Grace in Hollywood: A Grace Michelle Mystery Read online

  Grace in Hollywood

  A Grace Michelle Mystery

  Kari Bovée

  Copyright © 2021 by Kari Bovée

  Published by Bosque Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947905-13-9 (e-bk)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947905-14-6 (p-bk)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  KariBovee.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  HOLLYWOOD, 1924

  “Quiet on the set please!” the director shouted through his megaphone.

  After a beat, a knight came onto the stage from behind a heavy velvet curtain. He held a knife above his head as he approached the king, who was seated at an elaborate table laden with food, from behind. He plunged the knife between the king’s shoulder blades and then retreated behind the curtain once again.

  The king stood up from the table with a roar, dropped the silver goblet he’d been holding, and arched his back in pretend pain. The queen, seated at the other end of table, rose and rushed to him, her crimson brocade skirts rustling against the floor.

  As enthralled as I was by the scene, the problem with the queen’s costume glared at me under the lights. The stitches between the bodice and the skirts had become frayed and were unwinding, causing a gap. It would have to be fixed as soon as possible. I just hoped no one else had noticed it. This particular scene had been shot numerous times, due to the almost perpetual intoxication of Robert Smith, the actor who played the king. I would hate for my costume to be the cause of yet another take.

  As the queen reached him, he faltered, then collapsed in a heap at her feet, unconscious. The queen knelt down next to him, trying to rouse him and shouting his name. The king gave a resounding burp that vibrated across the stage.

  “Cut!” the director yelled. “Damn it, Robert!”

  The queen, played by Helen Clark, stood up and kicked Robert’s thigh, a look of exasperation on her face. He rolled over onto his side and slowly sat up.

  The director, Edward Travis, sighed loudly, his jaw visibly clenched. “Take fifteen, everyone. And I expect each of you to be back on time.” He glared at his lead actor. “That goes double for you, Robert. Go drink some coffee or something.”

  I bit my lower lip as the actor made no attempt to disguise his sneer at the director as he struggled to his feet. Tension had been running high between the two ever since rehearsal shooting had started. We were all eager to start shooting in earnest, but things weren’t really working out well enough for that to happen.

  Mr. Smith had given his word that when the actual filming of The Queen of Whitehall started, he would be sober as a church mouse, but we all knew differently. And we also knew Mr. Travis was running short on patience with the man. Smith’s last two films had been flops, and his career was teetering on the brink of disaster. The studio heads were counting on him to keep his life in order—as he was brilliant—but his drinking had gotten out of control.

  I looked over at Lizzy, who was sitting in the chair next to me. She had her hand over her mouth, stifling a snort at the scene. Lizzy was one of the new kids who’d come to live with me and my husband at Rancho los Niños. Shortly after moving to California, Chet and I had purchased the ranch as a safe haven for troubled kids. Chet had been abandoned by his mother as a baby, and I lost my parents at a young age, so we both knew what it was like to feel alone in the world. We obtained the necessary licenses from the state of California two years ago and currently had four children living with us.

  Sixteen-year-old Lizzy had arrived three months ago, angry and detached. Some of that anger had fallen away since she’d started working with the horses, but it had left a trail of sullenness and apathy in its wake. The girl seemed to enjoy drawing, though, and she was talented at it, so I wanted to foster that talent and offered to bring her to the studio to show her what moviemaking and costume design were all about.

  “That was just the bee’s knees!” The girl’s face was as bright as a sunflower. In fact, it was the most animated I’d ever seen her. “Thank you so much for bringing me today. I can’t believe I just saw Helen Clark at work. She’s amazing!”

  Delighted at her enthusiasm, I smiled at her. “I was happy to bring you along.”

  She looked at me with big eyes. “So did you make those costumes?”

  “I’ve done some work on them, but we have seamstresses that actually make them. As lead designer, I work with a couple of assistant designers to create the costumes based upon the characters’ personalities and the story line. It’s my job to make sure they are perfect for the film in every way—and that the actors and actresses feel comfortable in them.”

  “Have you ever been able to use designs from your Sophia line in a film? Aren’t you working on that, too?”

  “Not right now.” I sighed. “It’s strictly an eveningwear collection. The daywear collection will have to wait until after this film.”

  “Didn’t you name the eveningwear after your sister? The actress?”

  I nodded, a pang shooting through to my heart. “Yes.” I had created the line in homage to my elder sister, who had been murdered four years ago. She’d been the only family I’d had left, and now she was gone.

  Lizzy leaned toward me, her eyes riveted on my face. “Did you ever want to be an actress?”

  I smiled at her intense interest. “I was an actress in New York City—on Broadway—for a short period of time.”

  “You were?” Her eyes widened again. “Why didn’t you stay one?”

