Deception on the Set

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “You’re not, are you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, sir. We’re just playing a couple of zombies in a cool horror movie.”

  “Not thinking about the recent events,” the chief confirmed.

  “Not at all,” Frank agreed.

  The chief took a deep breath. “Well, that’s good. Because we may have this one solved already.”

  I was shocked. “Really?” I asked. Usually we beat Olaf to the punch, not the other way around.

  “That’s right,” the chief replied. “We even have an eyewitness to the latest incident.”

  Frank and I glanced at each other. “Well, that’s great,” said Frank.

  The chief narrowed his eyes at Frank. “You think it’s great, do you? Can you tell me your whereabouts between noon and two o’clock this afternoon?”

  Frank’s mouth fell open. He was speechless. It sounded as if Chief Olaf suspected my brother.

  “Why do you ask?” I asked.

  He kept his eyes on Frank. “Just answer the question, son.”

  “Uh . . . ,” Frank began. “I was in the makeup trailer. Getting my zombie makeup applied.”

  “Is that right?” asked the chief, eyeing Frank suspiciously.

  “It’s true,” I confirmed. “He was with me the entire time.”

  “You saw him the entire time?” asked the chief.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Except when he went to get his wig put on.” My lips slammed shut, but the damage was done. “He wasn’t gone that long, though.”

  “And I was with Nick, one of the makeup artists, during that part,” Frank added. “You can ask him.”

  “Oh, I will.” The chief nodded to the nearby police officer, who scribbled something in his notepad.

  “Why do you want to know where Frank was?” I asked.

  The chief grinned. “Remember that eyewitness I told you about? Well, he named Frank as the saboteur. Says he saw him near Mike’s, fiddling with the building’s facade.”

  “No way!” I exclaimed.

  “It’s not true!” protested Frank.

  The chief didn’t reply. I could tell that he was studying our faces to see if we were lying.

  “Look, you know me, Chief,” said Frank. “I wouldn’t do anything like that!”

  “You wouldn’t, huh?” The chief turned to me. “Maybe if there wasn’t a mystery, you’d want to create one of your very own. One you could solve? Then you could be the big hero, save the leading lady and all that.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Who is this eyewitness, anyway?”

  “I don’t think that’s hard to figure out,” Frank said, turning to Chief Olaf. “It’s Bob Trevino, isn’t it?”

  The chief nodded almost imperceptibly. “Not that that’s any of your concern.” He turned to the nearby officer. “Let’s find this Nick and ask him a few questions.”

  They marched away, leaving my brother and me dumbfounded.

  I rounded on Frank. “Now do you think this mystery is worth solving?”

  “It’s insane is what it is,” muttered Frank. “I would never do anything like that.”

  I clamped a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I know that and you know that. But this ‘eyewitness’ doesn’t know that. What do you say we do just . . . a smidgen of investigating?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Frank, apparently still shaken by the accusation.

  “Follow me,” I said, leading the way. “Let’s question Trevino ourselves.”

  We hiked back to Cheshire Avenue, where the production trailers were set up, careful not to be spotted by Chief Olaf as we passed the makeup trailer. We jogged all the way down the street until we found the special effects trailer. You couldn’t miss it; it was the only trailer surrounded by smoke. As we approached, we saw that the “smoke” wasn’t smoke at all, but dust. A figure dressed in brown coveralls stood in the center of the dust cloud, wielding a loud power tool. Behind him, a framed white board was covered with crisscrossed lines.

  “Excuse me!” I shouted over the whine of the motor.

  The figure turned, and the power tool spun down. As the dust settled, we saw that the young man was one of the special effects technicians. He wore goggles and a particle mask and was covered with chalky dust. The power tool was a large circular saw.

  “Hi,” said Frank. “We were wondering if we could speak with—”

  I pointed to the framed white board. “What exactly are you doing?”

