I Know a Secret

Twenty

Through the closed door of the Crazy Ruby Films studio, Jane and Frost heard a woman’s terrified shrieks, and Jane snorted. “If those kids want real nightmares, they should spend a night with us.”

The door opened and a dazed-looking Travis Chang stood blinking at them. He was wearing the same ratty SCREAMFEST FILM FESTIVAL T-shirt he’d been wearing on their first visit, and his unwashed hair stood up in black tufts like greasy devil’s horns. “Oh. Hey, you’re back.”

“Yeah, we’re back,” said Jane. “We need to show you something.”

“Uh, we’re right in the thick of editing.”

“This won’t take long.”

Travis cast an embarrassed glance over his shoulder. “I just want to warn you, it’s kinda ripe in here. You know how things get when you’re, like, totally in the zone.”

Judging by the condition of the studio, in the zone was not anyplace Jane cared to ever be. The room was even more disgusting than when they’d first visited, the trash cans overflowing with pizza boxes and Red Bull cans. Every horizontal surface was covered with wadded napkins, pens, notebooks, and electronics. The air smelled like scorched popcorn and dirty socks.

Slouched on the sofa were Travis’s colleagues, Ben and Amber, who, judging by their sallow faces, hadn’t been out of the building in days. They didn’t even look up at their visitors but kept their eyes locked on the big-screen TV, where a buxom blonde in a low-cut T-shirt was desperately barricading a door against something that was trying to pound its way in. An ax blade splintered the wood. The blonde shrieked.

Travis hit the PAUSE button, freezing the blonde’s face in mid-scream.

“What’re you doing, man?” Ben protested. “We’re up against the clock here.”

“We’re trying to make the deadline for horror-film festivals,” Travis explained to Jane and Frost. “Mr. Simian needs to be submitted in three weeks.”

“When can we see it?” asked Jane.

“Not yet. We’re still editing and the soundtrack’s in progress. Plus we’ve got a few special effects to tweak.”

“I thought you guys ran out of money.”

The three filmmakers looked at one another. Amber sighed. “We are out of money,” she said. “So we all took out loans. And Ben sold his car.”

“You kids are really going to gamble everything on this?”

“What else are we going to gamble on, if not our own creation?”

They were probably going to lose their filthy-looking shirts, but Jane had to admire their confidence.

“I watched I See You,” said Frost. “It wasn’t bad. It should’ve made money.”

Travis perked up. “You think so?”

“Better than a lot of horror films I’ve seen.”

“Exactly! We know we can make as good a movie as any big studio. We just have to hang in there and keep telling good stories. Even if it means risking everything.”

Jane pointed to the blonde on the TV screen. “I think I’ve seen that actress before. What else has she been in?”

“As far as I know, this was her first acting gig,” said Ben. “She just has one of those universal faces.”

“Standard hot blonde with perfect teeth,” observed Jane.

“Yeah, they make the best victims.” Ben paused. “Sorry. I guess that was in bad taste, considering...”

“You said you wanted to show us something,” said Travis.

“Yeah. We want you to look at a photo.” Jane glanced around the room for some open space to set down her laptop.

Travis swept away the pizza debris from the coffee table. “Here ya go.”

Avoiding a clump of cheese that had congealed on the table, Jane set down her laptop and opened the photo file. “These are screen captures from Cassandra’s memorial service. We had a surveillance camera set up at the entrance to videotape the faces of everyone who attended.”

“You recorded the whole thing?” said Amber. “That’s really creepy, recording people without their knowledge. It’s like Big Brother watching us.”

“It’s like a homicide investigation.” Jane turned the laptop screen to face them. “Do you recognize this woman?”

As the three filmmakers crowded around the laptop, Jane caught a powerful whiff of stale breath and dirty laundry, a stench that brought her straight back to her brothers’ sleepovers, when every square inch of carpet was covered with sleeping bags and teenage boys.

Amber squinted through her black-framed glasses at the photo. “I don’t remember seeing her, but there were a lot of people. Plus I was kinda weirded out about being in church.”

“Why?” asked Frost.

Amber blinked at him. “I’m always worried I’ll do something wrong and God’ll strike me down with lightning.”

“Hey, I think I remember this woman,” said Ben. He leaned forward, absently stroking the week-old stubble on his chin. “She was sitting across the aisle from us. I gave her a good long look.”

Amber punched his arm. “You would.”

“No, no, it’s ’cause she has an interesting face. I’ve got an eye for who’ll pop on camera, and look at her. Nice cheekbones, great facial architecture, easy to light. And a big head.”

“Is that good or bad?” said Jane. “A big head.”

“Oh, it’s good. A big head fills the screen, calls attention to itself. Gee, I wonder if she can act.”

“We don’t even know who she is,” said Jane. “We were hoping one of you might recognize her.”

“That was the only time I’ve ever seen her,” said Ben. “At Cassie’s funeral.”

“You’re sure you haven’t seen her anywhere else? Did she come by this studio, ever hang out with Cassandra?”

“Nope.” Ben glanced at his colleagues, and they shook their heads.

“Why are you asking about this woman?” said Travis.

“We’re trying to find what her connection is to Cassandra and why she showed up at the church. Cassandra’s stepmother doesn’t know her. None of Cassandra’s neighbors do either.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not a crime to show up at a stranger’s funeral,” said Amber.

“No. But it’s odd.”

“There were a lot of people at that service. Why are you asking about this woman in particular?”

“Because she showed up somewhere else.” Jane tapped on the keyboard, and the second image of the mystery woman appeared onscreen. It was a harshly lit photo taken in the cold light of a winter morning.

“It’s her again,” said Amber.

“But different background, different light. Different day,” noted Ben.

“Exactly,” confirmed Jane. “This was from a surveillance video at a different memorial service. Notice there’s a man holding hands with our mystery woman. Do you recognize him?”

All three filmmakers shook their heads.

“So what’s the deal with this woman? Does she like to go to random funerals?” asked Ben.

“I don’t think she chooses them at random. This second funeral was for a different homicide victim.”

“Oh, wow. She’s a murder junkie?” Ben looked at his colleagues again. “It’s right out of Kill Her Again, Sam.”

“What?” asked Frost.

“It’s a movie we worked on a few years ago, produced by a buddy of ours in L.A. About this Goth girl who goes to random funerals. She ends up catching the eye of a killer.”

“Did Cassandra work on that movie as well?”

“We all did, but we were just part of the crew. It’s not like the plot was special or anything. There really are people who go to the funerals of strangers. They feed off the grief. Or they want to be part of a community. Or they have an obsession with death. Maybe that’s what she is. Just some oddball who never even knew Cassandra.”

Jane looked at the young woman captured in the video. Dark-haired, beautiful, nameless. “I wonder what her reasons were for being there.”

“Who knows? That’s why we love making horror films, Detective,” said Travis. “The possibilities are endless.”