Alexander key witch mo.., p.2
Prime Time Murder, page 2
“Between the hood and the darkness, no.” I tiptoed and displayed the suspect’s height. When you clocked in at five-feet-zero, everyone older than thirteen towered over you like a giant. “At least five-foot-nine. I can’t say if it was a man or a woman.”
“After the suspect knocked into you, what happened?”
“I found the body and called 911.”
“How well did you know Miss Sinclair?”
“I watched her on the show but never met her.”
Cornwallis’ brow twitched. “Aren’t you colleagues? I thought you acted on Prime Suspect.”
I snorted. “No, sir. I’m an assistant. Part-time and I hop around to different departments depending on need. Or at least I will if I get asked back for a second shift.”
“Are you responsible for these marvelous muffins?” He took a giant bite. “Is that chamomile and honey?”
“I’m not sure. My contribution is the bag of stale bagels.”
He closed his notebook and stuffed it in his breast pocket beside a mustard stain. “That’s all for now, Miss Roberson.”
“Robinson,” I corrected. “Becky Robinson.”
“We got your digits. M…my office will call you with any more questions.” He signaled to a cop. “Anders, you said the victim’s boyfriend works here?”
“The ex-boyfriend.” The officer lowered his voice. “There was trouble in paradise.”
My ears perked at the gossip. I didn’t follow tabloid news, but my roommate updated me on the juiciest tidbits. Maria Sinclair dated co-star Justin Woods for the last six months. Did a nasty breakup make him the prime suspect?
The cops drifted out of earshot, and the associate producer snuck up behind me. I muffled a yelp.
“Did I frighten you?”
“Sorry, I’m jumpy.”
“What do you think you’re doing, Miss Robinson?”
“Excuse me?”
Extras, stand-ins, and other menial roles referred to Sherry Newton as the dragon lady. As fire spewed from her mouth, I couldn’t disagree. “Why are you standing around?”
“The police needed to interview me.”
She spread her arms. “I don’t see them now, do you?” The sugary Georgia accent warred with her biting tone. “We pay you to do a job. We fall behind, and the show loses money. If we’re no longer profitable, the studio pulls the plug. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“The star actress is dead.”
“And you won’t be taking her place. So how does your job change?” A jet-black eyebrow arched. “It doesn’t. When filming resumes, the staff should be ready. A meeting is beginning down the hall. If you want a second day on the set, you should probably hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My sneakers stuck to the floor with every step. The sticky coffee spill left a trail of residue wherever I wandered—a handy sound effect to remind me of my failures.
I entered the meeting and smoothed my frazzled hair. I spent three days picking out my outfit, like a kid starting a new school year. Despite careful planning, my first impression turned out worse than I imagined. Not only was I the klutzy errand girl, but I would forever be the person who found the star actress dead on the set. This wasn’t how my Hollywood dream was supposed to unfold. I wanted to be noticed for my acting ability, not because I stumbled into a crime scene.
I couldn’t shake the unease. The idea that someone I worked with could be a murderer gnawed at me. My stomach knotted. And what if they thought I had something to do with it? I needed this job to survive in L.A. and prove to myself and my mother that I could make it in Hollywood.
My chest tightened. My lifelong dreams teetered like a knife balancing on the edge of its blade. One wrong move, and it would all be over.
An hour after quitting time, I strolled through my apartment and tossed the keys in our designated bowl. “L.A. traffic is no joke.”
My roommate wandered into the living room, phone pressed to her ear. “No, Ma. Becky is the one with a job on Prime Suspect, not me. I’m not an actress.”
I waved, passing along a signal to say hi to her mom. I crashed on the hand-me-down couch, too tired to change my caramel-covered clothes.
“Okay, bye. I love you too.” Lois Vo, my best friend from college, sunk into the recliner, drained from the conversation. “My mother is telling everyone who will listen that I got a role on Prime Suspect, which isn’t remotely true. I hate talking in front of crowds. I would be the worst possible actress. I’m a director… of sorts. If I can ever get past that pesky fear of public speaking.”
