Fatal Identity Read online

  Brad looked curious. “Did you have a kissing cousin, Marcie?”

  “Oh, yes. Mercedes and I had plenty of kissing cousins but they weren’t interested in kissing us. They were all married by the time we graduated from grade school. Mercedes and I were the babies in the family. When we were born, we already had four cousins who were parents.”

  Brad smiled at her. “Big family, huh?”

  “Very big. When we held a family reunion, we always had a picnic at the lake. Nobody’s house was large enough to hold us all.”

  “So you knew almost everybody and everybody knew you. Is that right?”

  Marcie nodded. “That’s right. Especially in St. Cloud. That’s where everyone settled.”

  “Well, it’s not like that out here. Los Angeles has a lot of transients, and some of them aren’t very trustworthy. That’s why you can’t invite everyone in for a cup of coffee. You never know who might come back a week later, and steal everything you own.”

  “That’s awful!” Marcie looked genuinely shocked. “But why would you hire someone to work for you, if you didn’t trust them?”

  “That’s just it. You don’t hire them. You hire a service. And the service hires the personnel they need to do the job. We’ve had the same gardening service for two years now, but almost every time they come, it’s a different crew.”

  Marcie drew a deep breath and nodded. “I understand, Brad. I won’t let anyone in the house unless I know them. It was all right with George, wasn’t it? I mean . . . he’s a retired policeman and all.”

  “He is?” Brad looked surprised. “I didn’t know that. But it was fine, Marcie. I’m sure George is perfectly trustworthy. I just wanted to warn you to be careful in the future.”

  Marcie nodded. “Oh, I will be. You can count on it.”

  “Okay, then.” Brad gave her a little squeeze and propelled her toward the kitchen. “Let’s get George to drive us to the studio. I told Jerry to meet us there at eight.”

  “Jerry Palmer?”

  “Right. I know Sam doesn’t think you need an agent, but Jerry agreed to come unofficially, as a favor to me. I just want to make sure that no one tries to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh.” Marcie nodded. “That was nice of you, Brad. But Sam’s going to be there, too. I’m sure he can protect my interests.”

  Brad didn’t look convinced. “I know he’ll do his best, but Sam’s a layer. He’s a fish out of water as far as show business is concerned. Jerry’s an agent, and he has lots of experience dealing with studio contracts and negotiations.”

  “You mean you don’t think Sam is qualified?”

  “I don’t mean that at all. Sam’s an excellent lawyer. We may not need Jerry, but I’d like him to be there . . . just in case Sam needs to ask any questions from an expert in the field.”

  “I see.” Marcie gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Brad. This is a brand-new world for me, and I’m glad you’re here to help.”

  Brad hugged her again and reached out to open the kitchen door. “Anytime, Marcie. I want you to know I’ll always be there for you, just like I was for Mercedes.”

  Marcie was mesmerized as she sat in a comfortable chair in the screening room and watched the flickering images on the screen. She’d seen every one of her sister’s movies, and there was no doubt in Marcie’s mind that the part Mercedes had played in Summer Heat was her best performance. It was ridiculous to even consider doubling for her sister in her finest role!

  The screen went dark, and Trish leaned over to whisper as they changed to another scene. “She was good, wasn’t she, Aunt Marcie?”

  “Good?” Rick leaned in from the other side. “Mom was fantastic!”

  “Yes, she was,” Marcie agreed. “This was her very best role.”

  The screen lit up again, and they leaned back to watch. There was a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of Marcie’s stomach. Too good. Perhaps she might have been able to pull it off, if Mercedes had walked through the part, but she’d given Summer Heat her all. Mr. Buchannan was wasting his time and his money testing Marcie for the part. There was no way she could do it, no way at all. She might as well back out now and save herself the embarrassment of trying.

  Marcie’s mind was in turmoil as they watched one of her sister’s best scenes, the one that immediately preceded the lines that Mr. Buchannan had asked her to study. Mercedes was playing a wife who was beginning to have doubts about her husband. It was there as a flicker in the depths of her dark green eyes, there in the slight trembling of her fingers as he handed her a drink, there in her reluctance to put the glass to her lips. She didn’t yet know what was wrong, but the audience could sense the general mistrust that invaded her whole being.

