scanned the casting documents, which included a large collection of headshots, casting call notices, thumb drives with auditions, and associated audition notes, none of which jumped out to her admittedly unpracticed eye. As she reviewed them, she heard footsteps walking down a hall away from her.
She stumbled across what appeared to be the script from the initial table read of the film with handwritten notes indicating the actors playing the primary roles. Glancing at the part of Rosie, whom Corinne Weatherly had played, she saw another name next to the character: Calliope Mott.
Confused, she snapped a photo, then started flipping through other papers, trying to determine if perhaps Corinne had changed her name after getting cast. But with so many documents listing the hundreds of actresses who auditioned, it quickly became clear that in the time she had, the effort would be fruitless.
That all faded from the forefront of her mind when she heard the heavy clomping of shoes on the linoleum floor. Kenny was getting closer. She quickly stuffed all the files into the large box and tried to shoehorn the top on. But some files stuck out and she couldn’t get it to sit flush.
Suddenly she heard a loud thud, followed by the clomping shoes breaking into a jog a few rows over. The movement stopped, followed by a loud “dammit.” Whatever Trembley had done had momentarily distracted Kenny.
Jessie hurriedly repositioned the top on the box and managed to close it properly. Now she just had to return it to the shelf and get out of sight. She bent to grab it by the handles and lift. But a sudden twinge of pain in her left shoulder reminded her that she’d dislocated it only two weeks earlier. There was no way she’d be able to get the leverage to lift the thing. If Kenny found this one box on the floor in the row, he’d surely report it and she had no doubt that Remy Haughton would learn of it and draw the inevitable conclusion.
Deciding she had to try again, she braced her back and attempted to slide her fingers under the box. As she did she heard the loud thud of what she suspected was Kenny returning a box that had “fallen” on the floor to its proper place. He was on the move again, headed in her direction.
She was just getting ready to heave the box up when Trembley appeared at the end of the row. Quickly noting what she was doing, he hurried over, grabbed the box with ease, and placed it on the shelf as quietly as possible. Then they both rounded the corner and tiptoed back to the annex exit, leaving the door slightly open so as to avoid the loud “click” when it closed. Only when they were outside and one building over did they stop to breathe.
“Find anything?” Trembley wheezed.
Jessie needed a moment to regroup before she could answer.
“Maybe. There was something weird on the cast list. Can you check a name for me on that actor database?”
“Sure,” Trembley said, pulling out his phone. “What is it?”
“Calliope Mott. Ever heard of her?”
Trembley shook his head as he punched in the name. They both watched as the page loaded to reveal a filmography and headshot. It took a second for Jessie to process what she was seeing.
But once she did, it all clicked into place and everything made sense.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Miller Boatwright was trying to stay calm.
As he walked out of the edit facility into the warm summer night air, he forced himself to take five long, slow, deep breaths, as his therapist had recommended. It didn’t do any good.
He was still pissed at Lane Putney, the first-time director he’d hired to shoot The Trench. It was supposed to be a down and dirty portrait of one soldier trapped in a trench during World War I. But Putney had decided this would be his war epic.
No matter what Boatwright said, Putney refused to compromise on his vision. Unfortunately, his vision was one hundred and sixty minutes long. That was unacceptable. And since Boatwright had final cut, it was going to change. He didn’t want to take the film away from the kid, who was unquestionably talented. But unless he could be reasoned with, there might be no other option.
Boatwright was just about to return to the facility when he heard a friendly voice call out.
“Miller?”
He turned to see who it was. But before he caught a glimpse, he felt something hard slam