by Gini Koch
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“All three spaces have cars in them.”
I considered this. “And you think that this indicates that someone other than Cliff is using his space?”
“I don’t possess enough facts to formulate a hypothesis, Watson. It’s simply something to note for now, and investigate when we take stock of who’s here. And who isn’t.”
“You think we’ll find someone missing other than Cliff?”
Sherlock sighed. “Watson, I have no idea. I’m pointedly not coming up with potential scenarios, because by doing that I would focus on my theories, not on the facts and clues themselves. Instead of seeing what is I would focus on how the details fit what I want them to. Going in with my mind blank, so to speak, means that I’ll see what’s there, clearly and without prejudice.”
“Why were you prejudiced against Irene, then?”
“The Woman comes with existing baggage. If you see a viper, you know that vipers can and will bite. You don’t need to ask if this particular viper might not bite—you go in knowing that it can and probably will. Therefore, you approach it cautiously, ready to run or shoot.”
“Should I be ready to run or shoot tomorrow night?”
“Always be prepared and ready, Watson. Always.”
Reaching the security checkpoint for the soundstage ended this particularly cheery conversation. We were quickly ushered in to see something I hadn’t been prepared for—utter chaos.
“FIRST TIME ON a set, Watson?” Sherlock asked me as she strode in amongst the myriad people scurrying here and there, some carrying equipment or building materials, many talking or shouting at each other.
I closed my jaw. “The very first. Has something happened?”
“No, other than they’re prepping for shooting. This is tame.” She headed in the direction the person who’d let us in had indicated, and I followed after.
There were a variety of people on what I realized was the stage area, mostly because they were surrounded by cameras and people doing last minute hair and makeup fixes.
We skirted them and reached a table laden with food. Sherlock stopped. “Nice to see you again, Henry—Maddie—Sharon,” she said to the people handling the food service.
The man and two women all smiled at her with recognition. “Here to watch the filming?” the man I assumed was Henry asked.
“Yes. So exciting!”
“Have something to snack on, Sherlock,” Henry said. “Baked goods are all fresh—this is a heavy carbs crowd.”
“Really? I’d think that they’d all be eating nothing but lima beans.”
“The crew,” Henry said with a laugh. “You’re right about all the talent eating next to nothing.”
“Where’s Frank?”
Henry grimaced. “No idea. Left for a smoke break the other day and never came back. Maddie called, but he hasn’t answered. Guess he found another job.”
“Perhaps.” Sherlock took a croissant, nodded to Henry and the two women, then walked on.
“Why did you take their food?”
“Craft services, Watson. You saw it at New London when we met. This very team, to be precise.”
“Yes, but I didn’t ever partake.”
“Bully for you.”
“Apparently you partook enough to be on a first name basis with all of them.”
“I have no objection to eating well, Watson, especially if no one’s losing out from it, and I confess to enjoying not having to pay.” She bit into the croissant and looked disappointed. “I can tell that Frank’s not here. He’s the main baker, and, while delicious, this doesn’t have his touch.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Yet. Anyway, craft services are here for everyone working on the picture, and that now includes us. If you’re peckish, go back and grab something. Believe me, our employers won’t mind and Henry’s team are culinary geniuses. And you certainly sound peckish.”
I was about to mutter that I didn’t want to take anything from the Unholy Three when Jackson bounded through a closed door I’d thought was part of the set. “Sherlock!” he boomed, as he embraced her. “So glad you could come visit!”
“Thanks for inviting us,” she said, without missing a beat. “Watson’s never been on an actual soundstage before, so he’s quite thrilled.”
I’d learned to keep my mouth shut and my expression neutral whenever Sherlock said something I wasn’t prepared for, so I merely smiled and nodded.
“Wonderful,” Jackson said. “Let me show you around. Get something from craft services, why don’t you?”
“Oh, I grabbed something already”—she waved the remains of the croissant at him—“but Watson’s concerned that there won’t be enough for the cast and crew if he indulges.”
