Tilton loped toward the corral. Toby was right on his heels, followed by a loose knot of cast, crew and production types. There was Jesse, and Johnny Jaybird; Kelly, and her love-struck shadow, Sam. I didn’t see Barbara or Paul. I wondered if Norman’s ex-wife was even now turning over the director to the law? Or, was she so obsessed with the man she was helping him escape?
I ran my thoughts past my sisters and Mama. “Savannah said Paul did what she told him to do. He helped kill Norman, and stage the other threats and ‘accidents.’’’
“Maybe so,’’ Maddie said, “but he probably didn’t agree to share a murder rap.’’
“I don’t know, girls.’’ Mama, watching the stars approach, patted her hip through the fabric of Ruby’s gown. Had she hurt herself rolling on the ground? “Paul didn’t seem like a bad sort to me. He wore a cross in his ear.’’
Catching my eye, Marty shook her head and grinned.
As Tilton drew near, I could see him waving something over his head. “Mace!’’ he yelled.
My sisters whirled at the sound of his famous voice. Mama’s fingers scrabbled at her hip through the voluminous folds of the dress.
“Put out your hand,’’ Tilton said, as he reached my side.
Considering the red outline revealing how hard I’d whacked him with the mane comb, I expected a handshake shock, or maybe a poisonous spider. There were plenty of witnesses, though, so I flipped my wrist and opened my palm.
In the center, he laid a chocolate and pecan treat, still in its plastic package. Savannah City Confections, the wrapping said.
“This was in the food basket with the sandwiches I gave to the cops. I forgot I’d taken it out, and put it away for a late-night snack.’’
“Maddie, run get that gift bag off the horse trailer.’’ I pointed to Savannah’s beribboned present, now sodden and bedraggled.
She gave me a look.
“I could have a concussion, sister!’’
Marty nudged her, and she hurried to get the bag. When she brought it back, I shook out a collection of treats with the same label I’d seen before. Pralines, pecan clusters, and chocolate chunks with veins of marshmallow.
“It was Savannah,’’ Tilton said, “She tried to poison me.’’
I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew what Savannah had said about the tainted sandwich. Why would she cop to all the other crimes, and deny that one? Then again, she’d been eager all along to cast suspicion on Tilton, to try to ruin his image. He stared into my face, his eyes shining with honesty.
I still hadn’t made up my mind whether it was truth or acting, when Mama sidled up to the movie star. Her hand darted to her full skirt like a sparrow after a crumb. She pulled out a little autograph book and miniature pen.
“Now that our shoot—and the shooting—is over, would you do me the honor?’’ She jabbed the pen at his hand like a student nurse trying her first IV.
His eyes flashed irritation for a second, then the corners crinkled into a good-natured smile.
“Why not?’’ He shrugged. “You sure worked for it.’’
Sirens wailed in the distance. “Carlos!’’ I wasn’t even aware I’d said his name aloud until Marty clutched my hand and squeezed. Maddie patted my back.
Tilton signed with a flourish and handed Mama back her pen and book. Tucking away the set in the gown’s cavernous pocket, she brought out a tiny mirror and her tube of Apricot Ice.
“Here you go, honey.’’ She offered both to me. “It was a miracle these didn’t break or get lost the way we tumbled across that ground. I’d say that’s a sign our Lord wants you to spruce up a bit before Carlos gets here.’’
Mama’s ‘miracle’ seemed kind of paltry, compared with Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead or feeding a multitude with just two fish and a few loaves of bread. Still, I had walked away from what seemed certain death, or at least grave danger. I wasn’t about to argue with a sign.
“Hand it over,’’ I said to Mama. “Anybody have a hairbrush? Maybe a breath mint?’’
D’Vora slapped a rolled-up magazine against the counter at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow. Her glittery purple nail polish sparkled in the sunshine pouring in through the salon’s front window.
“Y’all are NOT going to believe this!’’
She displayed the front cover of People. A headline screamed, Murderous Movie: What Really Happened in Florida?
“Does it say if Paul, the director, has turned up yet?’’ I asked D’Vora.
Betty looked at her over the poodle perm of the bank president’s wife. “How about the shop? Does it talk about Hair Today?’’
Mama grabbed for the magazine. “Let me see. Does it mention I’m in the movie?’’
“Well, I didn’t have time to read it.’’ D’Vora ducked out of Mama’s reach, hugging the magazine to her ample breast. “I ran right over as soon as I saw the magazine in my mailbox.’’
It’d been fifteen days since the movie people packed their gear and exited Himmarshee; two weeks since Savannah was arrested on murder charges. We all gathered around the counter as D’Vora flipped open the magazine and leafed through the pages. The banker’s wife got up, too, her protective cape billowing around her like a lavender sail.
The first page of the article showed a big picture of Savannah, sitting in leg shackles in a hallway of the courthouse before her first appearance. Shackles. You’ve got to love our criminal justice system in Florida.
She’d entered a plea of not guilty, of course, and everybody expected her high-powered attorney to try to cast suspicion anywhere but on Savannah. The photographer had caught the same crooked smile Mama and I had seen when we first met her; the same mad gleam in her eye I originally took for playfulness. Her attorney was right beside her, whispering in her ear. He looked a lot less playful than she did.
Photos of the stars of the movie ran along the right-hand side of the page.
“Ooooh, there’s that Greg Tilton. He’s gorgeous.’’ Mrs. Bank President clutched a hand over her heart.
Tilton would no doubt be pleased his picture was first: top billing. “I could have been killed!’’ The caption underneath was a quote from the action hero.
Jesse looked horrible in her photo, not to mention high. “Oh, my! I didn’t know they were allowed to use a picture of her shooting somebody the bird.’’ Mama tsked. “That poor gal still hasn’t learned that the media can be an actress’s friend.’’
Betty raised her painted-on brows.
“Mama is referring to the article about her role in the movie that Buck Aubrey put in the feed store newsletter,’’ I explained.
Mama patted her hair. “Publicity is publicity, Mace.’’
“Listen to this, y’all. It’s about Toby.’’ D’Vora began to read.
“The young star surprised Hollywood insiders when he agreed to appear as grand marshal in next year’s Gay Pride parade in Long Beach, Calif. Wyle said, ‘I look forward to a day when all people will be treated equally and accepted for who they are, whether they’re straight or gay; black or white; Christian or not …’”
“That doesn’t sound like too much to ask, does it, Mama?’’
“Hmm,’’ she said, but didn’t rise to my bait.
“The next bit is about the assistant director,’’ D’Vora said. “Did y’all know him?’’
“Awful man. He screamed at me the first day on the set,’’ Mama said.
“Jonathan J. Burt,’’ I said. “And I’d hardly call it screaming. He only threatened to kick her out because Mama ruined a scene when she ran in front of the cameras, waving her arms and carrying on. Then the poor guy got shot. What’s it say about him, D’Vora?’’
“He’s taking a position to monitor Hollywood movies for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Def … Defam …”
“ ‘Defamation,’ ’’ Mrs. Banker helped out. “Our oldest son is gay.’’