Anatomy of a Crossword (17 page)

Her almost obsessive need for seclusion had nothing to do with the fact that Shay lived with her mother. All right, maybe it did a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. But if anyone
ever
queried her on why a thirty-something actress would even
consider
sharing a home with her mom, Shay would have countered with a swift, “Because she's my best friend, that's why—besides being the most terrific cook in the entire universe! And while you're fighting with your current squeeze about who forgot to buy milk or whose audition went better, or worse, I'll be happily ensconced with someone who has always loved me.”

Leaving Cahuenga Boulevard (the actress' other peculiarity was a steady dislike of freeways) to begin following the twisting roads to home, San Marco to Deep Dell to Rinconia and El Contento, Shay considered what her mom's reaction to Chick's death would be, and what questions she'd ask about Debra Marcollo, and how, hopefully—under her wise and intuitive prodding—this horrible tragedy would begin to achieve some kind of perspective and maybe even a sense of peace.

Shay shivered, although the response wasn't due to the cooling air.
Poor Debra
, she thought.
What had driven her to shoot her boyfriend? Had she “snapped,” as some people suggested? Was she drunk and therefore not fully in control of her actions? Or had Chick badgered, criticized, or belittled her until she was no longer capable of thinking rationally? Or was she justifiably steamed because Chick hadn't held his part of their bargain and cast her in
Anatomy?
What causes an apparently “normal” person to take another human being's life?

But those questions were immediately overshadowed by her thoughts of
Poor Chick! A screenwriter on the cusp of fame, simply bursting with his sudden good fortune! New wheels, new home, new threads. Alive and at the top of your game one day, and the next
—
gone. Forever and ever and ever
.

Shay shivered again, then rolled down her window to feel the evening breeze and smell the fresh and pungent scent of the eucalyptus trees. As the night air blew into the car, her “blonde” locks lifted slightly, billowing upward in delicate strands, precisely the way the true Belle's hair moved. The wig was a good one; it looked and behaved exactly like living human hair, and Shay's reaction was to brush the hair away with the quick, impatient gesture of a pretty woman who has better things to do than spend time on her appearance. The action was a faithful copy of one Belle had used a thousand times.

The man in the vehicle following Shay's noted this replicated gesture. He'd been tailing the blonde woman since she'd left the studio parking lot, and this was the first time he was absolutely certain he'd been pursuing the right person. Her final destination was the only thing he found surprising.

As Shay distractedly opened and closed the electronic door of her garage, and her mother called out her habitually cheery words of greeting, the original Belle just as dispiritedly turned toward Sara with her own poor effort at an affable smile. The two women were ensconced in Sara's suite at their hotel in Santa Monica waiting for Rosco to return from his evening run before they ventured out to find some dinner. And Sara, never one to remain silent, was enthusing about her first day on the set and the “pivotal scene” she'd already shot.

“… Oh, I believe I truly have found my métier, dear!” she gushed. “Dean says I'm a natural-born actress. Now, it's possible that he's simply being kind, but still …”

Belle's smile stretched wider and thinner. Not for anything in the world would she rain on Sara's parade, no matter what Lew Groslir had dictated concerning her dealings with the older lady.

“Imagine, at my age! A new career … Why, who knows what the future has in store? You know Dean—and that rather charming Lew Groslir fellow—were both mentioning the word
Emmy
… Well, more than mentioning, if the truth be told. The two men seem to feel our little vehicle may just be worthy of industry recognition, which would be a fitting reward for poor Mr. Darlessen.” Sara cocked her head to one side as she studied Belle, noticing for the first time her unaccustomed reticence and unease. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Fine, Sara,” Belle lied. “A little tired, that's all.”

The older woman, chiding her gently, recommended vitamins, exercise, and a decent meal while Belle responded with a number of dutiful nods.

“And, no doubt you're upset over Mr. Darlessen's death. Everyone is,” Sara continued. “Well, of course, it's a terrible, terrible shock. And that poor girl who killed him … What an awful tragedy.”

Belle nodded again, then rallied. “Which scene was it Dean had you do today?”

Sara brightened immediately. “The one where I'm toying with the crossword while you and Rosco are upstairs examining the murder scene.”

“You're sitting near the fireplace in the inn's main sitting area, the dead man's widow is fighting with his business partner's wife, and you're feigning disinterest—”

Sara's blue eyes sparkled with pleasure and pride. “All I did was look at the puzzle and pretend not to hear them squabbling … Dean said it was a ‘brilliant and understated performance—quite remarkable in a novice'! Those were his exact words … I think both Carol Von Deney and Ginger Bradmin were miffed that I received so much praise. Although, I must admit, Belle, I owe some of my successful
faux
concentration to you … all those Shakespearean references you wove into the crossword. I really did enjoy hunting for the clues.”

Belle stared at her friend. “What Shakespearean references?”

“The ones from
As You Like It
.” Sara reached into her script bag and pulled out the puzzle. “Props said I could keep this copy, as they'll be using fresh ones for subsequent scenes.”

Belle took the crossword. The grid was identical to the one she'd created for the show, but like the word game that had welcomed her to Los Angeles, the clues were entirely different.

