Murder on Location

by Cathy Pegau

  Meade rolled his eyes and shrugged, smiling. The work of a producer was never done, the gesture said. “Sorry, folks, I’d better see what’s what. Please, allow me to show you to your seats.”

  He motioned toward the side rows, near the back.

  “I have seats for them closer to the front,” Cicely said. “Center section. There should be placards in place.”

  Meade’s smile tightened. “Of course. This way, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The Smiths, Burrows, and Miss Langler followed the producer down the aisle.

  Welsh watched them for a moment, then turned and glared at Cicely. “Where’s Roslyn?”

  “She should be here soon,” the scenarist said. “She ran to the ladies’ wear store for new stockings.”

  Welsh’s cheeks darkened with anger. “She should have gone earlier. Don’t you women have enough stockings between you? You share everything else, for God’s sake.”

  He stepped closer and spoke into his daughter’s ear, one hand gripping her upper arm. Charlotte couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Cicely’s expression spoke volumes.

  She paled as she glanced around them. Catching Charlotte’s eye, her face pinked. Cicely moved away from her father. “There’s no call for that. I’ll be backstage.”

  She strode down the aisle, head high and back stiff.

  Welsh scowled and muttered something under his breath as he followed her.

  “Do you know what that was about?” James asked.

  Charlotte glanced up at him as he scanned the crowd. Occupational hazard, she knew. Whether he was on duty or not, he was always on duty. It didn’t surprise her that he had taken in the exchange between the Welshes without seeming to be paying them much attention.

  “I have an idea.” Charlotte looped her arm through his. “And yes, I plan on asking about it.” She touched Becca’s shoulder, urging her to go down the aisle. “Let’s find our seats.”

  * * *

  Charlotte had to admit that the company did a bang-up job of keeping the audience entertained. Not only did they perform some short bits of North to Fortune, but several of the cast and crew members sang, danced, or played instruments. Wallace Meade was in his glory as host, building the excitement or drama of the snippet of a scene they were about to see, or extolling the multiple talents of the company.

  All the while, the cameramen cranked on, capturing each performance, only taking time out between acts to put fresh film in the cameras.

  At the end of the show, the performers took their bows to enthusiastic applause, and Meade thanked everyone for coming. He reminded the audience that once North to Fortune was complete, there would be special showings in Cordova, Anchorage, and Juneau. The crowd cheered, and the curtain closed. The orchestra struck up a lively tune to accompany folks as they sought the exits.

  Some attendees tried to make their way to the stage, but a few of the same security men who had been at the dock earlier—or at least they seemed to be the same solid, serious men—barred passage.

  “How are you supposed to get backstage to interview Mr. Meade and the others?” Becca asked. She seemed disappointed that her chance to meet the company would be thwarted.

  “Don’t worry,” Charlotte said, holding James’s arm and Becca’s hand. “We have an in.”

  The three of them edged their way down the aisle, against the flow of people headed out. A large man with his arms crossed stood before the stairs that led backstage.

  “Excuse me, I’m Charlotte Brody, with the Cordova Daily Times. Mr. Meade is expecting me.”

  The man gave her, James, and Becca the once-over. “Says you. Beat it.”

  Charlotte felt James stiffen. He moved the lapel of his coat aside to reveal his silver deputy marshal’s badge. “Not being terribly polite, are you? Why don’t you get Mr. Meade and we’ll make sure no one goes back there for you, all right?”

  The security guard didn’t move for a few moments, and Charlotte wondered if he was going to make a big deal of it. Perhaps deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, he headed backstage.

  “What would you have done if he refused?” Becca asked.

  James shrugged. “Not much I could have done, really. Sometimes it’s all in the attitude. Implying you have authority even without stating as much can get folks to do things your way.”

  “Abusing your position, Deputy?” Charlotte asked, laughing. James wasn’t an unbending straight arrow when it came to the law, she’d learned, and interpretation of the law could be hazy up here. However, she’d never seen him use his position to his personal advantage.

