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“And your concern is what?”
“Let’s just say I’m an interested party.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, then we simply must talk,” Cole said in a facetious tone of voice. But he opened the door, stepped back, and waved Theodosia in.
Theodosia’s first impression confirmed that it was indeed a bridal suite and that the decor was maybe even a little over the top. A four-poster bed decorated with frilly heart-shaped pillows dominated the room. A fire crackled merrily in a white brick fireplace and there was a hot tub, certainly large enough for two, in the corner. The rest of the decor was romantic and slightly Victorian—a wing chair, beveled mirror, wall sconces, and a few statues of chubby Cupids cavorting here and there. There was also an antique spinet desk where a laptop computer sat alongside a messy stack of papers.
“Sit, please,” Cole said, indicating a small overstuffed chair while he plunked himself down on the edge of the bed. “Now tell me again what you want, what you wanted to ask me?”
“Can you think of anyone who hated Josh Morro enough to kill him?”
Cole didn’t waste any time in answering. “Sure can.”
“And that would be…?”
“Andrea Blair. She didn’t just hate Morro, she despised him,” Cole said with relish.
“Because Cole was constantly needling her?”
“That and mostly because Andrea had gotten a major offer to host a reality show but was already locked into this movie contract.”
“I heard a rumor about the reality show, but you’re saying she was actually going to host it?” Theodosia was surprised. The girl seemed so young, so inexperienced.
“This news was spread all over the Hollywood Reporter.” Cole hesitated. “You read the Hollywood Reporter, don’t you?”
Theodosia shook her head.
“Oh, well, permit me to enlighten you. It was a reality show with the working title Camp Glamp and the producers were salivating to get Andrea. They thought she’d be the perfect host—young, beautiful, chatty as all get-out, and a total Gen Z airhead.”
“I’d have thought Morro would have wanted Andrea to accept that reality show role. Then he could work around her, shoot all her parts first, and be mercifully rid of her.”
“I’m sure he did want her gone. Probably burned sage and offered up prayers to the gods of filmmaking.”
“Who are?”
“I don’t know,” Cole said. “Probably Alfred Hitchcock and Francis Ford Coppola.” He leaned forward. “But here’s the stickler. Lewin Usher, our big pooh-bah executive producer, didn’t want to let Andrea out of her contract, either, just in case there were rewrites or the shooting schedule ran longer than anticipated.”
“Okay,” Theodosia said. “I can understand that as a sound business practice.” She hesitated. “Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted Josh Morro dead?”
“You want my honest opinion?” Cole asked. He leaned over, opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and pulled out a baggie full of grass and some rolling papers.
“Absolutely I do,” Theodosia said. She wondered if Cole was trying to put her on or if he was really going to roll himself a joint.
Turned out he rolled himself a joint, quickly and rather expertly. Then he sparked up, took a hit, and offered Theodosia a toke.
“No thanks,” she said.
Cole blew out a steady stream of smoke, cleared his throat, and said, in a tight voice, “It could have been the new director that’s stepping in, Joe Adler.”
“I’ve never even heard that name before,” Theodosia said.
“You’ll get an earful when you’re on set tomorrow. Adler is a legend in his own mind. He’s been waiting dog years for a chance to direct a feature film. Rumor has it he just finished a documentary down in Savannah, something about the Landmark District. Then, late yesterday, he got the call about Josh Morro’s murder and was asked to step in to direct Dark Fortunes. Adler didn’t hesitate, even negotiated his contract to get back end on the movie. You know, profit participation.” Cole took a second toke, held his breath until his face turned brick red, then blew out. “Adler’s quite the character. Larger than life you might say.”
“So you’re saying that Adler might have arranged to have Josh Morro killed just so he could take over the directing job?” It sounded a little improbable, a little too scripted.
Cole looked at her sideways. “Didn’t you ever see that old movie All About Eve? With Bette Davis and Anne Baxter?”
“I have, but that was just a clever script, mostly pure conjecture.”
