Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) (21 page)

On the way over to Longview, Amy told me the film’s plot and about the scene they were shooting tonight.
“We’re using the Main Street set, Anna. It’s supposed to look like part of an old western frontier town. There’s a dirt road with fake storefronts on both sides, and a jailhouse. The bad guys are supposed to chase Miss Stacey – that’s the girl who’s in love with the sheriff but doesn’t get him in the end – into town on horseback and kidnap her. I’ll be one of the townsfolk on the street, reacting to what’s happening. Jessie will be doubling for the actress playing Miss Stacey. It should be pretty exciting.”

“Sounds like fun,” I replied.
“And don’t worry about me, Amy. I’ll be on my best behaviour and stay out of everyone’s way. You won’t hear a peep out of me.” Amy smiled and looked relieved. I wondered if the questions she had been asking had created trouble for her on the set, but things were better now between us, and I didn’t want to bring it up.

We drove down a dirt lane and parked beside the set, which had been built on a private ranch outside of Longview.
Amy signed me in with the security guard and led me over to the caterer’s table, which they call “craft services” for some reason. I helped myself to a bottle of juice and a cookie before Amy left for the costume trailer to get changed. I found an unoccupied bench in an out-of-the-way corner and watched the steady stream of actors coming and going out the costume trailer and the hair and make-up tent. There were a handful of women milling around in long skirts, shirtwaists, and bonnets, plus a couple of little boys in short pants and suspenders, but the majority of the cast were men. That made sense; there were more men than women occupying frontier towns in the old days. I wondered if any of the costumed women I was seeing were Jessie Wick, but I didn’t notice anyone who matched Erna’s description of her.

The crew was also bustling about purposefully, unrolling electrical cables and hauling equipment to the set on the other side of the preparation area.
An intense, harassed-looking man strode by with a cell phone glued to his ear, a couple of anxious people rushing after him. Maybe he was the producer? Amy emerged in a long skirt, jacket, and bonnet from the makeup tent and hurried over to me.

“Come on, Anna, it’s time to go to the set.
I’m going to introduce you to Rachel Miller, the assistant director. After that, they’ll find you somewhere to sit and watch.”

I followed in her wake as we were jostled by the crowd headed for the set.
We walked past the trucks and trailers and rounded a corner onto Main Street. Looking around me, I felt transported back in time to a frontier town complete with stores, wooden sidewalks, watering troughs, and hitching posts. White lace curtains fluttered out the open windows of what I assumed was a boarding house. There was also a smithy and barn, a saloon, a jail, and an undertaker’s parlour. Even though I could see that the buildings were only false fronts and twenty-first century film equipment and crew in modern dress were on the set, it was easy to ignore the intrusion of the modern world to imagine what it would have been like living in the old west.

Amy introduced me to Rachel Miller, a thin, earnest-looking woman in her early thirties, who shook my hand briskly and offered her condolences.
She escorted me to a folding chair on the edge of the set and left me there to watch the action while she went to rehearse the extras. A young man with a clipboard hovered nearby on the sidewalk, muttering to himself and making notes. The director, a grizzle-haired man with a cigarette jutting from his lower lip, was talking to the crew over his head set. A camera man with a chase camera in a car with its motor running was waiting at the far end of the street, while lighting and sound crew were getting ready in strategic positions all along the set. The director walked over to a crane and climbed into a seat beside another camera man. A crew member snapped a clapboard in front of the camera, and the crane soared into the air for a comprehensive view of the street.

The director picked up the electronic megaphone strapped to his chair and started snapping orders.
“Alright, people, we’re ready to begin. Cameras?”

“Camera One!”
“Camera Two!” the camera crew shouted back.

“Sound?”

“Ready!” the sound crew called.

“Okay, let’s see some energy, everyone.
Action!” the director shouted.

