A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2)

by Joanne Phillips

  At the foot of the staircase, Flora stopped and listened. Nothing. Just the rumble of distant voices, and the odd shout from outside. She tiptoed across the hall and stood with her back to the door, looking around. Closing her eyes, and crossing her fingers for luck, Flora reached behind her and tried the handle. The door opened. She smiled. So good old Sidney didn’t keep it locked all the time.

  She turned and quickly stepped through the doorway.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss. Where do you think you’re going?’

  Flora froze. It was the unmistakably cultured tones of the butler. She looked around, forcing her face into an innocent smile. Sidney was carrying a tray of plates on his shoulder, and his face, usually so impassive, had taken on a look of outrage.

  ‘Sorry,’ Flora said, ‘I’m looking for the toilets. Thought they might be down here.’

  ‘This area is off limits to guests.’ The butler’s top lip turned up slightly on the word guests. ‘There are toilets next to the dining room.’ He waited for her to get out of his way, with the tray balanced on one hand and the ring of keys in the other. ‘This door is locked,’ he said, casting a suspicious glance at Flora’s hands. ‘How did you get in?’

  Flora frowned. ‘It wasn’t locked. Someone must have left it open by accident.’

  ‘Impossible. I’m the only person with a key.’

  ‘Well, we all make mistakes,’ Flora told him with a shrug, edging away across the hall. The old man stared at the keys, then at the door. He mumbled something and shook his head.

  Flora fled out to the gardens. What did it matter if the odd guest went down to the kitchens, anyway? What was he doing in there – growing cannabis? She laughed to herself, feeling the tension ebb away. No way Alberto had got into that part of the house to hide Celeste’s dirty little secret, though. Sidney was like a ninja on patrol.

  ***

  ‘And … Action!’

  Flora watched, entranced, as Celeste approached Eduardo with her eyes downcast. It was a remarkable transformation: as soon as the clapperboard fell, Celeste segued into an entirely different person. It wasn’t only the historical costume – Celeste was playing a maid in the film, and the empire line, dun-coloured dress made her look even more willowy and beautiful. And it wasn’t the setting, either, although the cobbled town square in the August sunshine did indeed feel like a place out of time. It was something else, something Flora couldn’t put her finger on. Star quality, perhaps. Celeste was very good at her job.

  As was Alberto. He’d clearly charmed the locals already, many of whom had come out to watch the spectacle. And he knew how to make good use of local talent, employing a sound engineer from the performing arts college to operate the boom, lining up a trainee to act as runner, and finding someone to man the lighting rigs – what Celeste called a gaffer. He’d already cast a few hopefuls from the amateur dramatics society to act in various small roles. Flora was astonished at how many people were running around, even after Alberto had shouted Action. She had imagined it to be more cosy than this, more intimate. Not so random-seeming and frantic.

  ‘Are you enjoying the filming?’

  Flora turned to find Nick Gibson behind her. It was the first time they’d spoken, and she had to admit she found his presence slightly discomforting. Celeste said he used to be a boxer, and this was evident in his aggressive demeanour. Even now, enquiring of Flora how she and Marshall had found navigating the tiny streets of Burton Edge in their cumbersome van, the man seemed poised for a fight.

  ‘I’m enjoying it very much,’ she told him. ‘And the roads were fine. Marshall is used to it – we have lots of these streets in Shrewsbury.’ She scrambled around for a topic of conversation. On the set in front of them, Celeste crouched on the ground in front of Eduardo, who looked every inch the Napoleonic war hero with his arm in an artfully muddied plaster cast and sling.

  ‘The costumes are great,’ Flora said. ‘Especially that sling.’

  ‘Gabriella made it herself. She’s a very talented girl.’

  Flora’s eyes drifted over to where Gabriella perched on a fold-out stool. She was staring at her phone, jabbing at it every couple of seconds with nervy fingers.

  ‘Have you ever been to Spain, Miss Lively?’ Nick asked. He managed to make even innocuous questions sound like challenges.

  ‘I’d like to go one day,’ Flora said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never been anywhere.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual. Not like your friend, who has, it seems, been everywhere.’

