Chapter 35

Stage Twenty-Six, Canoodle Lot, Fairyland Studios, Los Angeles, California, United States

"Where are your wings?" Gen asked the fae when they entered the tall metal building.

Rudolf glanced sideways at her. "I glamour them away because they are a nuisance and don't really work. They are for show."

"Oh, back in the day, they were a sign of beauty and prestige," Gen remarked, remembering the strange interactions between the different races.

"Things have shifted and we go for more practical over esteem," Rudolf related, a look of disgust on his face. "For instance, in this day and age, people wear these awful things called cargo pants so they can carry things on their person."

"I'll keep an eye out for that," Gen said, looking around at the television studio. There were tons of strange equipment and stacks of supplies. But the weirdest part was that there was half of a living area with furniture, a partial kitchen and then a workspace.

"Observe, not just see," Sherlock advised, looking around at the large open space.

"Why does it look like someone lives here?" Gen asked, pointing to the living spaces.

"It's a set where they film the television shows," Sherlock explained.

"But someone obviously lives here too," Rudolf stated.

"How do you gather that?" Sherlock questioned his assistant.

"Because I feel the room and emotions guide the undercurrent of truth," the king answered.

Sherlock shook his head. "That's an awful way to confuse the facts."

"Doesn't this feel like someone's home to you?" Rudolf asked, holding out his hands.

Sherlock drew in a breath. "I don't operate based on feelings."

"Well, what about the fact that up there in those rafters, there's a cot, blankets and a pillow?" Rudolf pointed up to the ceiling where there indeed looked to be a makeshift bed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, combing his fingers over his chin. "That's very interesting. Good find, King Rudolf."

He bowed. "Thank you. I believe I've earned myself another drink." Rudolf pulled the flask out of his pocket and opened it, taking a swig.

"Let's go and question the cast and crew." Sherlock led them off toward two men standing by a strange piece of black equipment with lenses and lots of knobs and buttons.

They turned at the sight of the unlikely group, giving them quizzical glares.

"I'm the investigator for these string of murders," Sherlock said, a commanding tone to his voice. "Which one of you is the director for Sunset Cove?"

"That would be me," a short man with dark hair said. "I've told the police everything I know. I'm not sure what else you want me to tell you. This set is simply cursed. Everyone knows it. There's sufficient evidence to prove that."

"And what evidence is that?" Rudolf asked.

"Well, the murders for starters," the director answered. "Then before each one, the actor is erased from the footage that we recorded the day of."

Sherlock gave the director a scrutinizing expression, seeming to see through him. "Why did the original director leave and end his life?"

"Oh, because he and the actress who plays our main character, Alexus, were in a relationship," the director answered. "But he found love letters from her costar, the romantic lead, in her trash."

"So he quit and killed himself?" Gen asked. "That seems a bit extreme."

"It was the curse," the other man next to the director said.

"And you are?" Rudolf asked him.

"I'm the camera guy," he replied.

"The old director was the one who cursed the show, though," Sherlock stated.

The camera man shook his head. "This show has been cursed since the beginning. Every director always loses his mind, going crazy."

"Doesn't that worry you?" Rudolf asked, looking at the director.

"Yes, of course," the man replied, honestly. "But this show is a blockbuster and I would have been a fool not to take the job."

"What were you doing before this?" Sherlock questioned.

The man frowned. "Well, I was the assistant director."

"For all the other directors who went crazy?" Rudolfus asked, suspicion in his tone.

"Well, yeah…" the director answered, diverting his eyes to the side.

Sherlock gave his assistant a pointed look before glancing back at the director. "Why do you think they lost their minds?"

"It's a stressful job," the man answered. "There's a lot of pressure to get it right. Like I said, this is a money maker show."

"And you said that when the three actors had been murdered, that right before, footage from the day's shooting disappears?" Rudolf asked, taking a drink from his flask. He pointed at the camera guy. "Wouldn't that be your territory?"

"Well, yeah," the guy replied. "But how do you think I feel? I lock it up in the vault at night and then show up the next day and find out that it's missing a character. That's a whole day of shooting. Then we get the news that the actor is dead. It's very jarring. I'm telling you that this place is cursed."