“Nonsense!” Jackson headed us back to the craft services table. “These are some friends of mine,” he said to Henry and his team. “Let’s show them how great your food is. How do you like your lattes?” he asked the two of us.
Now clearly wasn’t the time to resist. “I prefer cappuccino.”
“I’ll take a coffee black,” Sherlock said. She shot Jackson a sideways glance. “Just like my men.”
I’d never heard Sherlock make any kind of sexual joke before, and I knew for a fact she had no interest in romance, but Jackson loved it. “That’s my girl. I’ll take a latte, though, Henry.” Henry nodded and the women turned and went to make the drinks. None of them mentioned that they already knew Sherlock.
“Are you ready to start shooting?” Sherlock asked while we waited and I broke down and took a scone. It was delicious; I found myself wondering if Sherlock had said yes to this case only for the food. I also wondered if the scone would have been even better if this Frank had baked it, then reminded myself we were here because a man was missing.
“Just about,” Jackson replied. “Still getting a few things in place.”
“Ah.”
I took this to mean that Camden hadn’t shown up yet. Though how anyone would notice that he wasn’t here amidst all the people and activity I couldn’t fathom.
While we waited, Jackson explained how filming on set was different from what I’d seen before, when they were filming Campus Queen at New London. That was a location shoot and also reality, so they used mostly handheld cameras and had less emphasis on makeup and wardrobe. Lighting had mattered, but because they’d been filming on an existing college campus, no sets had been needed.
Glitterazzi, on the other hand, required sets and a soundstage, stationary cameras, extensive lighting, and a heavy emphasis on hair, makeup, and wardrobe. Most of the people racing around were crew, both those who’d been with Andenson Productions from the start and at least twice again as many who’d been hired on for the new show. Between the cast and crew, there were easily a hundred and fifty people on the set at any one time.
In some ways I was amazed—it was eight in the morning but most of these people had been here for hours already and would be here for many hours more. This was not a nine-to-five endeavor. The need to keep everyone fed and watered seemed more explainable all of a sudden.
I tried to keep everyone straight, but there were so many people I found it difficult. Sherlock’s eyes were darting everywhere, though she kept up a steady stream of casual conversation with Jackson.
Coffees in hand, we finally headed back towards the door Jackson had come through, which led to a corridor with many other doors. “Cast’s dressing rooms, makeup, hair, and wardrobe, our offices, and so on,” Jackson said as we walked past. The last door at the end of the corridor was the one we entered. “And here’s the writers’ room.”
An oval table with twelve chairs around it sat in a room that had more whiteboards and bulletin boards than I thought necessary for any sane place. The boards were filled with scribbles, papers tacked up, spare pushpins, and whiteboard markers. The table had stacks of pages on it, along with pencils, pens, and more markers. This was a busy-looking room, for h
aving no one in it before we’d arrived.
“Where are the erasers?” Sherlock asked as soon as the door closed.
“Huh?” Jackson looked around. “Somewhere, I’m sure. Why does that matter?”
She shrugged. “They’re something missing from a room where they belong. That’s all.”
“Well, what’s missing is our head writer and director, and I’m a lot more worried about Cliff than the erasers.”
“Still no word?” I asked.
“None.”
Sherlock nodded. “The L.A.P.D. are on their way. It’s clear that you didn’t want the cast and crew panicked, but they’ll be here soon. I’d like to talk to the actress Cliff is romantically attached to—Dawn Niles, I believe you said her name was—before Lee and his people arrive.”
“She’s probably in her dressing room. All the names are on the doors and the chorus and background people’s rooms are also marked. Don’t you want to question anyone else?” Jackson sounded worried.
“Not yet. They all know something’s wrong. You’ve had uniformed officers out already, their director isn’t here, and you haven’t assigned the assistant director to take over.”
