I toed the dirt under the bench seat with my boot. “Maybe a little.’’
“Excellent,’’ Marty said. “Let’s survey the suspects.’’ Her head swiveled to all sides of the base camp. “Greg Tilton, at fifty paces.’’
Maddie and I shifted to follow the direction of her nod.
Tilton was talking to a couple of crew members, a cup of coffee in his hand. When he noticed us looking, he saluted with the cup and gave his trademark smirk. All of us quickly looked away.
“Well, I for one don’t trust him.’’ Maddie spoke under her breath. “What’s he hiding behind that annoying grin?’’
“You’re still mad because of the way he tried to force himself on Mace,’’ Marty said.
“Aren’t you?’’ Maddie asked.
Before Marty could answer, I said, “The man has problems. He’s said he’s sorry. He probably never meets anyone who says no.’’
“Excuses!’’ Maddie said.
Marty sneaked another glance at Tilton. “He even stopped me on my way in this morning. He wanted to tell me how sorry he was. He said he’s changed, and asked me to make sure Mace knows that.’’
“She’s been there, heard that,’’ Maddie said. “I wonder why he didn’t talk to me?’’
“Probably scared off by the way you scowl at him. Kind of like you’re doing now,’’ I said.
Maddie snapped her head back toward us. “Why does everyone say I scowl?’’
“Because you do.’’ Marty patted our big sister’s cheek. “Anyway, he was a perfect gentleman.’’
“Humph,’’ Maddie said. “So was Ted Bundy.’’
“It was so weird this morning,’’ Marty said. “I stood there, staring at the guy I daydreamed about all through middle school. I must have filled a whole notebook, practicing my future signatures: Marty Tilton. Mrs. Greg Tilton. Greg and Marty Tilton.’’
Maddie said, “I drew lace-bordered hearts around the name of my crush: Scott Baio.’’
I groaned. “Not the guy from Joanie Loves Chachi?’’
“He was adorable,’’ Maddie said. “Whose name did you practice, Mace?’’
“John W. Jones Jr.’’
My teen crush garnered blank looks from both sisters.
“Three-time world champion rodeo bulldogger in the 1980s,’’ I said. “Plus, he had dreamy eyes.’’
They laughed, and I joined in, feeling a bit more like myself again. I looked around, and my gaze settled on Sam Dobbs, knocking on the door of the production trailer. Kelly wasn’t with him. I tried not to imagine her off somewhere, keeping company with a certain detective.
“Are you thinking of him as a suspect?’’ Maddie’s eyes followed mine to Sam.
“Honestly, the guy’s barely said two words to me. I don’t know much about him, except he’s crazy about Kelly.’’
Maddie said, “Well, he’s a man, so that makes sense.’’
“I was just remembering last night; he was trying to pretend he didn’t care if Kelly was cuddling up to someone else at the bar. He was acting, just like I was.’’
As Sam disappeared into the trailer, some small scrap of information about him tried to surface in my mind. All I kept seeing, though, was our eyes meeting in the mirror behind the bar, two sorry-ass kindred souls.
“What about that guy?’’
Marty’s whisper forced me to refocus. Being lovelorn was distracting me from sleuthing. She pointed out the dapper assistant director, head bobbing as he talked into a cell phone.
“How much do we know about Johnny Jaybird?’’ Maddie asked.
I knew quite a bit, at least about his sexuality. I didn’t share it with my sisters, though. Maybe I identified with the way the poor guy was being jerked around by Toby.
“Getting shot makes Johnny seem more like a victim than an aggressor,’’ I said.
“Maybe he got shot because he was the aggressor,’’ Maddie said.
Johnny slipped his phone into his pocket, and cocked his head across the camp toward Jesse’s new trailer. After her close call, the police commandeered her former trailer as a crime scene. A temporary trailer was hauled in. Toby and Jesse sat in front of it now, in camp chairs.
“I’ve got my eye on Toby,’’ Marty said. “That parking lot ‘accident’ seems fishy.’’
I raised my brows at my little sister, who rarely suspects anybody of anything.
“For one thing, the timing was too perfect,’’ she said. “For another, nobody else saw or heard a thing.’’
I recalled Toby looking artfully disheveled after the near-miss. The question was, how artful?
“Toby’s not the murderous type,’’ Maddie said with her usual certainty. “Remember that movie where he played a Cub Scout? He was as sweet as speckled pup.’’
“Acting, sister,’’ I said.
“Maybe.’’ Maddie nodded thoughtfully. “But a certain innocence, even purity, shines through.’’
“He didn’t look so pure strutting out of Jesse’s trailer the first time I saw him,’’ I said.
“What about motive, though?’’ Maddie asked. “Greg Tilton might have wanted Norman and Toby both out of the way, so his role wouldn’t get cut. But what would Toby’s motive be? You said Norman liked him; and he’s clearly the apple of Barbara’s eye.’’
“Hmmm,’’ I said.
“What?’’ both sisters asked at once.
“About Norman …’’ I looked around, saw no one listening in. “Savannah told me he was a predator, and he wasn’t fussy about gender. Maybe he forced Toby …’’
Marty picked up my thread. “… and Toby hated him for it. Maybe he shot Johnny as a way to explain away his fingerprints on the gun. Maybe Toby used that same gun to kill Norman.’’
“Was it the same gun, Mace?’’ Maddie asked.
“How should I know? Carlos isn’t even talking to me. Even if he was, he wouldn’t share ballistics details.’’ I made my tone a little less peevish. “It’s a good theory, sisters. But Jesse and Toby made a big deal of letting everyone know they were ‘shagging’ all that morning that Norman was killed.’’
“So they said.’’ Marty looked pointedly toward the young pair.
They giggled and tussled together, as cute as a couple of kittens.
“They do look awfully chummy,’’ Maddie said.
Were they chummy enough to provide each other with alibis for murder?
“Rolling.’’ The camera operator was ready to film.
“Action.’’ Paul spoke in a normal tone of voice, and his command was relayed via headset to the assistant director, who repeated it to the scrum of cast and crew members surrounding Mama.
“I know what you did to my daughter.’’ Mama leaned close to the actor playing the drunken cowboy. Her eyes spit fire; her voice was low and threatening. In her flaming red wig, movie make-up, and dancehall-girl gown, she looked gorgeous. “Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.’’
The actor playing the drunken cowboy backed up a step. His face registered shock and surprise.
“Cut.’’
Mama looked off the set of the pretend dancehall to where Paul sat in his director’s chair. He was studying the scene on a video monitor.
“Did I do something wrong?’’ she called.
Johnny Jaybird patted her arm. “You were great,’’ he whispered. “Paul will have us do take after take. That’s normal. Each time, you hear ‘Action’, just act like it’s the first time you’ve done it.’’
I thought it was kind of him to reassure her. As the crew set up to repeat the shot, she glanced over to where Sal, my sisters and I were watching. I flashed a thumbs-up; Sal mouthed, Beautiful! Beaming with pride, Maddie blew a kiss. Marty clasped both hands over her heart.
As filming continued, more spectators drifted over to the dancehall set. Mama performed her lines over and over. I had to admit, she hit it right each time, energy never flagging.
“She’s really good,’’ Marty said, as the camera crew stopped to change positions for the second half of Mama’s Hollywood moment.