Murder, She Wrote (10 page)

“May I ask what you're doing?” I said.

Estelle shrieked. She dropped the bracelet she'd been examining, then hastily closed the jewelry box and shoved it back into the drawer. “Oh, my, you startled me.”

“I think you may want to return the items in your pocket to the jewelry box before you close the drawer,” I said.

Estelle shoved her hand in her pocket and took out a fistful of Vera's jewelry. She lifted the lid on the box and threw the pieces inside, then tucked the dangling cord back in her pocket. “This may not look very nice, but Vera promised to give me her garnet set when she died. It's my birthstone, the stone of love and devotion, passion and courage. I swear she said she'd leave it to me in her will. I wouldn't have touched anything of hers otherwise.”

“In that case, I suggest you wait for her will to be read. If she's left something to you, that's when you'll receive it.”

“That could be months,” Estelle said, wiping her hands on the front of her skirt. “And what if she forgot to tell the lawyer? It would be just like her. She promised them to me right after she got the part in
Danger Comes Calling
. It was her first starring role and I was the one who made it happen. She never would have gotten the part if it hadn't been for me. Never! She said I could have anything of hers except Terry.” She snorted. “He wasn't her husband then. In fact, he was married to someone else. Later on, she said I could have him back. So, I told her garnets were my birthstone, and she said, ‘Then you shall have my garnet set. It's yours when I die.' There's a necklace, a bracelet, and a pair of drop earrings. They're supposed to be mine.”

“If you'd done her such a big favor, why didn't she reward you right away?” I asked.

“Well, that was Vera. People did favors for her all the time. She expected it. She only ever did one favor for me and she never let me forget it.” A nasty expression formed on Estelle's face, but she quickly schooled her features. “She was ruled by Mercury. Your best friend one day, your enemy the next. Anyway, I deserve those jewels. They should be mine.” She fingered the top of the jewelry box. “She promised.”

“If you take them now, I'll report you to the police,” I said. “Sheriff Metzger is here at the airport. I don't think you want to explain to him why you were rifling through Vera Stockdale's jewelry box.”

“But—”

“If Vera promised something to you, tell Terrence Chattergee. Let him decide when or if you can take what you claim is supposed to be yours.”

Estelle drew herself up stiffly. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Then I'll take my leave,” she said, closing the drawer slowly and pulling the lapels of her jacket closed.

“Were you searching for the note she received?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I already told you, I wasn't with her twenty-four hours a day. And contrary to what you may think, I'm not a mind reader. I just study the stars.”

I gestured toward Vera's closet. “Then what were you looking for? You took out all of Vera's clothes.” When she didn't answer, I asked, “Aren't you going to put her things away?”

“Someone else can do that. They have to be packed up anyway.” She turned toward me, her hand still clutching the fabric of her jacket, but I didn't move.

“Are you going to block me from leaving?” she asked coldly.

“No.”

She pushed past me roughly and walked down the hall.

“What about the dog?” I called after her. “What about Cecil?”

“You can have him,” came the reply.

B
efore I left the trailer, I untied Cecil's leash and unhooked it from his collar, but he refused to get down from Vera's bed. Rather than fight a stubborn Chihuahua, I refilled his water bowl and went through the kitchen cabinets until I found a canister of dog food, then poured a small amount into his food bowl on the floor.

I taped a note on the locked door of Chattergee's trailer next door, telling him where Cecil was. I planned to check back before I left the airport to make certain
someone
was taking care of Vera's dog. I didn't relish the idea of taking in an orphaned creature, even though I've always been an animal lover.

Whether Estelle Fancy would sneak back into Vera's trailer when I was gone was anybody's guess. The best I could do was let Chattergee know that he should lock Vera's trailer if he wanted to prevent her possessions from being plundered.

I walked back toward the hangar intent on finding Mort to tell him what had occurred. Of course, finding Estelle in Vera's trailer didn't implicate her in the actress's murder, but it certainly cast her in a different light. From what I could see, she was trying to take more than the garnet set from Vera's jewelry box. She had thrown back quite a few other pieces as well. I wondered whether the cord she'd stuffed back into her pocket belonged to Vera's iPad. Had she taken that as well?

And why had she turned Vera's pockets inside out? What was Estelle looking for? Money? More jewelry? Vera had left a pair of earrings in a saucer on the kitchen counter. I kicked myself that I hadn't stopped to see if they were still there. Perhaps she was accustomed to leaving things in her pockets. I had done much the same thing once, when I wore a new pair of earrings to a book signing and they began to pinch. I'd removed them and dropped them in my handbag. A month later when I was dressing for an evening out, I was surprised to discover them at the bottom of the purse.

Could Estelle have been searching for the note Chattergee said had upset Vera so much? Had she been its author? If she had been looking for it, she wouldn't have found it. Mort and I had searched the room, and the crime scene team had followed us and searched the trailer for it as well—with no luck.

If Estelle had lied about looking for the note, was anything she said to be trusted?