  Before Flora had a chance to process what was undoubtedly a slur on Celeste, Nick had jumped up and taken a step towards the small group in front of the camera. It took Flora a moment to catch on, but when she did, she rushed after the producer.

  ‘Eduardo, it’s fine.’ Celeste was holding onto Eduardo’s free arm, pulling him away from Alberto.

  ‘Not fine. He touch you.’

  ‘He was just adjusting my costume. Ignore him. I’ve told you before.’

  ‘And I tell him, he touch you I kill him.’ Eduardo lunged for Alberto again; the director sprang back out of harm’s way and shouted at Celeste in Spanish.

  ‘He was doing more than adjusting her costume. He had his hand down her top.’ Jack had appeared on the set an hour ago, and Flora had been glad to see him, thinking maybe he could help with this ridiculous blackmail situation. He stood by her side now, his body tense.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Flora said, keeping her eyes on her friend. ‘I mean, in front of everyone? Isn’t that a bit blatant?’ She glanced at Jack, wondering if he already knew about Celeste’s problems with Alberto.

  Jack laughed once, sharply. ‘I heard him say she needed more “uplift”. Look, he’s taking it out on the poor wardrobe girl now.’

  Alberto was indeed berating Gabriella, who stared at him uninterestedly. Alberto pointed to Celeste, then made obscene gestures with his hands, shaping imaginary breasts on his own chest, then pushing them upwards.

  ‘Demasiado poco,’ he said. ‘Too little.’

  Eduardo stepped forward again, and Celeste gasped in alarm. Eduardo had pulled his sword out of its sheath and was holding it against Alberto’s throat.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Celeste cried. ‘Do something. Somebody do something.’ She pulled against Eduardo’s sword arm but it didn’t budge. Although only a prop, the sword was clearly very sharp: red dots had already begun to form on Alberto’s neck. Eduardo’s arms shook, vibrating with tension. Flora held her breath.

  Jack moved so fast, Flora didn’t even see him. One minute he was by her side, the next he was in front of Eduardo, holding out his hands, palms down.

  ‘Take it easy, fella,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

  ‘Keep filming,’ Alberto cried, waving his arms like he was trying to fly. ‘See how he try to kill me.’

  This was merely for effect, as there was nobody behind the camera, Alberto preferring to do most of the camera work himself. But it seemed to make Eduardo think twice, or maybe it was Jack’s glowering presence. After a beat, he lowered the sword and stepped back. He spat on the ground by Alberto’s feet, said something in Spanish, then turned and stomped away.

  Raquel wandered over and spoke to Celeste. She ignored her husband, who was wiping the blood from his neck with one of Gabriella’s cotton pads. Celeste suddenly turned on Raquel, her eyes blazing.

  ‘No, he shouldn’t have just gone ahead and done it. What kind of a person are you to say something like that about your own husband?’

  Flora sighed and followed Eduardo to the van. Leave them to it, she thought. It was starting to dawn on her that this level of drama might be entirely normal for the members of Rojo Productions. On camera or off, they were an intense bunch.

  The Shakers van had been set up as a kind of restroom once the cameras and lights and props were unloaded, with a coffee machine on a fold-out table and sandwiches from the local deli. Eduardo was brooding in a plastic chair, but when Flora reached the top
of the steps he jumped up and held out his hands. The specially designed sling-cum-cast hung uselessly from his neck like a discarded scarf.

  ‘What I do? Tell me, what? That man, he is …’ He seemed to be searching his knowledge of English for the appropriate word. Flora poured herself a coffee. She tipped her head to one side, then the other, trying to ease out the tension in her neck.

  ‘A monster. That’s what he is.’ Nick supplied the word for Eduardo, climbing into the van and wrapping his thick arm around the younger man’s shoulders. ‘You’re not the only one who wants shot of him, my friend. Trust me on that.’

  ‘You could get rid of him, Nico. You sack him, no?’

  ‘You know I can’t, probably for the same reason you can’t get out of your contract. He’s far too clever for that.’ Nick laughed his mirthless laugh. Flora shuddered. She busied herself in the depths of the pantechnicon, ostensibly sorting through some packing crates. She wondered what the two men might let slip if they forgot she was there. At least Nick seemed to share her own lack of knowledge when it came to Spanish, despite having lived there for years.

