Act it Out (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 2)

by Deany Ray

  “These people get to feast,” I said. “Nice perk of working in the movies.” The granola bar was not even coming close to making me feel full in the midst of the sensory overload of smells.

  “Tomorrow night remind me I have to eat before we come here.” I grabbed a dish of carrots.

  “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” Kat stared into a dish of chicken cordon bleu. “My stomach growls, although I already had dinner.”

  Not even five minutes later, the enticing smells drew groups of the cast and crew to the dining area. The food was all in place, and things were really buzzing. I stood back for a while and watched, alert for any unusual signs. I moved between the tables, filling water pitchers, neatening the napkins, sometimes taking longer with a task so I could listen closely to the talk around me.

  David Rafferty, Fitzgerald’s replacement, stood at the end of one table with a group of guys, enjoying a plate of chicken wings and fruit. With a nod of my head, I signaled to Kat to keep a close eye on him. There was no sign yet of Torres, but Susi was there too, laughing and smiling in the midst of a small group. She caught my eye after a while and gave me a friendly wave. I planned to watch more closely on this second evening. The day before, there had been a kind of learning curve, but the people-watching could now begin in earnest.

  My eyes were drawn at that point to a flash of silky blonde just to my left. It was Miranda Hyde, Victoria’s replacement, who was even more stunningly beautiful in person than she was on the screen. She had on a simple black dress, and her hair fell long and loose over her shoulders. I had noticed the actress very briefly at the first dinner we served yesterday—before my attention was diverted by the fight.

  I watched Miranda closely as she sauntered past the tables, not speaking to any of the cast or crew or even picking up a plate. Miranda, in a way, had gained something from the murder, but a part in a film—even a high-profile film like this—seemed almost ridiculously weak as far as motives went.

  I noticed some empty plates and was stacking them when Susi came up to say hi. “The food is excellent,” she said.

  “So happy you like it. Did you find everything you need?”

  “I did.” She paused to take a sip of soda. “So, you must be new around here. I don’t remember seeing you before you got too close to that tussle between Rafferty and Torres.”

  “Yeah, that was my first day. Way to start a new job, right? With food flung in my face.” I rolled my eyes, and she shook her head sympathetically. Then I lowered my voice. “I’m so glad I wasn’t here on the day with the . . . you know, murder.”

  “Oh wow, yeah, that was a bad day,” Susi said. “It still just seems unreal.”

  “So, did you see it happen?”

  “I did. I still see it my head sometimes when I go to sleep. We stood there for so long, and we were literally waiting for her to get up, so that they could, you know, move on to the next scene. Then after a while, we figured it was some sort of prank, although that would not be like Victoria at all.”

  “I can only imagine how awful that was.”

  “Yeah, and to think I'd picked out her outfit for that . . . final scene, which is kind of chilling, really.”

  “Do you think Fitzgerald did it?” I asked, curious to hear her point of view.

  She looked around to see if someone could be listening, then spoke to me in low tones. “To be honest with you, I don’t know what to think. I could believe it either way, which is kind of sad, if you think about it. But this is also the vibe I get from most of the people here on set. People in this industry would go to any lengths to get what they want, which means you can’t really ever rule anybody out.” She stared out at the crowd of diners. “It’s a vindictive business. You just wouldn’t believe how awful people get, and that makes it kind of tough to get a read on what has really happened.”

  Hmm. How many other people I loved watching on the screen were awful in real life? Best not to think about it.

  “It’s hard for me to imagine what would have made somebody do something so extreme.” I shivered.

  “Well, who really knows?” she said. “Supposedly, the two of them, Victoria and Amery, were a couple and then suddenly they weren’t. That hardly seems to be a reason to put a bullet in her chest, but that’s all I’ve got.”

  While I thought about that, Kat refilled a dish in front of us. I made the introductions between her and Susi.

