Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (3 page)

Gordon listened as the murmurs trailed Lily Beckett through Daily Bread like a fox after a field mouse. When she stopped at their table, Gordon’s first thought was
cat fight
.

Marianna’s eyes sought the ceiling, her lips flattened. “Yes, Lily. What do you want? You’re not supposed to be here for two days yet.”

“Cassidy’s here. Which means the press will be here.
Someone
needs to run damage control. Or prevent the damage from happening in the first place.”

“I believe that’s more my job than yours.” Marianna patted the vinyl bench beside her. “At least sit down and smile. Like you’re happy to be here.”

Lily sat. She removed her sunglasses but left the scarf on. Only then did she seem to notice Gordon sitting across from her. Like her leading man counterpart, her expression went totally PR. She tugged off a black leather glove and extended her hand. “I’m Lily Beckett.”

“Lily, this is Police Chief Hepler. We’ve been going over basic security measures.”

Lily removed her other glove and put them both inside a purse almost as large as Marianna’s, which she set on the bench between them. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”

Donna bustled over to the table, clearly star-struck for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Good morning. Welcome to Daily Bread. I’m Donna. Would you like coffee or tea to start?” She pulled the pencil from the knot of curls at the top of her head.

Gordon suppressed a laugh. He’d never heard any of the wait staff do the introduction thing before.

“Decaf coffee,” Lily said. “A splash of cream and two sugars.”

Gordon wondered how Lily would take to doctoring her own brew when it got here. Or if Donna would fix it for her.

Donna returned a moment later, setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of Lily, along with a metal creamer. “Here you are. Sugar’s on the table.”

Lily smiled. “Thank you very much.”

Donna glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, then at Lily. “I know I shouldn’t be bothering you, but would you mind?” She tore off a page from her order book and put it on the table along with a pen she plucked from her apron pocket. “I’m a huge fan.”

Lily smiled again, and although Gordon knew this must be routine to the point of annoying for her, she seemed to act as if nobody had ever asked for her autograph before.

“Donna, is it?” Lily picked up the pen.

“Yes. That would be wonderful.” Donna cut her gaze toward the kitchen again. Lily wrote on the paper and returned it to Donna. The waitress read it and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you
so
much.” She folded the paper reverently and slipped it into her apron pocket, then scuttled away.

“At least she didn’t insist on a picture with you,” Marianna said. “Everyone has a cell phone, and they all have cameras. Such a pain.”

“It takes two seconds to be nice.” Lily tipped a few drops of cream into her mug. “These people are why we have jobs, after all.”

Marianna huffed. “You’d think they’d respect people’s privacy, though.”

In an attempt to move things into more friendly territory, Gordon passed Lily the container of sweeteners. She chose the real sugar, tore two packets open, and stirred them into her coffee. He motioned to Marianna’s unfinished roll. “Have something to eat. It’s a rule that anyone new to Mapleton has to sample a Daily Bread cinnamon roll.”

Lily took a knife from the table and cut off a piece. Her reaction matched those of her colleagues, and she finished a couple of bites, washing them down with sips of her coffee. “Excellent. Does this mean I’m allowed to stay?” She grinned.

“For a day or two,” Gordon said, resisting the urge to wink.

“I wish they’d invent a camera that took
off
ten pounds instead of adding them,” Lily said. “Or that I’d have scenes that let me wear things like puffy winter coats or oversized robes. Plus, it seems the real weather is always the opposite of when the story is supposed to take place. Nothing like sweltering in winter garb in July, or freezing your ass off in shorts in February.”

“Nothing to worry about this time, dear,” Marianna said. “You’ll be costumed appropriately for fall weather.”

Too bad. Gordon wouldn’t have minded seeing Lily in shorts. And making sure he was scheduled to be on duty when she was. But, he admitted, she looked better-than-fine the way she was. He’d never noticed the freckles against her fair complexion, so he assumed they were covered by makeup for the camera. Her eyes were as green as Cassidy’s were turquoise. When she spoke to you, she had a way of making you think the conversation was the most important thing she had to do all day.

