In the still unfamiliar apartment, Toni opened her eyes to a sleek glass and chrome coffee table. She lay on a white sofa, her bent knees extending over the edge of the seat cushions, the leather as soft as butter. The traumatic incident at the studio had drained her of energy, and she must have fallen asleep as soon as she returned. The room, with pearl gray walls containing modern art prints, still held faint light, so she couldn’t have slept for long.
Her cellphone rang, disturbing the stillness, and she realized it had been ringing for some time. She’d been dreaming, and a telephone rang in her dream. Her mother answered it, then turned to her. “Toni, you’ve won. You’re going to be Cinderella in the third-grade play.” Then they danced around the room, hugging each other, and Mother made a chocolate cake to celebrate. Funny how she’d never dreamed that before. Her dreams had always been of the day of her mother’s death, not any of the happy times. She had told Michael about other moments from her childhood, and now she’d remembered one. She smiled.
She rose and crossed the room to where she’d left the phone. Michael. He called each night, and she realized how much she wanted to talk to him. “Hello.”
“Are you all right?” He sounded worried.
She’d let the phone ring too long. “I fell asleep.”
“I woke you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Hearing his voice made her feel warm and secure. “I’d be up all night otherwise.”
“Learning lines?”
“Oh, Michael, I wish.” She reminded him about Alexandra’s encounter with the Lamborghini. “All I do is lie in a hospital bed while the writers decide if I’m going to live or die.”
Die. The events of the past two days rushed in on her. Yesterday, the flash of memory when she watched the scene where Zachary Winston pulled the gun from the sofa cushions and shot the make-believe intruder. She had screamed. Today, lying in the hospital bed, nearly imprisoned by bars and plastic tubes, the klieg light suddenly falling, almost missing her, except for the wound on her shoulder. Had it been an accident?
“Toni, what’s wrong?” His voice, full of concern, broke the mood. She wanted to tell him but felt foolish. Just how much gloom could one person spread?
“A tough day on the set. That’s all.”
“Lying in a bed?” He sounded unconvinced.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Try not to think of it.”
If only it were that simple. “That’s the trouble. I’ve been trying to bring those missing hours into my mind. Sometimes I almost succeed.” She told him about her reaction when the prop gun was fired on the set.
There was an urgent note in his voice. “Did you remember something new about the night Craig Landis was killed?”
“Not really.” She sighed.
“But the scene they shot yesterday triggered your memory?”
“Not enough.” The heated pool of light that bathed her on the hospital set almost brought her back to the office where she’d gone with Craig. Indoors, and at night, photographers used bright lights. Craig must have, but that night held only darkness for her. Light and dark, good and evil.
“Someday you’re going to remember it all.”
She didn’t answer. After a few silent moments, he went on. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”
Bluntly, she recounted the light falling that afternoon and her escape with only minor damage. “The bolt must have come out. Who knows how old that equipment is?”
“Do you believe that?” His tone came across as highly skeptical.
“It’s what I’d like to believe.” She was surprised by how calm she felt. “I have to go back to the studio Monday, but I won’t be on that set again, according to Leo. Besides, I want to go back. I’m an actress. I need to work. I created Alexandra Bradshaw, and I want her to live. So, yes, I’d like to believe that the bolt failed, that those lights had been hanging there since someone, maybe D.W. Griffith, made his first film in that studio.”
“Well, that at least is impossible.”
“Why not? The building is ancient.”
He paused, and she imagined him thinking that over. “Did you see the bolt? Was it broken?”
“No one could find it. So many people converged on the set after I screamed, someone probably kicked it away by accident.”
“Did anyone call the police?”
She moved back to the sofa and sat down. “Listen, Michael, everyone assumed it was an accident. I have a director who has branded me a jinx, and there are two homicide detectives who aren’t convinced I didn’t kill Craig. Can you blame me for wanting to keep a low profile?”
“Are you saying you no longer think your life is in danger?”
“The police would be glad to chalk it up to an accident. Why can’t you?”
