Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (10 page)

Solomon returned and said, “Cassidy Clarke and the other principals—see, I’m picking up the jargon, too—went off on a sightseeing venture to do some leaf-peeping. Flo Richardson said they’re with the studio driver. She overheard a bit of bickering, but it was about how long they dared stay away, and the driver said he’d have them at the site in time for their call. They left around oh seven-thirty.”

“So it’s possible they haven’t heard what happened,” Gordon said.

“Not unless someone called them, and cell reception out there sucks, so I’d say they don’t know or they’d have come back.”

“Mayor said I have to make a statement at the press conference, so let’s at least find a bone I can toss the vultures.” Gordon tapped the board. “To summarize. We have two events. A dead body and a break-in. Starting with the first. Marianna Spellman died, whether due to natural causes or a homicide, sometime between oh six-thirty and oh seven fifty-two, when Mai Phan found the body.”

He drew a circle on the board and wrote
M.S. RV
inside it. “What time did you and Dawson retrieve her paperwork?”

“I didn’t note the exact time, because there was nothing hinky about the RV, but I’d say it was between oh eight-fifteen and oh eight-thirty.”

Gordon wrote that down. “And, I discovered the break-in at oh ten-fifty-three, so it had to have happened between those times. That gives us a way to narrow down opportunity.”

“Are we assuming the same person did both?” Solomon said. “Could be two entirely different motives, two entirely different people. The lack of violence at Wardrobe doesn’t connect with the mess at Marianna’s office.”

“Point taken. Not happy to hear it, but it’s valid.”

“Would help if we had a motive. Or motives.”

“Doesn’t it always,” Gordon muttered.

“Shut down the production?” Solomon offered.

“I’d think there would be more effective ways to do that without resorting to murder,” Gordon said. “And it’s not a guarantee the production would be shut down. They’d bring in a replacement to do whatever it was Marianna did.”

“Granted. Someone had it in for Marianna for personal reasons?”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “No shit, Solomon. That really helps narrow it down. I think you’ve hit on the motive for almost every crime in history.” He paused. “But, seriously, when both Cassidy and Lily showed up, they looked like they could chew Marianna up and spit her out in tiny pieces. That passed quickly, though, and everything seemed copacetic between them.”

Gordon added their names to the front of the board, and Solomon added them to his own notes.

“In the spirit of continued speculation,” Solomon went on, “let’s say the motive is profession-related, since, as far as we know, there’s nobody here who admitted to having a personal relationship with our victim.”

“According to Ian Patrick, nobody would want Marianna’s job, but that’s his narrow perception,” Gordon said.

“But why would an actor want her job? Wouldn’t it be someone on the production side?”

“Okay, so not her job. Her laptop and purse are missing, so what about the
she had something I want
angle?”

“That one makes more sense to me,” Solomon said. “What I don’t like about it is if they wanted something in addition to her laptop and purse, and they found it and took it, we have no idea what it might have been. Could have been one stupid sheet of paper.”

“Like taking a piece of hay from the haystack.”

“Or, maybe her laptop was password protected, so they tried finding what they needed the old-fashioned way. Hard copy.”

“Her phone was unlocked,” Gordon reminded him. “If we’re going on the hypothesis that she popped over to wardrobe for a quick errand, she might have left her laptop accessible as well.”

“I’m sick of all these
ifs
and
mights
,” Solomon said.

“You are not,” Gordon said, laughing for the first time all day. “You love venturing into that world. What about you and your Deadbeat Dads? Nothing but
ifs
and
mights
.”

“Which reminds me, there was another killing, still unsolved, in Healdsburg, California, and
Paula’s Places
had a blog post from there. I’m working on another theory.”

Gordon had been through all that with Solomon before. Unsolved homicides weren’t unusual, and there were a lot of deadbeats out there. Having a travel blog that covered sites all over the country meant the law of averages would have them coinciding from time to time. “You can run it by me when we’ve made more headway here.”

Solomon didn’t seem to mind that his personal puzzle had been shoved aside. Again. He stood. “I’ll get the card out of my camera, see if I can compare the personnel papers we found in the trailer with the list I got. If they don’t all match, we’ll have another clue.”

“Get one of the civilian patrol guys on desk duty to enter that information into a database or spreadsheet. Scrolling through pictures is a time suck we don’t need.”

“Smart thinking. Guess that’s why you’re the Chief. On it.”

While Solomon was dealing with his tasks, Gordon snuck a minute to call Angie. “How’s it going?”

“Not great. They said they can’t waste any more time waiting around.” He heard the deflated tone in her voice. “They got their shots at Aspen Lake, and they can recreate a small town—and Daily Bread—on their own back lot or on a sound stage.” She sighed. “Besides, they changed the name of the diner for the movie, so it’s not like we’d get any advertising out of it.”

“Wait a minute. Back up. Did you say they were leaving?” It was still a crime scene, damn it. They couldn’t leave with potential evidence. Not without permission. Phone still at his ear, Gordon was already on his way to his car.

