Toni, hot and uncomfortable, felt as if some lesser god had decreed she be forever confined to this bed. As it grew later, interminable delays, both technical and artistic, caused tempers to flare, which in turn caused further delays.
The actor who played Luke Winston finally arrived to do his scene. Earlier, Toni had heard Leo harangue him and refuse to accept his excuse that a severe stomach cramp had necessitated a trip to the emergency room at a nearby hospital.
Finally, as the script dictated, he and Lane stood in the doorway of Alexandra’s room. They conducted a muted conversation, with Leo hovering just out of camera range growling directions. His “Cut!” when the actor uncharacteristically blew his lines for the fourth time, was so virulent that Toni feared Leo would spring onto the set and physically attack him.
Leo’s belligerence set Toni’s teeth on edge, and she wondered if she would ever get a chance to phone Michael, let alone change into her street clothes and leave the studio by six.
Finally, she heard the long-awaited words, “That’s a wrap.” She pushed the covers aside and was halfway across the stage bedroom when Leo stopped her.
“Stick around a few minutes.” He stepped in front of her. Then, raising his voice so he could be heard across the entire studio, he shouted, “Nobody leaves yet. I have an announcement to make.”
Tension settled in Toni’s stomach like a clenched fist. Was Leo about to announce he had finally achieved his goal of cutting her role? She held her breath, reluctantly returned and sat at the foot of the bed. Other actors straggled over from the adjoining sets and from the refreshment area. Toni wanted to prod them to hurry. Leo, glowering around the unlit cigar jammed into the corner of his mouth, waited until he had everyone’s complete attention.
“Okay, people, listen to this.” He paused, letting his gaze wander over the curious faces assembled before him. “As you know, there’s been some uncertainty as to whether the character of Alexandra Bradshaw will remain on the show.”
Toni half expected Leo to announce he’d persuaded the writers after all.
Another pause. Leo worked the cigar to the other side of his mouth.
Moments passed. Toni wanted to scream. Leo could create more suspense than most thriller writers.
“Just so there won’t be any more false rumors making the rounds, they’ve decided Alexandra will continue to appear on Beekman Place.”
Relief rippled through Toni. At last he’d made it official. There was warm applause from the actors and crew.
“The new story line where Alexandra regresses to Victorian England at the time of Jack the Ripper should make this an exciting season. Furthermore—and I have personally verified this so there will be no misunderstanding—all the other characters will continue on the show as well.”
Her role assured, Toni turned her thoughts elsewhere, dimming Leo’s voice. Her need to phone Michael was urgent. More seconds passed, and she could barely contain herself from jumping up off the bed. She took several deep breaths and refocused on Leo’s interminable announcement.
“Nobody needs to be nervous. The Winstons are expected to be highly visible in concurrent story lines, as will their many friends and enemies. It promises to be terrific, ratings-wise, and you should all be pleased about this development.”
Leo sighed, and as the corners of his mouth turned up in what appeared to be a smile, the muscles around his face relaxed, making him look almost paternal. How long would this new Leo last? Toni would give him a week, two at the most.
Janet, whose expression appeared only somewhat less hostile than Toni had observed earlier in the day, challenged the director’s version. “Is that just for the next thirteen weeks, Leo, or can we count on our parts continuing for the life of the show?”
Leo’s teeth met through his cigar. “The writers said ‘indefinitely,’ Janet. That should be good enough, even for you.”
“I want a new contract.”
Leo pulled away. “You’ll have to see Nathan about that.” His body melted into the peripheral shadows, Janet close behind.
“This better be gospel, Leo.”
“You got your job, for God’s sake. Now give me some peace.”
Their voices faded, and the actors, like children released from school for summer vacation, scattered almost immediately.
Toni hurried to her dressing room and snatched her cellphone from her purse, but she didn’t punch in Michael’s number. She realized with dismay that the battery had run down. With all she had on her mind recently, she’d forgotten to recharge it. Tossing the phone back into her purse, she rummaged in her wallet for some change. She’d have to use the wall phone at the back of the studio. Once a payphone, it was now just a normal land line. Users were expected to put some money in the box mounted on the wall next to it. She hurried in that direction.
“Toni.”
She turned to find Ted Flax behind her, black nylon bag slung over his shoulder, one of his many cameras in his hand.
“I happened to be nearby and decided to stop in. Good thing as it turns out. We’ll need some new publicity pictures.” He raised his hand, taking aim with the camera, and a bright light flashed in Toni’s face.
“Pictures? Now?” She watched the technicians dim the sets. In minutes, the studio would be deserted. “They’re going to have to wait. I’m sorry.”
