16 Millimeters

by Larissa Reinhart

  "A Black Pine party. I've never done a downtown party." Rhonda fingered her long tresses. "I think I need a change, too, Tiff."

  "One subject at a time." Tiffany cackled.

  I swiveled to study Tiffany. "You're licensed for hair, right? You know what you're doing? Because my hair has been through the Hollywood ringer with chemicals, heat, and products. I don't have natural body or thickness. It's all an illusion."

  "It's not that much of an illusion," said Rhonda. "But we know hair. Right, Tiff?"

  I sighed. Ted Gibson, they were not. But it wasn't like I could afford Ted Gibson anymore. I'd already seen the brown contacts and outfit they'd picked out for me. I wasn't just getting a disguise; I was getting uglified. "Now that we've figured out that someone is trying to kill me—"

  "Girl." Rhonda's hands flew to her mouth. "That's bad juju. Don't say it out loud."

  "Voldemort isn't trying to kill her," said Tiffany. "It's the reality of the situation."

  "You just don't have the issue with violence that I do, Tiff," said Rhonda. "There are things you don't say to the universe. Like cancer. Or tax audit. Hammer toes. It's bad juju. Everyone knows that."

  "Anyhoo," I said. "We're pretty sure it's because I saw the dead Cam-Cam who is not Cambria. I need to figure out who the woman is. I can't stop thinking about her family and friends and how much they must miss her."

  We took a moment to let that sink in. During the moment, Tiffany tossed a cape and towel over my shoulders and began pinning my hair into sections. I said a silent prayer for the dead lookalike and another for my hair.

  "Cambria's got to know if her twin was in her hotel room." Tiffany wielded her loaded paint brush, then slapped it against my scalp. "The police will get it out of her. Or your boss. He's scarier than the police."

  "Except Cam-Cam can't talk when she's under sedation. Her doctor is being paid by Leonard Shackleton to keep her sedated."

  Tiffany snorted. "Rich people."

  "Famous people," corrected Rhonda.

  "Nash thinks that's hinky, but Leonard is playing CYA for the film. Probably because Leonard doesn't trust Cambria either.” I cringed as color trickled down my forehead. "I'm pretty sure the double must have been hired by Cambria. How else could she get in Cam-Cam's room?"

  "Maybe the boyfriend had a key?" said Rhonda, dabbing at the color with a towel. "He was staying at the resort, too."

  "Orlando had a record," I said. "Maybe he hired someone to look like Cambria and did…whatever they were doing…in her room so no one would know it wasn't Cambria."

  "I'm confused," said Rhonda. "Why would that be a thing?"

  "Orlando wanted a video of him and fake Cambria doing the dirty?" said Tiffany. "Or a video of him killing fake Cambria? And hired a professional camera dude to get one? That's…"

  "You're right. It doesn't make sense." I crossed my arms over the cape, then slid them back under as Tiffany began attacking my neckline. "At least we know the bathtub guy is the filmographer Billy Goodwin. I looked him up. He makes private videos. They're…eclectic."

  "Disgusting eclectic or disturbing eclectic?" said Tiffany.

  "Eclectic-eclectic," I said. "His stock for sale are mostly nature videos, although he's freelance and open to anything. He's done commercial shoots, weddings, and theater work. He's old school. Shoots with a Super-16. An Arriflex. It uses actual film. 16 millimeters. Probably what Giulio found in Orlando’s room. Everything's digital now. That makes it even weirder."

  "You'd think he'd shoot something kinky?" asked Tiffany.

  "No idea. But I'm sure nature videos don't pay the bills."

  Rhonda pursed her lips. "You said Cambria is super serious. Super serious doesn't usually go with super freaky."

  "I guess she's changed," said Tiffany.

  "Or she's a good actress," I said. "And Cambria is an outstanding actress."

  Twenty-Three

  #Closetraphobia #CrocodileSmile

  Fortunately for me, a change of appearance meant nothing to studio security (Mike) as long as I had the appropriate badge. The actors and crew were going through various stages of altering appearance, either on purpose or through time-crunch neglect. The appropriateness of my badge — private security answerable to Leonard Shackleton — allowed me to check the security footage. The video showed most people related to Cambria had been on the set the previous night: Ed Farmer, Leonard Shackleton, Dahlia Pearson, Alvin Murphy, Cambria's publicist, Holly. My nemesis, Robin Coxon. And almost twenty other people, not counting those who had checked in earlier in the day and never left, which was close to fifty more.

