The first step was to look over the latest version of the filming schedule. Nothing big was planned for the next day because Laryea, Joni, and Edwina wouldn’t be back from LA. The day after would mostly be dedicated to prep work for a major sunrise scene at the local lighthouse that would be standing in for Dylan O’Taine’s Pharos, with the scene itself set for the following morning, weather permitting. She definitely wanted to be there for that.
Then there was supposed to be a day of minor background stuff, only some of which would even include Laryea. A little of that would go a long way, so she’d have most of that time free for tending to other things.
The last scheduled day of filming was going to be a biggie, requiring two full days of prep. They were going to be filming a slice of the climactic battle between Dylan O’Taine and Ceto’s army of Asrai, which was going to involve pyrotechnics on the beach. Tilda was counting on that shoot for some nice vivid descriptions for her article.
It added up to an uncomfortably short amount of time for all she wanted to accomplish. Admittedly, Joni hadn’t given her a cast-in-stone deadline for finding Leviathan, but it would look a lot better if she could get the job done while the director was still around to appreciate it. As for figuring out what had happened to Foster, that would be nearly impossible once the film crew headed back to Los Angeles. And of course she couldn’t very well observe the film shoot once it was over.
She was going to have to manage it all in a week.
Her examination of the letters from Leviathan hadn’t given her any ideas, so she put them aside for the time being. As for finding a killer, she was going to need to talk to people for that, and she couldn’t do that in the middle of the night. That left her series of articles, and she fired up the computer and got to work, which filled up the rest of the evening and left her tired enough to sleep like a log.
The next day was a wash as far as finding Leviathan or solving Foster’s murder went, but it was promising in terms of story ideas. When Tilda woke unexpectedly early and went by the inn for breakfast, she ran into an ambitious second-unit film crew who’d decided to use the free time to wander around the Cape taking footage that might or might not end up in Pharos. If it did, they’d look good, and if not, it was at least good practice.
Since Tilda found up-and-comers nearly as interesting as the lost-and-forgotten, she asked to ride along and spent the day taking pictures of them at work. That night she hung around the inn, chatting with people at the bar and taking enough candid shots of the crew at rest to fill up the rest of her memory card. Hugh Wilder was there, too, talking about Laryea, and as more beer was consumed, people actually started to find his stories amusing.
When Tilda herself started to giggle, she decided she’d had too much to drink and walked back to her cottage.
The next morning, she hoped to kill two birds with one stone by talking to Edwina and Joni—they’d promised her interview time and surely there’d be a chance to slip in some questions about any enemies Laryea might have. Plus it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Laryea himself. Though she was sorry about Foster, at least his absence might make it easier to get access to the star.
A quick text message exchange with Nick told her they were all due back on the Cape by noon, and she left messages for both women at the inn, asking if they’d be free for an hour or two that day or the next. Laryea would be trickier, since she’d already interviewed him. Then she remembered the man was both bereaved and injured, and according to Dolores, liked being made much of at such times. That gave her an idea.
Next she needed to do some serious research. First she hit the Web to find out enough background about Joni and Edwina so that she could do decent interviews. There were times when Tilda had gone in cold, but it went a lot better if she knew enough to ask the interesting questions right away. She had no idea how freelancers had found out such things before the advent of the Internet, and was devoutly grateful that she didn’t need to know. After a couple hours of intense Web surfing, she had enough to work with.
Next for a bit of background on Laryea. There was nothing online that helped with what she needed, so she called Dolores, figuring that in seven months, the woman would have learned Laryea’s preferences. That led to a call to the inn’s concierge, followed by a trip to the Choco House in Glenham.
With all that, Tilda still managed to be in the lobby at the inn when Nick and Dom escorted Laryea, Edwina, and Joni in. The trio looked moderately jet-lagged from flying in on the red-eye flight, and the women headed straight for the elevator. Fortunately Laryea paused to talk to one of the film crew, and Tilda took the opportunity to head his way, carrying a large white box.
But before she could get to him, she was stopped by a slight man with jet-black hair and a long nose designed for looking down at people, despite his being shorter than Tilda herself. “I’ll take that,” he said, reaching for the box.
“I don’t think so,” Tilda said.
“It is for Mr. Laryea, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll take it.” He reached again.
“And who are you?”
Nick came over. “Tilda, this is Sebastian Fontaine, Mr. Laryea’s new assistant. Sebastian, this is Tilda Harper, a reporter for Entertain Me!”
Nick knew darned well that Tilda didn’t work for Entertain Me! full-time, so presumably he had a good reason for pretending otherwise. The patently false smile that appeared on Sebastian’s face confirmed it. He wouldn’t have bothered speaking to a freelancer.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” the new assistant said.
Laryea finished up his conversation, and came to join them. “Tilda, good to see you.” Then he actually sniffed. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Look and see.” She bypassed Sebastian to hand the box to him herself.
He opened it, then looked at her with a huge smile. Inside was a batch of chocolate chip cookies so fresh that the bottom of the box was still uncomfortably warm. According to Dolores, the actor was a slave to chocolate chip cookies, the gooier the better.
He inhaled deeply. “How did you know?”
