10 A Script for Danger (7 page)

She took a breath before responding, and for a
moment, I noticed a crack in Kendall's well-groomed demeanor. “I mean, yeah, of course. It was a great opportunity for him. Plus, the studio is hoping it will be a franchise, meaning that Brian could have been in three or four or however many
Blue Ranger
films they decide to make.”

For all of Kendall's less appealing characteristics, she did seem to sincerely care about Brian. The question was: How far she would push him along the career path she deemed appropriate?

“But he turned down the
Blue Ranger
movie because of
The Hamilton Inn
,” I continued.

“He told you that?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Was it supposed to be a secret?” I asked, surprised.

“No, no. I just didn't realize he . . . whatever. It's over now. And who knows, maybe people will want to watch this little movie. Excuse me.” She stepped away and checked her phone, which clearly wasn't ringing.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

“She's not as bad as you think.” Cora and her camera seemed to magically appear beside me. She nodded
toward the retreating Kendall, who was still fiddling with her phone.

“Oh yeah?” I was used to Cora's complaints, but this was the first time I'd heard her utter anything resembling a compliment. “How do you know?”

“She spoke to one of my film classes in Los Angeles,” Cora said. “She's pretty smart—once you get past that whole phony act.”

“What's the best way to do that?” I asked, confounded.

Cora ignored my question and pressed record on her camera, indicating that our brief discussion was over.

Meanwhile, Alex grew more perturbed. “Where
is
Zoë?” he demanded. “I thought she was on her way to the set like, ten minutes ago.”

Brian, steady as ever, replied, “She's coming—look.”

I heard rapid footsteps crunching through the leaves behind me. When Zoë appeared, her eyes were red and puffy. Shea followed her, scrambling to keep up.

“I am so sorry for holding you up!” Zoë wailed.

Alex seemed taken aback by her overwhelming show of emotion. “It's fine,” he assured her. “Are you . . . okay?”

She clearly wasn't. Shea stepped in to explain, his voice shaking. “If anyone sees a turquoise pendant—”

“I'll pay a reward!” Zoë interrupted. “It was my grandmother's, and it's my lucky charm. She gave it to me before she died. I've looked everywhere. The box is still there, but the pendant is just . . . gone. Someone must have taken it from my trailer while I was in hair and makeup.” She choked back a sob.

“What did it look like?” I asked.

“A turquoise heart, about an inch wide all around,” she replied with a sniffle.

Brian draped his arm around Zoë's shoulders. “I'm sure we'll find it. Are you okay? Do you need a minute before we get started?”

Zoë shook her head. “I'm fine. Thanks, Brian. Let's just begin. But everyone who can, please keep looking for it!” A makeup artist jumped in to wipe streaks of mascara from Zoë's cheeks.

I wanted to stay on the set, so I texted Bess:
ARE YOU STILL NEAR THE TRAILERS? ZOË'S NECKLACE WAS STOLEN!

OH NO!
came Bess's response.
I'LL STAY HERE AND LOOK FOR CLUES
.

As soon as Zoë was ready, Alex walked through the scene with both actors while Spencer made some final adjustments to the lights.

“Rehearsal's up. Quiet on set!” Nysa announced.

Alex threw his hands up in exasperation. “Hey, Cora, want to move back a bit?” he shouted. “You're in the way of the
real
camera.”

Cora repositioned herself, but I could see her lips forming angry words under her breath.

“And action on rehearsal!” Nysa cried out.

I used the mandatory silence to think over the case against Cora. I had seen her filming Zoë in the hair and makeup trailer; it was possible that she had been shooting Zoë in her own trailer as well, giving her time to nick the necklace. Cora was also the only person I'd seen enter the production office right before the
threatening note appeared. Plus, as a film student she would know how to identify which costume to sabotage. And maybe she had recruited someone else to engineer the fake blood and the fireworks while she filmed the reception.

But as I watched Cora behind the camera, gazing at Brian eagerly, I started to question that theory. Even though Cora had issues with her brother, she sure loved Brian. Why would she want to shut down his film?

My mind was spinning, so I tried to concentrate on Zoë's remarkable performance.

Right after Alex yelled, “CUT!” however, Bess and George jogged up to me.

“Any news from base camp?” I asked, employing the term that I'd heard crew members using to describe the area where the trucks and trailers were parked.

Bess shook her head. “Everyone's just running around looking for that pendant.”

“What about this morning? Did you lose track of Cora at any point?”

“Cora didn't go into Zoë's trailer,” George remarked,
reading my mind. “We were watching her the whole time.”

I sighed. This case already had more twists and tangles than Alex's screenplay.

To prepare for the next shot, a few crew members were placing pieces of metal track on the ground.

“That thing is cool!” George exclaimed when she saw it. “It looks like part of a carnival ride.”

“It's called a camera dolly,” said Lali, coming up behind us. “I'll tell you all about it for your article. . . .” She trailed off as she led us to the side of the inn, away from prying eyes and ears.

“We need to figure out what's going on, Nancy,” Lali said urgently. “These pranks are slowing down the shoot, and a police investigation will only make it worse. We're already over schedule, which means we are over budget. If this prankster strikes again, we may not have enough time or money to finish this movie. I need to know what you've got so far.”

“We've identified several possibilities—” I began, but Lali cut me off.

“Wait a minute! Ronan Beale!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I can't believe I didn't think of him before!”

“Who's that?” George asked.

