Booker Brothers Detective Agency Box Set

by Maisie Dean

  I retrieved my keys from the top of my tire, which was where Thomas had suggested I leave them and got into my car. When I turned the key, the engine roared to life. At least Thomas’s PA had been kind enough to fix my fake motor troubles. I drove home on autopilot. My brain’s version, that is, not like a Tesla. The latter portion of my evening with Thomas had unsettled me to the point where my whole body felt chilled. It struck me that the stories being created—whether they were Nate’s fabrications, my cover as a whiny PA, or whatever Thomas now believed about me—were powerful. Powerful enough that even I was beginning to believe them.

  CHAPTER 6

  When I arrived home, I found Rosie scavenging for candy in our cramped kitchen wearing pajama shorts, a tank top, and her platinum hair in a messy bun. From her perch on the counter, she gawked in horror while clutching an ice cream carton and devouring its contents one heaping spoonful at a time.

  “No way! Are you serious? It sounds like you’re in a TV show yourself. What’s he going to do if Nate tells you to keep going with the complaints? He could make you disappear!” Rosie exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  I laughed. I had been the aspiring actor for much of our friendship, but Rosie was the dramatic one.

  “I’m not going to disappear. I’m sure that’s not what Thomas meant, and besides, Nate wouldn’t let it go that far. Neither would I,” I assured her.

  “Good. Because with the rent increase this year, I don’t think I could afford this place on my own.”

  “I see how it is,” I said, giving her a punch in the arm. “Thanks for being so concerned about my safety.” I rolled my eyes and loaded up my own spoon with chocolate chip cookie-dough ice cream.

  Rosie relinquished the carton to me and stared blankly at the fridge. She was probably lost in some anxiety-provoking plot in which I was the star.

  “He’s not even that big of a deal in Hollywood yet. It’ll be fine,” I told the zoned-out Rosie.

  She nodded. “Still, this Thomas guy sounds…” Suddenly Rosie gasped and hopped off the counter where she’d been sitting. “Wait… are we talking about Thomas Crosswell?” Rosie asked.

  “That’s the one,” I said and watched as Rosie’s eyes bugged out even further.

  Normally I kept the details of my investigative work private as much of it was confidential. In some cases, however, when I could potentially be putting myself in danger, I would tell Rosie some details. She was sworn to secrecy unless I did, say, disappear.

  “Kacey, I really think you need to get yourself off this case. Clearly, Thomas must be the mole. Why else would he get so weird? He must be a massive manipulator,” Rosie said. She kept wringing her hands. I shoved the ice cream carton between her hands to get her to stop the anxious gesture before she succeeded in making me as paranoid as she was.

  “Slow down,” I said. “Thomas was just being protective today. If he really was the mole or hoping to bring Nate down, he wouldn’t have reamed me out the way he did. It was a bit harsh, I’ll admit, but I’m positive he was genuinely concerned about Nate. I bet you and I would have done the same thing if someone was talking smack about one of us, right?” I smiled encouragingly, hoping to melt away some of the tightness between Rosie’s brows.

  Absentmindedly, I massaged the back of my neck. I was still feeling the aftereffects of how tense and stressful things had become in Thomas’s car. “I was kind of scared of him at certain points tonight. But I’m not going to quit after only one day. It was me who was deceptive enough to get on his shit list,” I said.

  Other than the pain in my neck, I was feeling good about my first day of the case. I’d eliminated one suspect already. The next day, I’d ask Nate for the other name on his suspect list. I could wrap up the case in two days! That would be a new record, and possibly worth a bonus.

  I just had to avoid Thomas. Rosie wasn’t wrong to caution me about the guy. He did seem volatile, threatening me the way he had.

  Rosie sucked in her breath between her teeth. “All I know is that I saw Thomas in an indie film where he played this brilliant psycho. He was a total maniac, and he nailed the role like it was written for him.”

  “Rosie! That’s acting. It’s his job, remember? If I’d gotten that role for the young woman obsessed with feet, would you have decided I was a fetishist?”

