Hot Secret (11 page)

Jeannette shot Molly a sympathetic look as Vince’s tirade went on. “I’ve had calls from the county manager, half a dozen different local mayors, to say nothing of tourism officials and the film liaison in Orlando who can’t wait to snatch victory out of the jaws of our defeat,” he said. “Are you trying to destroy this office?”

“Excuse me?” Molly said incredulously.

Jeannette muttered under her breath in Creole. Molly had a feeling that if she’d known exactly what the Haitian clerk was saying, she would have echoed it. Their boss had a way of viewing all calamities in relation to the safety of his own neck.

“I did not kill Gregory Kinsey,” Molly reminded him slowly and emphatically. “I could hardly cover up the man’s death. Did you want me to dump the body in the Everglades and hope that nobody noticed the man was missing? Maybe I should have finished directing the picture myself.”

Vince gaped at her sarcasm. Finally his shoulders sagged, and he dropped the clippings on his cluttered desk. “No, of course not. How are we going to handle this, though? Do you realize that I had half a dozen calls at home over the weekend from
producers we’ve been trying to lure to south Florida? They’re all very nervous.”

“I think you can safely reassure them that we do not have a serial killer on the loose who’s targeting Hollywood directors,” Molly said dryly.

“You don’t know that.”

Molly rolled her gaze heavenward and prayed for patience. “Okay, Vince, what would you like me to do?”

“We have to solve this thing as quickly as possible if we’re going to minimize the damage. Talk to that cop friend of yours, the one who worked on the murder in your building.”

“I have talked to him. It’s not in his jurisdiction. He’s with Metro, not Miami Beach.”

“But he’s good, right?”

“He’s good.”

“Then I’ll take care of it.”

Molly didn’t like the sound of that. She had a strong hunch Michael would like it even less. “What are you going to do?” she asked cautiously.

“Don’t give it another thought,” Vince said, looking more cheerful. “Just get the hell over to GK Productions and do whatever you can to keep them from packing up and fleeing to L.A. to finish this in the studio. Take Jeannette with you,” he added magnanimously. “She can answer phones, take dictation, whatever they need.”

Molly cast a look at the thirty-year-old Haitian woman with the close-cropped hair and regal bearing. She was the bane of Vince’s existence. Her round mahogany face was totally devoid of expression, but Molly could detect the twinkle in her eyes.
Jeannette loved to mutter darkly in Creole whenever Vince irritated her. He was convinced she was putting a curse on him. Because she was damn good at her job, he couldn’t fire her, but he grabbed at any opportunity to send her on whatever assignments he could justify out of the office.

Molly hid a grin. Vince and Jeannette must have really been going at it this morning, if he was ready to loan her out to a production company. Since Molly was anxious to get to GK Productions herself, she didn’t waste time arguing that the county might look askance at paying a clerk’s salary so she could answer someone else’s phones.

“Come on, Jeannette, let’s get going. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with the extra help.”

GK Productions had taken up an entire floor of one of the most recently renovated Ocean Drive deco hotels. Since it was off-season for Miami Beach, Molly had been able to help them get fantastic rates for the offices and for the cast’s housing. They’d even redecorated their best suite for Veronica.

Laura Crain, Hank Murdock, and production assistant Jerry Shaw were huddled around a table in Crain’s third-floor hotel suite when Molly and Jeannette arrived just after nine thirty. She’d hoped for a few minutes alone with the normally late rising producer, but obviously the current production crisis had changed everyone’s sleep schedule.

Or possibly, Molly thought, judging from the overall appearance of exhaustion, the trio had been up all night. An ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts and a room service cart was littered with the remains of some unidentifiable meal. Dinner? Midnight
snack? Breakfast? It was impossible to tell from the congealed leftovers. Jerry was clutching the receivers of two phones, speaking alternately into each of them. He looked desperate.

She introduced Jeannette to everyone and explained that Vince had sent her along to help out in any way they needed her to. Laura Crain started to say something, but Hank stopped her with a look.

“Great,” he said. “These phones have been ringing off the hook. Jerry can’t keep up with the calls. Another hour of this and he’ll be back in his room having a nervous breakdown.”

