“Action,’’ Paul said, and Johnny Jaybird relayed the command.
Mama hauled off to slap the cowboy, and pulled her punch just before connecting. Poor Sal bore the bruises of those practice sessions, but they’d helped her master the choreography of fake movie-fighting. Once they’d filmed the male actor’s recoil, and added the sound effect of hand hitting skin, the audience would never be the wiser. They’d feel the sting of Mama’s palm on the cowboy’s cheek; imagine the welt rising up. Her rage was that believable.
Maybe all that guff she’d read in those acting books about mining her emotional memories had worked.
“I guarantee you, Mama’s thinking of Husband No. 2 right there,’’ Maddie said after one fiery take. “Did you see the murder in her eyes when she glared at the cowboy?’’
Finally, the assistant director repeated Cut for the last time. Paul stepped out from the knot of people gathered with him around the monitor and strutted over to Mama.
“You were wonderful.’’ He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, but not too close. His tone was friendly, but not too friendly. “You were Ruby. That was a fine piece of acting, Rosalee.’’
Jesse started the applause, and it spread through the dancehall set. Even Barbara clapped her hands together once or twice.
“That’s my wife! Isn’t she something?’’ Sal circled the crowd, slapping at backs. When he got to Paul, he shook the hand of the man he’d fought with just a day before. “You really know your stuff, man.’’
“Well, thank you, Sal. I had excellent raw material to work with.’’
Paul gave Mama a chaste kiss on the cheek. She fluttered her fake eyelashes.
Greg Tilton snapped off a sharp salute. “Welcome to the club,’’ he said.
Sal slapped him on the back, too. “That’s my wife! That’s my movie star.’’
“Well, then you’re a lucky man.’’ Tilton said, returning Sal’s back slap. Just a couple of normal guys, bonding.
Face lit with pleasure, Sal moved on to Maddie and Marty, draping a bear-like paw over each of their shoulders.
I leaned toward Tilton. “Thanks for being so nice.’’
He bowed. “No problem, Mace. We’re still on for our little chat later, right? Because you’re going to see more nice. This is the new me.’’
I hoped that was true; but at the same time I wondered. How much changing was Greg Tilton prepared to do?
_____
“Hey, need a hand?’’
At my question, C’ndee looked up from behind a big aluminum pan of pasta she was setting out for the late afternoon supper.
“I wouldn’t turn it down.’’ She slid the serving pan onto a long folding table, which was draped with a white plastic cover. The spot was reserved with words written on the plastic in heavy black felt marker, Baked Ziti.
I had to hand it to C’ndee. She was the boss, but she wasn’t afraid to pitch in right beside the people she’d hired to help cater the movie shoot. As I assisted, ferrying pans out from her mobile kitchen, I noticed a sheet cake waiting on the dessert table. It was shaped like an old-fashioned, clapper-style slate—not completely accurate, since modern devices for marking scenes now included digital readouts. But it looked good, in black-and-white frosting, with “That’s a Wrap!’’ scrawled across the top in big cursive letters.
“Cake looks super,’’ I said.
“Thanks. Barbara wouldn’t pay for anything extra, so I donated the cake and thirty gallons of ice cream. These people worked hard on the movie. They should have some kind of celebration for the final day of Florida filming.’’
“Speaking of working, or at least working the crowd …’’
I nodded toward the front of the tent, where Mama was making her entrance followed by her personal entourage: Sal, Marty and Maddie. She accepted congratulations as she went, like the silver screen star she now believed herself to be. I prayed her scene wouldn’t get cut in the editing process. She’d never get over it.
“I hear she did great,’’ C’ndee said.
I felt an involuntary surge of pride. “You know, she really did.’’
“You sound shocked.’’
“I shouldn’t be, right? We’ve always known Mama was a drama queen.’’
“You said it; I didn’t.’’ C’ndee grinned.
“Said what?’’ Mama, still bursting from the bodice of her Ruby-the-Protestant gown, sidled up beside us. She swiped a finger through the frosting at the bottom of the cake, where she thought no one would notice.
