by Mollie Hunt
I pulled into the parking lot and stopped in a loading zone. Seleia gathered her things, then turned to me. That sad puppy face, those big eyes—I knew what was coming and she gets me every time.
“Grandmother?”
“Yes, Granddaughter?”
“Pleeease don’t fire me. Freddie’s the first boy I’ve met whose been the least bit interesting since Vinnie left for college, and I really love the work. I promise to be seriously careful and do everything you say.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, and I promise that if you decide things are too dangerous for me to be there, I’ll take the bus home, no questions asked.”
I sighed.
“And I really am helping, aren’t I? I sat with Cary Grant and brought him up when you made the swap, and I brushed them both and gave them their afternoon snack while the director told you what he wanted for the next scene.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Okay, you’re rehired. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Oh yay!” She leaned over and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
I watched as she bounced to the door of her family’s dwelling and was safely inside, then I drove slowly out of the lot. She knew I would give in; I knew I would give in. Oh, well, what could it hurt? It was only one more day.
* * *
The next morning when Seleia and I arrived at Big Pink, Gerrold was in a an all-out dither. Angela’s accusations hadn’t stopped with me but progressed on to everyone involved with the production, including Ray Anderson and the other notable stars of the show. It seemed she even called up Donna Dee from The Oregonian in the middle of the night and began ragging on her. Now the set buzzed like an angry hornet’s nest with grumbles, complaints, and protests.
Freddie caught us at the door and the three of us plus cats detoured directly down to the trailer. He had the call sheet and there was plenty of time to get the boys all pretty before their scenes.
“I understand why Ms. Moore wants to find out who is causing the mishaps,” I commented, “but it’s a shame she’s being so aggressive about it. Have there been any hex-related events since she arrived, after the flying gargoyle yesterday?”
“No, it’s been quiet,” said Freddie. “But she’s interviewed everybody who’s ever been anywhere near the set. She’s typed pages of notes on that tablet of hers and made lists of all the incidents.”
“Has she talked to the police yet?”
“That was the first thing she did yesterday morning. She got hold of the detective who investigated Juno’s uh, accident, and spent an hour on the phone with her.”
“Well, maybe she’ll get a handle on it and then everyone can relax.”
“Does she have any clues?” asked Seleia.
Freddie turned toward the girl, speaking softly as if she were the only one in the room. “If she has, she hasn’t shared them with me. Not that she’s talked to me at all except for the interrogation. That was awful.”
“Yeah, she put my grandmother through the ringer as well. How she can think everyone’s guilty is beyond me.”
I’d wondered the same thing and had come to only one conclusion. “It must be a technique, a way to put people off guard so they say things they might otherwise keep to themselves.”
“Enemy Within!” Seleia burst out, sitting bolt upright.
“Huh?” said Freddie.
She looked at the young man. “McCaffrey & Jack: Enemy Within. It’s either her third or fourth book in the series.”
“That’s right, Seleia,” I exclaimed. “It’s been so long since I read it that I’d completely forgotten.”
Seleia turned to Freddie. “In Enemy Within, McCaffrey partnered with a rangy LAPD cop to ferret out the degenerate drug dealer. The cop wasn’t the nicest of fellows and that was how he conducted his interviews—making everyone think he considered them the perpetrator, then gauging their guilt or innocence by their reaction to his outrageous and offensive charges.”
“Did it work?”
I laughed. “Maybe in the story, but I don’t think it would be very successful in real life. People aren’t wired that way.”
“Ms. Moore’s a writer, not a policeman,” Seleia shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t realize she’s just making everyone resent her, which in the long run may impede her inquiry because no one will feel comfortable confiding.”
“Why doesn’t she just leave it to the cops?” Freddie grumbled.
“The police are busy,” I answered. “Unless someone’s been murdered, they’ll spend their resources on other crimes.”
“But we don’t want to wait until someone gets murdered!”
“No one’s going to get murdered,” I proclaimed emphatically. At the time, I even believed it.
* * *
There was a light tap on the trailer door. I expected it to open and someone tell me it was time for our call, but it remained politely shut.
“Come in,” I offered.
She opened the door but stood on the step—Angela T. Moore in all her fabulous glory. Today she wore a pale yellow blouse and dark three-quarter-length skirt with a long buttercup jacket and a trailing scarf reminiscent of the fourth Doctor Who. Few women could have pulled off that combination of shades as successfully as the tall, majestic writer.
“Lynley, I need to speak to you,” she said in her commanding tone.
I stood. “Of course, Angela. Why don’t you come in?”
She peered doubtfully around the small space and then back at me. “Alone.”
“Uh, oh, okay. Seleia, Freddie, can you give us a moment?”
“Sure, Miz C. I need to be getting upstairs anyway.” Freddie stood, then turned to Seleia who was keeping an eye on the cats to make sure they didn’t go for the open door. “You want to come? I can introduce you to Herman, one of the riggers. He’s setting up lighting on the penthouse set.” To me, he added, “If that’s alright with you.”
