“Sure,” he said. But when I started to get up, he gently grabbed my wrist, gave me one of his intense blue-eyed stares. “You were great with her. I can’t tell you what-”
“Shut up,” I said.
He nodded, chewing his gum like crazy, and wearing the saddest smile I’d ever seen.
I blinked back tears as I went to talk to his sister.
20
Emma was waiting for me outside the production trailer when I arrived in her neighborhood. She’d had plenty of energy earlier, but now she held her left arm close to her body, and her eyes showed her fatigue.
“I didn’t want to talk to Mr. Mayo or Chelsea alone, and I can’t get near my house without their approval. I thought I’d just wait on you.”
“Let’s go for it,” I said.
She climbed the two steps to the trailer door and knocked. I was right behind her.
Chelsea let us in with a “Hi, y’all.” Besides her new-found and very bad Texas accent, she’d really taken to Nuevo Western wear and wore a straight denim dress, braided belt and new boots that were red, white and blue.
Emma said, “I’d like to see the house, but the workers at the barricade said I have to get a badge or something.”
From beyond the curtain that separated the front of the trailer from the back, Mayo called, “Chelsea, who is that?”
“Emma and Abby,” she shouted.
Then came the dreaded, “Send them back here.”
I rolled my eyes and Emma whispered, “Great.”
He was sitting on one of the couches watching what looked like an episode of Reality Check, a remote control in hand. By his ruddy cheeks and angry expression, I had a feeling he didn’t like what he was seeing. He turned the TV off and looked at us.
“I’m very glad you two turned up.” Mayo smiled, his flush fading.
Uh-oh. He’d flipped too fast, sounded way too nice.
Emma beat me to my own question, saying, “What do you want?”
“First off, things have been very tense this past week, and I’d like to put that behind us. Sometimes I lose sight of the fact that most people have no clue what it takes to be a show runner, to be the person who makes certain a program is produced on time and within budget.”
“Is that a long-winded apology?” I said.
“You could say that. My job is to see that the construction and the interior design are done, that we have drama in our episodes that touches America. The unfortunate discovery under your house has eclipsed any thought I might have had of making your story our sweeps winner in November. I lost a very wonderful story to Kravitz.”
“Are you whining, Mr. Mayo?” I didn’t like this guy one bit-even when he tried to be human.
“Maybe I am. There’s no circumventing the effect a dead child would have on our demographic.”
I started to respond, but Mayo held up a hand. “Let me finish. Paul’s program with Emma’s story will draw better Nielsen numbers than the episode of Reality Check we now must air that same week. He’ll have the superior show because of the work I did. Now, this goes no farther than this room. I will pay you, Ms. Rose, pay you whatever you want, to make sure Paul is… shall we say, hindered.”
I stared at him for several seconds, not believing what I’d heard. “I don’t get it. Aren’t you executive producer of both shows?”
He cleared his throat. “In name only. We have all sorts of titles in Hollywood, some of them meaningless. Paul has almost full control of his program, but that’s not the point. Those higher up than myself have gotten into the mix. They’ve told me to finish Emma’s house giveaway as we promised, give it plenty of local attention. A crime discovered during the filming of an entertainment program like Reality Check? That’s the program they don’t want from me, but they do want it on Crime Time.”
I was beginning to understand. Egos. Turf. Nielsen numbers. First Kravitz wanted my help and now this guy. “How am I supposed to hinder Kravitz?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said. “You’ve certainly made things difficult for me-and for him, too, from what I’ve heard.”
“Won’t you get in trouble for trying to ruin his show?” Emma asked.
“Not if no one but us knows,” he said.
“Not to burst your bubble-slash-ego the size of Minnesota,” I said, “but I won’t do anything differently. And I’d certainly never take a penny of your money.”
A tense silence followed; then Emma said, “Could we please have visitor badges?”
Mayo smiled then, tenting his hands. “It was worth a try.” He called for his gofer, Chelsea, and soon Emma and I were walking down her street wearing Reality Check hard hats and paste-on paper badges.
At first the house couldn’t be seen, because trucks were parked everywhere, but when we got closer Emma sucked in her breath and stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, my gosh. It’s bigger than I thought.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along to where the driveway used to be. The newly turned earth and discarded two-by-fours made me wish I’d worn work boots.
The framing was complete, and the insulated walls were up. Before we could go inside, Stu Crowell met us coming out, his ever-present camera with him.
“Hi, there,” he said. “Did the big man leave town and you two snuck down here somehow?”
“Mayo gave us the hard hats himself,” I said.
“He must want something,” Stu said. “How about a tour?”
“No taping, right?” Emma said.
“Nope. I’m keeping track of the work for budget purposes.”
Stu led us through framed-in rooms on the new cement, and Emma seemed able to visualize what everything would look like. She guessed the square footage at around twenty-four hundred. I supposed Realtors could do that. As for me, it was all beams and pipes and wires. Emma wanted to walk through again on her own, so Stu and I waited in what would be the foyer-at least I could figure that much out.
“I was hoping to see you while we were here, Stu,” I said. “Have you had more than one interview with the police about what happened Monday?”
“Nope. I talked to a Sergeant Benson that day, but he only wanted to make sure he had my name and phone number in case he had more questions later. They did that with the whole crew.”
“Did everyone know why I was with Emma that day?”
“Not everyone, but a few people asked after they made the find. Why? What’s this about?”
I debated whether to tell him. Stu had impressed me as an honest, genuine man since day one. “Someone has been following me while I’ve been investigating the death of Emma’s mother.”
He looked at me, surprised. “Her mother’s death? I thought this was about-”
“It’s a long story. Can you recall specifically who asked you questions, aside from the police? Strangers in the crowd? Crew members? City employees?” Saying this made me realize how vast the suspect list might be.
“I don’t remember. Sorry.”
Damn. “Maybe there was someone who stood out to other production people, someone who seemed overly curious?”
“No one said anything to me,” he answered.
I sighed. “If you get a chance, could you ask around and see if anyone else noticed or talked to someone like that?”
Stu nodded. “I can do that. There was a lot of mumbling in that crowd behind the fence. But we’re used to people watching us, wanting to get on camera.”
I smiled. “Emma and I would be grateful for anything anyone remembers.”
“Sure. She’s special, that one. I’ve done plenty of these shows and helped a lot of nice people. People like Emma are why I keep coming back when Mayo calls. He may be there to take the credit when the e-mails roll and the ratings are out, but it’s the researchers, the directors, the film editors, the builders, the craftsmen, the decorators, the shoppers, the banks that give scholarships, the companies that-Hell, I could go on and on. Those are the real heroes.”