The Hollywood Intrigue Page 4

  “If you don’t think Edwards did it, why did you tell Royce that he’s our prime suspect?” he asked.

  Agatha didn’t answer.

  “Agatha, are you listening?"

  Still no answer.

  “AGATHA!”

  “Excuse me, Dash,” she said, staring at something in her right hand. She raised it to show him. But evening was falling fast, and the fiery light of sunset made it impossible to see what she had in her hand.

  “Did you find something interesting, Miss?” Chandler asked.

  “It looks like a shred of black leather. It was caught between Watson’s claws.”

  “A clue!” cried Dash. “But what does it mean?”

  “It’s obvious, cousin,” said Agatha. “It means we have a way to identify our attacker.”

  “Do you mean to say that in all that chaos, Watson managed to scratch him?” Dash asked breathlessly. “Is that what those yowls were about?”

  “Well done, Dash!” she replied. “I can see you’re going to be a great detective!”

  “You’re too kind,” said Dash, pompously buffing his fingernails on his shirt. “Sometimes I surprise even myself with my own genius.”

  Uncle Bud and Chandler could barely contain their laughter.

  Lowenthal’s Spanish-style mansion in Beverly Hills was surrounded by an imposing wall, lined with avocado and lemon trees, and covered with a tumbling red bougainvillea vines. It was impossible to see inside.

  Bud pulled up outside the wrought-iron gates. Each scrolling leaf was monogrammed with the producer’s initials, S and L.

  An armed guard with an agitated German shepherd on a leash stepped out from behind a century plant, indicating that they should turn around.

  Agatha explained to the guard that they had an appointment with Jade Lombard. The guard conferred with someone on an intercom, and they were granted entrance.

  The two-story home resembled a Spanish palace, with wide verandas, tiled archways, and cream-colored stucco. A gardener was trimming the lawn by the pool.

  The butler, waiting stiffly by the door, invited them to come in and make themselves comfortable. He and Chandler exchanged polite nods.

  “Listen carefully, Dash,” whispered Agatha. “Now we’ll uncover the real culprit!”

  “Why, is he hiding here?” Dash asked in surprise.

  Agatha sighed and stepped over the threshold. The modern interior clashed with the classic façade. An interior designer had filled it with geometrical furniture, shiny tiles, and a white staircase leading to the upper level. The garish abstract paintings hanging on every wall could cause a headache with a single glance.

  The butler escorted them into an even more unusual room. The décor had an undersea theme: sofas shaped like shells, terra-cotta fish on pedestals, a carpet patterned to look like algae in motion. Tucked into a corner, Jade Lombard watched as a hyperactive two-year-old bounced off the furniture, desperately trying to ensure that he didn’t break anything. She was still dressed in the magnificent black silk gown she’d chosen for the benefit she was no longer attending.

  “Hi, Bud,” she said without taking her eyes off the boy. “Are these the friends you told me about?”

  The stuntman introduced the group, quickly running through their names. Only then did Jade Lombard turn to look at him.

  “You know, Bud, you’re getting a little chunky,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Uncle Bud laughed. “So they keep telling me.”

  “No worries. That sofa that looks like the Nautilus is stronger than it looks,” the lady of the house replied, looking from Bud to Chandler.

  Agatha and her friends interpreted this as an invitation to sit down and explain their visit.

  But Jade seemed distracted. “Do either of you kids babysit?” she asked in a pleading voice. “My son, Tommy, usually plays with his nanny at this time of day, and I have no idea how to calm him down . . .”

  The little boy was chasing Watson around the algae carpet, laughing happily. Dodging and jumping, he slammed against a pedestal topped with a turtle. Chandler intervened a split second before it crashed to the floor.

  With a meaningful nod from Agatha, the butler offered his assistance in keeping Thomas and Watson out of trouble.

  “Thank you,” Jade sighed, smoothing her fiery red hair. “Now, let’s hear it.”

  Agatha pulled out the photo they’d found in Waldo Edwards’s book, explaining what had happened in the vanished screenwriter’s apartment a few hours before.

