Swan Dive (16 page)

FIFTEEN

(Day #6 – Tuesday Late Morning)

We crossed the long Talmadge Bridge and drove onto the storied streets of Savannah. Classic red velvet bows were tied onto gas lamps and merry green pine wreaths hung on rod iron fences. I maneuvered the Mini toward the waterfront, then cruised down the alley next to the warehouse kitchen set. Cars were jammed in jellyroll tight, bumper to bumper. There wasn’t a patch of concrete, even on the sidewalk, for my compact convertible. I ended up in the lot across the street behind a bar slash bistro.

“You coming with?” I asked Sid. I stuffed my phone in my pocket and swung my handbag over my head cross-body.

“You know it,” she said.

We jogged across the street to the plain metal door. As before, it was quiet outside, but loud and chaotic inside, only times ten. A zillion can lights lit the entire soundstage. Bright and hot and dazzling. The polish on the stainless appliances shone and the glass fixtures sparkled.

At least ten people shouted directions, barked orders, hollered cues. Thick ropes of cable snaked and slithered over the concrete floors. We ducked around crew members, carefully avoiding the attention of the big dude near the entrance, keeping to the edges. I nodded at Sid, indicating the long buffet table filled with leftover breakfast pastries and fruit. “We’ll blend if we loiter by the food.”

I grabbed a handful of napkins, stuck a croissant on a plate with a scoop of cut cantaloupe and wandered to a group of cheftestants. Sid joined me and we stayed on the perimeter. I counted eleven chefs in matching white coats. Stream Kitchen was stitched on the left chest of each coat in red script. They were buttoning and fidgeting, but not really talking. Competitors. Except Rory wasn’t in the group.

We hung back and Sid ate her breakfast selections. “Let’s switch,” she said.

She handed me her empty plate and I gave her my full one. I was starving, but no way I was eating food off a buffet. It’d been sitting there for hours, exposed to whatever was floating in the dusty dirty grimy warehouse air, and worse, every person in there probably hovered over some section of the table, breathing their germyness all over the food platters.

I surveyed the enormous soundstage. “I don’t see Rory.”

“Do you think Ransom arrested her?” Sid whispered.

“No, but maybe he detained her before she got here. He said he was headed to talk to Berg, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t send Parker over here.”

“Anita Alvarez,” a voice shouted. “You’re up. Station one.”

A woman about thirty with long wavy black hair hurried over to the mahogany island at the top of the set and stood behind the far station. Two cameras on wheels moved within a foot of her face. The pots and pans in front of her were steaming and frothing and sizzling. She posed with one hand on a pan, then with her arms crossed, then holding a butcher knife. She never smiled.

“Curtis Bolton,” a voice shouted. “On deck. Station two.”

While a guy jogged over to the spot on the island next to the first chef, I walked behind the group on the side. I scanned the room and recognized Penny, the intern from my earlier visit. She held a paper cup of coffee in each hand. She took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. Then again.

“Hey, Penny,” I said in a low voice. But with all the bustle, she couldn’t hear me. I tapped her on the shoulder.

She jumped and squeezed one of the cups. The lid popped off and coffee splashed out. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Here, let me help.” I took one of the cups and handed her my stack of napkins.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the first cup I’ve spilled today. I’m just happy this time the coffee’s cold.” She mopped up her hand and sleeve, then stuck the wet napkin wad into the topless cup. “You’re the reporter lady.”

“I’m not a reporter. I’m the director of the Ballantyne Foundation on Sea Pine Island.” At her blank expression, I added, “I’m a friend of Rory’s.” A small fudge, but close enough.

Penny the intern took several large steps back until we were hidden in the shadows. “I really like her,” she said. “But she’s in big trouble.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s great. Where is she?”

“I thought you could tell me. I need to talk to her.”

“But that’s why she’s in big trouble,” Penny said. “She’s not here.”

Two more names were called. Goodall and Lockerbie. They were moving down the alphabet at a pretty decent clip.

“How late is she?” I asked in a whisper shout.

“An hour, at least. If they call her name and she’s not on set, they’ll release her from the contract.” She leaned in close, our foreheads almost touching. “Without a warning or anything.”

“What are they filming?”

“These are the intro shots. You know, when they run the opening credits. This is only the first series. They have three other scene changes after this.”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, then it was my turn to jump.

“What are you doing here?” Rory asked.

“Rory!” Penny said. “You made it!”

