by Sarah Fox
“The rest of my day is completely open, so whenever you want to meet up is fine with me.”
I glanced down at my running attire. “I was about to go out for a jog. Do you want to join me?”
“I would, except I just got back from a run.”
“Then how about I come over to your place once I’m done with mine?”
“Sounds good. I’ll be here.”
I was about to ask him what it was that he’d wanted to talk to me about, hoping for some hint, but before I got the chance, he spoke up again.
“And, Marley, there’s something else you need to know about Christine’s death. Ray might want to talk to you about everything that happened again.”
“I guess the investigation is more serious now that she died. But I don’t know that I can provide any further insight.”
“It is more serious,” Brett agreed, his voice grim. “Ray told me it’s now officially a murder investigation.”
Chapter 6
It was a good thing I was already sitting down. Otherwise, I was pretty sure my legs would have given out on me.
“A murder investigation?” I echoed Brett’s last words. “But I thought she died from smoke inhalation. And wasn’t the fire an accident?”
“It looks like it might not have been, because Christine didn’t die from smoke inhalation. She was strangled. They got her heart beating again at the scene, but she never regained consciousness and she passed away a few hours after arriving at the hospital.”
I gave my head a shake, but that didn’t make Brett’s news any easier to digest. “I can’t believe it. That’s awful.”
“It is,” Brett agreed. “I’m sorry to spring that news on you.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. I would have found out soon enough, and I’d rather hear it from you than someone on the street.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I want your company more than ever now, so I’d better go get my run out of the way.”
“All right,” Brett said. “I’ll see you soon.”
We said our goodbyes and I spent another couple of minutes stretching. Then I was out the door, walking along the driveway and easing into a run once I reached Wildwood Road. Originally, I’d intended to turn away from town, to run along the quieter stretch of the road, but almost without thought I turned the opposite way. I let the fresh air and the steady rhythm of my footsteps lull me into a calmer state, the tension easing out of my muscles with every passing minute. There was a hint of wood smoke in the crisp air, and the occasional colorful leaf fell from a tree to land on the damp ground.
I’d hoped running would clear my mind, but now that I was on my way, the chance of that seemed slim. Although calmer, I couldn’t stop thinking about the news of Christine’s death and the fact that the sheriff’s department was now conducting a murder investigation. I sifted through my memories, but couldn’t remember spotting any injuries that would have suggested that Christine had been strangled. That wasn’t surprising. At the time of the fire the smoke had obscured my vision, and the same was true of the tears it had brought to my eyes while I was in the trailer. Once Christine was outside on the grass, I’d let others tend to her, so I hadn’t had a good opportunity to see any bruising or other injuries she might have had.
Since I’d met the woman only the morning before, I didn’t know if she had any enemies, or if she’d had any suspicion that her life was at risk. Regardless, she’d definitely had at least one recent conflict. She’d argued with the actress Alyssa Jayde less than half an hour before Sienna and I spotted the fire. I was glad Ray knew about that. It hadn’t seemed significant the night before, but now it did.
As I jogged past the row of trailers, I spotted Chase Lowman walking next to a woman with a clipboard, his Australian shepherd trotting along at his heels. They were heading toward the Abbott house, and the woman was chattering away into a cellphone. I soon passed them, but while Chase was now out of my sight, he hadn’t left my thoughts. Seeing him had reminded me of the fact that he’d also argued with Christine the day before.
What was it he’d said?
Don’t think I can’t burn your whole career down to a pile of ashes.
Despite the fact that I was getting warm from my run, a shiver danced down my spine. Now that I knew someone was responsible for Christine’s death, I couldn’t help but wonder if Chase had decided to burn more than just her career to ashes. Why he’d want to do that—why he’d threatened her—I didn’t know. But the fact that he’d made the threat put him at the top of my suspect list, a list that was currently only two names long.
Maybe other members of the cast and crew would know the source of the conflict between Christine and the two lead actors, but that would be for Ray and his deputies to find out. As soon as I was finished with my run, I’d let Ray know about what I’d heard Chase say to Christine the day before. Once that was taken care of, all I wanted to do was spend the rest of my day with Brett.
Again, I wondered what he wanted to tell me, but I wouldn’t allow myself to speculate. I’d know soon enough.
That thought pushed me to pick up my pace by another notch. When I reached the marina at the western edge of town, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come, trying to focus on nothing other than the saltiness of the sea air, the cries of the seagulls circling in the sky above me, and the familiar rhythm of running.
That worked for a few minutes, but when the trailers were in sight again, I was distracted by two people standing in the middle of the sidewalk up ahead of me. The woman was the one I’d seen with Chase earlier, but I didn’t recognize the young man with her. He was tall and thin, with a mop of bright red hair that was hard to miss.
I slowed to a walk as I realized the two of them were arguing.
“It’s your job to fetch things,” the woman said, sounding short on patience. “You need to work your way up the ladder in this industry. Now, get a move on. Ms. Jayde wants a half-sweet chai soy latte.”
“The craft services tent doesn’t have soy lattes.”