She glanced toward the wall phone and saw a couple of people in line. She headed back toward the dressing room. She’d phone Michael from the luncheonette down the street from the studio.
Ted caught up with her, and before she could voice another protest, he’d parked himself in her path. “I need something quick for the viewers. For when the news breaks that Alexandra will recover. I know I can interest TV Guide.”
“I’d like to help you but ….”
Toni supposed he’d like to get his foot in that door, pick up whatever he could from Craig’s professional contracts. She watched Leo and Janet head toward the main exit, the actress demanding “guarantees.” Leo’s face wore a resigned expression.
“That negligee is exactly what your fans expect Alexandra to wear,” Ted said. “It will reinstate glamour to your role.” As he spoke, he dropped to one knee, continuing to photograph her.
“Later. I have a date.”
“This will only take another minute or so. And Alexandra’s bedroom is still lit.” He straightened, and with a hand under Toni’s elbow, led her back toward the set.
Finally, with a sigh, she agreed. It was going to be one of those days when nothing seemed to go on schedule, so why not just resign herself?
After several poses, Ted said, “Let’s have a couple of shots without the peignoir,” and pulled another camera from the bag he’d dropped at the lip of the sound stage. Toni obliged and the shutter clicked rapidly.
“Sit on the bed. Lie back. Stretch out, relax. That’s good.” He danced about, spearing her with the camera’s flash. “Look haughty.” He captured her in a different angle. Then, “Give us a sexy look. Now innocent.”
When he was changing rolls for the second time, Toni called the filming to a halt. Kirk had passed the set on his way to the exit, and so had most of the other actors connected with the show. At least half an hour had passed since Ted first approached her.
“I really have to change now.” She pulled the peignoir tightly around her body and didn’t give him a chance to protest. With a wave and a “maybe tomorrow,” she stepped down the six inches from the stage to the floor and walked away rapidly.
As she entered the dressing room, Heather was just leaving. “I’d wait for you,” she said, squeezing past Toni in the narrow doorway, “but I’m meeting a date at O’Neil’s, and I’m already thirty minutes late, thanks to Leo.”
Toni called after her. “Have a good time.” She needed to change clothes, but hadn’t yet phoned Michael. He didn’t know about the billboard. No one knew she’d seen Craig’s murderer except she and the person who’d killed him. And that person had tried to kill her. Twice.
She felt very alone. The noise that permeated the studio during the busy workday had disappeared. Instead of the sounds of equipment being moved, conversations, and actors rehearsing and performing, only silence filled the space beyond the flimsy dressing room door.
She had to reach a telephone. But first she needed ten or fifteen minutes to change. She sat down again at the mirror to remove her makeup. In her haste, she dropped the lid of the cold-cream jar and spent several moments chasing it under the table.
By the time she’d cleaned her face and changed from the peignoir and nightgown into her own dress and sandals, it was after seven o’clock.
She grabbed her purse, opened the door, and switched off the overhead lights. Until her eyes adjusted, she was plunged into near darkness that sent a shiver of fear up her back. In the center of the cavernous studio, she could see the outline of the carousel set where two pinpoints of light spilled from the wire-mesh enclosed bulbs that were always left on at night. Everything else was in shadow. It seemed impossible that the sun still shone outside the building.
Cautiously, she made her way into the studio. Webs of darkness patterned the floor and lay like traps waiting for a careless footstep. The main exit now seemed miles ahead, the red block letters of the overhead sign lit from behind. Far away to her right was the emergency fire door. And nowhere was there a single sign of life.
She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. She’d just cross the studio quickly and leave by the main door.
She walked in that direction. Abruptly, the silence was shattered. A shrill and insistent ringing came from the wall phone somewhere to her left. Toni’s sudden “Oh” echoed in the studio. The rapid pumping of her heart kept her frozen in place until gradually the sound became less fearful and more familiar.
She debated whether she should answer it. Probably a wrong number. Yet, what if it were Michael? What if, through some strange sort of telepathy, he’d decided to call her?
She walked toward the phone and had almost reached it when an indistinct sound behind her made her jump and turn her head.
“Ted! You scared me half to death.” She stared at him, at the oddness of his appearance. His head, smooth, totally bald, confirmed the rumor that he wore a toupee.
He stood perhaps three yards away from her, holding something in his hand. Not a camera, for once. A cap. Dark cloth, barely visible in the dimness. He fitted it over his head. “It’s just the two of us now, Toni.”
She knew then. It struck her all at once, with a blinding clarity. Cold clammy fingers of fear crawled across her skin. Her heart seemed plugged into a machine to double its rate. At last she knew the truth. Ted had killed Craig. His was the dark figure on the billboard. His was the head hidden beneath the cap, the hand that lifted the rifle and fired.
