16 Millimeters Read online

  16 Millimeters

  Maizie Albright Star Detective #2

  Larissa Reinhart

  Contents

  16 MILLIMETERS

  Also by Larissa Reinhart

  1. #LunchFail #AStarIsNotBorn

  2. #SeersuckerSaga #FraudSchmaud

  3. #ShackletonShakeup #MalteseMaizie

  4. #PeepingTomasina #BrushwithNash

  5. #BodyTrouble #DoubleTake

  6. #UndeadAndEd #Entouraging

  7. #BreakfastofChampions #GrilltheGirl

  8. #LittleGirlLost #NotFlorida

  9. #DeadDouble #VillianousVista

  10. #TitanicFail #AssistantToTheAssistant

  11. #HipsterHangouts #SketchedOut

  12. #DontMessWithTheB #PowerFail

  13. #NoGoat #StripperKicks

  14. #WhereForeArtThouOrlando #ClimbOfShame

  15. #DopplegangerDilemna #ShesASuspect

  16. #SheisNOTaASuspect #OopsSheDidItAgain

  17. #VideoKilledThePornStar #Hitchcocking

  18. #Feel(notso)Zen #RearTrailerWindow

  19. #SixDegreesofHitchcock #ChocolatePeanutButterDie

  20. #HotAndHeavy #JasonsKnife

  21. #FathersDaughter #HideAndSeek

  22. #MaizieMakeover #InPartnersWeTrust

  23. #Closetraphobia #CrocodileSmile

  24. #KeytoEdsHeart #DoubleStuffedIndemnity

  25. #FatalCamtraction #SleepingPsycho

  26. #PartyLikeIts1984 #ThreeTimesTheLadies

  27. #TheLadyorTheTigress #BlindedByTheSight

  28. #HereLiesLana #Flamingoed

  29. #FakingIt #StarryNight

  30. #NoChipmunks #NotaNashInSight

  31. #SouthPaw #HoldOnLoosely

  32. #Lunchable #Takes2ToMakeaThingGoWrong

  Thank You for Reading 16 Millimeters

  Acknowledgments

  Movies in 16 MILLIMETERS

  The Maizie Albright Star Detective Seires

  A Sneak Peek of Portrait of a Dead Guy

  Also by Larissa Reinhart

  About the Author

  16 MILLIMETERS

  Also by Larissa Reinhart

  A Cherry Tucker Mystery Series

  Novels

  PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY (#1)

  STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW (#2)

  HIJACK IN ABSTRACT (#3)

  DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (#4)

  THE BODY IN THE LANDSCAPE (#5)

  A COMPOSITION IN MURDER (#6)

  Novellas

  QUICK SKETCH in HEARTACHE MOTEL

  THE VIGILANTE VIGNETTE (also in MIDNIGHT MYSTERIES)

  A VIEW TO A CHILL (also in THE 12 SLAYS OF CHRISTMAS)

  Audio

  PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY

  STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW

  * * *

  Maizie Albright Star Detective Series

  Novels

  15 MINUTES

  16 MILLIMETERS

  NC-17

  Novellas

  A VIEW TO A CHILL (also in THE 12 SLAYS OF CHRISTMAS)

  * * *

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  Thank you!

  To all the lovers of lunch.

  One

  #LunchFail #AStarIsNotBorn

  I have a serious thing for lunch. The exception: Hollywood business lunch. Considering I now lived in Black Pine, Georgia and was no longer acting, I thought industry lunch and I were done. For my new life, I’d anticipated a bad romance involving BBQ, pimento cheese, and fried chicken. Even a hot dog scarfed during a stakeout would've met my expectations.

  Instead, my new life lunch menu involved a lot of PB&J eaten at the desk of Nash Security Solutions while I updated his billing software, typed reports from his notes, and took messages on the few (very few) calls we received involving security solution-ing. When Wyatt Nash of Nash Security Solutions had agreed to mentor me, I thought I'd learn the investigation ropes. Instead, the only ropes involved were the ones tying me to his computer and phone lines.

