Murder, Murder, Little Star Read online

  'She's very talented,' Frances offered feebly.

  'Oh, sure. She ought to be. I was pretty talented myself- and so was her father. A bunch of real talented people. Maybe, if he'd lived, we could have had our own television series by this time.'

  There was no mistaking the bitterness in Laurenda's voice. How much of that bitterness was inner-directed and how much was directed at Twinkle ? And how much professional jealousy was involved?

  It was obviously a highly complicated situation - and new complications were being revealed every day.

  'At least, you ought to - '

  'I ought to be thankful Twinkle makes enough to support us both, right?' Laurenda finished the sentence in a way that Frances had not intended. 'Sure, that's what everybody keeps telling me. Over and over again. I'm sick of hearing it! Listen, don't you think for one minute that I couldn't get along without that kid. Maybe I'd get along even better.

  'Let me tell you, that kid is a bloodsucker. She's draining the life and energy out of me. Day after day, night after night, she wants this, and she wants that, and she doesn't want - ' Laurenda broke off her tirade abruptly.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm talking too much. I didn't mean to sound off like that.'

  'It's all right,' Frances said. 'I can see you have a lot of problems.' So had Twinkle, if her mother felt this way about her.

  'You don't know the half of it.' Laurenda brooded into the middle distance.

  The telephone rang. Frances was closer and picked up the receiver. As she said, 'Hello', she heard another click. Twinkle was listening on the extension in her bedroom.

  'Good. I was hoping to get you, Frances.' Dick Brouder had obviously interpreted the click correctly, too. 'I just wanted to make sure you got back to the hotel safely.'

  'We did,' Frances said, nurturing her own suspicions about what he really wanted.

  'And Twinkle is okay? She's not upset, or anything?'

  'She's all right,' Frances assured him.

  'Good. Fine. She's such a sensitive child.' The voice was patently false. 'Well, I'll see you on the set tomorrow. As long as Twinkle is okay. That's all I wanted. He rang off abruptly.

  Frances held the line just a trifle longer. Just long enough to hear Twinkle say softly, 'Like hell!' before she hung up.

  'Listen - ' Laurenda seemed to have no curiousity about the call. 'I could manage fine all by myself. I could get a job - it needn't be acting. I could work outside. Learn shorthand or something. I could get along.'

  'I'm sure you could,' Frances murmured soothingly. But could Twinkle ? Or was Twinkle being included in Laurenda's calculations at all?

  'I could find a nice little apartment. A smaller place -I wouldn't need to put up a front any more.'

  No, it didn't sound as though Twinkle were being included.

  'I've got enough put by - ' Laurenda looked up then and caught Frances's eye. 'Oh, now listen,' she protested. 'You don't think that! It's my own money, not Twinkle's. We've got laws in the States about the earnings of child stars. Ever since a couple of nasty court cases in the Thirties. The laws were changed to protect them after that. Half their money goes straight into a trust to be held for them until they come of age. The other half can be used for an allowance and for living and professional expenses

  - and, believe me, they're pretty high. You needn't worry - I'm not stealing Twinkle's earnings.'

  Frances had not considered the idea before, but Laurenda's quick defensiveness raised an interesting question.

  'Just a little place of my own, that's all I want - ' Laurenda had gone back to her brooding. 'Where I can live my own life. In peace and quiet - '

  Perhaps Laurenda couldn't get her hands on Twinkle's money right now. But, if anything were to happen to Twinkle, wouldn't Laurenda inherit as next of kin?

  CHAPTER XIV

  'How's Continuity?' was Twinkle's first question as they arrived on the set in the morning.

  'She's recovering.' Mr Herkimer winced, as though he wished the subject had not been raised. 'They pumped her stomach out and she felt a lot better. She'll be back on the set tomorrow.'

  'What happened?' Laurenda was not prepared to let the subject drop either. Pale and wan, she had determinedly accompanied her daughter to the Studio.

  'Happened ? Happened ? What should happen ? The silly girl was probably just taking tranquillizers.

  Everybody takes tranquillizers in the Industry. It's an occupational hazard.'

  ' Probably.' Twinkle pounced on the weak spot instantly. 'You mean you're not sure ?'

