16 Millimeters

by Larissa Reinhart

  Lights showed through the cracks around the conference room doors, their shades pulled tight. In the green room, the craft table had been emptied but for a coffee maker and double box of Dixie Kremes. I took a donut (out of respect for Lamar) and slipped out. Two doors down, the lights were also on in Ed Farmer and Leonard Shackleton's offices, no surprise there. Leonard had dragged Ed back to the studio to strategize their money, marketing, and production issues. I wondered how committed Leonard was to Cambria now that the threat of her implosion seemed an actuality.

  The door to Ed's office stood slightly open, but all was quiet inside. I gave the door a gentle shove and saw the storyboards Dahlia Pearson had mentioned. Insiders raved on Ed's sketching abilities, and that much was true. Cards lined the wall, some with bits of dialogue or scene notes, some still empty, others with full action drawings of Cambria. All beautifully rendered. And slightly creepy in light of his obsession with his leading lady.

  At the end of the hall, I pushed through the heavy door that led to the parking lot. Safety lights shone on the rows of dark trailers. I picked my way through the lot, counting off rows now that the murky gloom obscured my previous landmarks.

  Cam-Cam's trailer loomed bigger and blacker than I remembered. Climbing the stairs, I noted the knocking of my heart and knees. Before unlocking the door, I took deep ujjayi breaths, practiced three Tae Bo kicks, and focused on a chi re-center. Shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out the phone.

  It'd been a while. Several months. I'd left my iPhone in California with my debt and crushed dreams. The little flip was cute. I'd had one like it when I was seven. Vicki had gotten it for me during a trip to Tokyo for the Hello Kitty, Hello Toothpaste commercial. At the time, everyone I knew had Blackberry pagers or Nokias, so the flip phone had been totally rad. Until I learned I could only use it for work-related calls and texts so we could write it off. My friends had to call the house phone. Not that I had that many friends. I was too busy shooting toothpaste commercials in places like Tokyo.

  I stroked the hard, black plastic, flipped it, and paged through the directory of numbers. Nash and the office. That was it. I plugged in Daddy's number, Lamar, and LA HAIR. And felt better. The phone chirped in my hand. I squinted at the number on the screen, broke in goosebumps, and gave the caller a tentative hello.

  "Maizie," said Vicki. "Where are you? I've been trying to find you all day. I need to know where you are."

  "Um, how did you get this number?"

  "Really, Maizie. Can't you just answer my questions for once?"

  "Why?" I realized my heart's knocking had quieted, but the donut and my stomach were doing an uncomfortable tango.

  "That would be another question, not an answer. Did your tutor skip that section of grammar?" Vicki offered one of her patented sighs and quickened her tempo. "Are you at the resort? Cambria's not here. And Giulio's missing, too. Are the three of you somewhere else?"

  Where was Giulio? "No, I'm alone. Did you try calling him?"

  "Brilliant idea. Of course, I called. Look, are you at the resort? You're not at your father's, and this call was forwarded."

  I exhaled. The call had been forwarded from the office, meaning Nash still needed me to do the receptionist thing. Vicki didn't have ESP like I'd long suspected. Or at least she hadn't used it in this case. "No and no. I'm working."

  She hung up.

  I stared at the phone again, my thoughts pitching to and fro. Vicki didn't make sense on a good day, but Giulio was missing. I called Nash.

  After reassuring him I was okay, he let out a long breath. "What'd you find?"

  "Nothing yet. I haven't gone in."

  "Miss Albright, don't make me regret giving you the burner."

  "Vicki called me."

  "I'm sorry. Anything else?"

  "Giulio is missing. He was with me in the hotel, you know."

  "Oh, I know. He took off and left you after seeing a murdered corpse. Quite a guy you had there."

  "I didn't really have him… Anyway, I don't know where he went when he exited the stairwell. And he's missing. You don't think the killer, I mean, perpetrator got him?"

  "No. Shit. Just a minute." My phone beeped while Nash apparently looked at a different screen on his phone. "Let me check on this. Don't worry about Giulio. I'm sure he's fine. Go in the trailer and look for evidence of poison."

  He hung up before I could ask about Cam-Cam. I hoped Giulio had met a lady friend with entertaining footwear and wasn't holed up in a bathtub with Orlando.

  With a shaky hand, I inserted the key and pushed the door open. "Hello?" I called, feeling foolish.