“Just tell me what you’d like me to say,” Jeannette said, “and I’ll get to work.”

While Hank gave her instructions and Jerry gratefully relinquished the phones, Molly asked for a cup of coffee. “Is there any left?” she said, moving automatically toward the room service serving cart.

“I’ve just ordered up another pot,” Laura said. “Should be here any minute.”

“It looks as if you all have been at this for a while,” Molly observed.

“Since last night,” Hank said. “I’m getting too damned old to miss this many hours of sleep.”

“We had to make some decisions,” Laura retorted sharply. She looked every bit as brittle as she sounded. Her makeup had long since worn off, leaving her pale. Her green eyes glittered too brightly. Her hair was mussed and she twisted one strand around a finger. Molly doubted it would take much for her to snap. Oddly, though, today there was little obvious evidence of grief for a just-murdered lover.

“Every day we’re shut down costs us thousands,”
Laura said. “We were already over budget. I spent all day yesterday on the phone with the head of the studio trying to convince him not to scrap the project and eat the losses. Fortunately, half of his key executives were away from L.A. for the weekend, so they couldn’t get together and compare notes until today. When they call here around noon, we’d better have a plan or we’ll be on the next plane home with an unfinished picture that will never see the light of day.”

Molly already knew how Vince would take that news. She’d be lucky if he didn’t fire her. Come to think of it, they’d all be lucky if Dade County didn’t simply drop the department from its budget. There were already some who considered a film office frivolous. They seemed to think production companies would swarm to Miami whether anyone smoothed the way for them or not.

“What do you expect to happen?” she asked Laura.

“They’ll moan and groan and threaten a little. Then they’ll agree to giving us another two weeks,” she said confidently. “If Hank takes over now and we don’t lose another minute of production time, we have a chance of bringing this in close enough to budget to keep everyone reasonably happy.”

Molly watched for Hank’s reaction. If he was eager to direct the rest of the picture and hoped to negotiate an on-screen credit with Greg for bailing them out, he hid it well. If anything, he looked resigned rather than elated.

Even so, Molly had a hard time imagining anyone’s not being thrilled at the amount of attention
this picture was likely to generate, no matter how the reviews turned out. The simple fact that it was Greg Kinsey’s last picture would draw curiosity seekers to the theaters in droves.

“This could be quite a break for you, couldn’t it?” she said to Hank.

Rather than reacting with outrage or deliberate innocence, Hank regarded her with amusement. “Playing detective, Molly?”

She felt heat steal into her cheeks. “You have to admit that taking over as director on a Greg Kinsey film could be construed as a motive for murder.”

“It could,” he said agreeably. “But I was in the production trailer with half a dozen other people at the time Greg was murdered. You found me there yourself.”

Molly tried to recall the scene in that trailer when she’d gone in search of Greg. Hank had been seated at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. Jerry and several others had been playing poker at that same table, but there had been no cards in front of Hank. Because he’d just returned from murdering Greg?

“Why weren’t you in on the poker game?” she asked.

“I don’t gamble. Haven’t in years. Lost too much of my pay at the tables in Vegas.”

“Why are we wasting time discussing this?” Laura demanded. “The cops have questioned all of us. We don’t need to be answering her questions as well.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Molly countered.

“How? By pointing a finger at one of us to get some local psycho off the hook?”

“Where were you?” Molly retorted before she could stop herself. “You weren’t in the production trailer.”

Molly wouldn’t have been surprised if Laura ignored the blunt question, but the producer actually seemed anxious to share her alibi.

“No, I wasn’t in the trailer,” she said. “I was back here taking care of business. That’s what Greg hired me to do. He hated the paperwork, hated dealing with all the numbers guys at the studio.”

Molly knew that was true enough. Laura did have the organizational and logistical skills of an army general. She’d moved the cast and crew around town with a minimum of fuss. She could identify every one of the locals hired, practically right down to their Social Security numbers. Unfortunately, she didn’t waste a lot of time on charm. Other than Greg, and possibly Hank, Molly wasn’t sure anyone got along with her.