  Rosie grinned and shrugged.

  Giggling, I jostled my shoulder against her in retaliation. “I can’t believe you!” I said.

  “Hey, I ran those lines with you. You were incredibly convincing,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe a little too convincing...”

  I grabbed back the ice cream and swiped a fresh bag of chips from the cupboard before marching into the living room.

  “If you want more ice cream, you’ll have to bring that butt and your dainty feet to the couch!” I shouted.

  Rosie emerged with a half-eaten bag of M&Ms and a clear glass bottle of orange liquid from one of those trendy pressed juice places. She removed her socks like she was doing a striptease with her feet only. Then she did some fancy footwork on her way across the living room, trying to entice me with her bare toes. When she reached the couch and collapsed beside me, there were tears of laughter streaming down our faces.

  ***

  Rosie selected a Thomas Crosswell indie movie that neither of us had seen yet. In the low-budget mystery, Thomas played a manipulative double agent, and Rosie was right. The seedy, sociopathic-type role happened to be his bread and butter. I even recognized a few of his creepy, evil looks from earlier that night in his car. I kept getting goose bumps even though the movie wasn’t that scary.

  When the movie ended, Rosie looked at me with an I told you so expression on her face.

  “Okay. You’re right,” I said. “He did a scarily good job with that psycho character. But I still think he’s harmless as long as I don’t diss Nate again.”

  Rosie raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ll avoid being alone with him,” I said.

  “Good,” Rosie said, cracking a smile. “Now I’ll be able to sleep at night.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The next morning when I arrived for another early call, I made sure not to give in to the urges to fix my hair or shove my hands into my pockets. Training as an actor, it turned out, was good preparation for being an undercover investigator. I had to show Thomas that he hadn’t fazed me, not to mention I had to act like a professional around Nate. He was the client, after all, and certainly wouldn’t want his investigator getting squirrely at the first sign of conflict.

  I kept my demeanor cool and collected. On the inside, though, I was apprehensive. The quick beating of my heart felt fluttery near my throat. How would Thomas act around me? Would he make my job a living hell for the remainder of the time I was here?

  As fate would have it, Thomas was the first person I ran into when I opened up the heavy door that led into the dim depths of the soundstage.

  He had a tissue tucked into his collar like a small bib. I knew it was to catch any of the powder that fell while he had his makeup done, but at a distance, it looked like one of those fluffy collars men wore in the 1800s. Oddly enough, the tone of his greeting was well matched.

  “Good morning to you, Kacey,” Thomas said cordially.

  “Morning,” I replied.

  Thomas’s smile wasn’t as broad as the day before, but it seemed genuine. “I’m on my way to wardrobe for an adjustment. Apparently, my shirt isn’t tight enough.” He rolled his eyes, but the pep in his step as he walked away said he thoroughly enjoyed being dressed for maximum sex appeal. To each their own. That had been a part of the business I was happy to do without. With the Booker brothers, I got to wear just about anything I wanted, which meant saying bye-bye to the high heels and short dresses which were recommended for auditions. I wore them when I wanted to, of course, but then it was just for me, not casting agents.

  The sound of the door closing behind Thomas snapped me back to reality. I walked my comfortable, stylish, peac
h-colored flats over cables and around gigantic cases of equipment to where the next shot was being set up.

  Nate and Thomas would be doing their scene in an underground crypt. A large, damp-looking man with a full-sleeve tattoo was working on installing some kind of water system that I assumed was meant to drip down the fake stone walls. At the moment the water was spraying upwards, the opposite direction it was supposed to run.

  The familiar hum of action tension filled the air. Nate was already focused on blocking under the instruction of the director and the cameraman. He was too busy for me to pull him aside. Letting him know what I’d learned about Thomas would have to wait. I decided to take the opportunity to soak up some early morning sun and stop by the catering truck.

