Ghost of a Chance Read online

  “What makes you think he has something to do with it?” Frank asked the young man.

  “Hey, he’s a master of illusions and stunts, right?” the props assistant answered. “Who better to make us think we’re seeing ghosts and monsters?”

  “But you don’t have any real proof that he has done anything suspicious, right?” Frank asked.

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Cleo said. “Come on, let’s change the subject.” She shook her head and pine needles that had fallen from the tree above flew off her hair.

  “I heard they decided to rewrite the script so you won’t be sidelined,” Berk said to Cleo.

  “That’s right,” Cleo said, brushing her hair with her hand. “While I’m looking for dear old dad, I’m going to fall and sprain my ankle. That way, as long as I feel up to it, we can still keep shooting.”

  “Well, looks like you all won’t be shooting before lunch,” Sassy said, checking her watch. “It’s past noon now.”

  “That’s movie business,” the cameraman said, standing. “Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait.”

  “I’m going to check in,” one of the extras said. “See if they’ve got a new schedule yet.” Several of the others left with him.

  “How about some lunch, Cleo?” Berk asked, standing.

  “No thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll go to my home away from home and rest my leg.” With her back to Berk and Sassy, she looked intently at Frank. He could tell she was signaling with her eyes for him to follow her.

  “You need any help?” Sassy asked.

  “No, I’ll be okay,” Cleo answered. “Carmen is waiting for me there. Thanks.” With a last long look at Frank, she climbed into the golf cart. Then she drove off toward a cluster of expensive, luxury recreational vehicles. The celebrity RVs were parked just inside the edge of the woods.

  “Okay, Berk,” Sassy said. “I have to meet with wardrobe about the changes to the Bigfoot costume. But I’ve got time for a quick cup of tea first. Let’s go.”

  As soon as everyone else in the group had gone, Frank went to Cleo’s RV. Even though it was nearly noon, tall trees cast huge shadows across the area.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Cleo said when she saw Frank. “Do you have a few minutes? You said you wanted to see the other notes I received.”

  “That’d be great,” Frank said.

  It was dark inside the RV. Cleo turned on the lights, saying, “I sent Carmen to the beauty salon this morning. She’s been driving me crazy with her worrying. In fact, she hasn’t even seen all these messages.”

  Cleo unlocked a drawer in the small desk in the main room of the vehicle and took out a small stack of paper. “Some of these are notes, some are phone messages that I wrote down after I heard them,” she said, handing the stack to Frank. “How about a soda?”

  “Thanks,” Frank said, sitting in a large armchair. He began reading the notes: “Do not make ‘Dropped into Danger’ or you’ll find out what that title means!” “You’ll never get out of Tennessee alive.”

  “I got some of those phone messages before I left California,” Cleo said, handing Frank his soda. “I think I know who’s doing it, too. No one else took the threats seriously. Then when Terry brought you and your brother to the hospital, I knew I could confide in you. You will help, won’t you?”

  Frank looked at the young star. Her hands trembled, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Who do you think is threatening you?”

  Cleo leaned toward him and spoke very low. “It’s Jumper,” she said. “It’s Jumper Herman’s ghost.”

  Frank tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. He knew that whatever had knocked him down the night before, it was no ghost.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?” Cleo asked, her voice still low. “I’ve seen him a lot. He hangs around the set, but he stays in the shadows. Once I saw him at the back of the wardrobe trailer, and two days ago, I saw him walking across the road. I know he’s a ghost, but for some reason he doesn’t want the film made. You can find out why, right?”

  “Anything’s possible, Cleo, but ’” Frank paused and turned toward the window. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d heard something outside. He didn’t want to mention it, because he didn’t want to scare Cleo.

  For a moment it was very still, then dark. The lights had suddenly gone out. The deep forest shadows blocked all sun from the room.

  Cleo’s frightened gasp broke the silence. “The lights,” she whispered. “What happened?”

  “Stay here,” Frank whispered back. “Don’t say anything.”