  Low lights had been left on, but I flicked on the overheads anyway. Opening my backpack, I pulled out a pair of latex gloves then began a slow circle of the main room. Bits of plastic and paper — medical detritus that had been protecting the EMT's instruments — littered the floor and couch. One of the club chairs had been shoved into the back hallway. There was a nasty looking wet towel tossed in one corner.

  Poor Cam-Cam.

  I looked under the sink and spotted the cleaners, but these were untouched, judging by a light layer of dust. In the fridge, I sniffed bottles of smoothies, protein shakes, and water. All but one were still sealed. Likewise, the bananas and other fruit hadn't been bitten, and her chia seed packs weren't opened. I replaced the sealed bottles carefully. Slipping the open bottle of water into a paper sack, I stuck it in my backpack.

  In the freezer, I found another bag of mini-Snickers. I pulled a sample, tossed them in another paper sack, and into my backpack. After surveying the rest of the room, I grabbed the edge of the club chair and tugged it back toward the living area. Then paused in the tiny hall. To my immediate right was the guest bath, at the end, the master bedroom. That left one more room. I swung the door open.

  "You have a media room?" Jealousy churned inside my gut.

  I repeated one of Renata's count-your-blessing mantras and forced myself to be happy for the young actress. Who was now lying in a hospital bed. Possibly due to her own poor choices. Not judging. "Very nice, Cam-Cam. This room will be great for watching the dailies. And hosting game night."

  I used to love game night with the crew. But maybe that wasn't a Cambria thing.

  Circling the room, I opened built-in mahogany cupboards that covered one wall. No cleaners, no drink, no food. I poked around on her MacBook — password: WonderWoman. She needed a security lesson — but didn't find any personal video collections. Mainly script notes, a Pinterest scrapbook related to the movie, and spreadsheets. Pine Hollow's schedules, marketing, cast and crew listings, and wardrobe and prop suggestions.

  "Very organized for a party girl," I muttered. "Good to see you haven't changed in that respect, Cam-Cam."

  I left the media room for the guest bath. Other than ibuprofen and Pepto Bismol, she didn't keep any guest meds on hand. Both sealed. I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't found a stash of coke or a bag of weed. But then, I wouldn't think she'd be that hospitable to keep them in a bathroom cabinet. Although I knew a few actors and one musician who did. They were always trying so hard to make friends.

  The cleaners under the sink had been used. I bagged her toilet cleaner and the Scrubbing Bubbles, then hesitated with her mouth rinse. In therapy, I'd heard patients talk about bottoming out with Listerine, but could you poison someone with Scope?

  A door creaked. I froze, bent over my backpack. Scope in one hand, paper bag in the other. I set the Scope and bag on the floor and rose. Tiptoed toward the open bathroom door. Leaving me totally exposed to anyone in the bedroom. If that was the door I heard.

  The bedroom door looked slightly open.

  Oh no.

  Every hair on my body stood at attention. I flipped open my darling phone. Thumb texted Nash, "n trlr bthrm. smn n bdrm!!!!" Kissed the phone and shoved it back in my jeans pocket. Said a light and love affirmation. Then a prayer Remi had taught me from her Sunday School class. Took a deep ujjayi breath. (Too deep. Fell back
against the sink.) Recovered with two Tae Bo punches. I crept out of the bathroom.

  In the living room, I hesitated, listening. No creaking. No footsteps. No nothing. It could have been a case of the willies, I told myself. Orlando Feelzen was on the loose. People were dead. It was late, dark, and slightly spooky in this ridiculously luxurious trailer. But it wasn't like it had a basement where hockey-masked Jason would be lurking with a steak knife.

  Or did Jason have an axe?

  Either way, was I a private investigator investigating this very private and important case or not? A woman in a hospital bed counted on me. As well as her creepster bosses.

  Get a grip, Maizie.

  I placed a hand on the half wall, stopping myself from taking the steps to the front door, and turned back. And heard a door snick shut.

  My thighs clenched and the donut mixture sped toward my throat.

  Like an uncaged animal, Orlando Feelzen charged from the hallway. Looking around, he spotted me.

  Every organ in my body somersaulted. My shaking hands rose in the air, and I began to babble. I hardly knew what I said. Something about prisons and Cam-Cam and "please don't kill me."

  Orlando shrieked back, his words even less intelligible.

