16 Millimeters

by Larissa Reinhart

  Shizzles. My fingers dropped the shade, and I held my breath, waiting another minute. My clipboard hand shook. Peeking from the bottom of the louvers, I saw Leonard's door shut. I could hear the din of voices inside.

  As they say in Hollywood, time to make a break for it.

  * * *

  Halfway down the hall, I realized I'd forgotten the key card in Ed Farmer's office. I halted, but there was nothing I could do except hope that Dahlia (would get caught) thought she'd left it there. Behind me, the production meeting voices grew louder. I turned and spotted Leonard's open door. Clamping the clipboard to my chest, I spun toward the doorway on my right. Conference room. I stepped through, closed the door.

  And found Detective Mowry.

  "Maizie Albright? I almost didn't recognize you." He caught himself before his nose wrinkled. "That's a…different look."

  My chuckle sounded both forced and fake. "What're you doing in here?"

  "Waiting to speak to Mr. Leonard. We had an anonymous tip last night." He placed his hands on his hips. "Another disappearing body."

  "Aha."

  "You wouldn't know anything about that?"

  "I certainly did not leave an anonymous tip." That had been Nash. “Speaking of bodies, I heard about the one at the resort. Did you find any interesting evidence? Maybe, I don’t know, some film? Nash told me you said he was a videographer.”

  “Why would you think there was film?” His warm brown eyes studied me. “And not video?”

  Doh, Maizie.

  “Wild guess?” I gave him my Maxim smile, then adjusted. The police would find Maxim smiles suspicious. “Nash told me his name. I looked Billy Goodwin up and saw he works with real film. That’s unusual these days. Remember, I saw film equipment in Cambria’s villa that night. I’m just wondering if his death is related.”

  “Wonder all you want.” He smiled pleasantly. “And why are you here?”

  “We’re still working for Leonard Shackleton. I was on my way to visit craft service and took a wrong turn. Do you know Big Jim?"

  "Makes an awesome BBQ." Mowry smiled. "He sponsors our annual department picnic. Didn't realize he was doing catering for the movie people. Big Jim's a friend of Boomer's, right? I forget you have roots here."

  "He and Daddy go way back. Football, I think." I pressed my clipboard against my chest. "I was just going to ask him…about his pies."

  "Have you tried his chocolate peanut butter pie?"

  I felt my eyes widen and quickly smoothed over my surprise. "I believe so."

  "You'd remember. It's one of his signature desserts." He sighed. "I love that salty sweet combo. Rich and creamy. Tastes exactly like—"

  "A Reese's Peanut Butter Cup," I broke in, then recovered. "Or at least that's what it sounds like. The way you're describing it…"

  Mowry grinned. "Yes, ma'am. I'd kill for some. Maybe I'll go with y'all and see if he has any hidden in the back. Convince him to let you have a piece. I bet you'd love it."

  "Great." Craptastic. I couldn't have Mowry join me for a pie poison discussion. "But aren't you waiting to talk to Leonard?"

  "Right." Mowry cleared his throat. "Another time?"

  "Later." I shot him a JP finger gun and hustled out.

  * * *

  My head ducked, I hurried through the dining room, avoiding eye contact with the various crew members, and shot through the kitchen door. Rushing past the long row of stainless steel counters, I found the kitchen manager's office door open, and Big Jim inside. We exchanged a chorus of "how's your daddy," "that's some hairdo," and "did you try my okra scramble this morning, these movie people like their vegetables."

  Smoothing my hair, I noted the considerable number of staff walking to and fro. "Can we shut the door? I'm hoping to speak to you privately."

  "Bless you hon', but I need to keep an eye on my people. This room is just too teeny to close that door. I can barely breathe in here as it is." Big Jim didn't necessarily sit in his office chair as encompassed it. Both in size and demeanor. "What's this about?

  I scooted closer and lowered my voice. "Yesterday's chocolate peanut butter pie. Any complaints about it?"

  "Complaints?" Massaging the folds beneath his chin, he tilted his head to study me. "You mean because of the fat content?"

  I didn't want to tell him what I meant. "So everybody liked the pie?"