“What about me? Did you explain I’m only a coffee girl?”
“Next time.” She nudged my foot. “How was your first day? I’m dying of suspense.”
“Funny you should phrase it that way.”
“Why?”
I cocked my head. “You really didn’t hear yet?”
“No? How would I? It’s not like I assigned a team of spies to watch the studio lot.”
“It went exactly how you might expect.” I forced a smile. “I fetched coffee for the second-second assistant director and his unit of minions. I dropped a bag of bagels twice. Some guy in a headset stole my order. I found a dead body. Spilled coffee all over myself…”
“Wait, back up. You what?”
“Spilled. Everywhere. I smell like caramel. Just ask the trail of ants that followed me home.”
“Hilarious, Beckers. You found a body?” Her almond-shaped eyes widened. “Like a prop, right?”
“A real, formerly alive person. The police are tight-lipped, which obviously means homicide.”
“Hold on while I grab the popcorn. This is juicy.” Lois tossed long black hair over her shoulder. “I mean tragic.”
“Just us here, Lo-Vo. No need to mince words.”
“Yeah, but I probably shouldn’t be so excited by a murder.”
“Don’t worry, just another box checked on your psycho-evaluation.”
“Moving beyond my horror, fill me in. Who was murdered? Who did it? What was their motive?”
“Well, as is the case on every cop show, we solved the crime at the scene where the killer confessed and detailed their entire plan. Much like a Scooby-Doo villain.”
“I can Google the incident if you refuse to take this seriously.”
I hugged the pillow on my lap. “Maria Sinclair.”
“No.” Lois gasped. “Well, this significantly changes her cliffhanger ending.”
“It’s so strange.”
She shrugged. “I could see it.”
“What?”
“Someone murdering Maria Sinclair.”
“Why? She’s a fan favorite. Because of her popularity, the powers that be decided to bring her back for the second season.”
“Yeah, fans loved her. But I heard the cast couldn’t stand her. She demanded a bump in salary and control over her character arc. She told a gossip magazine Prime Suspect is doomed without her. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the other actors or writers did her in.”
“Flimsy motive.”
“People kill for much less.”
I chewed my lower lip. As a big fan of the show, I didn’t want to believe anyone in the cast was capable of murder, but I needed to remain objective. I rolled my eyes. Why? It wasn’t as if I planned to solve the case. “I overheard a cop mention she and Justin Woods split.”
“Now, that’s news to me.” Lois slapped her armrest. “I'm so jealous. You always luck out with the best jobs.”
“I wouldn’t call what I’m doing glamorous.”
“You are in the middle of a Hollywood whodunit—a true-crime story. You are a fly on the wall for the investigation. What more could you want?”
“I’m not sure the series will continue. I might be out of a job by Monday.”
“Not to say people are cold, but if the studio can make money, the show goes on. This kind of press is ratings gold.”
“Half the crew quit today.”
“Why?”
“The whole murder thing scared them off.”
“Whimps.” Lois leaped from her chair. “Does this mean there’s a job opening? You can put in a good word with your boss. I’ll do anything.”
“A good word? About you? Let me think.” I twisted my mouth. “You’re a hoarder. You never clean the apartment. You don’t cook. You steal my chips, no matter where I hide them…”
“You’re listing roommate problems. I do have some positive traits, too.”
“Which are?”
“Well, you know. I aspire to direct one day. Any job in showbiz helps.” Lois possessed many admirable qualities, including humility, which prevented her from bragging.
“I’ll talk to the associate producer on your behalf.”
“Thank you.” She hugged my neck.
“Fair warning, Sherry hates me, and my recommendation might be a nail in your coffin.”
“How could anyone possibly hate you?”
“Right? I’m delightful.” I shrugged. “She either suspects me of the murder, or she despises everyone by default.”
“Gosh, I didn’t even ask. You didn’t do it, did you?”
“What can I say? I had a busy morning.” I pinched my chin. “Who do you suspect? Based on the incredibly reliable gossip chain you subscribe to?”