  Quietly, Frank got out of the chair. Carefully pacing each step, he walked to the door and listened. He heard nothing outside except the distant muffled sound of people talking.

  Then a fluttering noise from behind him captured his attention. He turned around. He could barely see Cleo in the darkness. She was pushing herself back into her chair as if she were trying to disappear into the upholstery.

  “No,” she said. It was almost like a low moan. “No,” she repeated. “Go away.”

  There was something about her voice that made the hair on Frank’s arms bristle. Although her voice was low, the fear in it made a terrifying sound—far worse than a scream.

  Frank followed her gaze down the long hallway. A dim greenish light filtered through the air as the pale image of Jumper Herman inched slowly toward them.

  7

  Stop, Thief!

  With a jolt, Frank realized he was holding his breath. The shock of seeing Jumper’s ghost floating toward them in that sickly green light was almost overpowering. With a deep gulp, he forced a rush of air into his lungs.

  Before he could speak, Cleo bolted past him and out the door, her limp almost undetectable. Frank was sure he was seeing an illusion and not Jumper’s ghost. He also knew that anyone clever enough to pull off such a hoax could be a real threat.

  Without turning his back on the image, he stepped outside the RV. Cleo was standing behind a tree, peeking around its trunk, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

  Frank motioned to her to stay put and then crept around the RV to the back. He carefuly scanned the woods but saw no one. Coming back to the RV, he peered into a window at the back. The telltale wires of a stunt harness hung in the dim green light inside. Held in the harness was the figure of the ghost.

  Frank flipped open the doors of several compartments in the outside wall of the RV until he finally found the fuse box. “I thought so,” he muttered as he saw that a fuse was missing. A small box holding spares was attached to the door of the box. He got out a new fuse and screwed it in. Instantly light shone through the windows.

  Cleo, encouraged by seeing the light from inside the RV, came out from behind the tree. “Stay here,” Frank urged. “Let me take a look inside first.”

  Cautiously, Frank stepped back inside the RV. The lights were bright enough to show that the main room of the vehicle was empty. Frank made a quick, careful search of the other rooms and closets and found no one.

  Then he turned his attention to the “ghost.” He discovered a cable strung along the ceiling of the RV. The harness was rigged to travel along the cable. “Remote control,” he said softly, as he noticed the telltale tiny red light.

  Hanging from the harness was one of Jumper’s costumes, stuffed with plastic foam. Sitting on the shoulders was a molded head of Jumper Herman. “A great illusion,” Frank said aloud. “I wonder what Cleo would have done if I hadn’t been there.”

  Using a rag from the kitchen to protect the rigging from his fingerprints, he carefully removed the harness from the dummy’s body. Then he laid the body across the dining table. He stuffed the harness and the cable rigging into a paper bag he found in a cupboard. Then he carried the whole illusion outside and explained it to Cleo.

  “That’s the artist’s model they use in the makeup trailer,” Cleo said. “I’ve seen it there. I can’t believe this. The ghost seemed so re
al.”

  “It was definitely done by a pro,” Frank agreed. “I’m going to return the costume and head.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Cleo said. “I’m not ready to go back in that RV yet.”

  Frank piled the Jumper dummy and the paper bag into the back of the golf cart. Cleo held the head in her lap as Frank drove them to the wardrobe trailer.

  The wardrobe mistress was surprised when Frank turned over the Jumper costume. “So, someone’s been playing games, hmmm?” the costumer said, removing the foam filling from the Jumper costume. “There’s way too much weirdness around for me.”

  “So this is the Bigfoot costume,” Frank said, pushing the hangers aside to get a better look. “How did you do your research on this?”

  “The usual,” the woman said. “You’d be surprised how many books and articles there are on the subject. We also talked to some of the locals before we made our final costumes.”

  “Cool,” Frank said. “Anyone from Crosscrook?”

  “Have you met Sassy Leigh?” she asked. “She’s working on the film as a story consultant—a real expert on the folklore of this area. She was a lot of help.”

