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THE GEOFFREY STONE was a no-show again the next morning, but Tiffany announced at breakfast that pre-filming (whatever that was) would begin. I received a text saying the horse group should meet at the barn complex at ten.
I munched on an apple on the way to the corral, planning to share the core with Bonnie. It was the type of morning real estate brokers dream of—temperatures in the low 70s, azure sky, lush green grass as far as the eye can see, and the yummy smell of nature’s blooms wafting on the mountain breeze. Days like this made it easy to sell a dream home to the unsuspecting—before it began to snow every day and the mercury hovered in the negative for weeks on end.
My good humor faded a bit when I spotted Skeeter and David. They appeared to be facing off for a high noon shootout. Two ballcapped women stood with their backs to me, watching the two men. David cleared his throat. “Skeeter, my contract specifically says I will have complete control over the horse selection, the tack used, who rides when and where, and preparations for scenes. It does not state that you oversee me.”
A brown stream of tobacco juice landed square on the toe of David’s boot. That evened the score from their handshake yesterday.
“Oh, gross,” Lindy said.
Nakita turned around at my approach. Momentarily surprised at how much they looked alike, I did the tennis match head swing back and forth. Wow! Body double indeed. Dressed as they were—Lindy’s blonde hair tucked under the baseball cap, matching dark T-shirts, jeans, sunglasses—I wouldn’t have been able to pick the real Lindy from a police lineup.
The two men stared at each other. The blue chambray shirt Skeeter wore had dark sweat stains blooming from his armpits. David’s jaw muscles worked, his teeth clenched.
“Lindy,” I said. “Let’s go and get you acquainted with your horse.” It may not be my job to get Lindy horseback, but I used the excuse to leave the unfolding drama.
“Geoff said I could pick the color.”
Notice I didn’t include Nakita in my invitation. My bad.
As we walked away, I asked, “Have you ridden before?”
“God, no. Horses are so smelly.” Lindy waved her painted fingertips across her nose, batting away an imaginary smell.
Uff da!
Halters hung on the fence, and I slid two off and onto my shoulder. There had been a flashy black and white paint added to the string. Little Joe’s Cochise? I’d have to quiz David on his Bonanza knowledge.
Once inside the corral, Bonnie welcomed me with her unique mule whinny that ended with a hew-haw sound. Her black hooves kicked up puffs of dust as she plodded toward us. She nosed my hand, that held the apple core.
“What? Is? That?” Lindy asked, invading my three feet of personal space.
I could have given her the Wikipedia definitions of Molly and John mules and Jack and Jenny donkeys, not to mention hinnies, but I made introductions instead. “This is Bonnie.”
The horses in the corral began to walk our direction, hoping for a tasty treat. “Oh, I love the black and white one,” Lindy said.
I could have bet the ranch she would be drawn to the flashy horse, but by the way he held his head high, I knew he’d be a handful even for an experienced rider.
“Lindy, I think a less colorful horse would be better. After all, you are the star, the horse isn’t, right?”
“Well, dah, yeah.”
Bonnie tagged along as we approached the brown gelding I had seen yesterday. I let him sniff my hand, much as I would an unfamiliar dog. He worked his whiskered lips across the back of my hand. I slipped a halter on and dubbed him Brownie after my childhood horse.
Bonnie gingerly picked the other halter off my shoulder and shook her head. I slipped the halter on her. “Yes, girl. You can come too.”
We caught up with Lindy, who was wandering toward the corral gate where David, Nakita, Wes, and Alex were just walking through. The dark splatter on David’s boot tip now had a fine layer of dust on it and resembled an abstract painting.
David’s voice, a little tight, said, “We are going to get Wes and Alex’s mounts picked out and get a short ride in before lunch.”
“Same here,” I replied, nodding toward Lindy.
“Skeeter’s decided to do some errands in town.”
I nodded in relief, glad to know we wouldn’t find an angry Skeeter lurking in the darkness of the barn.
A small round pen had been set up in the indoor arena. We spent about an hour getting Lindy familiar with Brownie, who was patient and perfect for an inexperienced rider. By the end of our session, I was feeling confident Lindy would be able to stay on horseback for close-up scenes.
After the riding lesson, Lindy walked off leaving the care of the horses to me. I put Bonnie in a stall, intending to take a ride after lunch. Veering off the designated riding paths, rule breaker that I am!
Lunch consisted of burgers with all the fixings, served on the back patio. Sissally wasn’t around, so I ate solitarily and watched the dynamic of the film crew. Very few of them engaged in conversation; most bent over their electronic devices. Tiffany came out onto the patio wearing Cleopatra sandals. She approached the vegetable tray and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. I was, and I zeroed in on her like a hawk on an unsuspecting field mouse. I was still wrestling with “should I stay or should I go” and thought maybe a conversation with Tiffany would help me decide. I was also curious about the conversation I’d overheard—death threats? Madman?
That was especially interesting given the kidnapping and murder that had happened practically in the ranch’s back yard. After dinner last night, Sissally had come to my room and told me what Opal had shared with her about the death of Wanda Gasby. We’d gotten online and pored over the articles in The Eagle Landing Ramblings, which followed the trial of Jason Weatherby.
Tiffany grabbed a carrot stick and a bottle of water and took a seat on a bench facing the fire pit. Makeup did little to cover her dark undereye circles. “Hi, Tiffany.” Not waiting for an invitation, I sat down beside her. “I’m feeling a little like a fish out of water. I’ve never been on a movie set, and I’m not certain really what my job is,” I said, air quoting job. “Honestly, I’m wondering if this is the right place for me.”
“I’m sorry you are feeling, well . . .” her voice trailed off. “I assumed David would have lined you out on your duties. I could speak to him if you’d like.”
“David?”
Looking uncomfortable, Tiffany gazed into her water bottle as if it was a crystal ball that held the answer to my question. “Ah,” she stammered, “You were hired to be the horse wrangler’s assistant.”
The horse wrangler’s assistant. Oh, Nancy, you are going to pay dearly for this one.
Tears moistened Tiffany’s hazel eyes. “This entire shoot is turning into a nightmare. And I understand if you want to leave. Most days, I do too. I mean, we always experience some setbacks, but we haven’t even been able to get started filming. And Mr. Stone is always on location no matter what—very hands-on.”
Maybe he’s scared of a little death threat.
“I can imagine him being absent is making your job difficult,” I said, sympathizing with her.
She smiled weakly. “I can arrange for a commercial flight out of Two Rivers for you back to L.A.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Now that I have a much clearer picture of my role here, I look forward to being David’s assistant. And Tiffany, if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know.” She nodded and busied herself unscrewing the cap on her water bottle.
I wanted to ask her to spill the beans about the conversation I’d overheard last night, but she looked fragile as a blown-glass figurine, so I backed off.
Besides, I needed time to digest the information that my big-time Hollywood consultant job was nothing more than being a chore boy. I knew what that meant—shoveling horse dung and keeping my opinions to myself.
