Murder by Numbers (4 page)

“But you're extending your filming by what—a week? Two? Three? People are already expecting those checks—some are depending on them.”

“There will be no payments until we finish,” Chissel's voice got insistent, almost cutting. “As it is, we've suffered delays in our filming thanks to acts of sabotage and petty vandalism. We'd like to lodge a complaint with the local authorities.”

Massini looked surprised. “This is the first time I'm hearing about anything.”

Liza remembered the graffiti she'd seen. “Somebody did paint something nasty on one of the sheds by the docks,” she said.

“That's just the most obvious act of sabotage,” Peter Hake put in. “Over the last week, we've had pieces of equipment go missing or get messed up.”

Now Massini looked doubly jolted. “Have you reported this to the town deputies? This is a little town and crime is so rare here it's almost nonexistent. I can't imagine that Sheriff Clements—”

“I can't imagine we'll get much help from a mere sheriff with a couple of deputies,” Chissel said. “You're quite right. They have no experience in matters like this. Never mind making a report. Mr. Hake will deal with the situation. He has some security experience.”

Probably from the other side of the law.
The irreverent thought crept into Liza's head, and she found it hard to squash it.

“I'm still informing the sheriff,” Massini said. But his voice was muted—it was obvious who had won this little skirmish.

The meeting broke up shortly afterward, with both sides offering polite and mutually insincere good wishes. Chissel and Hake headed for the door. The Mirage mogul glanced back when he realized Liza was following them.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

“That depends on whether you're heading for the main shoot or for the Killamook Inn,” Liza replied. “If you're going to tell the crew what you just told the mayor, I want to be with my client. If not, I want her to hear it from me first.”

Chissel was indeed on his way to make his announcement of the changes he wanted in the script to the filmmakers. At least he was gracious enough to ask Liza to accompany him.

Hake drove a rental car with Chissel and Liza in the rear. They made a very awkward pair.

Every conversational line that Liza tossed out was cut off with a curt
yes
or
no
from Chissel. She finally subsided into silence. They went through the underpass beneath the coastal highway and into the industrial area down toward the harbor. The trailers for the film crew were parked along a side street.

A production assistant came running up to wave the car off, but when she saw Hake and Chissel, she ran off to one of the trailers.

“Looks like they're between shots,” Liza said as they got out of the car.

Another PA came up, this time to convey them to the film's director. Lloyd Olbrich was a lanky man with a pouchy face and enormous black eyebrows that made him look as if he were always glaring.
Well, he doesn't look like he's trying to play any head games right now
, Liza thought as the man greeted them. He was very polite to Chissel and wary when introduced to Liza.

“I sent some people out to gather everyone down by the dock,” he said. “Whatever announcement we're going to make, we can do it from there.”

“I'll do the talking,” Chissel said.

Olbrich recoiled as though he'd been struck.

But Chissel was clearly in charge.

The director followed him without further comment.

They went to the dock, where the film crew had already been gathered. The film crew—lighting technicians, production assistants, sound techs, camera people, assistant directors, and so on—were sort of spread out. Another group huddled in a more compact knot—the actors. Liza recognized Jenny, and decided that she already looked pale and angry.

Olbrich introduced the big boss.

Chissel barely waited until the introduction was over before he began speaking. “I'm here today because I want to underscore how important Mirage—and I—consider this production to be,” he began. Liza worked her way over to Jenny as Chissel went on to talk about additional filming and changes in direction.

Liza had just gotten to Jenny's side when the young woman broke into Chissel's remarks. “I've already heard about one of the new directions we're going in,” she said. “One of the location scouts wanted to know exactly where I'd been held after being kidnapped—like I want to revisit that, physically or any other way.”

Liza reached out to take Jenny's arm in a gesture of support and restraint. That statement wasn't exactly the way to talk to a studio head, even for a small studio like Mirage Productions.

