Clueless Chase Read online

  “If you killed Monroe Baker,” Mary said suddenly. “You were planning on killing Monroe Baker.”

  “It was the only way,” Gregory hissed. “Monroe believed I was going to meet him in Chattanooga and help him escape to Europe. I…the night before he was to leave town I was going to drive to the mansion and kill him. Only Monroe was being babysat by Detective Burbank.” Gregory kicked the ground again and crumpled up the Lucky Strike he was holding. “I waited too late!” he roared. “But still, I thought, if my daughter killed Monroe Baker, there might be a chance.”

  “Because you have the photo?”

  “Yes,” Gregory hissed. “So I helped my daughter travel to Tennessee and waited.”

  Mary soaked in the conversation and filed every word into her memory. “You don’t want any part of murder, do you, Mr. Walsh?” she asked, pretending to be on Gregory’s side.

  Gregory glared at Mary with angry and scared eyes. “I have the photo of my daughter with Monroe Baker, that’s true. I can even go to the police…I can have her arrested,” he confessed to Mary. “But if I do…if I step out of line, she’ll ruin me.”

  “How?”

  “Papers,” Gregory told Mary. “Papers I didn’t know she was in possession of until a few days ago. I won’t go into detail, but these papers can destroy me.” Gregory checked his watch. “Mrs. Holland, my daughter fell and hurt her ankle coming down the front stairs. She’s currently at her house on the back lot. You have to…kill her,” Gregory told Mary. Then, to Mary’s shock, Gregory pulled a gun out of his front pocket just enough for Mary to see. “If you don’t, I’ll kill your friend.” He hurried over to Betty and grabbed her arm. “I’m through playing games. I played out the part assigned to you earlier today. You chose to disobey. Now you will clean up this entire mess. Kill my daughter and I’ll reward you and send you home unharmed. Disobey me again and your friend dies.”

  Mary stared at Gregory—stared into his vicious, cruel eyes. The man meant business. So this is the big time? she thought as Gregory threw her purse into her arms.

  “Get moving,” Gregory warned Mary. He held out his hand. “This is a VIP pass that lets you explore the entire studio grounds,” he explained. “After you’ve accomplished your job, come back to the mansion. You’ll find your friend there. And let me warn you: If I see one single cop, your friend gets it!”

  “No…cops…” Mary promised and rushed off with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Betty…what a mess.”

  Chapter 8

  Mary arrived at a large studio that sat on more acres than she could count. The size of the studio could swallow her hometown whole and still have room for more. Large buildings of different shapes and sizes—some buildings resembled airport hangars while others resembled apartment buildings—stood spaced apart with little roads traveling between them. Houses, offices, dressing rooms, and other smaller buildings stood lodged in between the larger buildings like little pieces of candy dropped by a giant.

  “My goodness,” Mary whispered, stepping out of a cab and walking up to a wooden gray and blue guard booth sitting in front of an intimidating black iron fence that hugged the entire studio.

  “Can I help you?” a man wearing a black and gray security uniform asked Mary in a voice that was far from pleasant.

  Mary quickly looked through the fence and saw a city of motion taking place. Men and women rushing here and there, carrying this or that. Some were dressed in costumes while others wore work clothes. She saw a man walking a camel, which was very strange to her, and then she saw a clown juggling three orange balls.

  “Lady?” the security guard barked. “Can I help you?”

  “Huh? Oh, I—”

  “Listen, lady,” the security guard said, dimming his tone, “I get tourists stopping by here all the time hoping to see a famous face. Let me give some advice: Go to the beach, take a nice walk, have a nice dinner, and go home.”

  Mary reached into her purse and nervously yanked out the VIP pass Gregory had given her. “Gregory Walsh is…” Mary quickly cleared her voice and spoke in a VIP tone. “I’m Gregory Walsh’s guest. I’m here to tour his studio while he’s conducting business.”

  The security guard took the pass from Mary and examined it. Then, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water down his back, he jumped up off the wooden stool, straightened the gray hat he was wearing, tucked in his shirt, and said in a nervous voice: “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am. I…didn’t realize you were Mr. Walsh’s guest, ma’am.”