“It’s fine. Be back soon though. We’ve got the scene coming up and I’ll need Seleia’s help for that.”
Seleia was out the door behind Freddie in a few short hops. “Call my cell if you need me,” she threw back in my general direction. In a duet of chatter, they were gone.
Angela stepped cautiously inside the trailer, clicking the door shut behind her. She gave the tiny, homey room another once-over. When her gaze landed on the cats, she smiled.
“I haven’t seen both Jacks together before.” Moving to the window shelf where Clark Gable and Cary Grant lounged in a cushiony fleece bed, she scratched their sideburns. “Magnificent!”
“Yes, they are,” I agreed. “Can I get you something? Tea, soda?”
“No thank you, Lynley. This is not a social call.”
Oh boy! I thought to myself. What crime does she want to pin on me this time?
But instead of the harshness of yesterday, she said contritely, “Lynley, I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. I’ve talked to everyone associated with the production and all I’ve come up with is a collection of occurrences that may or may not have been related to what they’re calling the hexter; a few threatening notes that, aside from their wording, aren’t the least bit supernatural; and a slew of highly creative tales concerning sightings—everything from a woman in black to an all-out alien invasion.” She sighed and sat stiffly in a wooden folding chair. “You know, I think I will take you up on that tea, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” I stepped to the sideboard and felt the tea carafe, hoping it would still be hot. “Is Earl Grey alright? I can make something else if you like.”
“It’s fine. I’m not picky,” she said dismissively, though I hardly believed it true of the meticulous writer.
Retrieving a chintz-patterned mug from the doll-sized cupboard, I poured the steaming liquid, topping up my own at the same time.
“Honey or cream?”
“Not in Earl Grey.”
S
he took the cup without tasting. I reseated myself on the love seat, clutching a cat print throw pillow to steady my nerves.
With the onset of a new person in their space, the boys were understandably curious. Clark hopped down from his perch and came to pose tall in front of Angela. She absentmindedly scooped him into her lap where he settled like a large, furry comforter and began to purr. Not to be outdone, Cary claimed the sofa at my side. What with tea and cats, it seemed a cozy little setting—but looks can certainly deceive.
“Have you found out anything useful?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I haven’t found a whit of concrete evidence that could guide me to who might be doing these treacherous things, or why they’re doing them in the first place.”
“And you don’t believe it could be an authentic hex?”
“No, of course not. Do you?”
I shook my head. “I believe there’s more to the universe than what we could begin to guess, but in this case, the pranks seem all too human. Revenge? Jealousy? Someone who might like to see the show fail?”
“See, that’s exactly why I need you. A person with intelligence and perception within the ranks.”
“In other words, someone to spy for you.”
She nodded.
“But why me? I’ve only been here a few days. I don’t even know half the crew.”
“That may work to your favor. The best detectives are inconspicuous, unremarkable—a person who will blend in, who no one would suspect or even notice. You’re perfect, believe me.”
I found the round-about compliment a little insulting. It’s true that people over a certain age are next to invisible to younger folks, but did she have to be so blunt about it?
She must have noted my chagrin because she quickly added, “No offense intended, Lynley. To me, you are very remarkable which is why I picked you in the first place. You have the ability to be different things to different people. To your granddaughter, you are the wise and loving grandmother; to the costumer’s boy, you are a mentor; to Gerrold, you are the compliant but unflappable laborer; and with people who don’t know you, you tend to stand back and let them fly right by in their own little worlds. They may not notice you but you, on the other hand, usually manage to see a little way into their souls. That’s the Lynley I need. The one who can stand quietly by, petting a cat, while the traitor unintentionally reveals himself to you.”
“Wow, Angela. That’s quite profound. And you got all that from the interview yesterday?”
“You’re not the only one who can see into souls.” She smiled. “You and I are a lot alike. I imagine we could be friends if ever we got the chance. But I don’t have the luxury of anonymity. Everywhere I go, people know me. It’s the bane of fame,” she sighed. “What about it? As they say in the mystery stories, will you be my mole?”
“You know today is my final day, don’t you? That tomorrow my replacement will begin?”
“I can easily arrange it otherwise.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d been ping-ponging since first I’d learned about the hex. Sometimes I felt the excitement, the pull of investigation, the anticipation of discovery; other times—most of the time—I just wanted to be safe at home in my normal routine where nothing threatened to topple my serenity.
“Angela, I...”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she added quickly. “Will you at least think about it? You don’t have to give me your answer now, if you’re not sure.”
“But I am sure.” I sighed. “Much as I’d like to help, I have to decline. I have Seleia to think about. She’s enjoying herself, but these unpredictable incidents make it impossible to feel secure. I can’t risk her being injured like Rhonda or, Heaven forbid, Juno, the dead cameraman.”
“Can you use a gun?”
“What? Why?” I stuttered.
“Oh, I have one if you want it, if that would make you feel more confident.”
“No, I’m sorry, Angela, but you’ll have to find someone else. When we go home tonight, we won’t be coming back.”