  “So Waldo has disappeared?” murmured Jade, nervously munching a bunch of red grapes.

  “So it would seem,” replied Agatha. “We’re trying to find out what happened to him.”

  Biting another grape, Jade said, “I don’t know where Waldo is. Ever since he turned in the screenplay for that blasted film, he’s been a wreck. Royce treated him like dirt.”

  “So you were the one who told your husband what Royce did to Waldo?” Agatha interrupted.

  “I certainly did. Then Saul started spreading rumors to make Royce look bad, but it was poor Waldo who wound up being the laughingstock,” Jade said bitterly.

  “When was this photo taken?” asked Agatha.

  “About a month ago. We met years ago on a set, back when I was still acting, and we’ve been friends ever since. On that particular night, I’d suggested we all meet at Luna Park to try to lift Waldo’s spirits. But it turned out to do just the opposite . . .”

  “Why? What happened?” Dash asked.

  Jade Lombard picked up a grape, glanced over to check on her son, and went on. “Monty—that’s Gerard Montgomery’s nickname—wanted to change the film’s story to suit his artistic pretensions. Which meant Royce was able to exercise the clause he’d inserted into Waldo’s contract saying he wouldn’t get paid if someone else rewrote his screenplay.”

  “So Waldo might have a grudge against Monty—Mr. Montgomery?” Agatha asked.

  “You bet! Waldo was ready to clobber him with his own cane. But the one they both hate is that skunk Robert Royce . . .”

  “Why would a director hate the producer?” Dash interrupted. “Isn’t Royce the person who hired him?”

  Jade nodded. “But Royce wants to wrap the film up as quickly as possible, and Monty likes to shoot each scene dozens of times. He claims it helps him achieve ‘artistic integrity.’ Every day on the set, Royce would harass Monty to speed it up, and Monty would refuse. That evening at Luna Park, all he could do was scream, ‘Royce is trying to ruin my masterpiece! Just you wait, I’ll ruin him!’ Monty was furious. He’s lucky he didn’t fall off the pier, the way he was shaking his cane.”

  Uncle Bud leaned over. “You see, kids,” he told Dash and Agatha. “Relationships in Hollywood are always tense. There’s too much at stake: careers, image, money. Movies cost a fortune to make, and tempers get short.”

  “Plus everything in Hollywood moves as fast as possible,” added Jade. “Monty is an old-school director, a thoughtful, fussy perfectionist. Royce accused him of being as slow to film as he is to walk, and that really offended him.”

  “So he uses the cane because he has to, not just to lend himself airs,” observed Agatha.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Jade said sadly. “Monty has a degenerative condition in his legs. It’s very tiring. Even the cane won’t help him for long, but he won’t consider a wheelchair.”

  She offered the tray of fruit to her guests. Dash and Bud accepted, but Chandler was too busy tossing young Tommy into the air. He seemed to be having a ball.

  “What else happened that evening?” asked Agatha.

  “Well, Jimmy—James Hill—was cracking jokes left, right, and center. He said he was trying to cheer Waldo up, but it seemed to make Waldo even more irritable. You know what actors are like. They have to be the center of attention.”


  Jade paused for a moment. “Jimmy’s only had a career in comedy films. He’s always got to get laughs. Unfortunately he hasn’t realized yet that he’s not funny, he’s just ridiculous.”

  “Why was he cast as the leading man in Fatal Error?” asked Dash.

  “Who knows? Maybe there’s a tragic figure behind every clown . . . All I know is, Jimmy was thrilled because this film finally gave him a shot at a serious role. It was his big chance.” She nibbled a slice of avocado. “But I also heard Royce wasn’t happy with Jimmy’s performance. He was even considering ditching him and recasting the role. At least that’s what Monty told me that night, and he’s not the sort to spread gossip.”

  “What a charming evening!” Dash added.

  “Waldo was ready to punch Monty, but Alicia intervened, so he got angry at her instead. Not for the first time, I might add.”

