Deception on the Set Read online

  So just like that, our fight was over. Like any brothers, Frank and I got into the occasional tiff, but luckily, we never stayed angry with each other for very long.

  “All right,” said Meredith. “Let’s get you over to Nick so he can touch up those seams and add your wig.”

  Meredith led Frank away to another room in the large trailer. When she returned, she had me sit in the makeup chair. She threw an apron over my shoulders just as she had done with Frank.

  “Remember what I told your brother,” warned Meredith. “It’s going to itch in some places as I apply the makeup. Resist the urge to scratch.”

  “This time I came prepared,” I said as I dug my MP3 player out of my pocket. “Something to take my mind off everything.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Meredith.

  I popped in my earbuds and played some tunes as Meredith began applying the foam prosthetic pieces to my face. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Every now and then as she applied adhesive to my face, part of my skin would begin to itch, particularly around my nose and eyes. I concentrated on the music until the sensation went away.

  I must’ve really zoned out. I hadn’t even noticed that the album on my MP3 player had finished playing. I also hadn’t noticed that Chelsea had entered the trailer. I still had my eyes closed, but there was no mistaking her voice.

  “And go by the caterer trailer and find out what’s for lunch,” Chelsea instructed. “If it’s anything like yesterday, I’m going to send you out again.”

  “There’s not much tofu in this town,” said another girl’s voice. It must’ve been Chelsea’s assistant. “But I’ll keep looking.”

  A smiled touched my lips. Whoever she was, she was right. The customers at Sal’s Diner and the Meet Locker weren’t exactly tofu types.

  Chelsea sighed. “I’ll be glad when this movie is over. I don’t think Josh knows what he’s doing.”

  “Well, this is the first movie he’s written and directed,” Meredith explained. She dabbed some more adhesive on my chin. “I think he’s doing all right, considering.”

  “What was he before?” asked Chelsea. “A stuntman or something?”

  “That’s what I heard,” said Meredith.

  “That’s why there are so many stunts in this movie,” said Chelsea’s assistant.

  “Not very good ones, according to Cody,” added Chelsea. “In fact, I heard that Cody and Josh—” Her voice cut off as I heard approaching footsteps.

  Meredith nudged my arm. “You can open your eyes now.” She chuckled. “And sorry to hear about your brother’s passing.”

  Upon opening my eyes, I noticed that Frank looked as if he had returned from the dead—a full-fledged zombie. The makeup was incredible; his skin really looked as if it was dried and stretched across his skull. Frank’s hands were now painted to match his face—but that wasn’t the best part. He wore contacts that made his eyes look milky white. My older brother grinned, revealing yellow rotting teeth.

  “Very nice!” I said.

  Frank’s grin vanished when his eyes cut over to Chelsea. I followed his gaze to see that another makeup artist was busy applying a realistic cut to her forehead.

  “Wow,” said Chelsea. “That . . . looks really creepy.” She gave a small wave. “Hi. I’m Chelsea.”

  “Actually, you already met us yesterday,” I explained. “I’m Joe and this is my decomposing brother, Frank.”

  Recognition showed on Chelsea’s face. “Oh yeah.”

  Frank must’ve gained more confidence hiding behind the mask. This time he didn’t choke. He stepped forward and extended a hand to Chelsea.

  Now, I don’t know what Frank tried to say to her. But whatever it was, it came out sounding like “Grapedosheekjubejegeng.” His milky eyes widened as he snapped his mouth shut. He twisted his mouth and tried again. “Crage joob meek kook magain.” Unfortunately, speaking slowly didn’t seem to help.

  Chelsea and her assistant exchanged a glance before cracking up.

  Meredith chuckled. “It takes some practice to speak with the mouth prosthetics,” she explained. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”

  “Luckily, I think we just have to groan a lot,” I said.

  Even through all the zombie makeup, I could tell that Frank was way embarrassed—again.

  WINDFALL

  7

  FRANK

  OKAY, A LITTLE SLOWER,” HUGO ordered. “And a little stiffer, too. Remember, rigor mortis has set in for most of you.”