Before she could ask Laura if anyone had actually seen her at the hotel at the time of the murder, an argument broke out in the adjoining room. The connecting door burst open and Daniel Ortiz stormed in.

A Dodgers baseball cap covered his prematurely graying dark hair. A religious medallion dangled from a chain around his neck, providing an interesting contrast to the bloodred logo of some heavy metal rock group that adorned his black T-shirt. He was trailed by two men Molly recognized as key technical experts on
Endless Tomorrows
. As she recalled,
one had something to do with sound, the other with lighting.

“We’ve got a problem,” Ortiz told Laura, dropping a handful of pages on the table in front of her. “There’s no way to do all these scenes in the same day. No way. What the hell were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of trying to make up some of the time we lost. Hank said we could do it.”

Ortiz did not spare the new director a glance. He kept his attention on Laura. “I do not do schlock. If we push like this, there will be mistakes. Paul and Ken agree.”

“Do Paul and Ken also agree they’d rather shut down production now?” Laura inquired.

The director of photography finally looked at Hank. “Is that the choice?”

Hank nodded, looking fairly miserable. “I hate it, too, but Laura’s right. We’re going to have to make some compromises. Work with me on this and maybe we can pull it off.”

The director of photography took off his cap and shoved his hand through his thick hair. He stared out the window for several minutes, then nodded abruptly. “If this is what we have to do, then it’s what we’ll do. Come on, Hank. Let’s see what we can figure out.”

When Hank had left the room with the others, Molly sat down next to Laura. “Daniel owns part of GK Productions, doesn’t he?”

Laura regarded her warily. “Still playing amateur sleuth, Molly? It’s a dangerous game,” she warned.

“Come on,” Molly pleaded. “Help me out
here. You must want to see Greg’s killer caught as much as anyone.”

After a momentary hesitation, her gaze challenging, Laura finally rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed.

“Okay, yes,” she said. “Of course, I want to see Greg’s killer caught, but I can’t start thinking about all that now. If I do, I’ll come unglued. Greg placed a lot of faith in me when he gave me this job. I can’t let him down.”

“He was your mentor?”

“Yes.”

“How does Daniel Ortiz fit in?”

“He and Greg went to film school together. They did their student project together. It was a natural fit. He may not have liked it, but Greg knew how to talk with the money guys, how to get the most out of an actor. Daniel knows how to capture it on film.”

“What happens to GK Productions with Greg dead?”

Laura shook her head. “I don’t know. The company’s not worth much with Greg gone, unless Hank can prove himself on this picture. Frankly, he’s a decent director, maybe even better than Greg, but he’s too low-key, too content to be second-in-command. It takes ambition to make it in this business, and Hank’s not driven enough to really scramble for the top spot. It was a good match. He bailed Greg out whenever Greg started drinking or womanizing. He did it too damned much. Greg never had to grow up.”

The last was said with an edge of bitterness.
Molly recognized that it was as close as Laura was likely to come to an admission that she recognized Greg’s flaws and hated him for them.

“Are you so sure Hank wasn’t tired of bailing Greg out? Maybe he’d had to do it one time too many,” Molly suggested.

Laura’s eyes glinted angrily. “No, dammit. Hank did not kill Greg. For all I know you did it yourself. You had the hots for him. I saw that the first day you showed up on the set. You were hanging around all the time, ready to do any little thing he asked of you.”

“Usurping your role,” Molly shot back. “Were you jealous, Laura? Maybe not of me, but how about the model Greg discovered a few days ago? Did his affair with her make you furious enough to kill him?”

Laura looked as if Molly had pierced her heart with a knife. “What Greg and I had was special, damn you. Don’t try to take that away from me. Don’t,” she said softly, brushing fiercely at the tears that ran down her cheeks.

Before Molly could apologize, Laura jumped up and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Molly heard the water start to run and looked helplessly at Jeannette, who shook her head as she listened to someone at the other end of the phone line. She held the phone out. “It’s for you.”

Molly was still trying to figure out if Laura’s outburst stemmed from despair or guilt. She reluctantly walked over to take the phone. “Who is it?” she asked Jeannette.