Murder, She Wrote (9 page)

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I wasn't looking at the set. It was a hot set. I just got the case, replaced the mount, and wheeled it out of here.”

“Was anyone else with you?” Mort asked.

“Sunny was. She followed me inside.”

“Why?” Mort and I asked at the same time.

Zee shrugged his shoulders. “She wanted to talk. Don't tell Eric, but I think she's hot for me.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“She's always trailing me around, trying to get me to talk to her.”

“Do you encourage her?” I asked.

“She's too young for me, but I don't
dis
courage her. She's a cute chick. It's flattering.”

“And neither of you saw the dead body sitting in the chair on the set.”

Zee shook his head. “Sunny was looking at me and I was packing the camera mount, and then we left. It's a little weird, now that I think of it.”

“You think?” Mort said, pocketing his pencil. “I don't have any more questions. Mrs. F., do you?”

“Not at the moment.”

Mort turned back to Zee. “You can take off now, but don't leave town in case I want to talk to you again.”

“I'll be here for a while, Sheriff. I understand we're still making the movie.”

“Who told you that?” Mort asked.

“Elovitz. He said he was just waiting for you to take down the yellow tape. As soon as he can have the set cleaned up, we'll be good to go.”

“I'm still thinking about it,” Mort said. “I'll let him know.” He waved his hand as if shooing Zee away. “Use the door you came in by, and make sure it locks behind you.”

As Zee sauntered to the front of the hangar, Mort said to me, “I have to have a talk with Jed. Hope he didn't unlock the front door for anyone else while I've got a deputy guarding the back one.”

I shivered. “It's terrible to think of Zee and Sunny in here with her mother dead in a chair on the set.”

“How did they not see her?” Mort said.

“The lights were off and the chair was turned around,” I reminded him. “You and I didn't see her even when Elovitz turned on the lights. She was facing the other way.”

Mort pursed his lips and blew out a stream of air. “If you don't mind, Mrs. F., I'd like you to ask Sunny about what they were doing in here. She'll be more comfortable talking to you than me. See if her story matches up to his.”

“I don't mind,” I said. “I'll ask around for her when we leave.”

Mort walked to the edge of the set, pulled off the yellow tape, rolled it up into a ball, and flung it to the side. He stood with his fists on his hips, eyes scanning every inch of the imitation office. “Want to take a last look at the set before I clear it for use?”

“Let's do that,” I said.

Mort and I had hunted for some evidence—a bullet hole, for instance—that the murder had taken place on the set. I'd even gone through all the drawers in the desk designed to mimic the one in Judge Jacob Borden's office. Oddly, the set decorator had filled them with fake legal files and folders containing sheaves of papers that looked like they'd been taken from the recycle box in the production office. I'd flipped through each page in hopes of discovering the cryptic note sent to Vera, but found nothing. After a half hour, we abandoned the hangar.

“I should be hearing from the SBI soon,” Mort said, referring to the Maine State Bureau of Identification. “I'll let you know what they say about the chair.”

We agreed to meet later in the day, and I began my search for Sunny. While Mort went off to find Mitchell Elovitz to tell him his set was cleared for use again, I hunted around the trailers to see if I could track down Vera's daughter. I couldn't let go of the image of her playfully flirting with Zee not thirty feet from her mother's body. It made me shudder.

“
H
i! I'm looking for Sunny,” I said to the ladies inside the wardrobe and makeup trailer. “She's a production assistant. Do you know her?”

“Come on in,” one called out. “I can't hear you with the water running.”

“Thanks,” I said, climbing inside the double-length container on wheels, the front section of which was a mini beauty parlor that Loretta Spiegel would have loved. While the color scheme was not the seafoam green she had in mind, the compact salon had a sleek black porcelain sink built into a counter flanked by glass-doored cabinets holding a display of hairbrushes, combs, and scissors together with multiple bottles, cans, and tubes of every variety of hair product. Above the sink was a lighted mirror, and on the side of one cabinet hung a rack for electric appliances—hair dryer, curling iron, straightening press, and a few other gadgets I'd never seen before.

“Nice, huh?” said the lady who'd invited me inside. “Zee put it up for me.” She straightened the cord of a hair dryer.

She was a short, middle-aged woman with a strawberry blond beehive hairdo, which I imagine she hoped would make her appear taller. She wore a pink smock that had
AUDREY
embroidered on the patch pocket, gray slacks, and thick-soled sneakers. Her slightly younger colleague, in a blue smock with
KARLA
on the pocket, leaned against the makeup station opposite the sink. Clearly the “wardrobe” half of the duo, she had a measuring tape looped around her neck, and circling her wrist was an elastic band that held a big red pincushion. Her half of the vehicle was easily identified by the hanging racks of clothing that lined the walls leading to a sewing machine and a pair of adjustable dressmaker forms.

Audrey wrung out the towel she'd been washing in the sink and turned off the water. “Who did you say you were looking for?” she asked, as she proceeded to wipe down the black leather styling chair and its circular stand.

“Sunny Cee. She's a production assistant, about my height, pretty girl with long dark hair.”