  The key cast and crew had already been through catering so there wasn’t much of a crowd. The tables were laden with trays of fruit, a yogurt selection, and tiny bowl after tiny bowl of optional toppings. There were croissants, chocolate and plain, fresh muffins, and some ridiculously ooey-gooey cinnamon buns. The cooks could whip up any arrangement of eggs, bacon, or sausages you could think of. Today’s special from the grill was huevos rancheros.

  “Morning, Hillary,” I called up and over the stainless steel counter. They always came to my nose on those big trucks, which always made me feel like a child. I’d spent a good chunk of time the day before hanging around the catering truck. I knew that a.) those cinnamon buns were to die for, and b.) Hillary, the main cook, had the best memory for names and faces I’d ever come across.

  “Hi, Kacey, what can I get ya?” she said. Hillary was a soft and round person with big pink cheeks from constantly being near the stove, and a permanent smile. Her straight, blonde hair was in a bun to keep it out of the way and her brown eyes had a cheery light inside them. Also, the name of her catering company was “Eats, Shoots & Leaves,” so there was literally nothing not to love about her. “Phantom Hunters” was more than lucky to have her. In my on-set experience, film catering companies were around 40 percent positive and delightful, and around 60 percent scowls and shrugs.

  “I’ll have the special, please!” I said. As long as it wasn’t slathered with barbeque sauce, I did my best to get the specials whenever possible. Cooks prepare the ingredients accordingly and like to have them utilized. Plus, huevos rancheros sounded divine. I guess I hadn’t kicked my Mexican craving even after Diablo City the night before. It had been difficult to enjoy digesting my food after Thomas’s cold treatment.

  Hilary called my name and slid a steaming plate across the counter. She placed a tin-foil bag beside it.

  “That’s a leftover apple fritter from yesterday. Nate loves them, so earn yourself some brownie points by bringing it to him. I hope you have an enjoyable day two!” Hillary said warmly.

  “That’s so thoughtful. I’ll have to give you the credit. That’s too sweet. See you later!” I said.

  Nate’s apple fritter was warm to the touch. She must have reheated it in the oven, what a sweetheart. I wolfed down the delicious eggs with a couple dollops of hot sauce and followed it all up with a cinnamon bun. When in Rome! Working for the Booker brothers was fantastic, but they were sorely lacking in the 24/7 food availability.

  The silver bag had cooled by the time I finished up. I rushed back to set to deliver it to him, picking up a skim milk iced latte from craft services on the way.

  I found Nate sitting in his personalized canvas chair reviewing the script. His golden-brown locks shone warmly in the overhead lighting.

  “Courtesy of the lovely Hillary,” I said, stretching out my hand with the fritter. “And this is from me.” I handed him the coffee.

  “Thank you, sorry it’s been so hectic. I meant to catch you earlier but...” Nate paused. “What is that incredible smell?”

  I pointed to the small bag.

  Nate opened it and tossed his head back. “She’s trying to make me fat, I swear. She’s worse than my grandmother!” He didn’t hesitate. He launched in, taking a massive bite.

  “She’s out of this world, that’s for sure,” I said.

  When the coast was generally clear, and most people seemed to be out of earshot, I leaned in closer to Nate. I immediately wished I hadn’t gotten so close. He smelled of warmth and fresh laundry. I had to actively stop myself from falling right into him.

  “You okay?” Nate asked. “You look woozy.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m just a little warm,” I said, fanning my face.

  “Here. Have some,” Nate said, offering up his iced coffee which he hadn’t sipped yet. “I don’t mind sharing, not with you anyway.” He smiled.

  “Thanks,” I said. Truthfully, I was a perfect temperature, but what was acting without follow-through?

  “Any news on my doomed career?” Nate asked once I’d taken a few sips.

  “Yes,” I replied in a low voice.

  “I knew it! I knew he was too nice–”

  “Actually, you’ve got nothing to worry about when it comes to Thomas. He’s definitely in your corner.” Even if he was no longer in mine since the previous day.

  Nate thumbed his nose and looked sheepish. “Really? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. He gave me a hard time about me complaining about you as a boss. He really cares about you professionally, and also personally.”