  “Nice to meet you,” Kat said, letting out a sigh. “I’ve refilled the salad three times. Movie people love their salads.” Then she turned to Susi. “We don’t really know a lot about the movie. Are you thinking this one will turn out to be a hit?”

  “It sure will. The box office is going to be phenomenal. I can tell you that for sure. It’s hard to buy publicity like we have had with this one.” She spooned some grapes from the table in front of us into a small bowl. “As for the movie itself, it’s hard to say this early, but the work is going well—despite the horrific circumstances and the interruptions. There was a scene today where—”

  Miranda Hyde marched up to Kat, cutting Susi off. “Where are the lobster tails? I don’t see the lobster tails.”

  I saw Kat gulp. “Um . . . we don’t have any lobster tails.”

  Miranda narrowed her eyes at Kat.

  “Can I interest you in a shrimp cocktail?” Kat asked, taking a step back.

  Miranda looked at us as if she’d just smelled something putrid. She jerked one perfectly manicured finger at Kat. “I specifically asked for lobster. So, where is it?”

  Kat looked like she was about to pee in her pants. “Look, Miranda . . . um, Miss Hyde, no one said anything to us about any lobster tails, but I can—”

  “Hmph, I don’t care what you can,” Miranda said. “Those lobster tails better be here tomorrow.” She turned on her heels and huffed as she walked away.

  After a moment of silence, watching the seafood-loving leading lady storm off like a tornado, Kat said, “OMG, I’m soaked through. What the hell was that?”

  I exchanged a look with Susi. “I get what you mean.”

  Susi tolled her eyes. “Told ya. All divas.”

  Sheesh. It wasn’t like Miss Lobster Tails didn’t have a feast set out in front of her. Try having a choice between whatever granola bars were left at your house.

  My musings were interrupted by Nurse Patty—I could never, ever call her by any other name—who approached me with a smile.

  “Hi! Excuse me, please, but could you point me toward the papaya if it’s included in the spread? I thought I saw papaya on one of the stuntmen’s plates.”

  Whaaaat? Did I hear her right? Was she actually . . . nice?

  “Over to your left next to the asparagus.” I nodded toward the location of the dish.

  “Thanks,” the actress said. “Papaya is my favorite.” She winked at me and Kat.

  Once she was on her way, Susi said in a low voice, “Why can’t they all be like her? Michaela’s always been the exception to the rule.”

  Kat chuckled. “For her, I’d buy lobster tails out of my own pocket.”

  “I’ve always liked her on TV,” I said. “And I’m glad she seems nice in real life too. Does she have a big role in this movie?”

  “I wish she had the lead.” Susi popped a grape into her mouth. “I heard she was up for it at first. Then for some reason they decided to go with Victoria, like a last-minute switch. And since Victoria is . . . you know . . . they went with Miranda. So now it’s her who gets to play the cool and sexy agent role.” Susi made a face.

  “Nothing remotely cool or sexy about that one.” Kat stared at Miranda, who was sitting by herself with a small plate.

  “You were telling us about Michaela’s part?” I prompted Susi as I straightened up a line of forks.

  “Michaela plays an analyst, a kind of minor role. Her character is always stuck down in the cellar while Miranda gets the action scenes—and gets her snooty mug up on the movie posters. I think if they had switched that
up, it would be a better movie. But I’m in hair, not casting, so what do I really know?”

  That meant the murder had also opened a path for Michaela to forge ahead in her career. Motives all around, none of them very good.

  “Well, thanks for the dinner,” Susi said. She gave me a grin. “I’m glad you just got to serve the food today and didn’t have to wear it.”

  I gave her a thumbs-up. “Always a good thing.”

  After bidding her goodbye, Kat and I refilled some dishes and kept an eye on the crowd to make sure everybody had what they needed. Again, the groups seemed to be segregated, actors huddling with actors, crew members sticking with each other. Miranda remained alone in her corner—no lobster tails, no friends, no big surprise there.