  Real-life detective work was not as exciting as I imagined when I played the title role of Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective. Just like real-life acting is not as intriguing as non-actors probably believed. But it was also not as boring as real-life security solution-ing. Have you ever vetted a list of potential employees social media accounts to see if they post anything stupid? (They do stupid. All the time.) Boring fo' sho.

  Which was why I agreed to an industry lunch with my ex-manager and still-mother, Vicki Albright. Vicki was in the industry. Vicki was all about the industry. No BBQ. Instead, organic salad greens, vegan goat cheese, and artesian water with Tahitian lime wedges. Sans gas. For her.

  In a show of defiance, I ordered a club sandwich with extra bacon, American cheese, and hold the lettuce. Also, because the lunch menu didn't offer anything fried.

  "This is too big." Vicki handed the plate of greens and cheese-like substance to the waiter. "And no dressing. Just salt, pepper, and a spritz of lemon. Don't drench it in lemon. I want the scent of lemon, not the taste. And it better be Meyer lemon. I can smell the difference."

  This was the problem with industry lunches. IMHO.

  Vicki peered at me over her DITA Sunbirds. That was for effect. Under the table, she had already kicked me. "Maizie. Stop slouching. You inherited my spine, and it cannot support hunched shoulders."

  If only I had inherited her metaphorical spine. Then I wouldn't be at an industry lunch to save myself from the boredom of a PB&J desk lunch. I'd be eating fried green tomato sandwiches or ham and cheese biscuits every day. While doing field work and security calls with Nash.

  Of course, for those lunches, I'd also need Vicki's metabolism. Unfortunately, her metabolism did not come with the spine.

  I pulled back my shoulders and slid to the front of my chair, then took a bite of my club sandwich and internally moaned. The Cove was not known for their food — more of a place to see and be seen in Black Pine — but they still did food well. They had to do everything well. As part of the Black Pine Golf and Yacht Club Resort (or BPGYCR, which is not pronounceable), moneyed Black Pine liked to lounge at the Cove for all their meals. They didn't actually eat. Mostly they drank. But that's another story. The Cove also served as a hotspot for industry insiders who had brought their film crews to Black Pine, where their production dollars stretched farther and taxes were cheaper.

  Georgia had become a mini-Hollywood in the last five years although they'd begun homesteading more than twenty years ago. Production studios and sound stages had been built. Infrastructure created. Land purchased. The industry had learned words like "unsweet tea," "shopping buggy," and "y'all."

  Which meant my legally required escape from LA to Georgia had almost been for naught.

  "And stop moaning," said Vicki. "You act like you haven't eaten in twenty years."

  I shot her a look to say, "I haven't."

  She shot me a look from sea glass green eyes identical to mine that said, "You can't tell."

  "Could you please stop kicking me?" I said. "I'm going to bruise."

  "Leonard Shackleton is sitting to your left," she murmured. I glanced left as she whispered-shouted, "But don't look."

  Leonard Shackleton was the producer of big budget "event" films. I now understood Vicki's anxious kicking. Vicki was the producer of medium budget reality shows and TV movies. Shows that used to star Maizie Albright (me) before I tumbled off the c
hild-to-adult-star path and into the waiting arms of various addiction specialists. Leonard wasn't just an A-lister, he was a A++++ lister. It seemed he also had an insider lunch at the Cove.

  I slid my not-so-covert gaze back to his table and realized his lunch date was an actress I knew from back in the day. "Cam-Cams," I squealed and grinned at the raven-haired actress with the (now) famously large, pouty lips.

  She slid down her Oliver Peoples' to check me.

  "It's Maizie Albright."

  Cambria shifted her look to Leonard Shackleton. Seeing Leonard focused on his phone, taking no apparent notice of her, Cambria returned the smile and waved her drink. "Hi, Maizie. Long time. What's going on? Are you filming here, too?"

  "I'm from Black Pine. Moved back home."

