A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

‘Auditions,’ Flora said, nodding to herself. ‘You know, I might have a stab at them myself. They need a few extras, and Alberto’s already said he could see me as a –’

‘You will not,’ Marshall snapped. ‘I mean it, Flora. Over my dead body will you be part of any film he is directing.’

Flora bristled, but Alberto had seen them and came hurrying over, his belly leading the way.

‘Ah, Shakers
personas
. Good,
bueno
. Just in time. Come, is casting this morning but visit town later for scene where war hero arrives. You load up van,
sí
? Much equipment for location.’

‘We’ve not had breakfast yet,’ Marshall said, his words clipped. ‘Give me half an hour.’

‘
Sí
,
sí
. No problem.’ Alberto waddled away. Flora turned to Marshall, a reprimand on her lips, but a hand tapped her lightly on the back.

‘Flora, I was wondering if I might borrow you for a minute. If you’re not too busy, that is.’

It was Celeste, but a much subdued version. Flora shrugged and said goodbye to Marshall, who promised to bring her back a bacon roll.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Celeste lowered her voice to a hiss. ‘Now would be a really good time for you to go and look for the photos. A brown envelope, remember? I’ll keep Alberto occupied out here while you go and have a rummage in the props room. It’s the one place I’ve not had a chance to explore properly, and it’s just too conspicuous for me to be digging around in there. But you’ll be alright – that’s what you’re here for, after all. Go on, go now.’ She gave Flora a light shove, but Flora stood her ground.

‘I haven’t even said I’ll do it yet,’ she began, but Celeste was already turning away.

‘Just get on with it,’ she hissed over her shoulder. ‘What kind of friend are you?’

‘A stupid one,’ Flora grumbled as she headed in the direction of the manor house.

She found the props room simply by following in Vincenzo’s wake. The suave Italian didn’t look quite so seedy without Alberto’s wife hanging off his neck, but Flora still didn’t trust him. She hung back until he came out again, carrying a brown box marked with a large black arrow and the words
este lado arriba
. She avoided his eyes, but smiled to herself. Finally learning some Spanish – now at least she knew how to say
this side up
.

The room set aside for Rojo Productions’ wardrobe and props was at the back of the house, just past the boot room but in the opposite direction to the main hall. She slipped inside and had a quick look around. Wooden panelling. No windows she could see. Metal shelves like those in her dad’s old garage, rammed with boxes and open-topped plastic cartons. A lower ceiling than in the rest of the house gave the room a claustrophobic feel, not helped by the lack of natural light. There was a space on the floor free from dust – Flora guessed most of the stuff Alberto needed today had already been carted outside. She took a steadying breath, peered out of the door one last time, then set to searching through the remaining boxes. She figured that if Alberto had hidden the envelope in here he wouldn’t want to make it too obvious to, say, Sidney, who might need something from what was obviously some kind of general dumping room. He might have slipped it behind a box, or maybe taped it underneath one.

Or he might be keeping it in his room, and Flora was wasting her time when she could be eating bacon rolls and drinking a nice cup of tea.

She searched for about half an hour, then gave up. Disappointed – not least because she knew Celeste wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily – she headed back into the house, deciding to let her stomach lead the way to the breakfast room. But then she had a flash of inspiration. If Alberto wanted to hide something, wouldn’t he be more likely to choose a place no one else could go? She thought about the door that led to the kitchens. Did Sidney keep it locked all the time? Was it possible Alberto had managed to get access, had hidden the incriminating evidence somewhere down there? It was worth a try. If Flora could find those blasted photos, Celeste might lighten up a bit, and then they could all do their best to enjoy these few days of filming.

At the foot of the staircase, Flora stopped and listened. Nothing. Just the rumble of distant voices, and the odd shout from outside. She tiptoed across the hall and stood with her back to the door, looking around. Closing her eyes, and crossing her fingers for luck, Flora reached behind her and tried the handle. The door opened. She smiled. So good old Sidney didn’t keep it locked all the time.

She turned and quickly stepped through the doorway.

‘Excuse me, Miss. Where do you think you’re going?’

Flora froze. It was the unmistakably cultured tones of the butler. She looked around, forcing her face into an innocent smile. Sidney was carrying a tray of plates on his shoulder, and his face, usually so impassive, had taken on a look of outrage.

