The Book Stops Here (21 page)

“My wife is going to be tickled pink.”

“I’m so glad.”

He just grinned and after a short, silent pause, Angie announced, “And we’re clear. Next is segment three-forty on your rundown. We’re doing World War Two posters on the war stage. In thirty minutes, people.”

“Thank you so much,” Mitchell said, shaking my hand with enthusiasm as the crew and camera operators began the slow move of equipment and cables to the other end of the studio.

“You’re welcome, Mitchell,” I said. “It was fun. Enjoy the book.”

“Oh, you betcha. Gotta go tell the wife.”

Frannie, the production assistant, smiled as she led Mitchell off the stage and back to the production room, where his wife was waiting.

I was getting to know more of the staff and crew in my second week of working at the studio. It was nice to be able to greet them by name.

Derek was talking to Tom on the other side of the studio, so I stepped down off my little stage and headed their way.

“Hey, Brooklyn.”

I turned and saw Tish, one of the gaffer’s assistants, approaching me. She was in her twenties, a tall, pretty redhead engaged to the assistant prop guy. She was tapping the screen of an electronic notepad.

“Hi, Tish. What’s up?”

“I’m taking orders for pizza and salad. Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.” I had never known them to order food for the evening.

Angie joined us. “I’ll have two slices of veggie pizza and I’ll split a green salad with someone.”

Tish tapped out the order on her tablet. “I’ll split the salad with you.”

“Excellent. You want money now or later?”

“Now would be good. I’m asking for ten dollars from everyone. That should cover it. We’re getting eight pizzas, so I’ll make sure one of them’s a veggie.”

Angie pulled out a coin purse from her fanny pack, zipped it open and handed her a bill. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“No problemo.”

Tish walked away and I turned to Angie. “I didn’t know you all were working late tonight.”

“Not late,” she said dryly. “We’re working all night long.”

“Ooh.” I cringed. “Why?”

“We’re loading a new show into Studio Two.” She jutted her thumb toward the studio next door. “The entire crew will be pulling an all-nighter.”

“But you’re going to be wiped out tomorrow.”

“That’s why the schedule was moved back. Did you notice we don’t start taping until three o’clock?”

“I saw that, but I didn’t know why.” I hadn’t stayed up all night since college and didn’t miss the experience one bit. “I guess you’ll all have a good time.”

“Yeah, right.” She laughed and glanced around the stage. “Some of these kids will actually think it’s fun. But I expect to work my butt off, go home and crash for a few hours, come back tomorrow, and do it all over again.”

“That’s rough.”

She shrugged. “That’s showbiz. And, hey, I’m just glad to have a job.”

“I don’t blame you. It must be such a relief whenever a new show comes in.” I knew most of the crew members and some of the production staff had been hired locally, so they would all be scrambling for work once
This Old Attic
left town.

“A huge relief,” Angie said, pulling off her headset to shake back her hair. “I don’t mind working the long hours because it means there’s a paycheck waiting at the end of the week.”

“Okay, guys, I’m out of here,” Tish said, slipping the strap of her purse across her chest for security’s sake. “Be back in an hour with the food.”

“Can’t you call and have it delivered?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Some of the guys want beer and cigarettes, so I offered to go to the pizza place and the liquor store, and the guys will pay for my dinner.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Angie said.

She waved. “See you in a while.”

“I hope you brought a raincoat,” I said. “It’s pouring outside.”

“It is?” She glanced down at the white linen blouse and thin gray vest she had on. Her shoes were dainty black flats worn without socks.

“Did you bring a coat?” Angie asked.

“No. It was sunny when I left my house this morning.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Angie muttered. “I didn’t bring my coat. Otherwise, I’d let you borrow it.”

“That’s okay,” Tish said.

“Brooklyn,” Angie said. “You brought a raincoat, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, and regretted it immediately. Regret was followed quickly by guilt and I winced. It was just a raincoat, for goodness’ sake.

But no, it was a
Burberry
raincoat. A gift from Derek. From
London
. Did I mention that it wasn’t just red—it was
claret
?

Oh, shut up,
I thought, and sighed, knowing poor Tish would get drenched without a coat. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

“I’ve got a key to your room,” Angie said. “Wait here. I’ll go get it.”