  “I like to think of it as a side benefit.” He smiled at her. “Though maybe that’s why Henry gives me a free cup of coffee at the café most mornings.”

  “That’s Henry for you,” Becca said. She had worked at the café for a short time before coming to stay with Charlotte and was friends with the young man. “Mr. Conway doesn’t mind the coffee, but Henry had to pay for the piece of pie he gave to a girl he’s sweet on.”

  Charlotte and James exchanged amused looks.

  “You know a boy really likes you when he gives you pie,” she said.

  “Noted,” James replied with a nod.

  The security man came back through the doorway. “Mr. Meade vouched for you.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte led the way up the stairs, followed by Becca and then James.

  Backstage, it was a mix of controlled chaos and languid dawdling. The crew was packing away equipment and costumes while the Fortune cast gathered off to the side. Standing nearby, Caleb Burrows, Miss Langler, the Smiths, and Cicely Welsh chatted with a cast member, a man who appeared to be Native. Cicely smiled nervously while the man spoke. Hoping he’d assure the AEC that all was well with the Fortune script?

  “Miss Brody,” Meade called from the other side of the stage. “So glad you could join us. And who are your friends?”

  Charlotte introduced James and Becca. James was pleasant, but Meade’s status in Cordova as a businessman and developer likely didn’t impress James any more or less than that of a railroad or cannery worker. He tended to treat everyone with the same amount of respect—or suspicion—no matter their social standing.

  Becca was polite as well; however, her attention was mostly taken by the group of actors and the activity around her.

  “What did you think of the show?” Meade asked, pleased with himself.

  “Very impressive. You have a talented group,” Charlotte said. “That one young man, Billy something, was quite funny. Is he in the film?”

  Meade seemed puzzled for a moment, then recognition dawned. “Oh, yes. Billy, the red-haired chap. No, he’s not in the film. One of Markham’s men. A good kid.”

  “You didn’t have any real Natives onstage for the scenes that were played,” Becca said, fixing her dark eyes on the man. “Aren’t you going to use some?”

  Meade blinked at her, then gave Charlotte a look that seemed to ask if she was going to control her young friend. Charlotte waited silently for Meade to respond.

  He smiled indulgently at Becca. “Well, little lady, there’s Fred Bannon right over there. He’s Native.”

  Becca glanced at the man speaking with Cicely and the AEC representatives. “I don’t think he is, or at least not from Alaska.”

  Meade’s smile tightened. “Not a lot of Alaska Native actors to choose from in California, my dear.”

  “But if all they’re doing is moving around in the background, like he did onstage, you don’t really need actors.” Becca shrugged. “My friends and I could do that much. At least we look like we belong here.”

  “That’s a bang-up idea, young lady,” Stanley Welsh said as he and Carmen came up to them. “I’ll hire you to give the film that much more authenticity. The AEC and Cicely will like that. Come on out with us on location.”

  Becca’s eyes widened. “Really?” She looked at Charlotte. “Can I?”

  Charlotte was taken aback by the request. And of course she’d ne
ed to give Becca permission to do such a thing; Charlotte was her guardian. “What about school?”

  “I’m doing all right,” Becca said. She grasped Charlotte’s hands in both of hers. “Please? I promise I’ll get my work done as soon as we get back. Cross my heart.”

  Becca made the binding gesture over her chest, her eyes pleading.

  Wallace Meade’s face reddened. “See here, Welsh, we don’t need to hire children. We have plenty of people—”

  “Nonsense,” Welsh said, waving him off. “A dollar or two a day won’t matter, and it will get Cicely and those AEC people off our backs.” He turned to the other group standing backstage and raised his voice. “Cicely, we’re bringing in a few local Natives to make the film more authentic. We’ll see who we can round up for a day or so. What do you say to that?”

  Burrows and his companions stared at Welsh. Cicely watched for their reaction, but when nothing more than stunned silence filled the space, she cleared her throat and said, “That’s great, Papa. I’m sure it will add a lot to the film.”

  The lawyer strode over to Welsh. Behind him, Cicely paled.