  “What’s the matter, darling? Did I make it too strong?” Ashley Thorpe had just the right blend of sincerity with a hint of menace. Everyone who watched the film would immediately know that he was too nice, too loving, too concerned to be real.

  Mercedes’s character felt it, too. And Mercedes let the audience know through her body language. She sat just a bit too stiffly on the living room couch, and she hesitated just a little too long before she responded. It was clear to anyone who saw it that she was being very cautious and extremely alert.

  “I’m not really in the mood for scotch tonight.” Her voice quivered slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I think I’d rather have . . . a glass of wine.”

  The screen went dark and Marcie sighed. The clip she’d just watched had run less than thirty seconds. And even though there were only four lines of dialogue, it had told the audience volumes about the story. How could she hope to finish this scene as well as Mercedes had started it? It was as ridiculous as trying to teach a pig to fly!

  The lights came up and Marcie blinked. Mr. Buchannan was looking at her expectantly. “Are you ready for makeup, Marcie?”

  Marcie was about to tell him to forget the whole thing, that he’d only be wasting his time. Then she caught sight of the twins’ anxious faces, and she nodded.

  “Your sister’s P.A. is waiting to show you the way. I think you met her yesterday. Jolene Edwards?”

  “Oh, yes.” Marcie picked up her bag and followed him to the door. Trish had told her that Jolene was her mother’s personal assistant. That must be what P.A. meant.

  Jolene was waiting right outside the door. She was a petite redhead in her mid-twenties, with gray-blue eyes, a smattering of freckles, and an impish smile.

  “Hi, Miss Calder.” Jolene reached out to shake Marcie’s hand. “Beau LeTeure is here to do your makeup.”

  Marcie nodded. She remembered the thin man with dark hair that Rick had introduced as his mother’s makeup artist.

  “And Rhea Delaney is back to do your hair! Isn’t that wonderful?” Marcie looked puzzled, and Jolene quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. Of course, you wouldn’t know. Rhea was your sister’s favorite hairdresser, and she’s been on maternity leave. She just came home from the hospital a couple of days ago, but she called in and said she wanted to do your hair for the screen test.”

  Marcie smiled. “That’s very nice of her! Especially with a new baby at home.”

  As they walked across the studio lot to the soundstage, Marcie tried not to stare as she spotted several celebrities. Her first impulse was to rush right up and ask for an autograph, but Mercedes had told her about the people she called star gazers, who waylaid any star they saw. Although her sister had always been very polite about signing autographs and shaking hands, she’d told Marcie that it was sometimes a nuisance.

  “There’s the commissary.” Jolene pointed to a low brick building in the center of the lot. “And . . . uh-oh! There’s a tour group. When Miss Calder . . . I mean, the other Miss Calder, spotted a tour group, she usually took a detour. They can hold you up for quite a while, with autographs and questions.”

  Marcie smiled at the friendly redhead. “I don’t think that’s necessary in my case, do you?”

  “You can never tell.” Jolene grinn
ed back at her. “But if you want to, we’ll take the chance.”

  The busload of studio tourists pulled up in front of the commissary, just as Jolene and Marcie walked by. Most of the tourists passed them without paying much attention, but Marcie noticed that a heavyset lady in a hideous green and purple flowered dress was staring at her intently.

  “Uh-oh.” Jolene grabbed Marcie’s arm. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve been spotted.”

  The woman looked uncertain for a moment, and then she hurried through the crowd to hand Marcie a sheet of paper. “Excuse me. Are you somebody?”

  Marcie couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. “I’m somebody, but I’m not who you think I am.”

  “You’re not a star?” The woman looked very disappointed. “You look just like Mercedes Calder, but I bet you hear that all the time. She’s my son’s favorite actress, and I promised him I’d ask for her autograph if I saw her. Are you an actress?”

  “No, I’m not.” Marcie gave her a kind smile. “I’m visiting here, just like you.”