Audrey shook her head. “Doesn't sound familiar. Do you know her, Karla?”

“Isn't she the one Walt Benson saw sneaking into Mr. Chattergee's trailer last night?” Karla said. “Can't believe he's preying on the young ones now that his ex is out of the way. You know her, Aud. The girl who was wearing the cowboy hat. You said what nice hair she has.”

“Is that who it was?” Audrey said, tsking. “I thought she was a sweet girl. Too bad. Probably trying to use her charm to move up in the world.”

“Charm? Is that what you call it these days?” Karla said. “And him, old enough to be her father.”

I had to bite my tongue not to tell them that Terrence Chattergee was indeed Sunny Cee's father, but it wasn't the place to reveal family connections.

“He may be old, but he's a handsome devil. Always was a ladies' man,” Audrey said, rinsing out her towel again and draping it over the faucet. “I bet Benson had his nose out of joint because she wouldn't fall into
his
arms.”

“May as well go for the gold if you're going to give away the goods,” Karla said. “Chattergee's gotta be rich. How many times has Benson been married?”

“Last I heard he's on his fourth.”

Karla counted on her fingers, “So that's three alimony payments not counting the palimony suit he lost. The man's gotta be broke.”

“Probably why he took this role. There's no sex appeal in it that I can see. Did you see him on the cover of
Hollywood Stars
? Now that's what I like a man to look like.”

While it appeared as if the wardrobe and makeup trailer could compete with Mara's Luncheonette in Cabot Cove as an epicenter of gossip, I had stopped by for a specific reason. I cleared my throat. “Have you seen her today?” I asked.

They both looked at me. “Who?”

“Sunny Cee.”

“Not today, but I've seen
you
around before,” Audrey said, giving me the once-over. “I always notice a good head of hair. Are you on the crew?”

“Script consultant,” I said, resisting the urge to touch one of the curls Loretta had given me. “I work with Hamilton Twomby. My name is Jessica Fletcher.”

Audrey cocked her head at me. “The mystery writer who wrote the book we're making a movie of?”

I nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” Audrey pointed at her pocket and Karla's. “You can see who we are.”

“Do I know Twomby?” Karla asked Audrey.

“He's that big bear with the funny beard, the one who always cuts in the buffet line.”

“Oh, yeah. I know who he is.” She looked at me. “What do you want the PA for?”

“She's the daughter of a friend. I just wanted to say hello,” I said. “Have you heard if the film is starting up again?”

“The latest rumor is that they're resuming filming on Friday. I haven't gotten the official word, yet,” Audrey said, “but I want to be ready just in case.” She nodded toward Karla. “Don't you have Benson and Brannigan coming in for a fitting?”

“Benson and Brannigan. They sound like a law firm,” Karla said. “Only problem is I don't know what costume to have ready for Lois, the one I already fitted her for or the one Ms. Stockdale was wearing.”

“Is she taking over Ms. Stockdale's role?” I asked.

Karla shrugged. “They never tell me until the last minute,” she said.

“That must be difficult,” I said, “having to refashion a costume for another actress.”

“Oh, we do it every day,” Karla said. “At least Lois is patient. Ms. Stockdale would fidget all the time. Made it hard to get accurate measurements, and I always pricked my finger when I was fitting her.”

“I understand she missed an appointment with you,” I said, hoping to get her to offer more information about Vera Stockdale.

“Yeah, but I wasn't surprised,” Karla said. “I told Estelle she'd never show up. We had to chase her all over the lot for costume fittings.”

“She was always on time for me,” Audrey said with a grin.

“Because she loved the pampering. You made her beautiful. I just made her stand still, something she was barely capable of doing.”

“Did you two know her for a long time?”

“I never worked with her before,” Karla said, “but, Aud, weren't you on her first movie?”

“I was a PA then,” Audrey said. She pointed at Karla and herself. “We're a lot younger than she was.”

Karla burst out laughing. “Right! By what? Five years?”

“It's still younger, isn't it?” Audrey said, drawing herself up and smoothing the hair at the side of her head.

“Nice to be younger than someone,” Karla said and chuckled at her own joke.

“What was Ms. Stockdale like when you worked with her then?” I asked.

“Young. Gorgeous and well aware of it. She had Chattergee wrapped around her finger. His wife did not approve.”

“So what could she do?” Karla asked. “Throw a fit? A lot of good that would do.”

“She did more than that. She got Vera dropped from the picture.”

“No kidding. She must've been a powerful woman. What did Vera do then?”

“She laid low for months in Mexico, I heard, at some secluded resort. ‘Trying to get over her heartbreak,' the movie magazines said. Next thing you know, she's back in town and he casts her in the film again.”

“Didn't his wife have anything to say about that?” Karla asked.

“Not much,” Audrey said with a wink. “She was in Reno divorcing him.”

“And then, of course, he married Vera,” Karla put in. “Happy ending. Up come the credits.” She made a circle with her fingers.

“Yeah. But not for long, and not anymore.”

They were silent a moment, thinking of the murdered actress.

Audrey shook her head and took up her cloth again, wiping imaginary water off the counter. “Too bad,” she said.

