Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 04 (17 page)

I stomped out of the room, and stopped in the parking lot to cool off. I wanted to find Darla Jean and give her a long, harsh lecture about her lack of judgment, but I decided to wait until I was calm enough to do so without shaking her so violently the barrettes flew out of her hair.

I closed my eyes and tried to think about my next move.

The sound of voices interrupted my thoughts, which weren't going anyplace, anyway, and I spotted Estelle at the edge of the parking lot, griping at the trooper. He was defending himself as best he could, but I took pity on him and went over to rescue him.

"Well, thank goodness," Estelle said as I approached. "This boy's being about as ornery as a treed coon. You just go ahead and tell him that I can take this tray to Mr. Desmond in number two. It's a mite heavy, and I have no intention of standing here wearing myself out on account of -- "

"Stop," I said. I gave her a second to settle her lips into a bloodless line of indignation, then said, "This officer is under orders not to allow anyone to go to any of the motel rooms."

"Are you aiming to starve them into confessing?" Estelle countered. "I watch enough lawyer shows on television to know that confessions have to be made voluntarily. If you so much as slap your suspect, the judge can -- "

The noise that came from my throat was primitive, perhaps primeval, but it was effective. I finally got my teeth unclenched far enough to say, "Take the tray to Desmond. Just don't pester him or ask him any questions -- okay?"

"Okay, Miss Mussolini," Estelle said, then marched off before I applied an egg salad sandwich to her face.

I followed her across the gravel, but continued on to #3 to ask Carlotta if she had any ideas about the latest defection from the production company. I knocked on the door; Estelle did the same at #2. Carlotta opened the door, but as I started to speak, I heard a shriek. I jerked my head around in time to see Estelle shove the tray at someone inside the room and scuttle away more quickly than a sand crab. Self-righteous mutters drifted after her as she went past the trooper and around the corner of Ruby Bee's.

Carlotta darted around me and was at #2 before I could stir myself. She opened the door a few inches and said, "Hal, Arly's here. Why don't you come to my room in a minute?"

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

She closed the door and joined me. "I'm afraid Hal was getting ready to take a shower, and he must have startled Estelle. Is there something you need to ask me?"

I followed her into the room, which was littered with enough paper to constitute several novels and a volume or two of an encyclopedia. The beds had been pushed back to make room for a card table that was nearly invisible under a small computer, monitor, printer, stacks of paper, notebooks, and copies of what I assumed was the script. More papers were thumbtacked to the wall.

"Kind of a mess," she said as she moved some of the clutter off the bed. "Revisions generate a lot of paper. Martha Biggins is now resting in peace, but I don't know what we can do about Zachery. He's pivotal."

"Who?" I said, wondering if they were bringing in more actors. The thought was not pleasant; I had quite enough Hollywood natives as it was.

Carlotta chuckled. "Sorry. Those are characters in the film, and by now they're more real to me than the actors who portray them. I realize that sounds strange. Anyone who works in the industry has to be slightly strange in order to survive."

"Speaking of strange, do you know where Fuzzy is?" I asked optimistically.

"Damn fine question," Hal said from behind me. He wore a lush white robe, the front agape to allow a display of white chest hair and damp flesh. "I told him I wanted to review today's footage. We still have to figure out how to shoot around Buddy until he surfaces, and we don't have all day, you know." Carlotta grabbed her clipboard and started for the door. "Right, Hal. I'll go see if he's ready yet."

"Wait a minute," I said, feeling as if I were in a movie and merely watching myself in the midst of the action on the screen. "Fuzzy's disappeared. I came here to ask you if you knew where he was."

"Disappeared?" Hal echoed. "Whatta ya mean with this disappeared shit? He's the cameraman, fer chrissake! It's one thing to put Martha Biggins in her grave, and, if we have to, tuck Zachery beside her, but who the hell's gonna shoot the scenes?" The robe rose to expose bony knees as he shook both fists at the ceiling. "I've had enough of this, Arly. You just go find him and bring him back tout de suite. I personally will keep him locked in his room until we get this baby wrapped."

Carlotta was less explosive, but she sounded disturbed as she said, "He just ... disappeared, like Buddy did?"

"All I know," I said, "is that early this afternoon he left the room that he's sharing with Frederick Marland and has not returned. The trooper at the edge of the parking lot swears Fuzzy didn't go past him, so my guess is that he cut around the corner of the building, climbed over the fence, and went on his merry way across the pasture."