“Get it in town, dimwit. There’s a coffee shop down the way.” She nodded toward Pacific Street and then turned on her heel, striding away from the young man.
He glared at her back before storming past me, in the direction of the Beach and Bean.
I was about to pick up my pace again when I spotted a head of long, turquoise hair. Nicola was standing on the grass near the trailers, tapping away at the screen of her cellphone. I called out her name to get her attention. She looked up, and when she saw me she tucked her phone into the pocket of her jeans.
“You’re from the pancake house, right?” she said when I reached her. “You helped Howard pull Christine out of the trailer last night.”
I nodded as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m so sorry about Christine. How are you holding up?”
Her forehead furrowed and I got the impression she was trying not to cry. “It’s tough. Christine was my mentor and my friend. I’ve known her for years.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “Is the production continuing?”
“For sure.” She frowned. “Not even the death of one of his crew will stop Vince Aconi from getting his film made.”
Based on what I’d seen of the director at the Abbott house the other day, that didn’t surprise me.
“Are they bringing in someone new to take Christine’s place?” I asked.
“No, I’ll be taking over her role. It’s going to be a lot of work, especially since I have to make some new props, but I’ll manage. Somehow.”
“You make props? I thought you did special makeup for the actors.”
“I do, but sometimes my skills are needed for props.” She gestured at the nearest trailer. “Here, I’ll show you.”
As she opened the door to the trailer, I realized that it was next to the one with the smoke damage. That trailer was now cordoned off with police tape.
I followed Nicola into the undamaged trailer and saw that its interior was fairly similar to t
hat of the other, with several hair and makeup stations lining one wall and cupboards and counters lining the opposite one. Two of the chairs were occupied, one by a man in his late forties getting his face touched up with makeup, and the other by a slender man dressed in a tattered, dirty costume, his face and all exposed skin made up to look scabby and rotten. A curvy woman with fire-engine-red hair was in the process of fitting a matted, dirty wig on his head.
“That’s Pearl Lam doing the makeup and that’s Jeanie Jacobs over there with Craig.” Nicola nodded at the man getting his wig put on. “Karl and Craig will be filming scenes later this morning.”
The actors didn’t do anything more than flick their eyes in our direction, keeping still for their respective artists, but the women gave us more attention.
“This is the owner of that pancake house I told you about,” Nicola said to them. “She helped get Christine out of the trailer last night.”
“Oh my gosh,” Pearl said, sweeping her dark hair over her shoulder. “Thank you so much for doing that.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Poor Christine.”
Jeanie shook her head sadly. “It’s terrible what happened. But like Pearl said, thanks for doing what you did.”
“I wish there’d been a better outcome,” I said, suddenly feeling like an intruder. The entire crew was grieving the loss of their colleague, and I was a stranger in their midst.
Nicola soon drew my attention away from that awkward feeling, however. She held up a severed head, and I took a quick step back, startled by the ghoulish, eyeless face with half its flesh missing.
After a second I realized that the partial face looked familiar. I glanced over at Craig and back at the prop. Yes, there was no doubt the severed head bore an almost exact resemblance to the actor, aside from the missing flesh on parts of the prop.
“It looks so real, doesn’t it?” A smile appeared on Nicola’s face for a brief moment. “Christine was so talented.”
“She made that?” I asked, impressed. Although gruesome, it truly did look like it had come from a real corpse—Craig’s corpse.
“Yep. She made several, but three have gone missing, stolen from this trailer early this morning.”
“Who would steal something like that?” I asked.
Nicola shrugged. “A fan who collects film props, maybe. Whoever stole them, it’s my job to replace them, and fast.”
“You’re going to do just fine with that, honey,” Jeanie said as she made a final adjustment to the wig and stepped back, nodding at the actor in the chair in front of her. “You’re good to go.”
“Thanks, Jeanie,” the corpse-like man said as he got up from his chair.
He grinned at me as he passed by to leave the trailer, the expression quite macabre considering his appearance.
“Jeanie is right, Nic,” Pearl said as she swept a brush across the remaining actor’s forehead. “You’ve got this. You’re going to do great.”
Nicola smiled at her colleagues. “Thanks, guys.” She looked down at the severed head in her hands. “I’d better get busy, though.”
Taking my cue, I stepped toward the door. “I’ll be off now. I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to everyone in the trailer.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Nicola said.
This time the smile she offered me was much brighter. It seemed like the prospect of getting to work had lightened her mood considerably. She no longer appeared to be on the verge of tears or weighed down by sadness.
As I stepped out of the trailer, Debbie from the wardrobe department bustled past me, a brown paper bag and a takeout cup of coffee in hand. She was dressed in a shapeless black top with long sleeves and black pants. Together with her dyed-black hair and thick-framed glasses, the effect was rather morbid, and the ensemble made her pale skin appear pasty. I would have thought that perhaps she’d dressed that way as a sign of mourning if she hadn’t been dressed in a similar fashion the day before as well.
“Morning, Debbie,” Pearl greeted as she edged around the larger woman to get out of the trailer.
The actor she’d been working with followed her out and called out his thanks as he walked off in the direction of the white tent, presumably the home of craft services.