“Because I like you a lot more than they do, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She felt more confidence returning. “It won’t.”
Michael stayed silent for a moment. Then he said, “Toni, I want to find that bolt.”
“You mean go to the studio?”
“I’d like to satisfy my curiosity one way or the other. If someone tampered with the light, the police absolutely have to know about it. I don’t want to gamble with your life.”
How could she argue when he put it that way? “I don’t want anyone to know. Especially not Leo.”
“They won’t.”
“You can’t just walk onto a set and start hunting around. People will notice you.”
“I don’t intend to go when anyone’s there.”
“We usually stop filming every evening about six. The building is deserted after that. Plus all weekend, of course.”
“Then I’ll go tonight. Now.”
“We’ll go tonight.” Before he could voice a protest, she said, “I’m going, Michael. If the bolt turns out to be important, I want to see it. It’s my life, after all.”
“I’ll call Nathan and get a key.”
Toni’s voice rose. “You can’t do that. He’s my producer.”
“He’s also a friend of mine. He’ll be glad to help.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“The truth. Either the light fell by accident, or it didn’t. He’ll understand why it’s important that we know which.”
She pondered the situation for awhile, weighing all the angles and finally coming to the same conclusion. “Okay, but I’m going with you.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour. Don’t think. Just be ready.”
She closed her phone, well aware she was in a race against time, a race she must win if she intended to stay alive.
* * *
As it turned out, there were two keys: one for the door, the other for the alarm system, which Michael quickly deactivated. Few lights still burned in the windowless studio where Beekman Place was filmed. Darkness and gloom permeated the cavernous interior. Without the dozens of people necessary for production of the show, the sets, looming out of the central darkness, appeared mysterious and menacing.
Toni shivered. “It’s too quiet.”
Michael flipped a light switch, allowing them to find their way to the four sets that formed a large circle. Each quarter contained one of the most-used interiors on the show, including a bedroom, the grand foyer, the living room, and study. The hospital room had been improvised in a different area of the studio to be used briefly until the writers made their decision about Alexandra. Rumors about her fate had been rife all week, and Toni clung to the hope her character’s recovery was what had prompted Leo’s instructions the previous day to strike the set.
As they approached the area, Michael looked around. “Where’s the switch for these lights?” Only a naked, mesh-enclosed bulb extending from the top of a metal pole lit the way.
“It’s over there.” She pointed to a console near the wall.
Using the flashlight he’d brought, Michael headed in the direction she’d indicated. After a few moments, she heard him flip switches. Various lights came on and more of the building was revealed.
He returned to where Toni waited and carefully studied the hospital set. Then he glanced up. “There’s a catwalk.”
“It runs the width of the building. We’ve filmed with hand-held cameras from there when an overhead shot is called for. Also, the technicians need access to the lights and backdrops.”
They looked above to where two of the original three klieg lights hung out over the set. Michael returned to the console and turned them on. The sudden whiteness almost blinded them.
The catwalk receded into darkness behind the intense glare that illuminated the set. Toni glanced down at the floor. “We shouldn’t have any trouble finding the bolt if it’s still here.”
“If.” Michael, his flashlight creating bright puddles, walked toward the stairs leading to the now invisible catwalk. “I’m going up to investigate. It’s just too convenient, having that walkway so close.”
As he climbed, Toni heard his footsteps ringing on the metal stairs. Soon he melted into the darkness, which her gaze couldn’t penetrate from below. Returning to the hospital bed, she made a thorough search of the floor, exploring areas as far as the available light allowed.
“Just what I thought.”
She heard Michael’s voice, but couldn’t see him. It was like standing in sunlight and looking into a dark cave.
“Anyone could have climbed up here and loosened the bolt on the arm that anchors the lights. Eventually, the weight of the metal casing would cause it to fall.” He raised his voice. “The missing light hung exactly above the pillow where your head would be. A perfect target.”