“I think so,” Angie said. “They’re packing up all the gear from the street scene. On the bright side, they’re going to let me have the sign they made as a memento. And, we still get paid, which will cover some improvements Ozzie and I have been wanting to make.”

“Is Dawson—the director—still there?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s commandeered half the diner as his personal office. Since we were going to be closed today anyway, he said he’s got the right to be here since—and I’m quoting him here—that
small town cop
has denied him access to his own office.”

Gordon didn't bother hiding his groan.

Gordon caught Solomon in the parking lot before he left. “Continue what you’re doing. I’m going to have a nice, long chat with Lionel Dawson.”

Gordon did the breathing exercises he’d learned when he’d been dealing with his eye issues earlier in the year. Storming into Daily Bread and confronting Dawson was not the right approach. Hear him out first. Angie’s information was second-hand. Or so he kept telling himself.

Slightly calmer when he arrived, he noticed the street was still blocked off, and although the movie crew seemed to be packing their gear, they were leaving it on the set. He swung around the block and checked the Village. Still barricaded, and one of his officers guarded each entrance.

Even calmer as he took in the orderly scene, Gordon parked on a side street, and with each step toward Daily Bread, shed his initial fury like a dog losing its winter coat. Ignoring the
Closed
sign, he tried the door. Open.

As Angie had proclaimed, Lionel Dawson had shoved a line of tables together, giving him an aircraft carrier of a desk to work at. However, most of the surface remained empty. He had his clipboard, a notepad, a tablet, and his cell phone, which occupied his attention at the moment. Some of the crew members sat around at other tables, most with cell phones or tablets. A few actually spoke to each other.

Gordon approached. “Your people are using cell phones. You
did
tell them to lay off communicating with the media, both social and otherwise, right?”

Dawson met Gordon's gaze. “Yes. And I trust them. My bet is they’re all playing games.”

After nodding to Jost, who’d been assigned
keep an eye on these people
duty, Gordon went to the kitchen where Angie and Ozzie were the only ones present. Or so he thought until a bird-like, gray-haired woman appeared from the walk-in refrigerator carrying a bowl of apples. Rose Kretzer? What was she doing here? She didn’t work for Daily Bread.

“Gordon,” Rose said, her eyes twinkling. “Isn’t this exciting? To think movie people are going to be eating my
apfelkuchen
.”

“We’re catering for the crew,” Angie said. “Rose volunteered to help out with desserts.”

Rose was Mapleton’s mother hen, and she made the best damn apple cake in the county.

“Crazy day, isn’t it?” Angie said. “Are you any closer to figuring out what happened?”

“Maybe a smidge.” He inhaled the aroma of Ozzie’s pulled pork. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with a sandwich for an overworked cop, would you?”

“Hmm.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I might scrounge something up for the Chief of Police. Coleslaw, potato salad, corn bread, beans?”

“Yes,” he said with a grin.

“You go do your thing with Mister Big Shot, and I’ll get you a plate. If you’re nice, maybe a piece of
apfelkuchen
for dessert.”

Gordon ambled to Dawson’s table and dragged a chair over. He stood across from the man, gripping the chair back, staring at him until the man disconnected his call. Dawson gave Gordon a narrow-eyed stare.

“Chief Hepler. Have you come to release my property?”

More like the studio’s property, but Gordon wasn’t going to pick nits. “Not yet, I’m afraid. I hear you’re planning to leave.”

“We’re on a tight schedule and an even tighter budget. I have a payroll to meet, and sitting around isn’t getting the job done. While I understand you have to investigate what happened in the Village, I’ve had to beat the bushes for other potential filming locations. If there are individuals whom you think are pertinent to your investigation, then they’ll stay. Likewise, I can see that Marianna’s RV and Wardrobe might still hold promising leads. However, we—and I’m speaking for the entire studio here as well—would appreciate it if you would allow us to retake possession of anything not directly related to your investigation.”

Sounded like the man had been talking to the studio’s legal department.

“Have you located your two stand-ins yet? Or heard from Yolanda?” Gordon asked, letting his tone convey things weren’t as simple as collecting evidence from a couple of trailers.

“I’ve been here, working, since you shut us down this morning. It’s quite possible they’ve returned but haven’t reported to me.”

“And who would they have reported to? They can’t access the Village, so they would want explanations for the police barricades, wouldn’t they? Or are they the sort of people who would simply go off on their own? Are those the sorts of people you have working for you?”

“First of all, they don’t work for
me
, they’re contracted by Vista Ventures to work on this picture. And there are several people down the food chain to whom they might have reported.”

“And those lower-on-the-food-chain people wouldn’t have informed you?” Gordon added a challenge to his tone. “You being the number one on this project, after all, or is someone else more important?”

Dawson laid his palms on the table, as if to rise. Apparently, seeing a man in uniform made him think better of it, because he leaned back in his chair. “We all answer to the studio, Chief Hepler. They’re on my case, and I apologize if I stepped over any lines. Of course we care about the people working for us.”

“Understood. Situations like this aren’t the norm for any of us, and we all respond differently.” Gordon lowered himself onto the chair. “I have a few questions.”