  "Let's see." He pivoted toward the desk and tapped on his computer. "I made six pies plus the lil' one for y'all. Yours disappeared, no surprise there." He chuckled.

  I bit my lip.

  “Used Georgia peanuts because these movie people like to eat local. I don't know what they think they're going to eat in the winter unless it's greens and cabbage." He pointed at the spreadsheet on his screen. "Looks like we had one pie left over. You want to take it home?"

  I brightened before reality sank in. "Thanks but I can't. I'm riding a dirt bike these days, Big Jim."

  "Now that's a shame. I bet Remi'd like a taste."

  "Detective Mowry's around. He's a big fan."

  "Is he here? That boy loves my food about as much as y'all. Good man, Mowry." Big Jim stared over my shoulder. "Are you a prep chef or a cafeteria worker? You know better than to leave a dirty station. Haul your ass over to clean up that mess."

  Watching the cook, he nodded then focused back on me. "Excuse me for that, hon'. Now why are you asking about complaints? How was that lil' one yesterday? Lord love you, Maizie, I've never seen such passion over chocolate and peanut butter. Made me a happy man to make your favorite."

  The declaration felt like a punch in the gut in light of what had happened.

  "I never got the chance to try it," I spoke slowly and toed a circle with a Birkenstock. "Someone else beat me to it."

  "What do you mean?" He pushed out of his chair, crowding our space. "I put your name on that plate in chocolate. I ask you, what kind of a person takes another person's chocolate peanut butter pie?"

  "Cambria. She's the star of the show."

  "Well, I never."

  "I'm so sorry Big Jim, but the thing is, Cambria got really sick after eating it."

  "She couldn't handle the fat content." He folded his meaty arms. "Serves her right for stealing your pie."

  "No." I took a deep breath and rushed through my words. "Now don't tell Daddy. But someone added a heavy dose of cleaner to her pie. And I think the cleaner was meant for me."

  He gaped. "Dear Lord, why on earth?"

  "I think I saw something I shouldn't have seen. Don't say anything to Mowry yet. I don't want people to think poorly of you. I need to know who had access to the pie so I can clear this up before word gets out."

  “Lord, they may be lazy sumbitches, but I'd swear on my life by my kitchen staff. Not knowing when you'd show in the dining hall, I just set the pie on that table in there myself." He took a deep breath, and his lip trembled. "Anyone could have tampered with it after the fact, so to speak."

  "That's what Nash and I thought. It's not your fault." I took his hand and patted. Big Jim was a sensitive man. I'd seen him bawl over a smoked pig at a DeerNose charity cookout. His love for feeding people was only exceeded by his love for feeding the needy. And the pulled pork was that good. "Where do you keep the cleaning solution? Any in the dining room?"

  "Of course not, but we have plenty back here. My staff should have noticed someone messing around in the cleaning closet, though. I supposed there's some stored in the nearby bathroom." He swept a hand at his eyes.

  "Bathroom. Got it." I patted his other hand, then hugged him.

  "My sweet Lord, to think I'd been a party to poisoning. " Taking a deep breath, his neck swelled, his face reddened, and his voice grew hot. "If you find out who did this, you tell me, girl. I have words for this…this reprobate."

  Hugging him, I mentally berated myself for putting Big Jim through this anguish. Then berated myself for berating myself because investigators should be tougher. Feelings would get hurt when you were trying to find a murderer.
But still, poor Big Jim.

  "For mercy's sake." Stepping away from our hug, he addressed someone behind me. "Where you taking that garbage? Do you not have the sense the good Lord gave you? We've got our own bin in the back. You're going the wrong way. You can't march those through the mess hall."

  "That bin needs to be picked up, Chef," said the worker. "It stinks to high heaven. Must be full."

  I glanced behind me. A young man gripped two full bags in one hand and balanced two more over his shoulder.

  "What are you talking about?" said Big Jim. "The trucks came yesterday morning."

  "Hells," I muttered and turned to Big Jim. "I bet I know what's making that stink. Put Mike in security on it. Tell him it's an alleged smell. Better have him page Detective Mowry. And save the detective that extra pie."