  Mary tried on a smile and a small joke. “I’ll forgive you this time.”

  The security guard quickly opened the gate. “You must be a very special person. Mr. Walsh only gives out those passes to people he…uh…what I mean to say is—”

  “I understand what you’re trying to say,” Mary told the security guard.

  “Ma’am, you should have told me. When you arrived you looked like a dumbfounded tourist. I’m very sorry.”

  “You’re excused from your behavior,” Mary said and walked through the gate into a strange and scary land that captured her imagination—and fear. “Do you have a map?” she asked.

  “A map?” the security guard asked in a confused voice.

  “Yes, a map. I don’t want to get lost.”

  “Oh…uh, well, you can’t really get lost,” the security guard quickly explained. “The studio is set up on a square grid—like city blocks. You can only get lost if you reach the back lots where the old studio used to be. It’s really tangled up back there. You’ll see signs warning you to stay off the back lots.”

  “I see,” Mary said, feeling very frightened even though she appeared brave. “Well, thank you,” she said and eased into the studio. Directly in front of her eyes was a world of people dashing from one location to the next, dressed in different ways, completely oblivious that Mary was even present. She saw a woman dressed in old Civil War clothing walking into a structure that resembled an apartment building. A man dressed like a gangster carrying a fake gun walked out of a side door, glanced around, waved at a woman wearing a western dress, and ran over to her. The man dodged around a beautiful elephant as if the elephant was a normal, everyday sight.

  “Goodness,” Mary whispered, feeling overwhelmed and completely disoriented. There she stood in the midst of a giant studio, a small-town newspaper woman, preparing to go and fight a deadly tiger whose claws were very, very sharp. “If you could see me now, John,” Mary whispered to her husband.

  “You lost, honey?” a voice asked.

  “Huh?” Mary looked to her right and saw a woman in her mid-sixties staring at her. The woman appeared tough and was holding a toolbox and wearing work clothes covered with paint, dirt, and grease.

  “Are you lost?” the woman asked again. “You’re standing there like you don’t know whether to run or pass out.”

  “Oh…” Mary quickly showed the woman her VIP pass.

  “My,” the woman said, using her left hand to straighten the brown work cap she was wearing, “a VIP.”

  Mary felt her cheeks turn red. Deep down she knew she needed to act like a VIP but the woman standing before her seemed so nice—unlike the security guard. “Oh, I’m not that important,” she confessed.

  “Honey, Mr. Walsh doesn’t give out those passes to just anyone,” the woman said, studying Mary with curious eyes. “If you’re looking for your sister,” she whispered, “she’s on the far back lot in that house. It’s easy to get lost back there. The woods have grown up pretty good and the roads are barely noticeable. It’s downright creepy and—” The woman quickly caught herself. “Oh,” she said, fearing she had spoken out of turn and was about to get booted out of the studio. “I’ve let my mouth—”

  “You’re fine,” Mary promised. “I’m…Mary Holland.”

  “Well…Mary Holland…I’m Valerie Call,” Valerie replied in a careful voice. When she saw Mary had no intention of booting her from the studio, she relaxed. “I work making props around here. Before you
ask, yes, I’m a woman, and no, I’m not married. I’m a widow. My husband, Harry, died ten years ago from a work accident. Before he died he taught me how to use my hands and my brain.” Valerie nodded down at her toolbox. “A girl has to pay her bills.”

  Mary liked Valerie. The woman didn’t seem enchanted by the lure of stardom. Instead, Mary noticed, the studio was just a place of work and nothing else; not all people were soulless puppets chained to the dark shadows of fame and fortune. “A girl has to pay her bills.” Mary smiled.

  Valerie tipped her head and stared at Mary with curious eyes. “You’re not like the other one.”

  “The other one?” Mary asked.

  “The other woman Mr. Walsh gave a VIP pass to,” Valerie whispered. “The VIP you have is for family only. Now, I know Mr. Walsh isn’t married, and I also happen to know he’s been hiding his daughter out on the back lot. I just figured, because of your age, you might be—”

  “The woman’s sister,” Mary finished for Valerie.

