by Maisie Dean
Owen Booker was quiet, sweet, and extremely smart. His medium brown hair was curly and a little unkempt, but it was just one of the many endearing things about him. He was shorter and skinnier than his older brothers, so much so that if you were judging by body type alone, he’d look nothing like Lucky or Harrison. The family resemblance was in the big, clear eyes, strong jaw, and straight nose. Owen sported T-shirts most days, jeans or khakis, and sporty sneakers. He was most comfortable hard at work on one of his many computers, and least comfortable when he had to make eye contact with someone for any length of time. Owen was odd, and some days downright peculiar, but he was consistent, loyal, and reliable. All traits which came in handy in the investigative line of work.
For the remainder of the morning, I looked through the documents we had been sent by Ms. Zimmerman at Nate’s request. There were lists of projects he’d been a part of. There was a slew of what I guessed were Japanese advertisements and a number of pilots that had never been aired or picked up. I looked through the international movie database, scanning for actors or crew Nate may have worked with in the past who were now on “Phantom Hunters,” but there was only a key grip and a stand-in, and I’d never seen Nate have any interactions, positive or negative, with either of them.
The more I turned it over and over in my head, it became clear that Keiko was my strongest lead. She’d called Nate “irresponsible,” and her animosity had to have a story behind it. How would I be able to get Keiko to tell me more? It didn’t seem like we’d gotten off on the right foot. I had my work cut out for me that afternoon.
As soon as noon rolled around, I packed up my things and headed out of the office. It was much better to be there early than right on time. I was a PA, after all, that was part of my job description. Besides, I was getting nowhere sorting through the paperwork.
As I packed up, Harrison looked up and pointed his finger at me. “Dinner tonight. Downstairs at seven-thirty if you wrap by then,” Harrison said.
I raised my eyebrow. “Impressive. You know your film set lingo,” I teased.
Harrison scoffed. “I grew up in this city,” he said. “Kind of hard not to.”
Lucky perked up from his slump behind his desk to chime in. “Plus, it helps when you go to two and a half years of film school,” he said.
My mouth fell open and I looked back and forth, wide-eyed, between Harrison and Lucky. “Harrison? Film school? You’ve never told me that,” I said. It may have been my imagination but Tippy suddenly seemed to be flipping her magazine pages a little too forcefully while pretending not to be listening to our conversation.
Harrison glared at Lucky. “It was another life,” he said. “But now that you’ve jogged my memory there are a few things I could say about you too, Lucky.”
Lucky crossed his arms and grinned. “I’m sure,” he said. “Unfortunately, Kacey doesn’t have any time for that. Cases to solve, movie stars to pacify. Isn’t that right, Kacey?”
I hesitated. “I have to go but promise me we’ll return to this topic later.”
“I’m not promising that,” Harrison said without looking up from a file.
Lucky shot me a wink.
As I swung open the door, Tippy caught my eye. Her jaw was tense, and her mouth was pursed as though she’d recently sucked on a lemon. “Break a leg!” she said.
CHAPTER 12
Traffic moved at a snail’s pace the entire way back to the studio. By the time I arrived back on-set, Nate had already begun filming his first scene of the day. The scene included Trudy today, and it was the first time I’d caught more than a glimpse of her all week. She was slim and athletic with naturally blonde hair. She would have been right at home filming a surfing movie. “Phantom Hunters,” however, was far from a beachy romance. And unfortunately, for both Nate and Trudy, the scene happening that afternoon was an intimate one where Nate’s character, usually more hardened and sarcastic, let his vulnerability come through the cracks. He couldn’t tell Trudy’s character the truth about why he had to leave her, because she didn’t know that monsters and demons were real. All the fictional Nate cared about was keeping the fictional Trudy safe. Nate’s acting was truly on point. I kept finding myself welling up each time the slate slapped closed for a new take.
I wondered how much acting Trudy was really doing. I didn’t know the details of their breakup, but it had sounded like Nate had been the dumper. Trudy hadn’t been short on tears since they’d begun the scene. With the end of each take, the old ones were wiped away by her makeup team. When the cameras started rolling again, fresh ones fell. Trudy looked queasy, and I didn’t blame her. It must have been a difficult scene to be working on not that long after a breakup. A few times she’d even run off to the bathroom, quickly followed by Keiko.
As soon as the director had yelled, “Cut!” on the last take and ordered for things to be set up for the next shot, Trudy again rushed to the restroom at the far end of the soundstage. Keiko had gotten caught up by her duties to the director and didn’t seem to notice her friend bolt off. This could give me the opportunity I was looking for to catch Trudy alone. It was even more likely she’d tell me something if she was emotionally charged up and shedding real tears in the restroom. I regretted that I couldn’t give a girl some privacy when she may have needed it most, but my time on this case was running low. Very low.
Making sure that nobody saw me, I dashed to the restroom. When I opened the door there was an acidic smell in the air and the sound of a flushing toilet. Trudy’s ripped jeans were visible kneeling on the floor beneath the stall. The door was shut so she couldn’t see it was me who’d come in.
“Why in the world do they call it morning sickness if it happens in the afternoon, and the night, and any hour of every single day,” Trudy said morosely.