  The woman looked very embarrassed and Marcie began to feel sorry for her as she began to speak again. “I’m so sorry I bothered you. But you really look a lot like . . . oh, dear! Of course, you couldn’t be! Mercedes died in a swimming accident. I read it in the paper.”

  The rest of the tour group had moved into the restaurant, and the woman turned to follow them. Marcie reached out to stop her. “Please don’t tell any of the others, but I’m Marcie Calder. Mercedes’s twin sister. And I’d be happy to give you an autograph, if that would please your son.”

  “Oh! My goodness! That’s really nice of you!” The woman handed over her paper. “Thank you so much! And . . . I’m really sorry about your sister. All the magazines said she was wonderful person. Will we get to see the movie she was making?”

  Marcie looked to Jolene for help, and her sister’s P.A. took over the conversation smoothly. “We’re not sure yet. It all depends on the screen test Marcie is taking this afternoon. We’re hoping she can double for her sister and finish the film.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” The woman was clearly delighted. “My son will be thrilled. I can tell him, can’t I?”

  Jolene nodded. “Of course, you can, but please don’t mention it to anyone else.”

  “I won’t.” The woman took the paper with Marcie’s autograph and smiled at her. “Good luck, Miss Calder.”

  As they walked away, Marcie turned to Jolene anxiously. “Did I make a mistake by telling her I was Mercedes’s sister?”

  “Of course not.” Jolene shook her head. “I thought you handled the whole thing very well. When that lady gets home, I’m sure she’ll tell everyone how nice you are. It’s important to keep your fans happy.”

  Marcie nodded, but she was a little confused. “My fans? I don’t have any fans.”

  “But you will. I’m absolutely positive your screen test will be a huge success. It’ll be the start of a new career for you.”

  Marcie almost opened her mouth to say she didn’t want a new career. She was only here to finish what Mercedes had started, and nothing else. But Jolene looked so hopeful, Marcie didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. And it was very nice to have someone believe so firmly in her abilities.

  “Here we are.” Jolene motioned to a huge, warehouse-type building. The sign on the side identified it as SOUNDSTAGE 23. “That’s where they’re going to shoot your screen test. And this is your sister’s personal trailer.”

  Marcie eyed the large Winnebago that was parked by the side of the building. “Her personal trailer? What does that mean?”

  “It’s where she went to relax between scenes. There’s a kitchen, a master bedroom, a full bath, and a living room where she took meetings with Mr. Allen and Mr. Buchannan. And that’s your sister’s private makeup trailer.” Jolene pointed to a smaller trailer that was parked behind the motor home. “Beau came in early, so he could set up for you.”

  Marcie nodded, even though she was surprised. She hadn’t known that the studio provided a motor home and a makeup trailer just for her sister. It was a whole new world.

  “We’d better hurry.” Jolene glanced at her watch. “Beau’s a perfectionist, and he’ll want you to look just like your sister.”

  Jolene opened the door to the makeup trailer and ushered her inside. Beau LeTeure was waiting at the long makeup table with a lighted mirror.

  “Miss Calder.” He smiled and shook her hand. “It’s nice to see you again under happier circumstances. Please have a seat in front of the mirror.”

  Marcie sat in the swivel chair, and returned his smile. “It’s very nice of you to help me like this. Thank you, Mr. LeTeure.”

  “You can call me Beau.”

  Marcie nodded. “Then I’m Marcie. Did my sister call you Beau?”

  “Not after she went on her diet.” Beau chuckled. “Then she started calling me B.L.T.”

  Marcie laughed. “I think I’d better stick with Beau. B.L.T. means bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich to me.”

  “It did to her, too. Mercedes absolutely adored them, and they were at the top of her list of forbidden foods. She said she was hoping to defuse the urge by calling me that.”

  Marcie noticed that he was gazing at her critically, and there was a slight frown on his face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Something’s right. This is going to be a lot easier than I thought. Same bone structure. Same coloring. Same features. I think your lips are slightly fuller, but we can hide that. And you have incredibly lovely skin! You don’t wear makeup very often, do you?”