“Information is my business.”
“Do you have time to come to my suite and share them with me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. Sebastian, see if you can round us up some milk to go with these. And get plenty of napkins. I can see that these babies are going to be messy.” He looked delighted at the prospect.
Sebastian said, “Right away!” and bustled off while Nick, Laryea, and Tilda started upstairs. Nick got them to Laryea’s suite, which was on the same floor as Joni’s and Edwina’s, opened the door, then left them standing in the foyer while he made a quick sweep of the place. Clearly he was taking her suspicions that Laryea had been the intended target seriously.
When Nick was done, he said, “Will you be needing me for anything further, Mr. Laryea?”
“I think we’ll be fine. Would you like to take a cookie with you?”
“As your bodyguard, I suppose I should test one,” he said, which was as transparent an excuse as Tilda had ever heard. But if Laryea didn’t mind sharing, she wasn’t going to complain.
Once Nick was gone, Laryea said, “I’m waiting for the milk. Cookies just aren’t the same without milk.”
She was going to have to thank Dolores for the tip. This was clearly a man who loved his cookies.
But after he put the box aside, he said, “I’m glad to have a chance to talk with you, Tilda. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your staying with me that night . . . The night Foster died.”
“I couldn’t have just left you there,” she said awkwardly.
“Sure you could have. You could have gone the other way and pretended you hadn’t seen it. But you came running to help. It meant a lot, having somebody with me.”
“You’d have done the same thing,” she said.
He smiled. “I’m glad you think so. And if there’s any time I can do anythi
ng for you, you just ask.” He reached out to pat her hand, and for once he wasn’t flirting.
It was terribly sweet, and Tilda was terribly uncomfortable. As her sister the psychologist often reminded her, she didn’t do well with emotions. So she was thoroughly relieved when the door to the suite opened, and Sebastian came in with the milk and napkins.
Not that he was carrying it himself, of course. Instead he’d dragooned somebody from the hotel staff to wheel in a cart with a pitcher of milk, stemware, china, a bundle of cloth napkins, and even a rose in a vase. As soon as the cart was where he wanted it, he sent the man away without even giving him a tip. Presumably the opportunity to serve John Laryea should be enough of a gratuity for anybody.
“I hope these cookies are as good as they smell,” Laryea said, opening the box and taking another good whiff.
“I did some quality control earlier,” Tilda said, “and I think you’ll be satisfied.”
“So you won’t be staying for more?” Sebastian said, and Tilda was fairly sure he was hinting.
“I only had one, and that was a while ago,” she said. “Besides, I didn’t have any milk.”
“Milk makes all the difference,” Laryea said.
Sebastian poured three glasses of milk, then laid out cookies on each plate. Tilda noticed that he put three on Laryea’s plate, two on his own, but only one on Tilda’s. Oh, he was a subtle fellow.
Conversation for the next few minutes was confined to happy noises as Laryea devoured his cookies. Tilda went a little more slowly, but still managed to put away the measly one on her plate plus one she got out of the box herself. Sebastian nibbled his.
When Laryea was finishing up his third cookie, Tilda said, “I hope your trip went as well as possible.”
“It was rough,” Laryea said, “but I wanted to be there to say good-bye to Foster. He’d worked with me for over three years, and I’m going to miss him. I was expecting to have to rough it for a while, but I ran into Sebastian at the funeral, and when I realized he was available, I offered him a job immediately.”
“Did you know Foster, Sebastian?” Tilda asked.
“We’d met a few times,” he said. “We worked through the same agency, and I’d stepped in for him when he went on vacation when Mr. Laryea needed him.” It was obvious from his tone that Sebastian would never leave Mr. Laryea in the lurch. “So I’ve been able to hit the ground running, so to speak. Give me a week, and I’ll have Mr. Laryea’s correspondence caught up and his wardrobe sufficiently organized.”
Charming, Tilda thought. He’d managed to build himself up and insult a dead man in just a few moments. It gave her an idea. She’d been assuming that Laryea was the target, just because he was the famous one, but couldn’t Foster’s death have been a means to an end? Sebastian being available was just a fancy way of saying he needed a job. Could he have needed one badly enough to kill for it?
“Have you ever been to the Cape before?” she asked him.
“No, why?” he said, eyes narrowed.
“I was just thinking that late fall isn’t the best time to see it for the first time. It’s wonderful during the summer, and winter is lovely here, too.”
“I suppose so, but I’m not here for sightseeing.”
So much for small talk with the new guy. Now to see if she could find out anything from Laryea. “John, I suppose you heard that Pete Ellis was arrested.”
He looked blank.
“The limo driver?”
“Oh, right. I didn’t know his name.”
“The police think he was driving the limo that hit you.”
“Only ‘think’? I thought it was pretty well established.”
“More or less,” she hedged, “but you know how it is when a celebrity is involved. They want to make sure everything is done properly. And a man of your stature sometimes becomes a target.”
Tilda hadn’t known what response to expect, but she hadn’t expected a big laugh. “You must have been talking to my publicist. He would love me to have a stalker—I told him about the guy in the bathroom at the airport, but what he really wants is a female stalker. He thinks it would make me sound more desirable if an attractive woman became fixated on me. He tried to talk me into hiring an out-of-work actress.”