  'She can't talk much yet. And she wasn't feeling strong enough for visitors - '

  'You mean you don't know.' Twinkle turned away. 'That's what I thought.' She started across the set, followed by her mother.

  'Go after her,' Mr Herkimer begged Frances. 'Explain - '

  'Explain what?' Frances asked.

  'You're against me, too.' Mr Herkimer looked defeated.

  'I'm not against anyone,' Frances said. 'I simply don't understand what's going on here.'

  'You and me both.' Mr Herkimer sighed heavily, then recovered himself. 'Why does anything have to be going on? There's been an accident, that's all. Some silly girl took an overdose and didn't have the decency to wait until she got home to collapse. No, she had to go and do it on the set and make trouble for Herkimer-Torrington Productions. As though we hadn't had enough troubles in the past - '

  'You mean -' Frances remembered an earlier remark of his - 'in the Sixties?'

  'The Sixties!' Mr Herkimer shuddered. 'Don't talk to me about them!'

  'But what happened then?' Frances was genuinely curious. 'I don't remember any major upheaval - '

  'You wouldn't - it was nothing to you. But, to us, it was a nightmare. Because of the Indies - the independent producers,' he explained. 'They talked a great game. They got legitimate Studios to back their productions. They got big stars to go along with them on percentage deals - you wouldn't believe the names! They wanted cinema virite, they used hand-held cameras, they filmed on location in the middle of cities - '

  'What was wrong with that?' Frances asked.

  'Nothing - at first,' Mr Herkimer said. 'At first we thought it was great - even the stars did. And so cheap. Such savings without all those overheads - just like they promised. We thought we'd saved a fortune. And then they moved into the cutting rooms - and we discovered we'd lost a fortune.'

  'Why?'

  'Because the films couldn't be cut. Those whiz-kid geniuses were so cheese-paring they hadn't allowed any overrun on the scenes. Even for jump cuts, you need a few extra frames that won't cut into the action when you lose them.

  'But those Indie directors - nothing! Not an extra frame. And there was no way of getting the cast back together again for more shooting. The actors had dispersed, flown all over the world to work on new pictures - died, even. Whole feature films had to be scrapped because they couldn't be cut together to make sense.

  'I tell you, the money Herkimer-Torrington lost - the money all major Studios lost - don't talk to any of us about the Sixties!'

  'But you're doing well now, aren't you?' Frances tried to calm him.

  'Oh yes, we're back in the black ink again, making profits again. And, believe me, we're going to keep on making profits. That's why both Herkimer and Torrington are over here with this production. We're keeping tighter control these days. And we're not going to let any Continuity Girl make trouble for us either. If she thinks she can sue us, she can forget it. We'll bring in the best lawyers in town to prove it was all her own fault.'

  'I'm sure she'd never dream of doing such a thing.' Frances felt it unfair to poor Continuity that her good deed in drinking Twinkle's milk should have had such dire consequences, and then be so misconstrued.

  'You don't think so?' Mr Herkimer was eager for comfort.

  'Not for a moment.' Frances hoped she was right. It was possible that Continuity might have grounds for some sort of lawsuit. Even the hint of one would not r
eflect well upon Herkimer-Torrington Productions. 'Actually,' Frances added thoughtfully, 'I don't think you ought to suggest such a thing, not even talking between ourselves. It might put ideas - '

  'Into the air and, from the air, into her head.' Mr Herkimer finished for her. 'You're right. I never thought of that. I knew you were smart when I hired you. You got a good head on your shoulders.' He gave her a languishing look. 'But two heads are better than one, and maybe someday I can have my head on - '

  'I really must see how Twinkle is getting on.' It was time for a strategic retreat. 'That is what you hired me for, remember?' Before he could reply, Frances slid away.

  In the dressing-room, she found Laurenda slumped in the armchair in her usual state of semi-collapse.

  Twinkle circled the room suspiciously, glaring at each familiar innocent-seeming object as though it might conceal a booby-trap. As, indeed, it might. Twinkle had good reason for her suspicions, as Frances was coming to realize.

  There was no glass of milk in view. An oversight? Or a tacit admission that others on the set might have come to the same conclusion as Twinkle?