C’ndee slapped her hand. Not so long ago, that would have been the start of the Second Civil War. But after what they’d survived at Mama’s wedding to Sal, the Jersey Girl and the Southern Belle had become friends. Sort of.
“You should have seen me, C’ndee. I killed.’’
“Not literally, I hope.’’
Mama trilled, “Oh, honey, that’s just a Hollywood saying we actors use.’’
C’ndee wriggled her brows. “So now you’re an actor, after one line?’’
“Two, honey.’’ Mama held up her fingers. “I also got to slap somebody. Of course, we’re taught to pull our punches, so I didn’t actually hurt him. Film-making is all camera angles and sound effects, C’ndee. That and good acting, of course.’’
“Of course,’’ C’ndee said.
An hour later, the hordes had come and gone. Tiny specks of food were all that remained in the silver serving pans. The cake table looked like a desert scene from Lawrence of Arabia: vast, swept-over, and empty. I’d even seen one crew member scraping with a plastic knife at the last dabs of cake frosting on the cardboard sheeting.
C’ndee’s shoes sat on the floor beside her. With her legs elevated, she’d propped up her aching feet on a chair across from her. Mama and I sipped at cups of hot herbal tea as we waited for my sisters to show up.
I glanced at the entrance, and checked my watch again. Five-fifty. Tilton was now almost an hour late. The horses were waiting at the corral.
“Are we keeping you from something, Mace?’’ Mama asked.
I decided not to tell her I’d been stood up. So much for the new Greg Tilton.
Mama looked at me like I’d asked her to crawl all the way to the Mason-Dixon line and take up residence on the wrong side.
All I’d done was ask her to change out of Ruby’s dress, and give me a hand with the horses.
“Honey, I can’t do that. I’m expected at the wrap party tonight. All the actors are going. As soon as Sal finishes up here with security and all, we’ll go home and I’ll start getting ready.’’
I shook my head, but managed to hold my tongue.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady. You are not too old to get the switch. Aren’t your sisters coming back here to help you at the corral?’’
“They’re home, fixing dinners for their husbands.’’
“And they said they’d be back to help you feed and trailer the horses, right?’’
I gave Mama a grudging nod.
“Well, then, you don’t need me.’’
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Besides, escaping to the corral would mean I’d avoid the hundredth re-telling of her acting achievement. I’d miss the nonstop soliloquy on where in her house she should make room for her Supporting Actress Oscar.
Mace, how do you think my award would look on that shelf where I have all my ceramic cows right now? I could move the cows next to the gingham-collared ducks in the kitchen … but that would put the symmetry all off, wouldn’t it? You know, since the cows are bigger than the ducks. So, maybe I’ll move the ducks to that shelf with the bunny rabbits, since they’re about the same size. Then again, ducks live in the water, and the rabbits don’t even like to swim, so that doesn’t seem to make sense …
When I saw a re-energized C’ndee, waving me over toward the exit of the tent, I made my getaway, mid-discourse. I don’t even think Mama noticed. As I left, she was musing on the possibility of Sal
building her Oscar statuette its very own shelf.
“I saved a piece of cake for Carlos,’’ C’ndee said, as she wiped down a table. “Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him all day.’’
I shrugged. “Probably at Kelly’s trailer, ‘interviewing’ the movie star some more.’’
C’ndee gave me a sharp look. “Oh, no. Are the on-again-off-again lovers off again?’’
I sighed.
“Why don’t the two of you get married, so you can make each other miserable full time?’’ she asked.
She picked up some stray plastic plates. I followed with a handful of dirty cups. “Spoken like a woman with two ex-husbands,’’ I said.
“Still two shy of your mother’s record.’’
“Yeah, but only if you count the one who died as an ex,’’ I said.
We dumped the garbage, and I helped her heft the big trash bags onto a trailer that would transport them to the county dump.
“How about your rodeo cowboy? What happened to him?’’
“He fell off the wagon big time last night. Plus, Jeb is not my cowboy.’’
“Whatever you say, Mace.’’