The extras started strolling down the sidewalks while the chase camera waited.
Over top of the extras’ chatter, I could hear the rumble of horses galloping toward us. A beautiful golden horse appeared at the end of the street. A woman sat on its back – Jessie Wick, I presumed. Her long dress was hiked up around her knees, enabling her to straddle the horse. A straw hat bounced up and down by its ribbons on the back of her neck, strands of hair streaming in long tendrils behind her as she crouched over the horse’s neck. The camera car drove about fifteen feet ahead of her and her mount as she hurtled down the street. Four men with long coats flapping over their horses’ rumps came galloping hard behind her. A couple of townsfolk crossing the street raced to get out of the way.

As Jessie came closer, I saw her slap her horse’s flank with the reins she held gathered in one hand.
Her pursuers were gaining on her, and the lead horseman caught her by the time they were half a block away from us. He grabbed the reins from Jessie’s hand and dragged her horse to a standstill. The horse reared up into the air, throwing Jessie back in the saddle. When the horse landed, the stuntman threw his arm around Jessie’s waist and dragged her from her saddle onto the front of his. Jessie flailed her arms and legs against him as she struggled to get down, but the horseman clamped her to his chest. One of the other horsemen rode forward to grab the golden horse’s reins. The head stuntman whistled, and the group galloped forward with their captive. The camera car rushed past us with the stunt people thundering after it, disappearing in a cloud of dust. The director shouted, “Cut,” and the extras on the street froze.

“That was terrific, everyone.
Okay, let’s shoot another master. Lose the chase vehicle. Everyone back to ones. Check the gates,” the director roared.

It seemed as if everyone was talking at once as the extras hurried back down the street and a crew member began scuffing up the horse tracks in the street with his feet.
The stunt people came trotting back toward us. Jessie still sat in the saddle with the stuntman, his arm encircling her waist and her head bent back as they laughed over a joke. They stopped in front of the director who was hovering at street level on the crane. Jessie jumped down lightly from the saddle.

“How was that, Gene?” she called to the director.

“Beautiful, sweetheart.
Do exactly the same thing over again.”

“No problem,” she said with a grin as the hair and makeup team converged on her and the rest of the stunt crew.

Now that she was only yards away from me, I had my first opportunity to get a good look at Jessie. Her beautiful black hair was her most striking feature, with a chiseled nose and broad jawline making her handsome rather than pretty. Jessie was tall with an athletic build and a confident way about her. She snapped her fingers, and the makeup women handed her a mirror before reapplying blush to Jessie’s olive-toned face. Nodding her satisfaction, she handed the mirror back to the woman without even looking at her, and strode back to her horse. Jessie whispered something in the animal’s ear and stroked its neck before hiking up her skirt and vaulting into the saddle.

The stuntman who had snatched her from her horse rode up and said something to her.
She laughed and slapped him on the shoulder before cantering off down the street ahead of him. I shook my head. She looked like she had a lot of personality, and I wondered how Jack had handled her when the two of them were together. I almost felt sorry for him in retrospect. I was glad that I had decided not to fight for my marriage. She would have been a powerful adversary, and the fight wouldn’t have been worth it.

I watched them do a second shot just as exciting as the first, and then the shoot was over for the night. The extras surged up the sidewalk headed for the trailers and Amy appeared, looking pleased and flushed. “What did you think, Anna? They were great, weren’t they?” she asked.

“It was wonderful, Amy.
Those stunt people sure are talented. Everything seemed so real. I really enjoyed watching that.” She beamed and talked nonstop about the scene until we arrived at the costume trailer and she left me to change out of her clothes. It wasn’t until we were alone in her car together headed home to Crane that she broached the subject of Jessie Wick.

“What did you think of Jessie, Anna?” she asked.

“She seems like a strong, competent woman, Amy. She looks like she can really handle herself.”

Amy glanced at me and whispered, “But, does she look capable of murder?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know, Amy. Who can say? She looks like she can do anything she sets her mind to. On the other hand, she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d be devastated by a break-up with Jack. I just can’t see her pining over him, can you? Besides, what sane woman kills a man four years after the affair is over?”