  The technician pointed to his work. “This is for a scene where one of the stunt performers bursts through a wall,” he explained. “We score the Sheetrock by sawing it almost completely through. That way it’ll be easier to break.”

  Bob Trevino stepped out of the trailer doors. “Hey, Chuck. When you’re done with that—” The man’s face hardened when he saw us. “What do you two want?”

  “We want to know why you told the police chief that I sabotaged that set,” growled Frank.

  Mr. Trevino rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know . . . because I saw you messing with it earlier today?”

  “But I wasn’t,” protested Frank. “You have the wrong guy.”

  The man took a step forward, eyes flashing. “I know what I saw. Who I saw.” He aimed a finger at Frank’s chest. “I saw you behind the set with a screw gun. I had seen you around, so I assumed you were with the construction department. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But after the set piece fell and I heard that you warned everyone, I put two and two together.”

  I raised my hands. “Sir, I know for a fact that my brother wasn’t anywhere near where you saw him. He was in the makeup trailer with me.” I pointed back to the long line of trailers. “The police are confirming his alibi as we speak.”

  Trevino tightened his lips and looked us both over. Finally he said, “If it wasn’t you, then it was your twin brother.”

  “I’m his only brother,” I said. “And as you can clearly see, he’s not nearly as good-looking.”

  “Hey,” said Frank.

  I shrugged. “Trying to defuse the tension.”

  “Look, guys.” Trevino sighed and shook his head. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  DEAD RUN

  9

  FRANK

  I STEPPED OUT OF THE makeup trailer wearing a three-piece suit, Italian leather shoes, and a gold watch. I caught a few puzzled looks from people as I strolled down the street. Of course, they didn’t stare because of my fancy clothes. They stared at the decomposing skin stretched over my bony skull.

  Did I mention my suit was tattered, my shoes were scuffed, and the gold watch encircled my rotting wrist? That’s right, I was a zombie once again. But today I played a higher class of living dead.

  I was also a little sleepy, since the police had kept everyone late the night before. They didn’t want anyone leaving until they questioned the entire crew. Lucky for me, Chief Olaf spoke to Nick, who confirmed my alibi. I felt a little better, but I still didn’t understand why Bob Trevino believed I was the saboteur. Joe had speculated that Bob himself was the culprit and was trying to frame me in order to throw the police off the scent. I wasn’t so sure.

  Hugo met me halfway between the trailer and the set. “Looking good, Frank,” he said. Then he held a radio to his mouth. “I have our zombie and we’re flying in.”

  This morning the set was located in the alley behind Sal’s Diner. The crew was there with all lights, stands, video village, and craft service—that’s what they called the snack table. Unfortunately, craft service was off-limits for me. Zombie teeth make chewing difficult.

  Hugo led me to the center of the alley, where the crew adjusted a couple of small lights and focused the camera on me. I was used to waiting while working on this movie, but today I didn’t have to wait very long before Chelsea Alexander joined me on set.

  Chelsea looked me in the eye, trying to recognize me. “You’re the guy from yesterday, right? Fred?”

  “Frank,” I managed to say wit
h my zombie teeth.

  “Oh, okay. Frank,” she said. “I just want to thank you for saving me.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself. I held up a finger and then turned my back to her as I removed my prosthetic teeth. The only thing more gross than spitting out something in front of a girl was being a zombie and spitting out your teeth in front of a girl.

  I turned back to her. “It was no big deal,” I said, trying hard to compose myself. Even though I’d vowed not to speak to her again for fear of embarrassment, so far I was doing okay.

  “It was too a big deal,” said Chelsea. “I think you saved my life.”

  Now I was embarrassed for a different reason. Again, I was glad that she couldn’t see my face, which I’m sure was beet red.

  I scratched the back of my head. “Us zombies were trying to grab you anyway,” I explained. “I was just method acting.”

  Chelsea laughed, and I felt relief wash over me. I was actually having a conversation with Chelsea Alexander and not making a fool of myself. I’d even made her laugh. Cool.