Jackson sighed. “I’m the AD on this. I’m trying not to take over until I have to.”
“That seems out of your bailiwick,” I mentioned.
“It is. We had a falling out with the AD we’d hired and had to fire him. The ADs we use for our reality shows are all directing those shows. We can’t pull anyone from one of them, or we’ll watch our empire start to crumble, brick by brick.”
“I’d like the information on the person you fired,” Sherlock said. “Sooner rather than later. I’d like information on anyone you’ve let go from the production company within the last year, actually. As well as any actors who made it through the casting process but weren’t chosen.”
“You’re thinking someone might be taking revenge on us?” Jackson genuinely sounded like it hadn’t occurred to him.
“I believe that revenge is always a strong motivator. And don’t be naïve, Joey. You know it’s a motive, just as money, fame, and power are motives. Do you have the personnel records here?”
“You’re right, of course. And, yeah, we’ve set up a satellite office here, so I have access to everything that we have at our main site. It’ll take me a few minutes to pull up.”
“Go ahead. We’ll be here or wandering. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”
Jackson trotted off and I looked at Sherlock. She was reading the whiteboards. “Why didn’t you have him introduce us to the actress?”
“Because I have you with me, Watson. A handsome man is always a wonderful calling card with most women.”
I felt my cheeks get hot. “I’m not that handsome.”
“Oh, Watson, let’s stop this. False modesty helps no one, least of all me. I’m brilliant, you’re handsome. Accept your strengths, and your weaknesses—utilize and work on them, respectively. You’re appealing, and I’d like to wield that appeal with more people here than just The Woman.”
“Fine. Let me stop blushing before we go, though.”
She chuckled. “As you wish. I need to finish reading the boards anyway.”
I took another glance. This Scene Stays No Matter What was the headline on one board, but the scribbles weren’t worth deciphering. “It’s just gibberish about the shows.”
“Yes, and if this case is nothing, then all this gibberish doesn’t matter and we’ll just enjoy spending time on the set and eating well. If, however, this case is something—and a lack of whiteboard erasers and a missing craft services baker indicates that it might be—then the gibberish becomes clues.”
“Seriously, Sherlock, why does a lack of erasers indicate anything other than forgetfulness? And why does someone wandering off merit attention?”
“Frank being MIA is significant because Cliff is as well, and they disappeared on the same day and roughly at the same time. Things that should be somewhere but aren’t are always indicative, Watson. I earned my car by noticing something lacking.”
“What?”
“Noise. Specifically a dog that should have been barking but wasn’t. No”—she turned back to the boards, eyes narrowed, as she pulled out her phone—“there’s potentially much more here than meets the eye.”
SHERLOCK PHOTOGRAPHED ALL the boards carefully, and had me do the same with the pages on the table, from a variety of angles. I chose to stop asking why we were wasting time and instead did what she wanted as quickly as possible.
We were done before Jackson was back, so we headed out and to the door marked Dawn Niles. It was next to the doors marked Production Suite; Camden was keeping his paramour close. I heard the sound of a printer going, so presumably Jackson was printing out everything Sherlock had requested, and apparently that was a lot of data. It came as no surprise to me that the Unholy Three might have made enemies—I certainly didn’t care for them and I barely knew them.
Sherlock knocked and I heard an audible sniffle from inside. “Just a minute,” a female voice called. Not as sultry and enticing as Irene’s, but sweet and compelling nonetheless.
The door opened to reveal a small, brown-haired, blue-eyed girl, with a light smattering of freckles. She was pretty, but I saw no future big star in her. She was wrapped in a cornflower blue dressing gown and her eyes were slightly red, as if she’d been crying. Hence the sniffling.
“Can I help you?” she asked nicely.
Sherlock nudged my foot with hers. I had no idea what she wanted me to do, so I went for ‘professional detective.’ “Dawn Niles?” I asked with a smile.