  'You'd better get into your costume, baby.' Laurenda opened one weary eye and closed it again. 'Frances will help you.' It was obvious that Laurenda wouldn't.

  Twinkle approached her costume with caution. It was invitingly laid out on the divan and she inspected every hem before shrugging out of her top and jeans and diving into its folds.

  'Not so fast,' Frances protested, laughing. 'You'll tear it. You don't have to fight your way into it, you know.' Her laughter stopped abruptly as she wondered whether Twinkle were encountering hidden resistance inside the costume: the lining sewn together, perhaps, or pins - long, deadly pins concealed

  in the inner folds.

  'I want to get it over with.' Twinkle's head emerged at the neck of the garment and Frances breathed a silent sigh of relief. No hidden dangers in the costume then - this time. She decided that, in future, she would inspect the costumes before Twinkle got into them. Twinkle, acting on past experience, was merely concerned about the hemlines, it had not occurred to her yet that costumes could be put to more sinister use.

  Twinkle's hair was tousled and she was breathing heavily, as though she had fought a more dangerous battle than merely struggling too quickly into an unfamiliar costume. Perhaps, after all, Twinkle had feared other hidden dangers. The child was quite intelligent.

  'I can't reach all the buttons.' Twinkle spun around and Frances began to struggle with the complex arrangement of hooks and eyes and buttons that paraded the back length of the costume.

  Laurenda had opened her eyes and was watching apathetically. 'Don't squirm around so much, baby,'

  she said. 'You're making it harder for Frances.'

  'Well, I've got to get comfortable, haven't I?' Twinkle twitched her shoulders and tugged uneasily at the bodice of her costume. 'Something's funny about this - and if it looks the way it feels - '

  'It looks fine,' Laurenda said sharply. 'Just quit pulling at it or you'll ruin it and everybody will get upset.'

  'I'm upset!' Twinkle declared. 'Let them worry about me. If I get any more upset, maybe I'll walk off the set -for good.'

  'Now, you know you don't mean that, honey.' Laurenda was instantly placating. 'This is a great picture.

  It will do a lot for your reputation - for everybody's reputation. A lot of nice people have an awful lot riding on this picture. You wouldn't want to hurt them, would you?'

  'Some of them I wouldn't mind,' Twinkle said darkly. 'Some of them I wish would drop dead.'

  'Baby! You'll shock poor Frances!'

  'Will I?' Twinkle glanced at Frances unbelievingly.

  France tried to meet her gaze levelly and not show the shock she had felt. The shock had nothing to do with Twinkle's childish rebellion, and everything to do with the expression which had flashed briefly across Laurenda's face as she spoke to her daughter.

  Twinkle had had her back turned and had not noticed. Now that Frances came to think of it, Twinkle did not look directly at her mother often. Was it because she knew the expression she might see on her mother's face?

  'Ready in there?' First rapped on the dressing-room door and flung it open. 'Everything all right?'

  'I'm coming.' Twinkle moved forward after a final twitch at her costume.

  In the distance Frances saw a small figure of approximately the same size and colouring as Twinkle move swiftly away from the chalk fines in front of the cameras.

  'Who's that?' Twinkle saw her, too, and stopped dead, frowning. 'What's she doing on the set? You

  know there aren't supposed to be any kids on the set but me. It's in my contract.'

  'Come off it, Twinkle,' First said wearily. 'You know you've got to have a stand-in. You don't want to stand around for hours while they adjust the lights and camera angles, do you?'

  He obviously had a point. Equally obviously, Twinkle did not want to admit it. She shrugged and turned away.

  'That kid!' First watched her walk across the set to her place in front of the cameras. 'This is the last time I work on one of her pictures. She makes King Kong look like Little Bo-Peep.'

  'She's very insecure,' Frances offered in defence.

  'She's right to be. She's alienated practically everyone in the Industry. The minute she starts to slip, they're going to queue up to put the boot in.'

  And, quite possibly, foremost in the queue would be her own mother. Poor Twinkle. The situation was not without historical precedent, but it was sad.

  The stray thought surprised her, although she realized that it was not the first time that it had occurred to her that there was something familiar about Twinkle's plight. But what? Something historical - ? She groped after the flickering memory.