  I felt as if we were in the Michael Jackson “Thriller” video. Joe and I stood among a group of twenty zombies. Hugo, the second AD, was instructing everyone on how to properly act like zombies. He had a couple of zombies cock their heads to one side, as if their necks were broken. He had others limp and hobble as if their legs had been broken. Joe and I were in a group that just shuffled and moaned a lot. The entire “zombie university,” as Hugo had called it, was surreal.

  Actually, I was thrilled to be wearing the heavy makeup. Even though it had happened a couple of hours ago, I suspected that my face was still red with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe that I had met Chelsea Alexander twice and both times had made a fool of myself. The zombie lessons were a nice distraction.

  Joe spat his fake teeth into his hand and raised it. “I thought we were going to be fast zombies,” he said. “Like in World War Z or 28 Days Later.” He glanced around. “You have us moving more like Night of the Living Dead zombies.”

  “Good point,” said Hugo. “Josh wants there to be a variety. If you’re a fresh zombie, you can move faster,” he explained. “If you have a broken limb or look as if you crawled out of a grave, we’re going to assume that rigor has set in and you move slowly.”

  Joe spread his arms wide. “Makes perfect sense, actually.”

  I took out my teeth and raised a hand. “Excuse me.”

  Hugo pointed at me. “Yes, that zombie there has a question?”

  “I don’t have a question, really,” I said. “But I wanted to point out that rigor mortis is a temporary condition. A corpse’s muscles go through rigor between four to six hours after death. Then, after seventy-two hours, depending on the temperature and a few other factors, decomposition begins to break down the tissue and the stiffness goes away. This fact often helps investigators determine the approximate time of death.”

  I smiled and looked at Joe for confirmation but instead saw him do a face palm. You don’t see a zombie do that every day.

  Hugo stared at me blankly.

  I shrugged. “It’s a scientific fact.”

  Hugo finally laughed. “Well, since this is just a movie, we’re going to use a little creative license, okay?”

  The rest of the zombies laughed. Joe leaned closer. “Scientifically, corpses don’t get up and start walking around, either,” he whispered.

  I shook my head. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

  After all of us zombies learned to shamble, moan, and groan correctly, we were sent to a large tent full of folding chairs and bad coffee. We waited there for almost two hours. It was pretty surreal sitting around with a bunch of zombies listening to MP3 players, texting, and taking pictures of one another.

  Finally Hugo stepped into the tent. “Okay, zombies. We’re ready for you.”

  He led us a block away to Wilson Avenue. The set for this scene was in front of Mike’s Movies & Music. Just like the stores on Main Street, Mike’s was dressed to look as if it had been looted and half-destroyed. The only difference was that the formerly small shop now looked like a two-story building.

  “Looks like Mike’s got an upgrade,” Joe announced.

  “Okay, zombies, gather round,” ordered Hugo. Once we surrounded him, he pointed to the camera crew on the other side of the street. “We’ll be shooting from over there. The scene has three survivors making their way down this street. When they get in front of this building, all the zombies are going to come out and make a grab for them.” He began pointing to different zo
mbies. “You three, hide behind that wrecked truck. You hide behind that Dumpster.” He pointed to Joe and me. “You two hide behind the building.”

  When Joe and I arrived behind Mike’s, I could see that a large flat facade had been installed over the entrance. It looked as if it was made from plywood and had long boards propping it up. From the front, however, the facade simply looked like a large brick building.

  We came back outside to watch as the survivors met the director in the middle of the street. I could tell who they were by their tattered clothing and the cuts, bruises, and scrapes applied to their faces. I could also make out that one of the survivors was none other than Chelsea Alexander.

  “Dude, our first scene with Chelsea,” said Joe.

  “I understood everything you just said,” I told him.

  “Yeah?” asked Joe.

  “That means it’s time to put in our fake teeth,” I explained.

  “Oh yeah,” said Joe.

  We both dug our sets of teeth from our pockets and popped them into our mouths. They weren’t comfortable, but they certainly completed our decomposing personas.