‘Sorry,’ Flora said, ‘I’m looking for the toilets. Thought they might be down here.’

‘This area is off limits to guests.’ The butler’s top lip turned up slightly on the word
guests
. ‘There are toilets next to the dining room.’ He waited for her to get out of his way, with the tray balanced on one hand and the ring of keys in the other. ‘This door is locked,’ he said, casting a suspicious glance at Flora’s hands. ‘How did you get in?’

Flora frowned. ‘It wasn’t locked. Someone must have left it open by accident.’

‘Impossible. I’m the only person with a key.’

‘Well, we all make mistakes,’ Flora told him with a shrug, edging away across the hall. The old man stared at the keys, then at the door. He mumbled something and shook his head.

Flora fled out to the gardens. What did it matter if the odd guest went down to the kitchens, anyway? What was he doing in there – growing cannabis? She laughed to herself, feeling the tension ebb away. No way Alberto had got into that part of the house to hide Celeste’s dirty little secret, though. Sidney was like a ninja on patrol.

***

‘And … Action!’

Flora watched, entranced, as Celeste approached Eduardo with her eyes downcast. It was a remarkable transformation: as soon as the clapperboard fell, Celeste segued into an entirely different person. It wasn’t only the historical costume – Celeste was playing a maid in the film, and the empire line, dun-coloured dress made her look even more willowy and beautiful. And it wasn’t the setting, either, although the cobbled town square in the August sunshine did indeed feel like a place out of time. It was something else, something Flora couldn’t put her finger on. Star quality, perhaps. Celeste was very good at her job.

As was Alberto. He’d clearly charmed the locals already, many of whom had come out to watch the spectacle. And he knew how to make good use of local talent, employing a sound engineer from the performing arts college to operate the boom, lining up a trainee to act as runner, and finding someone to man the lighting rigs – what Celeste called a gaffer. He’d already cast a few hopefuls from the amateur dramatics society to act in various small roles. Flora was astonished at how many people were running around, even after Alberto had shouted
Action
. She had imagined it to be more cosy than this, more intimate. Not so random-seeming and frantic.

‘Are you enjoying the filming?’

Flora turned to find Nick Gibson behind her. It was the first time they’d spoken, and she had to admit she found his presence slightly discomforting. Celeste said he used to be a boxer, and this was evident in his aggressive demeanour. Even now, enquiring of Flora how she and Marshall had found navigating the tiny streets of Burton Edge in their cumbersome van, the man seemed poised for a fight.

‘I’m enjoying it very much,’ she told him. ‘And the roads were fine. Marshall is used to it – we have lots of these streets in Shrewsbury.’ She scrambled around for a topic of conversation. On the set in front of them, Celeste crouched on the ground in front of Eduardo, who looked every inch the Napoleonic war hero with his arm in an artfully muddied plaster cast and sling.

‘The costumes are great,’ Flora said. ‘Especially that sling.’

‘Gabriella made it herself. She’s a very talented girl.’

Flora’s eyes drifted over to where Gabriella perched on a fold-out stool. She was staring at her phone, jabbing at it every couple of seconds with nervy fingers.

‘Have you ever been to Spain, Miss Lively?’ Nick asked. He managed to make even innocuous questions sound like challenges.

‘I’d like to go one day,’ Flora said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never been anywhere.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual. Not like your friend, who has, it seems, been everywhere.’

Before Flora had a chance to process what was undoubtedly a slur on Celeste, Nick had jumped up and taken a step towards the small group in front of the camera. It took Flora a moment to catch on, but when she did, she rushed after the producer.

‘Eduardo, it’s fine.’ Celeste was holding onto Eduardo’s free arm, pulling him away from Alberto.

‘Not fine. He touch you.’

‘He was just adjusting my costume. Ignore him. I’ve told you before.’

‘And I tell him, he touch you I kill him.’ Eduardo lunged for Alberto again; the director sprang back out of harm’s way and shouted at Celeste in Spanish.

‘He was doing more than adjusting her costume. He had his hand down her top.’ Jack had appeared on the set an hour ago, and Flora had been glad to see him, thinking maybe he could help with this ridiculous blackmail situation. He stood by her side now, his body tense.

