AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Why don’t you get back over there to your adoring public?”
“Why don’t you answer the question?”
As usual, when Jacey was challenged, she reacted with her typical defense. An aggressive offense. “Go on, Meat, you’re the entertainment. I’m the crew. Get back to your job so I can do mine.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment as Jacey held her breath. Finally, unable to help it, she pulled her attention away from the ruckus in the diner, away from her camera lens, and turned her head slightly to look at Digg.
He was just staring with those deep, knowing brown eyes, giving her one of those tiny, precious smiles. And looking as if he knew her,reallyknew her, like no one ever had.
“I’ll get you out from behind that camera one of these days, Jacey Turner.” His words were a promise more than a threat.
“You can try.” Damn, her voice had cracked. She stiffened her jaw.
“Oh, I will,” he said softly. “Wait and see.”
“Don’t you think I should act out my death scene?”
Caro smothered an impatient sigh. “No, I don’t.”
Five seconds went by. Then the plea came again. “But I really think…”
You’re not being paid to think.
“You’re just supposed to be dead, okay, Mr. Smithback?”
Caro had been having this same argument with Eldon Smithback for a half hour here in Sophie Winchester’s house where they were setting up for the first murder scene. Eldon wanted to go out with glory. Caro just wanted him dead on the floor. God, extras were going to be the death of her. If the cast wasn’t first. Not to mention her allergies.
No, strike that.Firstwould be the man standing in the kitchen, watching the madness as the crew got ready for the arrival of the cast of sleuths. Mick. Watching all, seeing all. Laughing silently in the background while he observed the mania Caro had become well used to in the TV business. Mania like people hired to play corpses who decided they wanted to do aSopranos-type death scene instead.
Renauld owed her big-time for leaving her here to sort this out. Dealing with discontented extras wasn’t her job.
“I could surprise the intruder after my wife and son have been killed.”
Caro continued reading her latest texts, messages from the four runners she’d sent out to plant the replacement clues. The writers had come through big-time on that. Thirty seconds after the new clues had come off the printer, she’d had the techs racing out to place them at the four locations. They’d just paged to let her know everything was a go.
“I did a play once in high school and the schoolmarm said I was the best George Washington she ever saw.”
Considering how old the guy was, the schoolmarm had probably known the real one. She’d had enough. “Look, you’re dead, okay? Just…dead. If you surprise the intruder, well, your face might give something away to the audience.”
Instead of being dissuaded, he puffed up a little more. “That’d be great. A clue. I could be the first clue!”
Arggh!“You’re not supposed to be a clue. You’re supposed to be a corpse.”
The old man wouldn’t be put off. As if auditioning, possibly for the play he’d done in high school, he froze, let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutched his hands to his chest and proceeded to stagger all over Sophie Winchester’s former bedroom. Caro watched impassively, waiting for the guy to finish. It took a while before he clunked to the ground and twitched around a bit.
“See?” he said hopefully after he’d gasped and moaned his last.
“No,” she bit out between clenched teeth, even as another sneezing fit threatened to force her out of the house. “You. Are. A. Corpse.”
He was going to be a real corpse, soon, if he didn’t leave her alone.
“Maybe I can help.”
Mick. That silky-smooth, reasonable voice could belong to no one else. She really didn’t want his help. Actually, she didn’t want him around at all, but since he’d provided some real assistance with his sister—and the writers—this morning, she couldn’t very well order him out.
“Do you have any tranquilizer darts, like the ones they use on rampaging elephants?” she asked. “I think that’s what it’s going to take to keep him down.”
Mick chuckled, then walked over to Mr. Smithback, who was standing up, saying something about how much more action there would be if he wrestled with the killer and tried to take the knife.