  Not helpful.

  Although Robin Coxon belonged to the resort and not the set. List that on things that make you go hmmm.

  Mike wasn't impressed by — nor understanding of — Shackleton's "private security." He also wasn't impressed by my new makeover. He'd been a Julia Pinkerton fan and was still a “redhead fan." Mike was forty-ish. So, ew.

  No security cameras had been watching the trailers, just the equipment rooms, parking lot, major entrances, and main building exits.

  Also, not helpful.

  The previous night, the perp must have moved Orlando's body. A body would be hard to hide.

  I looked at Security Mike. "I heard the police couldn't search the trailers."

  "The studio doesn't want the disruption as there wasn't enough evidence that anything untoward had happened." Mike liked to emphasize three syllable words by slowing his speech to hit all the syllables.

  "I heard two people saw a man under a trailer. A dead stunt man. That's pretty untoward."

  Mike shrugged, causing a greater chasm between his tie and belt.

  "The police looked in the spot and didn't find anyone," said Mike. "I have my doubts that the anonymous caller saw anything. It's a prank. I mean, how could they get on set?"

  "Maybe the anonymous caller was a crew member who didn't want to get involved? Maybe the perpetrator of the death moved the body."

  "I think we would have seen someone hauling a body off the lot. There wasn't even evidence of an alleged body. The police had a forensic guy out there early this morning. If they found something, we would have heard." Mike hauled up his pants, straightened his tie, and gave me the "gotcha" eyeball.

  "Black Pine police is not CSI. They have to take samples to a lab and that takes time. This also means the alleged perp allegedly cleaned up the crime scene." Just like in Cambria's villa and with Billy Goodwin in the hotel room, I thought. Maybe they were coshing victims with a 20-gallon jug of bleach.

  "Alleged crime scene," said Mike, interrupting my CSI thoughts.

  Remembering Renata's advice on patience, I took a deep breath and counted to twenty while imagining Mike as a "victim of his own mentality." It wasn't Mike's fault that his morning had been inundated with the police and Leonard Shackleton's private security specialist. "Who was on duty last night?"

  "Fraser. He didn't find anything on patrol."

  I also hadn't seen Fraser on my patrol. I didn't have a lot of faith in Fraser. I had a feeling Fraser had been snoozing on a golf cart while my bleach jug killer had snuck off with Orlando's body. "Can I look inside the alleged trailer beneath which the alleged victim was allegedly found?"

  "The police couldn't get a warrant to see inside anything."

  "I'm not the police. I work for Leonard Shackleton."

  The name drop got me a groan. "You'll have to ask Dahlia Pearson. It was her trailer."

  I picked up my jaw, left the security building, turned toward a secluded corner, and called Nash. "Orlando was under Dahlia's trailer."

  "Who's Dahlia again?"

  "Cambria's costar. You met her at the dinner and again at the hospital. She loves unnecessary helping, does the Iron Man for fun, and can deadlift three times her body weight."

  "She looks one hundred pounds soaking wet."

  "One hundred pounds of solid muscle. She checked in at the set last night."

  "Interesting."r />
  I tapped a quick soft shoe shuffle. I loved it when Nash said things like "interesting" instead of things like "Are you kidding me?"

  "And Giulio thinks she'll steal the show from Cambria. Dahlia has more potential star power but less experience."

  "Giulio?" He spat the name out like it had soured.

  "He's still missing."

  "Sorry. I had my contact at the resort check his room." Nash sighed. "It looks like Giulio didn't sleep at his villa last night. But they couldn't tell if anything was missing, not knowing what was there before."

  "Oh." I pinched my thumb and continued with a cheerier tone than I meant. "Robin Coxon of Black Pine Resort was here last night, too. Along with everyone else related to this case except for those dead or who look like Cambria."

  "Interesting."

  That didn't have the same inflection as the Dahlia Pearson interesting. "I think Robin wants to kill me. I'm moving her up my suspect list."