  I watched as Josh spoke to the actors. That’s when I vowed not to talk to Chelsea Alexander ever again. I had already made a fool of myself twice; I wasn’t going for number three.

  “Okay, rehearsal’s up,” Bill Daines shouted. “We’ll cue the survivors on ‘action,’ and I’ll give a second cue for the zombies. First positions, everyone.”

  Joe and I ducked back around the corner of Mike’s revamped store. Joe turned to me, and if it wasn’t for the milky contacts he wore, I knew I would’ve seen a gleam in his eyes.

  “It’s showtime,” he said. Or that’s what I think he said. With the fake teeth in his mouth, it sounded more like, “This thowthime.”

  “Action!” shouted Josh.

  I could hear Chelsea and the others speaking but I couldn’t make out what they said. Then, after a lull in the conversation, we heard from Bill.

  “Zombies!”

  That was our cue. We shuffled out from behind Mike’s. The scene was alive with wisps of smoke and flames erupting from debris on the ground. It looked as if the special effects team was rehearsing as well.

  Joe and I shambled aimlessly until we pretended to notice the survivors. Just as we’d been taught in zombie university, we quickened our pace and moved toward them. We groaned as we pretended to yearn for a tasty snack. Chelsea screamed as zombies closed in around her. The survivors tried to escape, but there were undead moving in from every direction.

  “They’re everywhere!” Chelsea cried. Her eyes widened with fright. “What do we do?”

  “This way!” bellowed the man next to her. He led the other two to a burned-out SUV in the middle of the street. They clambered up the hood and stood on the roof.

  The rest of us zombies closed in. We encircled the car and reached for the survivors. Chelsea screamed again as one of the zombies got too close.

  “And . . . cut!” shouted Josh. “Great job, you guys. Let’s shoot this thing!”

  “Okay, back to one,” shouted Bill.

  Chelsea and the other two survivors climbed down from the car, and the zombies moved back to their starting positions.

  Bill held a radio to his mouth. “Hey, Bob. Can your people get us a little more smoke? The wind is picking up.”

  “More smoke. Copy that,” replied Bob’s voice on the radio.

  I hadn’t noticed, but the wind was getting stronger. The flaming debris flickered, and the smoke turned from a fog to tendrils weaving down the street. Even the facade on Mike’s Movies & Music was swaying a bit.

  Joe and I returned to our places and waited for our cue.

  “Lock it up!” yelled Bill. “Picture’s up. Roll camera.”

  “Speed!” yelled the cameraman.

  “Action!” shouted Josh.

  While Chelsea and the other survivors delivered their lines, I heard the facade knocking against the building. I looked up and at first glance noticed it didn’t seem so structurally sound. I thought I saw something strange, but before I could investigate further . . .

  “Zombies!” shouted Bill.

  As before, we shambled out and pretended to hunger for human flesh. Just as we had rehearsed, we cornered the survivors atop the burned-out SUV.

  “Cut!”

  After that take, Josh came out to talk to the survivors as we zombies returned to our first positions. Joe and I didn’t speak; it was practically useless with the prosthetic teeth in our mouths. Instead I turned my attention to what I thought I’d seen earlier.

  The fake storefront wasn’t physically attached to the front of the store. Instead it was supported by several long boards reaching to the top of the facade. The boards angled away from the wall and toward the ground. There, they met other boards that were flat on the ground and attached to the bottom of the facade. Together they formed a big triangle, with heavy sandbags holding the whole thing down. The sandbags were in place, but the fake wall still swayed in the wind.

  “And . . . action!” came Josh’s voice from the street.

  I moved closer to one of the braces and noticed holes where the two long boards had been screwed together where they met. I say had been because they were no longer attached. The sandbag sat on the bottom board, but the top board just slapped against the bottom as the wind picked up. There was a small pile of screws on the ground next to the wood.

  “Zombies!” came Bill’s voice.