  I folded my hands in my lap and looked down at them. “After Sophia died, Flo—that’s Florenz Ziegfeld, Jr., Sophia’s and my boss—decided I needed to become an actress. He had taken us in off the streets of New York City when we were girls. He gave us a home and a family, and trained us to sing, dance, and act. He’d made Sophia a star, but I preferred the backstage life.”

  “Did you always want to do costume design instead?”

  “Oh yes. And I had been thrilled when I got to shadow the great European designer, Lucile Duff Gordon, who’d worked with Flo for a time. I was actually the assistant to her assistant, but still, it was an amazing experience.” I gave a small smile. “After Sophia died, though, Flo needed someone to fill her tap shoes, and as he put it, ‘Who better than her sister?’ After all he’d done for us, I couldn’t refuse, even if becoming a star was the last thing on earth I wanted.”

  Lizzy was silent for a mo
ment, taking it all in. “Wow. I bet you were a good actress.”

  I let out a chuckle. “I was passable. Not like Sophia. She lit up the stage, and she sang like an angel.” My voice drifted off as I was caught in the memory.

  Sophia’s passing had left a hole in my life and in my heart, and I feared I wasn’t getting past the loss. She’d been murdered by Joe Marciano, a New York City mob boss she’d had a brief relationship with but had ultimately rejected. It’d been years, but my dreams were still plagued with disturbing thoughts of her, especially of late, and they had robbed me of sleep.

  Yes, Flo had taken us in and provided for us, but he and Sophia also had an affair when she was nineteen, and they had kept it from me. I hadn’t found out about it until just before Sophia had left the Follies. I was still having difficulty reconciling it all, as well as dealing with the loss of my family, even though I’d lost my parents some years ago. I wondered if I hadn’t properly processed it all. If I was honest, most of the time I didn’t want to think about it so I stuffed my feelings deep down inside.

  It’s exactly what Lizzy seemed to do. She still had her sister, but the two were at odds. I hadn’t been able to get Lizzy to talk about it, and her sister had only come to visit Lizzy once since she’d arrived at our ranch—and Lizzy had refused to speak to her. It pained my heart to see. Before she was killed, Sophia and I hadn’t been speaking, either, and now I’d give anything for one more day to try to make things right.

  I was jerked out of my thoughts at the sound of the director’s voice beside me. “Hello, Grace.” Mr. Travis’s penetrating smoky-gray eyes added to his intense demeanor when he spoke. Classically handsome with waves of dark-blond hair and an athlete’s physique, he had the ability to make women weak in the knees with nary a glance, not to mention that sophisticated British accent.

  “Mr. Travis,” I greeted him.

  “Who’s this?” He appraised Lizzy. A little too closely in my opinion, but I imagine it couldn’t be helped. The contrast between her dark auburn hair and her heavy-lidded, navy eyes added to her natural and striking magnetism.

  “This is my friend Lizzy. She’s staying with me and Chet at the ranch.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Lizzy.” He gave her a dazzling smile.

  A faint blush pinkened the girl’s cheeks. “Same,” she said.

  “Ah yes.” He returned his attention to me. “The ranch. I hear you are doing good things out there—for the kids. It’s admirable. Is your husband still doing PI work?”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. He’s too busy managing the ranch and the horses. He and a neighbor are rehabilitating racehorses—getting some of them back on the track and saving others from the slaughterhouses.”

  Chet had been an excellent private investigator but was still scarred from the tragedies of the war he’d witnessed as a former military policeman. He wanted to do something else, something that didn’t require sneaking around and uncovering the sometimes horrible truths about the immorality and inhumanity of people. He found solace in saving these majestic animals, and I was starting to see his personality bloom. It was also good for the kids to help care for the horses.

  “Also admirable.” Mr. Travis said. “I heard Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks shot some scenes for Mary’s last picture there with some of the horses. Do you lease the place often?”

  “Not often,” I said. Really, I had done it as a favor to Mary. She had, after all, been my sister-in-law for a short time, as her brother Jack had been married to Sophia. “But we aren’t opposed to the idea.”

  He nodded, as if giving the idea further thought. “I’ll have to come out there sometime. I’d love to see it.” He was speaking to me but once more was looking at Lizzy, who suddenly became flustered, probably from the concentrated scrutiny. “Your arm,” he said, his gaze shifting to the inside of Lizzy’s left forearm. “That’s quite an unusual mark.”

  “Oh!” Her face flushed, and she tucked her arm behind her back. “That. Yeah. It’s a birthmark.” She was obviously embarrassed by it, but it truly was remarkable. About an inch in diameter, it was in the perfect shape of a heart, and deep red to boot.