“Made it? I’ve been in makeup,” she said. “Someone dumped coffee on one of the chairs in wardrobe and I sat in it. Soaked my uniform through. By the time I got a replacement for both the pants and coat, I was the last to hit makeup.”

“Oh, wow,” Penny said. It was slightly less bright in our corner of the warehouse, but her face looked pink with embarrassment to me. “That’s terrible,” she choked out. She looked around, left to right. “Glad you’re okay, Rory. I better get back.” She scurried away through the mob of crewmen near the last island row.

“What’s going on, Elliott?” Rory asked. “I don’t have a lot of time.” She, too, looked around. “If Fran catches you here, she’ll freak.”

“Inga Dalrymple was rushed to the hospital this morning,” I said.

“Really? What happened? A heart attack?”

“Someone bashed her over the head at the theatre late last night and now she’s in a coma.”

She stepped closer and whispered, “And you think I did it?”

“No, I don’t think you did it, but Lieutenant Ransom does,” I whispered back.

“That’s crazy. Berg was the last one at the theatre last night.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s always the last one. I met Vigo and his dancer friends at the bar. We always go out after the performance. Except Berg, he never goes. The police should suspect him, not me.”

“Well, the police have two witnesses who saw you arguing with Inga yesterday at her studio. They also heard you threaten her.”

“I didn’t
threaten
her, threaten her.” She put her hands on her face, then pushed back her hair. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s in ICU and not allowed visitors,” I said. “But tell me why you argued. Was it about Vigo or Lexie?”

“Why would it be about Lexie?”

“Then Vigo.”

Another name was shouted over the crowd and echoed across the room.

“Inga works him too hard and doesn’t give him time off. He was late to rehearsal because of me, because of this,” she said with a hand wave around the room. “I went to the dance studio to explain, but it was like talking to a dictator ruling her own country. She wouldn’t even hear me out. And
she
threatened to replace him. That woman is a monster.”

A stagehand walked by handing out squat bottles of water. We each took one.

“Look, I know I sound harsh. I’m sorry she’s in the hospital,” Rory said.

“There has to be more. Your explanation doesn’t make sense. You’re too old to go running to Vigo’s teacher. What was your threat about?”

“It makes sense to me and I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe you. And trust me, I’m more gullible than Lieutenant Nick Ransom. He won’t take the time to cajole another explanation out of you. He’ll just cuff you and interrogate you from a jail cell.”

“He will not,” she said. “Jane said he’s not as tough as he comes off.”

“He arrested her pretty as you please, and right in front of a crowd. Tucked her in a squad car and dragged her to the station.” I took a swig of water and pointed the bottle at her. “I love your Aunt Zibby like she’s family, so I will help you until I no longer can. But you better start helping yourself before you’re the one tucked in a squad car.”

“Carly Shamas,” a voice called. “Station one.”

“Fine,” Rory said. “Inga Dalrymple was going to ruin Vigo’s life and I needed to stop her.”

“Well, she’s stopped now.”

“Now I’m on a killing spree? I lose an argument with someone, so I just kill them? Who does that?”

“Actually, it happens a lot. People would rather kill someone than deal with them. Divorce, neighbor disputes, hiding secrets, money troubles…”

“Rory Throckmorton,” the booming voice shouted. “You’re on deck.”

“I gotta go.” She pushed her way through the minglers to our left.

“Wait, Rory,” I said and followed her. “Why were you fighting Vigo’s battle?”

She never turned back, just kept pushing through.

“I’m here to help!” I called.

I may have raised my voice on that last line a bit too much. I caught the attention of two stagehands and the beefy security man near the door. Sid grabbed my arm, and with a wink to the security guy, she and her tall self rushed me out of the warehouse.

“Well? Did she do it?” Sid asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “But she isn’t telling me what’s going on.”

“Something’s going on?”

“Yes, definitely. With her and Vigo and this whole group.”

We waited for traffic to pass, then crossed the street.

“Want to get a drink?” I asked.

She made a production out of checking her watch. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” I said, and pulled open the door to the bistro bar. “Lunch, then?”

The hostess let us pick our own table out on the patio. Which was really a strip of sidewalk in front of the bar with rickety two-seaters. She handed us sticky plastic menus, took our drink order (one Pepsi, one iced tea lemonade), and left us to decide our meal choices.

I’d picked a table facing the alley of the warehouse. I wanted to see if, or really when, Ransom showed up. It was eleven thirty. I figured he’d be there in less than an hour.

