Aurora 07 - Last Scene Alive by Charlaine Harris Page A

hear it from where I stood, maybe eighteen feet away. He looked puzzled, knocked again. He cracked the door, called “Celia?” loudly enough for me to hear. He opened the door and stepped in, his face troubled.
    I was just congratulating myself on Barrett’s not noticing me when he stumbled right back out of Celia’s trailer, his hand over his mouth. When I saw Barrett, I lost track of the conversations going on around me. I know trouble when I see it.
    I glanced around the set, hoping someone else would come to Barrett’s aid; he was so obviously sick, and something terrible had so obviously happened. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wouldn’t be getting to work on time today. As I watched, Barrett groped his way to the end of the trailer and bent over, one hand supporting himself against the side, retching.
    For a second of blazing anger, I wondered if all these people weren’t acting as though they hadn’t seen Barrett. For all their attention to each other and their jobs, not one person appeared to have registered that there was a problem.
    I went down the steps, bypassed Meredith, and approached my stepson warily. “What’s happened?” I asked him.
    He didn’t seem surprised to see me, or angry, so I knew with even more surety that something was very wrong.
    “She’s dead in there,” he gasped, and he began heaving again.
    “Celia ... is dead?” I could hear my own voice sharpen and rise with incredulity. I started to say, “Are you sure?” but then I realized that was pretty damn insulting.
    “Go get Joel,” he moaned.
    I wondered if my stepson thought the director could actually bring his leading lady back to life.
    “I’ll get him,” Carolina said from behind me. “I know where he is.”
    “What did he say?” I heard Meredith ask her. “What did Barrett say?”
    I moved over to the open door of the trailer and peeked in. I didn’t even put my foot on the concrete block that served as a step.
    Celia was half-lying on the couch, up against one wall. The stack of books—including some library books—and the manuscript were tossed around her feet, which were flat on the floor. A dark red throw cushion, stained and nasty, lay on the couch beside her. Her tongue protruded a little from her mouth. It looked bruised, as well. There was a big dent in her forehead.
    The Emmy was on the couch beside her. Its base was not clean.
    Celia was definitely deceased. Feeling quite wobbly myself, I shut the door and leaned my back against it. I didn’t want anyone else to see what I’d seen.
    “What is it, Roe?” Angel had loped over and was looking at me quizzically. “Don’t tell me she’s dead. That’s what Barrett keeps saying.” Angel really, really didn’t want anything to be wrong, but there was no help for it. I had to tell her.
    Carolina returned. “He’s on the way,” she reported.
    “You might want to call a doctor. Did the crew bring one?” I asked. She shook her head and her heavy earrings, too many to count, swayed as her head moved. Carolina’s skull gleamed dully in the early-morning sun as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. It was the thinnest cell phone I’d ever seen. She dialed 911 as I watched. While she was speaking to the dispatcher who answered, Joel Park Brooks suddenly appeared in front of me as if he’d been expelled from another dimension. Mark Chesney was dogging his heels.
    “What’s this you say?” he asked, mad as hell at me.
    In a cowardly way, I nodded my head toward Barrett.
    “Oh my God, Joel,” Barrett said weakly. He’d dropped to his knees and was pressing his face with both hands as if to force the grief out of it. “Celia is dead. She died some awful way.”
    As if I were a fly, Joel Park Brooks took me by the shoulder and shoved me aside. Before I could stop him, he flung open the trailer door. Leaping up the step into the trailer, he bent over Celia. Meredith and Mark were peering through the door, too.