Murder, Murder, Little Star

by Marian Babson

  together and one by one, at the tiny forlorn target facing them unarmed.

  'It's a lousy script - that's what's wrong with it!' Twinkle trained her own toy popgun on the one she felt most able to contend with. 'It's nothing but a steal on that Julie Andrews number in Mary Poppins - and I bet they didn't make her jump around in the rafters twenty feet off the ground!'

  'The hell it is!' With the roar of a bull wounded in his professional pride, Morris Moskva charged forward to lock horns in battle. 'That scene is an original concept that owes nothing to anything else.

  They both happen to be set on London rooftops - that's all. You can't make a Federal case out of that.'

  Twinkle stood her ground. 'It's a dead steal,' she accused.

  'I will get that other script, and we will go through it line by line and shot by shot. I will prove to you beyond any shadow of a doubt - '

  'Steady, Morris,' Dick Brouder advised. 'Don't let her sidetrack you. That's what she's trying to do. The point in question is whether or not she's going to do the scene.'

  'I'm not,' Twinkle said flatly.

  'Equity . . .' Mr Herkimer intoned in the background. He seemed to have appointed himself a one-man Greek chorus: 'Screen Actors' Guild... Equity .. .'

  'You can't expect Equity to do anything about Twinkle,' Frances protested. 'She's just a child. Surely, Equity wouldn't do anything to her - '

  'Don't you believe it,' Mr Herkimer said. 'The youngest actress ever disciplined by Equity was only six years old. She was fined for biting her fellow actors on stage during performances. Twinkle's not too young for Equity to deal with - and she knows it!' He resumed his litany, raising his voice over the increasing tumult. 'Equity . . .' -

  'Look, Twinkle.' Dick Brouder was holding out a harness of webbed straps. 'Just try it on. See how comfortable it is - ' He sounded like a salesman trying to persuade a reluctant customer. 'See how strong it is. Just try it on. Just for a minute - '

  'I won't!' Twinkle backed away. 'You can't make me!'

  'Equity . . . Screen Actors' Guild . . . Equity . . .'

  'I don't care!' Twinkle flung Mr Herkimer a beleaguered glare. 'You can report me anywhere you want to. I'm not going up there!'

  'You're nervous, that's all.' Morris Moskva controlled himself with a visible effort. 'That's understandable. You're just a little girl.'

  'I may be little' - Twinkle's mouth tightened - 'but I'm not dumb enough to go up there?

  'It's perfectly safe, Twinkle,' Dick Brouder argued. 'Even if you should slip, the safety-harness would stop you before you fell very - '

  'Why isn't there a safety-net?' Twinkle interrupted.

  'Because the scene isn't dangerous - ' Dick Brouder's voice was rising. 'You are not going to fall. The harness will see to that - '

  'I don't like the look of that harness,' Twinkle said.

  'Nonsense!' Cecile Savoy intervened. 'I wore a harness just like that every night in Peter Pan - and three matinees a week. I simply relaxed, and gave myself up to it, and soared out over the audience like a bird. And I was older and heavier then than you are now.'

  Twinkle muttered something which was, probably fortunately, inaudible.

  'I'll tell you what - ' Morris Moskva offered recklessly. ' I'll go up there with that harness on! How about that? If I go up there and come down again in that harness, are you still going to be chicken about it?'

  'That harness would never fit you, Fatso,' Twinkle said.

  'It's adjustable,' Dick Brouder said, holding it away as Morris Moskva reached for it. 'But let's not rush into this, Morrie. I'm not sure it's the best idea. I mean, you're at your top weight now and - '

  And that was not inconsiderable. Morris Moskva must have been tipping the scales at close to the limit that they would register. Frances began to share Dick Brouder's unease.

  'What's the matter?' Twinkle jeered. 'I thought you said it was "perfectly safe".' She mimicked Dick Brouder's tone exactly.

  'It is - for you.' Dick Brouder glared at her. How did you convey to a colleague that he was an overgrown ox, who was likely to endanger his heart, if nothing else, if he went clambering around on high catwalks designed for much smaller people?

  'Give me that!' Morris Moskva snatched the harness away from him as he hesitated. 'How do I get into this ?' His fingers scrabbled at the buckles and loops.

