1 Hot Scheming Mess (13 page)

Robot Moon Productions was an indoor junkyard to most eyes, but it was prop heaven to stage and local indie film crews on a shoestring budget. Even parades, conventions, exhibitions, and trade shows needing some sort of prop or display eventually found their way to Robot Moon.

And if Robot Moon didn’t have it, it could be custom built. The owner was a young woman everyone called Target, and if need be, she knew a lot of talented industrial designers to bring in for the odd job. Need a stuffed crocodile? A dentist’s chair? A lifeboat? A coffin? Robot Moon probably had it, somewhere in there. Madison decided that the contents of Grandpa’s box needed to sit amongst an acre of theater props until Grandpa got back.

She’d brought all the papers with her, tucked away in her purse, when she’d come to visit Ann. There was a moment at the FBI guard station when her heart went into her throat. She had forgotten about the purse search. But the guard had pushed the folded up paperwork aside as he looked through the purse contents, and had treated the paperwork like everything else in her purse—as insignificant.

Pulling up into the big empty parking lot, she avoided the potholes and larger pieces of concrete rubble scattered around. She picked a parking spot on the edge of the lot where wild blackberry bushes were invading from around the side of the building, thumbing their noses at the old concrete and growing wherever they damned well felt like growing. The tough, thorny, wild blackberry bushes of the Pacific Northwest were the cockroaches of the plant world. Madison knew they would be here long after humans were gone.

Getting out of the car she looked up at the wall of the warehouse to the familiar logo of a robot bending over with his pants down, exposing a non-genital but well-rounded shiny metal butt. Heading into the warehouse, she stopped inside the door where old computer gear sat on an even older desk. The gear was so old it should have been part of the props on display. But instead, these old parts were actually in use for the warehouse business.

And there was Target sitting at her desk, her signature brown wavy haired bangs from the left side of her forehead, curled inward, the hair tips meeting the tips from the bangs on the right side, thus her bangs formed an open circle on her forehead. The small birthmark on her skin in the center of the circle turned it into a target. She had always laughed it off saying she had a death wish anyway and figured it was appropriate. She sat at the old wooden desk, reading her computer screen, freckled arms and hands behind her head, elbows calloused and pink. Her boyish skinny frame swam inside one of the many faded t-shirts she found at comics conventions.

“Madison! Look at you, all girly-girl and fancy. Wow!” Her eyes twinkled as she finger combed her bangs up off her forehead.

“Hey, Target. You like?” Madison turned in a circle, her purse swinging from her wrist. “Borrowed it from a friend. Thought I’d come and scare you with it.”

“That don’t scare me. I know how to fix up and get snazzy, but don’t tell anyone. Got a reputation to protect.”

“I didn’t mean
that
. I meant being all feminine. You told me you’ve never once worn a skirt.” Madison said.

“Well, now, that’s true, but it wouldn’t scare me. It would just scare the shit out of everyone else. Don’t you think?”

“No one would be expecting it. That’s for sure.”

“So what’s up?” Target asked. “Are you working props this time? What’s the show?”

“There’s no show or project. Actually,” Madison began, “I have a few small things that need to be hidden for a while.”

Target’s eyebrows went up, full of question. Madison continued, “It’s nothing bad or illegal, just some old newspaper clippings that a friend doesn’t want to be caught with.”

“Why can’t you keep it with you for a while? Or in your house or your car?”

“Because someone might want to take it from me. Look, I know it sounds weird. Okay, it is weird but he seems to think—”
Shut up, Madison.

“He?” Target started to smile. In spite of all appearances, Target was straight and loved men. She just had to wait till the right type happened along now and then. The type that liked…Target. After all, Madison knew not all guys went for girly-girls.

“Yeah. So would it be all right? Look, I’ll show it to you.” She pulled out the paperwork from her purse and held it out to Target who took it and turned it over a few times while she looked confused. She finally shrugged her shoulders and reached into a drawer, pulling out an envelope, and stuffed the papers into the envelope. Looking up she said, “You want me to keep it in my desk?”

“No, I thought we should keep it in a prop.”