  “Is Waldo a violent type?” asked Agatha.

  “Not in the least. It’s just that things are a bit . . . dramatic between Waldo and ‘Alicia darling,’” said Jade. “They dated a long time ago when they were both starting out, but she dumped him. Waldo wasn’t rich and powerful enough to do her any good, and probably never would be. Waldo’s never forgiven her.”

  Uncle Bud shook his head. “I wouldn’t have picked the lovely Alicia Prentiss as a social climber . . .”

  “That’s not all she is. She’s also rude and insensitive. All night long, she kept making cracks about how naïve Waldo was to let Royce trick him into signing that contract without hiring an agent. She called him an idiot.”

  “I would have been mad at her, too!” yelled Bud.

  Jade laughed. “As if ‘Alicia darling’ is any smarter in her business deals . . .”

  “What do you mean?” Agatha asked.

  “Alicia was offered a role in a much bigger film, so she begged Royce to let her leave Fatal Error before they started shooting. Royce just laughed in her face. She’d signed a contract with him, and he had no intention of letting her go. She would have earned five times as much from the other film as she would from Royce Pictures,” Jade said. “So Alicia was furious. She called Royce all sorts of names. Then all of a sudden, something changed, and Royce became ‘Robert darling’ again.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Agatha, tapping her nose. “Something definitely must have happened . . .”

  “I’m sure, but whatever it was, I’m done with that two-faced witch,” Jade said sourly.

  “Then why did you invite her to Luna Park?” Dash asked.

  “I did it for Waldo. I think the poor sap’s still in love with her,” the redhead replied.

  “You care for Waldo a lot, don’t you?” asked Agatha.

  “Like a brother.” Jade nodded.

  “But you have no idea where he might have gone? To a friend or a relative?” Agatha asked.

  “Waldo doesn’t have any friends, and no family, either. He spends all his time writing books in that crummy hovel of an apartment. Of course he spends time with editors and people he works with, but then the book’s finished and he’s alone again. But he took a liking to Monty and Jimmy . . . maybe because they all love old movies.” Jade took another bite of avocado. “Do you think you’ll be able find him?” she asked, sounding worried.

  “We’ll do all we can,” Agatha reassured her. “And if you’ll excuse us, we have to go now. Thank you for your help.”

  “Thanks for letting me vent a little,” Jade replied. Then she scanned the room in search of her son and saw him curled up on the rug, fast asleep. “And thanks for your patience and child-wrangling skills, Chandler.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” the butler replied with a nod.

  A few minutes later they were back in Uncle Bud’s red convertible.

  “I’ve got another bad feeling,” said Dash. “They all sound like spoiled brats. I’m afraid our investigation hasn’t progressed at all after that gossip-fest.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” replied Agatha, her eyes shining brightly. “On the contrary, dear friends. I know who the culprit must be!”

  “We need to get to the film set in the Hollywood Hills as soon as possible,” Agatha urged them. “The saboteur could strike again at any moment!”

  Uncle Bud backed up quickly and gunned the Chevy Impala like a rocket in the night. He accelerated so fast that Dash’s cap blew right off his head, but the young detective was so deep in thought that he barely noticed.

  “Do you really know who did it?” he asked Agatha hopefully.

  “Yes, I do. I only have one nagging doubt, which I hope we can put to rest soon,” she mused, biting her lip. Then she started speaking at machine-gun speed. “I need you to do a search on your EyeNet. Try the archives of The Hollywood Reporter and Variety, the film industry trade papers, and search the name Alicia Prentiss.”

  “What am I looking for?” Dash asked, already typing her name.

  “Her deal with Royce Pictures. Check her contract with the Screen Actors Guild.”

  Dash looked confused. “The Screen Actors what?”

  Uncle Bud jumped in. “It’s the union representing the legal interests of film and TV actors to keep employers from taking advantage of them,” he said. “And since this is a company town, the trade papers love to report on who’s getting paid what.”