Okay, so he’d definitely forgive Angie her fan girl moments with Cassidy. Even though he knew these people were used to pretending, they were
good
at it.

Marianna moved the plate with the partially eaten cinnamon roll farther away. “Since you and Cassidy are both here, maybe we can squeeze in some of the long shots tomorrow morning.”

“I thought those were going to be covered by stand-ins,” Lily said. “According to my schedule, Cass and I aren’t on until after lunch.”

“It never hurts to get ahead of the game. Of course if you’d rather not—”

It was clear from Marianna’s tone that this wasn’t open for discussion.

“No, I’m fine with it. Tell me where and when.”

It was clear from Lily’s tone that she
wasn’t
fine with it, but she knew her place. Which surprised Gordon, because he’d always thought movie stars set the ground rules. He’d probably learn more about the film business than he’d ever need to know by the time these people packed up and left.

“Where is everyone staying?” Gordon asked. Cassidy Clarke had mentioned a B and B, but there weren’t enough rooms to house everyone in the few establishments Mapleton offered. Mapleton had no hotels—not even a chain motel—and the nearest suitable accommodations were fifteen miles away, and most of those miles were on winding mountain roads.

Lily looked to Marianna. “Good question. Where
are
we staying?”

Marianna frowned. “You didn’t get my email?”

Lily lifted her mug. “Of course. I don’t remember off the top of my head, that’s all. I figured you wouldn’t mind saving me hunting for it.”

“I’ve got you, Cassidy, Damien, and Julie in a Bed and Breakfast. Run by the Richardsons. Cassidy has already checked in.” She fished around in her purse for a tablet, tapped it, and swooped her fingers across the display. “We have a car to get you to and from.”

“Give me the address,” Lily said. “I have my own rental.”

“You can turn it in,” Marianna reached across the table and broke off a minuscule morsel of cinnamon roll. “You won’t need it.”

Why did Gordon think Lily was going to keep the rental? Not his problem. She and Marianna evidently had a history, and from what he could see, not all of it was good.

Lily shrugged. “Well, the driver isn’t here now,” Lily said, “and since I’m not scheduled until tomorrow, I thought I’d take advantage of the free time, maybe drive around the mountains, enjoy the change of scenery.”

“The aspens are almost at their peak,” Gordon said. “You should have great views. There are local area maps near the door.”

“Thanks. That would be great.” Lily slid out of the booth and slipped her sunglasses on. “Where’s Cass? He might like something to do, too.”

Gordon recalled the way Cassidy and Lily had both confronted Marianna when they’d first arrived. Whatever their beefs were with her, or the production company, or each other, they’d apparently set them aside for the time being. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to hit the fan, and when it did, he hoped everyone would be well outside of Mapleton.

Gordon stood as Lily straightened her scarf and picked up her purse. He strode to the brochure rack and plucked out one of the tourist maps, then opened it and pointed out the route to her.

“Do you know where Cass went?” she asked.

“Last I saw, he was headed toward the kitchen. I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

Behind them, Gordon sensed the curious stares of the breakfast crowd. If Marianna thought she could keep this production low-key, she was sorely mistaken. At least half a dozen customers were busy texting on their phones. He had a feeling there were already a few surreptitious snapshots showing up on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. Gordon had to agree with Marianna that people nowadays didn’t think twice about other people’s privacy.

He went and found Cassidy in the kitchen, sitting on a stool—the very one Gordon sat on when he watched Angie at work in the early morning hours—regaling the staff with tales from his other productions. Even Ozzie, Daily Bread’s cook, was listening attentively, barely paying attention to the pot he was stirring. Chili, from the smell of it.

