“Office and music room through the arch near the hearth,” Ferrer said from behind him.
“Great,” Fin said. He looked at Ryder. “I’ll take the...music room?”
Ryder managed a weak grin. “Beauty and music—sure.”
“I don’t have to—”
“Kidding. Let’s get started on this. Man, it has been one long day.”
Fin couldn’t agree more.
Although, it had to have been a much longer day for everybody waiting in that room.
Except one of them was a killer.
Two
Avalon still felt as if she was reeling, or living in an unreal, alternate universe.
Yet it had all been too real.
Cindy, lying there on the tomb. Stretched out in all her beauty, puncture marks at her throat.
Cindy.
Not tardy, not careless of others, but...dead.
Avalon had gone over everything with several police officers—not that there was much to go over. But now this tall, authoritative man in a suit was bringing her in to question her again; she knew he was going to do so the moment she saw him. She wasn’t sure why. But he escorted her one way in the mansion while another, gruffer-looking man in a more casual suit brought Kevin in another direction.
“I’m Special Agent Finley Stirling,” he said, introducing himself. “And I understand you and your friend—the star of the movie—were the first to find Cindy West.”
He sat on the piano bench in the music room, indicating she should take the one old wingback chair. She sat in it.
She could still feel her makeup, as if it was grit that covered her skin. She longed desperately for a hot shower. For her own clothing. She wanted to be far away from the mansion and the cemetery and...
Death.
Avalon nodded, looking at the man who had come to speak with her now. What was he expecting? He could question her from now to doomsday. She didn’t know more than what she had already said.
“We finished filming. Kevin and I are old friends. He just wanted to talk to me—to thank me for taking on the role. W-we’ve been working in the cemetery about two weeks.”
“Right. And I’m curious about that. The entire island was rented to the movie company. But none of you stayed out here.”
“Would you want to stay out here?” she asked him. “The house hasn’t been dusted in—in years, I don’t think. The sheets are probably glued to the beds.”
“But you have a lot of expensive equipment out here,” he said.
He was a tall man, who even looked tall sitting, though he was doing so casually. His hair was a dark blond color, not close-cropped, but neatly clipped to leave a striking golden thatch that just hovered over his forehead. His eyes were an intense green, dark as a forest. He didn’t seem to be trying to intimidate her, and yet without trying, he was making her very nervous, even as he kept an even tone and seemed polite and curious.
She sighed softly. “I’m just an actor on this,” she told him. “I don’t own any of the equipment and, to the best of my knowledge, not much is left here overnight.” She hesitated. “This isn’t a major-budget epic, you know. I doubt if there will be any kind of theatrical distribution. We’ll go straight to streaming and possibly a specialty cable channel, which is fine. But most of the financing on this is being done by Boris himself. Many of us are involved because we’re friends from college or other projects, and it’s a group effort.” She hesitated. “And I’ve known many of these people a long time. No one is a... No one would ever want to hurt anyone, much less do something so horrible to anyone!”
She was passionate as she finished speaking, and she hoped he knew beyond a doubt that she was telling him the truth, that the murder was devastating to her.
“Do you have any enemies?” he asked her.
“Me?” She was startled.
“Cindy was laid out on that tomb just as you were. You were filming a similar scene not long before you discovered her.” He indicated her costume.
“No, I don’t have enemies,” she said.
“No one jealous about your role?”
“On an ultra-low-budget movie?” she asked incredulously.
“You never know,” he told her.
She shook her head. “No. No, there weren’t even auditions for this—I didn’t beat anyone out of a role. Kevin is friends with Boris. From what he was telling me, Boris wanted the two of us. I wanted to help Kevin—he’s a great guy. And cheesy movie though this might be, he has a good role, and he’ll look good on camera and it may lead to better things for him.”
“What about the second makeup artist?”
“Lauren?” she asked, frowning.
“Might she have been jealous of another makeup artist?”
“No. Lauren took on this job just because of us. She and Cindy were friends.” She frowned, staring at him. “I’m sorry, but...seriously? Someone killed Cindy, dressed her, carried her out there and laid her out. I like to think I’m fairly capable, but I doubt I’d have had the strength for doing all that, and neither would Lauren.”
“Might have been a group effort,” Fin said softly.
That angered her. She stared at him, assessing him as she was sure he was assessing her. He was probably just thirty or so, a few years older than her own twenty-eight. Maybe he’d been a tough kid who had needed to grow up and have a uniform and a badge. Except he wasn’t in a uniform. He wore a black suit barely relieved by the white of his shirt.
He was carrying a gun. Of course, he was carrying a gun. She couldn’t see it, but she knew he had it. His manner was polite and his questions did sound almost conversational...except that he was accusing her or suggesting that her friends could have done something like the awful thing done to Cindy.
“We’re actors and crew! Not murderers. And why, in God’s name, would we kill a friend and sabotage a movie? You think the whole cast and crew was in on it? Sure, let’s be positive that this whole thing is a mess and we’ve wasted our time.”
