Bryan looked at Vining, who was grinning.
“Don’t worry,” Bryan said. “I don’t give a damn who drives. It will probably be me—they’ll still be arguing.”
* * *
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Aladdin, Alice in Wonderland...
Marnie was reading pros and cons on the production of various beloved plays for children’s theater when her phone rang.
Bridget was with her, discussing the merits of each and the possibility of her scripting a new play for children Marnie might use as her introductory piece.
Assuming her theater ever got off the ground.
Angela was at her computer, doing whatever she did at her computer.
The alarm was on.
George was sleeping at Marnie’s feet.
They’d all been so engrossed in their various tasks that they jumped at the sound of the phone.
“Man, I have that ringer loud,” Marnie said, answering the call.
“Marnie, hey, it’s David Neal.”
“Hi, David. How are you?” Marnie asked.
“Fine, fine. I was just in your neighborhood and wondered if I might stop by. I have something for you.”
“Oh?” Marnie asked.
Angela and Bridget were looking at her.
It was sad to her that any and every phone call had become suspect.
She covered the phone with her hand. “David Neal,” she said. “He has something for me.”
“What is it?” Angela asked skeptically.
“I’ve got a play for you,” David said, as if he had heard the question—or, most probably, just responding to her “Oh?”
It seemed coincidental. Then again, David might just want to be a good assistant, anticipating what she might be needing next.
“A play?”
“It’s a great play for children. It has an old wizard, a witch, a beautiful fairy and then roles for children. I mean, you’re not just planning on doing plays for children—you’re using them in your cast as well, right?”
“Both,” Marnie said.
“The playwright passed away in 1878. The play is public domain, and it’s truly wonderful. I saw it once when I was a kid in Nebraska. I couldn’t find it for ages—I couldn’t remember the title. And then I did. About a month ago, I ordered it from a theater shop in Chicago, and I received it this morning. I’d love for you to read it.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. “It sounds great. We were just discussing the play list. I’d love to read it, David.”
“Okay. I’ll be right by—if that’s convenient for you?”
“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”
“He’s bringing a play over?” Angela asked.
Marnie nodded. “You’re okay with that, right?”
“I am—since I’m here. He’s coming alone, right? And I have a Glock.”
“And we have George!” Bridget said.
“Yes, and we have George,” Angela said. She grinned. “The alarm won’t mean much since we intend to let him in. I’ll just let Jackson and Bryan know what’s going on.”
* * *
Ben Madrigal was quick to agree to see them when Bryan called. He was more than willing to help in any way.
When they reached his house—an impressive Colonial sitting on a nice-size lot—he was waiting for them on a rocker on his porch.
“Beautiful house,” Sophie Manning said as they came up the walk.
He rose, beaming. “Thank you! Magic money. I produced music videos for years. I’m retired now. Thankfully, music videos took off like pure gold—as long as you picked the right bands. I had a knack for picking them. Didn’t always like them myself, but I knew what other people might like, and I usually knew why, as well.”
“Good for you, sir,” Sophie said.
The man looked like a contented retiree. He was grandfatherly with snow-white hair in a small tidy Afro, a pleasant face and faded golden-brown eyes that were striking against his dark skin. He shook hands with all of them as they introduced themselves.
“The officer who interviewed you said you saw someone wearing a Blood-bone costume in the neighborhood, and you believed it was a woman. We’re trying to find out if you would elaborate on that—or perhaps tell us anything else that might have occurred to you,” Bryan said.
“Sure. Come in?” he offered.
“Thank you,” Sophie said.
The three of them followed him into his house. They entered a hallway, and then a living room with period antebellum furniture, and a wall full of golden records and awards. Sophie chatted with him; he offered them drinks and they all declined.
And then they sat down and he talked.
“Here’s the thing. I was just sitting there on my rocker on the porch, and then I saw the Blood-bone character. Coming toward me, right from Barham. Arms swinging, just as nonchalant as could be. A car would pass and someone would call out, and Blood-bone would raise an arm, click a finger as if he had a gun and wave on. No one gave him any heed. No more so than when you see a mascot in front of a nugget place...a cow telling you to eat more chicken...or, you know, any kind of a come-on.”
“Exactly. But did you see where the Blood-bone was coming from?” Bryan asked.
“Down from Barham,” Madrigal said.
“And he headed...?” Jackson asked.
“Up just around the next corner,” Madrigal said.
“And you think it was a woman?” Bryan pressed quietly.
“Well, it could have been a woman. The movement, you know. When I was speaking with the young officer, I did suggest that. If not a woman, I think it was someone—and this is going to sound strange—either older, or just the opposite. Someone who has done stunts. If you watch any of the Blood-bone movies, you’ll see that the Blood-bones are pros, actors who specialize in creatures, in movement.”
“What do you mean?” Jackson said.