  'Here, let me help,' Ilse Carlsson said. 'It is adjusted for Twinkle. And, of course, her costume - '

  'Will it fit me, or not?' Morris Moskva interrupted. 'That's all I want to know.'

  'Yes, of course.' Ilse wrestled with the straps. 'It is simply a question of readjusting - '

  'Great!' Morris Moskva began moving towards the platform crane that would lift him to the upper level. 'Then let's get going and you can fix it on me up there.'

  'Lights!' Dick Brouder ordered, and the rooftops of Victorian London sprang into glowing life up above them. He hadn't ordered a camera but, somewhere in the background, Frances heard one

  beginning to whirr quietly.

  'Okay, Morrie - ' Dick shouted. 'Let's get this over with!'

  Humming the opening bars of Twinkle's number, Morris Moskva minced into view. In an ungainly parody he coyly fluttered from chimney-pot to gable window.

  The unknown cameraman had been right to begin shooting. This footage, although unusable in the finished film, would provide after-dinner amusement at Herkimer-Torrington parties for years to come. It would undoubtedly become an 'in-crowd' classic.

  'Oh, lovely, lovely London, 'How happy I could be . . .'

  Morris Moskva broke into the chorus and moved down towards the edge of the rooftops, still clowning, still giving a wickedly recognizable caricature of

  Twinkle -

  'My lovely, lovely London - '

  Suddenly something went wrong and it wasn't funny any more. One foot skidded out from under him and he fought for balance. His arms windmilled wildly, his other foot began to skid -

  'Thank God for the harness!' Cecile Savoy said. Fleur-de-lis yapped hysterically.

  Morris Moskva plunged downward, as though in parachute harness with no parachute attached. The webbed straps reached the limit of their endurance and stretched taut, suspending him in mid-air, a figure bouncing on an invisible trampoline.

  'Wet - !' He shouted indignantly. 'The goddam roof was wet!'

  The harness seemed to creak and sigh. Then with a series of popping sounds, like a string of small firecrackers going off, the webbed strands began to part one after another.

  Before anyone could move, Morris Moskva continued his downward plunge, ending with a ghastly thump on the floor of the sound stage.

  Ilse Carlsson's scream floated down from the catwalk, to be echoed by other screams below. Cecile Savoy fainted.

  'You see - ' Twinkle stooped and gathered up Fleur-de-lis. She spoke in a voice of sweet

  reasonableness, as though talking only to the Peke. She was the calmest of them all.

  'You see. I told you so.'

  CHAPTER XVI

  Frances answered the telephone unprepared for the hectoring voice. 'Mother, this is impossible! You must come and stay with us - where you'll be safe!'

  'Keep calm, dear,' Frances replied, with a blandness she did not feel. It had been quite some time now since she had thought of herself as Mother and, in any case, she was not Amanda's mother. 'There's nothing to worry about.'

  'Nothing to worry about?' Amanda wailed. 'It was on all the newscasts. "Fatal fall on film set." And where have you been ? Simon and I drove over to get you and bring you back home with us hours ago

  - and you weren't there. We waited nearly two hours before giving up. And I've been ringing you every quarter-hour since. Thank heavens I've got hold of you at last!'

  'Yes,' Frances said, with considerably less thankfulness. 'It was kind of you and Simon to think of that, but I'm perfectly all right. I don't see how you could really have expected me to leave my job at a time like this. You should have known it
would be a long time before I could get away.'

  'Well, you're away now,' Amanda said firmly. 'And you must stay away. They're obviously careless, irresponsible people - and who knows what might happen next?'

  Who indeed? But it would not do to encourage Amanda further.

  'In any case, Frances,' Amanda shifted back to protest, solicitude having elicited no response; 'You should have thought of us. You might at least have telephoned.'

  'I'm sorry, dear,' Frances apologized. 'It wasn't easy to get to a telephone.' She did not want to admit that she had never even thought of telephoning Simon and Amanda. Indeed, she realized with a pang of guilt, she had forgotten their existence. Which was permissible, so far as Amanda was concerned, but as for Simon -

  'I suppose,' Amanda admitted with a trace of ghoulish glee, 'it must have been rather harrowing for a while.'