  ‘He crazy,’ Eduardo said. He slammed his fist on his knee. ‘Dirty crazy man.’

  In her peripheral vision, Flora saw Nick move his head closer to Eduardo’s. ‘Be patient, my friend,’ he said softly, then he patted the actor on the back twice and left.

  Flora straightened up and brushed imaginary dust off her shorts. Eduardo glanced over and gave her a sheepish smile.

  ‘I stupid, eh? Threatening old man like Alberto.’

  ‘You feel passionately about it,’ she said, shrugging. ‘You are protective. It’s only natural.’

  Eduardo helped Flora down from the van, and they headed back across the cobbled square. Alberto was packing the cameras away, while Celeste leaned against the stone church wall, smoking. Flora raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  ‘Eduardo, tell me something. Why does Nick want shot of Alberto?’

  ‘How you say it – artistic differences? Alberto spend too much money, has no class. Nico wants to take Rojo Producciones to America, make action thrillers. Alberto always love scenes, sexy.’

  ‘But if Nick is the producer, if he holds the purse strings like Celeste says, then isn’t he the one in control?’

  ‘Purse strings?’ Eduardo looked confused.

  ‘Never mind.’ Flora watched Raquel approach her husband and whisper something in his ear. The director threw back his head and laughed; Raquel gave him a disgusted look and walked away.

  ‘He control her too,’ Eduardo said. ‘With his fists.’

  Flora’s face must have registered her surprise and doubt. Alberto looked no match for the pneumatic Raquel.

  ‘So they say.’ Eduardo shrugged, like he didn’t much care either way.

  Flora watched the director’s wife strut over to Vincenzo, who was sitting astride a throbbing motorcycle, a spare helmet dangling from one arm. Her movements exaggerated, yet still enviously graceful, Raquel shimmied her pencil skirt up to her thighs, then lifted one leg over the back of the bike. She took the helmet from Vincenzo and shook back her hair, then she put the helmet on and wrapped her hands around Vincenzo’s waist. Her legs were long and lean, the muscles tensed as her escort revved the engine and roared away down the medieval street.

  ‘She get her revenge,’ Eduardo said, his eyes also trained on the motorbike. ‘One way or the other.’

  Chapter 5

  Eduardo’s interruption of the filming schedule had only succeeded in pushing things back into the evening. By five o’clock, Flora and Marshall had loaded the equipment back onto the van, but still their day wasn’t over. Alberto wanted to nail down a scene at Hanley Manor, so the cameras and lights were unloaded once again on their return and set out on the lawn, along with floodlights and Alberto’s ever-present director’s chair.

  ‘Which scene is this again?’ Flora asked Celeste. She was struggling to get any sense of the story behind the film – scenes were shot out of order, then shot again multiple times from different angles. It was, in fact, quite boring. Maybe acting was just like any other job. It was certainly repetitive enough.

  ‘Okay, so this is the scene where Carlos – Eduardo’s character – finally realises that the woman who brought him back to England doesn’t really care about him, she only wants him for her love slave.’ Celeste’s lip curled. They were walking across the lawn, lugging a brown leather trunk between them. If Celeste minded assisting the hired help, she didn’t show it. She said, ‘Raquel will be milking this scene as much as she can to make Alberto jealous, but it won’t work. After all, Alberto cast her – his own wife – to have the most love scenes with Eduardo. Doesn’t that just say it all?’

  ‘Love scenes?’ Flora observed her friend out of the corner of her eye. ‘I’m guessing you would have rather played Raquel’s part – Imelda, is it?’

  ‘Damn right I would. And I’d have been better at it too. I could have done the seducing far more convincingly than her. Who’s going to believe those two together – a forty-five-year-old woman and a twenty-six-year-old man?’

  ‘Eduardo’s only twenty-six?’ Flora was surprised – not just because he looked so much older, but also that Celeste had fallen so hard for a younger man. ‘So your part – Nina – who is she again?’

  ‘A young maid who works in Imelda’s household. She falls in love with Carlos against all the odds.’