Toni recalled the moment when she heard a noise and assumed it was the crew bringing in the cameras. “I turned my head to the left. A second later the light fell on my right side, hitting my shoulder.” With her other arm, she touched the sore place where a long scratch and large purple bruise remained.
“Your moving saved you from taking the full force. It must weigh close to a hundred pounds.”
“The glare must have shielded whoever was up there.”
“Exactly. Who worked on the set yesterday?”
“Everyone. When I screamed, it seemed like all the actors and technical crew came running at once.”
“Someone didn’t. Someone needed more time.” She heard his footsteps treading back across the catwalk. “Who was missing long enough to climb up here, remove that bolt, and then appear on the set like an innocent bystander?”
She shook her head. “It could be anyone. I wasn’t paying attention to faces then.”
He came down the stairs, his heels clanging on the metal.
She sat down in the same chair she’d used the day before. “Emma, who does the makeup, came first. Then I believe Heather arrived.” She tried to create a picture in her mind, as if she were running a film reel. Stop, fast forward, pause. It didn’t work as she hoped. “I’m not sure of the order of the rest.”
“What about Janet Whitman and Leo Krueger?”
“Both of them, yes. I saw Leo first, then Janet. And Leo’s daughter, Veronica. Also Ted Flax. He shot some publicity pictures earlier. But I can’t sort out the time frame. There was too much confusion.”
Michael reappeared in her sight, stepping out of the shadows. “Any luck finding the missing bolt?”
“No. It could have been kicked clear onto another set.”
“We’ll make a circle radiating out from the hospital bed and cover every inch of the floor. It has to be somewhere.”
“Unless the murderer put it in his pocket.”
“In order to make it appear to be an accident, he had to drop the bolt at the same time. Let’s keep looking.”
She got up from the chair to follow him. As she passed the bed, she saw a corner of the blanket puddled on the floor near one of the rear legs. Perhaps the bolt lay under that blanket’s edge. Stooping down, she lifted the corner. Nothing but a piece of glass from the broken light. Although the floor had not been vacuumed, most of the glass had been picked up by the crew before they left the set that day.
Then something else caught Toni’s eye. From that angle, she could see a tiny piece of gray electrical tape stuck to the floor under the bed. It lay at the edge of a small rectangular mark on the otherwise dusty black surface. Dropping to her hands and knees, she studied it closely. Something had once been stuck there and then pulled away, leaving only that fragment and a cleaner portion of floor. Continuing her search, she moved forward along the side of the bed toward its head and saw another smooth rectangular mark in line with the first. That one, too, was under the bed, about twelve inches away from its legs.
She stood and moved to the other side. Two additional faint marks showed up on the floor, but those were twelve inches to the left side of the bed, not under it.
“Toni?” Michael came back into the hospital set, his hand extended. An object lay in his palm. “I found the bolt. It’s not broken or rusted. Someone deliberately loosened it so the light would fall.”
She stared at him for a moment, digesting the news. She had hoped that, if they found the bolt at all, it would prove to have broken away. Yet the possibility of deliberate sabotage had remained in the back of her mind.
He came closer. “What are you doing on your knees?”
“Look at this mark on the floor. And this.” She pointed. “There are two more just like them under the bed. And a piece of tape is stuck to one.”
Michael squatted, found the place, and ran the tips of his fingers over it. “What do you think made these marks?”
“Pieces of tape being pulled up. Did you notice the bed’s legs sit on bits of electrical tape? They’re marks so the stage hands know where to place the furniture. We have our marks, too, so we’ll know where to stand during a scene and not walk out of the camera frame.”
She came around, stooped next to him, and pointed to the particle of tape stuck to the floor. “See how the corner of this piece of tape is torn off? If I’m not mistaken, the fragment under the bed will fill in that corner.” She straightened again. “At one time it was the edge of a mark to show where the bed was supposed to be placed. She held out her arms to demonstrate. “If the pieces of tape were originally where these marks are, the bed would have been twelve inches to the left.”
“And the falling light would have missed it.” Michael whistled out air from between his lips. “Now we’re calling the police.”