Hal glowered first at Carlotta and then at me. "I can't deal with this. I feel my blood pressure zooming straight up like one of those -- I don't know -- one of those missiles. I suppose tomorrow Anderson will have gone poof, and nobody can find Gwenneth, and Carlotta's gonna be hitchhiking to hell, and -- "

"Shut up!" I snapped. "I think we need to round everybody up right now and count noses. You two stay right here; don't even take a step." A sudden thought washed over me like a pitcher of iced tea. "Where is Gwenneth D'Amourre? Isn't she sharing this room?"

"She's ... ah, she's in my room," Hal said. "I was coaching her on some of the more intricate scenes. Every time she bobbles a line, it costs time, and time costs money, and money's the bottom line."

"I'll go get her," Carlotta said in a strained voice, and hurried out of the room before I could reiterate my order not to take a step.

She was already in the next room as I went to the opposite building, told Frederick to go to Carlotta's room, and then went more slowly toward #6, which I knew contained Anderson St. James. All afternoon I'd been delaying my interview with him, and I still felt uneasy about facing him. It might have been because I had information about his wife's murder and it seemed like an intrusion of his privacy. Then again, it might have been because I felt like an inarticulate idiot when he regarded me with those chocolaty eyes.

Reminding myself that we were in the middle of a murder case that was escalating a mile a minute, I tapped on the door.

He opened it and gave me a pleased smile. "I was wondering when you'd remember me. Do we have to go to the torture room, or can we stay here? I promise to behave as long as it's official business, but after that, you never know what might come over me." I promptly blushed. "It's official business for now," I said, furious with myself and therefore worsening the situation. "We've got a new problem, and I want everyone to come to Carlotta's room to discuss it."

He was no longer smiling as he stepped outside the room and closed the door. "Have you found Meredith?" he asked as we walked across the lot.

I shook my head. "Not yet, but we're still looking."

"Any leads on the maniac who murdered Kitty?"

I shook my head again and led the way into #3. Carlotta had cleared the beds and single chair, and was stacking papers in the corner. Hal lay on one of the beds, the robe now displaying not only bony knees but also flabby white calves. Frederick Marland sat on the chair. As Anderson sat down on the second bed, Gwenneth came out of the bathroom, tugging on the strap of a halter.

I ignored her little wave and waited until she sat down next to Anderson. "I still have questions to ask some of you, but at the moment we have a new problem." I then told them about Fuzzy's vanishing act, which elicited snorts from Hal, a sigh from Carlotta, a tiny squeak of disapproval from Gwenneth, a frown from Anderson, and a flicker of anger from Frederick.

It did not, however, elicit any suggestions as to where Fuzzy was or where he'd been the previous evening.

"This place is creepy," Gwenneth contributed. "It's like a black hole that sucks people in. I think we ought to split before something happens to the rest of us."

"We're making a picture, not visiting in-laws!" Hal said, rousing himself long enough to jab his finger at her. "You're gonna stay here and emote your little heart out until we're done, or face a breach-of-contract suit. You're no bankable star, and don't forget it."

Gwenneth burst into tears and dashed into the bathroom, which was fine with me. I waited until the door slammed, then said, "Can any of you think of someone who might have a grudge against Glittertown? Someone who felt he or she deserved a role, or was fired?"

Hal flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes, perhaps to meditate. Anderson and Frederick both seemed to find the faded floral pattern of the carpet worthy of their attention.

"Anyone at all?" I asked Carlotta.

"I wish I could rattle off a name or two, but I can't," she said bleakly. "There's some competition, of course, but nothing of epic proportion. We auditioned a few people who weren't suitable. One of the bit players in Tanya felt he was underpaid; his contract indicated otherwise, and his lawyer was informed of it. At one point Fuzzy had an assistant, but the kid was offered a better job and took it."

Gwenneth came out of the bathroom, a tissue in her hand, and brightly said, "What about the pirate?"

"Pirate?" I repeated. "As in Captain Hook?"

"As in distribution," she said as she sat down and took out the dreaded nail file.

Carlotta looked as if she were considering mayhem, but instead sighed and said, "Illegal copies were made of two of our three films, including the last one. Some of our markets, such as specialty video stores and independent cable companies, are willing to buy cheap and claim they had no way of knowing they weren't dealing with an authorized distributor. It's cost us maybe several hundred grand so far."