  Marcie shook her head. “Just a little lipstick for special occasions, and a skin conditioner every day in the winter, so I don’t chap. It’s very dry in Minnesota.”

  “Just lean back, Marcie. And close your eyes and relax. We’ll have you ready in no time at all.”

  Marcie did exactly as he’d asked, except for the part about relaxing. There was no way she could relax when the fate of Mercedes’s movie was at stake. As Beau wrapped her hair in a turban, she thought about the scene she had to do. Perhaps she could have taken her sister’s place in an easier scene, one that didn’t demand so much acting ability. But Mr. Buchannan had given her a very difficult passage for her screen test.

  Beau smiled as he worked with an array of jars and tubes and sponges and brushes. Doing Marcie’s makeup was much easier than he’d expected, and he was finished in less than twenty minutes. When he was entirely convinced that no one could tell she wasn’t Mercedes, he stepped back and patted her shoulder. “You can open your eyes now, Marcie.”

  Marcie was so shocked, she almost cried out as she saw her reflection in the lighted mirror. She was Mercedes!

  “Startling, isn’t it?” Beau smiled proudly.

  Marcie blinked, but the image didn’t change. Her sister was alive again, through Beau LeTeure’s magic. “You’re incredible, Beau! I can hardly believe my eyes. When I look in the mirror, I feel exactly like Mercedes!”

  “Perhaps it’ll help with your screen test. If you know you look like your sister, it should be easier for you to play your sister. Remember, we’re all pulling for you, Marcie.”

  “Why, thank you!” Marcie gave him a big smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask this, but do you have any tips for me? I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m very nervous.”

  Beau looked surprised, and Marcie wondered if she should have asked. Perhaps it was a breach of etiquette to ask her sister’s makeup man for advice. But then he smiled, and that put her fears to rest.

  “This is the first time a star has ever asked me for advice!”

  “That’s just the point.” Marcie laughed. “I’m not a star. My sister was a star, and I’m just pretending to be her. I know how much Mercedes loved this film, and I really want to finish it for her.”

  Beau nodded. He was very pleased by her answer. “Well . . . there is one thing I noticed when I was on the set. Mercedes had a way of tipping h
er head to the side when she was thoughtful. That might be a good thing to do, when you’re waiting for your third cue.”

  “Like this?”

  Beau nodded as Marcie tipped her head to the side. “That’s it. You look exactly like her when you do that. Now come with me, and I’ll take you to hairdressing.”

  Marcie followed him out one door and through another, where a pretty dark-haired woman was sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. She was so engrossed in the article, she didn’t hear them come in.

  Beau cleared his throat to get her attention, and then he turned to Marcie. “This is Rhea Delaney, your hairdresser. Rhea? I’d like you to meet Miss Calder.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she jumped up from the chair as if she’d been shot from a cannon. Her face turned white, and she leaned against the counter heavily for support. “Beau! You . . . I can’t believe . . . oh, Lord!”

  “Sit down and take a deep breath, Rhea.” Beau grinned at her. “And please don’t faint until you finish Miss Calder’s hair. I take it you approve?”

  The woman sank back down in the chair. “Oh, dear! I’m sorry. I guess I made an awful fool of myself, but . . . I still can’t believe it!”

  “You thought you were seeing a ghost?” Beau laughed.

  “That’s exactly what I thought. And I don’t even believe in ghosts! Please accept my apology, Miss Calder. They told me you looked like your sister, but it’s almost uncanny.”

  Marcie laughed. “You can thank Beau for that. I’m afraid I didn’t look that much like her at first.”

  “All right, Rhea, it’s your turn.” Beau turned to go. “Are you going to do natural, or wig?”

  Rhea Delaney stood up and took a deep breath. Marcie was relieved to see that the color was coming back to her face. She gestured to the chair in front of the mirror, and Marcie sat down.

  “I’m going with the wig. Reuben sent me over some stills from the scene, and I’ve restyled the one Miss Calder—I mean, the other Miss Calder—wore. Don’t worry, Beau. I won’t spoil your illusion. I’ll even bring her over for your approval when I’m through.”