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Lights! Camera! Puzzles!

Page 4

by Parnell Hall


  “That doesn’t mean you get to.”

  “Who gets to?”

  Aaron was making Jennifer breakfast before taking her to school. Sherry, who’d woken up when Cora got home, was getting to sleep late.

  “You don’t want to see the auditions?”

  “I’m not going to get to see the auditions. I’m going to wind up answering stupid questions for a bunch of nosy reporters. That’s what they wanted me for in the first place. Of course they didn’t know I’d be explaining a murder, but now that they’ve got one it’s certainly convenient.”

  “Speaking of answering stupid questions for nosy reporters,” Aaron said.

  “I gave you everything I’ve got. I just haven’t got anything. A production assistant got killed in an empty Broadway theater.”

  “Where auditions were being held for a Puzzle Lady movie.”

  “No one even knows that.”

  “Then why is the Channel 8 van parked outside?”

  “What!” Cora said. She sprang from the kitchen table, raced into the living room and peered out the front window.

  The Channel 8 news van was parked at the foot of the driveway. Rick Reed, their clueless on-camera reporter, and his camera crew were standing around drinking coffee and waiting for their quarry to emerge.

  “Son of a bitch!” Cora said.

  The chirrupy tones of Jennifer filtered in from the kitchen. “Auntie Cora said bitch.”

  Cora went back and sat down. “They’re there all right. They can stay there all day if they want. They know damn well I’m not going to talk to them.”

  “Auntie Cora—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Auntie Cora said damn. Stick around, you’re going to hear a lot worse.”

  “You going to stay in all day?” Aaron said. “They’ll follow you wherever you go and aim a camera at you the minute you get out of your car.”

  Cora glowered, took a sip of coffee. “I might as well go to the audition.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  12

  For Aaron Grant it was like playing hooky. Hanging out in a Broadway theater interviewing actresses. And today it was young actresses, because they were doing the period piece scenes. In fact, they were auditioning very young actresses. Cora could barely remember being that young.

  After the third or fourth one she waved Melvin over.

  “What is it?”

  “You were my fifth husband.”

  “So?”

  Cora pointed to the actress up on stage. “She looks like we met in high school.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the movies. They take certain liberties.”

  “Liberties, hell. Are people supposed to think that’s me?”

  “At a younger age.”

  “Prepubescent?”

  The actress on stage was dispatched. Sandy came over. “Good morning, Cora. Have any trouble with reporters outside?”

  “No. I walked right in. No one seemed to care.”

  “They didn’t fire questions at you?”

  “Not really. I don’t think they recognized me.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I think we’re in luck. No one’s making a big deal that it’s a Puzzle Lady project.”

  Sandy frowned. “Good, good,” he said, but he didn’t seem pleased. “Reporters are just a bunch of blood-sucking parasites. Don’t give them the time of day.” He saw Aaron sitting there. “Hi. I take it you’re a friend of Cora’s. Sandy Delfin. I’m the director.”

  Aaron shook his hand. “Aaron Grant. Pleased to meet you. I’m a reporter with the Bakerhaven Gazette.”

  Sandy laughed at his own faux pas. “A blood-sucking parasite. Delighted. If I have time, I’ll give you an interview.”

  The gofer Max brought in another actress. She might have been appropriate for a production of Lolita.

  “That’s me?” Cora said.

  “Don’t think you,” Sandy said. “Think movie magic.”

  “Will movie magic keep you from going to jail for corrupting the morals of a minor?”

  “It has so far,” Sandy said. He realized he’d gone too far. “But of course we’re joking. You know and I know the girl is about twenty-eight. But if she got the role, no one seeing her in a movie theater would have the faintest idea she was that young.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” Cora said. She lowered her voice. “Tell me she hasn’t got a prayer.”

  Sandy grinned. “Not to worry.”

  “Who you got for Melvin? Ashton Kutcher?”

  “I think he’s unavailable. Unfortunately, anyone suitable is tied up.”

  “So we have to go with an unknown.”

  “He won’t be unknown when I cast him,” Sandy said.

  Cora started to laugh, then realized he wasn’t joking.

  “We’ll see the men next week. Assuming we get a Cora.”

  “You didn’t see anyone yesterday?” Aaron said.

  “Not even close,” Sandy said. “You see anyone you like, Cora?”

  “Can the guy reading Melvin play Cora?”

  “I’m sure he could, but he’s not going to. Next bunch will be better.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They’re the ones we invited. Actresses with a track record.”

  “Why didn’t you see them first?”

  Sandy shot a glance at Aaron.

  “He won’t write it,” Cora said.

  “How do you know?”

  “We live in the same house. He likes living there. It’s where his wife and daughter live.”

  Aaron smiled. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “We’re a low budget production,” Sandy said. “We’re concerned with the bottom line. An unknown would do it for scale. A name is going to cost.”

  “How much of a name are we talking?” Cora said.

