Murder, She Wrote by Jessica Fletcher Read Free Book Online Page A

Waiting a few hours won’t make a difference.”
    â€œA few hours? I can’t believe it,” Elovitz said with disgust, but he put the phone in his pocket.
    Mort’s phone rang and he turned his back on us.
    â€œI knew she was going to be trouble,” Elovitz said, pacing back and forth in front of the set. “Zee was completely freaked out that we were going to work with her—he was psyched—but I told Chattergee she was all wrong for the part, past her prime, too difficult.” He stopped and looked at me. “You know this picture is important to me. It’s my chance to go mainstream. The last thing we needed was a prima donna and a condensed shooting schedule. It’s a disastrous combination.”
    â€œThen why did you cast her?” I asked.
    â€œShe was a name. Besides, he wouldn’t make the film without her.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œChattergee. He owed her. I don’t know what their deal was. He can’t stand her, but still he insisted she was the only one to play the role.” Elovitz threw up his hands. “What am I supposed to do now?”
    Mort disconnected his call and turned toward us. “They should be here any minute,” he said. “They got tied up directing traffic around the streets that are blocked off.” He scowled at the director. “You realize when my men get here, your continuity is going to be shot to hell,” he said.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” Elovitz said, flapping his arms. “We’ll have to reshoot her scenes anyway when we get a new actress for her role. What a mess!”
    Mort pulled a pad from his hip pocket. “While we’re waiting, let’s get some of the facts down for my report.” He looked around. “Where’s the other one?”
    â€œEstelle Fancy?” I said.
    â€œYeah, the lady astrologer. Where is she?”
    â€œShe was here a moment ago, trying to coax the dog out from under the desk,” I said.
    Mort strode onto the set and ducked his head under the desk. “Gone,” he said. “The dog and the lady.”
    â€œEstelle?” Elovitz shouted. We waited a few seconds, but there was no answer.
    â€œShe can’t have gone far,” I said, embarrassed that I hadn’t noticed the astrologer leave with the dog. “Would you like me to go look for her?”
    â€œNo! You two wait here.” Mort pointed at Elovitz. “No phone calls. Understood?”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    â€œMrs. F., I’m holding you responsible.”
    â€œHe won’t make any calls, Mort.” I looked at Elovitz. “Please don’t make me a liar.”
    Mort jogged around to the back of the scenery and we heard the hangar door open and close.
    Elovitz walked behind a camera and sank into his director’s chair with a big sigh. He pulled out his phone. “I’m not making any calls,” he assured me. “I’m just checking my schedule.”
    â€œNo text messages either, please,” I said.
    â€œYou have my word.”
    I stood at the edge of the set and examined the scene from a distance, a million questions swarming in my mind. There was a slight tang in the air that I found familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “How recently was this set painted?” I called out to Elovitz.
    â€œLast week,” he replied, strolling over to stand next to me. “But they probably did touch-ups a few days ago. Why?”
    â€œJust wondering.”
    Vera’s head leaned against the wing of the chair, the film cutting into her neck, but I didn’t see any blood. Odd. I would expect the edges of a strip of film to be sharp enough to cut. But her chin angled down toward her chest. Perhaps there was blood but it was hidden by her clothing. The caftan she wore was made of a heavy material in a riot of colors. It was difficult to see if there were stains on it.
    I looked at her hands. I didn’t see any