  “Yes, I met her,” Frank said, lifting the feet of the Bigfoot costume. “Wow, look at these,” he said, continuing his interrogation. “How big are these feet?”

  “Well, the legend says the feet are supposed to be up to twenty-five inches long by about ten inches wide,” the costumer answered. “And we made the first pair of feet to those dimensions. The actor who plays Bigfoot is pretty tall, but he said he felt like he was wearing clown shoes, so we made this pair smaller. They work great.”

  “They’ve got tread on them like running shoes,” Frank observed.

  “Yeah,” the costumer said. “He’s gotta move pretty fast across that mountain.”

  These sure aren’t as big as those prints I saw outside the abandoned cabin, Frank thought. And mine didn’t have any tread marks. He rubbed the hair of the costume between his fingers. This doesn’t feel like those clumps I found, either.

  Next, Cleo led Frank to the makeup trailer. Frank carried the head inside and was greeted with a round of cheers.

  “Thank you, thank you,” one of the makeup artists cried, cradling the head in her arm. “We thought we’d have to make another one. We use this for reference when we make up Berk, and sometimes they use it for stunts. Where did you find it?”

  “It was on top of a dummy dressed in a Jumper costume, Hilda,” Cleo answered quickly. “ Someone tried to pull a practical joke.”

  “If they only knew how much time and effort it takes to make one of these models,” Hilda said with a sigh.

  “You have no idea who might have taken it?” Frank asked, looking around.

  “No,” Hilda answered. “People are in and out of here all the time. We have studio security, but no one’s actually posted outside the trailer. I mean, who would expect someone to come halfway up a mountain to steal a tube of lipstick.”

  “So you think it might be an inside job,” Frank said. “Someone involved in the production.”

  “No way,” Cleo said. “Who?”

  “I don’t mean that exactly,” Hilda said. “I’m just wondering who from the outside would want it.”

  “And want it enough to come all the way up here to get it,” Frank agreed.

  He walked around the trailer, checking out the wigs, false mustaches and beards, and other cosmetic tricks. “You’ve got everything here,” he observed. Everything someone would need to create a perfect disguise, he added to himself.

  “Show him what you showed me the other day,” Cleo urged Hilda. “Make me a redhead—ten years younger and ten pounds lighter.”

  “I’d love to see what you can do,” Frank said.

  The makeup artist sat in front of a computer and took Frank through a complete program of graphically enhanced design.

  She started by bringing up an image of Cleo’s face, which was already stored in the computer. Then, using the computer drawing software, she changed the hair color and style, the eye color and the shape of the nose. She could even make Cleo look like a man by adding a beard and mustache. Finally Hilda made the Cleo image look younger and thinner.

  Frank was familiar with the computer drawing software, but he had never used it to change a real person’s appearance. “It is totally amazing,” he agreed. “Thanks for showing me how it works. Cleo, I’m going to check the shooting schedule, and then get some lunch.”

  “Are you in the press conference scene, by any chance?” Hilda asked.

  “Yes,” Frank answered.

  “Postponed till tomorrow,” Hilda said, without turning around. At Cleo’s urging, she was turning the young star’s computer image into a green-eyed blond woman.

  “Then I’m turning in my costume and heading for some food now,” Frank declared.

  “You go ahead,” Cleo said, her eyes still on the computer screen. “I’m having way too much fun to eat.” She seemed to have forgotten her panic at seeing Jumper’s ghost.

  Frank took the paper bag with the harness and rigging from the ghost illusion to the truck and stashed it in the locked compartment after turning his costume in and changing into street clothes.

  As he walked away, he felt a whoosh of breeze as someone raced past him. Experience made Frank mentally record the man as he passed—tall, dark tan complexion, black mustache. A navy backpack with red straps bobbed against the man’s shoulders as he ran.

  As Frank logged the description in his mind, he heard a voice calling from his left. “Stop him! Grab that guy!”