She smiled back. It was wide, wholesome, and lovely. And still nowhere near as enticing as Irene’s smiles. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Excellent,” Sherlock said pleasantly. “Joey suggested we have a sit down with you.”
“What about?”
“Doing a piece for the Times,” Sherlock said without missing a beat. Once again I was glad I’d spent time learning how to keep my expression neutral.
The girl brightened. “Oh, come right in.”
The dressing room wasn’t overly large but it had a changing screen with a variety of clothes tossed over it, a rather old-fashioned vanity with a three-way mirror and chair that matched, a loveseat and two chairs, all black leather, and a sleek black glass coffee table. The changing screen and vanity set went together, but they didn’t fit at all with the loveseat, coffee table, and chairs.
“Please, sit,” Dawn indicated the chairs as she settled onto the loveseat. “What can I tell you about?”
“Where did the changing screen come from?” Sherlock asked as I got out my pad and pen to take notes, both for Sherlock and to keep our cover from being blown.
Dawn dimpled. “My grandmother. The vanity set is hers, too. She was a stage actress in the ’forties.”
“Anyone we’d know?” Sherlock sounded fascinated.
Dawn shook her head. “I don’t think so. Mary Niles. She was never a headliner, she was usually chorus. The best she ever got was a role as the first murder victim in Murder Most Foul in an off-Broadway run. But”—she shrugged—“it’s in my blood, and my grandmother paid for me to take acting lessons when I was little, so I like having something of hers with me.”
“The murder victim in that was hanged, wasn’t she?” Sherlock asked.
Dawn nodded. “But in the stage play, my grandmother actually had some lines. She got a lot of praise, but then she got pregnant with my dad and the rest is kind of history.”
“She’s passed on?” Sherlock asked, sounding sympathetic.
Dawn nodded again. “A few years ago. I miss her. But I have her things that she used when she was on stage. Hopefully they’ll bring me luck.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said, which earned me a smile from Dawn and the ‘hush up’ look from Sherlock. I went back to taking notes.
“Why do you think you were cast as the lead ingénue in this production?” was Sherl
ock’s next question.
“Cliff—Mr. Camden—said that I have screen presence. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Antonelli agreed.”
“I’m sure you do,” Sherlock said.
Dawn smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say, but honestly, I didn’t think I did until Mr. Camden showed me my screen test. When I saw myself on film, all of a sudden I realized that I maybe could make it.”
“Any chance we can see your screen test, perhaps?” Sherlock asked. “It would make a nice addition to the piece.”
“Sure. Give me a moment and I’ll take you over.” Dawn got up and trotted behind her dressing screen. “It’s exciting to finally have someone notice that I’m in the cast.”
“Oh?” Sherlock’s tone was just right—leading without appearing to be leading. She had her phone out and was taking pictures of everything on or around the vanity, including the gigantic stack of bound scripts. Based on a fast count, the scripts had changed at least twenty times, which seemed extreme.
“Well, everyone else is an established reality star. And they’re kind of typecast.”
“How so?” Sherlock was finally done with the vanity and had turned around to get the rest of the room.
“Well, if you were a villain on your reality show, you’re one on Glitterazzi. If you were the winner, same here, your character is a success. Nice people are nice. And so on. At least at the start. Mr. Camden said that he was going to switch some things around pretty quickly.”
“Why is that?” Sherlock had cocked her head at Dawn’s last statement, but she sounded just interested enough to keep the girl talking, but not so interested that Dawn might clam up.
“He said that while some were exactly as they’d been in their reality shows, there were some distinct differences in the real reality of life. I think he kind of regrets a couple of my co-stars.”
“Who?” Sherlock finished snapping photos and put her phone away, just in time.
Dawn sighed as she left the changing screen. She was dressed in a summery dress that looked incredibly expensive. I assumed this was her costume for whatever scene she was supposed to be shooting. The dress was multicolored, but her fingernails and toenails matched the main color, which was fuchsia.