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Ken Lotter tried again. “We heard there was bad blood between Josh Morro and his leading lady.”
“You’re talking about Andrea Blair?”
Lotter nodded. “The rumor du jour is that she got an offer to star in some reality show—something superhot and heavy, but Morro wouldn’t let her out of her contract.”
This was news to Theodosia. “So you’re thinking…what?”
“That Andrea might have had a hand in yesterday’s debacle,” Lotter said. “Care to comment on that?”
“Just between you and me, I’m not sure Andrea would know how to run a salad shooter,” Theodosia said. “Let alone rig up a homemade electric chair.”
“Hah, love your sense of humor,” Lotter said. “Okay then, what can you tell us about the new director that’s about to step in?”
“Not a thing,” Theodosia said. Then, “That’s what you’ve heard? There’s a new director taking over?”
“Some guy named Adler,” Lotter said. “I suppose with the actors, crew, and location all locked down, it shouldn’t be surprising that the shoot is slated to keep going.” He smiled a shark’s smile. “Business as usual, don’t ya know?” He pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Theodosia. “Call me if you hear something, okay? Or if you change your mind about talking to me.”
Theodosia had barely hustled Ken Lotter and his crew out the door when Bill Glass came stomping in. Glass was the publisher of Shooting Star, a glossy weekly tabloid that specialized in chronicling all the goings-on of the rich and sleazy in Charleston.
“Glass,” said Theodosia when she finally turned to acknowledge him. He was her nemesis in a strange sort of way. Always hunting for tidbits of juicy gossip, but being faux polite about it. She didn’t trust him but didn’t quite disdain him, either.
“Hey, long time no see,” Glass called to Theodosia. Today he was dressed in a horrible orange shirt that was untucked from his khaki pants. He also wore a pair of scuffed boots that looked like they’d seen better days in World War II, a paisley scarf, and two cameras dangling around his neck. If asked to describe Glass, Theodosia would’ve said war correspondent meets country bumpkin.
“How can I help you, Mr. Glass?” Theodosia said, fighting to remain polite.
Which was Glass’s cue to be not so polite.
“Why do I miss out on all the hot news events?” Glass snarled.
“I don’t know, why do you?” Theodosia said. Usually, Glass was front and center for any kind of accident, scandal, or murder. He was rumored to have informants all over town.
“For one thing, my police scanner is on the blink and in the repair shop,” Glass grumbled.
“If you’re referring to what happened at Brittlebank Manor yesterday, I wouldn’t exactly call it a hot news event,” Theodosia told him. “It was more like stone-cold murder.”
“Same thing,” Glass said. “What can you tell me about it?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“But you were there. Doing your tea table thing.”
“Craft services table,” Theodosia said.
“Whatever. Just give me your take on the whole shebang so I can write it up.”
“I wasn’t an eyewitness. I just happened to catch the aftermath.”
Glass grinned. “I heard it was pretty gruesome.”
“If that’s the kind of information you’re after, you should go talk to the medical examiner,” Theodosia said.
“Yeah, he’s on my list.” Glass turned and tapped his fingers on the counter. “Hey, Drayton. Tea guy,” he called out. “You got anything chock-full of caffeine?” He thumped his chest. “Got a big day ahead of me. I want to keep my engine tuned up and running.”
“I do believe I have a pot of Puerh tea brewing,” Drayton said.
“And it’s guaranteed to perk me up?” Glass asked.
Theodosia smiled. She knew that if Glass drank enough Puerh tea, it would work like rocket fuel. As far as caffeine went, Puerh was one of the highest-caffeinated teas, topping out at about 120 milligrams per cup versus coffee’s 95.