“Ronan is Alex's old college friend and former writing partner,” Lali explained. “A few years ago they got in a fight and stopped speaking. Then, last year—just when we had started casting
The Hamilton Inn
—Ronan threatened to sue Alex because he claimed the story was actually his idea.”

“That's a motive if I've ever heard one
,”
I said, growing excited.

“Where is Ronan Beale now?” Bess asked.

“He lives in Los Angeles,” Lali replied, suddenly deflating. “Would he really fly all the way out here just to mess with Alex? That would be completely insane.”

“I've seen suspects go to much greater lengths to get revenge,” I said. “Do you have any way to get in touch with him?”

Lali nodded. “I'll give his agent a call right now.” Before she could, her phone started ringing.

“It never ends!” She shook her head. “I'll get you that number in a minute.” As she walked away to take the call, I asked George to look up Ronan Beale on her phone. I couldn't help but overhear how agitated Lali sounded; whoever was on the other end of her phone call was clearly upsetting her.

“She can't do that!” Lali hissed. “Can she? Well, fine then. I don't know what to say!” She hung up, and then turned to face the three of us.

“That was someone from Mayor Scarlett's office,” Lali muttered. “Apparently, Roberta Ely has filed an official petition to have our shoot removed from the fairgrounds!”

AS THE SECOND DAY OF
shooting wound to a close, the set moved to a room inside the inn. The sun had gone down, leaving a lingering chill in the air. Since there wasn't much space indoors, many crew members had retreated to the warmth of their trailers. Meanwhile, Bess, George, and I sat on plastic chairs in video village, huddled under fuzzy blankets.

Lali had been on the phone all afternoon trying to negotiate with Ms. Ely, but she wasn't getting anywhere. Despite this new wrinkle in the case, I was having a hard time accepting the idea that Ms. Ely was
responsible for the pranks. She certainly wanted to shut down
The Hamilton Inn
, but she was pursuing her goal through legitimate channels. Even if I was willing to entertain the idea that she had planted an accomplice on the set to carry out these acts of sabotage, it led me right back to the same perplexing question: Who?

I was also intrigued by the idea of Ronan Beale, Alex's embittered former writing partner. Google hadn't turned up much on him, and though Lali had left messages for his agent, there wasn't yet any response.

“Let's see if we can get anything else out of Sal,” George suggested.

“Like more food?” Bess chided her cousin.

“Okay, okay, so our visit to the craft service table may serve a dual purpose,” George admitted.

As Bess stood up, George studied her cousin's ensemble more closely. Bess had worn another pastel dress today, but when the temperature dropped, she'd borrowed a sweatshirt from the costume trailer and abandoned her prim sandals for a pair of galoshes, the only shoes Raina had in Bess's size.

“I just realized what your outfit reminds me of, Bess,” she said, suppressing a smirk.

“What?” Bess asked innocently.

“It's what Cinderella would wear on a fishing trip!” George snorted.

“Better than looking like one of the pirates who attacks her,” Bess retorted. Even though she likes feminine things, Bess is one tough cookie.

“Cinderella, fishing, pirates . . . this is starting to sound like the plot of a weird Disney movie,” I said, laughing along with them.

We arrived at the craft service table to discover that once again Sal had abandoned his post. He hadn't refilled the candy bowls either, prompting a frustrated “Harrumph!” from George.

“Nysa to Sal,” came a disembodied voice. I jerked my head around before quickly realizing that it was just Sal's walkie-talkie, which he had left on the craft service table.

“Should we try to find him?” Bess wondered aloud. Before we could decide, Shea appeared.

“Where's Sal? He's not answering his walkie and we need hot cider. The actors are freezing!”

Since Sal was nowhere to be found, the three of us helped Shea look for the hot cider mix in his messy van. It truly was a disaster: disorganized boxes of snacks, some open, some empty; a large crate simply marked
FRUIT AND STUFF
; and soda cans flung everywhere.

“This looks like George's bedroom,” Bess remarked.

George scowled at her.

“Hey!” Sal's gruff voice came from behind us. “Get away from my van!”

“Well, we couldn't find you, and Nysa is calling for hot cider on set,” Shea said defensively.

“Tell Queen Nysa to be patient for once in her life. I'm bringing it,” Sal barked. “Now scoot!” He turned to Bess, George, and me. “That includes you three!” he grunted.

Shea pulled us away. “I think it's best to stay out that angry old man's way right now,” he advised.

Back on set, the camera team was setting up outside the front door of the inn. Omar stood by holding a
thermos of green juice, Brian's script, and two blankets. As usual, he seemed to be struggling to keep everything balanced, even though I noticed he had started carrying a backpack to ease the load.

“Need some help?” I asked as the three of us approached him.

“It's my job,” he insisted, but I could tell he was tired, so I took the blankets from him anyway. He didn't protest.

“Brian is lucky to have such a devoted assistant,” I offered. “It seems stressful, especially with all these pranks.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Omar mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “Sometimes people don't realize how hard this job can be.”

“So, is Brian really demanding?” I asked.

“
All
assistant jobs are difficult,” Omar said defensively. “But I love working for Brian! He gives me career advice all the time.”

“You're an actor too?” I tried to conceal the surprise in my voice.

Omar nodded. “I was Brian's understudy in a play last summer, and he offered me this job to help me learn the acting ropes. I haven't had much time to audition since I started working for him, but I keep telling myself that it'll pay off in the end. Kendall C. Rose knows who I am now, at least.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bess.

“I want her to sign me. You know, as a client!” Omar exclaimed.

“But
why
? She's so—so—” George continued to sputtered.