Murder, Murder, Little Star Page 10

  Surely Laurenda ought to add her protests to Twinkle's. She was aware of the situation. But Laurenda seemed well on the way to allowing herself to be persuaded over to the Herkimer-Torrington camp.

  'Maybe it won't be so bad, baby,' she coaxed. 'They've got a really good little safety-harness, and if you

  take a tranquillizer and don't look down - '

  'I might have known you'd be on his side!' Twinkle backed away from Laurenda's outstretched hand.

  'Look - ' Dick Brouder said, with false heartiness. 'I'll tell you what we'll do. We're going to think about this overnight, anyway, right ? And it's a big number -it will take a few days to shoot. So right now, why don't we just do the opening? That takes place in Sara's attic room, with her looking out of the window and singing the lead-in. Whatever we decide, that will stay the same. So why don't we start with that?' He looked at Twinkle expectantly.

  'I don't know . . .' Twinkle appeared to be studying the proposition from all sides, looking for the snags.

  'That's right,' Morris Moskva said enthusiastically. 'That bit won't change. We can get that done this afternoon.'

  'Come on, baby,' Laurenda said. 'That's fair enough, isn't it? Where's the harm in that?'

  'Well . . .' Dubiously, Twinkle allowed herself to be led back on to the set and into camera position.

  They had intended to shoot tins opening scene all along, Frances realized. The stand-in had been positioned where Twinkle stood now, the lights were all adjusted for her height, the camera angles all marked out. So why had there been all this fuss about a scene that might not be shot for days yet ?

  'So far, so good.' First breathed a sigh of relief. 'You see,' he explained to Frances's questioning gaze,

  'actors are a bit like horses. Before you can break a horse to the saddle and bridle, it's a good idea to show it to him a few times first, and get him used to the idea.'

  'Do you really believe Twinkle will get used to this idea?' Frances asked.

  'Of course. That's the point of the whole exercise. If we'd just sprung it on her the day we intended to shoot -well, you saw what happened. A whole day's shooting, perhaps more, would have been lost.

  Now that she knows she's got to do it - sooner or later - she'll come to terms with the idea. In another day or two, she'll be up there larking about as though she had her own pair of wings.'

  'Mmmm,' Frances said.

  CHAPTER XV

  When Frances arrived on the set next morning, it seemed deserted. Looking around uneasily, she saw the door to the Production Office standing open. Perhaps Mr Herkimer was to be found in there.

  However, there was only Tor Torrington inside, working at his desk. Just as she began to back away, he looked up and saw her in the doorway.

  'Come in, Mrs Armitage, come in,' he said. 'I've been meaning to have a little talk with you.'

  She had no choice but to enter and take the chair he indicated in front of his desk.

  'You seem to be having an excellent effect on Twinkle, Mrs Armitage,' Tor Torrington said

  approvingly. 'She's much calmer and more amenable these days.'

  'She is?' Frances tried not to imagine what Twinkle must have been like on earlier pictures.

  'You're worth every penny we pay you,' he assured her solemnly. 'To tell you the truth, Herkie went

  over the budget allotment in hiring you and I wasn't too pleased at first. But I should have had more faith in Herkie - he was right. Even on a tight-budget picture, there are things it doesn't pay to skimp on

  - and people are the most important items.'

  'Yes.' Frances could not resist adding, a trifle tartly, 'I'd wondered if you had chosen to film Sara Crewe because it was in the public domain.'

  'Exactly, Mrs Armitage.' He evidently recognized no shade of criticism in her remark. 'We have to pay an enormous sum for a good scriptwriter, who would be needed in any case, so we've saved by not wasting money on what authors call "original material". We've had enough trouble with that in the past.'

  'You mean, in the Sixties.' Frances was learning to translate cryptic remarks uttered in that tone of voice.

  'Exactly.' He sounded faintly surprised at the extent of her knowledge. 'If you know that much, then you must know that Herkimer-Torrington have been through some long lean years. Oh, the years may seem fat now, but the lean years could come back again and we want to keep production costs down and have a cushion for ourselves next time. That's why we're trying to keep expenses to a minimum.'

