Chapter Nineteen

In the morning, before eating breakfast, Kate headed to the cottage and finally finished the last of the restoration. No more dreams that night and no more clues had been found in the remaining footage. Still, having the task completed lifted a weight inside her. When she got back to the main house and entered the kitchen, she was met by the wonderful aroma of coffee. The moment she retrieved a mug from the shiny white cabinets, the percolator magically clicked off, indicating the brew was ready to pour.

Jimena really had an almost supernatural sense of timing.

In the refrigerator she found eggs, three different kinds of cheese, bacon, and a large bowl of summer fruit—nectarines, plums, and grapes.

Certainly not like the typical staples at her apartment, where the refrigerator rarely held more than peanut butter and jelly.

She took out a tub of cream cheese—yum!—then went to the pantry in search of bagels. Finding none there, she ambled over to the cellar door and twisted the handle. Locked.

“Good morning, miss,” Jimena said behind her.

Kate jumped and turned, feeling as guilty as a teenager caught in the act of stealing liquor. Maybe Jimena was thinking the same thing, since Jarvis had an expensive wine collection down there.

“I…I was just looking for some bagels. Do you have any?”

She shook her head. “But I will put it on my marketing list for you. Anything else you need?”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, sit. I’ll make your breakfast.”

“Oh, please no. This is fun for me.” Kate systematically opened cabinets, looking for a skillet. After opening four doors with no luck, Jimena handed her the pan and left.

As soon as Jimena walked out, there was a knock at the back door. Then it swung open, and in walked Dylan.

“You do know this is private property,” Kate said.

“Not yours. Unless there’s something you care to tell me about you and Jarvis.”

“Very funny. I finished the restoration, in case you’re interested.”

“Fantastic. I knew you could do it.”

Kate opened the refrigerator again. In need of instant gratification, she grabbed a nectarine. She walked over to the sink and washed the fruit. “So what are you doing here? Aren’t you busy being the great director?”

His brow furrowed. “I thought you understood.”

She took a big bite of the nectarine. Sweet juice ran down her chin. “I do. You’re right. I get it.”

You abandoned me, she had almost said, but was glad she hadn’t. She tried to cover her feelings by getting a paper towel

Man, she needed to get over her daddy issues.

“I’m here to make it up to you.” Dylan took her arm, and despite herself she warmed to his touch. “Let’s go, I have a surprise.”

“I have work to do.”

“Such as? You just said you finished the restoration. Or, is it something to do with the investigation?”

She didn’t take the bait. “No, nothing.”

“Good, then you can come with me.”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, aren’t you busy in pre-production?”

“I have time for this. I guarantee you’ll like it. You need some fun. Come on.”

“Oh, okay. But it better be good.”

****

By the time Dylan turned onto Third Street, he’d revealed that their destination was Hancock Park.

Not very promising.

Hancock Park was a neighborhood known for stately mansions and for its easy access to downtown for bankers, lawyers, and CEOs. Hollywood types were considered riffraff and not encouraged to buy in the area, although like so many other things, that was slowly changing.

Dylan drove by the mayor’s residence and turned a corner, and her heart jumped into overdrive with excitement. Outside one of the large homes was a row of small trucks and vans. A bunch of scruffy-looking guys were hauling equipment such as black cable, floodlights, and film canisters.

It was a film shoot!

Dylan parked his car and turned to her. “Welcome to Skyline Studio’s newest production, Satan’s Academy.”

Kate took in the whole scene. The equipment was better than she’d ever used in the student productions she’d worked on, but the size of the crew wasn’t much larger. Not a big studio operation by any stretch.

“Your surprise is bringing me to work?” Kate lifted her right eyebrow the way she’d watched her aunt do so many times. “So am I supposed to sit here with bated breath, admiring you while you direct?”

“You could do that. My thought was to employ you.”

She was stunned.

“You don’t like the idea?”

“Yes!” She leapt out of the car. “This is amazing!”

Dylan climbed out of the car and followed her. “Yeah, we’ll see what you say by the end of the day. I’m going to work you, not entertain you.”

“I know it can be grueling work and long hours, interspersed with endless periods of waiting and doing nothing, but damn it, this is what it’s all about.” She threw her arms around Dylan. “It’s exactly what I want. Thank you!”

“Even though it’s only a shlocky horror film?”

She stepped back. “That’s okay. It’s a job, right? See, I was listening to your and Mallick’s argument.”

He laughed.

She rubbed her palms together. “So how long is the commitment?”

“Five-day shoot, that’s all. No more than that or else, the money people at Skyline Pictures said.”

“The restoration is done so I’m in.”

“I take it you like the surprise.”

“I love it.”

“Good.” He gave her one of his most disarming smiles. Really, it should be classified as a weapon.

She shook the thought away. Back to business. “Where do I report?”

Dylan pointed to the truck that was the farthest one away. Standing next to it was a middle-aged bald guy with a red bushy beard and mustache. “That’s George. He’s in charge of the lighting. You’ll be helping him so he’ll also make sure you sign all the paperwork for this gig. And, who knows, if you’re really good, I may make you Best Boy.”

