Bright and early the next morning, Auntie shook my shoulders. “Wakey, wakey!”
She pulled open the front room drapes, and I threw my arm across my face to ward off the sunlight.
“What time is it?”
“Saguaro Studios opens at eight. We need to get the jump on Heather before she forgets her promise to talk to me about my tarot card reading idea.”
I rolled on my side and buried my face in the couch cushion. “The minions get there at eight. Celebrities like Heather probably wander in at ten or so. One of the perks.” I opened my mouth to yawn and choked on a dog hair.
“Not our Heather. That woman looks ambitious, and you don’t get places by sleeping in.”
She nagged me into the shower, but because I had to take Chauncey for his morning walk, and because I demanded breakfast before left, we weren’t on the road until 8:30.
This time, we didn’t have a handy invite, so the security guard—according to his nametag, Howard—wasn’t about to let us on the lot. Auntie leaned over me and put on her best aw-shucks grin.
“Howard!” Auntie called out to him as if they were best buddies. “Heather Ozu will be so upset if I don’t show up. You’ve heard about that awful murder business?”
“That’s why I’m not letting anybody on this lot who isn’t on the list.” He jabbed his clipboard to make his point.
“Well, I’m a consultant she’s, er, consulting with to save the show. Here’s my card.”
She handed him a Queen of Hearts tarot/business card, and after studying it both front and back, he looked at her with newfound respect.
“You’re that woman from the paper? The one who’s working with the police?” When his gaze landed on me, he raised a bushy brow. “What about her?
“She’s my sidekick. She tries to help out when she can.”
I folded my arms and muttered, “I’ll give you a sidekick right in the—”
“You’ll vouch for her?” Howard asked.
I couldn’t imagine why a homemade business card and a critical article in The Wolf Creek Gazette would raise my aunt in Howard’s esteem, but I went with it and gave him a toothy smile as I endured his inspection.
A young woman exited the car behind us and wandered up. “What’s the holdup, Howard?”
It was Linda. I almost didn’t recognize her out of her page uniform. When she saw Auntie, she gushed about how great her Skype appointment had been.
“Skype appointment?” I asked, but Linda had already rushed to the passenger window and leaned in to hug Auntie.
“It was just like being in the room with you! And you remember the problem I had with you-know-who? Your solution worked like magic.”
“When did you have time for an appointment?” I asked Auntie.
“Not everybody needs eight hours of sleep, lazybones. Some of us are night owls.” She winked at Linda.
Linda’s approval gave Howard all the validation he needed to let us through, but I got out of my car and escorted her back to her hatchback.
“Detective Bowers said that you saw my Aunt Gertrude and Elvira Jenkins arguing the night of the murder.” It was a lucky guess. Linda had left me to retrieve another tray of drinks shortly before Elvira Jenkins was killed.
Her eyes opened wide. “I had to tell him what I saw.”
“Of course you did. Do you remember the time?”
“I was going back to get another tray of drinks. You remember. I was with you when that guy said he was thirsty. I remember looking at the clock because I hoped my shift was almost over, but it was only going on seven o’clock.”
“Did you overhear any part of their discussion?”
“It sounds stupid, but I thought I heard them say buckle and bull. I was going to ask if they needed anything, but they sounded pretty angry, so I just kept moving.” She glanced toward my car. “I hope I didn’t get your aunt into trouble.”
“She is capable of that all on her own.”
Howard let us pass after giving us directions to Heather’s private office. I followed his instructions and curved around the lot between stages two and three until I came upon a row of modular buildings.
We climbed the small metal staircase to the last one in the row and knocked. When no one answered, Auntie pushed her way inside.
A small reception area took up the first room. It was sparsely decorated with cheap, metal furniture. The doorway to the next trailer was closed. Auntie knocked, and when no one answered, she threw open the door.
The office had plush carpeting, a real wooden desk, and on the walls were pictures of Heather Ozu posed with various celebrities and politicians, including Mayor Haskins.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Auntie said.
“Only if you’re thinking we should wait in the reception area until Heather gets back.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go inside,” she said, ignoring me. “After all, we came here to look for her, and she just happened to be out.”
Auntie went through the door.
“That’s trespassing,” I called after her, my feet planted in place.
“Don’t be silly. No one was at the reception desk to tell us not to go inside, and it’s only natural to wait for her. While we’re at it, we can do some snooping.”
I opened the door to the outside and glanced both ways. There were a few people in the distance, but they weren’t headed in this direction.
Inside Heather’s office, Auntie flipped through the papers on Heather’s desk.
“Stop it.” I shooed her away and tried to put them back in order before someone walked in. I hadn’t intended to invade Heather’s privacy, but the big red PAST DUE stamps were hard to miss.