On Jenny's far side, a tall, silver-haired man took the girl's other arm, more in a gesture of solidarity. Liza recognized Guy Morton, a veteran actor Derrick Robbins had recruited for the
Counterfeit
project. Morton had known lots of ups and downs in his long Hollywood career—a lot of experience showed in his laugh lines, frown lines, and squint lines, all characteristics that marked his once-handsome face.

The frown lines dominated now as he glared at Oliver Chissel. “We had a damned good movie almost in the can here,” he told the studio boss. “Why do you want to come chiseling in now to turn it into crap?”

“Why don't you want me to pay your salary? You'll shut up and do as you are told. Or you're out of here. And I mean that for everybody here.”

Nobody said a word. In fact, for a long moment, no one even blinked.

That speech managed to do an effective job of killing any buzz Oliver Chissel might have hoped to ignite in the crew with his pep talk. Apparently, the powers that be recognized this fact, too. Soon afterward, Lloyd Olbrich decided to wrap filming early that day.

Liza moved quickly to offer Jenny a lift back to the actors' accommodations at the Killamook Inn. She wanted to get the girl alone to talk a little about the facts of Hollywood life before the next time Jenny saw the crew.

One thing about Jenny—she wasn't dense. The girl glanced at Liza from the corner of her eye as they got onto the coastal highway. “You think I shot off my mouth too much,” she said.

“I think you were very honest—which isn't necessarily helpful when dealing with people in The Business,” Liza replied. “Sometimes it's better to keep them guessing—especially when it comes to studio execs.”

“When I heard him talking, I just wanted to do something terrible to him. He made me feel furious—I wanted to smash in his face,” Jenny said hotly. “By the time he and his stooge Olbrich get done with
Counterfeit
, it will be nothing like the movie Uncle Derrick planned.”

“They bought up your uncle's company and brought in the money to keep the production going,” Liza said. “That means they can do whatever they want. It's the Golden Rule.”

Jenny turned to her. “‘Do unto others—?'”

“No, that's the biblical version. The Hollywood version goes like this: ‘Those who have the gold make the rules.'”

Jenny had to laugh at that, but there wasn't much humor in her eyes. “So what do I have to do now?”

“I don't think there's much we can do in the way of damage control,” Liza said. “It comes down to two choices—suck it up, or take a walk and kiss any ideas of your career in the movies good-bye. A starlet who gets a reputation for being difficult on her first film isn't exactly an in-demand property in Hollywood.”

“If I walk, I guess I won't have much use for a publicity agent.” Jenny gave her a sudden grin. “So I guess if I want to keep you around, I'll have to suck things up.”

Her grin wavered a bit. “A direct tie-in with what I went through might help to sell tickets, but…Liza, I nearly got killed out there. After the hospital decided I wasn't going to die from exposure, your partner asked if I wanted a shrink.”

That was so out of character Liza actually glanced away from the road to look at her passenger. “Michelle never mentioned that to me.”

“I told her not to after I told her no.” Jenny sighed. “Maybe I should have, if I'm going to end up playing head games with Lloyd Olbrich. He's already been fooling around with new reaction shots for scenes that were supposedly all wrapped up. And I expect it's only going to get worse now that Chissel's here in person to put his mark on the production.”

“It this is going to be too much for you—” Liza began.

Jenny cut her off. “Uncle D. wanted to get this picture made if it was the last thing he did—and it just about was. Maybe it won't turn out the way he hoped, but I'll go through with every frame of the shoot. I'll take the chance he offered me. I owe it to him.”

“Just remember, if you need to talk, you do have friends,” Liza told the girl. “I'm always available, if you need me. Michael's come up to town and so has Michelle. I expect we'll find them at the inn.”

Her prediction was right on the money. When they pulled in at the entrance for the Killamook Inn, they found Michael waiting for them. He led them to a cabin discreetly off to the side, where Michelle had already established herself. Michelle's spies must have been working overtime. She knew all about the incident on the dock, and she had some stern words for Jenny about that.

