10 A Script for Danger (11 page)

I had no idea how long Ronan had been back in River Heights, so I couldn't risk revealing my true identity. When I'd left the message with his mother, I'd given my name as Alison. Bess had convinced Raina to lend us a black wig from the costume trailer, claiming that I was considering a “new look” and wanted to see a preview before permanently dying my hair.

Bess walked me to my car, trying to convince me that I needed some lipstick even though I felt sufficiently disguised. However, she stopped prodding when we bumped into Shea pacing near the parking area. He looked sweaty and pale.

“Is Lali down here?” he whispered.

“No,” I replied. “I think she's still on set. What's wrong?”

“It's just . . . someone is looking for her.” Shea pointed. I followed his gaze just in time to see a
woman—the same one I'd seen arguing with Mayor Scarlett on day one—getting out of her car.

“Is that Roberta Ely?” I wondered aloud. Shea nodded.

Roberta Ely stomped from the parking area toward the trailers, her arms swinging at her sides, like a bull raring to attack.

“She looks . . . rather upset,” Bess commented.

“That's an understatement,” Shea said. “She drove up and immediately began howling about how Lali called her while she was at work and made her come all the way out to the middle of nowhere. I better warn someone before she makes a scene!”

Shea scurried off behind Roberta Ely, who looked angry enough to push down the security guards in order to gain access to the set.

“Lali made
her
come
here
?” Bess repeated, incredulous. “Why would she do that?”

“It's strange for sure,” I said, but when I glanced at my watch, I realized I didn't have time to speculate. “I have to go. Ronan only has twenty minutes to meet with me.”

“George and I will let you know what happens with Roberta Ely,” Bess offered. “Are you okay with seeing Ronan alone?”

I nodded. “We're meeting in a café, so there will be plenty of people around.”

“Be careful!” Bess called. I jumped into my car and drove away.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the River Heights Café, I noticed a fit, bald man with round glasses emerging from a clunky red sedan with California license plates.
That must be him,
I thought. In appearance, Ronan and Alex were complete opposites. Where Alex was casual, Ronan seemed formal and put-together. He was wearing a pressed button-down shirt and creased slacks and carried a leather briefcase.

By the time I entered the café, Ronan was sitting alone at a table.

“Ronan Beale? Hi, I'm Alison from the RHU Alumni Committee.”

He rose and shook my hand warmly. “Alison! It's such a pleasure to meet you.”

He pulled out a chair for me and I sat down. If he was indeed guilty, he was the most gentlemanly criminal I'd ever encountered. The waitress returned with a coffee.

“Triple espresso,” she said, placing it in front of him, “and some chocolate-covered espresso beans.”

“That's a lot of caffeine!” I observed.

“That's what we do best!” the waitress chirped. “Would you like anything, miss?”

I shook my head politely. By the time the waitress had walked away, Ronan had already finished his espresso. He noticed me looking curiously at his empty cup.

“I'm on this new project, and the hours are intense. I was up all night!” he explained.

“Well, I'll make this quick,” I said with a smile. Close up, I could see the physical effects of Ronan's sleeplessness; his glasses actually magnified the deep rings under his eyes.

“By the way, it's such a small world. I realized I'm friends with another filmmaker from your graduating class, Alex Burgess,” I began, curious to see Ronan's reaction to hearing Alex's name.

“Alex . . . ,” Ronan sputtered, clearly nervous. “You should have mentioned that on the phone.”

“Why?” I asked.

Ronan paused. “He's a great guy. Talented, too,” he went on, “but we've had . . . differences . . . in the past.”

“Oh?” I said innocently, hoping to get him talking.

“Off the record . . . ,” he began.

“Yes, of course,” I promised.

“Alex and I used to be writing partners. To make a long story short, it ended because I tried to take credit for something that he wrote.” He sighed. “I'm not proud of it, but Alex is a better writer than me, and that made me crazy. I would work the same number of hours as he did—sometimes more—but couldn't come up with a single premise. Meanwhile, Alex could generate a hundred ideas in just fifteen minutes.”

“That must have been frustrating,” I said. “Are you friends now?”

Ronan shook his head. “He hates me. I understand why, but . . . we were friends for a long time before moving to Los Angeles.” Ronan's eyes misted over. “I wish we could put this behind us, but he refuses to speak to me.”

“Have you tried to contact him since you've been in River Heights?” I pressed. “You know he's also here shooting
The Hamilton Inn
, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, that's enough about Alex,” Ronan declared. “You want to know about what I'm doing now, right?”

“Yes, of course!” I exclaimed. “What is this mystery project that's keeping you up at all hours?”

“I'm not writing anymore. I'm an editor now,” he said proudly.

“What does that entail?”

“The editor gets all the film footage from the set, then assembles it in the correct order to make the final movie. It's like putting together a puzzle! After that,
we add the music and the titles, making the film look like what you see in the theater. They say that a director gets to make his or her film three times: once during the writing process, once while filming, and then again in the editing room.” I could tell how excited Ronan was with his new choice of career. “I'm also doing visual effects, which is something I've always been interested in,” he added.