  “Below the title. Which limits the field. We’re not going to get Angelina Jolie.”

  “Angelina Jolie?”

  “Just an example. I don’t see her as Cora, but some of these stars like to ‘act.’” He made quotation marks with his fingers. “Just an example of who we’re not going to get. Say Susan Sarandan, if you prefer.”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “Interesting choice.”

  “Yeah, but we can’t get her. Or her husband for Melvin.”

  “Her husband?” Aaron said.

  “Tim Robbins.”

  “Who?”

  “The Player. Mystic River. Bull Durham, but he was just a kid.”

  “That’s who we can’t get. Tell me who we can.”

  He smiled. “Let’s see who my casting director comes up with. She does a fantastic job.”

  Sandy nodded to Aaron and went back to his seat just as the next actress took the stage. She scored points for being out of high school, but lost them for reading like a truck driver.

  13

  crowley slipped into the seat next to Cora. “How’s it going?”

  “We haven’t found our Cora. How’s it going with you?”

  “We found our killer.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Boyfriend. She was leaving him for the movie and he couldn’t live without her. He took it hard.”

  “How’d you figure that?”

  “Didn’t have to. He left a note.”

  “Left a note? You mean he skipped out?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He killed himself. I suppose I should have led with that. I did say he couldn’t live without her.”

  “That’s not conclusive. If all the guys who couldn’t live without me were dead, you could start a cemetery.”

  “Well, this guy is. Typed a suicide note and jumped out the window.”

  “Typed a suicide note?”

  “Not as unusual as it sounds. Half the kids these days don’t know longhand. They grew up texting messages.”

  “This was a text message?”

  “No, he typed it on his computer. Conveniently located next to the open window.”

&n
bsp; “Any sign of a struggle?”

  “Aside from with his conscience? There’s no sign anyone pushed him out. Plus they would have had to sit down and type the note while his body lay twitching on the pavement. Which would take nerves of steel. Or the brains of a tree stump.”

  “You’re satisfied it was a suicide?”

  “That’s the initial finding. Pending further investigation. Not to mention the autopsy.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Wanna inspect the crime scene?”

  “Is there a crossword puzzle involved?”

  “No.”

  “No cryptic clues in the suicide note?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Then why do you want me to look at the crime scene?”

  “I thought you might need a break.”

  “No, you didn’t. You have no way to judge how mind-numbingly tedious it is. And if you did, relieving my boredom would not be high on your to-do list. There’s something about this you’re not telling me. Wanna fill me in?”

  “Believe me, I have absolutely nothing to go on.”

  “So?”

  “So I’d like to see if you have absolutely nothing to go on.”

  “What if I do?”

  “I would find that invaluable.”

  “I’m flattered. But it won’t work.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve already got something to go on.”

  “What?”

  “The fact you want me to look at it.”

  14

  You didn’t tell me it was a walkup,” Cora grumbled.

  “Would that have tipped the scale?”

  “You think I’m that lazy and shallow?”

  “You forget out of shape.”

  “You think I’m out of shape?”

  “I think I’m out of shape. You gotta remember, I’ve been up here already.”

  “Oh, big macho man. I’m lucky you didn’t carry me in your arms.”

  “I was tempted to, believe me. I was afraid you might think me forward.”

  They reached the door with the crime scene tape.

  “You mind ducking under? I don’t want to string the damn thing again.”

  “As if you strung the first one.”

  “True, I had a crew working for me. They didn’t find anything. You wanna see if you can do better?”

  Cora ducked under the ribbon, barged into the living room, and flopped down on the couch. “Sure. I’m just going to sit here and catch my breath while you run out to Starbucks and get me a grande latte.”

  “Not in this lifetime. But by all means catch your breath. Nothing spoils a clandestine crime scene investigation like having to call an ambulance.”

  Cora sat down at the desk and began pulling out drawers.

  “Hey,” Crowley said. “You’re contaminating a crime scene.”

  “The hell I am. This crime scene’s been processed. You brought me up here to search it. Quit grousing just to hear yourself speak.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  Cora held up a pair of theater tickets. “He had tickets to Hamilton.”

  “So?”

  “You can’t get tickets to Hamilton.”

  “You are not going to steal those tickets.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Cora.”

  “These tickets are for next week.”

  “So?”

  “A guy doesn’t off himself with tickets to Hamilton.”

  “You’d think they’d put it in their ads.”

  “I’m serious. This is not a guy with nothing to live for. This may be a sixth floor walkup, but he doesn’t share it. Most guys his age have three or four roommates, at least in Manhattan. This isn’t a studio, that’s a TV in the living room, and he’s got a DVR hookup. If you turn it on, I bet he’s got HBO.”

  “Those are material things. His girlfriend was just murdered. He was very distraught.”

  “He’s twenty years old. He’s supposed to be distraught.”

  “You’re saying he’s faking?”