  … Frank turned long enough to see that the man yelling for help was a studio security officer. That was all he needed. He ran after the man with the backpack for about ten yards. Then with an effort worthy of an Olympic athlete, Frank lunged forward and tackled his quarry.

  8

  A Startling Attack

  Frank’s flying tackle landed with a solid hit. He and the man slammed to the ground with a gutgrinding thud.

  The stranger was strong, but Frank wrestled him on to his side and held him down. He could hear the security guard approaching. Then, in an instant, his hold was broken. The man he’d tackled caught Frank in a leg hold and flipped him over. Frank twisted to grab again, but the stranger wriggled free and disappeared into the forest.

  Frank got to his feet and followed, running beside the security guard. As they approached the edge of the forest, they heard a motorcycle start up ahead of them. In seconds the sound of the zooming motor faded away until it was a faint hum in the distance.

  “We lost him,” the security guard said. He turned to Frank. “Thanks for the try. You almost had him.”

  Frank identified himself as one of the film’s crew and gave the guard a description of the man with the backpack.

  “I thought I recognized you,” the guard said. “You’re one of the animal wranglers, right?”

  “Right,” Frank said. “Who was this guy, do you know?”

  “Not sure,” the guard said as they walked back to the set. “One of the guys in editing called. Says he saw this guy sneaking around. He called him on it, and the man had no ID. He could be somebody we’ve been watching for—a real troublemaker.”

  “Who?” Frank asked.

  “Now, you don’t have to worry about that,” the guard replied. “You just keep those beasts of yours under control, and I’ll take care of the trespassers. But thanks again for your help.”

  The guard smiled, but Frank could tell from the man’s expression that their conversation was over. Frank nodded his head and said, “Okay, see you around.”

  “Yep,” the guard replied. He started to walk away but then turned back. “Say, you know that stunt guy Lavring, don’t you?” he asked Frank.

  “Yes—why?” Frank asked.

  “I hear he’s still hanging around the area—staying in town somewhere,” the guard said. “If you see him, tell him he’d better stay away. The studio means busi
ness on this one.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Frank said. In fact, I think I’ll go tell him right now, he thought as the guard walked away.

  “So you’re still here, Terry,” Frank muttered to himself. “I don’t know what your part is in all this, but I’m going to find out. There must be some reason why you haven’t left.”

  While Frank was driving into Crosscook to find Terry, Joe was around the mountain on the other side of the shooting location. He, Gene, and Lloyd were working with Omar, rehearsing Omar’s big scene. A delay had changed the shooting schedule, and it was still a couple of hours before their scene.

  The set was of the plane crash. The wreckage looked as if the plane had nosed right into the side of the mountain. At the far edge of a clearing, an abandoned cabin sat just inside the forest.

  “Okay,” Gene said as Lloyd eased Omar out of the trailer. “I know we’ve gone over today’s scene a dozen times, but one more time won’t hurt. Joe, you stand in for Berk; I want to be sure we’ve got this cold.”

  Joe nodded and mentally went over the scene in his head, picturing every move he’d make.

  Omar twitched his ears and sniffed the air. “Easy … good boy,” Lloyd murmured, patting the lion’s tawny head. “You hear something, do you? It’s okay.” Joe knew from his training that Omar sometimes needed the reassurance of his trainer’s voice to calm him.

  As Lloyd spoke, Omar lifted his head, and Joe could see him relax. The animal leaned against Joe’s leg and then sank to the ground to lie down. His back legs sprawled to one side, but his front legs stretched out in front, and his head was straight and alert. He reminded Joe of the Sphinx.

  “Today’s scene starts with a ‘long shot showing the tail of the plane jammed into the mountain,’” Gene recited, reading from the script. “ ‘Jumper emerges from the forest and moves to the wreckage of the plane.’”

  Gene checked his script before continuing. “ ‘It’s been a long hard search,’” he read. “ ‘Jumper’s dirty, caked with blood, and woozy from hunger and thirst. He combs the area around the site of the crash, frantically searching for the missing bag. He finally limps toward the cabin.’”