“Poor Toni.”
His words jolted her, and she leaped toward the phone. In mid-ring, she snatched the receiver off its hook and screamed into it. “Get the police! This is Toni Abbott. I’m at—”
The sentence died on her lips. Ted wrested the receiver from her hands and ripped it from the instrument.
She backed away from him, turned and sprinted across the studio as fast as the flimsy ankle-strap sandals with their three-inch heels allowed. Away from the sound of his footsteps behind her. The light, attached to a tall metal pole, snapped on, capturing her in its glow. Instinct told her to seek darkness, and with a swift jab, she knocked the pole over. The bulb smashed on the concrete floor.
Ted’s footsteps reverberated louder. She heard a stumble and curse when he apparently tripped over the downed pole. The few seconds’ reprieve put additional distance between them. With the darkness to screen her, she dashed across the studio, mentally reviewing its layout, sick at the thought Ted might be as familiar with it as she.
“Toni, you can’t get away from me.”
His chilling words redoubled her resolve to escape him. Whatever resources she possessed were limited to this studio. She must use them, be more clever than he. Someone had heard her scream for help. Perhaps a stranger who had already forgotten the weird encounter with the woman at the other end of the telephone line. Or it could have been Michael.
She sensed Ted closing in on her. The main exit loomed in the distance, and she knew she’d never outrun him. The carousel set, then. She ran for it, trying to keep the heels of her sandals from striking loudly on the hard floor, trying not to trip over hidden cords, or stumble into equipment, furniture, or props.
“It’s over, Toni.”
His voice no longer rang out behind her, but in front. He had circled around to put himself between the two exits, cutting off her escape. So she’d made the right choice.
She ducked into the nearest set, the Winston study. The carpeted floor muffled her steps. She crouched behind the leather sofa, visible in a haze of foggy gray light, afraid to breathe, lest any sound lead Ted to her.
Silence. Where was he now? Had he crept closer? Her senses were heightened. Had he guessed she was on the set? If so, he’d make his move. What then? Could she possibly get around him?
She pictured the carousel, a pie cut into four sections. The Winston study was farthest from the exits. If she could lure him in there while she slipped through the doorway into the living room on the opposite side, she might be able to make a break for it. That plan meant crossing the concrete floor again, where her hard-soled sandals would signal her every move.
She must remove her shoes. She unbuckled the strap of one when the sound of footsteps, far too close—closer than she cared to imagine—sent her heart beating wildly. She couldn’t wait. She had to leave the study now. She dropped to her knees and crawled toward the living room set, the coarse rug chafing her bare skin.
Light seeped through a crack beneath the door, faint but brighter than it was where she now hid. A second pole lamp eliminated any chance she might stay concealed in darkness.
Not much choice. Either she could move in that direction or wait for Ted to find her and kill her right there. She pulled on the edge of the door and opened it slowly. Usually the hinges were well oiled to keep the microphones from picking up any distracting sound. Luckily that was the case now.
Opening it wider, she slipped through, got to her feet, and started across the carpet. Under the dim light, she could distinguish the furnishings of the Winston living room.
“Nice try, Toni, but it isn’t going to work.” Ted stepped over the lip of the stage, cutting off her escape. As he came closer, she expected a shot to ring out, the last sound she would ever hear.
“You recognized me, didn’t you? I wasn’t really sure until you screamed into the telephone.”
Toni looked toward Ted’s right hand, concealed in his pocket. Was he holding a gun out of sight? Now that he had her trapped, certainly he intended to use it. Her breath stilled. Every muscle in her body tensed.
“How did you guess? I’m curious.” His voice sounded almost conversational.
“The billboard.” Toni’s throat felt as if someone had shoved a sock into it. Still, she needed to speak, to stretch time and find a way to prolong her life. “When I saw the same billboard this morning, I realized I’d seen the person who shot Craig.”
“But you didn’t know it was me until now.”
“No.”
His lips curled into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed in arrogance. “Unlucky you. Memory can be a dangerous thing.”
Toni heard his words, yet in a way, she didn’t. Her mind raced, her gaze moving covertly over the furnishings on the set, desperately seeking a way to escape.
“I don’t really mind you figuring it out. A plan that good, someone should know how it was done.”
“You fooled everyone,” Toni said. He seemed to need to talk about it, the Hollywood cliché. So she’d become an eager listener. She needed time to outwit him, to stay alive in case someone acted on that telephone plea to call the police.