  "Figuratively wanting to kill you is different from actually planning a homicide."

  "I could give the resort bad publicity by proving someone had been murdered in one of her villas. Thereby unseating Robin's position of power."

  "That's a weak motive."

  "Still a motive."

  "Everyone went back to the set after the hospital?" Nash paused. I imagined him pacing the hospital room. "Why would they do that and not go back to their hotel rooms?"

  "Cambria's hospitalization would cause a major schedule adjustment. Work that wouldn't wait. Leonard and Ed would also need to hash out an appropriate news release with Cambria's agent and publicist."

  "What about Dahlia?"

  "No clue. There'd be no reason to invite her to those meetings."

  "Better check into that," said Nash. "Damn it, I hate being stuck in this hospital room. Cambria is still sedated. I need her to talk."

  "I have a feeling Leonard wants her unconscious for that reason. If he decides to cut her loose from the role, then it will change."

  "This is a cutthroat business."

  "Movie making is financially risky. The production company will budget about a hundred million in publicity for this movie. Leonard won't want to use the money spinning a star's connection to three murders. He'd rather put it in TV ads."

  "Good God." Nash took a deep breath. "I don't like this, Miss Albright."

  "I know."

  "It's not safe for you to be investigating. The money is not worth it to me."

  "Nash, I know Jolene is using red tape to keep Lamar from buying her out. She wants to see Nash Security Solutions fail." Because Jolene's a vindictive, petty bitch. But speaking it aloud might make me look equally vindictive and petty, so I kept that part to myself. "We need Leonard's business. Not just for the cash flow, but also to show future clients we can handle anything."

  "Can we handle anything?"

  I closed my eyes. The word "we" rung like a bell in the chapel of my heart. But a bell pounding your chamber walls could also be painful. We was not the same as us.

  "We can handle this. You watch Cambria and if she wakes at all, get her to talk. As for me, I'm on a strict diet. I'm avoiding any "eat me, drink me" signs. And I'm in disguise—"

  "Please don't tell me you're on that bike, riding around in stripper shoes."

  "No way." I wrinkled my nose at Rhonda's Grandma's blouse and slacks hiding my distinctive figure. "Giulio would not approve."

  Nash waited for a respectful beat before continuing. "By the way, Vicki is looking for you. I found her at the hospital, trying to get into Cambria's room before visiting hours."

  "Fracktastic." I crept to the corner of the security building and peered out, sniffing the air for Chanel No. 5.

  "Miss Albright, please be safe. Watch out for Dahlia Pearson and the others, just in case. They had opportunity even without a good motive."

  "I need to get inside Dahlia's trailer."

  "That doesn't sound like being careful."

  "Don't worry. I'll wait until she's off-set. I'll visit Robin Coxon first." And hung up before I could hear his groan.

  * * *

  Robin Coxon had visited the studio after hours and as any good investigator would say, "wha's up with that?" She also had issues with me finding dead people on her resort. I get it. But overreact much, Robin?

  I strolled into the big stone and timber building and through reception. My disguise got me past Carlos the valet and Cesar at reception. Not even a second glance. How depressing. Depressing I had grown vain enough to mind. Renata would have had a field day with that reality check.

  At Robin's office, I didn’t knock. I walked in for this performance.

  Robin's head jerked up from her computer screen. "Hello? Can I help you?"

  "Yes, Robin," I said. "You can tell me why you were on the Pine Hollow set last night. Because people seem to die when you're around."

  "What?" Robin cocked her head, squinted, then reached for her phone. "Maizie Albright? I—"

  "I know what you're going to say." I was reprising my Vicki "nerves of steel" role. This time I was too emotionally exhausted from losing friends and finding corpses to dial it back. "I'd like to point out some facts. Fact one: I saw an unconscious, possibly dead, now missing woman in one of your villas. Fact two: A murdered man was found in one of your hotel rooms. Fact three: you were on the set of Pine Hollow the night another man was murdered. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  She stared at me.

  I returned the stare. With a raised eyebrow for effect.