“Of course.” Dawson’s cell rang, and he reached for it.

“That can wait,” Gordon said. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can get back to your calls.”

Dawson bristled, but shoved the phone aside. “Very well.”

“Are you aware of any connections between your missing stand-ins and your missing wardrobe manager?”

“What?” Dawson said. “Connections? As in personal relationships?”

“That’ll do for a start.”

“You don’t understand the way things work. This isn’t like the old days, when a studio was a big happy family and everyone worked together on picture after picture. Everything is different for every production. They hire me to direct, I direct. I’m contracted for this project, and I work for a number of different studios. I’ve never worked with these principals before. I’ve worked with some of the behind-the-scenes people, but not enough to get touchy-feely with them. What they do off-camera is not my concern as long as it stays off-camera.”

“What about Yolanda? You work with her before?”

“No, at least not that I’m aware of. Unless there’s a problem, I don’t notice all the little people running around. Vista Ventures is new. It’s tiny by industry standards, and this is my first project with them. I signed on—as did the principals—because the project’s goal is to raise social awareness about clinical depression. A percentage of the take is being donated to charity to help find causes and cures. Nobody’s making big bucks on this one. Lily, Julie, and Damien are working for scale. Bart and Kathy are taking cuts as well, and Cassidy is donating his time. Vista goes on record as being one of the good guys, maybe gets more investors. Good PR for everyone, and some money to a good cause.” He spun his phone on the table. “And without this picture in the can, there won’t be that money to donate. Are we finished?”

“Almost. If I wanted to find out more about the personal relationships, the off-camera actions, who would I talk to?”

Dawson smirked. “Ah, you’re talking gossip. Try Isabella in hair and makeup. In my experience, that’s where the secrets are exchanged.”

“And where might I find her?” Gordon asked.

“How the hell should I know? Everyone’s free to wander since they can’t penetrate the barriers your officers have set up around the Village.”

Rather than ask Dawson for Isabella’s contact information, Gordon left the man to his work. As he turned away, he had a cross between a light bulb and a head-slap moment.

He called Solomon. “It occurred to me. Because there were no cell phones permitted on the set doesn’t mean people don’t have them now.”

“Duh,” Solomon said. “I didn’t think of that, either. I’ll try to call our three missing people.”

“Add Isabella, the hair and makeup lady. According to Dawson, she’s the keeper of the gossip.”

Angie called to him from the kitchen. “For here or to go?”

Gordon stepped to the counter. “If I say here, can I eat in the kitchen? It’s too—movie—in the dining room.”

“Sure.”

As he ate, he filled Angie in on what he could tell her, which was just about everything, since by now the entire town knew there’d been a death on the movie site.

“But you don’t have confirmation she was murdered, right?” she asked.

His mouth full of pork sandwich, Gordon nodded. He swallowed. “But we do have breaking and entering and maybe a burglary in Marianna Spellman’s RV office, which is something we have to investigate no matter what the cause of her death was.”

“Not as exciting, though,” Angie said.

“A homicide is the kind of excitement I can do without. The mayor’s afraid it’ll kill Mapleton’s economy. Not to mention his repeated reminders that there are loopholes in my contract given it was set up by the former mayor, and he’s been honoring it as a courtesy.”

“He can’t fire you, can he?” Concern filled Angie's blue eyes.

Hearing her voice what had been a minor niggle sent a dark wave of foreboding crashing over him. He went for a smile. “I hope not. I think he’d have to get the Town Council to back him, and so far, they seem to think I’m doing okay. But I need to get this case wrapped up before he decides he wants to make a move on the idea.”

“If it’s about the economy, I don’t think you need to worry. More like the opposite.” Angie refilled his water glass. “Everyone will want to come see where a movie person died. Probably would be even better if it had been an actor, not the production manager—not that I want anyone to die, of course. But you know what I mean.”

“Which is why that last statement didn’t put you on my suspect list,” he said.

He was scraping the last of the coleslaw off his plate when he heard someone enter the diner. Angie rushed out to see who it was.

When she didn’t return immediately, he pushed his plate aside and followed.

Cassidy, Lily, and two others Gordon assumed were Damien Rivers and Julie Ames stood inside the doorway. Jost had moved to intercept, but Gordon motioned him back to his post.

Cassidy flashed a grin. “Angela, right? No, Angie. The cinnamon roll maven.”

Even from ten feet away, even with her back to him, Gordon could practically feel the heat radiating from the blush he knew would be spreading across Angie’s face.

“Yes,” she said. “Can I get you one? Or would you like a late lunch? Coffee? No, tea. Masala chai.”

Gordon figured the “coffee” had been a reflex, because he didn’t think Angie would have forgotten—or would ever forget—what Cassidy Clarke drank. Gordon moved closer. Before he spoke, all four actors glanced around the room, clearly puzzled.

“What’s going on?” Lily asked. “Why are they breaking the set out front?”

“There’s been a setback,” Gordon said.

“A
setback
? Is that what you’re calling it?” Dawson stormed across the room. “Thanks to the good Chief Hepler here, we’ve had to shut down the entire production.”