“Someone’s not paying her bills,” Auntie observed from over my shoulder.
“None of our business.” I patted the edges and put them in a stack. It looked too neat, so I mussed them for a natural look.
Auntie yanked open the top side drawer and said, “Oh, my. Just like Grandpa.”
There was a racing form for Turf Paradise racetrack dated the last week of April. Horse betting. Several names were circled in red. I jotted them down on a sticky note, shoved it in my purse and closed the drawer. I’d check later to see if they had won their races.
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” I said. “I think Heather Ozu would be seriously miffed to find us here.”
“She is.”
Heather wore black skinny jeans and a sparkly red t-shirt. She had a hand on one hip and her expression could have cleared the room—if only she would move out of the doorway and let us escape.
“Heather! I was just about to leave you a note. We were in the area and Auntie insisted on talking to you about the idea she—er—pitched to you last night.” I thought pitched was the right term.
“We didn’t see your assistant,” Auntie offered.
At the mention of Jeremy, Heather let out a delicate snort and moved to her desk. I slipped out of her way.
“That’s because I fired his butt. Can you believe he stole from petty cash?”
She dropped into her chair, and her gaze roved over her desk.
“You’re ambitious,” she said to Auntie. “I like that. Too many people wait by their phones, hoping I’ll call them. Like I don’t have anything better to do.” She opened her middle drawer and swept the papers off the desktop. “But I’d prefer to save the talking until I see if the murder works to our advantage.”
“There are advantages to murder?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“We’re replaying the episode as a tribute. People will respond one of two ways. Either they won’t care, or they’ll tune in like ghouls. If the latter happens, we’re sure to get an order for twelve episodes. Maybe more.”
“Maybe you could have a murder a month, just to keep ratings up.” That was Auntie’s suggestion.
“I wish. As for you,” she pointed a long orange fingernail at Auntie, “I want to see how much publicity your investigation gets. Then we’ll talk.”
Auntie had a gleam in her eye, and I didn’t think Bowers would let me off lightly if another interview appeared in The Wolf Creek Gazette.
“The police don’t like to advertise their movements,” I said.
Heather shrugged. “Makes no difference to me, but a story in the paper—several stories—might make a difference to you. Appearing in the paper would raise your profile with the public, which would make you worth having on the show. No profile, no deal.”
“We’ll call you,” I said, backing out of the room. “Thanks for your time.
I shuffled Auntie out of there before the two of them could launch a publicity campaign, but once outside on the metal staircase, my aunt did an about-face. “Wait here. I forgot something.” Not eager to face Heather again, I waited.
There were more people walking about the lot now. A woman in ratty jeans and a faded t-shirt walked toward me, her face buried in a newspaper. She turned into the trailer next to us. I really didn’t want anyone to recognize me from the awful photo that Paul Simpson used in his article, and I debated whether to get moving and leave my aunt behind. Finally, I heard a peel of laughter. Auntie trundled out, chuckling.
“Bonding with your new boss?” I asked.
“I forgot to ask her if she murdered Elvira Jenkins.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath with the wild hope that, when I opened them, I’d wake up back in bed surrounded by loved ones, just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. It didn’t work. Auntie was still here, and we were still outside of Heather Ozu’s trailer.
“Please, please tell me you’re joking.”
“You heard what she said. The lady wants an active investigation, and I didn’t want to waste a lot of time being coy. Direct is best. She thought I was a hoot. Said she liked my style and I should use that approach when I read clients for her show. Notice she said when, not if. I think she likes me.”
“Must be your stellar personality.”
We passed stage three on our way back to the parking lot. The huge rolling door stood open, and employees bustled around like worker ants. Auntie and I wandered in, unchecked.
I hoped to bump into Natasha or Bert, but when I saw the set, I wondered if I had wandered into the wrong stage.
The partitions that formed the winding hallways had been removed, giving me a clear view of a cavernous room, with the Blue-Ribbon Babes set front and center, though if I’d been asked to swear that it was the same set, I would have had to pass.
On the count of three, a construction crew lifted a new white countertop and set it into place. A few people with paint brushes put the finishing touches of soft pink on the walls. The ficus tree had been replaced by a pink, flowering shrub that showed through the window frame.
The place looked like an advertisement for feminine hygiene products. The only hint of blue came from a circle of blue ribbons painted around the border of the fake window.
The stands were still folded back, and directly above them, a light shown from an office window. Natasha Young gazed down on the activity. I waved, but she didn’t see me. Or she ignored me.
“Come on.”
Auntie followed me up a staircase that led to a small square room crammed with equipment. Natasha stood in front of a row of monitors, and she was speaking with someone though her headset. She turned on our entrance and removed it.