‘Why would he do that?’ Flora said, keeping her eyes on her friend. ‘I mean, in front of everyone? Isn’t that a bit blatant?’ She glanced at Jack, wondering if he already knew about Celeste’s problems with Alberto.

Jack laughed once, sharply. ‘I heard him say she needed more “uplift”. Look, he’s taking it out on the poor wardrobe girl now.’

Alberto was indeed berating Gabriella, who stared at him uninterestedly. Alberto pointed to Celeste, then made obscene gestures with his hands, shaping imaginary breasts on his own chest, then pushing them upwards.

‘
Demasiado poco
,’ he said. ‘Too little.’

Eduardo stepped forward again, and Celeste gasped in alarm. Eduardo had pulled his sword out of its sheath and was holding it against Alberto’s throat.

‘Oh, my God,’ Celeste cried. ‘Do something. Somebody do something.’ She pulled against Eduardo’s sword arm but it didn’t budge. Although only a prop, the sword was clearly very sharp: red dots had already begun to form on Alberto’s neck. Eduardo’s arms shook, vibrating with tension. Flora held her breath.

Jack moved so fast, Flora didn’t even see him. One minute he was by her side, the next he was in front of Eduardo, holding out his hands, palms down.

‘Take it easy, fella,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

‘Keep filming,’ Alberto cried, waving his arms like he was trying to fly. ‘See how he try to kill me.’

This was merely for effect, as there was nobody behind the camera, Alberto preferring to do most of the camera work himself. But it seemed to make Eduardo think twice, or maybe it was Jack’s glowering presence. After a beat, he lowered the sword and stepped back. He spat on the ground by Alberto’s feet, said something in Spanish, then turned and stomped away.

Raquel wandered over and spoke to Celeste. She ignored her husband, who was wiping the blood from his neck with one of Gabriella’s cotton pads. Celeste suddenly turned on Raquel, her eyes blazing.

‘No, he shouldn’t have just gone ahead and done it. What kind of a person are you to say something like that about your own husband?’

Flora sighed and followed Eduardo to the van. Leave them to it, she thought. It was starting to dawn on her that this level of drama might be entirely normal for the members of Rojo Productions. On camera or off, they were an intense bunch.

The Shakers van had been set up as a kind of restroom once the cameras and lights and props were unloaded, with a coffee machine on a fold-out table and sandwiches from the local deli. Eduardo was brooding in a plastic chair, but when Flora reached the top of the steps he jumped up and held out his hands. The specially designed sling-cum-cast hung uselessly from his neck like a discarded scarf.

‘What I do? Tell me, what? That man, he is …’ He seemed to be searching his knowledge of English for the appropriate word. Flora poured herself a coffee. She tipped her head to one side, then the other, trying to ease out the tension in her neck.

‘A monster. That’s what he is.’ Nick supplied the word for Eduardo, climbing into the van and wrapping his thick arm around the younger man’s shoulders. ‘You’re not the only one who wants shot of him, my friend. Trust me on that.’

‘You could get rid of him, Nico. You sack him, no?’

‘You know I can’t, probably for the same reason you can’t get out of your contract. He’s far too clever for that.’ Nick laughed his mirthless laugh. Flora shuddered. She busied herself in the depths of the pantechnicon, ostensibly sorting through some packing crates. She wondered what the two men might let slip if they forgot she was there. At least Nick seemed to share her own lack of knowledge when it came to Spanish, despite having lived there for years.

‘He crazy,’ Eduardo said. He slammed his fist on his knee. ‘Dirty crazy man.’

In her peripheral vision, Flora saw Nick move his head closer to Eduardo’s. ‘Be patient, my friend,’ he said softly, then he patted the actor on the back twice and left.

Flora straightened up and brushed imaginary dust off her shorts. Eduardo glanced over and gave her a sheepish smile.

‘I stupid, eh? Threatening old man like Alberto.’

‘You feel passionately about it,’ she said, shrugging. ‘You are protective. It’s only natural.’

Eduardo helped Flora down from the van, and they headed back across the cobbled square. Alberto was packing the cameras away, while Celeste leaned against the stone church wall, smoking. Flora raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

‘Eduardo, tell me something. Why does Nick want shot of Alberto?’

‘How you say it – artistic differences? Alberto spend too much money, has no class. Nico wants to take Rojo Producciones to America, make action thrillers. Alberto always love scenes, sexy.’