I was struggling to understand. "So there's someone out there who's sabotaging the company?"

"Or someone in here," Gwenneth said. "We've hashed it over and over, and there's no way an outsider could have gotten an unauthorized copy. One of us has made quite a profit."

"Oh," I said wisely, having absolutely no idea what to do with this information. After a moment of silence in which my confusion reverberated in my ears, I told them to stay in their respective rooms with the doors locked, and to call me if anyone thought of anything. As I left, the only sound in #3 was the arrhythmic drone of Hal's snores and the scratch of the nail file.

-- ==+== --

The gas station was prehistoric. There were no pumps for self-service, nor was there a miniaturized grocery store inside with overpriced snack food, "male" magazines, and a microwave oven. At one side of the building, tires were piled like deflated black doughnuts. The rest rooms were in the back, although only the most desperate traveler would ask for the key.

He braked and swung into the station. A man, as greasy and surly as he'd ever seen, came out to the truck. "Whatta ya want, cowboy?"

"Fill it up and check the oil." He got out of the truck and went into the office to take the rest-room key off a hook. He ascertained that the man was occupied, then assessed the possible exits. Three doors: the one he'd used, which could be padlocked from the outside; a second, that led to a windowless storeroom; and a third, that led to the single bay. The last could not be locked, but that presented no problem.

"Two-dollar eighty," the man said from the doorway. "Forget using the john, you cheap sumbitch. How many times do I have to tell you to wait until you need more than a coupla gallons in that rust bucket of yours, huh?"

He put the key back on the hook, handed over the money, and went back to his truck. There was plenty of time to work out the details. It would be a night of magic, he was sure. Not only of dragons, but of orange fireballs, coarse black smoke, and screams.

He was soon to become a wizard. No one dared to insult a wizard.

-- ==+== --

"It's what they called a closed set, Kevvie," Dahlia said as she popped the last cookie in her mouth and dreamily masticated. "It means they don't want a bunch of folks hanging around gawking. Carlotta says it slows them down something terrible, what with someone sneezing during a real important moment, or blurting out a remark." She swallowed, brushed off the sparkles of sugar on her cavernous tent dress, and struggled to her feet. "We're gonna do it in the morning. Now I aim to practice, so you kin just run along and find somebody else to bother."

Kevin was aching inside worse than when he had the flu. He wasn't real clear which fellow was gonna smooch with his beloved, but he'd had a gander at all of them and they were all handsome, and probably rich enough to steal her heart with fancy candy and dozens of roses. Before he knew it, she'd be waving good-bye from the backseat of a limousine, and he'd be left standing in the ditch, choking on the dust.

"I said you kin run along," Dahlia repeated, interrupting this vision of gloom and despair. "I got to practice."

"Why can't I watch?"

"I don't want you to disturb my concentration. Carlotta said to stand in front of a mirror, not in front of some jealous fellow who doesn't understand about actresses and how they do things because they're in a movie."

A plan crept into Kevin's mind. It did so slowly, as most everything did, but it kept inching along and growing bigger and bigger until it was throbbing like a boil. It was risky. It was more dangerous than stealing a watermelon from Perkins's patch behind his house. But he was tormented by his vision, and he was, in his own eyes, a knight in shiny armor with a maiden in dire need of defendin'.

"What's the matter with you?" the maiden snapped. "You look bumfuzzled like you got knocked up the side of the head with a two-by-four."

He had his pa's car. Time was running short. Iff'n he ever hoped to marry his betrothed and live in a cozy mobile home, have a hot supper waiting for him when he came home from work, treat his dumpling to supper at Ruby Bee's when they could afford it, be a proud papa, and live happily ever after in such sublime bliss, he had to act. Iff'n he failed, he'd be left reading about her in People magazine and watching her on the screen at the picture show.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, "that you might like a hot fudge sundae before you commence practicing. It won't take but a little bit, and I promise I'll bring you right home so you can work in front of the mirror." When she hesitated, he added, "I'm so proud of you that you can have extra whipped cream and my cherry."

"And you'll bring me home without any sass about lightning bugs and Boone Creek?" she asked, puckering her lips and regarding him suspiciously.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Well, I don't see any harm in that." She went into the house and visited the bathroom long enough to make a face at the mirror. This time she did look somewhat excited, although it might have been at the prospect of extra whipped cream.

Had she but known what lurked in Kevin's mind, she would have made a face uglier than death's grandmaw.