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In the observation area, Marlo and Andi enacted a tense, emotional scene between Eve and Mira. Roundtree cut, retook, and cut again, pushing them both. At the end of a take Marlo walked to the observation glass, stared through, face set.
At nothing Eve could see. She supposed that would be added with vid magic. Julian walked in, and to her so they both looked through the glass.
“And cut! Perfect. Let’s reset for reaction shots.”
Now Eve stepped forward. “I need you to hold on that.”
Roundtree turned, scowled at her with the expression of a man deep in his work and unwilling to surface. “Five minutes while we reset. Preston—”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“If you need to ask questions, again, ask one of us who isn’t trying to work. We’ve lost one of our cast members, we have the media and the paparazzi and the goddamn cops crawling up our asses. I’m going to finish this scene before—”
“You’re going to have the media, the paparazzi, the goddamn cops—especially me—crawling up your asses for a little while longer. There’s been another murder.”
The fury on Roundtree’s face died off into sick dread, while others on the set reacted with gasps, mutters, and oaths.
“Who?” he demanded, looking around swiftly, like a father doing a head count of his brood. “Who’s been killed?”
“A. A. Asner, a private investigator.”
Something like relief chased with annoyance took over, face, voice, the sweeping gesture of his hand. “What the hell does that have to do with any of us?”
“Considerable. Now we can arrange for me and my partner to interview the individuals we feel pertain in a manner that causes the least amount of time and inconvenience to your production, or we can shut this production down until we’re satisfied.”
She wasn’t entirely sure she could pull that threat off, but it sounded ominous. Roundtree went the color of overcooked beets.
“Preston! Get legal on the line, that asshole Farnsworth the studio stuck us with. I’ve had enough of this shit. Enough.”
“Mason!” Before Eve could respond, Connie rushed onto the set. “What’s going on here? You take a breath.” She pointed a finger at him. “I mean it. You take a breath.”
He looked as though he might explode first, but he took the breath, then another when Connie wagged that extended finger at him. His color cooled a few degrees.
“She wants to shut us down because some private dick got killed. I’m not taking any more of this harassment.”
“A private investigator? Murdered?” Something in Connie’s tone had Eve focused on her.
“A. A. Asner. I don’t think that name’s unfamiliar to you. I’m not looking to shut anything down, if I get reasonable cooperation. I’ve got a job to do,” she said to Roundtree, who’d gone back to tugging on his red goatee. “We can both do our jobs, but mine comes first. That’s not negotiable.”
“An hour,” he told her.
“We’ll start with that. I need to speak, individually, to everyone who attended the dinner party.”
“Steinburger and Valerie aren’t here. They’re off dealing with this fucking mess. Nadine’s probably off somewhere writing another book about this fucking mess. Matthew’s not on the call list today.”
“Let’s get them here. The sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can get out of your ass.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a reluctant smile quickly controlled. “Preston.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Take an hour!” Roundtree boomed it out. “I want everybody back here and ready to work in one hour.”
“Nobody leaves the premises,” Eve added. “We’ll speak to the cast members in their respective trailers. Go there,” she ordered. “Wait. I need a place to talk to non-cast members,” she told Roundtree.
“I’ve got an office here. You can use it.”
“That’ll work. I’ll take you first.” She turned to Connie.
