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THE FILM CREW assembled at eight o’clock the next morning. Tiffany was sporting a yacht look today, complete with deck shoes. Too bad we weren’t besties and the same size so I could raid her closet, where I was sure her footwear sat in rows like soldiers underneath their coordinating outfits. I, on the other hand, was going to have to do laundry sooner rather than later.
“Everyone,” Tiffany began. “I want to introduce you to Assistant Director Derek Singleton. Filming will begin this afternoon. All hands on deck.”
I almost laughed out loud that she’d actually said “all hands on deck” while wearing a sailing outfit. I couldn’t help but notice Tiffany hadn’t made any excuses for the absent Mr. Stone.
Tiffany continued. “Even though we are behind schedule, we will suspend production after today’s filming until the morning of the sixth. Buses will be leaving the ranch tomorrow afternoon to take anyone into town who wants to attend the Eagle Landing July Fourth celebration. Rooms have been reserved at the Holiday Inn. Buses will return the afternoon of July fifth. Check your e-mail for the schedule.”
I was concentrating on my phone screen when Nakita walked in front of me. “I ride today.” I gaped at the long blonde braid resting across her shoulder to nestle between perky size 36C breasts. She wore a pink cap that sported Lindy’s signature bedazzled L. “I get instant boob job and blonde hair. American dream, no?”
“You got that right, sista,” Sissally said, swinging another cap with a long blonde ponytail attached. “Nakita, I think there are only five wardrobe changes this afternoon, and we can alternate with these two caps.”
Nakita exchanged the cap she wore for the one Sissally held. “Fit good,” she said, giving the cap back to Sissally and rubbing her hand across her shaved head. “I run before film this afternoon.”
“Now there’s two words you’ll never hear me say in the same sentence—I and run.” Sissally laughed as Nakita jogged away. “Interested in coming with me to the wardrobe trailer? I need to pack some things for this afternoon’s shoot.”
“Absolutely.” I planned on pumping Little Miss Gossip to see if she knew anything about the absent Mr. Stone. As we walked the short distance to the trailer, I asked, “Have you heard why Mr. Stone hasn’t showed up on set?”
“No, and that’s unusual. He’s pretty hands-on and keeps a tight filming schedule—coming in under budget for every film. He’ll often throw everyone into a tizzy with changes, but he never just doesn’t show up.”
The chaos of the wardrobe trailer caused my OCD to flare. I stood rooted to one spot while Sissally pawed through totes and tossed things into open soft-sided luggage. “How’s Mr. Horse Wrangler?” she asked, wiggling her perfectly arched eyebrows.
I held back the childish retort Ask Nakita and instead picked up a hand mirror and studied my reflection. “Will you shape my eyebrows?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
***
AFTER LUNCH DAVID AND I headed to the corrals. The body doubles for Alex and Wes, along with Nakita, were going to be shooting some footage this afternoon. I hadn’t yet met Hayden and Joel (the body doubles) and was eager to hear them speak to see if either of them was Lindy’s secret lovers. I doubted it. My money was on Lindy playing games with her two co-stars.
“How may I assist you with the horses this afternoon?” I asked David as he swung the tack room door open.
“What?” he asked, trying to look innocent.
“Tiffany filled me in on my consultant job description—assistant to the horse wrangler.” David remained quiet and busied himself pulling halters from the wall. “David,” I prodded.
“Look,” David said as he turned to face me. “When I learned I was going to have an assistant, I expected some snot-nosed cowboy wannabe—Mr. Stone doing a favor for one of his pals by letting his kid hang around a movie set. But then you turned out to be a kick-ass woman from Wyoming who probably knows more about horses and mountains than I do.”
“You think I’m kick-ass?”
Tapping the brim of my cap, David said, “Let’s go wrangle some horses.”
The film crew had set up down by the river. David and I watched from the sidelines as Nakita, Hayden, and Joel were filmed racing around on horseback and crossing the river several times. David shoulder-bumped me and asked, “How’s the hand?”
I bumped him back and waggled my fingers. “Healing nicely.”
A squeal from where we had extra horses tied, including Bonnie, drew our attention. Her long ears were pinned back, and she looked as though she was about to take a bite out of the bay who had moved close to her. “She’s been a little cranky today. I think I’ll tie her away from the other horses.”
“PMS?” David asked.
