Bitter Retribution

by Rachel Sharpe

  “What was that about?” Jon marveled as he watched the snowmobile carrying her and a resort employee vanish behind the tree line. “Isn’t that our suspect?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then . . . why’d she help us?”

  “I don’t know.” Clenching my fists in frustration, I exclaimed, “Ugh! What am I missing? I mean, is there anyone else who could’ve done this?”

  “Hmm . . . possibly, but I’m thinking no.” He shoved his hands deep in his jacket pockets. “That woman creeps me out big time. I mean, sure, she looks like a movie star, but I’m thinking . . . major league psycho. Hey, are we gonna be stuck here long because I don’t think it’ll take me the entire hour to freeze to death.”

  “What’d you just say?”

  “I said, I’m gonna freeze to death. Are you gonna tell me you’re not cold? How exactly are you from Louisiana? Did your parents adopt you from Siberia at birth?”

  “No, you said something about a movie star,” I muttered, straining my mind. “What did Heather say earlier? Don’t . . . something. Don’t . . . let your tears flow . . . don’t let your tears flow . . . why do I know that? Rosalyn Grace . . . Rosalyn Leigh . . . of course! Ugh! How could I miss that? I’m such an idiot!”

  “What?”

  “Hold on.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone with my glove-covered hands. Taking a deep breath, I removed my right glove, an action that left my fingers screaming in frigid protest. After several desperate attempts to open my phone’s internet browser, I groaned. “There’s no service up here!”

  “Please tell me that does not come as a shock to you.”

  “Jon, I don’t have time for the attitude,” I snapped. “I think I may be onto something. It was something that bothered me when Heather said it and now I remember why. I need your movie trivia knowledge.”

  “What?”

  “Seriously,” I insisted, shoving the phone in my pocket and gloving my cold hand once more. “Please tell me you’ve seen Red Steel.”

  “Red Steel?” he repeated. “You mean that God awful Cold War film Roch starred in back in the seventies? Yeah, I’ve seen it. It sucks. Big time.”

  “I’m not asking you to review its cinematic quality,” I shook my head, which caused the winds to make my hair airborne. “Just tell me – do you know anything about the lead actress from the film?”

  “The lead actress?” Clicking his tongue again, he stared past me, thinking. “I – I can picture her. Blonde chick with green eyes, kinda hot . . . for a blonde, that is. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve seen her in anything else. What’s this about? Why are we talking about crappy old movies when we’re supposed to be catching a killer?”

  “I’ve had a thought,” I began. “I watched that movie a couple nights ago—”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Jon!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

  “That actress,” I paused. “I read on some movie database she died in childbirth the year after that movie was made.”

  “Explains why I never saw her again.”

  “When I first met Rosalyn, she looked familiar . . . something about her . . . her face, her poise, she reminded me of someone but I couldn’t figure out who.”

  “Okay . . . not following you.”

  “This is going to sound crazy,” I hesitated. “But . . . I don’t know . . . maybe it’s crazy enough to be true. She said she’s from California. Rosalyn, I mean. She was probably born in the seventies. And her last name is Leigh, which, if I remember right, was that actress’s last name.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jon held up his hands. “If you’re going where I think you are, then yes, you sound crazy.”

  “What do you think I’m saying?”

  “I think you’re saying you believe Dr. Nosy’s the dead actress’s kid. Am I right?”

  “Isn’t it possible?” I protested. “Could all those things be coincidence?”

  “Honestly, yeah, they could. Besides, let’s say for argument’s sake she were that actress’s kid. Why change your name and then move to L.A.? With her looks and attitude, she could make it in Hollywood, especially with a famous name, even if it’s minor fame.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want anyone to know who she is,” I muttered, straining my brain. “Maybe . . . maybe when she moved to the West Coast, she wasn’t running from something, but running to something.”

  “Still don’t see a motive here.” Jon began to jump up and down in place and I stared at him. “What do you want from me? I’m cold.”

  “I – I don’t know,” I admitted. “Even if she is that actress’s daughter, I don’t see why she would agree to work as a psychologist for the show only to try to sabotage it.”

  “Whoa.” Jon began to pace. “Whoa, I’m having an idea. Is it possible . . . no, that sounds as crazy as your theory.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “All right, this is way out there . . . probably as crazy as your idea or more so.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “If what you’re saying is true . . . if Dr. Nosy is that actress’s kid and she’s here, working on this show, who’s she most likely to have beef with?”

  “The studio?” I guessed. “Maybe she wants to ruin the show because she blames the studio for her mom’s career or lack thereof.”

  “Hmm . . . possible, but not probable,” he shook his head. “I mean, the woman died. Can’t really blame a studio for that one. Think harder. There’s no reason she would want to harm Trip, right? He was nobody . . . sorry, but you know what I mean. And Alson . . . she didn’t kill him, just knocked him out.”

  “Okay?”

  “So, considering all that, I’ve got one question for you. What was her one big focus today?” He stared deep into my eyes. “What did she keep harping on that was kinda weird, you know, considering what happened?”