  'Rather,' Frances said repressively.

  The minutes until the ambulance had arrived had seemed endless. They had huddled together, trying not to look at the massive heap crumpled awkwardly on the floor. Even before First darted out to fumble for a pulse that had ceased to flutter and moved back shaking his head, it had been horribly obvious that there was nothing any of them could do.

  Obviously feeling grateful for something useful he could do, First had organized a couple of technicians to carry Cecile Savoy to her dressing-room. Twinkle had retained custody of Fleur-de-lis, cuddling the Peke to her like a teddy bear, and no one had had the heart to try to part them.

  Laurenda, in a state of semi-collapse, had been taken in hand by Dick Brouder and led off to the waiting car. Frances had urged a reluctant Twinkle along in their wake. Only too obviously, Twinkle had wanted to stay and absorb every gruesome detail. ,

  Ilse Carlsson had frozen up on the catwalk, clinging to the iron railing, her screams floating down to find echoes amongst the hairdressers and make-up girls still on the floor. A tight-lipped Tor Torrington had ascended in the platform crane with Chips, the carpenter, to pry Ilse loose from her precarious perch and bring her back to earth.

  As they left the sound stage, Frances had pinpointed a further reason for disquiet. Continuity had not been part of any of the watching groups. Thinking back, Frances had realized that it had been some time since she had last been aware of Continuity's presence. It was possible, of course, that Continuity had simply been feeling ill again with the after-effects of the stomach-pump and had left the set before the accident . . .

  'Mother - are you still there?' Amanda sounded harried.

  'Yes, dear,' Frances said. 'I was just thinking.'

  'Well, stay there,' Amanda directed. 'Simon and I will drive over and get you. You can come here for the night - for the rest of the week - '

  'What about my job?' Frances asked.

  'Oh, well - ' Amanda seemed surprised that she should even think of such a thing. 'That's all over now . . . isn't it?'

  'Not at all,' Frances said. 'I was hired as chaperone for Twinkle for the duration of the film. Morris Moskva's accident was very sad and unfortunate - but the rest of us will be filming again in the morning.'

  'The morning?' Amanda wailed. 'But I thought we'd have a quiet day together tomorrow. You could sleep late, and then the Bridge Club is meeting in the afternoon. A nice, soothing game, with a few of my friends -'

  While 'Mother' served up all the film gossip piping hot. Frances began to understand Amanda's sudden concern for her welfare.

  'That's very kind of you, Amanda,' she said. 'Perhaps another time - after this film assignment has finished.'

  'Surely you could take a day or two off,' Amanda cried. 'After the terrible shock of witnessing - Er, you did witness it, didn't you?'

  'I saw him fall,' Frances said grimly. 'And, really, Amanda, I don't want to talk about it.'

  'You see,' Amanda said triumphantly. 'You need a day or two to get over the shock - '

  'I doubt that anyone else will be taking any time off,' Frances said. 'And every one of them knew him better than I did. They'd consider it rather excessive on my part to take time off - and I wouldn't blame them.' It might also be construed as a dereliction of duty, although it was doubtful that Amanda would recognize such an old-fashioned concept.

  'Oh, but, Mother - '

  'I'm sorry, dear,' Frances said. 'I can't stand here talking. I just came home to collect a few things. The car is waiting outside for me.'

  'Car? What car?' Amanda snapped suspiciously.

  'The company car,' Frances said, adding smugly, 'The Rolls. It's waiting to take me back to the hotel.

  Twinkle and her mother need me. I'll be staying at the Herkimer-Torrington suite for the next few days.'

  'Mother - you can't! Simon - speak to her!'

  'Goodbye, Amanda.' Frances rang off before her son could come on the line. Fortunately, her case was packed and she picked it up and was closing the front door behind her when she heard the telephone begin to ring again. She had nearly forgotten Amanda - and even Simon - by the time the latch clicked shut.

  Frances swiftly unpacked in her assigned room and joined the others in the sitting-room. They were uneasily silent, yet appeared to want to be together rather than retire to their separate rooms. The only attempt to break the stillness had been neither happy nor successful.