  “Alicia Prentiss is a big star, so her deals will be newsworthy,” Agatha added.

  Dash quickly added SCREEN ACTORS GUILD to his search, and the EyeNet sorted through hundreds of results at top speed.

  “Oh wow!” he exclaimed. “Alicia Prentiss just inked a three-picture deal with Royce Pictures. They’re paying her millions!”

  “Perfect.” Agatha nodded. “Just as I suspected.”

  “I don’t see the connection, Miss,” Chandler confessed.

  “All will be revealed soon,” Agatha promised. She looked out the window, lost in thought, as they sped through the night.

  Uncle Bud navigated the uphill curves of a steep canyon road, climbing higher and higher till they reached a road at the top of the ridge with a breathtaking view of the city below.

  “All right, here we are,” he announced. “The Fatal Error set is just a stone’s throw away!”

  The Chevy turned onto Mulholland Drive, a cliff-clinging road that snaked over the rugged Hollywood Hills. The veteran stunt driver clung to its curves until they reached an area blocked off for filming.

  The night-lit film set looked like a world in chaos. Men and women from the crew bustled around, speaking rapidly into walkie-talkies. Several lighting technicians climbed up on high ladders, adjusting huge spotlights. The camera crew clustered around a rolling cart set onto tracks, testing its moves for an action shot. Agatha spotted two other cameras placed in strategic positions. There was a constant stream of managers ducking in to confer with Gerard Montgomery. Seated in his director’s chair, the short man with the cane was shouting instructions and waving both hands.

  Outside a star trailer a few yards away, Alicia checked herself in a mirror as the makeup artist, lipstick and foundation in hand, made a few finishing touches. Nearby, several mechanics adjusted the tow rig on the car they would use for the chase scene.

  Robert Royce stood alone by the side of the road, gazing down at the lights of the city. Maybe he was worried that Waldo Edwards was hiding amongst the cacti and shrubs, waiting to jump him. He startled when Agatha and the others approached him from behind.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted, rubbing his temple. “This scene is essential to the film’s plot . . . I’m just waiting for some sort of threat from that troublemaker,” he said, looking at the group.

  “Completely understandable, Mr. Royce,” Agatha reassured him. “But we need to speak with you and the others in private before the next take.”

  Royce made a sharp gesture. Montgomery reluctantly pulled himself ou
t of his chair and limped over, leaning on his cane and muttering under his breath. Alicia swept over with a dramatic flourish, clutching the skirt of her 1940s diva gown to keep its hem out of the dust.

  “Where the devil is Jimmy?” shouted Royce, turning to a skinny production assistant.

  She pointed to the actor, who was examining a classic Packard with whitewall tires and tail fins.

  Royce shouted at the top of his lungs, and James Hill strolled over to join the group. “So have you caught that crazy writer yet?” he asked. “Royce told us about that mess at his apartment. We’re all worried Waldo might be lurking around somewhere.”

  Agatha looked into the eyes of each person in turn, as if she were reading their thoughts. Then she started to speak. “We haven’t been entirely honest with you,” she began. “We don’t believe Waldo Edwards was responsible for the sabotage or the threatening letters. Actually we have reason to suspect it was one of you.”

  “But . . . but why?” stuttered Royce. He looked at his creative team, incredulous. “Why would any one of us do such things?”

  “I’ll explain that in a moment,” Agatha promised. “But right now, I need you to show me your hands.”

  The suspects looked surprised and affronted. Dash, Chandler, and Uncle Bud stared at them in silence, trusting Agatha’s intuition.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” the director exclaimed, brandishing his cane. “This is downright offensive, little girl!”

  “You can sound off as much as you like, Montgomery,” Uncle Bud said, glaring. “But for now, be a good boy and show us your hands.”

  “Come on, Monty.” Royce sighed. “Just go along with this nonsense and get it over with.”

  “Right now!” Dash commanded.

  Alicia Prentiss held out her hands, palms down, and the rest of the group did the same.

  “So, cousin?” asked Dash anxiously, chewing on his nails.