Angie rushed over to Gordon. “Isn’t this great? Cass—he said we could call him that—has been telling us about all the things that went wrong when they were trying to film a fly-fishing scene. And he said they might even shoot a scene here. In this kitchen. I would be making my cinnamon rolls. In the background, of course, but who’d have thought something like this would ever happen in Mapleton? And he gave everyone autographs, and let us take pictures with him.”

Oh, how the social media would be abuzz.

Gordon didn’t have the heart to tell Angie that Cassidy Clarke had little, if any, authority in deciding where scenes would be shot and who would be in them.

“I hate to be the one to break up this party, but Lily Beckett wants to see Mr. Clarke.” Let them call him Cass. Gordon would keep things professional.

Angie seemed tempted to invite Lily into the kitchen as well, but she merely turned to
Cass
and thanked him for visiting.

“Pleasure was all mine, ladies. And gentleman.” He nodded in Ozzie’s direction. “I’m going to speak to the boss about having you cater some of our meals.”

Angie turned to Ozzie and gave him two thumbs up. “We’ll be happy to work with you.”

“Yes, sir, we most certainly would.” Ozzie wiped his hands on the apron that barely covered his ample girth. His grin revealed gleaming white teeth against his coffee-colored skin. His head bobbed in excitement, sending his multiple chins wobbling. “We’ll take good care of you, I promise you that.”

Cass went to meet with Lily. Gordon glanced toward the booth they’d been using. Marianna sat there, working her cell phone, which was in a blood-red case, emblazoned with a sparkly
S
no less. Gordon gave Angie a quick—okay, maybe not so quick—squeeze. “Crossing guard duty beckons,” he said.

“See you tonight?” she asked.

“I’ll let you know. This movie business has tossed a couple of monkey wrenches into my schedule.”

“Ours too, but it’s so exciting.” Angie bounced on her toes.

At the elementary school crosswalk, it was obvious word about the movie making was all over Mapleton. At least a dozen moms stopped to ask him where they could watch the shooting, and if he knew how they could get their kids—or themselves—in as extras. A headache gripped the back of Gordon’s neck. What next?

The next three days went much smoother than Gordon had expected. He’d managed to juggle shifts, cut meetings with the mayor short, and dodge Marianna. He’d had no shortage of volunteers for extra duty, and the Aspen Lake shoots went off without a hitch, if you didn’t count the bickering and snide remarks amongst the cast and crew. He’d come to understand it came with the territory when egos swelled like hot air balloons.

On Thursday, Gordon joined the morning briefing. He stood at the back of the room and watched as Officer Lloyd Titchener—Titch—laid out the day’s assignments. Titch had been doing a bang up job of reminding everyone about being professional. He’d come to the force from the military and ran his shifts with every “t” crossed and “i” dotted.

Although Gordon rarely had to speak to his staff about dress standards, he’d noticed his officers had been showing up for duty more … polished … from their shoes to their badges, to pressed uniforms and not a hair out of place.

Titch finished up with the normal daily routines, then moved onto the movie angle. Everyone sat up a little straighter. “Shooting begins at zero eight hundred. Weather is clear, so they’ll be shooting exteriors along Main and Maple. Lunch at noon, and then interiors at Daily Bread.”

Gordon couldn’t help but smile. Angie had been unable to contain her excitement about her fifteen minutes of fame. Or, rather her diner’s. She still held out hope they’d need another extra during the interior shots, and would ask her. They’d watched three of Cassidy Clarke’s movies, two of which included Lily Beckett. Gordon admitted they’d been entertaining enough, although romance-themed movies, especially romantic comedies, fell into the chick-flick category for him.

Once everyone was dismissed, Gordon headed to the main public parking lot, which had been dubbed Seesaw Village. In addition to the trailers housing all the production equipment, Cassidy Clarke and Lily Beckett each had a large RV. Two smaller ones served as offices for Marianna Spellman and Lionel Dawson, the director. Makeup and wardrobe were housed in RVs, and two more trailers served as community “lounges” where actors could hang while waiting for their next shot. There was a lot of that. Movie making seemed to be a lot more about waiting than
making.
And, thank goodness, whatever issues Cassidy and Lily had arrived with were either solved or forgotten. Or hidden away from the public eye.