Target shook her head, “That wouldn’t be very smart in this place. It might get moved around or rented out to someone. Worse, they might purchase the prop so they can destroy it in their film.”

Madison looked out into the warehouse, seeking the right way to go about this, when Target said, “I’ve got an idea.” She pulled out a big cardboard tag with thin wires attached. She wrote on the card, “Reserved. Project Title:”—and stopped. She looked up. “What should we call the film this is reserved for?”

“Hot Scheming Mess. That’s what this whole stupid thing is turning into.”

“Good enough,” Target said, and added the rest of the words to the card, then handed it to Madison. “Now you just need to pick the prop it’s going to go in. But pick something that is less likely to be rented. I may not act like it, but I really would like to make some money.” Everyone knew Target inherited the huge warehouse and only needed to pay property tax. But the money from her prop rentals and designs was enough to support her and keep her happy. For now.

Madison took the cardboard tag and the envelope with Grandpa’s paperwork in it and walked deeper into the warehouse, looking around.

There were long rows of shelving along the walls at different heights. Medium sized props such as luggage, vacuum cleaners, and sewing machines were kept on the floor underneath long wooden tables that held table lamps, sets of dishes, and coffee makers. The next level up was shelving that held pillows, carpets, tapestries, blankets. Overhead were dozens of kitchen chairs in every style and color, attached to large hooks that hung down from the ceiling of the barn. Besides the perimeter, there were rows upon rows of shelves at different heights in the center of the warehouse. The shelving in the warehouse was a mish-mash of different types, from sturdy old dusty wood, to metal grating and brackets that sprang from the walls and ceiling. There was furniture of every kind, car parts, toys, medical gear, kayaks, toilets, and gazebos. There were plenty of things that had no category to live in, but Target had found a place to store them.

Madison made a point of passing by anything that could be used in an office scene, or a kitchen or bedroom scene and looked for something a little less likely to be needed. Then she saw it.

A huge Victorian era grandfather clock was crammed between a few bookcases on one side, and fake trees on the other side, with baskets of fake flowers at the foot of the trees. Madison walked up to the grandfather clock and opened the tall glass door to peer inside. A four foot long pendulum was unattached and leaning into the back corner. Most of the clock guts were missing from inside, making it easier for Madison to reach her hand up into the small square area behind the clock face, and leave the envelope of Grandpa’s paperwork that had seemed so important to him. She closed the glass door and wrapped the thin wires of the cardboard tag around the door’s handle. Hanging sideways, the tag would tell anyone who was considering the clock that it was already reserved.

Walking back towards Target’s desk, she passed a plastic bin with a small assortment of fake handguns. One in particular caught her eye with its matte metal luster. The grip appeared to be walnut wood, smooth and highly polished; its dark golden hue added to the grace of its curves. She picked it up. It was even heavy. But more importantly, it looked real. She took it.

Coming up to the desk, Target sat there with her head leaning down on her palm as she sketched on a pad. Madison assumed some new prop design had been ordered.

“I’ll take this, too,” said Madison, showing her the fake handgun. “What do I owe you?”

Target looked up with a casual air at the gun, her eyes leading up to Madison’s face and holding there a moment. “I thought you said there was no project.”

“There isn’t. I just need to practice in the mirror. Last audition didn’t go so well.”

Target held her eyes on Madison for another second then said, “Just take it then.”

“Thanks, Target. And thanks for letting me leave the paperwork in that clock. As soon as he gets here, he’ll take it off your hands. I’ll sleep better knowing it’s safely stored away.”

“No problem,” Target’s bangs crept back onto her forehead. She pushed them away again. “Now if you’ll bring me some new business, I’ll sleep better, too. I’m doing props for Zombie Prom in a few days. But after that it’ll be getting pretty thin around here.” She stood up from the desk, walking with Madison toward the door.

“I’m in the same boat.” said Madison. “Phil is so desperate he took a booking for a singing telegram from a dying man that wanted to be sung to at his own funeral. Big money.”

“Lots of people sing at funerals.”

“Not like this. It’s a comedy gig. Standing at the casket, big and pregnant, sing to the body in front of loved ones.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Not a prop? A real live dead guy?”