  During that window of time, a tiny thought emerged, grew, and blossomed into a monstrous idea. No one knew I was at the resort. Robin had the opportunity. And she was tall. Probably strong. She'd know where to find the iron in Orlando's hotel room, that's for sure. If Robin Coxon had killed all those people, was this a smart idea to accuse her of murder?

  God, I needed real investigative training in the worst way. Telling me to "be careful" wasn't instructive enough.

  Losing my Vicki verve, I began to back toward the door. "So you just think about that, Robin."

  Robin pushed out of her chair. "You slanderous little whore."

  "I'm telling you the facts," I said, using Julia Pinkerton's snarky comeback voice. For courage. "And speaking of slander? I've always been a serial monogamist. I just have very bad luck with men."

  What was I even saying? As I spoke, I'd been mentally rehearsing Kung Fu Kate kickboxing steps. Robin was tall, but she wore heels. If I could get her off balance, I'd have a better chance of running before she cracked me in the back of the head.

  Or I could just get out of there. Like now. "Good day, Robin."

  "You just waltz in here to accuse me of murder and leave?" Robin turned toward a keypad on the wall and typed in a number. "I don't think so."

  Behind me the door vibrated, resounding with a metallic chong.

  Oh, my God, I was locked in with Robin.

  "Where's Giulio?" I said. "What have you done with him? He was innocent."

  "So you're the one who notified the police that he was gone? What is it with you and the police? It's bad enough we had a man die in the hotel. Now I'm getting questioned about Cambria's and Giulio's villas."

  "What about Giulio's villa? I thought they didn't find anything?"

  "What are you talking about? The police don't have a legal right to go into his villa. At least yet."

  "Yet? What do you mean by yet?"

  She ignored me and tapped on her phone.

  "Robin, what happened to Giulio?"

  Had she locked Giulio in here? The room was normal-sized, yet that heavy bolt-in-the-lock chong had given me a Star Wars trash-compactor vibe. I jerked. A thrumming sounded from the air duct above me. Noisy air conditioner or was she going to squeeze the oxygen out of the room?

  I ran a finger under my collar, then wiped the orange makeup on my jeans. Get a hold of yourself, Maizie. You're a professional. Your disguise is melting, but Nash said you had grit. You can do th
is.

  I flipped open my phone and hovered my finger over Nash's name. Just in case. Not because I needed a rescue.

  "Maybe you'd like to tell the police what happened to Giulio again?" I said, waving my phone.

  Her attention snapped back to me. "You're such a pain in the ass. The police questioned me already. I told them I don't ask where my guests go, as long as they pay their bill. The All is Albright show is holding his villa. He's not checked out. He's not officially missing, you idiot."

  "Officially? That's just a handy word. Like allegedly. What were you doing at the studio last night?"

  "Paying my respects," said Robin. "I heard that Cambria had taken ill. I wanted to offer the resort as a place of recuperation as soon as she could be released. We have an in-house nurse and can put equipment in the villas."

  "Oh." I paused. "How did you hear Cambria had taken ill?"

  "It's my business to learn these things. I care about my guests."

  "Vicki Albright told you. Is she paying you or are you paying her?"

  "Millennials. You lack respect and common courtesy." Robin stepped forward and peered down her nose at me. "Why do you want to know my whereabouts last night?"

  "That's my business. To know things." Oddly, Robin's defensiveness gave me courage. "You're working with Vicki Albright."

  She tilted her chin. "Vicki Albright has been a guest and has arranged for the resort to host many of the All is Albright celebrities and staff. What of it?"

  "Do you know she's my ex-manager and ex-producer? I saw someone who looked exactly like and dressed exactly like me in the main resort building. I know Vicki has a stand-in imitating me for the show. Tell me the real reason I'm not allowed on the resort property."

  "Ask Vicki yourself." Sneering, Robin snatched her cell phone from the desk, scrolled with her thumb, and tapped the speaker button.

  "What is it Robin?" said Vicki.

  "Maizie Albright is here. Making accusations—"

  "I want a word with you, young lady."

  "Vicki," I said. "People have died. I have a job to do."

  "I believe drama should be left to the working actors. Like Cambria. Except, oh yes, she's in the hospital. Thanks for letting me know. Oh wait, you didn't." She hung up.