Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (24 page)

Gordon told Cassidy to wait, and left him in the interview room while he and Solomon hashed out what to do next.

“If we cut him loose, he’ll tell his actor buddies, and they’ll have their stories ready,” Solomon said.

“Assuming one of them took the pills.”

Solomon grinned. “Hey, we’re cops. We always think someone’s guilty. Until we eliminate them and move on to someone else, of course.”

“One thing I’m having trouble with,” Gordon said, “is why put the vial deep in Marianna’s purse if whoever took it used the pills to kill her—or tried to kill her? I think we can rule out they put them there to tempt her to take eighteen of them.”

“Back to motive, then,” Solomon said. “Have we totally eliminated Yolanda Orozco as the target, and Marianna got the drugs instead?”

“Totally? I’d go with ninety percent.”

Solomon strode to the whiteboard and found an empty spot. “All right. Brainstorm time. One. Marianna, despite all evidence to the contrary, decides to commit suicide.” He wrote
Suicide?
on the board.

“How does she know Cassidy will have the pills?” Gordon said. “And how did she get into his bathroom at the Richardsons’ to get them?”

“Agreed, it’s not likely. But stranger things have happened. Someone might have known about the pills and told her.” Solomon put a red X next to
Suicide.

“How about this?” Gordon said. “Someone takes the pills—the who and how yet to be determined—and puts them in something both Yolanda and Marianna have access to.”

“Although we can’t rule out there were two separate methods. We’re assuming the drug was in Marianna’s coffee. What if it was in something else as well, something meant for Yolanda? Or something
not
meant for Yolanda, but she found it and got into it by mistake.”

Gordon gave it a moment's thought. “I think we need to start with who took the pills. And how. The way we’re going at it, we keep expanding the field instead of narrowing it down.”

“Makes sense,” Solomon said. “We can ask Cassidy to please not mention any of this—tell him it could compromise the investigation—and run him to the set. They’re on dinner break, and have one more scene to shoot.”

After assigning an officer to take Cassidy to the production site, Gordon and Solomon continued their discussion. Gordon stared at the whiteboard. “What do you think? Do we cross Cassidy Clarke off our list?”

“His story’s reasonable, but I’d move him down rather than remove him. We should talk to his three cohorts and see if they corroborate his story.”

“Since they’re working, and I’d rather not delay things again, I say we head to the Richardsons’ and start with Flo and Lyla.”

Solomon agreed. “I’ll let my wife know I’ll be late.”

Gordon would have to let Angie know his schedule was going to be disrupted as well. “Shouldn’t be too late,” he said when he called her. “Some new loose ends to tie up.”

“No problem. We’re going to be closed tomorrow, so I can sleep in. Would you mind getting take-out? I’m wiped.”

After Gordon promised to provide dinner, he and Solomon worked out the logistics for questioning the Richardsons.

“I’ll meet you there,” Solomon said. “Saves coming back here when we finish.”

Which made sense, since Solomon lived closer to the Bed and Breakfast than to the station. Gordon put away the paperwork, grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out. Seconds later, Solomon’s headlights shone in Gordon’s rearview mirror. When they arrived at the Richardsons’, Gordon stopped on the street at the base of the long, winding driveway. Solomon pulled in behind him.

“Any particular way you want to play this?” Solomon asked as they ambled toward the house.

“By ear?” Gordon smiled. “Flo and Lyla are always wary of cops. Stems from their hippie days.”

“Are you saying I don’t get to play bad cop? Well, shit.”

Flo met them at the door, dressed in a long paisley skirt, a blue turtleneck sweater, and a rust-colored knit shawl. “Chief Hepler. Is there a problem?”

No matter how many times Gordon heard that as a greeting, no matter that he knew most people didn’t expect a cop to show up unless there
was
a problem, just once, he’d like to hear “How are you, Chief? Won’t you come in?”

And if he did, he’d probably look toward the sky to check for pigs soaring above. “I don’t think so. But we’re still filling in blanks in our investigation and have a few questions for three of your guests. And a few for you and your sister. May we come in?”

Flo stepped aside. “Of course.” No welcoming smile. If anything, her expression said she knew about Marianna Spellman’s death and how dare the cops show up accusing her of having something to do with it. She executed a quick pivot, then marched toward the living room.

Yep. Still no great love for cops.

“Should I call my sister?” Flo asked.

“Please,” Gordon said.

Lyla appeared without being summoned. Obviously, she’d seen their arrival. She wore denim overalls, clogs, and a bulky gray cardigan. Her salt-and-pepper braid was pinned to the top of her head today, not hanging down her back the way it usually did. Flo and Lyla had come of age during the Summer of Love, then made their substantial fortunes on Madison Avenue before retiring and resuming a semi-hippie lifestyle. Their Bed and Breakfast catered to the folks who wanted to commune with nature, and Gordon had to wonder how the sisters felt about having movie people as guests.