  “I’m saying he’s young. He’s acting like he’s supposed to act. But that’s not going to drive him out the window. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

  “I disagree. The guy’s upset. He’s not thinking about theater tickets, or one-bedroom apartments, or HBO. He doesn’t see himself as a young man with his whole life ahead of him. He sees himself as a young man with an open window ahead of him. Two steps and he’s out before he even has a chance to think it over.”

  Cora continued rifling through the desk. “Hmm, that’s funny.”

  “What?”

  “He has the script.”

  “Huh?”

  “He has the screenplay. Untitled Puzzle Lady Project. He wasn’t on the movie. It must be his girlfriend’s.”

  “Maybe she lived with him.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “She had her own apartment. If it’s hers, it’s the only thing I found.”

  “The only thing I found,” Cora pointed out.

  “You’re sure he wasn’t on the movie?”

  “As far as I know. Last night at the theater was the first time I’d ever seen him.”

  Crowley shrugged. “So?”

  “So he had this screenplay.”

  “It’s probably hers.”

  “I could buy that, except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  “She had a screenplay.”

  “Huh?”

  “At the theater. The other crime scene. She had a screenplay there. If that was hers, whose is this?”

  “So she had another copy.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  Crowley considered. “Wasn’t she working with the actors? Maybe she was reading lines.”

  “She wasn’t reading. We were auditioning actresses. They were all reading with a guy.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Showing them what to read.”

  “So she had a script.”

  “No, she just had pages. She’d give them pages for the scene they were going to read, and show them were to start. I don’t know why she had two scripts.”

  “Could it be an earlier draft?”

  “What earlier draft? They didn’t have a draft. They just got one yesterday.”

  “So maybe she just got two yesterday.”

  “And put one in her backpack, and stashed one in her boyfriend’s desk? And then ran back to the theater to get killed?”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t work,” Crowley said. “So there must have been an earlier draft after all.”

  “So they lied to me,” Cora said.

  “Yeah, there’s a shocker. People in the motion picture industry telling a lie.”

  “Yeah, but why lie about that?”

  “Maybe there was something in the script they didn’t want you to see.”

  “Like what? They’ve got me involved in a three-way. You think they had something worse?”

  “You had a three-way?”

  “Let’s not get off the subject,” Cora said. “The point is they aren’t shy about exposing my foibles. So what could they possibly want to hide?”

  Cora flipped through the script.

  She stopped and frowned. “Wait a minute.”

  “What is it?”

  Cora was looking at the dialogue from one of the scenes from when Cora and Melvin were married. She remembered Aaron pointing out to her that Cora’s dialogue in those scenes was simply titled CORA, and that the word CORA was indented from where it would normally be.

  Cora’s dialogue in the scene was titled YOUNG CORA.

  If the word YOUNG were removed, it would leave the indented word CORA.

  With mounting anger, Cora flipped though the script to one of the present day scenes, the ones in which her dialogue was titled P. D. CORA
.

  And there is was, right on the page in front of her.

  OLD CORA.

  15

  cora was outraged. “It’s an insult!” she said. She repeated the statement, adding a few choice expletives.

  “What’s your point?” Becky aid.

  “Point? What do you mean, point? No sooner do I agree to do this project than they start making fun of me.”

  “No one’s making fun of you.”

  “Oh, no? I saw the screenplay. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

  “You don’t have it with you?”

  “Crowley wouldn’t let me take it. Something about a crime scene.”

  “Damn stickler cop.”

  “It just sours the whole project.”

  “Plus two kids are dead,” Becky pointed out.

  “Yes, they are. And it’s tragic, but it’s got nothing to do with it. One of them worked on the movie, but otherwise it’s completely tangential. It’s a young lovers tragedy, like Romeo and Juliet. Only without the flowery language.”

  “And the warring families.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “It’s hard not to. You look at two crime scenes, and the only thing you discover is someone called you old.”

  “It’s not that they called me old. It’s not even that they put it in the script. It’s that they took it out of the script. As soon as they realized I was coming on the project they had new scripts printed up so I wouldn’t know they thought of me as Old Puzzle Lady.”

  “That’s never how I think of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you can’t do puzzles.”

  “Damn it, Becky.”

  “So what’s with the murder?”

  “The case is over. The boyfriend did it and jumped out the window in a fit of remorse.”

  “You buy that?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I certainly would. Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You wouldn’t. You’d be scratching and spitting and insisting the cops had it wrong.”

  “Are you calling me a cat?”

  “A wildcat. Who wouldn’t let anybody rest until she was personally satisfied. Are you personally satisfied?’

  “Do I look satisfied?”

  “I can’t believe this screenplay’s got you so tied up in knots you can’t see a mystery if it smacks you in the face.”

  “A mystery?”

  “It would be if you weren’t in this damn movie. It would be if there was the slightest indication this wasn’t what it seems.”

 

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