Morning sickness? Trudy was pregnant! In my shock I stood there, frozen.
“Keiks? You there?” Trudy asked. She stood up and unlocked the stall.
Before I had the chance to run from the room, Trudy saw me.
“Oh my god,” she said, putting her hands to her face. She lurched back to the toilet and vomited again.
I quickly barricaded the main washroom door with a garbage can so that nobody else would come in and see Trudy in her vulnerable state. When Trudy had flushed again and rinsed her mouth with water, she looked at me with tears at the edges of her eyes.
“You’re a PA, right? Nate’s PA?” she asked.
I nodded. “I only came in to–”
“Please don’t tell anyone. It has to be a secret,” Trudy pleaded, her voice cracking. She had to lay a hand on the counter next to the sink to keep herself steady. “I just need to get through the pilot without people finding out. Please don’t tell anyone, I’m begging you.”
I felt my insides tighten and squirm. I was there working for Nate after all, and this news could be significant to him. Potentially. But at the same time, secrets between women in a washroom were sacred. A part of the Woman Code, or something. Would I be a bad person if I told Nate? I pulled at my hair and took a deep breath, forgetting momentarily how stale and acidic the air was in the room. The baby had to be Nate’s. Otherwise, why would Keiko have said that Nate was irresponsible?
“Please,” Trudy said again, more quietly this time.
I had to bite the bullet and ask. “Is it Nate’s?”
Whether it was because Trudy presumed Nate and I were involved that I was wondering, or that Trudy was offended that I was sticking my nose somewhere it didn’t belong, my question seemed to put a little fire back into her eyes.
Trudy quickly wiped away the new tears that had sprung up and held her bottom lip firm. “No. It’s not his. But that’s none of your business,” she said. Trudy looked into the mirror to straighten her jacket and smooth her hair before walking toward the door. After she’d removed the garbage can I’d used to barricade us for privacy, she paused and looked back at me one more time.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she said in a
small voice. Then she slipped through the door, leaving me alone with the acidic aroma, and the even stronger whiff of a lie.
CHAPTER 13
I hadn’t fully recovered my appetite by the time I arrived at Doyle’s Diner. The guys had already closed up the office and were waiting at our usual booth near the back of the restaurant. After my earlier encounter with Trudy, the smell of the results of her morning sickness hadn’t completely left my nostrils. I could only pick at my fish and chips while the others wolfed down burgers.
“What is it that you so desperately need our wise counsel on?” Lucky asked, licking the combination of mustard and mayonnaise from the edge of his lip.
Harrison scrunched up his napkin and set it on the empty plate in front of him, while Owen continued to dip fries into a side of gravy.
I didn’t exactly want to share my discovery about Trudy’s pregnancy with them, but I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell Nate or keep it a secret? What if it ended up being connected to his case? As much as I hated needing help on my own cases, I needed their experience and discretion.
“It’s about the client’s ex-girlfriend,” I said. “She’s pregnant, and Nate doesn’t know. I don’t know whether or not to tell him. She asked me not to tell anyone. She begged. It seems wrong to expose her secret just for our case, doesn’t it?”
Owen kept his eyes on his fries while his ears turned red. He tended to clam up around any conversation that dealt with human relationships.
Lucky grinned. “The plot thickens!” he said, rubbing his hands together.
Harrison crossed his arms. “Simple. Of course you tell him. You report to the client, first and foremost. Whether or not you determine there’s a whisper campaign, we were hired to poke around on his current show and see what there was to uncover,” he said. Then, probably taking in my furrowed brow and air of concern, leaned in toward me across the table. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be the one to go over the final report. It’ll be me making sure it’s in there.”
It didn’t make me feel any better.
“I don’t know, Harrison,” Lucky said. “There must be a workaround. All the agency is required to report on is whether or not people are sabotaging the client with a… What is it called? A hush crusade?”
“Whisper campaign,” I corrected.
“Anyway, do you have reason to believe she’s in on it?”
I paused. “Not exactly. The breakup and pregnancy might give her motive, but–”
“But have you heard her saying anything about Nate?” Lucky asked.
“No. Today was the first time I even heard her say his name. She’s mostly been keeping to herself on-set,” I replied.
Lucky turned his hands over, palms up, and raised his eyebrows. “There you go, doesn’t sound like she’s the mastermind behind Nate’s candle-flame-sized fire of a career. You don’t have to lie to him, but you can simply omit the detail about his half of the contribution to a new life form.”
“Charming,” Owen muttered.
“What?” Lucky said defensively. “It’s not even like Kacey saw the pee stick herself, let alone a blood or DNA test, right?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Therefore, there’s nothing to confirm it’s Nate’s progeny at all. My vote’s on not reporting the happy news,” Lucky said.
Harrison suddenly pulled out his pocket-sized notebook and a pen. “That’s a good point. We should put the pregnancy in the report so we can get a referral fee over to Mimi at the paternity testing lab.
“You two are hopeless. Why did I think asking you three was a good idea?” I wondered aloud.