Lyla, who’d always been the friendlier of the two, flashed a brief smile. “I suppose this is about the woman who died at the movie set.”

“Well, what else could it be?” Flo said. “Doesn’t matter that the person who died was staying somewhere else. We have movie people staying here, so of course we’re automatically suspects.”

“Ladies, please,” Solomon said. “Nobody’s a suspect. You’re not even persons of interest. We’re collecting information.”

Lyla reached up and unpinned her braid from the top of her head, letting it slither down like a snake seeking warmth. Giving her head a quick shake, she said, “What would you like to know?”

“What’s your privacy policy here?” Gordon asked. “Do you allow anyone who’s not a registered guest access to the upstairs?”

Flo bristled. “Of course not. And if you’re asking to search the rooms, I’ll have you know that while a guest is registered here, they’ve got the same expectation of privacy as they would in their own home. We don’t let
anyone
upstairs who isn’t a guest.”

Lyla flapped her hand. “Flo, take it easy. You don’t need to quote the law to these officers.”

“Do you have any guests other than the four actors?” Solomon asked.

“No,” Lyla said. “We have six rooms. The studio wanted to ensure the privacy of their stars, so they paid for the remaining two as well.”

“But if a guest escorts someone upstairs, that’s their business, correct?” Solomon said.

“They’ve paid to use the space, and as long as they’re not destructive or loud, of course they can have visitors,” Flo said.

“And one of you is always around to make sure these visitors are accompanied by your guests?” Gordon said.

Flo frowned, Lyla shrugged. “Always? No, we’re not on guard duty round the clock,” Lyla said.

Flo spoke up. “But if we’re both gone, the entry doors are locked. Our guests have keys to the rear entrance for after-hours, or if we’re not home.”

“What about cleaning the rooms?” Solomon asked. “You do it all yourselves, or do you have help?”

“It varies with the guest load,” Lyla said. “Summers, when we’re full and have back-to-back bookings, we’ll hire local kids—”

“Kids being a relative term,” Flo said. “College age. Locals. All very reliable.”

“But what about now?” Gordon said. “This is peak leaf season, so I imagine you’ve been full. You have someone helping?”

Flo nodded. “Mrs. Findlay, but that was before the movie people got here, when she gave everything a thorough cleaning. Since there are only four guests here, and since they’re gone almost all day, it’s no big deal for Lyla and myself to handle it.”

Gordon made notes. “Does Mrs. Findlay have a key? You know, so she can work if you’re not here.”

Solomon cut in. “I know Mrs. Findlay, and she’s utterly responsible. But heck, we don’t get famous people in Mapleton all that often. I can see her wanting to come in for a quick peek at a movie star’s room. Wishing she could clean their rooms while they were here, to see how they live. Maybe tell her kids. Very understandable.”

“She would
not
,” Flo retorted.

“But let’s say, hypothetically, if she did come by while you were gone, you’d never know, would you?” Solomon said.

Gordon tensed, as it was clear Flo was moving deep into defensive territory. “Nobody’s accusing anyone of anything.” He kept his tone in a
people having a friendly discussion
zone. “Cassidy Clarke said he kept some prescription medication in his bathroom, and it was missing. We’re trying to figure out who might have had taken it, and hoped you’d be able to tell us who might have had access to his room.”

Gordon focused his attention on Lyla, simply because he didn’t want to set Flo off. “Any one of the guests would have free rein to come and go, and Mr. Clarke has already told us he was lax about locking his room, so nothing is going to tarnish the reputation of your establishment. We’re not making accusations.”

“Why don’t you ask his buddies?” Flo said. “Far as I could tell, it was like the four of them took over the upstairs, bouncing from room to room. Not that we do bed checks, of course. People are entitled to do whatever they want—”

“Within reason,” Lyla said. “We don’t condone anything illegal, of course.”

“Of course you don’t,” Gordon said, although he recalled the sisters being willing to look the other way before marijuana was legalized. Then again, as products of the sixties, he figured they didn’t mind if their guests engaged in a little free love.

“What about other people from the production company?” Solomon asked. “If one of them wanted to go upstairs, check on one of their actors, would you let them? I mean, the studio’s picking up the tab for the rooms, so it’s almost as if they’re guests, too, right?”

Flo huffed. “Wrong. If the person they wanted to see was upstairs and approved them, yes, we’d let them upstairs. But if the guest wasn’t in, no, we do
not
let anyone into a guest room.”

“Understood. Do either of you recall anyone coming, saying they had a meeting, or any other reason to visit one of the guests? After all, if you let someone in to see Damien or Julie, or Lily, with their permission, of course, they conceivably could have visited any or all of the others.”

Did Gordon detect guilt in the glance the sisters exchanged?

Gordon poised his pen over his notebook. “What did you notice?”

Another guilty glance, then a nod from Flo before Lyla spoke. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I mean, during the mornings, things are busy, and guests often run up to their rooms for something they’ve forgotten, or to use their bathrooms—any number of reasons. We would never think to intrude by asking.”