“So you’re saying I’m right.”
“I’m not saying that either.”
“What exactly are you saying then?” I snapped, my face flushing despite the cold that settled in with the sun’s departure.
“Go back to writing Christmas cards.”
26
She was going to get away with it. Standing there, watching her calmly observe the medic finish Roch’s examination, I realized that she was far more clever than I had imagined. Every action, every word from her mouth, was carefully planned out. If I couldn’t get to her, if I couldn’t make her lose her cool, she was going to get away with Trip’s murder. And I had no intention of letting that happen.
“You know how I figured out it was you?” She ignored me. Roch’s assistant helped as the medic walked him past us and toward an awaiting red and white snowmobile where he was going to be taken back to the resort for further examination. “Do you know how I knew?”
“Your little friend doesn’t like me?” Her eyes remained on Roch.
“That was part of it,” I admitted. “But you overplayed your hand with that comment.”
“My dear, you’re really starting to become tiresome. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to tell Nancy.”
“It was when you were coaching Heather and the writers on script revisions,” I continued, ignoring her threat. “I was on the phone with her. She said something about, ‘Don’t let your tears flow.’ It was a clichéd, stupid line and I knew I’d heard it before. Do you know where I heard it?”
“Nancy?” Rosalyn called out, walking toward the executive producer, who stood by as Roch’s assistant and the medic helped him onto the snowmobile.
“Do you know where I heard it?” I followed her toward the group. “‘Don’t let your tears flow!’”
“Nancy, I hate to be a bother, but this girl—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Roch exclaimed, turning to me as the medic climbed onto the snowmobile with him. He pointed at me. “What’d you just say?”
“Nancy, this girl has been—”
“Shut up, doc,” Roch rubbed his temples. “What’d you just say?”
“I said, ‘Don’t let your tears flow.’” I glanced at Rosalyn, whose signature smirk was nowhere in sight.
“That line,” Roch muttered, thinking. “I know that line. Why do I know that line?”
“It’s probably from one of your films, sir,” his assistant, Chad, replied. “Mr. Turner, I’m sorry to bother you, but we really need to get you—”
“Hey! Pipe down, intern,” Roch snapped, turning his gaze on me.
“I’m not an intern,” Chad grumbled, staring at the snow-covered ground. “And, for the one thousandth’s time, my name is Chad. I’ve been your assistant for two years.”
“What’d you say, intern?” Roch challenged, standing up and staring down at the younger man. For a moment, I thought Chad might speak up, but at the last second, he relented.
“Nothing,” Chad sighed, avoiding Roch’s threatening glare. “Sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Turning back to me, he shook his head. “Stupid intern. All right. My head may be pounding like a bongo drum, but curiosity’s killing me, not the pain. Where’s that line from?”
“Red Steel,” Jon called out, trying to pull away from the guards, who still held his handcuffed arms. Rolling his eyes when they yanked him back, he added, “Seriously? Do you guys really need to hold onto me, too? Where am I gonna go, huh? I’m handcuffed, people!”
“Hey, kid! Get over here!” Roch called, waving at Jon as he leaned against the snowmobile. The guards glanced at each other and then at Nancy. When she nodded, they carted him across the clearing and over to Roch. When he was a few feet away, Roch noticed the handcuffs and frowned. “What is this? What’s with the bondage? You change the script again?”
“No, Roch, he—”
“Uh-uh. Don’t care,” Roch interrupted Nancy, waving his hand at her as his gaze shifted between Jon and me. “What’s going on here? Why’d you bring up that line from that stupid old film? That’s just weird. There’s a lot of weird stuff right now and you two seem to be around whenever it goes down. What the hell’s going on?”
“What do you remember about Red Steel?” I glanced over at Rosalyn who, to my surprise, had walked over to the edge of the group and was watching our interaction.
“Babe, I don’t remember anything about the seventies except that it was one wild ride.”
“So . . . you don’t remember the movie?” I pressed, ignoring his remark. He shook his head. “You don’t remember filming it? Or the cast or crew? Nothing? Nothing unusual happened during filming that stands out in your mind? Nothing at all?”
“Umm . . . no.” Winking, he grinned. “Told you, babe. The seventies were a blur.”
“Nothing about that film sticks out in your mind?” I frowned, glancing at Rosalyn again. “You’re positive? Think!”
His brow furrowed, revealing the aged creases Botox and chemical peels fought to hide. “What’s this about?”
“This has gone on long enough. Roch, you need to go with the medic,” Nancy interrupted. Glaring at Jon, she added, “And you . . . get him out of here. I’ll deal with this later. This has all been just a big waste of time and I’m putting an end to it. Now. All right, people, let’s—”
“What about the lead actress from the film?” My voice cracked with desperation as a light snow began to fall. The guards had begun pulling Jon toward a resort snowmobile while the medic and Chad, the assistant, tried to force Roch back onto the medic’s red and white snowmobile.