These questions occupied my thoughts as I wandered back toward the hangar. Ahead, I noticed a table set up outside one of the trailers with a box on it. A sign taped to the box fluttered in the breeze. Curious, I quickened my pace to see what it was about. The sign read:

DO NOT KNOCK ON THIS DOOR IF YOU WANT TO BE CONSIDERED FOR A PART AS AN EXTRA. LEAVE YOUR RÉSUMÉ AND HEAD SHOT IN THIS BOX. ANYONE VIOLATING THESE INSTRUCTIONS WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY EXCLUDED FROM CONSIDERATION AS AN EXTRA. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. RHONDA CHEN, CASTING DIRECTOR

I knocked on the door.

“Didn't you read the sign?” a woman's voice called from inside the trailer.

“I did,” I called out. “May I come in? I'm not here to ask for a part in your movie.”

“That's what they all say, and once they're in here, their story changes,” the voice said. “You may come in, but I will not be persuaded.”

I opened the door to find a small Asian woman hemmed in by cardboard boxes on the table in front of her and filing cabinets behind her along the wall. She wore a Bluetooth headset in one ear and had at least three cell phones and a tablet spread out before her on the flat surface.

“We haven't met before,” I said. “I'm Jessica Fletcher, the script consultant on the film.” I held out my hand.

“Oh, yes. I know who you are,” she said, ignoring my hand. “Your book is the reason we were dragged all the way from California to Maine. Shut the door, please. I don't want anyone else to know I'm in here.”

I closed the door behind me and looked around for a place to sit, but there wasn't one.

“I don't keep any chairs in here or I'd never get rid of them,” she said. “State your business quickly, Mrs. Fletcher, or your feet will get tired.”

I laughed. “I don't want a part in the movie,” I said, raising my hand in a salute, “Girl Scouts' honor. And please call me Jessica.”

“Well, you're probably the only one, Jessica,” she said, sighing. “I'm Rhonda Chen.”

“I thought so,” I replied. “I know you're very busy. I won't take more than a few minutes of your time. I'd like to talk with you about Vera Stockdale.”

“I already spoke with the police.”

“I'm sure you have. I would hope that they've interviewed everyone connected with the production.”

“Can't imagine that they missed anyone. Unlike me, the rest of them have nothing else to do at the moment.”

“But I understand that's about to change,” I said.

“You do? Who have you been talking to? That's not supposed to be common knowledge.”

I smiled. “I have my sources. If you give me ten minutes, I'll let you know who it is.”

She stared at me for a moment and I had the impression I was being weighed and measured for a part. “Okay,” she said, drawing the word out.

“Please tell me what you know about Vera Stockdale.”

She waved a hand in front of her face. “I barely knew the woman. The major roles are often cast by the producer and director. I didn't even get a chance to suggest someone for the role before. Now it's an emergency; they want someone yesterday. If they'd asked me then, I could have come up with two or three easily more recognizable actresses for the part of the judge.”

“Would one of them have been Lois Brannigan?”

“She's not a bad choice, but she doesn't have a big enough popularity score to rate the starring role. She's a second-banana type. You don't have to raise your eyebrows at me. I've said as much to her. She's angling for the judge's part, but I think she's deceiving herself. The sexy girlfriend would give her a much better opportunity to show what she can do. However, that's Chattergee's decision, not mine. And hers, if she gets offered the part.”

“How did Lois get along with Vera?”

“They got along. Lois would have been a fool to take on Stockdale, even if she wasn't the ex-wife of the executive producer. Chattergee handpicked her, and Vera knew how to throw her weight around.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I hear, and this is only secondhand, she was a pill to deal with and people avoided her like the plague.”

“Was there anyone with a particular dislike for her?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I think it was just a general feeling . . . if she was nice to you, watch out. She only smiled if she wanted something.”

“Did she have any favorites, people she was friendly with?”

“There's her astrologer, but she gets paid to listen to Vera's rants. Or
got
paid, I should say. I think the production office is going to send her back to L.A. She serves no purpose here anymore.”

“Is she aware of that?”

“I don't see how she can't be. Her reason for being here is dead. Sorry to be so blunt, but that's the truth.”

“What about anyone else? Who else might have been a friend of Vera's?”

“I'm not the best person to ask. You should try makeup and wardrobe. They saw her the most.” She rubbed the back of her neck and said with some impatience, “I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you. Do you have any more questions?”

“I'm just trying to get a feeling for relationships on the set. Would you happen to know a production assistant named Sunny?”

“I have nothing to do with the PAs. Is that everything?”

“Not quite.”

“All right,” she said, as if resigned to my presence. “If you look behind those files over there”—she pointed to a pair of tall file cabinets—“you'll find a folding chair you can use, but you have to put it back when you leave.” She rolled her head in a circle, then linked her fingers together behind her neck, giving a little groan.