“Seriously?” Tilda asked.
“I love getting press—you know I do—but I don’t think I need that kind of attention. Sure, I’ve got a few fans that take it a bit too far, but that goes with the territory.”
“What about enemies? A knock-down drag-out with another star would be great publicity, too.”
“You have been talking to him! No feuds, either, I’m sorry to say. I’m too self-centered to have enemies. I want everybody to like me. It’s why I became an actor.”
That was, without a doubt, the most quotable thing Laryea had ever said to her, and Tilda couldn’t wait to put it into an article. Unfortunately, it didn’t do a thing for her ulterior motive.
Sebastian picked that moment to take her plate and glass away, and started stacking up the remains of their cookie feast. “This has been lovely,” he said in a voice that implied otherwise, “but Mr. Laryea has a very tough schedule tomorrow and he needs to get some rest.”
Laryea threw up his hands in mock despair. “He’s only been with me for a day, and he’s already running my life.”
“That is his job,” Tilda said, earning a tiny nod from Sebastian.
Laryea walked her to the door, where he took her hand and said, “Thank you for the cookies, Tilda. It was just the treat I needed.” He patted his stomach. “I just hope I can fit into my costume tomorrow.”
“Dylan O’Taine never looked so good,” Tilda said, and let him kiss her on the cheek again before leaving. Laryea had said he wanted everybody to like him, and damned if she didn’t like him herself.
Chapter 24
In Issue 2, Dylan O’Taine feels that he is being watched even though none of Pharos’s mystic safeguards have been triggered. Then, during a nighttime swim, he is attacked by assailants he cannot see, the transparent Asrai. He splashes them with squid ink to make them visible so he can defeat them. When he still has that feeling of being watched, he sets a trap, and captures two seals—Flotsam and Jetsam—who just want to be friends.
—TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA ARTISTS: THE BEST OF INDIE COMICS BY JERRY FRAZEE
NICK was waiting for her in the lobby.
“If you’re hoping for more cookies,” she said, “I left the box upstairs with Laryea.”
“What about that box in your car?”
“You peeked!”
He grinned. “Any luck with Laryea?”
“Other than milk and cookies, not so much. Oh, and I did get a chance to bond with Sebastian. What a sweet-heart ! We’re Facebook friends and everything now.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Honestly, where does Laryea find these guys? First Foster, and now Sebastian, who may be even nastier.”
“He’s definitely shorter.”
“Not that size matters,” Tilda said dryly.
“I take notice of these things. If he were to suddenly attack Laryea, I would need to be aware of his weaknesses and strengths.”
“So how would you judge him as a driver?”
“Excuse me?”
Tilda explained her thought that Sebastian could have killed Foster to get his job.
“So he snuck into the inn, despite our security arrangements, hung around until he figured out where the limo would be, figured out Pete was going to be drinking, knew where Laryea was going to be—”
“Okay, stop there. It makes no sense. He might have had the motive, but nothing else. Unless he hired somebody . . .”
“Who then snuck into the inn, despite our security arrangements, hung around until he figured out where the limo would be, figured out Pete was going to be drinking, knew where Laryea was going to be—”
“Point taken. I’ll continue to assume that Laryea was the target, which means I want to ta
lk to the other two-thirds of his trio of ex-lady friends.” She pulled out her phone to check e-mail. Unfortunately, both Edwina and Joni had begged off for the day. Between jet lag and the next day’s shoot, they didn’t have time for an interview. “So much for that idea. I suppose there’s nothing left for me to do but take my box of cookies back to my cottage and enjoy them in solitude.”
“Let me walk you out to your car.”
“You’re not getting my cookies.”
“Just one? I’ll—”
But Tilda never got to hear what he was going to offer, because as they stepped out the door and onto the veranda, there was a rerun of the night they’d arrived at the inn. Nick stopped, swore, and started running.
Hugh Wilder’s van, unmistakable in its coloration, was stopped on the driveway, and a tall guy with an orange-red mop of hair was taking a photo of Wilder waving and smiling from the driver’s seat.
Tilda knew it had to be the stalker Nick had been chasing all week, but this was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him.
“Shit!” she said. “Nick, stop!”
Realizing he couldn’t hear her, she saved her breath and started toward them. By the time she got to Wilder’s car, Nick had already wrestled the guy to the ground and was talking into his ever-present earpiece. People had heard the commotion and were coming out of the inn to watch, and she saw more than one cell phone camera at work.
“Nick!” she said. “NICK! Let him go!”
Nick and his captive both turned to look at her, but Nick didn’t let go.
“Is this your bathroom stalker?” Tilda asked.
“Damned right he is. And he’s not getting away this time!”
Had she and Nick still been dating, Tilda would have tried to hold it in, but given their current status, she felt no compunction about starting to snicker.
“What’s so damned funny?” Nick asked.
“If you’d spent a little more time in Boston this past year, you’d know who this guy is. He’s no stalker. Well, I guess technically he is, but he’s harmless. He’s the Photo-Operative.”
Blast from the Past Page 12