“We were just visiting Heather and thought we’d say hi, but I wasn’t sure we were in the right place. It looks so different. Pretty.”
“I’m changing everything. New colors. New props. New camera angles. I want to separate the look of the series as much as possible from the premiere episode. Sponsors are worried. We’ve got to keep them happy or there won’t be any show.”
“Wiping all traces of Elvira’s murder away. I can’t believe the police allowed it.”
“They didn’t talk to me about it, but I got the okay from the studio attorneys.”
I looked at the spread of monitors embedded in the console behind her. “Why so many?”
She glanced over her shoulder at them. “Each one represents a different camera. I get them positioned exactly where I want them ahead of time and study the angles until I can see them clearly in my head. Then I can direct from down on the floor. A lot of directors stay up in the booth, but I like to be right where the action is happening. I can experience what the studio audience is experiencing and pick up their vibe. Then I amp things up or calm them down, depending on the angle I choose. Chatty Cathy time? I shoot head on. Difficult details? I shoot from overhead. Trying to get things moving, or at least looking like they’re moving? Then I go to the camera on the side.”
“Do you just decide spur of the moment?”
“Sometimes. But I always study the recipes ahead of time, so I know which bits are going to need extra attention and close ups.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much thought went into it. I thought you just set up the cameras and let it go.”
As long as we were here, I wanted to find out more about Natasha, but I wasn’t about to use Auntie’s direct approach. “So, was my aunt’s reading right? Are you moving on to greater things? Hollywood?”
Natasha made a face. “Been there, done that. Too many ambitious wackos, too much butt kissing, and too much stress.”
Her expression suddenly altered; I could see the fear in her eyes. Her breathing quickened, and her hands twitched. It was the reaction single people have when a toddler enters their home, filled with breakable antiques. I looked to where her gaze was fixed. Auntie had discovered a camera hooked up to a single monitor. She held it in front of her face and watched the results on screen. Right now, she had her eyes crossed and her tongue out.
“That looks expensive.” I said. “Put it down.”
She reluctantly complied.
“Natasha, you sound so creative and talented that I can’t imagine why you’re not directing your own series by now.” I crossed to the window and pointed to the set. “This show can’t be that exciting for you. Nothing changes. It’s just bakers in front of an oven week after week.”
“True. But the people in these small studios tend to be nicer. No one’s cutting your throat to get your job. I’m still doing what I love. What more could I ask for?”
“Something overseas?” I said, remembering how Auntie mentioned travel in the director’s impromptu reading.
“There is something I’d like to do,” Natasha said, breaking into a grin. “There’s a charity called God’s Little Helpers that’s looking for filmmakers to put together footage of projects going on in poor countries.” She ticked the examples off on her fingers. “Digging wells, building schools, employing women so they can support their families after all the men have been killed off in wars. That kind of thing. The finished product would be a resume reel.” She spread her hands in an open gesture, like the spokesman in a commercial when they arrive at the big finish. “When people see concrete examples of the great things that are being accomplished, they’re more likely to contribute money. And those folks need money.”
“Oh, honey,” Auntie said. “You just lit up like a firefly. That’s your real passion. That’s where you should be.”
“When my contract is up at the end of the season, that’s where I will be, if the position is still open.”
A crackly voice came over her headset, and Natasha said, “I have to take this.” It was said nicely, but it was a dismissal, so we worked our way back downstairs and outside.
As we walked to the car, I stated what I thought was obvious. “That gives her a motive for murder.”
“You can’t be talking about that sweet young woman who wants to dedicate her life to helping charities.”
“And she might miss her golden opportunity unless Blue-Ribbon Babes gets canceled. She can’t be certain that God’s Little Helpers will still be looking for filmmakers after the show’s first season ends.”
“Sissy Chandler, you are the most cynical person I’ve ever met.”
“Murder will do that to a person.”
I couldn’t really blame the murders. Cynicism had been my close friend for a long time, and if my career and dating prospects didn’t improve soon, the two of us would grow unhappily old together.
“Where are we headed next?”
“I’ve got to drop you off.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got an appointment.”
“Take me with you.”
I rubbed my temples to ease the throbbing.
“Another headache?” Auntie tsked. “Maybe you should relax and let me do the talking.
“That’s not a good idea. Aren’t you the one that said overkill is the quickest route to failure in our business?” I still included myself in the psychic biz because that’s how Auntie saw me.
“Tell them I’m your teacher and I’m evaluating your performance. No, that makes you sound like a newbie. Oh. I know. Tell them I’m an official from our union. Everybody’s got a union. They’ll be impressed.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Come on, now. I want to see you at work. I promise I won’t say a word. Just watch.”
She promised three times more before I finally gave in. Shows you what a sucker I am.