  Valerie nodded. “Yes,” she said and pointed at the guard shack. “Mr. Walsh has given strict orders that no one, and he means no one, is to go to the back lot. No one does anyway, but the order has been given just in case.” Valerie lowered her voice. “I know this studio…the old lots and the new…like the back of my hand. I know what’s going on around here.”

  Mary drew in a deep breath. “Valerie, can you please show me where the woman is staying?” she asked.

  “Is that ugly creature your sister?”

  “No,” Mary confessed.

  Valerie saw trouble in Mary’s eyes. She gently tapped Mary’s arm with her left hand and walked over to a closed door, opened it, and stepped into a wide room holding hundreds upon hundreds of movie props. The room, surprisingly, was empty of people and very silent. The smell of time and dust roamed the air, settling on past and future ideas. Valerie quickly walked down a row of dresses and ducked behind a shelf holding fake swords, guns, and other lethal tools.

  “Spill the beans,” Valerie whispered.

  Mary felt her stomach tighten. “I wish I could,” she told Valerie, “but I can’t. My friend’s life is in danger and—” Mary caught her tongue. “Oh, my.”

  Valerie nodded knowingly. “I could tell Mr. Walsh has been nervous and uptight the last couple of days,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure what rodent crawled up that man’s pant legs and bit him.” Valerie threw her eyes around the large room. Endless rows of props ran from one end of the room to the other, offering wonderful hiding spots. “That ugly woman living way back on the back lot,” she whispered, “she’s evil. She walks around this studio bossing people around, firing people, and even threatening anyone who dares to speak back to her. People around here have learned to avoid her like she’s the plague, including me. When she up and left for a few days, my, did a peace ever fall like rain. But now she’s back…and— ” Valerie drew in a deep breath, “…we want her gone…including Mr. Walsh. That woman is evil. I know…oh my yes…I know she killed Bridget Carson.”

  Mary reached out and touched Valerie’s hand. “What do you know about Monroe Baker?” she asked.

  “I know that vicious woman set her eyes on him,” Valerie told Mary. “What that woman wants she gets, too. When Monroe Baker gave her the cold shoulder…let’s this old woman just tell you that he signed his own death.” Valerie looked around again. “Mary, that woman is pure evil…her mind…something dark lurks in her mind.”

  “I know,” Mary whispered back. She looked at all the fake swords and guns resting on the shelf. “Mr. Walsh…sent me here to kill his daughter,” she confessed in a miserable voice. “He’s holding my best friend hostage until I do. He didn’t tell me how I should kill her. As a matter of fact, he really didn’t seem very clear-minded even though I’m sure in his mind his plan was cleverly designed.” Mary bit down on her lower lip. Confusion settled into her heart like a vicious disease. “My friend, Detective Burbank—”

  “Mitchell Burbank?” Valerie asked in a quick voice.

  “Yes. Do you know him?” Mary asked Valerie.

  Valerie nodded. “Mitchell is a good man,” she replied. “He was good friends with my husband. When my husband died, I thought he was killed. Mitchell was assigned to the case and, to my relief, he proved my husband died from an accidental fall…not murder. He comes to the diner my brother owns and we talk. Real nice guy.”

  Mary nodded her head. “Mitchell traveled all the way to Tennessee to catch Mr. Walsh’s daughter. Unfortunately, she killed Monroe Baker before he could catch her…then she escaped back here to Los Angeles. It’s a real mess,” Mary said. “My talent show was destroyed…a tornado literally ripped my town apart…a killer escaped…”

  “My, it seems like you’ve really been through the wringer,” Valerie said.