  'Shall I get something to eat sent up ?' Dick Brouder had suggested. 'I could ring Room Service and - '

  Too late, he remembered. Inevitably, the thought of food invoked the image of Morris Moskva. If his ghost were to roam, it would surely haunt the kitchens and refrigerators of the Film Unit.

  'No, thank you,' Laurenda shuddered.

  'I'm not hungry,' Twinkle said.

  The others did not break their silence, but one could sense their withdrawal in distaste.

  'Sorry,' Dick Brouder muttered. 'I didn't think - '

  'You never do,' Twinkle said.

  'Baby, don't you start - ' Laurenda began. It was doubtful that she would have continued, even had Twinkle's attention not been distracted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Everyone faced the sitting-room door and waited. A moment later, Mr Herkimer and Mr Torrington came into the room, followed by First.

  'Ladies and gentlemen - ' Mr Herkimer faced them gravely. 'I have just one message for you: the show will go on. Morrie would have wanted it that way.'

  Laurenda burst into sobs. Dick Brouder put an arm around her and tried to comfort her. Ilse Carlsson leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Frances bowed her head - it had been impossible from the start that Morris Moskva could have survived that fall, but medical science just might have been able to do something - and, certainly, Herkimer-Torrington Productions would have spared no expense.

  Twinkle eyed them all with impartial loathing. Frances waited, but the expected outburst did not come.

  For the moment, Twinkle appeared content to remain in the background of the scene, although she was obviously thinking a great many thoughts of her own - bitter thoughts.

  And why should they not be bitter? Frances looked around the room. No one was paying any attention at all to Twinkle. No one seemed to remember that it was Twinkle who should have been doing the dance across the rooftops; Twinkle who should have slipped on the wet roof and plunged to the floor below. Twinkle who might even now be lying in hospital dying - or dead.

  Twinkle was aware of it. She sat alone in a corner of the room, pale and withdrawn. She seemed to sense that Frances was watching her, for she raised her eyes then and looked steadily at Frances, then glanced away.

  Frances crossed the room to stand beside the child. In the spot where her mother ought to be standing.

  But Laurenda was luxuriating in mild hysterics, thus claiming the concerted attention of everyone, even Mr Herkimer.

  'It's terrible, terrible - ' Mr Herkimer patted Laurenda's shoulder absently. 'But the rest of us must carry on. We must make this the best film ever made. In memory of Morris Moskva. It's the least we can do for him. It's all we can do for
him.'

  'It won't bring him back,' Laurenda sniffled. It was impossible to tell whether that was the real reason for her tears. Was she simply one of those people who cried because they felt it was expected of them?

  Had she really been fond of Morris Moskva? Or was it that she heard the bell tolling - in some inevitable future - for herself? Certainly, she did not appear to connect the accident with Twinkle. She had not glanced in her daughter's direction throughout the proceedings.

  'Laurenda, take it easy,' Dick Brouder said gruffly. 'Pull yourself together - you'll be sick if you keep on like this. Try to control yourself, darling. For all our sakes.'

  Twinkle stirred restlessly, but still did not utter. Frances looked down at her, but her head was turned away, her face in the shadows.

  'But how did it happen ?' Ilse Carlsson moaned. 'How could it have happened?'

  'We're investigating now.' First seemed eager to impress on them his lack of responsibility. 'It should

  have been perfectly safe up there. The harness should have held - even Morrie's weight, it should have held. Of course, he had no business being up there in the first place. Somebody else - and it might never have happened.'

  'It wasn't my fault!' Twinkle came to life in spirited self-defence. 'I told everybody I wasn't going up there!'

  'That's right,' Frances said. 'You did. You made that very clear.'

  And Cecile Savoy had been the one who had originally offered to go up on the rooftops and

  demonstrate how safe it was. Cecile Savoy - who had once worn a similar safety-harness in Peter Pan, who had no fear of heights and every confidence in the apparatus and in her own skill in using it.

  But who would wish to harm Cecile Savoy?

  The answer came immediately upon the heels of the question. Twinkle would.

  Twinkle, who had been antagonistic towards her from the beginning. Twinkle, who had been terrified by the cruel trick played upon her with the altered costume. Twinkle, who would not recognize that she had brought retaliation upon herself by her own cruel trick upon the hapless Fleur-de-lis.