  ‘Young woman who gets the guy sounds better than older woman he’s disillusioned with,’ Flora said. ‘As far as parts go, and in real life.’

  They reached the centre of the lawn and dumped the trunk next to Gabriella’s stool. Their temporary gaffer, a tall bald man with a beard and a pony tail, smiled salaciously, showing them yellow teeth. Celeste ignored him and pulled Flora over to a picnic rug. She stretched out her long legs, then checked her nails for chips.

  ‘This isn’t real life, Flora. And Raquel – Imelda – gets all the best lines. I’m like “Mistress, let me brush your beautiful hair”, and “Oh, sir, how brave you must be.” We only have one major scene together, Eduardo and me, and that’s the one we were filming today. God knows how that will turn out now.’

  ‘So,’ Flora said, frowning, ‘let me get this straight – it’s a historical romance set in England at the start of the Napoleonic Wars. These two women, Imelda and Nina, are rivals for the love of a wounded war hero who is being hidden in the English countryside to avoid capture by the British army. Imelda rescued Carlos and brought him back to England – as some kind of love slave – and you are the maid who falls in love with the brave soldier and finally gets the guy at the end. And Vincenzo, what’s his role?’

  ‘He’s an Italian spy, reporting back to Napoleon’s army on the location of deserters.’ Celeste’s shoulders drooped. ‘It’s not a very good film.’

  Flora said nothing.

  ‘Flora Lively? Traje.’

  Gabriella stood over Flora with a purple dress draped across both arms. She kept her eyes on a point in the far distance. Her body language said bored, but also wary. ‘Traje,’ she repeated. Flora got to her feet and looked to Celeste for translation.

  ‘Costume,’ explained Celeste. ‘She seems to think you need a costume.’ Celeste lowered her voice and whispered in Flora’s ear. ‘I don’t think she’s very bright. She’s got you mixed up with one of us.’

  ‘Actually, I think it might be for me. That is, I am going to be … Well, the thing is …’ Flora swallowed. Celeste’s eyes were boring into her. ‘The thing is, Alberto offered me a small part in the film. It’s nothing, just a guest at dinner, or something. I’m sure I’ll be rubbish at it.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure you will be.’

  Her friend’s expression was unreadable. Gabriella shoved the gown under Flora’s nose.

  ‘Flora Lively, sí?’

  ‘Thank you. Erm, gracias.’ Flora smiled at the younger woman. It was the first time she’d heard her speak, but even to Flora’s amateur ea
r, Gabriella’s accent sounded different to that of the rest of the crew. Gabriella didn’t return her smile. She practically threw the gown into Flora’s arms and retreated back to her station.

  ‘What’s this?’ said a voice at her side. ‘You following in our Celeste’s footsteps now?’

  Flora smiled up at Jack. ‘Hardly. I’m an extra, nothing more.’

  ‘Jack, what a lovely surprise.’ Celeste slipped her arm through his and hugged him close. ‘Did Alberto invite you to dinner?’

  ‘Sure did. I think he wants me around after what happened today. Your boyfriend is a bit of a liability.’

  ‘He’s a pussycat. Alberto just winds him up, is all. Speak of the devil,’ she muttered.

  The director was strutting across the lawn towards them. Flora could see Marshall putting the finishing touches to the slightly fuzzy backdrop of painted English countryside he’d just erected. The backdrop had been lit to mimic the sun dipping on the horizon, and the effect in the twilit garden was unsettling but also kind of beautiful. Flora gave an involuntary sigh.

  ‘Miss Lively, have you learned your lines?’ Alberto inquired, giving one of his trademark winks.

  ‘Line, more like,’ Flora said, catching Celeste’s furious expression.

  ‘You’ll be brilliant,’ Jack told her. ‘Break a leg!’

  ‘Oh, please.’ Celeste yawned. ‘I think it’s time for a cocktail.’

  ***

  ‘What are you wearing?’

  Flora froze, her hand flying up to her chest. She’d been hoping to avoid Marshall, but no such luck. Here he was, his face flushed and his hazel eyes glaring, his voice cutting across the gardens like a hunting horn. He was not going to be happy about this.