  Mary removed her hat and sunglasses. “My husband is away fighting in the war. He left me in charge of his newspaper. I live in a small Tennessee town. The most action we see is on a movie screen. Lately, the action you see on a movie screen has been crawling off the screen and invading my town and my life.” Mary looked around. “Valerie, Mr. Walsh has Betty—Betty is my dearest friend—and he’s threatened to kill her unless I do his dirty work. Mitchell is down at the police station doing research. He was supposed to meet us at the hotel we’re staying at, the Flamingo Inn. He doesn’t know I’m here or that Betty has been taken hostage. If I call him, he might cause more harm than good.” Mary focused on Valerie. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why did you come here to the studios then?” Valerie asked. “Did you really intend to kill that awful woman? Wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  “No, no,” Mary said. “I came here because I didn’t know if Mr. Walsh was having me watched or not. I figured, for Betty’s sake, I better hide in this studio until I figure out what to do.” Mary set down her hat and sunglasses. “Valerie, can you show me where the house is at?”

  “I sure can,” Valerie told Mary. “I’ll also help you think up a plan. Ol’ Valerie isn’t an invalid, you know. I still have some fight left in my old bones.”

  “I don’t want to put your life in any danger.”

  “Honey,” Valerie said in a tough voice, “I grew up on a farm in Nebraska. I’ve weathered more hard winters than you can count, and I’ve wrestled my share of brothers over a biscuit. I’m not a rose and I don’t mind a little danger. As a matter of fact,” Valerie added, “I’ve been wanting to dig my claws into that evil woman.”

  Mary couldn’t control herself. She reached out and hugged Valerie. “Oh, thank you…thank you,” she nearly cried.

  Valerie hugged Mary back. “You’re a sweet girl,” she said, “but you’re too soft. I guess that’s okay. Nothing wrong with a little hug from time to time.”

  Mary held onto Valerie and after a minute finally let go. “Can you please tell me her name?” Mary asked.

  “Ellie Wording,” Valerie stated in a simple voice. “She goes by Judith Walsh, but I heard Mr. Walsh say her real name when I was painting a door outside of his office.”

  “Ellie Wording…P.L. Wording…that’s P.L.’s wife’s name,” Mary said. “Gregory named his daughter after his adoptive mother.”

  “If you say so, honey,” Valerie said. She raised her eyes and studied the fake swords and guns. “Say, I just had an idea.” A grin flashed over Valerie’s face.

  Mary followed Valerie’s eyes to the swords and guns. “Oh,” she said and felt a smile touch her lips. “Valerie, do you really think—”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Valerie said. She set her toolbox down on the floor, slid it under a table, and then grabbed a fake handgun. “That evil woman is hauled up with a badly sprained ankle,” she explained as she examined the gun. “I think maybe if we use the element of surprise we just might catch us a poisonous snake before she can strike.”

  Mary reached out and took a second fake gun. The gun felt real and looked real, but was blessedly fake.


  “Okay. Valerie, what’s the plan?” Mary asked and waited for her new friend to speak.

  The back lots stood on numerous overgrown acres of land that reminded Mary of a creepy horror movie. Old buildings that looked scary—but in reality were nothing more than wood and brick—stood on the back lots like frozen screams waiting to yell out in agony.

  Stop it, Mary begged her imagination as she followed Valerie past a tall wooden water tower holding an empty wooden bucket the size of a bus; the water tower seemed to act as a watchful eye against intruders. Even the sky seemed gray and hideous even though the day was bright and blue. Mary felt cold and frightened. It was as if as soon as she stepped across the warning line and crossed over onto the back lot, she had entered a strange and dangerous world filled with horrible nightmares and sharp pieces of broken dreams swallowed up by hungry memories.

  “We’re getting close,” Valerie whispered. She stopped at the corner of an old building that once was home to many silent films. “Look there.”

  Mary crept her head around the corner and spotted what appeared to be an old western-style two-story home resting in a small abandoned town.

  “That’s a western movie town,” Mary whispered as her eyes soaked in wooden buildings marked “General Store,” “Hotel,” “Feed and Grain,” “Blacksmith,” “Livery Stable,” and even “Dress Shop.” A wide but overgrown dirt path ran through the town, dividing it in half. The house Ellie Wording was hiding in stood to the right at the edge of town, nestled under a large tree.

  “It sure is,” Valerie replied. “This set was never torn down…just left to fall down on its own.” Valerie sighed. “My husband helped build this set, back in his younger years.”