“Thank you,” I said. “I was getting a bit tired standing here.” I set my shoulder bag down on her floor and walked to the back of the cabinets, where several folding chairs leaned against the wall. I had just carried one out when the door to Rhonda Chen's trailer flew open and a breathless Eve Simpson climbed inside.

“Oh, Ms. Chen, I'm so relieved to finally meet you,” Eve said, her eyes sparkling. “I see you've already met our local celebrity. Hi, Jessica.” She waved at me. “You have my résumé, I'm sure,” she said, addressing the casting director again. “But just in case, here's another and my latest head shot, taken by Bilberry Studios in Bangor.” She placed her papers on top of the array of electronics on the casting director's table. “Jessica can tell you; they photograph all the stars.” She tilted her head with a smile and winked at me.

I tried not to look astonished. I'd never heard of Bilberry Studios.

“When I'm not on the stage, I am the queen of local real estate,” Eve said, handing Rhonda her business card. “How are your current living arrangements? Not so hot? I can find you a wonderful place to stay while you're here, one with
all
the amenities. Let me introduce myself. I'm Eve Simpson, late of the Little Theatre Players.”

Little Theatre Players?
That was the name of the Cabot Cove High School theater club. I had directed its members in
Anything Goes
one year during my previous career as a high school English teacher. But that was long after Eve Simpson had graduated.

“You've heard of us, I assume,” Eve continued. “I played Persephone, Ophelia, Calpurnia—that's Plutarch, of course. All the great roles. I've been so busy this week, I must have missed your call. But I'm available for a screen test as soon as you can arrange it.”

“You may or may not be able to act,” Rhonda said, lifting Eve's photo and résumé by the corners, as if they were tainted and would soil her fingers, and dropping them in a box at her feet, “but apparently you can't read. There's a sign outside.”

“That's just for the extras,” Eve said, undaunted by the annoyance clearly evident on Rhonda Chen's face. “I'm an accomplished actress. I knew you'd recognize my talent right away. I understand that the part of the judge will be given to a Hollywood favorite, but,
entre nous,
those of us in the theater can act rings around film people.
N'est-ce pas?
We're steeped in the Method. You know, named for Stanley Stanislavski, the great Russian actor and director.” She batted her eyelashes and looked achingly at the ceiling.

“Is he the same as Constantin Stanislavski, Eve?” I asked.

Eve squeaked, but recovered quickly. “
Oh mon Dieu
, Jessica. You're so quiet, I almost forgot you were standing there,” she said with a flourish. “Is that seat for me? How nice!”

I almost laughed at the look of horror in Rhonda Chen's eyes.

“No, actually,” I said, quickly opening the chair and sitting in it. “Unfortunately, you've come at an inconvenient time, Eve. Ms. Chen and I are in the middle of an important meeting. I'm really sorry, but I'm sure you understand.”

“Are you discussing the roles in the film?” Eve asked archly. “If so, I'm certain you can find one for me. You know my qualifications, Jessica.” She edged closer to my chair. “May I rely on you to persuade Ms. Chen to cast me in a good part?” she said in a stage whisper. “I don't require a large one. A few speaking lines will allow me to add a soupçon of freshness to the film.” She twirled around so that her skirt flared out.

“I'm afraid I don't have any influence on casting, Eve,” I said, “but perhaps you can call Ms. Chen later for an appointment.”

“Yes, please,” Rhonda added drily.

“Of course!” Eve said with enthusiasm. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a thick calendar book and pen, secured with a rubber band. She turned her gaze on Rhonda Chen, pen poised in the air. “If you'll just let me have your personal phone number, I'll be happy to give you a ring later to set up an audition.”

I was surprised when Rhonda quickly rattled off a number, which Eve struggled to write down. “I have it!” she said, a note of triumph in her voice. “I shall be in touch. You won't regret this. The film is being made in Maine, after all. You have to make sure it has local color to carry off that Down East
je ne sais quoi
. No one else can supply that flavor as well as I.” She dropped her calendar back in her bag. “Speak to you later,” she sang as she sailed out of the trailer.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Rhonda rose from her seat and hurried to lock the door. She leaned back against it and let out a relieved sigh.

“Whose number did you give her?” I asked.

“Shred Masters outside San Bernardino,” she replied. “It's where I send all of these.” She kicked the box under her table as she sat down again. “You wouldn't believe how many trees die for head shots and résumés. The least I can do is recycle them.”

“I have a bad feeling Eve will think I told you to do that,” I said.

“She can't have assumed she'd get a part just by waltzing in here with that ridiculous song and dance, can she?” Rhonda asked. “Besides, she tried to
bribe
me with an apartment.”

“Eve is the consummate optimist,” I said. “Fortunately one with a thick skin. She's been disappointed before, but she always bounces back.”

Rhonda leaned over and plucked Eve's papers from her recycling box. “Maybe I'll hire her as an extra,” she said, dropping them into a different box. “We have a crowd scene coming up. I had to put the mayor in it. She can stand next to him.”

“That's very nice of you,” I said.

“Most likely they'll be edited out of the final cut,” she said with a wry smile.