  “The script,” I said, suddenly realizing where he was going with this train of thought. “She was only worried about the script.”

  “Right.” He shivered as a gust of frosty wind passed us. “All she cared about was the stupid script and getting back out here.”

  “You think she’s gonna try it again?” I asked, my eyes widening. “What could she be planning? Do you think they’re all in danger? Heather—”

  “No, I don’t think it’s anything like that.” He stared past me at a cluster of tall aspens, their bare branches still despite the force of the violent winds. “She had tons of opportunities today to off people so I’m thinking this is about one person. I’m thinking she’s orchestrated everything today to get one person.”

  Standing there, I thought back to all I had witnessed over the past twenty-four hours. Whenever anything bad or weird happened, Rosalyn was there, offering helpful suggestions that were oftentimes leading in nature. I thought about how everyone in the cast and crew, my best friend included, turned to her for guidance and for her part, she was more than willing to offer her insights, even to me. She told me that men complicate things. She told me that I should focus on finding love and peace within myself because no person or thing could fill that void. Her eyes when she uttered those words were filled with hatred, resentment. Suddenly, I knew.

  “It’s Roch.” My heart pounded. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. He was supposed to be in that scene to begin with, but he didn’t want to do it and Nancy made Heather rewrite it for Alson. How could I forget that? This was never about Alson. It’s always been about Roch. Come on, we’ve gotta hurry.”

  Suddenly energized, I began to rush across the white powder, which was so thick at times it was up to my knees. After walking for several minutes, my desire could no longer overcome my pain and as my pace began to slow, pain radiated through my feet and up into my calves and thighs. Jon, apparently, wasn’t holding
up much better and he made sure to vocalize his agony. When we paused near another cluster of trees, he sank down into the snow.

  “What? We’re not waiting for a snowmobile?”

  “No time.” I gasped as the icy air filled my lungs.

  “I hate cold. I hate snow. I hate this state,” he snapped. “Whoever decided to film this dumb episode on location was an idiot. We should be at Disneyland while they film on a sound stage. I’d much rather celebrate Thanksgiving with Mickey than Jack freaking Frost.”

  “Jon, for once in your life, shut up!” My voice was so loud that the words echoed across the mountainside. He stared up at me, wide-eyed. My face flushed with embarrassment as the sound continued to reverberate, but I did not take it back. Instead, I took a deep breath. “I know you’re upset with me, but right now, you’ve got to let it go. If we’re right about her and we don’t get to that set in time . . . I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to anyone else when I could’ve prevented it. Even if it’s a narcissistic jerk like Roch Turner. Please, Jon. I can’t do this alone.”

  “You know I’m here for you,” he muttered beneath his breath, refusing to meet my gaze.

  I stared at him but said nothing. There was no way to articulate my appreciation without sounding cliché or sending out the wrong message. Clearing my throat, I began to rub my arms for warmth. Looking around the deserted mountainside, I became overwhelmed as I realized there was no way we could possibly make it to the set before filming began. From where we stood, it was a good half mile hike and neither one of us could do that without skis.

  “Hey, you guys need a lift?” I turned and found myself staring at a girl in a red, ski resort parka and black ski pants with her long, brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. She wore designer sunglasses despite the setting sun and she sat upon a black and red snowmobile. Lowering her shades, she clarified, “To the film set.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief as Jon climbed aboard. I got on behind him and we were off. As she picked up speed, the icy wind’s blast became so strong it burned my eyes. I tightened my grip around Jon’s waist and lowering my head, closed my eyes tightly.

  It took less than five minutes for the resort employee to drive across what would have taken us, in our exhausted state, an hour to walk. She slowed to a stop at the base of the Serenity trail, which was littered with people and film equipment, including several portable, stadium-style lights I assumed were meant to mask the setting sun. I recognized several actors, including Roch and his television daughters Amber and Emma, receiving make up touch ups, as well as several crewmembers, including Heather, Nancy, Tom and Charlotte, going over the script with the sound crew. While Jon jumped off the snow mobile without a word, I stopped to thank the girl for her help.

  “No prob.” She shrugged. “I was heading back from bringing a couple crewmembers when some lady told me there were a few others who might need a ride.”

  With that, she drove off, disappearing between the snow-covered trees. I glanced around the clearing. Everyone appeared to be in a frantic rush, desperate to make up for the lost time. The resort employee’s remark reminded me about Rosalyn and I scanned the crowd, trying to locate her. I finally spotted her talking to the props department crew on the far left side of the trail’s base.

  I felt a lump in my throat as I watched her pick up a ski off the makeshift table and turn it over in her slender hands, laughing as she spoke with Seth Jones, the egomaniac who proclaimed himself the master of all props and quite possibly, the universe. For whatever reason, he did not object to this woman holding a prop, which was shocking in itself but amplified by the fact the prop in question was almost identical to the one that cost a man his life that very morning.

