf—"was just the latest victim of his predatory behavior."
I could see the eyes of several reporters shining with glee at this tidbit.
"We will not stand for it anymore. Men like Frost will not victimize anymore."
"Because he's dead!" someone in the crowd shouted.
But Tarrin ignored him, firmly on her soapbox now. "We must stand together if we want to see real change happen. I'm telling you right now, time's up! I'm asking any and all other victims of Jasper Frost to come forward and demand justice!"
Cameras clicked. Microphones were shoved her way. A few guys in T-shirts that read Security emerged from nowhere, ready to push back the growing mob. And some of the female extras starting chanting, "Girl power!"
The impromptu press conference had descended into a circus. While Tarrin might have had Dana's best interests at heart with her speech, it didn't appear to have had the desired effect of making the press go away. If anything, they were more eager than ever to get more. Questions came rapid fire, and in a matter of seconds, the whole event had devolved into a shout-fest.
Tarrin frowned, looking unsure of what to do. Behind her I noticed Elora's mouth had curved into wicked grin as she watched the scene unfold. She clearly was not hating the publicity.
Dana, on the other hand, was huddled behind her fellow actors who had closed ranks around her, her lower lip quivering and her face pale. Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt had appeared, Mom's arm around her shoulders while Mrs. R froze approaching reporters with an icy glare perfected through multiple marriages.
"Come on," I said. I grabbed Marc
o's hand, and we pushed through the reporters toward her.
"Oh, honey." Marco wedged himself in by bumping Mrs. Rosenblatt aside with a hip. "I cannot believe what a beast that man was. You poor thing. How did you ever work for him?"
"He never assaulted me," Dana protested quietly.
"More like insulted," I added.
"I'm not a victim." Dana turned to me, and I could see the confusion in her eyes.
"Tarrin's just trying to help," I told her. "Or maybe speaking up on the wrong person's behalf," I amended, thinking of Alia and her mother.
"Well, whatever happened, we're on your side, honey." Marco patted her arm.
"Oh, no, you don't," Mrs. Rosenblatt cautioned an approaching reporter. "She's got no comment."
"Well, I don't know what happened," my mother said. "Could someone please tell me what's going on here?"
"Nothing's going on," I told her. "Nothing happened."
"Then why are we here?" Mom asked. "What was Tarrin talking about? It sounded like Jasper Frost—"
"He didn't," I cut in.
Dana shook her head. "I'll tell you all about it later." She paused. "Might as well. It'll be all over the news soon. Ricky's gonna freak out when he hears this."
"Hey!" Mrs. R waggled her finger at another reporter. "Don't even think about it, or Mama will bring the hammer down!"
The reporter spun on his heel and rushed away.
Marco grinned at her. "'Mama will bring the hammer down?'"
"Laugh if you want to." Mrs. Rosenblatt whisked her hands together, satisfied. "I get results."
As the reporters began to disperse, thanks to the security team corralling them away like sheepherders, I noticed Alia standing off to the side of the commotion—arms wrapped protectively around herself, frown etched on her fresh features, eyes darting nervously toward the reporters.
"Will you be okay here for a minute?" I asked Dana.
"Freeze, mister!" Mrs. Rosenblatt yelled to another reporter. "This area's off-limits! Don't make me throw you out of here!"
The reporter stopped, looking uncertain.
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 17