"And who has access to this vault?" Gen asked, the wheels in her brain starting to spin fast.

"Well, I do," the guy replied. "And the director."

"No one else?" Sherlock questioned.

"There's an extra set of keys in the vault, but they stay in there," the director imparted. "This set is cursed and that's the only explanation. Because of all this mess, we're in jeopardy of getting canceled. We're all going to lose our jobs."

A loud clattering noise behind the men interrupted the conversation. All looked up to see a man fumbling with a box of props that were quickly spilling out onto the floor.

"Hey, what are you still doing here?" the director asked, looking back at the guy. "Weren't you supposed to be gone already?"

"Sorry, boss," the man said, shoving the box hurriedly onto the shelf in front of him. "I was just leaving."

"Good, because we're about to start shooting and you know we need the set clear," the director said, shaking his head. "And you dropped that stuff because you were moving too fast again. You have to slow down and take your time, or you drop stuff, you know that."

"I know, boss," the man said, rushing away, moving with surprising speed.

"Who is that?" Sherlock asked.

The director turned back around. "That's the janitor. He works the morning shift so the set is clean by call time. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right, we're all going to lose our jobs because of this curse."

Rudolf took another drink. "Does the crew and cast know the show is in jeopardy?"

"Well, yeah," the cameraman replied. "But no one wants to play Alexus' costar, so we're quickly running out of options."

"The janitor overheard you when you said that though," Rudolf pointed out. "Maybe that's why he dropped the box of stuff."

The director shook his head. "Nah. That guy is union. He'll get another job somewhere on the lot. I'm glad for that too, because he used to be a big shot writer but fell out with the execs. Now being a janitor is the best he can do."

The cameraman laughed. "If I were him, I'd vanish from showbusiness. But I guess when you've been in this place so long, it's all you know."

"And if you two lose your job if the show is canceled, what will you do?" Sherlock asked, looking between the two men.

The cameraman pointed at himself. "I'll be toast, but I'm be so tired of the politics and frustrations that I'll be happy to have a reason to leave."

The director smiled. "I'll use my success with the show to move on to bigger things." He cut his eyes to the side. "But who I really worry about is Alexus. This show is all she has and she'll be lost without it."

Gen turned to see a woman standing a short distance away. She was very beautiful with short blonde hair and a polished expression and looked like she was waiting to speak to them. Sherlock must have sensed this and turned, making his way over to the actress. Gen and Rudolf followed.

"Alexus, I have some questions about the murders here on Sunset Cove," Sherlock said in a low voice.

The woman glanced at the director and cameraman, giving the three investigators a nervous expression. She nodded, huddling in close to them, like trying not to be overheard.

"They told you that the show is cursed, didn't they?" she asked, looking up at Sherlock with a trusting gaze.

"You don't believe that," he stated, reading into her question.

She shook her head. "My boyfriend, the director, didn't kill himself. We made up that night. I told him the truth and he believed me."

"And what was the truth?" Rudolf asked.

"I wasn't having an affair with the actor playing my love interest in the show," she answered. "I don't know where those letters came from that were in my trashcan. I'd never seen them before."

"So none of your costars were infatuated with you?" Sherlock questioned.

She shook her head. "Not a costar. But there is someone…"

Gen leaned in closer. "Who?"

Alexus cut her eyes to one of the men in the distance. The three turned, seeing that the director had walked off toward the back. The only one standing there was the camera guy.

"He has the hots for you?" Rudolf asked. "He realizes that you're a nine and he's like a six, right?"

"I've turned him down for years," Alexus explained. "But he's relentless. I wouldn't have put it past him to put the fake love letters in my trashcan to break us up. Well, it worked and now my boyfriend is dead and my show is about to be canceled."

"Because no one will play opposite of you anymore?" Gen guessed. "Because they are afraid of getting murdered?"

Alexus nodded. "I'm just hoping that the writers take my advice and instead of giving me a costar, make me the full lead. That's the only way to save the show. But convincing those crusty old men is difficult. I've been trying for years. But it's a boys' club and they do whatever they want."

"Right," Sherlock said, glancing at his assistant. "Well, I think we need to check out this vault where the tampered footage was located."