She said “Ha, ha” and jogged away toward George’s truck. On the way she passed the catering truck, the heart and soul of any film shoot, no matter how big or small. Standing underneath a large white tent next to a long table filled with food and drinks were three expertly made-up blondes and one brunette. They must be actresses, judging by their loving gazes at the array of pastries they dared not eat.

Kate, in her loose blue jeans, large T-shirt, and with her red locks hidden under her baseball cap, swiped the biggest, most gooey apple Danish she could find. The actresses glared at her as if eating a sweet was tantamount to declaring war.

Devouring the rest of the Danish, she headed off to find George.

He was easy to spot. He was a large man with a bulbous nose and busy red facial hair. She held out her hand to him. “Hello.”

He ignored her and shouted to a young, rail-thin guy who was in the middle of positioning a Fresnel light on top of a tall stand. “Inch to the right. Good. Close the left barn door just a bit.”

The young man moved one of the four black panels that looked like the petals of a daisy.

“Good,” George said. “Move on to the next light.”

“Excuse me,” Kate said.

“Hey, girly, I’m busy.” George pointed to the caterer’s table, where the actresses huddled. “You’re over there. I got work to do.”

She took in a deep breath before trying again. “No, I’m here. I’m supposed to assist you. I’m Kate.”

George shook his head. “You’re Kate? Dylan!” he yelled.

Dylan looked away from a crew member he was talking to. “Yeah?” he yelled back.

“It’s bad enough you told me to tutor a girl, but this kid’s so scrawny she couldn’t pick up a scrim.”

“I can too,” she said.

Dylan sauntered over. “If she can’t, fire her. But I think she’s strong enough to do anything you need. Give her a try.”

George grumbled some choice curses. “Fine.” He pointed to the thin young man. “You’ll be working with Chris. What Chris or I says goes, okay? No complaining. This is a tight shoot. We’ve got over fifteen setups today alone. Don’t screw up.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

By noon Kate was covered with sweat. Her muscles burned, and she had a crick in her neck the size of Rhode Island.

No one would confuse her with an actress now.

The only break from lugging heavy equipment and adjusting lights was when the scene was being shot. That’s when she had a chance to watch Dylan work. It was a sight to behold. He was amazing at this. Hard to believe it was his first feature film.

As the director, he never had any downtime. Everyone, from the makeup artist to the cinematographer to the actors looked to him for answers.

Was the fabric choice for tomorrow’s interior shot right?

Did the blocking make sense?

Did the lighting create the right atmosphere?

How to coax a believable performance from the actresses? Especially from the tall, buxom blonde with the monotone delivery, who also happened to be the producer’s girlfriend.

Kate was impressed with how Dylan could take cliché horror scenes like the pretty girls undressing while an eye peers through the keyhole or the frenzied slashing of an ax, and compose almost psychedelic shots of chaotic violence. He elevated the formulaic structure of horror by using surprise and visual richness. All the while, and perhaps most importantly, he got the best from everyone by creating an atmosphere that nurtured instead of demanded.

Watching him work took her breath away. He was a natural. Like the boy who stands out on a little league baseball team because he hits better and throws harder than seems possible, or the math genius who swiftly solves mind-boggling equations as if the solutions were as apparent as the sun.

Then there’s the rest of us—her, for instance—who struggle to achieve and sometimes even succeed in mastering certain skills but will never be at the level of the gifted artist.

But she didn’t feel jealous as she witnessed such talent in action. Instead she felt awe, a sense of privilege at being able to watch him work.

“Cut!” Dylan’s deep voice commanded.

Kate took her cue and moved the lights to the next setup.

It was past eight when she lugged the last Fresnel to George’s truck. Chris sat in the passenger side of the truck, his head tilted back, looking exhausted. She could relate. Her legs begged her to sit, but first she needed one more burst of energy to lift the light up to George, who stood in the back of his truck. He grabbed the light and tucked it in with all the other equipment. After climbing out of the truck, he harrumphed before rolling the back door shut and heading for the driver’s seat.

Panic ran through her. Had she done something wrong?

She had carried more cables and equipment than Chris. George had yelled at her only once, okay twice, for shifting the light in the wrong direction, but not since the morning. She really thought he’d even been a little impressed when she grabbed a scrim to soften the edge in the shower scene without him asking her to do it.

George stuck his head out the driver’s-side window. “Setup is at five-thirty a.m. at Studio B at Skyline. Don’t be late.” He drove off.

Kate clapped her hands. She’d done it! She made it to day two on her first professional film production.

****

By day four of the shoot, Kate had forgotten what all her excitement had been about. Today all she wanted to do was get out of there, and it wasn’t only because she could no longer distinguish one area of pain in her aching body from another. Ted had come by during the lunch break to steal some of the delicious catered food and to tell Dylan and her that he thought he had figured out what the statue depicted. And then he just left!

In any other situation, Dylan would have understood the need to drop everything and track down Ted to get some answers. But not when Dylan was in obsessive director mode.