I gave one last glance around the tent. Still no Tilton. Mama had cornered one of the grips, and was yakking away, probably grilling him as to how to build a shelf that would support an eight-and-a-half-pound Academy Award.
“Well, I’m off to visit the horses,’’ I said. “If that drunken, shiftless cowboy hasn’t shown, I’m going to have to see to his cattle, too.’’
“If you spot Toby on your way, tell him I saved some cake for him.’’
“Toby hasn’t been around?’’
“Not many of the cast has. I think everybody’s getting ready for that wrap party tonight.’’
“Want me to tell Jesse you’ve got a piece of cake for her, too?’’ I grinned at C’ndee.
“Ha!’’ The word shot from her mouth. “I wouldn’t give that little witch a single crumb if she was starving. I bet we find out she’s the one who killed Norman Sydney, and caused all the trouble on this movie set since then. Little Miss Jesse is definitely the murdering type.’’
Given C’ndee’s family connections, she ought to know. Even so, I disagreed. Jesse’s father dedicated himself to saving lives as a doctor. His daughter might be shallow and messed up, but I just couldn’t picture her intentionally taking a life.
“I’m just glad we never had a second murder,’’ I said. “It’s almost over. Aside from Norman, it seems like the rest of us will get out of this okay.’’
C’ndee made the sign of the cross so fast, her hand was a blur. “Don’t say that, Mace. You’ll jinx us. Whenever you let down your guard, that’s when something bad happens.’’
A short time later, as I made my way along the wooded path to the corral, I thought about what C’ndee said. I vowed to keep up my guard until the last Hollywood star left Himmarshee.
_____
I slipped a halter over Rebel’s head, and ran a hand along his sturdy neck. “You’ve done a good job, boy. You know that?’’ He swished his tail. “I bet you’ll be happy to get back to working cattle, instead of working for the cameras, won’t you?’’
I knew I’d be glad to close the book on this movie job. Soon, all the horses would be loaded onto two trailers for their ride home. They still had to be fed and groomed. They’d go back to Rocking Horse Ranch looking just as good as when I got them.
I tried to call my sisters to ask them when I could expect them, but I couldn’t get a signal on my cell phone. Instead, I started on the chores that had to be finished.
Slipping an oversized metal comb out of my back pocket, I began loosening some knots in Rebel’s mane. The late-day sun warmed my back. I heard the buzzy call of a grasshopper sparrow, feeding in the pasture. The bird’s chirp-chirp zzzzttt kept time with the rhythm of grooming: Comb, chirp-chirp, comb, zzzzttt. Comb, chirp-chirp, comb, zzzzttt.
Suddenly, the sparrow’s song ceased. The sound of pounding footsteps, human footsteps, broke through my trance. I looked over the back of the horse, and out into the open pasture.
Greg Tilton loped toward the corral, arm lifted high and waving hello. “I’m so sorry, Mace,’’ he yelled. “I got to the food tent just after you left. Better late than never, right?’’
I returned my attention to the horse, not bothering to acknowledge Tilton. He’d caught me on a bad day for being disappointed by men. He pulled up short, outside the fence of the corral. “Are you mad at me?’’
“You were the one who begged to meet me. I waited around like a dummy. Let’s just say standing me up is not very ‘new Greg Tilton.’ It’s not nice.’’
He found the gate, opened it, and stepped through. “I’m sorry. I was on the phone with my agent. I couldn’t break away. I still want to talk to you, though. I need to talk to you.’’
C’ndee’s warning ran through my mind. Tilton’s clothes were too tight to be hiding a weapon. Even so, I planned to keep him in my full line of sight.
“If I hadn’t hung around waiting, I’d be an hour into my work by now.’’ I handed him a stiff-bristled Dandy brush I’d balanced on a fence post. “Make yourself useful while we talk.’’
I nodded at the Percheron tied on a lead rope to the fence. Tilton looked the huge horse up and down. “Are you sure the pony doesn’t need brushing instead?’’
“You want to talk, it’s the plow horse or nothing.’’