  'No, I won't! I won't, I won't, I WON'T!' Twinkle's shriek of outrage cut across the sound stage, driving away all lesser thoughts and preoccupations.

  'Twinkle, baby!' Laurenda came bursting out of the dressing-room, startled into animation for once.

  'What's the matter?'

  'They can't make me!' Twinkle screamed. 'I'll walk off the set! I'll quit the picture! I won't do it!'

  Once again, everyone converged on the source of the screaming, although most of the audience had jaded expressions.

  'Now what?' Morris Moskva spoke for them. 'What is it this time?'

  'They want me to go up there - ' Twinkle pointed with horror to the catwalk concealed by mock-ups of rooftops that stretched just below the ceiling of the sound stage. 'They want me to go up there and dance around.'

  'You know the dance,' Morris said. 'We rehearsed it with you before you left California.'

  'Yeah, but we rehearsed it on the ground,' Twinkle said. 'And that's where I'm doing it - or I'm not doing it at all!'

  'Now, what's the problem?' First pushed to the front of the crowd. 'That dance is going to be our big production number - you know that. You've known that all along.'

  'I didn't know I was going to have to go up there. I thought you were going to fake it with trick photography - and you'd better, because I'm not going up there.'

  'Such a fuss.' Cecile Savoy was amongst them, holding Fleur-de-lis on a tight rein as the Peke tried to wriggle over to greet her new friend. 'When I played Peter Pan, I had to fly out over the audience every night and three matinees a week. And, I may say, I did it without any uproar like this.'

  'Okay,' Twinkle said. 'You can do it again, then. Take my part.'

  Several people looked as though they wished Cecile could.

  'Why not?' Twinkle urged. 'It could be done as a dream sequence with Ram Dass and Miss Minchin, instead of me. I could be in my room and fall asleep looking out over the rooftops and then Miss Minchin and Ram Dass come on and dance across the rooftops.'

  Morris Moskva looked momentarily reflective, then recovered himself. 'Because I wrote it this way,' he snapped. 'And I don't let the actors tell me how to write!'

  'It could work, Morrie,' Laurenda sa
id tentatively. 'You know it could. Twinkle knows a lot about these things, she's been around the Studios all her life.'

  ' I certainly wouldn't mind,' Cecile Savoy said, in the voice of one urging the baby to eat-up-all-the-delicious-strained-goop-or-Mummy-will-eat-it-all-herself-yum-yum.

  'Good!' Twinkle fixed her with a basilisk gaze. 'Then you can go right ahead and do it.'

  'Perhaps I will.' The lofty disdain of Cecile Savoy's rejoinder was marred as Fleur-de-lis lunged forward to try to leap upon her friend, Twinkle, who was so unaccountably ignoring her. Cecile jerked sharply at the leash, pulling Fleur up short. The Peke yelped in protest, then retreated whimpering to nuzzle unhappily at Cecile's ankles.

  'Look, why don't we think this over?' Dick Brouder moved between Twinkle and Morris Moskva, smiling ingratiatingly at both of them. 'Why don't we sleep on it tonight? Then we can decide in the morning which line we'll take.'

  'If Twinkle really doesn't want to do it - ' Laurenda began uncertainly.

  'I don't!' Twinkle snarled.

  'We'll sleep on it, right?' Dick Brouder patted her arm reassuringly. 'Where's the harm in that?'

  Laurenda might have been able to answer that question if she put her daughter's welfare first. Or perhaps Laurenda did not consider that Twinkle's fears had any real foundation. And perhaps they hadn't, Frances had to acknowledge.

  But Continuity had collapsed on set after drinking the milk intended for Twinkle. In view of that, Twinkle's attitude did not seem unreasonable. Why should she be so imprudent as to expose herself to another source of possible danger? It was surprising that any scriptwriter or director could expect her to.

  But they didn't know. Frances remembered belatedly that Morris Moskva and Dick Brouder had no idea of Twinkle's dark suspicions. Nor did they know that Continuity had been in the habit of drinking Twinkle's milk. So far as they were concerned, Continuity had inexplicably collapsed and possibly they would get an explanation from the hospital in due course. Twinkle, of course, was simply being her usual obstreperous self.