  "Oh, right. You got Judge Ellis." Cambria cut another glance toward Leonard, then pulled the sunglasses off. "Sorry to hear about that. Your show followed you?"

  I doubled over, slamming my chin into my club sandwich. Brushing the toast crumbs off my jaw, I leaned to rub the shin where Vicki had kicked me — a surprisingly effective kick for a platform sandal, but she was tetchy about the show — then I twisted toward Cambria. "Sort of. But I didn't renew. I've got a new career."

  "Forced into a new line of work." Her lips curled. "You've been at it so long. I figured you would have waited out the probation and launched into features or something."

  "God, no. I couldn't wait to leave."

  Cambria's eyebrow rose. "Isn't that what they all say? Until the comeback?"

  "Maizie can return when she likes. After attending to the terms of her probation, of course," said Vicki. "Hello, Cambria. Nice to see you, dear. You're looking well since the last time I saw you. When was that? Wasn't it on Maizie's Emmy-nominated show, Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective? You played her little friend?"

  "Hello, Ms. Albright." Cambria's lips pulled tight. "Yes, except I wasn't so little. As you're implying?"

  Vicki trickled a laugh. "I was referring to the part, dear, not your size."

  I forced a laugh and swung a foot at Vicki. And struck a table leg. "Oh, you two. Who cares what we looked like or what we did as kids? As my therapist Renata says, 'live in the now,' right? And now you look hot, Cam-Cam. And you're blowing up the net with your comeback. I also heard you've done some great stage work."

  "I thought it wasn't a comeback unless you were already famous," said Vicki. "I must be mistaken."

  "Thank you, Maizie. It's nice to finally get noticed after twenty years of work." Cambria shot a look at Vicki. "I'm taking a break from the stage. I'm transitioning back to film."

  "Awesome. Good for you." I nodded toward Leonard Shackleton and lowered my voice. "Big film, too, it looks like."

  Cambria smiled graciously and gave a barely perceptible nod.

  Still on the phone, Leonard Shackleton studied me. I glanced away and caught Vicki eyeballing Leonard. Probably analyzing his scrutiny of me. So awkward when your mother still tiger-moms all over your career. Your past career.

  To make a point, I pulled out a Nash Security Solutions business card, scribbled on it, and handed it to Cambria. "Here's my new number. I don't have a phone. This is my office phone. But you can also reach me at Daddy's cabin."

  “Daddy? Literally?” Cambria touched the card to her head. “Oh, right. I forgot. He makes some kind of outdoorsy clothing?”

  Vicki pinched her nose.

  "Hunting. Daddy is Boomer Spayberry,” I said proudly. “Owner of the DeerNose Apparel brand.”

  “Don’t say it,” Vicki muttered. “Damn Boomer and his damn deer piss.”

  “What was that Vicki? Did you say deer piss? Wow,” said Cambria. “That’s interesting. He’s your ex-husband, right? Who would’ve thought.”

  “The clothes just smell like deer pee.” I felt my cheeks warm. “I think the deer like it?”

  Cambria laughed and glanced at my business card. Tossing it on the table, she smirked at Vicki. “And Maizie’s doing security work? Like a mall cop? How times have changed.”

  Vicki flinched, then sucked in her breath as Leonard picked up the card and examined it. His dark eyes flicked from the card to me, with an imperceptible glance at Vicki. Leonard set his phone on the table and turned his chair a few centimeters in our direction.

  Stifling a deep breath, Vicki’s chest strained against the crepe of her Saint Laurent halter dress. She tossed her platinum hair behind one shoulder to better deliver a coquettish smile. The air came out in small gasps between syllables. "Mr. Shackleton. How are you enjoying Black Pine?"

  "Fine. It serves a purpose." He eyed her again, then focused on me. "Maizie Albright. You're looking well." His glance was appreciative. Too appreciative for my comfort.

  I felt a disturbance in the air below our table. This time I'd remembered to wrap my feet behind my chair legs. Vicki half-slid down her chair before recovering.

  "Variety did an interesting story about you working with a private detective," said Leonard. "I thought it was a stunt."