  “Okay, are you ready, Chelsea?” asked Josh as he marched over.

  “I’m ready,” she replied.

  Josh pointed down the alley. “For this scene, you’re going to run down the alley while this zombie chases after you.” He patted my shoulder. “Chelsea, I want you to try the first two doors on the left. They’ll be locked. But then I want you to duck into the last door on the right. It’ll be open.”

  “Got it,” said Chelsea.

  “And you,” Josh said to me. “Just be a zombie. Almost catch her when she’s at the second door.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Josh walked back to video village. Bill stepped forward and addressed the crew. “Picture’s up! No rehearsal. Let’s shoot this one.”

  Once everyone was in place, Josh yelled, “Action!”

  Chelsea screamed as she ran down the alley. I shambled after her, doing my best stiff-legged zombie impression. Chelsea looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide with terror, and screamed. She was good; I almost stopped chasing her for a second. But then I snapped out of it and picked up the pace when she hit the first door. She jerked the knob back and forth, but it didn’t open. She dashed away from my reaching arms and made for the second door. As promised, it was locked. This time, I clutched at her jacket. Chelsea screamed as she jerked it from my grip.

  When she hit the third door, I was right behind her. She jerked it open and ducked inside. I arrived just as the door slammed in my face. I groaned and beat the door with my fists.

  “And . . . cut!” shouted Josh.

  I thought it looked like a cool scene, though I wasn’t sure how it would play out in the rest of the movie. Neither Joe nor I had read the screenplay—movie extras didn’t get copies of the script.

  Josh jogged over. “Everything looked great, you guys. I just want to add one thing.” He turned to me. “I want you to grab her jacket just as before. But this time, don’t let go.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “And, Chelsea . . . really try to break free,” Josh instructed. “If you have to rip the jacket or take it off altogether, go ahead. We have more just like it.”

  “Sure thing, Josh,” she said. Josh walked away, and she rolled her eyes when she turned back to me. I laughed politely, but I didn’t understand what the big deal was. I’m no director, but Josh’s instructions sounded good to me.

  As we moved back to our first positions, I noticed Joe standing off to the side. He was wearing brown overalls, so I guess he had been helping Meredith with some messy chemicals in the makeup trailer. He must’ve just stepped away to check out my big scene. I gave him a wave, but he didn’t wave back, which was weird because he seemed to be looking right at me.

  “And . . . action!” shouted Josh.

  Chelsea ran from me as before, but this time I clung to her jacket as Josh had instructed. But I wasn’t ready for how hard she would fight back, and she quickly jerked it from my grasp. She was safe behind the doorway after that.

  “Okay, let’s try it again,” said Josh. “And this time hold on and don’t let go.”

  “Will do,” I told him.

  I looked over to where Joe had been, but he was gone. I scanned the crew and spotted my brother standing next to a huge movie light on a lowered crane. The light was on a large stand inside the crane’s bucket. Long yellow straps extended from the bucket to the light itself. There were four of them, and they seemed to be all that was keeping the light from tipping out of the basket.

  That’s when I noticed that Joe wasn’t merely standing by the light; he was examining the yellow straps. I wondered what he was up to. Had he found a lead in the case?

  “And . . . action!” shouted Josh.

  Chelsea and I went through the scene again. This time, however, I snatched that jacket and held on for dear life. Chelsea jerked me around, but I held tight. Then, as my head was being jostled all over the place, I caught a glimpse of Joe again. To my disbelief, he was loosening the straps on the light. He had no business touching that equipment. People were going to think that he was the saboteur!

  I couldn’t help myself. I released Chelsea’s jacket and ran off the set.

  “Cut!” shouted Josh. “Where’s my zombie going?”

  This made Joe look up. He saw me closing in and took off. Why was he running from me? I may have looked like a scary zombie, but Joe knew who I was.