“The Hollywood Hunk.”
“What a cheesy nickname.”
“But accurate considering the poster on your wall.” Lois dropped beside me on the couch. “Did you meet him yet?”
“Justin Woods? No.”
“We both know you’re dying to meet your TV crush. Don’t deny it.”
“I’m excited to meet anyone from the show.”
“Justin spent most of season one in a supporting role. This year, his storyline involves promotion to detective. He’s getting much more buzz, on the cusp of stardom.”
“So, he murders his ex-girlfriend who hogged screen time?”
“One of the many possibilities. Which you might consider if you weren’t in love with him.” Lois rotated her shoulders. “This is why you need me on set.”
I snorted. “You think we can solve this before the police? Based on secondhand gossip from grocery store magazines.”
“Hello? You were a detective in your hometown.”
I rolled my eyes. “My friends and I played detective as teenagers. Huge difference.”
“You playacted quite well. How many bad guys did you put behind bars?”
My mind flickered to the past. “Enough. But I was a minor character in their story. The twins are the real investigators.”
“Okay, Eeyore. I’m solving this case with or without you.” Lois grinned. “After you get me the job on set, of course.”
3
Backlot Shenanigans
I fumbled for my house key as my phone buzzed in my pocket. Balancing a bag of groceries, I spilled into the apartment. I missed the table by the door, and one of the bags crashed to the ground. Two Gala apples rolled across the hardwood, but I answered in the nick of time. “Hello?”
“Becky, it’s your favorite grandfather calling.”
“Papa Beau! How are you?”
“Fine. Enduring your mother’s cooking most nights when my stomach doesn’t object.” The soft Texas accent soothed and reminded me of home. “How’s life in Hollyweird?”
I smiled at the crack. “Eventful.”
“I only visited once for a rodeo. They rigged the Broncs for the hometown boys. The only time I ever got seriously injured during a ride. You couldn’t drag me back with the promise of a million bucks.”
Beaumont Parker was a pure Texas cowboy, from his Resistol hat to his Justin boots. He hit the circuits at seventeen and never looked back—not until his body's wear and tear caught up to him.
“It’s not so bad, Papa. And if you want to catch my face on the movie screen, this is where I need to be.”
“They’re lucky to have your pretty face on loan.” He added the last part, so I remembered California couldn’t keep me. “How’s your new job on my favorite show going?”
My pulse thumped. If my family, mainly my mother, learned about the murder, she might drag me home. “Fine and dandy. I took a selfie on the set before anyone else arrived. Perched at a desk in the squad room with my best stern cop expression.”
“This I need to see.”
I laughed. “Sure. I’ll send it to you later.”
“Seen any stars yet?”
“One.” Did a dead body count?
“Anyone I might know? Remember that all these new actors run together and don’t interest me much.”
“Um. I’m not sure you’ve heard of her.”
“What are you hiding? I can hear something funny in your voice.”
Papa Beau moved in with us after some health problems and my parents’ divorce. As a young girl, I snuck into his room to borrow his rodeo buckles. Despite the large quantity, he always spotted one missing. And could tell when I lied.
I sucked in a breath. “Someone on the set was murdered.”
“Who? Somebody in the cast?”
“Maria Sinclair.”
“No kiddin’? Scuttlebutt is she might return for another season. Did the cops catch the guy yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why do you sound so uninterested? You always loved a mystery. Or have you forgotten old Lake Falls already?”
I curled my hair on my finger. “I’m interested. But I can’t go snooping around the crime scene because I’m curious.”
“Says who?”
“Papa! Are you trying to get me in trouble? Cops tend to frown on civilians butting into police investigations.”
“What happened to those friends of yours? The ones you played detective with?”
“We grew up and went our separate ways. And playing detective is the key phrase.”
“Oh, boy. You solved some humdingers.” He whistled. “Crime-fighting is in your blood. My daddy, Bo, told some mind-blowing stories. He’s a man who garnered respect everywhere he went.”
