Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (20 page)

Titch consulted a clipboard. “We’ve got enough deputies supplementing our force because of the shoot, so yes.”

“Then do it. I don’t need to mention the importance of chain of custody. No need for lights or sirens, but tell the officer he needs to get it to the lab without passing
Go.
”

Titch’s mouth twitched. “So, there’s no two-hundred dollar bonus?”

Titch was
definitely
mellowing. “You’ve got it. Let me know as soon as it changes hands.”

“Roger that, Chief.” Titch reached for his radio, and Gordon headed for Daily Bread at a good clip. One of the deputies was stationed at a barricade a block away, with about ten people craning their necks to try to see what was happening beyond their boundary. The deputy paused at Gordon’s approach, as if uncertain whether his orders to keep everyone out included the Chief of Police.

“Everything all right?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, sir,” the deputy said. “They’re shooting the street exteriors.”

Gordon stepped to the side of the barricade, caught a glimpse of cameras, lights, and the director yelling “Action”
.
He had a brief
so it really does happen that way
moment, and even an unexpected thrill as he watched half a dozen Mapleton extras walk along the sidewalk while Mai Phan carried two bulging plastic grocery bags—generic white—and Ian Patrick joined her, popped the trunk, then closed it after Mai put the bags inside.

“Cut,” Dawson shouted. “Let’s do it again.”

So why hadn’t Ian Patrick returned his call? And why hadn’t Dawson updated him that the actor had surfaced? Ian appeared hale and hearty enough. Gordon would make sure he spoke to the man once there was a break in the shooting. He nodded to the deputy, then went around the block, verified the Village was guarded before displaying his badge to another deputy, and then slipped to the rear entrance of Daily Bread. He tapped on the door.

Angie opened it and tugged him inside toward the office. Standing on tiptoe, she gave him an air kiss, then twirled around, arms outstretched.

“Do you like it?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Gordon knew better than to ask what she was talking about, and took a moment to study her. Jeans, sneakers, pale blue tee. Same hair. Ah, but a closer look showed she was wearing a layer of foundation and her lashes were long and black. Her lids shimmered, and her lips glistened. “You’re going to be an extra?” Solomon wasn’t the only one on the force with detection skills.

“Yes. Mr. Dawson said I could be sitting in one of the booths when they film the scene in the dining room. I think it was because he liked our food, but it’s so exciting I thought about waiting until after the movie came out before I told you—so you could be surprised, but that will be ages from now, and you know what they say. I might end up on the cutting room floor. So I thought if you had a chance, you might like to watch my first—and probably last—job in the movies.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “When are they working on whatever scene you’ll be in?”

“From the way things are going, most of the afternoon. They should be finishing the outside stuff soon. Mai and Ian have been opening and closing that trunk all morning.”

“Speaking of Ian. When did he get here? Did you hear anything about why he hadn’t shown up?”

Angie shook her head. “I was in here most of the morning. When I had a chance to watch the shooting, Ian was there, and as far as I could tell, nothing unusual had been going on.”

Aside from one of their own being dead.

“What about Yolanda Orozco?” Gordon asked. “She was in charge of wardrobe. Did you have to check in anywhere to make sure your clothes were appropriate?” Gordon knew the shirt was Angie’s, and assumed the jeans and sneakers were as well.

“We went to Finnegan’s, which is where they’re staging everything. I thought your people were done in the Village already, but—” She flipped a hand into the air. “Anyway, they were using the back dining room for makeup and wardrobe. Someone checked out our clothes, and since I knew to wear a solid color shirt, I passed. There were three people doing makeup. I came here and called you when I was done.”

“Who approved your clothes?” He noticed she was wearing the lapis earrings he’d given her, and for some reason, it pleased him they’d be in the film.

Angie’s eyes narrowed, her head tilted. “I have no idea. It was a quick once-over, she signed a clipboard and sent me to makeup. But given it was an Asian woman, I don’t think it was Yolanda.”

“Did you talk to Isabella? She was in charge of the makeup trailer, according to Lionel Dawson.”

Angie scrunched her face. “You’re going all cop on me. Did I do something wrong? I thought you’d be excited, not give me the third degree.”

He gripped her hands. As always, her touch brought his world into alignment. Cop stuff was important, but it wasn’t as if he were the only one watching out for Mapleton. “I am excited. And I think this is fantastic for you. It’s … well, normally things are quiet here, so between the movie and having an unexplained dead body, I guess I
am
in full cop mode. So, I’m always searching for answers.”

“Point taken,” Angie said. “And, I did tend to … overhear stuff while I was waiting my turn. But it was all speculation, and
did you hear about?
stuff, and—” she gave him a broad grin. “And I
did
listen.”

Gordon kept his mouth shut. No point in admitting he knew of Angie’s love of gossip, and no need to mention he was crossing the line by accepting her help with a case. He’d have a foot in his mouth up to his knee no matter what he said.

Angie glanced toward the clock on the office wall. “I’ve got a couple of minutes. They’re going to be rehearsing in the diner. But I can tell you nobody thought much of Yolanda.”