“Are you sure, Brooklyn?” Tish said, as Angie took off running.

“Absolutely.” I flashed her what I hoped was an upbeat smile and we traded small talk for another minute until Angie jogged back with my coat.

“Here you go,” she said.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Tish said, pulling it on. She grinned at me. “And it fits great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, biting my tongue. “Be careful. It’s wet out there.”

She gave a thumbs-up as she walked quickly to the door leading to the parking lot.

Angie started to speak, but then held up her hand. Her eyes glazed over and I knew that someone was speaking to her over her headset. With a wave, she went off toward the kitchen stage area.

I turned and saw Derek watching me from just a few feet away.

“That was very kind of you,” he said.

“If you knew what was going through my mind, you wouldn’t think so.”

He laughed as he swung his arm around my shoulders. “I knew exactly what was going through your mind.”

I buried my head on his chest. “Oh, God, I’m transparent.”

“Only to me, love,” he said, still chuckling. “Only to me. And no worries. We’ll just take a trip to London and get you a spare Burberry. How’s that sound?”

“Wonderful,” I said, delighted by the very idea of traveling to London, one of my favorite cities, accompanied by my favorite man.
And who couldn’t use a spare Burberry coat?
I thought with a smile.

“What were you talking to Tom about?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I suggested he hire some extra security,” Derek said.

“That’s a great idea. Did he nix it?”

“Pretty much,” Derek said affably. “But I’ll still be hanging around as long as you’re working here.”

“My hero.”

We were almost to the hallway leading to my dressing room when a woman screamed from somewhere out on the stage.

“What the hell?” Derek took off running and I followed.

We found Randy Rayburn sprawled on the floor near the craft-services table, struggling for air. A cup of coffee had spilled all over the floor.

“He can’t breathe!” Sherry, one of the assistants, yelled, clutching her hands helplessly over her chest. She must have been the one who’d just screamed.

Derek knelt down and loosened Randy’s shirt and tie. He looked up at me. “Call nine-one-one.”

I didn’t have my phone so I shouted, “Somebody call nine- one-one”

“I’ve got his pen! I’ve got it!” Todd, another production assistant, came dashing around the corner from the direction of the dressing rooms. He ran over and handed something to Derek. “He’s allergic.”

Derek didn’t hesitate to slide the injector out of its tube. He ripped off the cap, gripped the injector, and shoved the needle into Randy’s thigh.

I had to look away, and noticed a few others making faces.

Derek held the injector tube against Randy’s leg for at least ten seconds, then pulled it away. He’d obviously had experience dealing with anaphylactic shock and EpiPens. A good thing, because I wouldn’t have known what to do.

A few seconds later, Randy jerked his head up off the floor and sucked in a huge breath of air. He did that a few times, wheezing like an asthma patient.

“Can you sit up?” Derek asked after a minute.

“Yeah,” Randy muttered, then coughed a little. When he stopped coughing, Derek lifted him by the arms to a sitting position.

I was standing near Todd and my curiosity was killing me, so I leaned close and whispered, “What’s he allergic to?”

Todd looked at me in surprise. “Peanuts. Everybody knows that.”

“I didn’t,” I confessed.

“But everybody else knows,” he insisted, despite my words. “On our first day, he took all of us in to show us exactly where he keeps his EpiPen. And we were all warned that nobody’s allowed to bring anything with peanuts onto the set.”

I didn’t argue with him. The fact was that I’d had no idea Randy had a peanut allergy, so it was a good bet there were others who were as much in the dark as me.

But it didn’t matter who didn’t know about the allergy. What
mattered more was who
did
know. Because it was possible that someone right here in the studio had meant to kill him.

I scanned the room. Could a killer actually be roaming the studio? Had someone nearby slipped peanuts into Randy’s food?

Hell.
I stared at the cardboard coffee cup that had rolled under the table. Just moments ago, it had been filled with coffee. Randy had taken a sip or two before spilling the entire contents on the floor. On a hunch, I bent over, picked it up, and folded it in half.

