computer. Anyway,” he continued, “Dade reminded
Chips that a movie is not a book. They started to get
into it, but Vito cut them off.”
“That,” Bill put in, “was when Ben Carmody declared that the whole thing was a mistake from the
start. He insisted that the movie would never have been
made if Bruno hadn’t been able to con a huge investment out of Heathcliffe MacDermott in order to boost
his daughter Ellie’s career.”
“I’m sorry,” Judith broke in, “but I don’t understand
how the financing works. If Bruno is an independent
producer, how does the studio get involved?”
As was his fashion, Bill waited to organize his
thoughts. Renie, who was long accustomed to her husband’s methodical and precise mental processes,
climbed up on the kitchen counter, popped the top on
another Pepsi, and settled in for the long haul.
“Usually,” Bill finally said, “it works this way: A
producer like Bruno never invests his own money.
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197
Let’s say he’s already nailed down at least one big
bankable star. Dirk Farrar, in this case. Maybe the estimated budget is seventy million dollars. He—
Bruno—then goes to Paradox Studios and says he’s
got a project and he’s got a star. Dirk’s name is worth,
say, twenty million at the box office. Paradox says
okay, we’ll get our investors to come up with another
thirty million, then you—Bruno—raise the rest of it.
Bruno goes to private investors, in this case because of
the connection with Ellie Linn, he asks Heathcliffe
MacDermott for ten million. The other ten million he
gets from other sources—German businessmen,
Japanese investors, Italian bankers. I mention those
three countries because they’re big moviegoers. The
studio then says they want him to use one of their directors—maybe Chips Madigan—and one of their
stars—Ben Carmody, perhaps—plus a cinematographer, a writer, an editor, some other actors already
under contract to the studio. They’ll share the profits
with Bruno and they’ll handle distribution. Thus,
they’re ready to roll.”
“The Gasman had a hundred-million-dollar budget,”
Joe remarked. “Isn’t that kind of high? And didn’t
Chips Madigan mention going over budget?”
“Did he?” Bill frowned. “Yes, you’re right. I think I
read something about that while the picture was being
made. Did Chips give a reason?”
Joe scratched his head. “I didn’t catch all of what
Chips said. He was toward the other end of the room,
by the bookcases. Dade, who always assumes his
stance by the French doors, was even harder to hear.
But I think—in essence—Chips put the blame on
Bruno for shooting some of the scenes over again.”
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Mary Daheim
“That’s possible,” Bill allowed. “If that’s the case,
Bruno would have had to scrounge up more money to
make the revised budget. The next thing I have in my
notes is that Winifred broke in saying that Bruno had
so much clout in the industry that he would have been
green-lighted for any project. A number of people
would back him because of his track record. Naturally,
Eugenia Fleming agreed.”
“How did Ellie react to all this?” Judith queried.
“She kept her mouth shut,” Joe said. “In fact, she
sort of simpered.”
Judith gave her husband a skeptical look. “You
could hear simpering through the parlor door?”
“It was open a crack,” Joe replied. “Besides, she
was standing next to it, fiddling with the CDs by the
stereo.”
Judith sighed. “This isn’t very helpful.”
“We did our best,” Joe said with a touch of sarcasm.
Renie also seemed disappointed. “That’s it?”
Bill carefully went through his notes. “There were
undertones, of course.”
Joe gave a little shake of his head. “Maybe so.
That’s your department, Bill. We cops tend to stick to
the facts. But since it’s you, go ahead. At least it’ll
please my wife.”
Judith shot her husband a dirty look. “You’ve certainly never been one to credit my intuition.”
“Intuition doesn’t hold up in court,” Joe pointed out.
Judith sniffed, then turned to Bill. “I’ll take all the
undertones I can get.”
“Let me see.” He studied the notepad pages for
some time. “What’s missing is interaction between the
absentees—Dirk and Angela—and the others. Ellie
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199
made a couple of cracks about both of them. Only
Chips was inclined to defend them, though he wasn’t
very enthusiastic.”
“Are Dirk and Angela lovers?” Renie asked.
“Probably,” Bill replied, “though what that means in
Hollywood these days, I couldn’t say. They may have
been sleeping together just for the fun of it while they
were here. You have to allow for a certain amount of
old-fashioned promiscuity.”
“What about the cocaine?” Judith inquired. “Was
that mentioned?”
“Only in passing,” Bill responded, “though there
was a cryptic remark made by Morris. When someone . . .” He addressed his notes. “It was Ben Carmody
who said maybe Angela had learned her lesson. Morris agreed, observing that as they all knew, three times
could be a charm.”
“Curious,” Judith murmured.
“Come on, Bill,” Renie urged, “you know darned
well you’ve got some other information tucked away.”
“I’m sifting it,” Bill said, putting the notepad back
in his pocket.
“As usual,” Renie remarked, accustomed to her husband’s cautious but thorough approach to the deductive
process.
Judith started for the kitchen’s swinging doors. “I’m
going to look for the news-release drafts before the
guests come down to leave for dinner.” She glanced
back at the old school clock. “It’s almost four. They
should be a while.”
Renie followed her cousin out to the living room,
which was uncharacteristically untidy. As Joe had reported, there had been much tearing of legal pads, ac- 200
Mary Daheim
companied, no doubt, by a certain amount of tearing of
hair. There were also empty springwater bottles and a
few glasses, the latter apparently used for beverages
foraged from the liquor supply in the washstand. The
buffet had been raided, too, with the last of Joe’s bakery goods reduced to crumbs. Someone had removed
several paperback books and left them scattered
around the window seat. Magazines from the coffee
table had been dumped on the carpet, and a stack of
tapes and CDs were lying by the stereo.
“Spoiled brats,” Judith muttered, picking up some
of the litter before perusing the discarded sheets of yellow paper.
“I’ll help,” Renie offered, already gathering up the
books by the bay window.
“These people must never wait on themselves,” Judith groused. “Frankly, I think it’d be awful to live like
that. No wonder they get bored and take drugs. They’d
be better off using a dust mop.”
Renie had replaced the books and was now collecting the tapes and CDs. “Gosh, coz, some of these
recordings are kind of old. Since when do you listen to