“Tara Lange?” At the mention of her name, a huge grin appeared on his face. Glancing over at the medic, Roch winked. “Tara Lange . . . mmm . . . now there was one hot—”
“Her name was Nikole!” Rosalyn cried out, lunging at him. The medic and Chad grabbed her as she reached for Roch, her long nails inches from his face. Everyone was startled by her sudden outburst. Everyone, that is, except Roch.
“Whoa, babe!” Roch laughed. “Hey, I know I’m irresistible, but this isn’t the place.”
“You’re disgusting.” Rosalyn’s brown eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth and tried to lunge at him again, but to no avail. The medic and his assistant had created a human shield she could not penetrate.
“What’re you talking about?” Roch laughed, glancing around the set. “I know my co-stars. Tara Lange was—”
“In Tokyo Besieged,” Jon interrupted, elbowing the left guard in the ribs when he tried to strong-arm him. I turned to Jon in surprise. His face flushed. “Didn’t say I liked the guy, but I’ve seen some of his films.”
“Tokyo Besieged,” Roch nodded, rubbing his neck. “Forgot that one. Then again, it was the seventies.” Groaning, he frowned at Rosalyn, “My head hurts. Uh, what were you babbling about? Full Metal Fury?”
No one replied. A small crowd had formed around them and everyone’s eyes were focused on the calm, collected psychologist, who had gone temporarily insane. Nancy stood beside her, eyeing Rosalyn warily, but said nothing. Within seconds, I watched the rage dissipate from Rosalyn’s eyes. It was replaced by calculated indifference. Taking a deep breath, she smiled.
“My apologies,” she lamented, smoothing her scarf. Glancing at Nancy, she added, “I . . . I don’t know what came over me. I suppose with everything going on—”
“No worries, babe,” Roch interrupted, offering up a laugh. “I do seem to have an effect on the ladies.”
“Quite.” Rosalyn’s lips drew together so tightly they managed to further accentuate her high cheekbones.
“All right, people, show’s over!” Nancy called out, clapping her hands as she avoided Rosalyn’s gaze. The sound echoed amongst the brittle branches of the aspen trees until it faded into the darknes
s. Nodding at Roch, she pointed in the direction of the resort. “You need to get help. Now. I can’t afford having both my stars out. God help us if we have to come up with a storyline centered around those two.” She motioned to Amber and Emma, who were playing on their cell phones. Turning to Jon and the guards, she frowned. “Bring him to Conference Room C and wait for me there. Once I get everything squared here, I’ll deal with him. Take her, too,” Nancy added, glancing at me. “No one on set except cast and crew. Now go.”
The guards exchanged a look, but nodded.
Satisfied, Nancy turned on her heels and hurried back over to the director and the cameraman. As she approached, Heather and the other writers met her there, forming a circle as they went over the next scene. While all this occurred, Rosalyn had not moved.
She stood before Roch, her dark eyes still focused on him. Roch, for his part, was unaware of her continued interest, despite her attack. Rubbing his neck, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his coat. He stuck one between his lips. Clearing his throat, he struck a match and lit it.
“What a day.” He took a long drag. Exhaling, he stared out into the darkness. In awkward desperation, Chad, the assistant pleaded with Roch to get on the snowmobile so they could get him back to the resort for medical attention. “Shut it, intern. I’m not going anywhere ‘til I finish my smoke.”
“You really haven’t changed,” Rosalyn marveled, a disgusted smirk crossing her full lips as she shook her head.
“What’re you talking about?” He inhaled deeply before allowing the smoke to escape the recesses of his big mouth. Narrowing his eyes, a smile crept across his lips. “Wait a minute. Do I know you?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“Did we . . . ?” he trailed off, pointing the smoldering cigarette at her.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Yeah, we did.” He grinned as he finished the cigarette and tossed its butt into the snow. “Now I remember you. Tyrone’s after Oscars party, right? Three years ago?”
“You’re unbelievable.” She began to flush with rage.
“You weren’t too bad yourself.” He winked, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I never forget a pretty face.”
“Is that so?” He stood within inches of her face, smiling as he reached into his pocket for another cigarette. Taking a step back in disgust, Rosalyn reached into her pocket, too, but not for the same reason. Glaring at Roch with malice, she retrieved a thin, shiny object from her pocket. Although I couldn’t make out what it was, I knew it was not a weapon.
The younger security guard, a man in his early twenties with bright red hair, who had kept his eyes trained on Rosalyn since her manic outburst, did not. He panicked at the sight, assuming she had a gun and by the look in her eyes, was ready to use it. He rushed at her, waving his own gun. While his attack caught us off-guard, Rosalyn, it seemed, was prepared. As soon as he was a few feet away, gun aimed at her, she whirled around and in one fluid motion, snatched it from his hand and shoved him hard, causing him to fall backyards and hit his head on the side of the snowmobile.
“Wayne!” the other guard, an older man wearing a black skull cap, yelled. Letting go of Jon, he pulled out his gun and aimed at Rosalyn. “Wayne, are you okay?”
Wayne grabbed the back of his head and flinched. After touching it gingerly, he pulled it close to his face to inspect it. Blood coated the tips of his fingers.
“Wayne!” the guard repeated, his eyes widening as Wayne’s blue eyes rolled to the back of his head. Glancing at the medic, he snapped, “Help him!”