  Twenty-Five

  #FatalCamtraction #SleepingPsycho

  I checked the dining room's bathroom for cleaner — Toilet. Countertops. Bleach. Window. Drain. Mildew. A smorgasbord of cleaning chemicals. No problem poisoning a pie from the bathroom. — and rushed to get off campus before the police arrived. In the parking lot, I remembered Vicki. And Dahlia. And Dahlia's weird threat. And Ed's loony sketch of Dahlia with the Double Indemnity mention.

  How could I forget my mother? Being in charge of an investigation was exhausting. And made my brain hurt. I tapped her number into my phone. Voice mail. She had turned off her ringer. Figured.

  Or Dahlia had done something to her. It wasn't like this killer was patiently biding their time to off the victims. These were immediate murders. The perp must be crazy desperate to remove all evidence to the original crime. Including people.

  I rubbed my neck. I was part of that chain of evidence. My stomach rolled. I thought of Cambria in the hospital. Nash guarding her instead of guarding me…

  Stop it, I thought. You're no Whitney Houston.

  Vicki could handle herself, couldn't she? I stared at Lucky, longing to get away. I had a plethora of suspects and a handful of vague motives. A woman was still missing and presumed dead. The police investigated the other two deaths. But to make Leonard happy, I needed to get to the bottom of the mysterious body in villa six (wasn't that a Nancy Drew?) to clear Cambria's name (which seemed impossible) and more importantly, his precious blockbuster (Good luck with that Leonard).

  And figure out who was trying to kill me before they actually did it.

  Shizzles, what if Dahlia was a real-life Phyllis Dietrichson? Vicki could hold her own in any meeting, pitch session, contract negotiation, and red carpet moment. But could she defend herself against a skull cracking killer?

  A siren wailed in the distance. The police. I needed to get away before I was trapped. Detective Mowry would want to question me (been there, done that, takes forever) and they'd call in my probation officer. Who'd call Judge Ellis. Who might ship me back to a California jail to stand trial for being the fiancé to an idiot (Girlfriend Before the Fact) when according to my probationary requirements, I was supposed to stay far, far away from anything movie related.

  The siren grew louder.

  Vicki was super fit. She still did weighted pilates, and that wasn't even a thing anymore. If Dahlia tried anything, Vicki could…

  What was I thinking? I had to save my mother.

  I spun back toward the studio entrance, held out my pass, ducked my head into my clipboard, and ran through the halls toward the backlot door. No one paid any attention. On set, clipboard rushing was de rigueur. In the backlot, golf carts zipped past me as I sprinted for Dahlia's trailer. Didn't bother knocking, but quietly opened her door and listened for voices.

  No voices.

  Craptastic. Where were Vicki and Dahlia? I felt panic rise from my stomach to burn my throat. I crept up the stairs and peered around the half wall. No one in the living room. Bedrooms and bathrooms were also empty.

  What had Dahlia done with my mother?

  I called Nash. "Dahlia has my mother. What do I do?"

  "What do you mean she has your mother?"

  "Dahlia invited Vicki into her trailer, and I just let her go because I didn't want Dahlia to see me." I sniffled. "Oh God, it's all my fault. Again. And I've got to question more people and the police are here—"

  "Stay calm. Investigators keep a cool head."

  "Okay." I took a deep breath.

  "You're conclusion jumping again. It's probably innocent. They went to lunch or something."

  I looked at Dahlia's wall clock. One of those cats with the twitching tail and creepy eyes. Was that ironic or psychotic? "It's not lunch time. It's barely past breakfast."

  "Shopping maybe." His voice sounded far away.

  "Vicki has people for that. What are you doing?"

  "Texting Vicki. When I get a ping, I'll let you know where she is." His voice slowed to a soothing crawl. "I know you're worried. Dahlia wouldn't do anything to Vicki. Why would she? Don't run yourself in circles, Maizie. Stick to your list. Who's next?"

  "Ed Farmer. Make sure he doesn't leave." I chewed my lip. "Nash, if they're really missing, it's my fault."

  "You're not the one doing this, Maizie. You've got a big job to do. But I know you can do it."

