“I don’t know. Do you? Most people we interview just, you know, answer our questions. It’s usually only the folks with something to hide who lawyer up right off the bat. Are you one of those folks, Mr. Boatwright?”
He smiled wide, exposing all his teeth. He reminded Jessie of a shark opening its jaws just before chomping on a seal.
“I have a lot to hide, Ms. Hunt, though I don’t know that any of it has to do with Corinne.”
“All right,” she replied. “Then I assume you won’t have any issue answering a few of our questions.”
“Fire away,” he said amiably.
Jessie looked over at Trembley, who didn’t seem prepared with a question, so she dived in.
“I’m assuming you’re aware of the circumstances of Corinne’s death?” she said.
“I know she was strangled in her trailer and then moved to the soundstage, where she was found surrounded by prop dead bodies with a white rose in her hand.” When he saw Jessie’s eyebrows rise, he added, “Word travels fast around here.”
“Were you aware that your last name was written in lipstick on the makeup mirror in her trailer?”
“I was,” he acknowledged. “Are you suggesting that this has something to do with me?”
“It seems that whoever wrote your name on that mirror thinks it does,” Jessie said flatly.
“Ms. Hunt, do you seriously think that I strangled Corinne and that, as she struggled for her life, she wrote my name on the mirror, implicating me as her killer, and that I then left the writing there for anyone to see?”
“That seems unlikely,” Jessie replied.
“Do I need to provide an alibi for last night between ten and midnight? Because I can. I was at a late-night meeting at a bar on Highland.”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“I don’t remember mentioning the time of death, Mr. Boatwright.”
“Oh please,” he said, visibly disgusted. “Do you think I haven’t already seen the time-stamped security footage of Corinne being dragged into the prop department? What are you alleging exactly?”
“I’m not alleging anything, Mr. Boatwright. I’m simply wondering why your name was on that mirror. That, in addition to the white rose you mentioned was found in her hand, would seem to suggest that whoever did this has made some connection between the two of you and, what was the name of that movie again, Trembley, Roses and Romance?”
“Petals and Petulance,” Boatwright corrected before Trembley could say a word.
“Right, that one,” Jessie said. “So clearly that connection is important to the killer. And with Corinne dead, you seem to be the best person to shed light on what it might be.”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” Boatwright said dismissively. “I produced the movie. She starred in it. That’s the only connection that jumps out at me. I have a question for you though: should I be concerned that the killer was writing down the name of their next victim on that mirror? Do I need protection? Is the director in danger too? Perhaps Darian Phelps should up his security.”
“Darian Phelps is the male lead in the movie,” Trembley offered under his breath. “He plays the detective hunting down the Marauder.”
Jessie stifled the desire to say the words “I know” and kept her focus on Boatwright.
“That’s not a crazy theory,” she told him. “You might want to look into upping your security a bit. Is there someone who might have a bone to pick with both of you over that film? Someone who got stiffed on the profits? A writer who didn’t get a screen credit? Perhaps a florist whose life rights weren’t properly secured? Or one who was upset at the floral inaccuracies in the movie?”
Boatwright smiled again, though she could see a flicker of unease cross his eyes at the mention of potentially needing to increase his security.
“In this town, someone always feels wronged and there are a lot of people who feel I did the wronging. In some cases, they’re right. But I didn’t screw anyone worse on this film than any other.”
“Maybe it’s not about how bad you screwed them,” Jessie pointed about, “but how badly they took it.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a smile, apparently amused by her forthrightness. “As long as we’re discussing people getting screwed, have you spoken to Corinne’s husband?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Why do you suggest that?”
“You know, it’s not my place to say, but I think you might find a conversation with him to be worth your time.”