I knew the basics of anaphylactic shock, knew that Randy’s tongue and throat must have become swollen enough to cut off air to his lungs. No wonder he couldn’t talk. He was lucky to be alive.

“I’m okay,” he finally whispered. “But I might need some help getting back to my room.”

“Stay where you are,” Derek said, and signaled to Tom, who stooped down to talk.

“He’s got to go to the hospital,” Derek said.

“No, no,” Randy mumbled.

“What the hell were you thinking, eating peanuts?” Tom demanded. “You know better than that.”

“I didn’t eat anything,” Randy muttered. “Just had a cup of coffee.”

“The EMTs should be here any minute,” Derek said.

Randy waved his hand weakly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You damn well better be,” Tom grumbled.

Derek shook his head. “The amount of epinephrine in the EpiPen is only intended to keep you alive long enough to get you to the hospital.”

Tom sighed and pulled out his cell phone. He spoke quietly for a minute, then disconnected the call. “Jane says we’ll tape your segments tomorrow or the next day.”

Randy nodded and closed his eyes.

I nudged Derek and held out the cardboard coffee cup. In a low voice, I said, “Smell this, please.”

He gave me an odd look but took the cup and held it to his nose for a quick whiff. He glanced at me, scowling, but didn’t say anything right then.

I couldn’t be certain, but I thought there was the faintest odor of peanut butter under the coffee smell.

As Tom continued to pace restlessly, Derek knelt back down next to Randy. “What exactly did you eat tonight?”

“Nothing,” he repeated, his voice still weak. “I never eat while we’re taping.”

“Did you drink anything?”

“Well, yeah. I always have a couple cups of coffee.”

I hunched down to join in. “Everybody knows your routine, right?”

“Well, sure. I usually announce that I’m going to get coffee, so the whole crew knows where I am.” He flashed a feeble smile. “Angie tends to get riled up when she can’t find me.”

Derek and I exchanged glances and I asked, “Was anyone standing near you at the coffee table?”

He struggled to sit up straighter. “No one in particular. Plenty of people were milling around, though, since we were on a break.”

“Think about it carefully,” I persisted. “Did you see anyone hovering nearby, watching you?”

He took in our somber expressions and began to shake his head vigorously. “No, no. Come on, you can’t be serious. Nobody here tried to poison me. This was an accident, pure and simple.”

“Was it?”

“Absolutely,” he said, waving away our concerns.

“Absolutely,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

“But what about your stalker?” I said quietly.

Tom frowned. Was he finally starting to realize that Randy wasn’t joking about the stalker? That there might be a real problem here? I hoped so, because Randy’s stalker was obviously getting bolder.

“Okay, okay,” Randy said. “I get what you’re saying. But he’s never done anything to actually hurt me. He just seems to get off on scaring me.”

“You could’ve died tonight,” I said.

His cheeks ballooned as he blew out a heavy breath. “Everyone knows where I keep my EpiPen. And someone ran and got it. If the stalker wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it when I was all alone with nobody else around, right?”

It was such a lame argument, I thought, but didn’t push it. Instead I said, “Todd ran to get it.”

Randy blinked. “Get what?”

“Your EpiPen,” I said.

“Try to keep up,” Tom muttered.

I wanted to scowl at him, but I managed to compose myself.

Randy frowned. “Which one is Todd?”

“The tall, skinny guy with the spiky blond hair,” I said.

“He’s a good kid,” Tom said defensively.

I glanced from Tom to Randy. “How well do you know him?”

Tom stopped pacing. “You’re not actually accusing someone on my staff of doing this, are you?”

Derek jumped in to defuse his anger. “We’re just looking for answers.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” Tom raked both hands through his hair in frustration. “But maybe Randy’s right. Maybe it was just an accident.”

“Maybe,” I said, but I doubted it. Looking at Derek, I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. Namely, that there was no maybe about it. Someone had tried to kill off the star of the show.

The EMTs arrived a few minutes later and Randy was taken to the hospital for observation. One of Tom’s assistants followed the ambulance in his car in order to take him home later.

Tom’s sarcastic treatment of Randy had bothered me from the start, but it seemed to roll right off Randy’s back. I supposed they’d known each other for a while, so maybe Randy was used to the snarky comments.