He went to work with barely a smirk, surprising me with how well he knew his way around the animal. “How’d you learn so much about horses?’’ I asked.
“The same foster home where I learned to hunt. The family kept all kinds of animals on a little farm; nothing as big as this ranch, though.’’
The word “farm’’ triggered a thought. Tilton had spent time on a farm. Vermin were common on farms.
“You know we never really talked much about that sandwich the raccoon got into,’’ I said. “Where’d it come from again?’’
“Like I told the cops, it was left at my trailer, in the fridge in a basket with some sodas, snacks, and sweets. The cops took the whole thing. I just assumed somebody from the production company brought it around to the stars’ trailers.’’
“Do you always eat food that shows up unexpectedly?’’
The brush in Tilton’s hand slowed, and then stopped. The Percheron stomped one huge hoof, splattering mud all over the movie star’s expensive-looking jeans. He scowled at the mud, and then narrowed his eyes at me.
“What are you getting at?’’ he asked.
“Did you have chores on the foster family’s farm?’’
“Yeah, all the kids did.’’
“Like what?’’ I asked.
“I helped clean the barn, feed the animals, and stuff like that.’’
“Do you ever remember seeing rats around the feed?’’
“Sure, but they put out bait to control them.’’
“Kill them, you mean. Was it strychnine?’’
“Yeah, I think so. Why?’’
Now, my hand went motionless, too. I willed my breathing to slow. I didn’t want Tilton to guess at the thoughts flying through my mind.
“Why?’’ he repeated.
When I didn’t answer, he laid the brush back on the fence post. Then he stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. The nearer he got, the harder it was for me to breathe. The air felt thick, laden with danger. When he spoke again, his voice was edged with threat.
“I asked you a question, Mace.’’
“The raccoon,’’ I whispered, sidestepping my way along Rebel’s body. Tilton moved with me, close enough now so I felt his hot breath on my cheek. It smelled rancid, like rotten onions mixed with stale whiskey.
“What about it?’’ he asked, pressing his body against my side.
I scanned the pasture. It was empty. We were alone. My eyes darted around for something to use as a weapon. The mane comb! My fingers tightened around one end. If I
slammed it into his face hard enough, maybe the shock or the pain would give me the upper hand.
“What about the raccoon?’’ he asked again. “Is there something wrong with your hearing? Maybe I should stand a little closer.’’
I felt him push, his hip pressed against mine. He lifted a hand and cupped my left breast. That was the moment I needed. I spun, catching him across the bridge of the nose with the pointy teeth of the metal comb.
“Oh, my God! My face!’’ He reeled back, clutching at his nose with both hands. “What is wrong with you?’’
“You killed the raccoon!’’ I yelled. “You killed Norman Sydney!’’
He stopped howling. When he lowered his hands to look at me, his face registered pure puzzlement. That, and an imprint in the shape of a comb.
“What the hell?’’ he asked.
“Exactly right,’’ I said. “What the hell were you thinking? Did you really imagine you could get away with it?”
“No, I meant what the hell kind of psycho bitch are you?’’
“Me?’’ I said, insulted.
“Yeah, you. You smack me in the face for no reason …”
“No reason? You were about to try to rape me.”
“You’re insane. I was copping a feel. Big deal. I thought maybe you’d reconsidered about getting it on. I thought you were sending signals that you were interested.’’ He pumped his lower region, back and forth, making combing motions at the same time. “That whole horse-grooming thing? Very sensual.’’
Now, I was certain my face looked as bewildered as his had. “You need to work on your signal-reading. Do you really think I’d be turned on by a murderer?’’
“Murderer?’’ He barked out a laugh. “Jesus, you are a psycho. Where’d you come up with that?’’
“The raccoon,’’ I said, a bit hesitant now. “I thought you poisoned it to make it look like you were a target. If you were the target, you couldn’t be the murderer.’’
“I’m not the murderer. The person who killed Norman tried to kill me, too.’’
I circled to the other side of the Percheron, putting the big horse between us. Tilton and I glared at each other over the creature’s broad back.
Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery Page 23