  I poured on the speed as Joe pulled away. He darted into another alley to try to lose me. I kept up and followed him down a short passageway, which dumped onto a busy street downtown. At the very end, he turned left.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” screamed a blond girl with earsplitting intensity.

  I skidded to a stop as the sidewalk’s pedestrians turned to gawk at me. Some screamed, some backed away, and some moved closer. I guess they were shocked to see a zombie in broad daylight in the middle of downtown nowhere near Halloween.

  “Ah, excuse me,” I said as I tried to politely push through the pack.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work. No one was frightened anymore; instead they were opting to crowd around for a closer look.

  “Can you take a picture with me?” asked a female voice. I glanced down to see it was the same girl who had screamed at first. Now she smiled and held up her phone.

  “Maybe thome other thime,” I mumbled through my zombie teeth. I was getting better at speaking with the prosthetics in my mouth.

  I gazed over the crowd and could see my brother getting away, running down the sidewalk. He turned down Wilson Avenue and disappeared. It was no use trying to catch him; even if I could push through the horde, he had too big a lead on me.

  I spun around to get out of there and back to the set. That’s when I ran straight into . . . Joe!

  “Whoa! Watch where you’re going, undead dude,” he said. I noticed he wasn’t wearing the overalls anymore.

  I pulled the teeth out of my mouth. “How did you get here?”

  Joe cut his eyes to the left. “Uh . . . I walked.” He looked over the gathering crowd. “They said you spazzed and ran this way.” He glanced back at me. “What—are you signing autographs or something?”

  I grabbed Joe’s arm and pulled him into the alley with me. “I was chasing you,” I whispered.

  “What?” he asked.

  I explained how I had seen him fooling around with the huge light and had chased after him.

  My brother smiled. “Ah,” he said. “That’s why I came looking for you. Believe it or not, that all makes perfect sense.”

  CASTING THE VILLAIN

  10

  JOE

  THAT WAS VERY UNPROFESSIONAL,” scolded Josh. He and Bill glared at Frank after my brother had apologized for what seemed like the millionth time.

  “I know, sir. And again, I’m very sorry,” said Frank. “I just thought I saw . . .” He glanced at me and then turned his attention back to the director. “I thought I saw someone messi
ng with that big light over there.”

  Bill held his radio up to his mouth. “Barry, check on that 12K, will you?”

  “Copy that,” replied a man’s voice on the tiny speaker.

  Josh rubbed his eyes. “Luckily, we can use one of the earlier takes. We’re setting up for the next shot now.” He grimaced at Frank. “I was going to fire you, but Chelsea reminded me about how you saved her life yesterday.”

  Josh said “saved her life” a little too sarcastically for my taste.

  “Either way, you’re done for the day,” Josh continued. “If you promise not to rush off again during a take, you can continue your run as a zombie later.”

  “I appreciate that, sir,” said Frank. “Thanks.”

  Josh and Bill walked back to video village, and Frank glanced around the set. “I should apologize to Chelsea,” he said.

  “Later,” I said, tugging his tattered sleeve. “You should get out of your makeup. And after that, I have something important to show you.”

  We made our way to the makeup trailer and stepped inside, only to be met by ourselves! Well, almost ourselves. Both Frank’s and my life casts sat on the counter, staring toward the door. They were stark white and would’ve looked like Greek busts of us except that they were bald and their eyes were closed.

  Frank jumped when he saw them. “Very funny,” he muttered.

  I laughed. “I’m not punking you, bro.” I pointed to the life casts. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

  “Yeah, I saw them the first time,” said Frank. He turned to Meredith. “Will you remove my makeup, please?”

  “Sure will,” she replied. “But first let me show you what we found.” She waved Frank closer. “Remember I told you how we made your zombie masks?”

  “Yeah,” replied Frank. “You sculpted the zombie faces with clay and then took molds of those, right?”

  “Right,” said Meredith. “But you don’t see any clay on them anymore, right?”

  Even through Frank’s zombie mask, I could tell he seemed a bit confused. “Right . . . so . . .”