a great shock, John , and I think you’re a brute to treat me so.”
“Sorry for your shock. Sorry I’m a brute. Now get the hell over to the costume tent.”
With drooping shoulders and a heartbreaking sigh, Lola took off in the direction of a huge, white tent: the costume tent, I presumed. At least she’d changed clothes and was no longer clad in grass-stained white. Now she wore a simple white day dress. I guess the woman had a thing for white. Perhaps she’d read Wilkie Collins’s Woman in White recently or something. For what it’s worth, I always thought Collins missed the boat on that one. Why any man would prefer the simpering heroine to her go-get-‘em sister just because the heroine was beautiful is beyond my understanding. Not that it matters what I think.
“Maybe I’d better go with her,” I said, feeling tentative. I wasn’t sure exactly what my job was here, after all. Sure, I was supposed to be Lola’s spiritual advisor, but I’d already performed that duty admirably—in spite of having taken a trifle too much time about it, which wasn’t my fault but that of Lola, who hurried for no man, not even John Bohnert — and didn’t know what to do next.
“You might as well. She’s apt to throw another fit unless you’re close by.” John eyed me keenly. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what prompted the first one, do you?”
I sure did. Rather than lie outright, I said, “I’m sorry. I’m not well acquainted with Miss de la Monica yet. Perhaps I’ll come to understand her better in the days to come.”
“God help you,” snapped John , and he turned on his heel and stamped off toward a group of people who shuffled about some yards away. I guess Lola’s antics had made them late with their duties, too.
This job was going to be a miserable one if it required keeping Lola de la Monica on schedule. From what I’d seen of her so far, the woman thrived on drama. It actually occurred to me that she might have manufactured the letter trick in order to have an excuse to throw her recent temperament .
But no. She couldn’t know about the letters Monty Mountjoy had received, so she couldn’t have taken the idea of her threatening letter from his. As far as I understood at the time, the only person who knew about Monty’s letters except Monty was Harold. And me. Nuts.
Anyhow, I headed to the costume tent without any enthusiasm at all for what I might find within it.
The first thing I found within it was Sam Rotondo. So far, my day was perfect (I’m being sarcastic). Naturally, he scowled when he saw me. Figuring what the heck I walked over to him. “H’lo again, Sam.”
“What the devil took that confounded woman so long to get to the tent? She was supposed to be her e forty minutes ago.”
I frowned up at him. “What do you care?”
“I care because the City of Pasadena is paying a good chunk of money to have a detective and two uniformed officers at this idiotic picture shoot. If Miss de la Monica is late every damned day, it’ll delay production and cost the city far more money than they budgeted for .”
As much as I hate to admit it, that made sense to me. I’d already discovered that Sam didn’t want to be here any more than I did, so I could hardly fault him for his sour mood, although he didn’t have to take it out on me.
“You can thank me that it didn’t take longer than forty minutes,” I told him with asperity. “The woman threw a fit, and I had to calm her down.”
“Good God.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like having to be here, either, after this morning’s scene. I thought it might be fun to observe a picture being made, but so far it’s just boring. Well, except for calming down Miss de la Monica, but that’s just business as usual. Well, ” I amended for the sake of honesty, “she’s more annoying than most of my other clients.”
A corner of Sam’s mouth slanted up. “You’ve had plenty of practice dealing with frantic women, I
“Sorry for your shock. Sorry I’m a brute. Now get the hell over to the costume tent.”
With drooping shoulders and a heartbreaking sigh, Lola took off in the direction of a huge, white tent: the costume tent, I presumed. At least she’d changed clothes and was no longer clad in grass-stained white. Now she wore a simple white day dress. I guess the woman had a thing for white. Perhaps she’d read Wilkie Collins’s Woman in White recently or something. For what it’s worth, I always thought Collins missed the boat on that one. Why any man would prefer the simpering heroine to her go-get-‘em sister just because the heroine was beautiful is beyond my understanding. Not that it matters what I think.
“Maybe I’d better go with her,” I said, feeling tentative. I wasn’t sure exactly what my job was here, after all. Sure, I was supposed to be Lola’s spiritual advisor, but I’d already performed that duty admirably—in spite of having taken a trifle too much time about it, which wasn’t my fault but that of Lola, who hurried for no man, not even John Bohnert — and didn’t know what to do next.
“You might as well. She’s apt to throw another fit unless you’re close by.” John eyed me keenly. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what prompted the first one, do you?”
I sure did. Rather than lie outright, I said, “I’m sorry. I’m not well acquainted with Miss de la Monica yet. Perhaps I’ll come to understand her better in the days to come.”
“God help you,” snapped John , and he turned on his heel and stamped off toward a group of people who shuffled about some yards away. I guess Lola’s antics had made them late with their duties, too.
This job was going to be a miserable one if it required keeping Lola de la Monica on schedule. From what I’d seen of her so far, the woman thrived on drama. It actually occurred to me that she might have manufactured the letter trick in order to have an excuse to throw her recent temperament .
But no. She couldn’t know about the letters Monty Mountjoy had received, so she couldn’t have taken the idea of her threatening letter from his. As far as I understood at the time, the only person who knew about Monty’s letters except Monty was Harold. And me. Nuts.
Anyhow, I headed to the costume tent without any enthusiasm at all for what I might find within it.
The first thing I found within it was Sam Rotondo. So far, my day was perfect (I’m being sarcastic). Naturally, he scowled when he saw me. Figuring what the heck I walked over to him. “H’lo again, Sam.”
“What the devil took that confounded woman so long to get to the tent? She was supposed to be her e forty minutes ago.”
I frowned up at him. “What do you care?”
“I care because the City of Pasadena is paying a good chunk of money to have a detective and two uniformed officers at this idiotic picture shoot. If Miss de la Monica is late every damned day, it’ll delay production and cost the city far more money than they budgeted for .”
As much as I hate to admit it, that made sense to me. I’d already discovered that Sam didn’t want to be here any more than I did, so I could hardly fault him for his sour mood, although he didn’t have to take it out on me.
“You can thank me that it didn’t take longer than forty minutes,” I told him with asperity. “The woman threw a fit, and I had to calm her down.”
“Good God.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like having to be here, either, after this morning’s scene. I thought it might be fun to observe a picture being made, but so far it’s just boring. Well, except for calming down Miss de la Monica, but that’s just business as usual. Well, ” I amended for the sake of honesty, “she’s more annoying than most of my other clients.”
A corner of Sam’s mouth slanted up. “You’ve had plenty of practice dealing with frantic women, I
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