Nobody liked Yolanda? This was the first hint of negativity Gordon had heard. “Can you tell me more? Any particulars? Why people didn’t think much of her?”

“Nothing specific,” Angie said. “You know, furtive glances, lowered voices. I sort of got the impression she was prone to partying.” Angie mimed tossing back a drink. “But it was more like the feeling I got from the way the other movie people were talking. Nobody came right out and
said
anything.”

“An example?” Gordon said.

Angie tilted her head. “While we were waiting for our clothes to be approved, the makeup people were talking, saying they were glad wardrobe would run smoothly—no—faster. They said things would be
faster
than they usually were, and they wouldn’t be behind schedule.”

“Because Yolanda wasn’t there?”

“They didn’t exactly say it, but that’s the impression I got.”

“You don’t think they meant it was because people were wearing their own clothes?” Gordon asked.

Angie shrugged. “It could have. I told you, these were
feelings
.”

At least these were the normal kinds of feelings—not the ones Angie used to claim let her see things that hadn’t happened yet.

“And how many movie people did you come in contact with?” he said. “The makeup people, the wardrobe person, and who else? I thought there were only the two actors—Mai and Ian—and the rest were extras from Mapleton.” He thought for a moment. “Or did you overhear things when Lionel Dawson was working in the dining room yesterday? Maybe you got the vibes there, and they carried over to what you heard this morning.”

“Maybe. Yeah. I think that’s where I got the impression Yolanda might drink too much.” The front door opened. Angie checked the clock. “It’s almost time to start rehearsals in here. We can talk later, unless you want to watch.”

“Much as I’d love to, I’ve got to get to work.” He left through the back door, but not before watching one of the production crew herd a group of extras into the diner. Angie bounced on her toes and scampered out to join them.

Was Ian Patrick in the scene they were shooting? Could Gordon catch him before things got underway? The phone call Ian had made to Marianna Spellman the morning of her death had yet to be explained. Gordon hustled around to the street, where the technical crew was packing and moving equipment, but there were no actors of any variety. He asked one of the crew where they’d gone.

“Try Finnegan’s,” the man said. “Lunch is there, but we’re taking staggered meal breaks to keep things moving. Dawson probably would rather we skipped lunch, but the union would come down on him.”

Gordon strode to Finnegan’s, where Clarice, one of the wait staff, greeted him. “You come for lunch, Chief, or do you want to gawk at the movie people? If it’s lunch, it’s a buffet.” She pointed to a spread against the far wall.

Before answering, Gordon scanned the room. He spotted Ian Patrick and Mai Phan, along with two of the extras he’d seen on the street this morning. “I’ll let you know. I need to have a chat with one of the movie people first.” He left her and ambled over to Ian’s table.

“Hello, Mr. Patrick,” Gordon said. “I have another question or two for you.”

Ian set down the sandwich he was eating. “Is there a problem?”

“I hope not. Can we go somewhere and talk, please?”

Ian took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a sip of soda. “Sure.”

Gordon led Ian to a bench outside the pub and recited the usual information into his recorder.

“Why didn’t you return my call?” he asked.

Ian frowned. “Your call?”

“I left you a voicemail yesterday.”

“Must have missed it. I was out hiking, taking pictures. No cell reception. The only people who’d have mattered were Lionel Dawson, or my agent. Most of the time, all I do is check my missed call log, and if there’s one from someone important, I call them back. Sorry.”

And the Chief of Police wasn’t important? Since he had the man in front of him, he let it slide. “When we interviewed you previously, you said you hadn’t seen Marianna Spellman on the day she died.”

“Correct. And, as I recall, I told you we didn’t have much reason to interact, and I’d never met her before this shoot.”

“Then why did you call her before six that morning?”

Ian’s eyebrows bunched. “Call her? I—wait. I was trying to call Mai, see if she wanted to meet up before our scene, and I hit the wrong number. I got Marianna instead. Apologized for the misdial, and that was that.”

“Can I see your phone?” Gordon asked. Ian’s contact list would confirm he had both Mai and Marianna’s numbers programmed in. He had to admit, it was a plausible explanation. He’d made similar errors himself.

“It’s at the hotel. I shouldn’t have had it yesterday, but I figured as long as it was off and in my pocket, Dawson wouldn’t be the wiser. Not that he doesn’t have his with him all the time. We were all notified that because the Village was off limits for an indefinite amount of time today, we should not bring anything with us, and he stressed the cell phone part. I was already on his shit list for ducking out the day before, so I’m playing the good little boy today.”

Gordon waited, and Ian went on. “It’s not like we’re in grade school. If there was a call back, I’d have been here. But sitting around and waiting … there’s enough of that when we’re
working.
” He glanced at his watch. “Are we done? I’d like to finish my lunch before I have to be on the set again.”

“One more question,” Gordon said. “Had you noticed anything that would lead you to believe Yolanda Orozco has a drinking problem? Heard any rumors she likes to party a little too much?”