“At least there weren't any cameras around when you decided to confront Chissel,” Michelle finally ran down. “In the future, if you're going to shoot your mouth off, at least take a moment to look around and make sure of that. It'll get into the industry rags anyway, but only as gossip. Nobody likes Chissel, so you'll probably be okay. You may even come out something of a hero. But just bite your tongue and keep it inside the next time you feel tempted to take on a studio owner.”

Having settled that point, Michelle then went on to the subject of food. Liza was always astonished that such a small person as her boss could pack it away and still remain petite.
She must have the metabolism of a shrew
, Liza often thought.
I guess it goes with the disposition.

“I talked with your friend Kevin, and he assures me the kitchen here is better than decent,” Michelle said.

“It's quite good,” Liza replied. “I've eaten in the dining room a couple times.” She noticed that announcement didn't fill Michael with good cheer. Well, he was the one who had walked out on her almost a year ago. He'd started the paperwork, too. If he was changing his mind about that, maybe a little competition was a good thing. It would keep him off balance and curious about her.

“Kevin also promised us room service, especially for tonight,” Michelle went on. “I don't want to advertise that I came up here. Our official line is that filming is proceeding as normal—” She glanced over at Jenny. “Even if it isn't. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jenny sighed.

After a perusal of the room service menu and a quick discussion, Michelle picked up the telephone and put in an order for all of them. Their food arrived hot, quickly filling the little cabin with delicious smells.

Dinner passed without any business talk. Michelle then picked up the copy of the
Oregon Daily
that she'd requested along with their order.

“Checking my column?” Liza asked with a grin.

“No, the television listings,” Michelle replied. “I wanted to see if some station up here in the wilderness carries
Evening Celebrity News
.”

“You watch that stuff?” Jenny asked in surprise. “Most of their so-called ‘news' is enough ‘to make a wabbit womit,' as one of my old drama teachers used to say.”

“True, but you've got to know what the enemy is up to if you want to properly counter them.” Michelle rattled the paper. “It's been quiet in Tinseltown lately. No good gossip. No celebrities doing embarrassing jail time. No drunken arrests. Not even much fooling around. I'm betting Miss Jenny here makes the lead story. God, they put the prime-time schedule on early here.”

Liza glanced at her watch. Yes, the show was almost on. She picked up the remote, powered up the TV, and input the proper channel.

Michelle expected no less.

In moments the cohosts of
Evening Celebrity News
appeared on the screen. The platinum and plastic female half of the team breathlessly spoke to her dark and handsome partner. “Tonight, we have breaking news of conflict during the shooting of a major new film.”

The male partner showed even, white teeth. “We hear shocking revelations from a veteran actor on location in Oregon—right after these messages.”

“Uh-oh,” Jenny said.

After the commercial, Guy Morton appeared on the television screen. “Today the head of Mirage Productions came to the set of
Counterfeit
, talking about a new direction. I know exactly what direction these chiselers are taking us—right into the toilet.”

The camera focus tightened on the silver-haired actor. “I play a con man in the movie. These guys are con men for real. They want to take a clever script with lots of funny twists and a spunky heroine and turn it into just another teen-in-danger rip-off flick. Why? Because they think they can get some cheap publicity by having Jenny Robbins relive some of the crap she went through after her uncle died. Well, here's some publicity for them. They're ruining the film.”

The interviewer's heavily collagened lips opened and closed like a fish's for a second before she got out, “We usually don't hear such, ah, frank remarks in the middle of production.”

Guy Morton shrugged. “What are they going to do, fire me and reshoot my whole part? They're too cheap to do that. That's the problem they're creating—taking the well-plotted film they already have and tacking this stupid ‘new direction' onto it. I came onto this project as a favor to Derrick Robbins—a friend who got murdered—to help Jenny learn the ropes of film acting. She's given a hell of a performance, but they're going to butcher that in the hopes of making a few extra pennies.”