My phone rang right after our sandwich platters arrived.

“Elliott, dear? It’s Zibby Archibald.” Zibby was old school Southern gentility. She always introduced herself on the telephone. No matter how often you spoke with her or explained caller ID.

“Hi Zibby, how are you?”

“Good, dear. Having a nice visit with Lily Parker,” she said and lowered her voice. “I’m in the kitchen getting her a raspberry punch. She’s asking about Mrs. Dalrymple, the dance teacher. Is Rory in more trouble?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m keeping a close eye on the situation. I’ll take care of her.”

“Okay, I trust you. I better go. You tell Rory I love her.”

My heart started to crack.

“Parker is at Zibby’s asking about Rory and Inga,” I said to Sid after I clicked off. “I don’t know what I’ll do if Ransom shackles that girl and books her for murder.”

“Yeah, that’ll make for an awkward dinner date.”

“That, too.”

Sid pointed to the alley with her fork. “Maybe Rory’s boyfriend’s come to get her out of town.”

Vigo Ortiz maneuvered his motorbike around two parked cars and stopped short of the set door.

“Don’t even think it,” I said.

Five minutes later, Rory and Vigo slipped outside and hurried down the alley. They ducked behind a car.

“Be right back.” I jogged across the street with my head low and quietly dipped behind a car on the opposite side of the alley from where Rory and Vigo stood.

I tiptoed closer. I could barely hear their conversation, so I duck-walked another car down, loose rocks crackling under my shoes.

“—the cove beach by the condo,” Vigo said. “You know where.”

“Tonight? Why tonight?” Rory said.

“Because it has to be tonight, and you know it. Be there at midnight exactly.”

Rory looked over at the closed warehouse door. “Why didn’t you just text me?”

“You’re on police radar now. They’re probably monitoring your calls or checking your call history. We can’t take chances that this gets out.”

“Fine, I’ll be there.”

“Berg will be there, too.”

“Vigo!” Rory said with a light stomp of her foot. “He’s going to find out.”

“He won’t find out. I’ll be careful and it’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think so. Someone nearly killed Inga last night.”

“I know. I’ve been at the hospital all morning.”

“The police think I did it.” Rory again glanced at the warehouse door. “They know about my argument with Inga. And if they know that, then how long until they find out the rest?”

Vigo hugged her quickly and then pulled back. He kept his arms on top of her shoulders. “The performances will end, holiday break will be over. I’ll go back to school, and you’ll be a cooking rock star. The investigation will die out, and no one will find out. I promise.”

“My Aunt Zibby’s friend is all over this. She just left.”

He laughed. “She’s a little Chihuahua. Out of her league.”

“This isn’t funny, Vigo. If your mom finds out, she’ll be devastated. She loved Lexie.”

“Look, don’t stress so much,” he said. “I better get back to the hospital before someone notices me missing.”

“Is the show canceled tonight?”

“No,” he said. “Inga would kill us if we did that.”

“Whose idea was this anyway?”

“Courtney’s.”

“Which makes it a bad idea. Who made her boss?”

“She did,” he said. “About thirteen years ago.”

They walked to his bike and hugged, then Rory went through the steel door and Vigo sped off.

I crossed the street and joined Sid at the table. “Those kids are hiding something,” I said. “And it can’t be good.”

“Yeah? What’s up?” Sid asked and took a drink of lemonade.

“Vigo isn’t impressed with me. He likened me to a Chihuahua humping a pug.”

Sid spit lemonade across the table and onto my linen tunic.

“Sorry, sweetie. He really said that?”

“I’m paraphrasing,” I said and dabbed lemonade splotches with my napkin.

“What are they up to?”

“I don’t know. Something down at the beach. Clandestine, don’t tell anyone, for your eyes only. That kind of thing. And a specific mention about Berg being there and finding out their secret.”

“You think they’ll confess and then kill Berg?”

“I think they’re teenagers and their whole lives are clandestine. Probably going to do nothing but get wasted and make out around a bonfire. Want to go?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“They could also confess and kill Berg.”

“I can’t either way. Milo and I have a date. You’ll have to sweet talk someone else into going.”

“I’ll go to the beach alone,” I said as the waitress approached. She cleared our plates and refilled our drinks, while Sid and I smiled and nodded and waited for her to leave.

“Don’t you need backup?” Sid asked.

“Only if I get caught.”