  * * *

  I peered out Dahlia's door, then huddled back inside as a golf cart zoomed past. At the all clear, I clasped my clipboard to my chest and jogged to the studio building. Inside the door, a policeman checked badges and asked questions. I spun around and exited.

  Frigalicous. Now, what do I do? Climb the fence? Like that wouldn't attract attention.

  I re-entered the building. Stood in line and held out my badge. Officer Holcomb squinted at the picture and looked at me. "Is this you?"

  "Makeover."

  "You're orange."

  "Self-tanner." I waved my clipboard, shrugged, and gave him Nash's favorite descriptor. "You know, movie people."

  "Hang on." He studied my name, the picture, then cocked his head. "That name. Didn't I just hear it?"

  "In the kitchen?" Big Jim and Security Mike had blown my cover and reported me as the finder of Orlando to Detective Mowry. Off to the police station I go.

  "Kitchen? Are you a cook?" As I shook my head, he snapped his fingers. "Wait, you were on that TV show…Pinky-something."

  "Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective."

  "That's it." He smiled. "What happened to you? You're like a behind-the-scenes worker now?"

  "Yes. Behind-the-scenes. Exactly." I guessed Officer Holcomb was not a fan of entertainment news. And I wasn't going to give him a summary of my E! True Hollywood Story. "I have an appointment off the set. Can I go?"

  "Hang on." He reached for his walkie and reported my name and request.

  I waited for the "hold her for questioning" command. Dahlia's sketch hid beneath my clipboard paper. Would they look at my clipboard and ask where I'd gotten the drawing? Could I be charged with theft? Burglary? Sweat dampened my neck.

  "You can leave. Be sure to officially sign out at the front and leave your number."

  "Thanks." I held out my hand for my badge.

  Still holding my ID, he studied me again. "Most people ask why the police are here. You're not curious?"

  Shizzles. "I, uh, heard about it from a crew member. Someone found—" I snapped my mouth shut. Catching myself, I wrinkled my nose and lowered my voice. "They said someone in craft service was hurt."

  "Not exactly." He smiled and handed back my card. "You shouldn't believe gossip."

  "So what did happen?"

  "Can't say. I'd look for an office memo later."

  I thanked him and rushed through the building. My stomach spasmed with each step, shooting stress-induced heartburn into my chest and throat.

  Wow that was close. If I'd said, "found a body in the dumpster," he would have stopped me for sure.

  Although, maybe I should have told him about Vicki and Dahlia. My conscience set off another stomach convulsion and I clutched my chest. Jerry was wrong about diet killing me. More like work-related stre
ss. Or desperate-killer-related stress.

  I swiped at the sweat beading on the back of my neck and wiped my hand on Rhonda’s grandma’s slacks, leaving a black mark. I rubbed at the streak and smeared it. That's what I got for choosing a wash-out rinse. Maybe I should've taken one for the team and done permanent color.

  Grabbing my helmet, I straddled Lucky, then lurched forward. My phone buzzed from my back pocket. With a shaky hand, I pulled it out and jammed it under my helmet, hoping the caller was Vicki. Or Giulio. Or Nash.

  Zero for three.

  "Maizie, it's Leonard. The police have arrived on set. I just learned security discovered a body in the kitchen garbage."

  "Um, yeah. The victim is Orlando Feelzen, Cambria's alleged boyfriend, who was involved in the alleged personal video at her villa. I accidentally found him last night when I was…Running from him. I found Orlando in Cambria's trailer and kind of…Scared him away. Which sort of…Got him killed."

  "You did what?"

  "It was a confusing situation? Also, a very scary situation?"

  "I don't understand." Before I could explain, Leonard cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, I specifically said no police."

  "Sorry, Mr. Shackleton, but if a body is found, the police have to be involved." To calm myself, I switched to a tone similar to the one Officer Holcomb had used with me. Cop cool. Very soothing.

  "It's on the set," Leonard cried. "There's no way to disconnect that crime from our film."

  "I think the cat left that particular bag a while ago, Mr. Shackleton."

  "The press will hound us," moaned Leonard. "I'm going to blow the marketing budget on spin alone. God, what a nightmare. I just met with the other producers about the schedule changes. This movie is already giving me an ulcer."