  Joe shuffled out into the street, but I stayed behind. I felt compelled to examine the other braces. Just as I feared, each one of them had been disassembled, and each had a small pile of screws sitting next to it. The wind ruffled my clothes, and I glanced up at the facade, which swayed even more. One good gust would blow it over, and it would land on anyone who happened to be in the street at the time. Right now that meant almost everyone in this scene.

  I dashed out from behind the building, frantically waving my arms. “The storefront set piece is going to fall!” I shouted. Unfortunately, with a mouth full of plastic teeth, all that came out was, “Dashettwisdondoonfrawl!”

  None of the zombies or survivors paid attention to me. The zombies continued to clamber for the three people huddled on the SUV roof.

  “Dashettwisdondoonfrawl!” This time I pointed to the swaying facade as I shouted.

  Joe turned and saw where I pointed. He immediately shook the shoulder of the nearest zombie to get his attention. Staying in character, the zombie shrugged him off and went back to reaching for the survivors.

  I looked up and saw the tall set piece swaying even more. It was definitely coming down.

  “Cut! Cut!” shouted Josh. He marched onto the set. “What’s going on?”

  I spat out my fake teeth. “Everybody out!” I ordered. “The storefront is going to fall!” I raced toward the group, shoving as many people in the right direction as possible. Joe was doing the same.

  As the survivors scrambled off the car a gust of wind blew through. Smoke snaked over the scene as the sound of creaking wood filled the air.

  The set piece was on its way down.

  By this time, Joe and I had cleared the area of zombies. Only the survivors remained.

  “Come on!” I shouted, running toward the car. The two men hopped off the hood, but Chelsea stayed, frozen in place with fear. I shot up at her, threw an arm around her waist, and jerked her off the hood. The four of us ran for safety just as the large facade slammed against the SUV, smashing the roof and shattering glass everywhere.

  MISTAKEN IDENTITY

  8

  JOE

  FRANK AND I SAT ON the curb watching as Chief Olaf and a few officers took statements from everyone. Though it’s unusual for a police chief to be assisting in an investigation, I wasn’t surprised to see him out there. Knowing Chief Olaf, he probably jumped at the chance to hobnob with the stars (and get the Bayport police some free publicity in the process).

  Frank scratched his face
for the twentieth time. He’d been doing it ever since Nick had removed our makeup.

  “Dude, you’re going to leave a red mark,” I warned. “What will Chelsea think the next time she sees her big hero?”

  “I’m not her big hero,” denied Frank. He reached up to scratch again but then caught himself and stopped.

  I laughed. “Right.”

  We watched as the chief moved on to Bob Trevino, the special effects coordinator. The short, dark-haired man was the person called upon whenever a scene needed more smoke, fire, or sparks.

  Bob was very animated as he spoke. He even pointed in our direction a couple of times. I guessed he was pointing out that Frank was the one who had discovered the loose set piece. A police officer stood nearby, taking careful notes.

  “So what do you think?” I asked Frank. “Have you solved the case of the cinematic saboteur?”

  Frank sighed. “Look, do I think there’s a mystery here?” he asked. “Yes. And are we working the case? No.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I said. Even though I had been initially excited about the mystery, it had honestly slipped my mind amid the excitement of being in the movie.

  “No,” insisted Frank. “We’re not working on this case. That’s the truth, and that’s exactly what we’ll tell Chief Olaf when he asks.”

  I sighed. “And you know he’s going to ask.”

  “You know he is,” agreed Frank.

  As Bob Trevino walked away from Chief Olaf and the other officer, he cast another look toward us. The chief ambled over to us.

  “Hello, Hardys,” he greeted us.

  “Hi, Chief Olaf,” we replied, almost in unison.

  The chief turned to Frank. “I hear you had a busy day.”

  “I just tried to help,” said Frank. “It was no big deal.”

  “Only if saving the life of the star of the movie isn’t considered a big deal,” I said.

  The chief glanced at me. “Right.” He returned his gaze to Frank. “Quite the hero.”

  I didn’t get why he was picking on Frank. I tried to change the subject. “And before you ask, Chief, we are not, I repeat not trying to solve this case.”