When the shoot for the day was over, she and Dylan headed to the special-effects lab. Back in the room filled with monstrous models and masks from horror films past, Ted pulled out the twelve photos she’d given to him and placed them on a table in three rows of four—A’s at the top, B’s next, and C’s last.

Ted pointed to row C. “These are useless. It’s no more than a sliver.” He scooped up the photos as if they were playing cards and slid them back into the envelope.

To Kate, the B’s were just as nondescript, but Ted left them on the table while he turned his attention to the four photos marked “A.” These were the ones Kate had the most hope for. Although this piece of marble was also very small, it did have a discernible curlicue design on it.

Kate pointed to it. “Is this design part of a border or a costume?”

“Neither. It’s part of a beard. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“Are you sure? It looks more like tiny circles.”

“Typical for a depiction of the ancients.”

“You mean Biblical?” Dylan asked.

“It could be. Or Etruscan or Hassidic, but considering it was bought in the nineteen forties, popular tastes then suggests a Greek or Roman figure. But most Roman males were clean-shaven, although not all.” Ted gave them an I-have-a-secret smile.

“So who is it?” Kate asked.

“I wasn’t sure at first. I needed more information. After identifying the curlicue design as a beard, I extrapolated the likely size. Interestingly, it comes out to be quite a bit smaller than the two-and-half-foot length of the box.” Ted leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. “I’d estimate it at one and a half feet long. Two at the absolute longest.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. “That would be a pretty small statue for a garden, wouldn’t it?”

“Why do you think it has to be for the garden?” Ted said.

“I thought that’s what you said before.”

“Not impossible, but I think this size makes it more likely an interior piece. Something for the mantel.”

“Mantel?” Kate chewed her cheek.

“Now look at the photos marked ‘B,’” Ted said. “These are really exciting.”

Kate inspected the photo of a small piece of marble. From what she could tell, there was only one distinguishable edge. It was oval.

Dylan pointed to it and asked Ted, “Is it something about this mark? Is it a symbol?”

“No, just a tool of a trade. It’s part of an anvil, I’m sure of it which means it can be only one thing. The statue depicts a craftsman. Like me.” Ted beamed.

“Since when do they make marble statues of ordinary people?” Kate asked.

“He’s not ordinary.” Ted opened one of his art books to a bookmarked page. He pointed to the picture of a muscular man with a mangled foot. Held high in his hand was a two-headed hammer, in front of him an anvil. “Hephaestus, also known as Vulcan, blacksmith of the gods.”

“You’re just guessing,” Dylan said.

“A bit, but I think I’m right.”

Ted pulled out another art book, titled The Renaissance, and opened it to a beautiful painting of a nude woman with long, red, tousled hair standing on a giant seashell. “This is Venus. Also known as Aphrodite. Hephaestus may have been lame and ugly, but he was married to her.”

“Oh, my God.” Kate stared at the photo of the famous painting of Venus. “She was married to the craftsman?” She jumped to her feet. “I’ve been so dense. You said the statue would be a foot and a half tall?”

“Give or take.”

“To fit on a mantel, that’s what you said, right?”

“Yes.”

“I have it.”

“What?” Dylan said.

Ted stared at her in astonishment.

“I don’t mean it,” Kate corrected herself. “Not the murder weapon, but I think I have his mate.”

****

Kate, Dylan, and Ted stood at the doorway of Kate’s rental house in Claremont. Mrs. Koval, who was dressed for what appeared to be her dinner party, did not look happy to see them. “What are you doing here? As renters we do have some rights, you know. You can’t just barge in anytime you feel like it.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Kate replied. “We just need a minute.”

Mrs. Koval stood aside. “Fine.”

Kate heard the clank of plates from the adjoining dining room as she walked to the cabinet filled with her mother’s mishmash collection. It included two glass mermaids, ivory horses, a Toby Jug, several porcelain dolls, and on the bottom shelf, behind an Indonesian shadow puppet, was a heavy marble statue—a familiar chubby icon with a bow and arrow. Kate knew that was Cupid. Next to that was a statue of a woman. She pulled her out and handed her to Ted. “What do you think?”

He laughed with delight.

Dylan inspected the figurine closely.

The statue was no more than a foot and half high. Braided hair, wound tightly around her head. The face was exquisite. Her head tilted up as if she had just caught the eye of an admiring man. The bodice of her garment loose revealed one of her breasts. Her right hand held a sphere.

“My mother told me she’s Aphrodite. Is she?”

“Yes.” Ted ran a finger across her shoulders and then pointed to what was in her hand. “This is the golden apple given to her by Paris when he judged her the fairest.”

“Why do you have this?” Dylan asked. “I thought all of Gloria’s things were stolen.”

“I thought so, too. I thought my mom had hidden all of Gloria’s stuff in those boxes in the garage. I kept my mother’s belongings in the house as part of the furnishings.”

Ted looked at the base, then showed it to Dylan and Kate. It had two marks. He pointed at one of them. “That means it’s made from blanca Carrera, like the weapon was.”

“And the other symbol?” Kate could hardly contain her excitement.

“That’s the artist’s mark. Give me some time. If he’s still alive, I may be able to track him down.”