Carolyn Haines - Wishbones

“It’s beautiful.”

“Some people say it’s haunted.”

I couldn’t tell if she was challenging me or not. “My home in Mississippi is also haunted. I think ghosts are drawn to me.”

Her face hardened. “Don’t humor me as if I were a child. If the film company stays here, you’ll get more of a ghost story than you ever bargained for.”

She swiveled and strode out of the room, her boots ringing on the stone hallway and then clattering down the stairs. I was about to turn to my luggage when the sheer curtains at the bedroom window puffed on a gust of wind. They took the shape of a slender female form before settling back against the wall.

Gooseflesh danced up my arms, causing me to inhale sharply. I exhaled, feeling foolish to have been so easily caught up in the ghost story of a young woman I didn’t even know.

“Jitty would be amused,” I said, wondering with a stab of pain if Jitty remained at Dahlia House or if she’d gone on to other lodgings. I had the strangest urge to call home, but I knew she wouldn’t answer. So instead I dialed Tinkie.

“Hey, muy bonita, cha-cha,” I said.

“Sarah Booth, you’ve finally found the Lord and are speaking in tongues. Do you need rescue or deprogramming or some holy water?”

“That’s Spanish,” I pointed out.

“Spanish by way of the cotton field. I don’t know what you think you said, but it wasn’t anything translatable.”

I laughed. “I’m unpacking here in Petaluma, and we’re all set to film tomorrow. This place is magnificent. It’s like a huge old plantation set down in a tropical paradise. One of the staff said I could see the ocean from my balcony.” I started toward the windows to see if the Pacific would wink at me. Just as I reached the open window, the outside shutters slammed together with enough force to make me jump backward and drop the phone.

“What was that? Sarah Booth, are you okay?”

I could hear Tinkie yammering away, but I ignored the phone and eased to the shutters. When I looked at them I saw that the latches used to hold them open had both broken. Simultaneously.

I picked up the phone. “Everything is fine. Just a gust of wind.”

“Well, I’m glad you called, since we’ve all been wondering about your latest scrape with the law.”

I groaned. “Finding the body of Suzy Dutton?”

“Front page of at least three tabloids. Millie has the story plastered all over the café. Harold and Oscar are on standby in case you need to hire a defense lawyer. Really, Sarah Booth, implicated in the case of another dead rival?”

“Oh, shut up. You sound like the sheriff.”

“Is it the uniform, or perhaps the nightstick?”

“Tinkie!” I was suitably shocked. “You sound like Cece.”

“I have to confess, she said it first.”

“I’m okay. I didn’t have anything to do with Suzy Dutton’s death. We start shooting in the morning, and if I can resist Graf tonight, we should have enough sexual tension between us by morning to melt the silver out of the celluloid. Would you mind asking Millie what she knows about Carlita Gonzalez Marquez, former wife of my director Federico?”

“Will do. Call me when you finish shooting tomorrow. I want a blow-by-blow account.”

“What are friends for?” I asked before I hung up.

I walked outside on the balcony for a closer examination. The metal latches that secured the shutters to the wall were snapped in half. Strange that both sides had failed at the exact same moment. Or perhaps they’d been broken and a gust of wind had caught them just right.

I had the creepy sense that someone was watching me, and I turned suddenly to survey the room, half expecting to see the angry young woman I’d seen earlier. The room was empty, but the eyes in the portrait of Carlita Marquez seemed to stare directly into my own.

Creeped out, I fled the room and hurried down the hall to knock on Graf’s door.

“Joey, more wind chimes! I want tinkling and low notes! I want to hear the music of the wind!” Federico waved the young prop man to the balcony. “Hang them from the roof and trees!”

I sat in the shade, an electric fan sending a cool current of air over me, while they got the set ready. We were shooting Matty on the balcony, hot and sweaty, as a breeze springs up and sets off the chimes. My job was to look hot, in both meanings of the word.

Graf was across the patio, and he winked at me when he caught my eye. He’d already complimented me on the silk dressing gown that plunged almost to my navel. He arched an eyebrow and made me smile.

“Higher! Joey, hang them higher!” Federico yelled.

Joey leaned far out over the balustrade of the balcony, his long thin arms reaching for the branches of a Cordia alliodora tree whose branches hovered just out of his reach.

There was a grating sound and even as I started to rise to my feet, I watched the heavy balustrade begin to topple and Joey flail in the air as he plunged from the second story to the ground.

A cry rose from everyone on the set as Joey’s body hit the hard earth.

“Joey!” Federico was beside him in an instant. He looked up. “Get an ambulance. Hurry!” He turned his attention back to the prop man and spoke in a low, soothing voice.

A handsome young man rushed from behind one of the cameras and knelt beside Federico and Joey. “I called the emergency number, Dad. Help is on the way.”

Joey moaned softly, and Federico brushed sand from the side of his face. “You’re going to be okay, Joey. Try not to move. Medical help is coming.”

“The balustrade,” Joey managed. “It gave.”

“It’s okay,” Federico said. He looked up at all of us gathered around, unsure of what to do. “We’ll film in the morning. We’re done for the day. Please, leave us.”

The cast and crew slowly dispersed. Graf came to stand at my side. “This is awful. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. The question is, is Joey okay?” I wanted to go over and help, but there was little I could offer. Joey was conscious, and his breathing wasn’t labored. It looked as if one arm might be broken, but he didn’t appear to be fatally injured.

Graf put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. “What a crazy accident. That balustrade is cement and at least six inches thick. Isn’t that the balcony outside your bedroom?” he asked.

I nodded slowly. “It has the best light and Federico particularly wanted those white flowers from the tree.” It was a beautiful shot, and the balustrade looked heavy enough to hold back a herd of zebras.

“Good thing Ricardo speaks fluent Spanish. I wouldn’t know how to telephone for the emergency team.”

That was a point of interest. “I didn’t know Federico’s son was on the set.”

“Yes, assistant cinematographer. He shot your screen test. Didn’t you know?” Graf’s fingers drifted up to my hair, gently combing through my curls in a way that was both relaxing and exciting.

“I had no idea, but they look alike.” I tried to keep my mind on the conversation. “I met his daughter yesterday. She’s lovely, but… unhappy, I think.”

“It’s nice that Federico is giving his children a leg up in this business. Ricardo really wants to become a director, like his father. Estelle”-he shrugged-“Federico never talks about her.”

“Listen. The ambulance is on the way.” The sound of a siren came distinctly on the morning breeze. “I should change out of this dressing gown. Dallas will kill me if I get something on it.”

He bent closer to my ear. “I’ll be glad to help you get out of it.”

His words affected me, but I gave him only a laugh as I turned and went into the house. Glancing behind me I saw the medics arrive with a stretcher. Graf remained behind to offer help.