“Uh… yeah, a real live, but mostly dead, guy.”

“Who would be willing to do that?”

Madison said, “You’re looking at her. I’m pretty desperate myself.”

Target’s laughter bubbled up as she said, “My respect for your nerve grows daily. But, Phil?” She shook her head. “That guy’ll land on his feet, no matter what it takes.”

“Yeah.” Madison looked over at the Victorian grandfather clock which now held secrets. “I guess we’re all capable of crazy things if we’re desperate enough.”

She reached for the doorknob, but Target stopped her, putting her hand on Madison’s arm, saying, “Put the gun prop where no one will see it before you go out there. That thing looks too real.” Madison opened her purse and put the fake handgun in there, closing it back up. Target said, “It’s dangerous for people to think you’re really armed if you’re not.” She gave Madison a sincere look. “Be careful.”

After exchanging goodbyes, Madison stepped out into the parking lot, glad to have the paperwork from the box safely hidden at Robot Moon Productions. But there were two pieces she had held back. The Cyrillic note and the black and white photo. Walking toward her car, she looked around, assuring herself that she was alone. Climbing in, she left the windows closed and locked her door. She would have to endure the suffocating heat in the car while she faced the photo. Pulling it out of her purse, she held it down in her lap, away from the windows.

She stared at what her instinct had already told her was bad news. From within a tree or a bush, someone had taken a picture. Leaves forming the frame were like giant close-ups out of focus. The light was soft with a sharp bright spot beyond the trees in the distance. Could be sunset? No. No, it was more likely dawn.

In the background was a door, or porch step. Hard to tell with the leaves in the way. The focus of the camera was centered on the man in the photo who was not coming out of the door; rather, he was facing it. Had her grandfather ever been that young? So tall and handsome, his strong arms held a small bundle. A box was at his feet. There was a tender expression on his face mixed with… what? Confusion? Worry? The thing he was holding looked like towels or laundry.

What the hell was going on?

*****

She stopped at Spenser’s house, and after heartfelt thanks for the generous loan of the business outfit, Madison switched back into her tank top and jeans. They made plans for Madison to come over tomorrow morning to do the laundry and catch Spenser up on how the meeting had gone with Ann.

She got back in her car, but before driving off she tried calling her grandfather’s cell phone again. Still no answer. The other heaviness on her heart was ExBoy. She had offended him in a way that she never would have predicted. She called him, but he wasn’t answering either. She heard the beep and said in a timid voice, “Hey. Can you call me back? I need to explain. It came off all wrong.” She disconnected, leaning back into the seat. Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered if he had intentionally not answered the phone.

The summer sun was bearing down on her windshield as she pulled out the black and white photo again. She hadn’t wanted to show it to Spenser. Gazing at the image of her grandfather so much younger, she remembered what her mother had said about his friends Mitch and Ray working with him back in the early days. She said Grandpa had given a job to Mitch’s son and later to Mitch’s grandson. She jumped to a sitting straight position.
How can I be so slow?

The car keys rattled a discordant tune as she quickly hooked up her seat belt, shoved the keys into the ignition, and sped off.

She had to find Jason Clark.

Chapter Fourteen

Madison burst into The Loony Bean, the glass door swinging wildly, little bells jingling near the top of the door. She rushed up to the counter and said, “Where’s Jason? Is Jason here? I need to talk to him.” A young woman in a barista apron looked up from cleaning off the counter and said, “Sorry. He has the morning shift. He’s gone for the day.” She wiped some splatters and straightened out a napkin dispenser.

“Could you call him please? It’s really important. Tell him Madison is… no, say Madison Cruz… tell him Madison Cruz is here waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry but we don’t really—”

“Please! Tell him it’s an emergency about Vincent. He’ll understand.” For a moment, the young woman looked at her without saying anything, then walked over to another employee. They whispered while looking at Madison. Madison wondered if she looked wild-eyed so she tried to compose herself to look concerned instead of crazy. The other employee shrugged his shoulders and walked into the back room. The young woman came back to Madison and said that it was slow tonight so they would call Jason for her.