“Did Vera have any friends on this film, apart from Estelle Fancy?” I asked her.

“I never saw her with anyone else,” she said. “Did you?” She looked at Karla.

“She struck me as a real loner,” Karla said. “I kind of felt sorry for her, even though she was supposed to be such a big star. Shame about what happened, though.” She shivered. “Kinda gives me the willies.”

“Are you concerned for your own safety?” I asked.

“Me? Oh, no. I get along fine with everyone. Besides, I've got a sweet little forty-five in my shoulder bag. Anyone comes at me, I'm ready for them. Right, Aud?”

“Right! I've got mine in here,” Audrey said, sliding open a deep drawer next to the sink. She poked around inside, peering under the towels. “Now where the heck did that thing go?”

“Is your gun missing?” Karla asked.

“I hid it right there,” Audrey said, a worried look in her eyes.

“When was that?” I asked.

Audrey shrugged. “When we got here. I never bothered to check again. I had no reason to look for it before.”

“So it could have been missing for some time,” I said.

“We're only here a couple of weeks. It can't be missing that long,” Karla put in. “You probably left it in your suitcase.”

“What kind of gun was it?” I asked.

“Nine-millimeter Glock nineteen. I could've sworn I put it here.”

“I recommend you tell the sheriff your gun is missing,” I said. “He'll want to know.”

“Sure. Sure. I'll give him a call,” Audrey said, closing the drawer.

“I was just thinking,” Karla said. “You know who would be perfect for the role, if they don't give it to Lois, that is. Sharon Stone. I worked with her once. She's the right age and even more beautiful than Vera was. And nice to boot.”

“I think Melanie Griffith could do it,” Audrey replied. “I like her spark.”

“Or Andie MacDowell. How about her?”

I left the hair and wardrobe ladies speculating about who might take over the role of the judge. They were so busy debating the relative merits of Vera's potential replacements that I doubt they noticed when I took my leave to continue my search for Sunny.

The field behind the airport resembled a large campground, one I had wandered through before, when I'd worked with Hamilton Twomby on our script. Beyond the rows of parked vehicles and what appeared to be repurposed cargo containers, I knew there was a large catering tent. It was coming up on lunchtime, and sure enough, there was a big crowd occupying the round tables and lined up at the buffet, a groaning board of salads and hot dishes, pastries and snacks that ran along two sides of the tent. Many of the tables inside that weren't hosting diners were occupied by cast and crew members playing cards or board games, or reading a book or newspaper; several unoccupied tables were littered with empty coffee containers. One section was cordoned off for smokers, and I was surprised to see so many young people still possessed that unhealthy habit.

I ambled undisturbed among the tables, seeking the daughter of the late movie star, and thinking that keeping this many unoccupied people busy all this time must be very costly for the film company. For some reason, I kept stopping to glance over my shoulder. I had the oddest feeling I was being watched. Was someone following me? I gazed around the tent but saw no familiar face.

I shook off the sensation and backtracked to the parking lot of trailers, looking for the long one that was Chattergee's. Even though Sunny had been working incognito, she had been spotted entering her father's trailer. Considering the circumstances, she'd probably bunked in with him, where she was assured of lodging and a sympathetic shoulder. Whether she would reveal their relationship to others in the crew remained to be seen.

When I passed behind Vera's trailer, I heard Cecil barking inside and breathed a sigh of relief.

I walked around to the front and saw that the door was ajar, with crime scene tape dangling from the handle. Perhaps Sunny had decided to stay in her mother's living quarters instead. She ought to have cleared it with the sheriff first, but I could understand. Being close to the belongings of someone you loved—and who had died—could be comforting. Memories of that person wearing a particular article of clothing, the familiar texture and scent of the fabric, could act as a balm for someone in mourning. I remembered with a pang how, many years ago, I desperately needed sleep after my husband, Frank, had died, and the only way I could close my eyes was if the pillow he'd slept on was under my cheek. Chattergee had clung to Vera's sweater after he'd learned of her death. Perhaps Sunny wanted to sleep in her mother's bed, surround herself with her mother's possessions, breathe in the fragrance of her perfume and makeup.

I knocked softly on the open door and heard Cecil bark again.
He must be in the bedroom with her,
I thought. I climbed the short staircase and entered the trailer. Cecil was still barking. I heard a voice say, “Shut up, you stupid dog or I'll lock you in the closet.”

That didn't sound like Sunny.

From where I stood, I could see that the bedroom door was open, but I couldn't see who was inside. I tiptoed down the hall and stopped at the entrance to Vera's bedroom. A woman was leaning over Vera's dressing table, the top of her head reflected in the mirror. I noticed there was a cord dangling from the bulging pocket of her jacket. The center drawer was open, and she was pawing through a box of the actress's jewelry, dropping some of the pieces into her pocket. The woman was Estelle Fancy.

Cecil was on the bed, growling, straining at his leash, which was tied around the bedpost. The closet doors stood open and Vera's clothes were strewn across the green silk coverlet, many of the pockets turned inside out. Seeing me, Cecil stopped growling. He lay down on Vera's robe, shoved his nose in one of the feather cuffs, and sneezed.