“Are you working on a feature right now?” I asked.

Ronan's phone beeped, and he glanced down to read it.

“It's a documentary, actually,” he replied. “In fact, I should be getting back to work now. Was that enough information for you?”

“Yes, thank you. I'll call if I have any other questions,” I said. He pulled some bills from his wallet, then paused.

“Does Alex know you're meeting with me?”

“I haven't mentioned it to him,” I answered. “Do you not want me to?”

“Oh, no. It's fine. Just tell him . . . tell him I'm
sorry,” Ronan mumbled, and scurried out into the parking lot.
He's in a hurry,
I thought as I watched Ronan's banged-up red car chug toward the traffic on Main Street.

As I drove back to the set, I grew increasingly skeptical about Ronan. He was an obvious suspect—a former rival who had been, and maybe still was, admittedly jealous about Alex's success. As Bess had pointed out, it was too much of a coincidence that Ronan happened to be back in River Heights at the exact time that Alex was shooting his film here. Plus, I was curious about this mysterious project that was keeping Ronan up all night. I decided to ask Alex about it as soon as I had the chance.

Of course, when I returned to the set I couldn't approach Alex because he was still preoccupied with directing the first scene. At least there hadn't been any near deaths in my absence. I tracked down George and Bess at base camp and filled them in. They agreed that there was likely more to Ronan's story than he'd shared.

“I wonder if his mystery project is the sabotage!” Bess cried.

“That's what I'm thinking,” I replied.

Meanwhile, my friends didn't have anything new to report on the Roberta Ely front; apparently she and Lali had been holed up in Lali's trailer since I left. We agreed that whatever the reason for their meeting, it wasn't friendly. If Lali was simply telling Roberta Ely that she was going to cancel the graveyard scene, why would she want to do that in person? It wasn't like Lali had the time to sit around and have a long chat.

“Hey, Omar! Wait!” Cora called out.

“Is that Omar over there?” she asked as she raced past us. She pointed at the shaggy brown head retreating toward the bathrooms. I squinted in his direction.

“I think that's Spencer, actually,” I said, recognizing his black fleece vest.

“They look really similar from behind!” Bess pointed out. “I made that mistake yesterday.”

“Omar said he would set up an interview for me with Brian, but I can't find him!” Cora fussed.

“I'm right here, Cora.” Brian's voice came from behind us. I turned to see him sitting on a chair several yards away with weights strapped to his ankles, pumping his legs up and down. “Interview away!”

“Oh, there you are!” Cora flashed a toothy grin and turned on her camera.

“So what are you doing, Brian?”

“Just a little leg workout between takes,” he responded with a wink. “It's important to keep limber and warm so that I can move fluidly.”

George rolled her eyes and under her breath mumbled, “Show-off.”

“Cora,” Brian said, “I know I've asked you this, and Alex said we had to wait till after we finish shooting, but maybe you can give me some of your footage—the behind-the scenes stuff? I won't distribute it or anything, but I want to show my mom what it's like to be a lead actor in a film!”

Cora cocked her head to the side. “I'll convince Alex and Lali. Don't worry.”

“Great!” Brian exclaimed. “It's embarrassing, but
she has been
begging
—and nobody says no to Mama Newsome.”

“
Psst!
Nancy!” Omar hissed, coming up behind me. “Have you heard anything about the announcement?”

“No . . . what are you talking about?”

“Nysa just told me that Lali is going to make a big announcement during lunch!” He paused. “I thought that as a journalist you might have some sort of scoop.”

“Um, unfortunately not,” I replied. “Did she say what it was about?”

Omar looked absolutely terrified. “No, but what if she's canceling the film?” He shuddered at the thought. “Brian's career would be dead! And then so would mine!”

I looked over at Brian, who was soaking up Cora's attention as he talked her through the best ways to get fit while sitting down. If he was aware of the rumors, he didn't seem too concerned. Come to think of it, Brian had been handling all the chaos extremely well. He was utterly unflappable.

As soon as Omar had ducked away to give Brian his green juice, I turned to my friends. “Whatever Lali is going to announce probably has something to do with Roberta Ely,” I whispered.

We kept a close eye on the door to the production trailer until Roberta Ely walked out about twenty minutes later. I almost didn't recognize her, because for the first time 
. . . she looked happy.

BY THE TIME LUNCH ROLLED
around, rumors were flying. As the cast and crew filed into the catering tent and lined up at the buffet, I heard all kinds of predictions about Lali's announcement.

“I think they're going to shut the whole thing down.” Nysa was panicked.

Omar had managed to ease his own anxieties, though. “That's just not possible. Brian would never let it happen,” he insisted.

“He's an
actor
, Omar!” Nysa cried. “It's not
up
to him!”

I knew better than to listen to gossip, but even I
couldn't fathom what Lali could have said to make Roberta so pleased. However, regardless of what had transpired in that trailer, I still had to continue my investigation.

Over the past few days, I had learned that the only way to grab a moment with Alex was to hover until he was alone and pounce before anyone else had a chance. I patiently stood aside and waited for him to finish speaking with the cinematographer. As soon as he was free, I ran up to him.