  'Of course,' Frances murmured dubiously, trying to close her mind to the amount of money the hotel suite must be costing the company.

  'You're thinking of the hotel bills - ' Mr Torrington homed in unerringly on her thoughts. 'They'll be high, of course. In fact - ' he winced involuntarily - ' they'll be astronomical. But we want to keep our star happy.'

  'I'm not sure that Twinkle really appreciates all that luxury,' Frances said.

  'Ah, but Laurenda does. Poor Laurenda - she's had her lean years, too.' Mr Torrington sighed. 'We're very fond of Laurenda and we'd do a lot to keep her happy. Even though it's costing us a small fortune -

  '

  Frances interpreted his solicitude as fear that Laurenda might pull Twinkle out of the picture if her demands were not met, if she were not kept happy.

  'Even all the insurance that we carry on Twinkle is just for Laurenda's peace of mind. Not that we begrudge those high premiums for one minute - ' he winced again. 'You can't blame Laurenda. Her husband died working on a picture, you know. It left scars. So we have to over-insure Twinkle to reassure Laurenda. That way, if anything should happen to the child - not that anything ever would -

  well, there'd be some compensation for Laurenda to help her make a new start.'

  'I see,' Frances said. She remembered the bitter twist of Laurenda's mouth as she had said "hush money" when speaking of the payment she had received after her husband's death. Perhaps it had seemed that way to other people in the Industry, too. So much so that they kept Twinkle well insured to make certain that, if anything should 'happen' to her, Laurenda could be depended upon not to make a fuss.

  But perhaps it went even farther than that - perhaps the knowledge of the sum involved was intended to undermine Laurenda's natural concern for her daughter's best interests. Certainly, Laurenda tended to side with the studio, rather than with Twinkle, when disputes arose.

  It was a disquieting thought, and brought all manner of other disquieting thoughts in its wake.

  'Well, I've enjoyed this little chat with you, Mrs Armitage.' Tor Torrington rose from behind the desk, effectively ending the conversation. 'Drop in again, some time.' He obviously hoped that she would not.

  'Thank you,' Frances said, matching him in insincerity; 'Perhaps I shall.'

  Frances had scarcely closed the door of the Production Office behind her when she heard sounds of altercation nearby. Turning, she saw Continuity looking beleaguered and apparently in the midst of an argument with Mr Herkimer. With a fellow-feeling for another sufferer, Frances went over to join them.

  'Brave - such bravery - ' Mr Herkimer was saying. 'To have attempted . . . what you attempted - and then to pull yourself together and come back to face us all again.'

  'I didn't attempt anything!' Continuity faced him with growing fury. 'I don't know what happened to me. One minute I was fine - the next minute I was waking up in hospital.'

  'Ah, women!' Mr Herkimer changed his track smoothly. 'So brave - with so many obscure little female things that can go wrong with them. And still they carry on. Such bravery - such heroism.'

  'Nothing "female' went wrong with me!' Continuity disclaimed heroism with raging scorn. 'I don't know what it was - but the hospital is still running tests. And, when they find out - '

  'Ah! Here's Frances!' With a relieved light in his eye, Mr Herkimer pounced upon her. Perhaps he was belatedly remembering her advice not to say anything to remind Continuity that there were such things as lawsuits in the world. 'How are
you this morning? And how is our little star?'

  'She's coming along later,' Frances told him. 'Laurenda rang me and said they'd come down in the company car and meet me here. She said it wasn't necessary for me to come to the hotel.'

  'That's all right!' Mr Herkimer seemed anxious that she should not think that he was, however subtly, accusing her of any dereliction of duty. 'When Twinkle has her own dear mother with her, what else does she need?'

  Quite a bit, Frances would have thought, having seen Laurenda in action - or, rather, in her customary inaction.

  'She needs a chaperone, of course.' Hastily, Mr Herkimer tried to retrieve what he felt to be a tactless question. 'She needs you, you must never doubt it. You've seen Laurenda - one moment she is fine, the next moment she is ill again. You can never be sure of her, never depend on her.'

  'Quite,' Frances said crisply.