  I pivoted to the side, feeling the half-wall at my back. My Kung Fu Kate training kicked in, forcing my body into a low, wide stance with my fists clenched.

  "You don't want to do this," I recited a Kate line for emphasis. And for courage. "I've got the law on one side and my posse on the other. Meet."

  My arm snapped up. "Attack."

  The second elbow jutted sharply. "And Defend. My posse is gonna kick your fanny from here to doomsday."

  He rushed toward me.

  Why did I pick that line?

  I screamed something in Chinese and adjusted my pose. His foot flew out, catching my knee, and an elbow knocked my arm to the side. I tucked into the fall, hit a step, and felt his boot slam into my side. Orlando pounded down the stairs and out the door. I continued my roll down the stairs, landing at the bottom. The door swung back and smacked my back.

  Dazed, I did a quick inventory of bodily harm. Not bad. Pulled myself to my feet. Fixed my ponytail. And ran out the door, dialing Nash.

  "What'd you find?"

  "Orlando Feelzen. In Cam-Cam's trailer. But he took off."

  "Shit. Okay, don't do anything. Where is he now and where are you?"

  "Somewhere in the trailer lot."

  "Both of you?"

  "Yeah, it turns out I've got good Kung Fu Kate muscle memory. But Orlando knows taekwondo. I think. Maybe karate. It's hard to tell when he's just trying to kick and punch his way out the door."

  After a long beat, Nash took a breath. "I can hear you panting. Tell me you're not looking for him."

  "Good point about the panting. I need to start jogging again. Why did I let myself go? I hate it when Jerry's right. I also need to find a kung fu sensei in Black Pine. It's really handy to know."

  "Miss Albright." Nash's voice cut through my babble. "Go back to the trailer, lock the door, and wait for the police."

  I slowed my pace to a fast walk. "He's going to get away."

  "Let him." He hung up.

  The phone chirped. Peering around wardrobe's trailer, I pressed answer.

  "Call me back when you're in the trailer." The phone went dead.

  My adrenaline high dropped several degrees. I crept back toward Cam-Cam's, shining the light from the phone's face under trailers as I walked. Satisfied that Orlando wasn't hiding nearby, I reentered the trailer.

  Quietly. Carefully.

  My backpack lay on the floor of the bathroom. Reality crashed as I scooped the bagged mouth rinse into the backpack. Holy Frig, I'd chased Orlando, fugitive and a known suspect in two murders and one attempted murder. What was I thinking? No wonder Nash had sounded irritated.

  He got irritated when he worried about me. Really irritated.

  Kind of sweet. And a turn on.

  I forced my brain toward a more practical analysis. All those years of kung fu had paid off. I'd defended myself on pure acting training. I lifted my shirt, peeled back my waist clincher, and saw the trace of a bruise. Self-satisfaction deadened the pain. Julia Pinkerton and Kung Fu Kate had served me well tonight. I'd actually learned real snooping and martial arts skills from TV characters.

  And all those parent review sites had said my shows weren't educational.

  Maybe I didn't need as much training as I thought. Common sense and character development classes would see me through.

  Pulling out the phone, I thumb-skimmed my tiny directory to Nash's number. And hesitated. Better yet, I'd call the girls and tell them about my mad detecting skills. Then call Daddy and tell him how much I loved my new job now that I was out in the field and not behind a desk. He enjoyed hearing stories about the payoff of hard work. Both mentally and financially. Or I'd call Lamar. He'd want to know how I'd done tonight. Unlike Nash, he'd congratulate me.

  I might have a phone problem.

  Or a pride problem. As my mind wandered over the events, I realized I'd done nothing much other than collected some bottles of cleaner and not gotten myself killed.

  Also, it was late. Really late. Normal people were sleeping.

  With that thought, I turned my attention back to the collection of evidence. The bedroom and master bath awaited. At the door, I hesitated, knowing it had once hidden Orlando Feelzen. Cambria must have given him a key to the trailer. Had she been housing a criminal?

  Aiding and abetting, Cam-Cam? With a side of accessory.

  What had happened to that girl? I shook my head and set myself to the task of rooting around in her drawers, closet, and bathroom cabinets. Nada. My stomach growled, the donut's energy used up in the Orlando standoff, and I considered returning to the craft table on my way out. I bagged more mouth rinse (did she have a fear of halitosis or what?) and hair product. My stomach growled again, and I recognized the scent of food now that I wasn't sniffing shampoo.