  "No, sir."

  "This," he tapped the card on the table, "is the same outfit? It's legitimate?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Interesting." He paused. "I admired how you didn't try to starve yourself into a size zero. The old school, pin-up look is refreshing. Rita Hayworth or Betty Grable?"

  Considering we'd battled my body's inclination for the pin-up look my entire career, I wasn't thrilled with the comparison. But then, Cambria had just endured a similar but less flattering barb from Vicki. Typical industry lunch.

  "Just me. Enjoying post pin-up life."

  "I like that. I'll call on you this afternoon. I have something for you." He grabbed his phone and tossed his napkin on the table. "Cambria."

  I heard Vicki draw in air through her nose. Her lungs were going to burst. Or her breasts would break the seams of the Saint Laurent.

  Cambria scurried after Leonard's quick strides over the stone patio. The look she tossed over her shoulder troubled me.

  "I wonder what that was about?" I said, to no one in particular, and realized my mistake as the last syllable dropped off my tongue.

  "I'll tell you what that was about," said Vicki. "You're back. Leonard Shackleton, I'll be damned. I couldn't even get a table in the same restaurant with him in California. God, I love Georgia right now. It's like a new golden age. He didn't even have an entourage or a body guard. Did you see that?"

  I shook my head. And kept shaking.

  "Here's what we're going to do. Leonard wants to meet in that piece of shit investigation office. What if he wants you to read? It looks like hell in there. It'll be distracting. I can make a call. It's short notice but give them an hour and designers can do amazing work. I'm sure they can round up enough migrants to toss a coat of paint on the walls, haul out the furniture, and bring in new stuff. The building's old but maybe a retro theme. Like The Maltese Falcon or something?" Vicki picked up her phone and began scrolling through numbers.

  "Stop," I said. "Mr. Shackleton obviously wants some security help. The office is fine."

  "He has his own security people.” Vicki waggled her fingers, concentrating on her phone. "Don't be stupid, Maizie. He saw you in Variety, not Private Investigators Are Us."

  "I don't think that's a daily. Anyway, Variety only ran that story because of my past. The story had nothing to do with acting."

  "And that's why he's interested. He's looking for someone fresh. An outsider. Maybe to replace Cambria? She can't possibly carry a Shackleton movie."

  "Vicki, I worked from age three. I'm not an outsider. And Cam-Cam was always a serious actress. You're taking his comments the wrong way. He addressed us after looking at my business card. My Nash Security Solutions business card."

  She ignored me, already conversing with the designer. "Not Maltese Falcon the yacht. The movie. Noir but obviously not too noir. Stylish noir. Vintage but not old."

  "Nash will kill you if you do anything to his office," I said.

 
She nodded, then waved at the waiter who had returned with her salad. Placing a hand over the phone, she whispered with exaggerated lip movements. "No time to eat. Take it back. We have a meeting."

  I glanced at my crumb-dusted plate, then at Vicki. The phone had settled between her shoulder and ear. She flicked through her iPad with one finger; the other hand signed the bill. I felt pity. Also, residual anger. But mostly pity.

  "Vicki," I said. "You're making a mistake."

  She covered the receiver. "Don't screw this one up, too." She spoke into the phone, "That also goes for you. If you don't know Humphrey Bogart, Google him. God, what would you have done before the internet? Honestly."

  Renata, my ex-therapist, said to concentrate my energy on problem-solving, not on holding grudges. Especially with Vicki. I needed to address the problem, but to reduce personalization, I should address Vicki's actions with a leading empathetic sentence. Renata had been big on depersonalizing.

  Also on detoxifying, which ironically had also involved residual anger and Vicki.

  "It must not be easy to lose the star of the show you're producing," I began. "It also must not be easy when the star is your daughter."

  Vicki glared at me, double-tapped her iPad, and spoke into the phone again. "Yes, an hour tops. What do you mean the paint won't dry? Find quick-drying. If they can make it for nail enamel, why can't they for wall paint?"