“Nic, dear, I brought you some coffee and a bite to eat,” I heard Debbie say as the trailer door fell shut.
“Head of the wardrobe department,” Pearl said, tipping her head toward the trailer.
I nodded, the information not new to me.
Pearl dug a package of gum out of the pocket of her jeans and unwrapped a stick. “She doesn’t exactly look the part, but she sure has a knack for styling others.” She put the gum in her mouth and chomped down on it. “Lord only knows why she doesn’t apply that to herself once in a while.”
As Pearl headed off toward the same tent the actor had disappeared into, I noted that she presented a stark contrast to the head of the wardrobe department. Instead of a shapeless black outfit, Pearl wore snug jeans that looked like they could be designer, a pink burnout T-shirt with a black sketch of the Eiffel Tower on the front, and high-heeled, pink suede ankle boots.
The makeup artist entered the tent and I turned away, intending to head home, but this time I was addressed by Debbie, who’d just come out of the trailer.
“Nicola tells me you’re the one who helped Christine last night.”
“That’s right,” I said, wishing I’d made my escape sooner.
The constant reminder of the events of the previous night—and of the fact that my attempt to help had ultimately been futile—left me feeling ill at ease and glum. “I hope Nicola will be all right.”
Debbie waved off my concern. “Oh, she’ll be fine. She’s sad, of course—we all are—but she’ll keep busy and that’ll help.” She paused for a second, her expression thoughtful. “I guess she was right about her fortunes changing.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Nicola. A few days back she told me she had a feeling her fortunes were about to change, that she wouldn’t be working as an assistant much longer.” Debbie shrugged. “I guess she was right.”
The clipboard-bearing woman I’d seen first with Chase and later with the redheaded man hurried in our direction, hailing Debbie by name. I took that as my opportunity to resume my trip homeward. Saying a quick goodbye, I set off at a brisk walk. When I reached the end of the row of trailers, however, I glanced back over my shoulder and came to an abrupt stop.
Max Fabel, the man staying at the Murrays’ bed-and-breakfast, was poking around the smoke-damaged trailer. He didn’t attempt to break the police tape and get inside, but after walking slowly around the perimeter, his gaze darting this way and that, he pulled a digital camera out of his jacket pocket and snapped some pictures.
I had no idea what that was all about, but it seemed strange to me. When I added his current behavior to the fact that I thought he’d eavesdropped on my conversation with Patricia and Sienna the night before, I couldn’t help but feel wary of the man. Sienna had mentioned that he was in Wildwood Cove on vacation, but his interest in the trailer seemed like more than a passing, morbid curiosity in the tragic event that had taken place.
Turning my back on the man before he noticed me watching him, I continued on my way home, this time without any further delays. Flapjack greeted me when I arrived in the family room, but he soon left me to paw at the French doors. Getting the message, I let him outside.
“Don’t go far,” I told him. “I’m going out soon.”
He ignored me, of course.
I drank a glass of water and jogged upstairs to take a quick shower. Once I was dressed in jeans and a graphic tee, I tried calling Ray to tell him about Chase’s argument with Christine. I hung up when the call went to voicemail, figuring it would be easier to explain the incident in a quick email. Grabbing my laptop from the coffee table, I booted it up and composed a message. When it was typed up and sent, I wandered out onto the back porch, looking for Flapjack.
He was sitti
ng on a log at the top of the beach, his tail twitching as he peered down at something in the sand below him. When I called to him, he took one last look at whatever he’d been watching and hopped down from the log, trotting up to the porch and in through the French doors.
I scooped him up into my arms and nestled my face in his orange fur. “Thanks for coming in, buddy. See you later.”
I left him on the couch and grabbed my tote bag before heading out the door. Since the day was still rain-free, I decided to walk to Brett’s place. I usually made the journey from my place to his on foot unless it was after dark or the weather was bad.
After passing Main Street, which marked the center of town, I was soon in a residential neighborhood, and it took me only another minute to reach Brett’s green-and-white house on the corner of Saratoga Street and Sea Breeze Drive. My spirits rising at the thought of seeing him, I turned in to his driveway.
My steps faltered and I came to a stop, the half-smile on my face fading away.
Brett was on his front porch, but he wasn’t alone.
The lead actress from The Perishing remake, Alyssa Jayde, was in his arms.
Chapter 7
I stood frozen for a second or two before my feet began moving again, without any conscious thought. My heart was beating so hard that it drowned out the ambient sounds around me, and a wave of momentary dizziness washed over me, as if the world had suddenly tipped off its axis.
Brett must have heard my footsteps on the gravel driveway, or caught sight of me from the corner of his eye, because he looked up and dropped his arms from around Alyssa, taking a step back. The actress swept a finger beneath her right eye, as if wiping away a tear, and noticed me for the first time. I reached the base of the porch steps and stopped, staring at the two of them, not knowing what to say.
“Marley,” Brett said, but he stopped there.
Even from several steps below him, I could see that his blue eyes were troubled and his shoulders tense.
“Who’s this?” Alyssa asked, the question sounding like a demand. She’d fixed her green eyes on me, her gaze cold.