He shrugged, unaffected by her tone. “Could make the movie a massive hit, too.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. You’re terrible. You don’t know any of us! How could you suggest—”
“Listen, I’m sorry. You’re on the island—your friends are on the island. And a dead girl—killed and left in a way that simulated a movie scene—is on the island. I have no choice. I need to ask you these questions. Now, hopefully, none of you would do something so cruel and horrible to one of your own. And yet, this island is rented to the production company, and, as you’ve said, it’s a low-budget movie. There aren’t scores of extra personnel running around—caterers or cleaners or security. You are the people on this island.”
She shook her head. “But...it’s an island. We’re not in outer space. This place is easy enough to reach—by anyone with a little boat.”
He didn’t dispute that. “And with no one watching it through the night? Careless of the company, I think. Just the liability issue is great.”
There was a tap at the door. He paused a moment before rising to answer it.
Avalon was glad to see Boris Koslov at the door. Boris was in his forties, dark-haired and dark-eyed, lean and bronzed, and carried himself with a manner of confidence...and determination.
Of course, he had to be confident. He was accustomed to directing others.
“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Boris said. “I just wanted to set a few things straight so that you’d know... So that you’d have more information while questioning my people. Please, you need to understand. This was someone from...outside. My people loved Cindy.”
There was a catch in his voice.
Avalon watched Finley Stirling. She could almost read his mind, or at least she thought she could. Yes, he was thinking Boris might be a bit of an actor himself.
A man wh
o knew when acting should be a subtle maneuver.
But the agent didn’t give away his thoughts—if those were indeed the thoughts running through his head. He didn’t chastise Boris for the interruption.
“Please, come in, join us. You may be able to help,” he said.
Boris nodded and sat next to Avalon.
“Why is no one here overnight?” Special Agent Stirling asked him.
“Well, here’s the thing. I don’t advertise it, but I am here at night,” Boris said. “I’ve been using the upstairs bedroom—in and out quickly. I bought new sheets for the bed. Had a maid in about three weeks ago, right when we were starting up. The heirs to this place want nothing to do with it—all they want is to sell. I don’t have the money for a security team, but the bedroom I chose was right above our main filming location—the part of the cemetery that’s closer to the mansion. No one else wants to stay out here. The locals are convinced the place is haunted. I don’t think any of the heirs believe it’s haunted—they just think it’s filthy and creepy and none of them wants to put the money into restoring it. The decaying look worked for the movie, so...”
“So you were here last night?” the agent asked him.
Boris nodded.
“But I didn’t see or hear anything!” Boris said, sounding dismayed. “I know that local kids like to take their fishing boats and pirogues out around the island, but most just like to look. In some areas, a haunted mansion and cemetery might be a draw, but there were a few times when Mr. Christy was alive that he knew about kids coming on to the shore, and he prosecuted them for trespassing. Due to that history, I felt pretty safe.”
“You have a high opinion of your fellow man,” Stirling said quietly.
“No. I know people do crazy things, sometimes, especially kids, for a lark. But I know, too, people don’t like to get caught and go to jail. We’ve let people believe we do have a security force on the island and that there are cameras scattered about the property for security. Frankly, my cell phone works just fine out here, oddly enough, and I knew I could call for help at a moment’s notice.”
“And get help out here at a moment’s notice?” Stirling asked.
“I didn’t think anything would happen,” Boris said. “We’re a small production. There’s no money in anything here. The cameras and lighting equipment are loaded out at night. The set decoration has a budget you wouldn’t believe—we’re using Halloween stuff drastically reduced.” Boris went silent for a minute. “I guess that makes me your chief suspect. But I didn’t do this. Cindy was... She was doing me a favor.”
“Cindy must have met a psycho on Bourbon Street last night!” Avalon interjected passionately. “She was with us—with the group of us—and then she left. She was...happy.”
“Inebriated?” the agent suggested gently.
Avalon couldn’t help it—the question made her feel uncomfortable. She decided she would speak firmly, and truthfully.
“No. Not inebriated. She’d had a drink, but she was not drunk. She’s an adult and she was having fun...and she knew she had an early call. I think she told Kevin she was making one last quick stop and then heading back to the hotel.”
“And when did you go back to the hotel?” Fin asked her.
“Right after the last drink we all had together. Kevin was there...and Lauren.” She paused, remembering.
“What time was it?” he asked her.
“About midnight, or maybe just as bit after,” Avalon said. “Right?” she asked, frowning and looking at Boris.
“You were with them?”
“I was,” Boris said.
“And when did you leave?” Fin asked politely.
“The same time as Kevin, Lauren and Avalon—then I drove from NOLA to Percy’s Berth—easiest area this close to NOLA to use to get in and out. Cast and crew take a bigger boat than I have coming and going every day. I’ve rented a little motorboat—it takes me about another twenty minutes to reach the island. All in all, the trip is only about an hour and fifteen minutes or maybe an hour and a half,” Boris said.