He thumped a finger against his own chest. “I've been around for a long time, and people have been telling me things. They want to turn my character into some kind of crazed slasher. Well, I've got no intention of becoming the psycho geezer. If they're not going to make the film I signed on for, I don't see any reason to play nice.”

The scene switched back to the people in the studio, where the blonde reported, “There was no comment when we called the executive offices at Mirage Productions—except that CEO Oliver Chissel was not in town.”

“Whew!” Jenny said as the show went on to gossip about some other celebrity. “Guy certainly didn't pull any punches.”

“No, he didn't,” Michelle said, sounding surprisingly calm, considering the possible consequences of Guy's interview.

“Looks like Guy's back in form,” Liza added.

“What do you mean? Guy's always been a team player,” Jenny said.

Of course, Jenny only knew Guy as the sort of “foxy grandpa” figure he'd played since working with Derrick Robbins on a story arc in the TV series
Spycraft
. The show had given Derrick's career a new lease on life, giving him a starring role as an eccentric code wizard. Guy had come in playing a veteran secret agent dragged out of retirement. It wasn't much of a stretch—the network had dragged Guy out of retirement to take the part.

“In a way,” Liza said, “this is like Guy's glory days on a TV series I watched when as a kid. He starred in
Masked Justice
as a crime-fighter who went after rich and powerful lawbreakers—the kind who couldn't be caught by ‘the system.' Though it only ran for five seasons, the show is still a classic cult hit. One reason for the show's continuing popularity is probably that Guy was a pit bull about script quality. When the writers didn't deliver, he'd threaten to rewrite the scripts himself. He did it several times.”

“Yep, this isn't the first time old Guy has tangled with studio brass,” Michelle said drily. “You have to give him credit.”

“Guy has always stood up for what he believes is right,” Liza said. “After his show got canceled, Guy went through a long dry spell. He made most of his income doing personal appearances as the masked hero he used to play. Cut ahead fifteen years, when some studio decided to do a movie remake—turning Guy's character into a psycho rather than a hero. The geniuses decided that as the original Masked Justice, Guy represented unwelcome competition. They filed suit to keep him from wearing a mask. What did Guy do? He kept making appearances—but instead of a mask, he wore specially designed sunglasses—in the shape of a mask.

“Incidentally, the movie version bombed. Nobody liked the changes in the hero.”

“Well, it looks as if Guy feels the same way about the
Counterfeit
script,” Jenny said. “And he's willing to fight for it. Does this change anything on the set?”

Michelle shook her head. “Officially, no. If Guy wants to tangle with Ollie the Chiseler, I don't want you to get caught in the cross fire.”

“Warfare by proxy,” Liza said.

“Of course, the script is better left alone. I don't trust Chissel. If you were to bump into Guy around town, I wouldn't mind if you encouraged him a little,” Michelle went on.

“As long as you can deny it,” Liza said sweetly.

Michelle gave her the look she usually reserved for backward children. “Of course.”

Their meeting pretty much broke up after that. Jenny went back to her cabin, while Michael followed Liza. “Would you mind giving me a lift? I came along with Michelle.”

Liza gave him a sidelong glance. “Aren't you staying here?”

“I'm a poor freelance writer, not a Hollywood publicity maven,” Michael replied. “Plus, the whole A-list on the film crew has pretty much taken this place over. I'm living in digs more suitable to my situation.”

“I'm sure Kevin—” Liza began.

“Yeah,” Michael interrupted. “Kevin and I are just like that.” He held up two fingers together. “I think Kevin is the taller one.” He tapped his middle finger.

Liza sighed. Michael and Kevin had worked together to come up with a dramatic rescue. In the months since, how-ever, they had gone back to their routine of being romantic rivals for her favors.

If only I could figure out which was Archie and which was Reggie
, she thought.
Kind of hard when both of them act like Jughead.

“So where are you staying?” she asked. “Somewhere here in Killamook, or over in Maiden's Bay?”