Owen cleared his throat. “What if you posted about the situation on an internet forum? One for relationships? You could position yourself as this woman’s friend, not a private investigator. Then you could collect a list of crowd-sourced ideas and select the best one,” Owen said.
The three of us stared at him for a brief moment before both Harrison and Lucky launched in to razz him over always hiding behind his computer.
“You’ve got to start engaging with life, Owen,” Harrison said.
“Yeah,” Lucky agreed. “And make a decision for yourself for once.”
Owen sunk down lower in his seat and fiddled with the ketchup bottle.
“Thanks, Owen, that’s not a bad idea,” I said to him quietly once the other two Bookers had begun bickering over something to do with parking spaces.
Doyle, the diner’s strange and unusual owner, suddenly appeared beside our table and cleared some plates.
Doyle was in his early forties. He was average height for a man, but he was on the skinny, gangly side. His clothes, usually an old Henley shirt and a pair of jeans with an apron haphazardly tied at his side, always seemed too large. He had a mop of dark brown hair, and a dark bushy moustache to match. When I first met Doyle, back when I started as a temp with the agency, I’d suspected his moustache was a stick-on costume piece.
As Doyle picked up Owen’s plate, I saw that his hand and forearm looked all scratched up.
“Did you fall off your bike again?” I said, motioning to the scratches.
Doyle sighed. He did that a lot. “I wish,” he replied. “My current project isn’t going exactly to plan.”
“Project? Doyle, I think you mean scheme. Let’s not kid ourselves,” Lucky said. “Is it the rats again?” For several months Doyle had been breeding what he called “super-smart rats,” not at the restaurant but at home.
“We’ve moved into phase two–”
“You and the rats?” Harrison asked, suppressing a smirk.
Doyle huffed and then lowered his voice so that none of the other restaurant patrons would overhear. “We have moved into phase two of the rats’ training. In order to drum up some more business around here, I plan to release one of my rats into a nearby restaurant each week. I’ll be in the restaurant and ‘spot it,’ but I’ll be subtle about it. Real subtle. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I’ll say, ‘but sooner or later it’s going to get out,’ and I’ll convince them to hire my friend Pete. He’s a pest control guy. A good one. It’s a win-win. Pete wins, and I win because the neighborhood will have to turn to Doyle’s for their coffee and lunch. And the rats win because they get freedom from their cages.” Doyle crossed his arms across his chest, looking pleased with himself. “So, what do you think?”
The Bookers and I were speechless. Owen was the first to find his words.
“That doesn’t answer Kacey’s question about the scratches,” Owen said.
Doyle smacked his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Pardon me, Kacey,” he said. “I’m not going to kill the cute little devils. I’ve put far too much time and energy into them. Plus, just between us, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let these ones breed with the city rats. There’s no telling what could happen.” Doyle laughed and smacked his thigh. “I’ve been teaching them to return home to me, and it’s working! We’ve tested it up to a six-block radius. The only hitch is that they get so excited about making it back home that…” Doyle held up both his bare forearms, which were raw and red. His forearms must have experienced a lot of rat excitement.
I asked, “You’re not worried that the other restaurant owners are going to find out that it’s your plan?”
Doyle shook his head. “It’s an iron-clad plan. I’ll tell them my lips are sealed, of course, but the next people to spot them will probably sound the alarm bells.”
Lucky drummed the diner table and grinned. “Another fine project, Doyle. As always, I wish you the best of luck,” he said. “I will expect a full report next week.”
Harrison leaned his head on his palm and didn’t say anything.
Owen’s brow furrowed as he eyed up Doyle’s scratched skin. “You know,” he said in his soft voice, “they have those large gloves for people working with birds of prey. You should get a pair,” Owen suggested.
Doyle finished stacking up the plates and picked them up to bring them back
to the kitchen.
“Wonderful idea, Owen!” Doyle grinned. His mouth was mostly hidden beneath the moustache, but you could always tell when Doyle was smiling by his squinty eyes.
Once Doyle had disappeared back into the kitchen, Harrison finally let out a laugh. Harrison seldom succumbed to the level of amusement, but Doyle and his grand ideas often did the trick. And Doyle’s new plan was a new level of ludicrous, except there was something genius to it. Genius in the sense that it gave me an idea about how to proceed with Trudy and the news of the pregnancy.
“I’m going to use Doyle’s plan on my case,” I announced.
All three men stared at me as if I’d just squirted the ketchup bottle all over my head.
“Not the rat part,” I clarified. “That wouldn’t be useful. I’ll tell Trudy that I won’t tell anyone, but sooner or later someone else is going to find out—or maybe they know already,” I said and wiggled my eyebrows. “Maybe then she’ll come clean to Nate.”
“Just promise you won’t use any rats,” Owen said with a shudder.
“No rats, I promise,” I replied. If there was to be a rat on the set of “Phantom Hunters,” it would be me.
CHAPTER 14
The next morning, I got my chance to confront Trudy in the same way I’d accidentally uncovered her secret in the first place. When she excused herself between takes, I waited a few moments before slipping away from the action after her. Trudy was standing at the sink when I opened the door. Despite the best efforts of the makeup team, her complexion looked grey and drawn, and now there were streaks across her cheeks from tears.