“About his time in the Navy?”
“Those are interesting too. But his best tales came from sometime after. One day, I’ll tell you more.” He released his belly laugh. “Call it an incentive for you to visit.”
“I don’t need a bribe, Papa Beau. I plan to come home often.”
“So, you gonna dig into this murder?”
“Maybe.”
The TV in the background clicked off. “Your mother’s car pulled into the garage, so I gotta pretend I’m sleeping. She insists I need an afternoon nap.” He chuckled. “And that’s a yes. I can already tell you’re hooked.”
I arrived for my second day on the set with fewer nerves. After what happened in my debut, nothing could shake me. The phrase ‘it can only go up from here’ rattled inside my mind.
On take two, I enjoyed my stroll through the iconic studio gate. That lasted all of two minutes until a security guard stopped me.
He leaned out of his booth. “ID?”
I fumbled my purse. “It’s here somewhere.” I glanced behind me as the line piled up. “Sorry. I’m new. This is only my second day on Prime Suspect.”
“Oh, then you must have heard about the tragedy yesterday.”
I twisted to the fella a few people back. Tall, nerdy, and delivering a paper sack from Golden Petals Bakery. “A little bit.”
“The whole cast is broken up over it,” he said.
I dumped the contents of my purse on the counter and sorted through eight tubes of identical light pink lip gloss, tissues, spare change, and CVS receipts. No badge. “Do you work on the show, too?”
“Was it my Hollywood good looks that fooled you?” He lifted his prominent nose. “Or maybe my Orphan Annie hair.”
“You’re funny, so comedy writer?”
“I work for Ashton Ashley.”
“The actress?”
“Paul is president of her fan club,” the security guard said. “Comes by a couple of times a week with treats. Usually, he shares.”
Paul removed a lemon bar from the paper sack. “I could never forget you, Terrance.”
I chewed my lip as I concluded my search. “So, how would a girl go about getting a new pass if she hypothetically lost the old one?”
“You work for Sherry Newton?” Terrance asked. “The girl who found the body?”
I nodded.
He jerked a thumb. “Go on in. I wouldn’t want your termination on my conscience.”
“Thanks.”
Paul flashed an official pass. “Take a cookie and a fan club button. It’s a long trek to Studio 12.”
I bit into the fancy mint chocolate chip. “Aren’t we going in the same direction?”
“No, I’m heading to Ashton Ashley’s trailer.” He waved. “Nice meeting you.”
My brow creased. What was Ashton doing on set? The cast was given the day off to mourn, and we had no idea when filming would resume. Suspicion bubbled in my gut.
The actress with two first names was a new addition to Prime Suspect. She and Sinclair engaged in an infamous social media feud spanning a decade or more. It originated when they were child stars up for the same Crystal Sun award. Like Bette and Joan, the teen years. But recently, they mended their relationship. However, some suspected only for show.
My thoughts clouded as I made my way across the lot, an entire outdoor area constructed to resemble New York City. A few blocks later, I entered downtown Chicago. A hop, skip, and a jump hurled me back in time to the Old West. The lot amazed me, and I contemplated joining a guided tour.
As the tethered golf cart whizzed by, I waved like a real movie star. The tourists oohed and aahed as they snapped my picture. Whispers asked about my identity, and their guesses intrigued me. The prevailing answer seemed to be one of the Emma actresses.
I attempted a wink and a pose. Knowing my luck, the photographer probably caught me in the perfect millisecond to morph my face into a Frankenstein monster.
A movie shoot on a neighboring street drew my attention. A stuntman dangled from a building and dove on the mattress below. The actor popped into the frame, dusting off his jacket and reloading his weapon.
Despite the murder on the lot the previous day, the cameras continued to roll. While the Prime Suspect cast took a few days to mourn, writers retooled the script, and Sherry ordered the lowly crew to return and prepare. As I wandered the grounds, I ran through my spiel on why she should hire Lois, hoping I wouldn’t squash my friend’s chances.