The medic stood there, mere feet from the fallen guard, but refused to move. His attention was not on Wayne or even Roch at this point. It was on the 9 mm resting in the smooth palm of Rosalyn’s right hand.
I stood to the left of the altercation, stunned by the sudden turn of events and frightened by the sight of the loaded weapon. Memories of London flooded my mind. Of Arthur and Jon. And Rick. Of the ultimate choice and the lives almost lost because of one foolish mistake. My shoulder throbbed at the memory of the bullet that perforated it.
“Help him!” the guard repeated, his voice rising in agitation and fear.
The commotion had caught the attention of the rest of the cast and crew and several people began walking over, Nancy included.
Rosalyn saw them in her peripheral vision. Her dark eyes narrowed as she considered her options. Frowning, she aimed the gun at the heavens and fired once. The sound pierced the night sky, ascending swiftly and in its wake, leaving behind cold silence.
“No one moves!” Rosalyn’s grip tightened on the pistol.
“You don’t call the shots, lady.” Brandishing his own 9 mm, the older guard added, “You’re not the only one packing heat.”
“Packing heat? What are you? Twelve?” Rosalyn rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You know, this is why psychological screenings should be performed on all prospective law enforcement officials, even security guards. Not everyone should have access to a weapon.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” He kept his gun trained on her. “Now, why don’t you drop it?”
“You are aware you’re not actual law enforcement, right? The fact that you are an armed guard at a ski resort is absurd.”
“I am the head of resort security and I am authorized to both carry and use this firearm on resort premises.” His face turned a bright shade of red. “Now drop it!”
“Maybe instead of worrying about me, you ought to consider adjusting your training methods.” She held up a small, gold-leaf pendant necklace. “Your young colleague pulled a gun on me when I was reaching for this. Does this look like a weapon to you? He rushed at me, waving a loaded weapon, as if I were some crazy person.”
“You are a crazy person,” the guard snapped, adjusting his stance as he kept the gun trained on her, glancing down every so often at Wayne, who lay beside the snowmobile, bleeding and groaning.
Rosalyn stood calmly. After several long moments, she aimed the gun at the fallen guard. “Remove your clip and toss it into the woods or I’ll shoot him.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe I stuttered.”
“You’re insane,” he stammered, glancing down at his partner and then at her.
“On the contrary.” She removed the safety. “I am offering you a rational choice. I neither know nor trust you and have no intention of affording you the opportunity to shoot me. If you do as I ask, this paramedic will provide your partner with the medical assistance he so desperately needs. Do we have a deal?”
“Call the police! Someone call the police!” the guard cried out, his voice cracking as he searched the crowd for help.
“Rosie, why don’t you give me that?” Nancy asked, approaching Rosalyn slowly, her voice calm and reassuring. “Today has been terrible for everyone. Let’s just call it a night, okay?”
“If he had just filmed that damn scene this morning.” She stared down at the necklace. “None of this would have happened.”
“Rosie?”
“How could you let an actor dictate your show?” Rosalyn’s flawless features twisted with rage. “How could you let this . . . this man . . . tell you what he would and would not do?”
“What is this? Do you work for the Writer’s Guild or something? Great, is there gonna be another stupid strike? That last one cost me at least twenty grand,” Roch interrupted, frowning.
Rosalyn glared at him. “My grandmother was right. You’re beneath contempt.” Her grip tightened on the gun as she tossed the necklace at him. “Recognize that?”
“No.” He glanced down at the necklace in his hand. “I’m lost. What scene is this?”
“Rosie, we need to get him help,” Nancy insisted, taking slow, deep breaths as she stared at the doctor. “I’m no medical expert,
but he may have a concussion. They both may—”
“No. I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. Does the name Nikole Leigh mean anything to you?” Rosalyn demanded, her chest heaving as she took a closer step. Roch stared at her, but said nothing. “Nikole was eighteen years old. Red Steel was her first film. The critics loved her. Said she would be a star. But she never had a chance. And it was your fault.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Shut up!” Rosalyn snapped, hitting him in the face with the pistol.
Nancy, quietly, inched closer and I signaled for her to stop. She ignored me, making a grab for the gun.
Shoving Nancy back, Rosalyn fired the gun into the air again. “I swear to God, if anyone tries anything else, I’ll shoot the next thing that moves.” Aiming the weapon at the guard, she insisted, “You. Remove the clip from your gun. Now.”
This time, the guard didn’t argue. He removed the clip and tossed it into the woods. If I weren’t so concerned about how this was going to play out, I would have recognized how ridiculous it was that one woman with a loaded weapon was holding an entire film set hostage. While it could have been due to the 9 mm in her hands, something instinctively told me the gun had little to do with it. This woman really did have a strong influence over this cast and crew. Either that, or they really cared for her and didn’t want anything bad to happen.
As I considered my current options, I became aware that Jon was staring at me from across the clearing. He was trying to mouth something, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, careful not to move too quickly to be noticed by Rosalyn. Luckily for me, her focus was solely on Roch.
Bitter Retribution (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 27