  “While this is a fine gesture, Mr. Welsh,” Burrows said, “it won’t make up for the scenes where Natives are poorly depicted.”

  “I told you we’ll take care of that,” Welsh said through gritted teeth. “There’s no need for this . . . this . . . harassment.”

  “Harassment?” Burrows’s brow furrowed. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you, sir.”

  “What more do you want, Burrows?”

  “Someone from the AEC should go out on location with the company,” the lawyer said. While Meade and Welsh stared at him, mouths open, Burrows warmed up to the idea. “Yes, I think that would be a tremendous help in assuring the Natives in your film are correctly portrayed. I’d be happy to oversee the filming, and would provide accommodations for myself, of course.”

  Meade shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  Burrows’s chin rose, dark eyes blazing. “What are you afraid of, Meade? That I’ll prove your ‘authentic’ film is nothing but balderdash and lies?”

  “Now see here.” Welsh took a step toward the lawyer, his face red. “You people should be thrilled for the opportunity.”

  James eased Charlotte’s arm from his. Focused on the three men, he gently urged Charlotte and Becca to back away. Feeling the tension in the air, Charlotte followed his silent instruction, hoping it was a precaution that would amount to naught.

  “Thrilled?” Burrows’s eyes widened in disbelief. “About what?”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Meade held up his hands in a placating manner. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

  “You haven’t made much of an effort on that front yet,” Burrows countered. “Allow us to be on-site to consult and, yes, correct mistakes.”

  “Ridiculous.” Welsh raised a hand to make some sort of gesture.

  Quick as a snake, Burrows snatched his wrist and twisted Welsh’s arm behind him. Welsh gasped with surprise. Carmen stepped back, hand to her heart, her mouth a silent O of shock.

  Charlotte put a protective arm up in front of Becca and moved away as well. It was one thing to witness an altercation, another to be at the receiving end of an errant blow.

  James immediately came forward to grasp Burrows’s shoulder and forearm. He and Burrows were of similar height and build. If anyone could physically subdue the lawyer, it would be James.

  “Easy there, mister,” James said in a calming manner, yet there was steel in the words. “Let’s not do anything hasty.”

  “You saw. He was going to strike me,” Burrows said to James. “He raised his hand.”

  “I did no such thing,” Welsh claimed, pain etched on his face. “I was merely gesturing.”

  James slid his hand down to the lawyer’s wrist. His other hand grasped the material of Burrows’s coat. “Let ’im go and we’ll settle this.”

  “Good God, man, let him go.” Meade started toward the lawyer, but stopped, perhaps thinking better of getting in the middle of the altercation.

  Burrows slowly released Welsh’s arm. James eased his grip on Burrows, and both of them moved away from Welsh. “If that’s the case,” Burrows said, “then I apologize.”

  Welsh and Carmen gingerly rubbed his affected shoulder, the two of them watching Burrows as if he was about to go after Welsh again. “Of course that’s the case,” Welsh said. “I’m not a violent man.”

  “Neither am I.” Burrows stuck his right hand out toward the director. “I’m afraid I’ve violated the first rule of being a gentleman by letting my emotions get the better of me. My sincere apologies, Mr. Welsh.”

  Welsh eyed the offered hand warily, but then took it. “Apology accepted.”

  Burrows pumped his hand, grinning, half-apologetic, half-calculating. “I’d still like to come out to the site with the company. I promise to behave.”

  Meade’s mouth dropped open. “Are you mad? I have absolutely—”

  Welsh held up his free hand, cutting off the producer, and grinned. “I like a man with balls, Burrows. Come on out, and bring another of your chaps with you if you’d like.”

  “Stanley, we can’t—”

  “Of course we can, Wallace.” Welsh clapped both men on their shoulders. “It’ll all be fine and dandy now. You remember to come too, little lady,” he said to Becca. After giving a final slap to each man’s shoulder, he took Carmen’s arm. “Let’s head back to the room, my dear. The others are talking about visiting a few of the local establishments, but I’m afraid I’m not up to the gallivanting of my youth. Oh, and remind me to visit the bank in the morning, will you?”