  'Poor Laurenda - ' Mr Herkimer rushed on, trying to block off what he sensed to be criticism. 'There are problems . . . many problems ... on both sides. It isn't easy to be a Star. Nor is it simple to be the Mother of a Star. What Laurenda needs - ' He broke off abruptly, as though conscious of an impending indiscretion.

  'Quite,' Frances said noncommittally again. She noticed that Continuity had taken advantage of Mr Herkimer's divided attention to slip away.

  'Now, I will tell you something - ' Mr Herkimer grasped her arm firmly, before she could slip away.

  'Today we are going to shoot that tricky scene. This very morning - before Twinkle has too much time to think it over.'

  'She won't like it,' Frances warned.

  'She will not even notice it,' Mr Herkimer assured her. 'Laurenda knows which side her bread is buttered on - she will see that little Twinkle gets a nice soothing tranquillizer in her orange juice this morning. By the time we are ready to shoot, Twinkle would be willing to climb up the framework of the Eiffel Tower without a qualm.'

  Either he was under a grave misapprehension as to Twinkle's sense of self-preservation, or what the child was being fed was of a strength considerably beyond that of the average tranquillizer. Frances felt a distinct stirring of uneasiness.

  'I promise you, it will be all right.' He was quick to sense her disbelief. He made an expansive gesture.

  'I guarantee it!'

  Pride goeth before a fall, she thought, and instantly wished that she hadn't. The catwalk was so high and Twinkle was so small. It was a long, long way to fall.

  'Don't worry.' He patted her arm. 'Everything is going to be all right.'

  But someone ought to worry. Mr Herkimer, Dick Brouder and the others on the set had a vested interest in ensuring that Twinkle performed to order. Laurenda ought to worry about her only child, but - quite obviously - was not going to. Twinkle stood alone, a lonely figure, knowing that she was a pawn in everyone else's game, and too young to have a game of her own. No wonder she exploded in

  temperamental outbursts.

  By the time Twinkle and Laurenda arrived, the day had settled down to a steady course. The pale anonymous stand-in vanished as the limousine turned in at the gates, taking no chance this time that Twinkle might catch an unsettling glimpse of her. But the stand-in's work had been done, the lights and cameras were aligned for shooting along the upper level. Twinkle was walking into a trap already baited and ready to snap shut.

  But the thought was absurd. Why should anyone want to harm a ten-year-old child? A very valuable child, moreover. Without Twinkle, the picture could not be finished. Hundreds of thousands - perhaps millions - of dollars would have gone to waste.

  Or could the picture be finished without her? How good was the stand-in? How closely did she resemble Twinkle ? She had never come close enough for Frances to get a good look at her. Was there a facial resemblance as well as a physical one? And was that why Twinkle had become so hysterical about the stand-in?

  It was absurd, utterly absurd. Frances clung to that conviction as she watched Twinkle move slowly across the sound stage towards her dressing-room, glancing around suspiciously as though she had scented danger in the supercharged air.

  Frances determined to have a private talk with Continuity at the first opportunity and try to find out more about what had happened. It needn't have been an overdose. There were other possibilities. There were tranquillizers which had a deadly effect when mixed with certain otherwise innocent foods like cheese or yeast extract. Perhaps Continuity had been on tranquillizers - which wouldn't be surprising, considering the demanding nature of her job - and had unwittingly eaten a piece of cheese, or

  something else that didn't mix, and thus collapsed without warning. It needn't have been the milk.

  Perhaps she ought to watch Twinkle carefully today to make sure that she didn't eat a cheese sandwich for lunch, if her mother had succeeded in slipping a tranquillizer into her breakfast orange juice. Not that there was much doubt about that. Frances was beginning to learn that when the Studio spoke, Laurenda jumped - even if Twinkle didn't. And Mr Herkimer had seemed very certain that Twinkle would have had something to put her into a relaxed enough state to do the hated scene.

  The sound stage was abnormally quiet; Frances realized the technicians seemed to have disappeared.

  In the distance, there came a faint sound of barking from Cecile Savoy's dressing-room. Frances was abruptly aware that she was alone on the set. It was as though everyone had gone into hiding, tensed, waiting for some imminent explosion. Or for something to happen with which they would rather not be associated.