“But what about the cats?” the writer blustered. “Clark Gable and Cary Grant? This new woman coming in to do your job doesn’t know anything about what’s been going on. She won’t be able to safeguard them nearly as well as you.”
I closed my eyes. That was my biggest fear—would Vera be savvy enough to protect the cats until the hexter was exposed and the hex, eradicated? “Look, I love these guys.” I tunneled my fingers through Cary’s thick fur. “But I can’t believe anyone would deliberately harm them.”
Angela stood abruptly. “If you think that, you’re deluding yourself.” She moved Clark to the floor, put her untouched tea on the counter with a clatter, and dropped a square black business card next to it. “Call me when you come to your senses. The second number is my private phone.” With that, she exited the trailer.
In the quiet of the little room, I considered what had just happened. I had made the right decision, I was certain of it, but I couldn’t deny my concern for the cats. I would talk to Rhonda about pulling them from the show until their safety could be assured. If anything happened to them...
Then a new thought suddenly struck me. What if Angela, herself, were the hexter? The mysteries on the mystery set had begun to garner an increasing amount of free and exciting publicity for the show. Was it all just a promotional stunt? I rethought our conversation, looking for subtleties that might point to her involvement. I didn’t really find anything, but...
Suddenly I went cold. I must have flinched because Cary leapt from my lap and huffed away in disdain.
Angela had intentionally brought up the danger to the cats. At the time, I’d presumed she was using my fears to manipulate me into doing her bidding, but now another, darker contingency bubbled to the surface of my mind. If Angela were in fact the hexter, the forewarning would not have been manipulation; it would have been a threat.
Chapter 19
In case of emergency, it’s good to teach cats to come to their names or some other signal that will bring them front and center in a hurry.
Brooding on this revelation, going back and forth between thinking Angela was the hexter and then deciding that was absurd, that it had to be someone else, I was relieved when Seleia popped her head back in the trailer.
“Is it safe?” she asked.
“She’s gone.”
Seleia came in and flopped onto the couch beside Clark Gable. She picked up the black business card. “Wow, she gave you her card? Can I have it, as a memento?”
I took the square from her and put it in my pocket. “Yes, but I might need it for a little while yet.”
“What did she want?” she asked, stroking Clark’s lush fur.
I tossed her a brush and she began grooming him, head to tail. “Nothing much.”
“Oh, right. Angela T. Moore came by to see you for nothing much. Lynley, what aren’t you telling me? Is it about the hex?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because everything’s about the hex around here. There are reporters outside, accosting everyone who comes or goes. Some of them want to interview Ms. Moore but a lot are just asking about curses and supernatural activity. I was just in the lobby with Freddie and everybody’s talking about it there too. It just makes sense. McCaffrey & Jack is her story after all.”
“Well, you’re right. She is very concerned about the incidents. She asked if I would try to find out who’s responsible since her high profile status makes it hard for her to gather any useful clues.”
Seleia’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to sleuth for the queen of sleuths? Wow! That’s a super honor.”
“Maybe so, but I told her I couldn’t do it.”
“But why?” Seleia burst out.
“Because this is our last day here,” I said calmly. A little bell chimed and I looked at the clock. “Lunchtime for the boys.” I rose to get them their gourmet eats. Upon opening the cupboard, I stood back. “
Only one can left. Now what do we do? You can’t buy this stuff just anywhere.”
“Want me to look online and find who carries it?”
“Good idea. I’m going to have to get some more before tonight.”
Seleia had her phone out and was already searching. “But if you were working for Ms. Moore,” she pursued, her thumbs flying over the tiny touch keyboard, “you could stay a little longer. Why does that other lady have to come at all? You’re doing a great job. Everybody says so.”
I opened the small can and divided the stew between two berry bowls. “Because Rhonda wants it that way, and they’re Rhonda’s cats. Besides, I have no idea how I’d go about doing what Angela asked. Everything I know about snooping I’ve learned from Miss Marple and Jessica Fletcher. And if I remember correctly, their nosiness often landed them in some pretty chancy circumstances. Whoever this hexter is, they’ve already stepped across the line of playing innocent pranks. I have no desire to get on the bad side of that.”
“Here it is.” Seleia gave her phone a few more taps, then held it up for me to see. I studied the red and green street lines and the inverted raindrop shapes signifying stores carrying the fancy brand. “There’s one up on 23rd, only a few blocks from here, called Pets in the Pearl.”
“Perfect. Want to walk up with me?”
“Sure. Right now?”
“I’ll have to ask if it’s okay to leave. Let me check to see what else we might need while we’re there.”
“Catnip?” Seleia giggled.
I opened the lower cupboard where Rhonda kept the dry cat food. It was the same designer brand and sure enough, those big cats had been going through it like, well, like big cats. “We’d better pick up a bag of kibbles too. And maybe some litter. We certainly wouldn’t want to run out of that.”
I grabbed my coat and purse, and said goodbye to the cats. Seleia took pictures of both the empty can and the sack of dry food in case we had to ask for help at the store. I locked the trailer and we went in search of Gerrold.