“You got back here around two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t see a thing?”
“Nothing.”
“All right,” Stirling said. “I’m sure the police have already spoken with you, but I need a list of everyone involved with this production. Everyone. Boat-rental companies, boat captains and crew, food service...cast and crew. Everyone. And Avalon, if you would be so kind, I’d appreciate a list of everyone who was with you in NOLA last night—and every place you went.” He stood up and smiled. “Thank you, and please, stay available.”
Boris caught Avalon’s hand, drawing her up with him as he asked, “Will we be able to get back to filming tomorrow? The movie is almost a wrap—”
The way Special Agent Finley Stirling turned to look at Boris gave Avalon goose bumps. The agent might not understand the costs involved in moviemaking. And still, the ice in his eyes and the slight arch of one eyebrow spoke volumes.
A woman is dead, a friend is dead, and you want it to be business as usual?
“Mr. Koslov, it’s growing late.” He looked at his watch. “Yes, nearly ten. So I’d revise that call sheet of yours—nothing will be happening out here tomorrow other than an intense investigation into the suspicious death of your crew member. Your friend, I believe?”
“Yes, of course,” Boris said. “It’s just that... I mean, we have to discover what happened to poor Cindy...” His shrugged miserably. “It’s mostly my own money involved in this project. I could go under...and bring a lot of people with me.”
“I hear it’s all in the editing,” Stirling said. “We’ll release the island and your props and setting as soon as possible. It won’t be tomorrow. Again,” he added, his tone dry, “thank you so much for your time and your cooperation.”
He opened the door, clearly indicating they should leave.
Avalon felt the emerald chill of his eyes as they swept over her. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to fight against his contempt.
They all cared! Of course, they cared. Cindy had been murdered. They were in shock. It was all so bizarre that it remained surreal. A cheesy horror film—a horrendous murder.
She stopped, determined he was not going to intimidate her with a look.
“There are so many people you need to investigate. We—the cast and crew—were her friends, her coworkers. She was part of it all. You need to do your work and question not just us. Cindy was out on Bourbon Street last night. Someone might have met her then. Don’t just think you can accuse one of us.”
He gazed at her a moment before answering her. “I haven’t accused anyone...yet. I promise, if I had, you would know. Now, if you’ll excuse me...take a seat out there. We’ll start getting you all back to the mainland soon.”
She went out, fighting a childish urge to kick him on her way past.
She felt as if she was drowning. As if great waves of water kept crashing over her, leaving her shaking and in disbelief.
Cindy was dead.
The waves washing over her turned colder and colder as fear set in along with the pain and loss of losing a friend.
“Soon” turned into hours and hours. Light was breaking when they were at last herded onto a boat to be brought back to the mainland.
They weren’t warned not to leave town—they were just told not to leave the area. Fair or not, law enforcement blamed them. But that was something Avalon couldn’t accept.
It simply wasn’t possible that one among them could be a cold-blooded murderer.
Tuesday morning
Fin was both exhausted and wired as the sun rose. He and Ryder had worked through the night. There had been so many people to be interviewed.
In the end, while officers and crime-scene investigators continued the vast amount
of their work, Fin sat with Ryder in the great room by the hearth, comparing notes.
“The director—that Boris guy,” Ryder said. “He was here—he was here when she was murdered, or he got back right after. And if you ask me, low budget or not, that’s weird. Who the hell would want to stay out at this place alone?”
“It’s definitely not the Ritz,” Fin agreed. “And yes, obviously that puts him at the top of the suspect list. And I can’t help but wonder if the murderer would really hurt his own movie...or if it just might help it. Then again, I wonder if he isn’t just too obvious. We’re looking at something different here. It’s not as if someone just had a beef with Cindy West. That was the work of an organized killer. He knew how he wanted to kill her, and he knew exactly how he wanted her displayed.”
“Who knew better than the director?” Ryder asked.
“We’re in a curious place,” Fin said. “We could be looking at the heirs, too. There are a few places for sale in the French Quarter that are happily advertising ‘haunted’ along with three beds and two baths. To some, the events here would be a total turnoff—they’d never want to buy a place with such a recent history of tragedy. For others, well, buying a haunted island where such a strange and horrific event occurred recently would be like hitting the jackpot.”
“True.” Ryder kept his notes longhand in a folder. He pulled it out. “Interesting array of suspects. These people are old man Christy’s descendants and heirs, and they supposedly just met recently. The last time any of them saw Christy was years ago, when they were kids. Not one of them checked up on him, visited him...ever seemed to care a bit. They all say they hate the place.”
“I don’t think he made any attempt to contact them, either. But, as far as this goes, the heirs were happy to rent to the production company—and the company is Boris Koslov—and would all hang around to watch the filming, friendly with the cast and crew. They’re an interesting foursome themselves. First, Cara and Gary Holstein. She is an energetic little woman—midthirties, cute—and so energetic that...”
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