  After about an hour, people began to leave, and there were just a few scattered diners talking on the lawn.

  Kat grabbed a trash bag and began to make the rounds.

  “I’ll be back to help,” I said. “I need to find the restroom. There must be one in there.” I eyed the building next to us and headed in.

  Once inside, I followed a long hallway, stepping over cables, thinking surely I would find a door marked “restroom” if I just walked long enough. Even that late in the day, the place had an air of busyness about it as people spoke into walkie-talkies and rushed in and out of rooms.

  I spotted Vicente Torres coming out of a room in front of me. He was dressed in street clothes and was sporting a brown hoodie. With a gym bag thrown across his shoulder, he looked almost like an average guy you’d see around Palm Shores. I had to talk to him, and here was my chance.

  He headed in the opposite direction, and I held up a hand. “Vicente, wait!” I took off at a jog and tripped over a long cable, landing on my stomach. The universe must be pranking me, sending me flying even in my comfy shoes.

  Torres wheeled around, frowning. He rushed to help me off the floor.

  What a mess I’d made of this opportunity, but then there it was—the hand of Vicente Torres taking hold of mine. I sensed a gentleness about the muscled movie god as he helped me to my feet. His hand felt warm in mine, and I could feel a blush creep across my face as I looked into his deep-brown eyes. For a moment, I was lost in them, then I came to my senses. “Um, sorry.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I grinned at him ruefully. “I’m fine.”

  His bag slipped from his shoulder, spilling out some keys and his wallet. He began to gather them up and I reached for his wallet.

  His expression changed immediately. “No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”

  A photograph fell out. It was him with Fitzgerald.

  I did a double take, at first not understanding what I was looking at. In the photograph, Torres had his arms wrapped around Fitzgerald tightly from behind. He was nuzzling Fitzgerald’s neck as Fitzgerald smiled contentedly out at the camera.

  OMG, they were gay?

  Chapter Ten

  I stared at Vicente, not even knowing what to say.

  “Oh! So you and—” I stopped myself mid-sentence. The polite thing would have been not to say a thing and simply look away.

  Blushing, he grabbed for the photo and put it carefully into his wallet. He stared at the floor, his mouth a thin, grim line.

  An embarrassed silence filled the space.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want? How much?”

  “What?” At first I didn’t understand.

  “How much is it going to cost me for you not to talk and not to take this to the press?”

  I cringed. If he only knew I was the press. Kind of. In a way.

  “Nothing! I won’t tell.” I felt a rush of sadness for him and gave him a small smile, which I hoped was reassuring. “It’s no one’s business but your own.” Okay, I was broke, and I was sure this guy could afford some hush money. I could have used the money. But he shouldn’t have to pay me not to be a jerk; that wasn’t how I rolled.

  He gave me a look like he wasn’t buying it.

  “Cross my heart! I promise!”

  His face relaxed, and he looked around, making sure no one was listening. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said. “No way can this get out. The public doesn’t need to know about this.”

  “So no one really knows?” I was still feeling dumbfounded about this new information.

  “I don’t think so, no.” He gathered up the rest of his things and motioned me into a small room, where he shut the door and spoke in a low voice.

  “Look, I mean it,” he said. “Forget you saw that. You hear a lot of talk about acceptance and letting people be themselves, but in this industry, it’s totally different. The power players insist on actors who are straight.”

  “That really stinks,” I said.

  He threw his bag on a small table. “It turns out Hollywood is not nearly as progressive as people tend to think. Most of the platitudes that come out of these people’s mouths are just a lot of talk.” He gave me a wry smile. “Plus, if you play the leads I do, the women like to have their fantasies.”

  Guilty as charged.

  “Um, well, yeah, I guess.” With the music and the camera angles and the romantic lines, they made it way too easy for us women to picture ourselves with these guys. I’d done it; we’d all done it, and a shirtless Torres had been a hubba-hubba sight in Hot Nights and Teary Days. I was so glad the man couldn’t read my mind. Still, I felt a blush creep across my cheeks as I sank down in a folding chair.