  Frances crossed quickly to Twinkle's dressing-room, knocked and entered. The semblance of

  normality inside relaxed her.

  It was coffee break, of course. That was where everyone had gone. They would be gathered around the urn in the tiny but fully-equipped kitchen on the far side of the set, probably with the door closed. That was the reason for the silence, the absence of technicians. It undoubtedly happened every day and she simply had not been aware of it because she was usually in the dressing-room with Twinkle at this hour.

  'Coffee?' Laurenda held the coffee-pot poised over a cup. Twinkle, Frances saw, had a pot of chocolate all to herself.

  'Actually,' Frances fought down a quiver of alarm, 'I believe I'd prefer some hot chocolate this morning

  - if Twinkle can spare it.'

  'Be my guest.' Twinkle gave her a strangely blank look as she passed over the chocolate-pot. Why did people always speak of Orientals as being inscrutable? It was children who were the real inscrutables.

  'Thank you.' Frances watched the molten stream of viscous liquid flow into her cup. It looked all right.

  'Baby - ' Laurenda prodded. 'Shouldn't you be getting into your costume?'

  'I don't want to,' Twinkle said. 'It's different.'

  'Don't be silly, honey.' Laurenda studied the depths of her coffee cup as though looking for some answer there.

  'It is!' Twinkle insisted.

  'Let me see - ' Frances reached out for the costume and, after a moment's hesitation, Twinkle handed it over.

  'It seems all right.' Twinkle watched her as, frowningly, she inspected the costume. But Twinkle's unease had infected her. Something was not right.

  'You're being silly, both of you.' Laurenda poured herself another cup of coffee, abdicating from the proceedings.

  'Perhaps . . .' Frances let her fingers probe the costume, sliding amongst a curious tangle of inner straps

  to emerge unexpectedly in places where there was no logical reason for a costume to have slits. Unless a safety-harness had to be attached and accommodated in some way.

  'You see?' Twinkle looked at her anxiously. 'That's not the costume I've been wearing all along. It's different.'

  'Yes,' Frances agreed. 'It is.' Her fingers wriggled uncomfortably through the narrow slits. Ought she to say more?

  'You're being silly!' Laurenda stuck to her story. (The one she had carefully rehearsed?) 'That's the same costume Twinkle wore yesterday - and the day before.'

  'No, it i
sn't,' Twinkle said. 'There weren't any holes in it - then.'

  'Look!' Laurenda spoke with unusual decisiveness. 'Either put it on and get on the set, or put it back in the wardrobe and let's go back to the hotel. I don't want to hang around here all day listening to you whine!'

  It was unfair. Twinkle had not been anywhere near whining. She was simply an unhappy, puzzled child, faced with circumstances beyond her control. Considering which, she was coping rather well.

  Frances would not have liked to wager, given a roughly parallel situation, that Laurenda would have behaved nearly so capably.

  'Oh, all right? Impatiently, Twinkle snatched the costume away from Frances, nearly breaking a fingernail which caught on the inner tangle of straps. 'I'll wear it - but I won't like it!'

  'That's a good girl.' Laurenda's complacent tone did not entirely conceal her relief.

  'Shall I help - ?' Frances started forward.

  ' I can do it!' Twinkle whirled away.

  'Why don't you go and see how soon they want to start shooting,' Laurenda intervened with a limp approximation of tact. 'Tell them Twinkle is coming. They must be wondering where she is, by now.'

  Twinkle was getting into her costume, making no further fuss and apparently not noticing the curious reinforcement of highly-suspicious strapping. Just how strong were those tranquillizers?

  Not strong enough.

  'No.' This time, Twinkle wasn't screaming. She spoke with a cold finality that went beyond tantrums and carried more weight. 'I'm not going to do it.'

  'Please, baby - ' her mother said.

  'According to the terms of your contract - ' Tor Torrington began.

  'How un professional,' Cecile Savoy shrugged. 'Of course, what else could one expect ?'

  'I'll report you to Equity,' Mr Herkimer threatened.

  'What's wrong with it?' Morris Moskva demanded. 'I'm not rewriting it again!'

  They were all drawn up facing Twinkle: the big guns. Discharging their heaviest ammunition, all