  The sight of it caused me to suddenly panic. Before I could stop, I found myself running across the clearing, brushing past startled crewmembers in my haste. I didn’t exactly have a plan in mind when I began that run, but I figured my keen P.I. senses would kick in somewhere along the way. Attribute it to exhaustion or maybe even shock. I don’t know what was going through my mind as I began that run. All I know is that when I reached the props table, I did not slow my speed and confront Rosalyn with my suspicions like a normal, rational person. I didn’t talk at all. What was my brilliant approach? I tackled her. I tackled Dr. Rosalyn Grace Leigh in front of cast, crew, and worst of all, my best friend.

  23

  While the incident in itself could possibly go down as the most embarrassing one of my life, to run headfirst at a noted, clinical psychologist like a crazy woman in front of the cast and crew of television’s number one sitcom, it could have been much worse. I could have actually knocked her over. As it was, I was tired, my feet were swollen, and my legs aching. This did not allow me much success in terms of controlling my motor skills.

  When I finally reached her, I did run into her with the intention of tackling her, but my aim and strength were lacking. All I succeeded in doing was knocking us both into the props table, whose metal legs were buried so deep into the thick powder, all it did was cause one headset positioned on the edge of the table to fall. This, however, was enough to set off the props master.

  “What in the HELL are you doing?” He dove into the snow to retrieve the headset, which barely had any powder on its plastic shell. “Are you trying to ruin this scene, too? Hasn’t there been enough drama today?”

  “I’m . . . sorry,” I stammered, my faculties returning to me. Realizing the insanity of my approach, I added, “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Try psychosis. You could have destroyed my props!” His voice began to rise. “They ought to lock you up, you crazy—”

  “What’s going on here?” Heather demanded, her eyes trained on me with mounting suspicion. I glanced at Seth and then Rosalyn, who still held the ski in her hands, smiling with amusement.

  “Heather, you’ve got to believe me. She was tampering with the props.” I pointed to the ski in her hand. “I know this is going to sound insane, but I think I can explain what’s going on. I think she’s—”

  “What is this? You do realize we have a scene to film, don’t you? Every second wasted is costing the studio thousands of dollars.” Nancy approached us with blatant irritation. Looking from Rosalyn to Heather to me, she demanded, “Someone better tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

  “I believe I can explain,” Rosalyn smiled. They all turned to her, expressions of respect clouded by sudden uncertainty. “I was raised by my grandmother after my mother died. My mother loved winter sports. In Los Angeles, though, winter sports aren’t really a thing. I was asking Mr. Jones about snow skis. I can understand how, from a distance, it looked like I was . . . perhaps . . . tampering with the ski. Considering all that’s happened today, it’s perfectly understandable why Jordan might misconstrue my actions.”

  “Rosie, you know I have complete faith in you, but in light of today’s events, I’ll need a little more than that,” Nancy replied. Turning to Seth, she asked, “Can you confirm what she just said?”

  “Yeah.” Seth nodded, shoving his hands into the front pouch of his Star Wars hoodie. Shooting me a dirty look, he added, “This one, though . . . she has no business being here. She’s just made things worse. She almost destroyed a headset. She could’ve taken down our entire prop table with that stunt. I say throw her out!”

  “There’s no need for that,” Rosalyn interrupted, still smiling as she handed the ski back to Seth. “Accidents happen. I’m sure Jordan’s intentions were good. Let’s just forget about this. You should get back to work. This scene must be filmed tonight.”

  “She’s right.” Nancy glanced back at the actors, who were studying their scripts while other crewmembers adjusted the lights and the make-up artist caked their faces with blush, concealer and eyeliner. She began walking back toward them, but paused and stared at Heather with
a frown. “We’re going to have a talk later. Let’s go.”

  “Yes, Nancy,” Heather nodded.

  Nancy then hurried off at a swift pace, barking orders at the crew as she went. Heather shut her eyes and sighed.

  “Heather, I’m sorry,” I began, “but—”

  “Don’t,” she shook her head, refusing to look at me. She took a deep breath. “We’ll talk later. Right now I need to work . . . while I still have a job.”

  As I watched her storm off, the knot in my stomach tightened. The thought that I could have cost my best friend the career of a lifetime made me feel physically sick. Walking away from the props department before Seth could offer another snide remark, I hid between the trees along the edge of the trail’s base. I leaned against one, staring up at the cloudy sky. It was twice as dark as it had been when I first climbed off the snowmobile.

  How could I have been so stupid? There were one thousand and one better approaches to that situation than the dumb one I took. All I did was manage to discredit myself in the eyes of everyone involved in the show, my best friend included. I stood there, dwelling on my idiocy. I was so self-focused I didn’t realize Jon had walked up until he waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Go away.” I stared down at the snow.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He leaned down to meet my gaze. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you see what just happened?”

  “You mean that little WWE number you pulled?” Crossing his arms, he added, “Yeah, I saw. You’ve been spending way too much time with Alson’s bodyguard.”

  “Go away, Jon,” I repeated, shutting my eyes.