Bryan turned to him to explain to the best of his ability. “‘Suit’ actors almost never appear as themselves. They are giant animals, robots or whatever kind of being or creature. Actors who specialize in characters often take on acting jobs as themselves, meaning that they take on roles like anyone else, roles in which their natural faces and bodies are shown. But they are also especially talented in the art of wearing and moving in makeup and prosthetics. Take an actor such as Doug Jones—he is a fine actor with no special makeup or effects. But he was also Billy Bones in Hocus Pocus, Abe Sapien in the Hellboy movies, a number of creatures in Pan’s Labyrinth, and I couldn’t begin to tell you just how many other films he was in as himself or as a character.”
“Doug Jones is a phenomenal actor,” Sophie said enthusiastically. “He makes everything real. In my mind, there’s such a difference, having an actor...or some obvious special effect.”
“You still need effects,” Bryan said.
“Of course. But in my mind, a lot of the old work was so much better than way too much digital manipulation,” Sophie said. She frowned as her words left her mouth and said, “That didn’t come out right. I was referring to CGI—computer-generated images. I happen to love a lot of the older work. Rick Baker—Oh, I remember when I was young and my brother let me watch his DVD of An American Werewolf in London! The work when David Naughton turned into a werewolf was phenomenal!”
Sophie definitely had Ben Madrigal’s attention; it was a good situation. If they should need the man’s help again, they would get it.
“Doug Jones is amazing. You also have men like Andy Serkis and Brian Steele. And, going back, few compare with the true master—Lon Chaney Jr!” Ben Madrigal said.
Bryan smiled; he hadn’t had this kind of talk about the movies in a long time.
Not since his parents had died.
But though the conversation was nice, Bryan wasn’t sure that they’d l
earned anything.
It could have been a woman.
Roberta Alan.
It could have been an older man.
Jeremy Highsmith.
It could have been any actor, one with specific training or natural talent...
“Excuse me,” he said. “I just need to make a quick call.” He headed to the hallway at the entrance to the home and dialed Angela’s number.
“I was about to call you. We’re expecting David Neal here at any minute,” Angela told him. “I’m fine, but I wanted you to know.”
“Why is he coming? I thought he’d already been interviewed.”
“He is bringing a play—an old play, specially ordered—to Marnie.”
“When you can, I would appreciate it if you could look into the professional backgrounds of Malcolm Dangerfield, Roberta Alan, Grayson Adair—and David Neal. Find out if any of them have done any creature or ‘suit’ work in the past.”
“All right. Will do.”
“We’re nearly done here. See you soon.”
He said goodbye and went in.
They were talking about the height of the person. “Ah, here’s the thing. I should have paid more attention, but then...I’ve lived in LA my whole life. I’ve seen every manner of everything walk by. I’m pretty sure the Blood-bone didn’t give a damn if he was or wasn’t seen. Although... Wow, after that poor actress was murdered at the comic con, maybe I should have paid attention. It’s just that...the character is loved. Hated. People love to hate Blood-bone. Hope I made sense with that one.”
“You did. Not to worry. There’s a Horror-palooza that starts tomorrow, and they’re banning all official Blood-bone costumes and turning away con-goers who show up as Blood-bone,” Sophie said. “But come Halloween, I can just about guarantee you there will be a lot of Blood-bones out there.”
“The show must go on,” Ben said. “And money talks. We all know that. Still, after what has happened, after everything on the news... I should have paid a lot more attention. I should have noticed height. I did notice movement, but...I couldn’t tell you if the Blood-bone was five-six or six feet even or even taller. I just couldn’t say.”
Sophie said sincerely, “Thank you so very much for your help.”
“Indeed. Young lady, you call on me anytime, you understand? And, of course, you, Special Agent Crow, and you, too, Mr. McFadden.” He smiled at Bryan suddenly. “I knew your dad—great man. Looked like a linebacker, most gentle, courteous guy you’d ever want to meet. Kind of quiet but so very kind to everyone around.”
“If you knew my mother, you’d know he didn’t get many words in edgewise,” Bryan said, smiling. “But thank you. Yeah, I think my dad was a great guy. But forgive me. He did a music video? If so, I didn’t know anything about it.”
“No, before I did music videos, I was a PA—production assistant,” he added.
“I think I knew that,” Jackson said.
“Anyway, I worked on a flick called A Strange and Deadly Darkness. Crime film, a bit on the noir side. Your dad was great.”
“I remember. It was a movie based on a Poe story about a chimp having been trained to kill. The private investigator in the film was my dad, and he worked in a dark and seedy office in NYC. Some of the killings were in Central Park.”
“Re-created right here in Hollywood,” Madrigal said.
They thanked him again and headed out.
As Bryan had suspected, he’d taken the keys and done the driving while Jackson and Sophie had discussed the merits of each of them driving.
He drove back to the station to drop Sophie off to report to Vining, and he and Jackson headed back to Marnie’s duplex.
* * *
“This is wonderful! I love it!” Marnie said.
The Miraculous World of the Wizard Zim.
Marnie was an incredibly fast reader, but even at that, she had barely scanned the play. Yet she could tell it was wonderful. Scanning alone showed her that. The play was a treasure that had slipped through the cracks of time.