IT'S JUST A STAGE

Across

1. Petites; abbr.

4. Greek letter

7. Later; abbr.

10. Tiny

13. Dose; med. abbr.

14. Mr. Torn

15. “… lend me your___”

16. “For Love of___”

17. Orlando's vehicle

20. “___no evil …”

21. Mr. Butler

22. Siouan

23. Polanski film

24. “… sans___ …”, re: 61–Across

26. Bat material

27. Mayday

28. Likely

29. Vegas lead-in

31. Shakespearean oath

34. Mr. Cassini

36. What's “Blowin' in the Wind”

37. ——Jima

40. “… the men and women merely___”, re: 61–Across

42.___–Cat

43. Sends a wire

45. Restaurant offering

46. Slacker

47. Deal memo; abbr.

48. Summer drink

51. Power group

52. Clear tables

54. The third age, re: 61–Across

56. Beineix film

58. Light filter

59. ___
Man

60. Mr. Amin

61. The stage, in 17–Across

65. Classic car

66. 2001 computer

67. ___
–Eyed Jacks

68. ___the line

69. Sunbathe

70. Ms. Irving

71. Asner and Ames

72. Mr. Barrett, of Pink Floyd

Down

1. Laconian capital

2. Accident

3. Trickiest

4. Mr. Capote

5. Ache

6. News org.

7. “… sans___ …”, re: 61–Across

8. Scott of
Happy Days

9. Mr. Carney

10. “Full of___and modern instances:”, re: 61–Across

11. Arden and others

12.“… sans___ …”, re: 61–Across

18. Six-time home run champ

19. Delivers a ten count

23. Costumes

25. Romeo & Juliet

26. Lost

27. Arousing

30. ___
Well That Ends Well

32. TV room

33. Sold out of seats; abbr.

35. Gold's arena?

36. Florence's river

37. Here in France

38. Tobacco ball

39. “… and mere …”, re: 61–Across

41. Slippery ones

44. Ms. Home

48. Turns away

49. Send out

50. Ate away

52. “In fair round___ …”, re: 61–Across

53. Maximum; abbr.

55. Spanish gold

56. What gossips dish

57. “What's the big___?”

58. Type of fan mag

61. Surprised reaction

62. Garden tool

63.
Howards
___

64. Mr. Craven

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

CHAPTER 20

“No, Rosco, I
didn't
explain to Sara that I hadn't created the
It's Just A Stage
crossword. How could I? Truthfully, I didn't know what to tell her—especially in light of Lew Groslir's diatribe and his insistence that I keep her in the dark.” Belle's shoulders were hunched, and her spine curved with what looked to Rosco like a sign of defeat. She sighed, then seemed to sink deeper into unhappy meditation while beneath her the bed's quilted blue coverlet appeared equally depressed. Both person and object looked as if all the stuffing had been pummeled out of them.

Rosco walked across the hotel room. He sat beside his wife, took her hand, and said, “I think you need to put all of this junk out of her head. Relax and go with the flow. It's the L.A. way.”

“I'm trying to, but everything seems to just keep
fwapping
back at me.”

“Fwapping? Fwapping?
That's a word?”

Belle smiled—barely. “You know what I mean … Just when I'm trying to deal with Chick's death, when we all are, Groslir's
gross
vitriol comes along … And then I make nice, only to find that someone's tampering with the crossword Darlessen had me construct for the show.”

“But
fwapping
's not a real term?” Rosco persisted.

“No … well, I don't believe so.”

Rosco let out a small laugh as he slipped his other arm around Belle's waist. “Since when don't you know if a word is or is not the genuine article? This is sounding like serious meltdown to me.”

Belle tried to smile again, but the effort was curtailed as tears came to her eyes. “Maybe I just don't care anymore, or maybe words just don't seem that important right now …” She shook her head. “First Chick … and then this Lew business … and all those threats about contracts. This isn't fun, Rosco. I've never had someone fight with me like that.”

“No, it isn't fun …” He held her close, and the two remained silent for some minutes.

Outside their window, Ocean Avenue was also devoid of human sound. Dinner between the threesome of Belle, Rosco, and Sara was long since past. The older woman, still glowing with excitement and newfound stardom, had been safely tucked into her neighboring suite while the light drizzle that had kicked up earlier as they'd strolled along the Third Street Promenade had turned into a full-fledged winter rain. The spattering of drops against the glass was a noise Belle ordinarily found comforting. Tonight it had the reverse effect.
The rainy season in L.A. Who knew there was such a thing?
she thought.

“No, it's not fun,” Rosco reiterated at length. “And I'm sorry I wasn't there when Groslir started attacking you. I probably would have punched him in the nose.”

“Which would have landed us in the middle of a lawsuit.” Belle sighed afresh. “‘I'll sue your butt' seems to be the phrase of choice around Hollywood.”

“Okay,” Rosco said after another momentary lull. “Let's take a look at what's really going on here.”

“One homicide, one overly aggressive movie producer, two weird crosswords, and two peculiar accidents.”

“Leaving Chick, Groslir, and Nan aside for the moment,” Rosco said as he kicked off his shoes and flipped them across the room, “why don't we start with the crosswords, which truthfully don't seem remotely sinister to me … Or, to be honest, even
connected
to the other situations. You had the
Greetings!
puzzle first, and then this Shakespeare deal that Sara was handed today, neither of which seem any more suspicious than regular fan mail … Given the fact that you're out here as a celebrity in your own right—”

“I know, they're legit expressions of respect, and I shouldn't worry.” Although Belle's reply seemed in agreement with Rosco's suggestion, her tone indicated the opposite was true.

“I'm not saying don't worry about the other issues. I'm simply suggesting we separate the crosswords from anything else connected to
Anatomy
.”

“Okay …”