  In the bathroom trash, I found Craft's cardboard plate and their delicious foody remains. Cam had loaded up, which surprised me. She even went for my favorite pie. There was an obvious giant-size bite in the piece. A huge no-no for someone who needed to look like she subsisted on squirrel and dandelions, yet could fight aliens bare-handed.

  Wait a minute.

  I sucked in my breath, recognizing the mix of jelly beans, Milano cookies, trail mix, and an unwrapped pastrami sandwich in the bottom of the can.

  This wasn't Cam's food. This was my plate, one I had filled earlier before the disastrous parking lot kiss. I hadn't gotten a chance to eat anything. Cam-Cam had snuck a bite of my food. I lifted the trash can and sniffed the chocolate peanut butter pie.

  I dug out my phone and pressed Nash's number.

  "Where've you been?" he growled. "I've been waiting."

  "I think I found the poisoned food," I gulped. "It was mine. I think I was meant to be poisoned."

  Nineteen

  #SixDegreesofHitchcock #ChocolatePeanutButterDie

  When it comes to direction, actors are sometimes conflicted on how best to accomplish a scene. The director's approach may go against her own instincts. Or the director herself might be conflicted.

  For example, I was told by Nash, "Get out of there." Then, "No, wait, I'll get security." Then, "No, I'll come. Dammit. Let me get someone to stay with Cambria. Don't move."

  "You can't leave Cam-Cam," I said. "We have orders. Leonard threatened us legally and financially if we didn't do exactly as he said."

  "I don't care what that sumbitch said," said Nash. "I'm coming to get you. Feelzen's still at large."

  "We don't know for sure the poison was meant for me. Let's talk this through. I got the food and arrived at the trailer alone. I set the food on the coffee table and I remember wanting to eat it, but I was tired after finding the dead guy in the bath—"

  "Take some notes on this and get back to me. I need to make some calls. I k
now a real bodyguard. Wait for me in the trailer."

  "No, no. Just a minute. Then you and Cam-Cam came in, and I needed to tell you about the bathtub victim. We went to the parking lot and… You know what happened there. And then Leonard showed up. That means Cams took the bite from my pie while we were having a moment—"

  "Let me get to the point. No one could have administered the cleaner to your food after you received the plate. Unless it was during the few minutes we were 'having a moment,' which seems unlikely. Where'd you get the food?" He paused. "By the way, I don't like the phrase 'having a moment.'"

  "You don't? I'm not sure what else to call it."

  "Focus, Miss Albright."

  "Right. Craft service. They have a buffet of snacks set up if you miss the meal times. I'd sort of…" I rushed through the next part, "gotten in the habit of filling a plate when I arrived on the set. Or leaving the set. Old habit. Actually, not so old, since I wasn't allowed to—"

  "Anyone could have been poisoned?" His breath hissed. "This is a lot more serious. Someone's targeting the entire movie?"

  "Yeah, no. The chef had chocolate peanut butter pie especially for me. He's an old friend of the family. Big Jim. Caters DeerNose events. This morning, I saw it on the menu. I asked him to save me some."

  "Please don't tell me he put your name on the pie."

  "Not a whole pie. I'm not that bad. Just a piece." My face heated. "He wrote my name in chocolate on the plate. With this adorbs drawing of little dancing peanuts. I love Big Jim. He's über talented."

  "Do you know how long the dancing peanuts sat there?"

  "Not exactly. "

  "Anyone on the set could have seen it, then doused it in chemicals found in any cleaning closet. Including Orlando Feelzen. Who left a dead vic in his room to stay in Cambria's trailer." He cursed. Colorfully. "Wait there. As in, do not move." He hung up. I stared at my phone, wishing I could have a conversation with someone who ended with "goodbye."

  Someone on the set wanted to kill me? Suddenly the trailer seemed full of noises. Real or imaginary, I wasn't sure. Holding the trash can, I crept into the living room and peered through the window into the dark parking lot. I didn't feel safe in the trailer. Orlando had a key. The more I thought about Orlando, his key, and his alleged ability to murder, the more the walls of the trailer seemed to shrink. My earlier bout of Kung Fu Kate adrenaline had sapped my energy. I no longer felt confident in my abilities in anything.