“I think we talked about it already. I’d like to have an ensemble cast of adults—and yes, work with kids. One of the shows I have wanted to do is Peter and the Starcatcher. I had a friend in the cast that played here locally. I fell in love with it. It’s based on the novel by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, and I love their work so much in novels... And the novel was then used to create a great play. With this one, though—public domain. That’s a nice way to start when we really have to watch a bottom line.”
David Neal grinned. “Are you happy I brought it to you?”
“Very.”
“We could make quite a team,” he said.
She could imagine opening her theater, using that play. She could talk some film friends into helping out so she’d have a spectacular opening.
It struck her that her life—at the moment—seemed to be on hold.
Cara was dead.
Another man was dead.
And while it really hadn’t been long at all since Cara had been murdered so viciously in the convention center, it seemed as if time had become bogged down with the fear and the hope and the waiting. Today, talking to David, planning the play, made it almost seem as if the world was back to normal.
“Truly. This is wonderful! I think it’s an opener. I love it,” Marnie told David.
He still looked a little uncomfortable. He shot a glance over at Angela, who was working at her computer again.
On his arrival, Angela had frisked him. He’d had nothing on him but his wallet and a bottle of aspirin.
“Sorry,” Angela had said simply. “There was a dead man in Marnie’s pool. We have to take precautions. You understand.”
“Of course,” David had said.
The reassurance clearly hadn’t really helped. He stared at Angela again. She was busy, but Marnie was certain she was listening in on them.
George was at Marnie’s feet. If anyone were to threaten her in any way, George could probably rip them to shreds. She’d been told that the command to defend her was “Protect!”
Bridget had appeared long enough to say hello, then went to work in the guest room. Unlike Angela, Bridget liked to work in quiet, unless she was in a session with other writers and they were throwing ideas or lines around.
Angela looked up suddenly and said, “Excuse me. I have to make a phone call. I’ll just be on the porch with the door open, so if you need me, a whisper will bring me back in.”
When Angela had stepped out, David looked at Marnie and said, “She’s very serious, isn’t she?”
“Good at her job,” Marnie said, still marveling at the wonderful play. “Would you like some tea or something? Soda? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything stronger in the house.”
“Uh, no problem,” he said. “Tea would be great.”
Marnie headed to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. When she returned, David was where she’d left him on the sofa and still looked a little shell-shocked. She sat down with a tray laden with a teapot, sugar, milk, lemon—should he choose—and cups. He reached forward to help himself and his fingers brushed hers. He let them linger.
“We’ll make a great team, won’t we? I hope?”
It was just a brush, but the touch coupled with his words... She froze for a split second. He flushed and quickly withdrew.
She’d been uncomfortable. But the moment was over.
“Um, possibly,” she murmured. Then she excused herself. “Just a second. I’ll be right back. I’m going to check if Bridget would like a cup of tea. If Angela comes in, will you ask her for me? Thanks.”
Marnie hurried down the hall to knock at the guest room door. She took a quick look back.
David was just pouring his tea.
Entirely normally.
She had definitely read something into his touch and words
that wasn’t really there. Hadn’t she?
* * *
Bryan saw it was Angela on his line.
“You’ve got something.”
“I do. I started checking out résumés and educations. You’re on your way here now, right?”
“We should be there momentarily. We just dropped Sophie off.”
“I have a few interesting pieces of information for you. Grayson Adair—his first job out here in LA was with a company called Bunny Studios. This isn’t really being a specialist, but it’s interesting. Bunny Studios provided just that—Easter Bunnies and more. Leprechauns for St. Pat’s Day, Santas, elves, Mrs. Clauses at Christmas. They could provide just about anything for any season. Grayson worked with them for about two years, and then he got a recurring role on a soap opera, some TV movie roles and then Dark Harbor.”
“Definitely interesting. Anyone else?”
“Yes. Jeremy Highsmith. He spent his first ten years in the business being what he referred to as a ‘fluffy’ at a number of the theme parks.”
“So he’s been all kind of comic characters,” Bryan said. Jackson was looking at him. “Angela, I’m going to put the phone on speaker so that Jackson can hear, too. Hang on and just let me repeat quickly.”
He did; Jackson listened and nodded.
“Okay, Angela, when you’re ready. What’s the rest?”
“Well, that’s it for the cast. I can’t find anywhere that Roberta Alan ever played any kind of a creature character, but—sorry, hang on,” she said. She must have had her phone on speaker, too, because they heard her talking to someone else.
“You’re leaving?”
The next voice wasn’t clear. It belonged to David Neal.
“Yep, I have to take off—appointment later this afternoon. I just saw the time. Marnie went in with her cousin. Can you tell her that I’ll be in touch and that I had to leave?”
“Sure. Take care,” Angela said. “How odd. Hang on again. I’m going in the house. Marnie? Bridget? No—no, everything is fine. Just checking on you.”
“Angela, they’re fine, right?” Bryan said.
“Yes, David Neal just left.”
“We heard,” Jackson said.
Fade to Black Page 21