Amy nodded her agreement.
“Yes, she’d have to be obsessed to do that. And – come on – she was having an affair with a married man in the middle of a film shoot, after all. Most women wouldn’t expect anything permanent under those circumstances.”

“No, you wouldn’t think so.”

“And Jessie has a solid reputation. I haven’t heard of any problems with her,” she added.

“What do people say about her, Amy?”

“That she’s smart and ambitious. Whenever I see her, she’s hanging around with the stuntmen rather than with the women. That’s natural, I guess, given her business. I guess you’d call her a man’s kind of woman.”

“Right, which means that she’s low maintenance and not too much trouble.
Someone who wouldn’t get all clingy when the affair was over. That still doesn’t fit with the revenge angle. I’ll have to give this a lot of thought, Amy.”

Amy pursed her lips and nodded.
As I looked at her, I wondered how Jack could have been involved with three such very different women. Had Clive been right when he said that Jack had chased anything in a skirt? I had spent seventeen years with him, and Jack was still a mystery to me. I mulled that over for the rest of the evening, and it was my last thought as I fell asleep that night.

Back at the university the next morning, I decided to ask our mail carrier for her opinion on men.
Alice was a down-to-earth, salt-of the-earth kind of person – well, to be truthful, she was just plain earthy – and she had no illusions about men after thirty years of marriage. She barrelled into my office at the usual time on her Birkenstock-clad feet.

“Morning, Anna, how’s it going?” she asked, plunking down the mail and picking up an outgoing envelope.

“Just fine, Alice. Hey, do you have a minute? I want to ask you your opinion on something.”

There was never much mail to deliver in the spring term, so Alice hoisted herself up onto the table beside the mail trays and made herself comfortable.

“Sure I have a minute – shoot.”

“It’s a male/female relationship kind of question. In your experience, do men go for a variety of women, or do they mostly stick to the same type?”

“Hey, that’s a good one, Anna.
Let me think about that for a moment,” she said. Alice leaned back on her arms and stared at me. “Hmm, judging by my husband and my brothers, I’d say that men like to stay within a certain league, you know? Basically, I think men are kind of lazy when it comes to romance. They don’t want to try too hard if it means risking failure. Or maybe they’re just scared, eh? Nah, they’re lazy. My Mike used to date one of my girlfriends before he dated me, and we were both from the same neighbourhood, the same school, the same circle, you know? We all grew up together. Even now he likes actresses who look like they have street-smarts rather than the swankier kind of woman. Take Meryl Streep. I think that Meryl Streep would intimidate the hell out of Mike. Or Cate Blanchet. She’s such a classy-looking woman. But Debra Winger in Officer and a Gentleman or Karen Allen in Raiders of the Lost Ark – he always went for them. Hmm. Maybe he just likes brunettes? Now, isn’t that interesting. I’ll have to ask him.”

I smiled at her as she hopped off the table and headed for the door.
“Thanks, Alice. I’ve learned a lot from you and Mike over the years.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetie,” she called back over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Magdalena popped into my doorway and said, “That’s an interesting theory Alice just shared with you.”

I jumped and just about fell out of my chair.
“Magdalena,” I squeaked, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

As she walked into my office, my eyes trailed down to her feet and I saw that they were clad in ballet-style flats instead of her usual lofty heels.
Her eyes followed my glance.

“My shoes got a little muddy in the parking lot from last night’s rain.
I’m letting them dry before I brush them off,” she said. I nodded. “If you don’t mind listening to another opinion,” she continued, “I’m inclined to agree with Alice’s theory that men choose their mates from a similar social stratum. They want women with an educational and social background equivalent to their own – unless they’re using marriage to promote their careers – and they don’t often venture beyond those criteria. Women, on the other hand, traditionally choose men with better educations and earning potential to ensure a good provider for themselves and their children.”