“Fooling Craig was simple. I checked his calendar, and when I saw he’d scheduled a night-time shoot in lower Manhattan, I scoped out the area in advance. It turned out to be the perfect setup with the dark night and the billboard to shield me. The narrow street guaranteed me a direct hit. The open window was a bonus. The only thing I didn’t count on was you turning toward me just as I fired the rifle.”
“Why did you kill Craig?” She watched a thoughtful expression drop like a mask over his face. Having distracted him, she continued to scan the set. On the wall to her right were French doors that opened in. In the time it took to pull one toward her, he could put a bullet in her back. The door behind her led back to the study. Ted, of course, blocked the apron of the sound stage, the quarter circle open to the studio.
“He deserved to die.”
“Why?” The door to the study was her best hope. She took a step back.
“He discovered something he should never have known about. Just like you.” His hand came out of his pocket. It clutched a wire. He wound the ends around his hands.
“I had a nice little sideline, and he demanded a share. Half!” He pulled the wire taut.
He had no gun. Her thoughts raced in that direction. He’d have to come close to use the wire to strangle her.
“But you see, I already had another partner. After I photographed the homes of the wealthy, we’d pick our targets, mostly jewelry, of course, whatever looked worthwhile. Then we’d split the profits.”
“And Craig found out?”
“That’s why he had to die. Just like you.”
She had to keep him talking, hope he got careless. “How did Craig find out?”
“He …. Hell, you don’t need to know. We’ve talked enough.”
Carefully, Toni moved back a step. Slowly now. Go slowly. “I’d like to know.”
“He wanted too much.”
Her leg brushed against the arm of the sofa. She stopped, afraid that if she grew too bold, he’d lose interest in his tale and focus more closely on her. Yet, standing there, listening to him rattle on about Craig, was agony.
“If I’d known what he was thinking, I’d have killed him sooner.”
As he spoke, something clicked in Toni’s mind. She’d watched a scene on this living room set only a few days before. Zachary Winston, hearing someone breaking in through the French doors, took a prop gun from its hiding place in the cushions of the couch. Would he have put it back when the scene was over? Only it was going to figure in the plot again, and even then it was a long shot, because the prop department had to keep track of such things.
“So you see, I had to kill him.”
He walked slowly toward her.
“And Suzanne? Why did you kill her?”
Would the gun still be there? It was a chance she had to take. Slowly, she took two steps to her left, putting herself in front of the sofa. He came closer. Holding her arms close to her sides, she dropped onto one of the cushions.
“Like Craig, she got greedy. She thought she could blackmail me.”
Toni’s hand slid down behind the velvet cushion. She felt around for the gun. Dear God, let it still be there.
He stood less than a yard from her. A deep frown furrowed his face, and the odor of cigarette smoke clung to his clothes. She edged onto the next cushion, her hand fumbling for cold hard metal. He moved closer. Her eyes locked on the wire. He raised his hands.
“You stabbed her with my knife!” she screamed, and for a split second he paused. Her hands shook, and she silently cursed herself for getting trapped on the sofa. Then her fingers clamped around the butt of the prop gun.
“Nice touch, wasn’t it, using your knife? I should have got rid of you that way, too. Now ….” His voice rang with self-assurance. He loomed over her, his lips split in a sick grin, the wire taut between his hands.
Toni slipped her finger through the trigger opening. Could she fire the prop gun? She knew a blank usually didn’t kill, except at close range. But would it stop him?
His face, so close to hers, blocked all else from her view. Tiny specks of saliva formed in the corners of his mouth. A wild look in his eyes replaced whatever humanity had been left.
“I’m rewriting the script, Toni. Alexandra Bradshaw is going to die after all.” Lifting his arms, he lunged toward her, aiming the wire at her throat.
Toni yanked the gun forward and pulled the trigger. The sound exploded in her ears.
Ted screamed and clutched at his face.
Ears ringing, she leaped from the sofa and ran. Out of the set, across the studio, heading for the main door all but invisible in the darkness. God, let her get there before he recovered from the blank.
Instead she fell. The strap of her sandal, loosened earlier, slipped through its buckle. The shoe dropped from her foot, tripping her. Her hands flew out, and she felt the floor beneath them. Screaming in frustration and fear, she scrambled upright again.
Sounds ripped at her eardrums—a high wail, her remaining heel clattering on the floor, Ted’s footsteps pounding behind her.
She felt as if she were running in a dream, her legs in slow motion, making no progress. He would catch her after all.
The wide double doors that loomed ahead burst open simultaneously, blinding her with daylight. Half a dozen large figures rushed in. One of them took her in his arms. Michael. Behind him she saw the whirling red lights of police cars.