Tiffany saved me from telling David how ridiculous that sounded by driving up on an ATV. She stepped off without putting it in park. David acted quickly and stopped it from running into her as she stepped in front of the machine. “I need to ask you both a question.” Her hiking boots looked to be a couple sizes too big. “We need a location for the campout scene. I was wondering if you guys could scout out an area?”
“Campout scene?” David asked.
“You know,” Tiffany said, “when the deranged mountain man kidnaps Lindy from her sleeping bag in the middle of the night.” David and I exchanged looks—no, we didn’t know. Before we could ask for further clarification, Tiffany’s earpiece buzzed. She listened in silence, and her expression changed to one resembling a scared rabbit. “Don’t do anything. I’ll be right there.” She got back on the ATV and looked puzzled as to how to start it. “Sorry I have to go, but . . .” David stepped over, started the machine, and put it in gear, jumping out of the way as Tiffany gunned the gas. “I’ll text you,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Scout a location, eh?” I arched my now perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Maybe our pay grade just went up a notch. I think that open meadow would work perfectly—sinister-looking woods where the boogeyman can skulk out and nab the blue-eyed blonde. Want to go check it out after filming this afternoon?”
Nakita held the reins of the flashy black and white paint. “I go with,” she announced. She gracefully vaulted into the saddle.
I walked Bonnie away, feeling like Cinderella when her carriage turned back into a pumpkin. As I mounted, I noticed Prince Charming sauntering down from the barn, leading a buckskin that looked every bit like Marshal Matt Dillon’s famous horse, Buck.
Come on, people! I’m riding into the sunset beside clones of two of the most famous horses from long-running television shows—on a mule who’s having PMS.
David checked his cinch and stepped onto the big buckskin. “Lead the way,” he said, riding up onto my left. I tapped Bonnie’s belly with my boot heels.
She stood there. I tried again. Same result.
There was a flash of color in my peripheral vision as Nakita’s mount began to dance impatiently at standing still for so long. Bonnie shook her head, setting her bridle hardware jingling loudly. I took a deep breath, and just as I raised in the stirrups to readjust my weight forward, Skeeter came around the corner of the barn. Bonnie lunged forward, ears pinned back, and ran straight at the startled cowboy. He jumped out of the way just as the mule pounded past him.
“You goddamn mule,” Skeeter hollered. “I swear someday somebody’s going to shoot you right between the eyes.”
I gathered the dangling rein that had slipped from my hand and tried to drown out the laughter coming from Nakita. David rode up beside me. “Nice bit of horsemanship,” he said, grinning. Nakita galloped past and began burning off the paint’s energy with figure-eight patterns. David cleared his throat and added, “You know you don’t have to ride a mule? There’s a sorrel gelding that would be perfect for you.”
I narrowed my eyes at David. “Don’t listen to him, Bonnie,” I said, stroking her neck. “Us girls are gonna stick together.” I clucked, urging her into a trot, and laughed out loud when Bonnie had a case of flatulence directed right at David.
When we returned from the meadow, David offered to unsaddle Bonnie if I would find Tiffany and show her pictures we had taken with my phone of the location. I was more than happy to leave Nakita and David and imagined that they were mere stable boys and I was the mistress of the plantation.
Instead of a mint julep, I opted for an iced tea before tracking Tiffany down. I texted her, and she answered back she was in her room, which doubled as her office. She cracked the door when I knocked, and I caught a glance of the glam-free Tiffany, looking all of age sixteen.
“I wanted to tell you we found a good location that checks all the boxes on the list you texted me.” I waved my cell. “I have pictures. Would you like to download them?” She clutched a piece of paper to her chest. “Tiffany, are you all right?” I asked, pushing my way into her room. Obviously, she wasn’t. I’d seen scared rabbits looking more ferocious than she did.
I was stunned at how small her room was. My mind wandered to thoughts of maid’s quarters in the attic of a plantation mansion. Was my subconscious steering Serena to have a Southern adventure?
Tiffany dropped the wadded paper before running toward what I assumed was the bathroom. I heard retching, the toilet flushing, and water running.
Oh, boy.
I recognized Times New Roman font—probably 48 points—on the paper. What I read could have been straight out of one of Serena Knight’s adventures: “Mr. Stone. Get everyone off the ranch by tomorrow or someone will die.”