Gordon ambled through the walkway from the parking lot to the street where the shooting was going to take place.

The streets and sidewalks were already filling with curious onlookers. The school board had declared today the equivalent of a snow day, so there were no classes. It hadn’t made sense to Gordon, because having all those kids free to wander around and potentially get in the way of the shooting seemed to add to his workload, not reduce it. But, the actual shooting area had been cordoned off with barricades and ropes, and so far, everyone was respecting the boundaries.

Marianna had sledgehammered home the point that anyone sneaking into any of the shots, even in the background was
not
acceptable, and Gordon had pounded the point home to his officers.

“Good morning, Gordon.”

At the sound of the mayor’s voice, Gordon turned. “Mayor.”

The man wore his “good old boy” Stetson and cowboy boots, which Gordon never thought went well with the business suit and tie, but what did he know about fashion?

“Perfect weather, wouldn’t you say?” the mayor said.

Gordon gazed at the bright blue sky with its scattering of cottony white clouds. He breathed in the cool, crisp air. “I would.”

“I was looking for Marianna Spellman.” Mayor McKenna patted a large manila envelope. “We have a few minor wrinkles to iron out for tonight’s press conference.”

As if Mapleton’s weekly paper warranted a press conference. However, Gordon knew there would be some local television coverage and reporters from other neighboring small towns. All of Marianna’s talk about keeping this production under wraps, and she scheduled a press conference? Under wraps until she thought the time was ready for the big unveiling, he figured.

“I think we’ve got the Denver papers coming,” the mayor said. “I know Marianna’s been trying to lure reporters from Boulder and the Springs, too. She said she had a special announcement to make concerning the picture.”

“I’m sure she’ll have everything under control. She’s probably in her office.” Marianna’d about had Gordon ready to take the short way down Pikes Peak with her
needs
—because she never made
demands
—to have everything arranged to her satisfaction. She’d spent hours making sure the high school auditorium was set up to meet her requirements.

And, he supposed, because of all her nit-picking about microphones, camera angles, reserved seating, security, down to specific brands of bottled water for the “talent” as she referred to all the actors, things would run smoothly.

Fifteen minutes later, crew members were still positioning lights. Camera people were checking angles. Other people were adjusting a sign renaming Daily Bread to The Mountain Café. He suspected Angie was fuming inside at that one. Lionel Dawson, the director, was moving from one spot to another, pointing, giving orders, and checking his tablet.

“I need stand-ins on the set. Now,” he bellowed. “Where are Bart Bergsstrom and Kathy Newberg?”

“I think they’re in wardrobe,” one black-clad crew member said as he fussed with laying tape on the sidewalk. Marks, Gordon had learned. Places where the actors were supposed to stop and do their acting.

“Well, somebody get them,” Dawson shouted. “Time is money, people, time is money.”

Gordon snorted. In that case, a lot of both were being wasted.

“I’ll go.” An Asian woman—Mai something or other—who had a minor supporting role, trotted off through the walkway toward the trailers. Rather than have to continue making small talk with the mayor, Gordon followed a short distance behind, allowing himself to enjoy the view. These actors might be wearing climate-appropriate wardrobes, but no women in Mapleton wore jeans that let you tell if a quarter in the rear pocket was facing heads or tails out. Or sweaters that clung to their curves like a coat of paint. Enhanced curves, Gordon figured, but that didn’t make it any harder on the eyes.

Mai climbed the short flight of metal stairs to the RV and disappeared inside. Gordon stopped at the far edge of the lot, close to the rear entrance to Daily Bread. He was about to go inside, see how Angie was doing, when a shriek pierced the crisp fall air.