“Yolanda? A party animal?” He snorted. “I suppose anything’s possible, but no, I hadn’t heard any buzz about that, and she seemed sober enough the times I met with her.”

“Thanks.” Gordon dismissed him. Ian returned to Finnegan’s. Gordon stayed on the bench and called Colfax. “You got anything for me?”

Colfax huffed. “What do you think this is? Television? Even the private labs take time. On the other hand, I caught three more cases. What’s new on your end?”

Gordon filled Colfax in on the discovery of the purse and the pills. “I sent pictures of the pill vial to the techs to see if they can enhance it and figure out who the prescription was for. And the lab is going to run tox screens on Yolanda and Marianna to test for citalopram.” He paused allowing for Colfax to ask him what it was, but the man didn’t say anything. Either he knew or was looking it up. “If it’s in both of them, I’m thinking we’ve got more than a coincidence.”

“What you think doesn’t matter. Asel’s got the final word on that.”

“I know, I know. But damn, my gut’s screaming this is a homicide.”

“Cut back on the chili,” Colfax said. “Hang on a sec. Got an email from the lab geeks.”

While Gordon waited for Colfax to read the lab’s email and get back to him, he wandered over to see how things were going at Daily Bread—or as it was called for the movie—The Mountain Café. They’d covered the picture window at the entrance with an opaque shade. Angie had explained it was not to avoid catching people who might be trying to peek in, or get themselves into a shot, but so they could control the lighting. He figured if he really wanted to watch, he could sneak in via Angie’s apartment, but the sooner these film people finished and left, the sooner his life could return to normal.

Colfax came back on the line.

“You get anything good from the geeks?” Gordon asked.

“Only that they didn’t find anything they felt was worth holding the scene for. I told them about the citalopram and they’ll put a rush on testing the beverage samples for it.”

“In that case, unless you can think of another reason, I’ll let the movie folks know they can open the Village and have access to their units. I’d like to keep a couple of your deputies to help with the lookie-lous and monitor comings and goings of movie people, if you can spare them.”

“I’ll have our Dispatch coordinate with yours,” Colfax said. “And, no hard feelings, but right now, I’m hoping Asel says it’s a natural death. Cinnamon rolls and movie stars notwithstanding, I don’t need another homicide.”

“Understood. And, despite what you think, I’m hoping for a non-homicide verdict myself. Keep me in the loop.” Gordon ended the call, then checked in with Connie. Colfax might say he was going to coordinate officer assignments, but Connie took orders from him, not Colfax. “Let him know you’re already on top of it,” Gordon told her.

“Roger that, Chief,” Connie said. “What about the extra civilian patrol units?”

“Keep three of them rolling to cover the gaps since we still have officers on crowd control. And remind them to keep trying to get eyes on Yolanda Orozco.”

“Will do, Chief.”

“I’m going to give a quick pass through the production site, then I’ll be at the office.”

Gordon strolled around Finnegan’s to the Village. All quiet. A deputy stood by the barricade at the far entrance to the lot. Gordon headed his way. As he got there, two men approached from the street, and the deputy turned to intercept them, a clipboard in hand. Gordon recognized the men as Cassidy Clarke and Bart Bergsstrom.

Gordon said hello to the deputy, Eagleton, according to his nametag. “In case you didn’t get the word yet, everything’s been released. However, I’ll need you to continue to record everyone coming and leaving. Name, time in, time out.”

“And where they’re going. I have the lists of who’s supposed to be where and when.” Eagleton waved the clipboard.

Gordon could see the deputy’s recordkeeping was far more meticulous than the security guards. He wondered where they were, but didn’t care enough to pursue it.

Angie hadn’t mentioned Cassidy Clarke being in the diner scene, but it made sense. Why else would he still be around? No wonder she was so excited. Gordon waited until Eagleton had checked Cassidy and Bart in, then fell into step beside them. Bart gave him a cautious look, but Cassidy smiled. “Hello, Chief Hepler. We might get these scenes shot here after all. Any progress on what happened to Marianna Spellman?”

“Nothing confirmed yet,” Gordon said. “Would either of you have seen or heard from Yolanda Orozco today?”

The men exchanged a quick glance. “Yolanda. Wardrobe manager,” Bart said. “No, I’m a mere stand-in. I don’t need no stinkin’ wardrobe.” He elbowed Cassidy. “You, Mr. Leading Man, however, should probably get your ass over to wherever they’ve set up wardrobe until they move everything back here.”

“And you should get your own butt to the set so you can stand around and pretend to be me.”

Gordon’s cop radar was pinging. Were these two engaging in harmless banter? Or was there something deeper? He didn’t know whether the movie culture was anything like the way cops carried on amongst themselves. And, relative to cop-to-cop antics, this exchange had been mild.

“One more question,” Gordon said. “Any truth to the rumors Yolanda likes to party a bit too much?”

Both men registered shocked expressions which Gordon accepted as genuine. Cassidy spoke first. “I don’t know her that well, but I never heard any rumors like that.”

“From what little dealings I had with her, I never suspected it,” Bart said.