  “Yes, dear,” Carmen said in a bewildered tone. “Good evening, all.”

  The sudden turnaround of Welsh’s attitude stunned Charlotte. He wasn’t a man easily swayed. What was going on in his head? Maybe she’d find out when they were on-site.

  When they were out of earshot, Meade addressed Burrows. “This is unnecessary.”

  Back in control of himself, Burrows smoothed back his hair. “On the contrary, Mr. Meade. I’d think that in order to avoid bad press you’d make allowances for so simple a thing as having an observer or two on location.”

  The lawyer nodded to James, Charlotte, and Becca. “My apologies to you as well. Good evening.”

  He rejoined his companions and the four of them headed out through a side exit.

  James spoke to Meade. “I can come out as well, if you feel it’s necessary.”

  Meade pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and daubed his face. “No, it’ll be fine, Deputy. Miss Brody, I’d appreciate you not giving this encounter much play in your newspaper.”

  Charlotte fought her natural inclination to tell the man he had no right to dictate what was in the pages of the Times and instead attempted to be diplomatic. “Just about everyone backstage saw and heard the whole thing, Mr. Meade. There’s little I could say that won’t be in every brothel and gaming hall by the end of the evening, as well as the cafés and barbershops by tomorrow. But I will mitigate what I can to avoid any embarrassment on all parts.”

  Meade’s jaw muscles bunched and his mouth pressed into a hard line, willing her to rescind. Charlotte held his gaze, prepared to stare him down until the floor sweeper came through, if need be. Finally, Meade broke eye contact and shook his head. She managed to conceal her grin of victory. He didn’t seem too pleased that she hadn’t readily accepted his direction. Wallace Meade was used to having his way in Cordova.

  “Fine, Miss Brody,” he said with growling resignation. “Write what you will. It’s not like it can hurt this damned production any more than everything else has.” With that, he stomped away like a child denied a favorite treat.

  “What did he mean by that?” Becca asked.

  Charlotte took her arm and shrugged. “I guess the movie business isn’t all fantasy and frivolity. Are you sure you want to do this, Becca?”

  �
�I am,” the girl said without hesitation. “It’s like acting in one of the plays at school, isn’t it? And I probably won’t have much to remember.”

  Charlotte didn’t want to bring up the probability that Welsh was using her as window dressing, but she didn’t want Becca to be exploited either. “You realize he invited you to appease the AEC.”

  Becca smiled. “Oh, I know. The AEC had talked about trying to get real Alaska Natives in the film and now there will be some.”

  “They planned this?” Charlotte didn’t hide her surprise at the possible scheme.

  “Golly, no,” Becca said. “It was something to bring up to Mr. Welsh and Mr. Meade. I just got lucky.”

  How involved was Becca in the AEC’s meetings and decisions? As a child, she shouldn’t have much of a say, nor should she be used by them. But if Becca had stepped in on her own, Charlotte wondered if she should be more mindful of the girl’s involvement with the group.

  “We’ll talk to Miss Atkins tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t want to hear any complaints about doing schoolwork.”

  Becca’s smile widened. “Not a peep, I swear.”

  Chapter 4

  Two days later, Charlotte and Rebecca arrived at the Main Street train station, bags in hand and still somewhat sleepy at seven in the morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet and a cold breeze came off the bay. They stood out of the way as they watched several men from the film crew hustling to get equipment aboard the waiting train’s freight car.

  The tang of burning coal hung in the air, and the platform vibrated with the rumble of the idling steam engine. The train usually had several passenger cars for the three-hour trip to the glacier site, and the continued trek for folks destined for Chitina and McCarthy, towns closer to the Kennecott Copper Mine two hundred miles away. For this special charter there was only a single passenger car, a freight car, and two empty ore cars that would eventually return to Cordova with tons of copper ore to be shipped south.

  “Where is everybody?” Rebecca asked with a yawn.