  “Yes, please do come visit. Anytime.” I redirected the conversation away from Lizzy’s birthmark and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “Right,” he said, almost under his breath, his attention still on her arm. His gaze finally shifted and met mine. “You’re doing good work, Grace. The costumes look great.”

  “The picture is great.” I deflected the compliment. It was truly a privilege to work with such a competent director. He had an uncanny knack for deepening character development through his own ideas on costuming, and I soaked up everything he did like a thirsty sponge. I’d been flattered and quite humbled that he and Alice Steinberg, one of the studio heads, had suggested to the other studio heads, Barney Steinberg, who was Alice’s husband, and H.L. Combs, that I be brought on as the lead designer for this film. I had worked with Mr. Travis on his last film, but I’d been under the guidance of Michael Leishman, a genius who was supposed to be working on this film but had to take a leave of absence for health reasons. I was thrilled beyond belief, if not a little awestruck still, that they had wanted me. It was a dream come true.

  “Mr. Travis?” A wide-eyed young woman wearing a lavender cloche hat and carrying a clipboard approached, drawing his attention away from us. “Miss Clark wants to speak with you in her dressing room.”

  “Of course,” he said raising his eyebrows at us. “The queen beckons.” His voice was tight. “Nice seeing you, Grace. And nice to meet you . . . ?” He regarded Lizzy again with a mystified air and held out his hand.

  “Lizzy.” She straightened her spine and took his proffered hand in a firm handshake.

  I was pleased to see her step out of her initial intimidation. It hadn’t been like her to wither. Strong-minded and fiercely independent, Lizzy could be a force to be reckoned with at times. She’d been our most challenging charge to date. I supposed she’d been thrown off-balance by the famous director—maybe even a little awed. And he had surveyed her with a good deal of keenness.

  He turned to walk away from us but hesitated. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m having a big bash at the mansion this weekend. I’d love it if you and Chet could come. Bring Lizzy here if you want.” He smiled broadly at her.

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’ll check with Chet, and if we can make it, we absolutely will.”

  He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, and walked away from us.

  “Wow,” Lizzy said, her enthusiasm returning. “Did he just invite us to a party? Can we go?” She rattled off her questions with wide eyes.

  I pressed my lips together, not at all sure I liked what had just transpired. I wished Mr. Travis hadn’t mentioned the party in front of Lizzy, much less invited her.

  When Lizzy’s sister, Margaret Moore, had dropped her off at the ranch a few months ago, she’d told me that Lizzy had gotten in trouble with a twenty-two-year-old young man, which had ended with the two of them being arrested—him for theft, and her for aiding and abetting. The judge, having heard of our ranch, let Lizzy off easy with an assignment to Rancho los Niños instead of sending her to jail. It was my job to keep her out of trouble and hopefully guide her to a better way of life. I’m not sure taking her to a Hollywood party was the best course of action.

  And I wasn’t sure about the way the director had regarded Lizzy. Mr. Travis, though an amazing director and champion of mine, was a notorious womanizer. He might have been married to the actress Florence Thomas, but it was rumored he often had dalliances with the leading ladies of his films—currently Helen Clark. She’d been cast opposite Robert Smith in his last two films, as well, and the press blamed the pair for the failures at the box office; him for his drinking, and her for her less than stellar performance. She had been suffering from an addiction to laudanum at the time, and had been late on set often, if she’d shown up at all. When she had, she’d
been either euphoric or lethargic. But she’d convinced Mr. Travis that she was off the stuff and persuaded him to ask the studio heads at Ambassador to give her another shot. I wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do. Not because she wasn’t talented, she was exceptional, but Mr. Travis had cast her over his wife and had given his wife a lesser, supporting role. It made for a frigid situation on set.

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I have to think about it.”

  “Oh, please?” she whined.

  “We’ll discuss it later, Lizzy.”

  Luckily, Martha Mays, the lead seamstress working under me, approached us. She was a terribly efficient-looking woman, tall and straight as a stick, with round spectacles. Even though she worked as a seamstress at one of the most glamorous film studios, her own clothes were lackluster in color, and dare I say drab?

  “Hello, Grace. And hello . . . ?” She pulled her glasses down to consider Lizzy.

  “This is Lizzy. I brought her along today to see how we make a picture.”

  “Very well. Pleased to meet you, my dear.” Martha looked back to me. “Grace, we have a problem in wardrobe. It’s Hilda and Stella again. Can you come sort it out?” She glanced again at Lizzy. “Alone.”

  “Oh dear. Of course.” I wondered what it was now. The two squabbled constantly.

  “It’s okay, Grace. I’ll be fine,” Lizzy said with a confident nod. “I’ll just stay right here and watch when everyone gets back from the break.”

  “All right.” I stood from my chair. “I’m sorry about this. I hope I’m not too long.”