  I thought about what his life must be like. “I can’t even imagine how it’s like having to hide your relationship. Especially when you have to work together, like with this movie.”

  He shrugged and leaned up against the wall. “Well, we’ve already been broken up.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  I asked myself in that moment why he would talk to me so much about this subject, but I got the impression he finally had someone to talk about it.

  “Do you think this secret Amery was keeping could have been connected to the murder?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.” He looked utterly defeated, unlike the confident and decisive characters he played. “I don’t know who framed Amery or why.”

  Interesting choice of words! “So you’re convinced he was framed?”

  “Absolutely. No way would he have fired that gun if he knew it wasn’t just a prop.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I still see his face sometimes after the gun went off, and the way Victoria was just lying there, the blood . . .”

  I could feel for him. He really did look beat. But something didn’t fit in this story. “But if you have no idea who is behind the murder, what was that fight about? Why did you blame David Rafferty and go after him like that?”

  “Oh, that.” He smiled sheepishly. “That was just an act. I’ve had a feeling lately people are suspecting I’m really into men. That was just to throw them off.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “How would a fight with Rafferty make them think you’re not gay?”

  He looked me in the eye. “I’m pretending I’m the guy they all want me to be—the desirable, tempestuous romantic, so in love with a gorgeous woman that I jump in to avenge the man who caused her death.”

  I gave him a slow nod. “Okay, that makes sense.” Was nothing at all about these people real?

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “You know, I really hate this crap. Always this constant tension I’m going to get found out. You just can’t imagine what it’s like and what it could do to my career, especially now when this movie is starting to take off.”

  “And TV too,” I added, suddenly feeling shy. “Hot Nights and Teary Days. I really like that show.”

  “Yeah, a lot of people start out on the soaps, and the lucky ones move on to featured roles in movies for the big screen. That is, if they can keep their secrets from the vultures in this bus
iness.” Frowning, he ran both hands through his silky hair. “You know, there are actors who’d be thrilled if I got found out. It would be less competition for them. The higher your star rises in this business, the more enemies you make.”

  Sheesh. I hoped my love for the movies would survive this recent information overload. I’d just have to eat my popcorn, think about the plot of whatever I was watching, and pretend the actors on the screen were not a bunch of jerks.

  “I do love making films, but I hate the extra drama.” His hurt seemed genuine, not another bit of show.

  “When did you and Amery break up?” I asked.

  “We broke up months ago. I thought it would be awkward being on the set with him, but he was cool about it, and it all went okay.”

  “Was he seeing someone else?” I knew I sounded way too nosy, but if there was another man in Fitzgerald’s life, that could be another suspect—or at least another avenue I could investigate.

  “Not that I know of. I don’t think so.”

  “Do you have any theories about who could have framed him?”

  He crossed his arms and shifted his position. “I’ve thought a lot about that, but there’s nothing that jumps out. There were those bad investments Amery got involved in. That got some people hot, but framing him for murder? That’s too extreme if you ask me.”

  “Bad investments?” Now we were getting somewhere. I got up from my chair and started pacing the room.

  Torres explained Fitzgerald had invested in some office buildings and luxury apartments being built in Singapore, a deal that had turned into a major bust. “Too many overruns in cost while the buildings were being built, too few buyers in the end,” Torres explained with a sigh. “What do actors know about real estate? I told him all along he needed to be careful.”

  Fitzgerald, he continued, had convinced a business partner to invest as well, and the guy was holding him responsible for the losses he incurred, demanding in no uncertain terms that Fitzgerald pay him back.

  “Guy was mad enough to come here from LA to go after Amery. He was on him constantly. It was really nuts. He even got himself a room at the hotel where we’re all staying, one of the only rooms that wasn't booked for us.”