Tiffany reached for the paper, startling me. I screamed. She screamed. And then we both laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, Courtney. You should have never seen that. Just pretend you didn’t, okay?”
“Kind of hard to unread it. Have you called the sheriff?”
“What do you think Serena would do?”
I blinked at her like she had suddenly grown two heads. Serena was a fictional character—no resemblance to a living, breathing person. She had to know that, since I state it in black and white in the disclaimer on the copyright page of each book. “Tiffany,” I said softly, like I was trying to coax a kitten out of a tree. “This is real life. You need to get law enforcement involved.”
She shook her head, her hair smelling like a meadow after a rain. “Bad publicity. Mr. Stone says it’s just some wacko.”
“Could you tell me everything from the beginning?”
“Courtney Jane,” my mother piped in. “I’m sure she could, but would she?”
Tiffany climbed into the bed and pulled the duvet tight around her neck. I joined her on top of the spread and stayed with her until she was talked out and her eyelids drooped closed.
I do my best thinking out of doors where there’s space to pace. And after what Tiffany had shared, I needed lots of walking-around room. After leaving her, I’d grabbed a sweater and headed outside. My eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as I started down the paved road that led into the ranch. The evening dew had settled and with it the scents of clean mountain air and dampness. I was surprised to see a large rock marring the otherwise golf-course-perfect landscape. Maybe the boulder had proven bigger than what Bryce Bentley could move (Boulder-1, Egomania-0). My sneakers were soaked from the dewy grass by the time I reached the rock. A murmur of voices startled me, and I quickly knelt to look as though I was an extension of the boulder. The voices were coming from where the large archway announced the entrance to the ranch. Focusing, I could see the shape of a vehicle parked just outside the gate and the outline of two people.
And, of course, I wanted to know what was going on. They moved closer to each other and walked off the road into the grassy skirt along a row of trees and out of my line of sight. More murmuring. I strained to hear what was being said, but a cricket decided now would be a good time to serenade me. The two people separated. I thought I recognized the build of the person who walked back to the car, but I didn’t have time to stare as the other one started back up the driveway. Fear of being discovered sent me diving into a thicket of cedars.
Oh, great. Now I’m going to smell like a deodorizer tree hanging from someone’s rearview mirror.
I folded back the branches to see who was returning to the house, but I only saw a darkly clothed hulk. My cold toes were beginning to tingle in my wet sneakers, and I shivered. Was it from the cool night air or from the thought of people creeping around in the dark?
The lodge’s lights were a welcome sight. My sneakers left wet prints on the stone entryway and made a squishing sound when I walked. I noticed another set of wet footprints, larger, and I began following them like a bloodhound on a scent. The tracks ended at the beginning of the carpeted crossroads—down the hall to the library or up the stairs to the guest rooms? I was debating which way to go when David came out of the library. He was dressed in black workout clothes, and I could hear his sneakers squishing. He grinned and said, “Just back from a late-night jog on one of the designated walking paths. Always makes me sleep like a baby.” He stepped close to me and sniffed. “New perfume?” he asked before taking the stairs two at a time.
A jog? Or a late-night kissy face rendezvous?
I began to descend the steps and stopped midway when I remembered where I had seen the build of the person—broad shoulders and wide hips. It was the woman David had been talking to in the courtyard outside of the library in Eagle Landing.
I had left my cell phone in my room when I’d gone for my walk, and Nancy had blown it up with voice mails, text messages, and emails. The last text read: “Don’t try calling back, leaving voice mail, texting, or emailing because I won’t answer. Payback’s a bitch. Going to the mountain for the holiday.”
Going to the mountain was Nancy’s code for spending time with Marvin, a married man with whom Nancy had dalliances when his wife was recovering from her latest session under the plastic surgeon’s knife.
An email included the two-day celebration schedule along with notations for my appearances. Everette Powell would pick me up at ten tomorrow morning and deposit me at Rosie’s Hotel (a hotel said to be haunted by the madam who had run a brothel there in the 1800s). Then there was lunch with Friends of the Library, followed by a Chamber of Commerce mixer at five. There would be live music on the street till midnight both days. The Fourth would start with a pancake breakfast at seven, parade at ten, barbecue at noon. My booth would open at one. After it closed at four, I would have free time to enjoy the rodeo and fireworks. I was looking forward to two nights of dancing till the cows came home. Yeehaw!