  Nate’s crossed arms loosened but then tightened up again. “Last week, he was in my trailer. He said he thought it was his trailer but come on! They have our names written right on the doors.”

  I shook my head. “He told me about that misunderstanding. He needed to use a bathroom in a hurry. Your trailer must have been the closest. He didn’t tell you the real reason because he didn’t want it to get out that he has stomach issues.”

  Nate sat back in his chair and gazed over at the crypt set. “It did smell bad in there. I guess that checks out.”

  “Great! Er, you know what I mean. I’d be comfortable striking him off the potential suspect list, not just for your sake but for mine too. If I press him any further, he’s going to make sure I don’t get past Gus at the studio gates ever again,” I said.

  Nate laughed. “All right. If you’re sure, I’ll consider Thomas a friend, not a foe.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up and a smile. “Great, that’s done. Who’s the next suspect?” I asked Nate. But at that moment, a shrill woman’s voice called Nate back toward the camera. Perfect timing, as usual.

  “Keep your eyes open, I’ll tell you about her later.” Nate gave me a wink and took the iced coffee out of my hand. “See you later.”

  * * *

  While Nate and Thomas acted their way through the dripping underground tunnels, I kept my eye on everyone in the vicinity.

  Most people were either totally absorbed in the action of the scene or totally absorbed elsewhere, like in a quiet conversation or on their phones. Nate had given me the hint that it was a woman that I should be looking out for.

  Between takes, while Nate and Thomas goofed off with the fake blood and demonic symbols on the stone walls, I noticed one young woman filming Nate with her phone. It wasn’t exactly off-limits to take photos or videos on set; there was the expectation that the cast and crew were well versed in the ethics and legalities around sharing that kind of material publicly. But what made this woman stand out was her face while she took the videos.

  I was not immune to the rugged good looks of either Thomas or Nate, so I couldn’t blame her for filming them.

  However, she didn’t look like she was having fun. I would imagine that the act of capturing the two of them in their antics would bring some sort of amusement, excitement, or even lust. But the Japanese-looking woman looked disgusted as she subtly held her phone near her hip to record the actors.

  Nate was laughing at the gruesome prosthetic wound Thomas had on his forearm. The wound wasn’t realistic at all. Intuition told me it wasn’t the fake wound that was making the woman’s lips curl in contempt.

  Moving slowly, so as not to let her know
I had been watching, I got closer to the woman. When the crew started shooting again, she switched to texting, the disgusted expression on her face unwavering. I pretended to adjust a dial on my headset and intentionally bumped her with my elbow.

  “Sorry,” I said in a hushed tone.

  The woman stepped away from me but didn’t respond.

  “I’m Kacey.” I held out my hand to her and, after an awkward beat, she took it with the hand that wasn’t holding her phone. It was her left hand, which increased the awkwardness even more, but she didn’t seem to care.

  “Keiko,” she said.

  “Are you a PA too?” I asked, noting her headset and lack of obvious role at that moment.

  Keiko nodded. “For the director,” she said. She didn’t offer anything more. Silence expanded between us. Keiko was about an inch taller than me and looked to be around twenty-six. She had flawless skin and elegantly rounded eyes that pulled gently upwards at the edges. Her eyebrows were carefully coiffed and tinted to be nearly as dark as her sleek black hair. The headset she wore looked newer and fancier than mine, and the cords hung down neatly across her black blouse with micro white polka dots. We were wearing the exact same pants, but she wore them better. Keiko was a stylish, confident woman who would look right at home overseeing fashion week or the Emmys.

  “Do you like being the director’s PA, that sounds stressful,” I whispered.

  “Do you like being Nate’s PA? You must know him very… personally,” Keiko replied.

  Excuse me? Based on the look in her eyes she clearly assumed I was sleeping with him. I decided to let her make the assumption. Maybe it would lead somewhere.

  “We’re not that close,” I said casually. “I’ve only just started. There might be some vibes, but don’t tell anyone.”

  Keiko’s nostrils flared. Was she jealous?