Katherine Page - The Body in the Cast

It was time to look at the slides. Faith switched on a lamp next to the armchair and held the first one up. As she suspected, Alden had been photographing the forest scene and had zoomed in on Sandra, who did full justice to the high-speed Ektachrome Spaulding had employed. Faith assumed the box contained more of the same, but she held each one up to check. Near the end of the roll, Alden had happened upon another scene. It must have been before the afternoon shoot, when he'd returned to his post.

It wasn't in the script.

The slide Faith held up to the light captured Evelyn twisting a hank of Sandra's hair. Alden had caught Ms. O'Clair face on, and her expression was terrifying—full of fury, hatred, and, above all, threatening. The next four were similar, but the last one showed Sandra. It was quite a contrast. She looked defiant—and incredibly beautiful.

So Evelyn had killed her. Faith sank down onto the chair. Evelyn had seen the rushes. They were the frosting on the cake that had been presented at Max's birth- yparty.

It was unlikely that Max would have replaced his star with a complete unknown in the middle of a picture, but he, or another director, might soon have raised Sandra to stardom, a stardom lively to have eclipsed Evelyn's own career. While not waning at the moment, it wouldn't have been long, and Sandra's ascent wouldhave hastened Evelyn's descent. Good parts for women in Hollywood were scarce enough, and few actresses remained in the limelight past their thirties. Evelyn had clearly seen the wolf at the door—and Max's and the other men's obvious attraction to this sexy beast had added jealousy to fear. Alden must have gotten in touch with her and alluded to the photographs. He might have had some crazy idea that he could trade them for sex with her. The slides didn't prove that Evelyn killed Sandra, but judging from the camera angles, Alden must have heard what they'd been saying, too. After Sandra died, he must have put two and two together—and come up dead himself. Evelyn had had to kill him or risk exposure for the first murder. The second death—had it been easier for Ms. O'Clair? Had the first one been so hard? It was all becoming clearer—as was the fact that Faith had to get out of the trailer immediately and call the police. Evelyn had no idea Faith had found the slides. She wouldn't go far, but then again, she might.

And it had been Evelyn, not Marta on the phone. She had just used the same phrase while shouting at Cornelia, but without the disguise.

The star's trailer was as secure as Hester's prison cell. The windows were too small for anyone save Ben to crawl through. But they did open. Faith went to first one, then another, systematically shouting for help.

It was no use. The trailer was too far from the other buildings. Unless someone expressly came to get Evelyn, there was no way Faith could be heard. And no one would come. Without the car, it would be assumed Evelyn had returned to the house after getting the director's message that she wasn't needed that day. What's more—no one would miss Cornelia. However much she exalted her role, it was not critical. Faith's own staff would be long gone by now and it would be hours before she was expected at home. Cornelia opened her eyes.

“Faith, I think I can get up. I'm certain I should go to a doctor and have some stitches put in. It's been dear of you to take care of me like this." But, implied Ms. Stuyvesant, let's get the show on the road.

“We can't. She's locked us in. No one is going to hear me from here, so it's pointless to shout. Plus, my crew has gone. I stayed behind to do some last-minute things. Face it—we're stuck.”

Cornelia burst into tears. Faith had seen her maddeningly happy, in a temper, miffed, but never crying. Corny turned out to be one of the noisy, gloppy kind. Soon her sobs were hiccups and her nose began to run. Faith shoved some tissues in her old chum's hand to stem the tide. It had to be over Max. But it wasn't.

“You're being so good to me and I've been so rotten to you," Cornelia gasped.

“There, there. That was all years ago. Don't even think about it," Faith assured her. She ought to see whether Evelyn had any Tylenol in the bathroom for poor Corny's head.

“No, it wasn't!" Cornelia wailed. "Two weeks ago. I did it. I put the Chocolax in your black bean soup!”

“What!"

“Max liked you so much, and all he could talk about was how good your food was. It was school all over again. Everybody liked you better. You always got whatever you wanted. I thought people would just get a little sick and you'd be off the picture."

“Corny, you could have ruined my business! Not to mention how much pain you caused everyone."

“I know, I was sick, too, remember. I had to eat; otherwise, everyone would have known who did it. I also put it in Evelyn's soup— which served her right—when I took her the tray, so there would be no question but that it was the caterer's fault.”

The woman must have been mad. "And you set the fire?"

“It was a very little one. I was a Scout, you know. There was no danger.”

Evelyn O'Clair, a murderer. Cornelia Stuyvesant, an arsonist and food poisoner. What a casting call!

“You were jealous of Sandra, too. It was you who put the drapery fabric in the barn. Admit it." Faith was really angry.

f Cornelia had been other than flat on her back, she would have hung her head.

“I felt terrible about that after she died. I only wanted to ruin her reputation, not hurt her.”

Faith remembered something Corny had said about the other movie. "Was it you who upset that PA on the Maggot Morning shoot so she would quit?"

“No, that must have been Evelyn," Cornelia said speculatively.

The two were quite a pair.

Faith sighed. Cornelia's confession had cleared up some things, but it wasn't getting them out of the trailer—an impulse that had taken on additional meaning. Faith Sibley Fairchild didn't want to spend a moment longer than was necessary with her fellow alum.

“I'll look for something to help your pain and try to figure out how we're going to attract someone's attention way out here"

“See the problem? Why do you have to be so nice? It simply isn't fair!" Cornelia started to weep again.

“Would it make things easier if I smacked you one?" Faith had a moment's fiendish hope for a reply in the affirmative.

“No. And you may not believe this, but all I ever wanted when we were young was to be one of your friends and go to your house." Tears again. Faith hadn't thought things could get any worse, yet they were. Now she was feeling guilty.

“Just lie still. I'll be right back."

“Evelyn seemed to have every medication known to man or woman in the cabinet under her dressing table. Many of the vials were from the clinic in Switzerland, and Faith had a hunch that was where Evelyn had obtained her lethal quantities of chloral. A trinket or two to the right orderly and Ms. O'Clair had her very own Rexall's. Faith passed over the Darvon, attractive as the idea of Corny passed out was, and went straight for the Tylenol. It was possible that Cornelia had a concussion, so Faith had to keep her conscious.

She looked around, trying to think of some way to let people know they were trapped. It was getting late and soon everyone would be leaving for the weekend.

All Evelyn's cosmetics were neatly arranged on the top of the dressing table. It took an enormous amount of effort to be so beautiful. Faith's eyes lingered on a large bottle of nail polish remover. She'd been thinking of smoke signals ever since Cornelia had mentioned her fire in the barn. There weren't any oily rags around, but Faith could make the equivalent.

She got a tumbler of water and gave Cornelia the pill, advising she remain as quiet as possible. Then she went back and started to ransack Evelyn's closet. It would be a sacrilege to burn some of these things—a lovely black Bill Blass evening gown, for instance. But Faith had no compunction about the Hester costumes—and flimsy rags they were. She put the stopper in the sink, stuffed the garments in, and poured polish over the whole thing, leaving it to soak in.