I was just congratulating myself on Barrett's not noticing me when he stumbled right back out of Celia's trailer, his hand over his mouth. When I saw Barrett, I lost track of the conversations going on around me. I know trouble when I see it.

I glanced around the set, hoping someone else would come to Barrett's aid; he was so obviously sick, and something terrible had so obviously happened. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wouldn't be getting to work on time today. As I watched, Barrett groped his way to the end of the trailer and bent over, one hand supporting himself against the side, retching.

For a second of blazing anger, I wondered if all these people weren't acting as though they hadn't seen Barrett. For all their attention to each other and their jobs, not one person appeared to have registered that there was a problem.

I went down the steps, bypassed Meredith, and approached my stepson warily. "What's happened?" I asked him.

He didn't seem surprised to see me, or angry, so I knew with even more surety that something was very wrong.

"She's dead in there," he gasped, and he began heaving again.

"Celia ... is dead?" I could hear my own voice sharpen and rise with incredulity. I started to say, "Are you sure?" but then I realized that was pretty damn insulting.

"Go get Joel," he moaned.

I wondered if my stepson thought the director could actually bring his leading lady back to life.

"I'll get him," Carolina said from behind me. "I know where he is."

"What did he say?" I heard Meredith ask her. "What did Barrett say?"

I moved over to the open door of the trailer and peeked in. I didn't even put my foot on the concrete block that served as a step.

Celia was half-lying on the couch, up against one wall. The stack of books—including some library books—and the manuscript were tossed around her feet, which were flat on the floor. A dark red throw cushion, stained and nasty, lay on the couch beside her. Her tongue protruded a little from her mouth. It looked bruised, as well. There was a big dent in her forehead.

The Emmy was on the couch beside her. Its base was not clean.

Celia was definitely deceased. Feeling quite wobbly myself, I shut the door and leaned my back against it. I didn't want anyone else to see what I'd seen.

"What is it, Roe?" Angel had loped over and was looking at me quizzically. "Don't tell me she's dead. That's what Barrett keeps saying." Angel really, really didn't want anything to be wrong, but there was no help for it. I had to tell her.

Carolina returned. "He's on the way," she reported.

"You might want to call a doctor. Did the crew bring one?" I asked. She shook her head and her heavy earrings, too many to count, swayed as her head moved. Carolina's skull gleamed dully in the early-morning sun as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. It was the thinnest cell phone I'd ever seen. She dialed 911 as I watched. While she was speaking to the dispatcher who answered, Joel Park Brooks suddenly appeared in front of me as if he'd been expelled from another dimension. Mark Chesney was dogging his heels.

"What's this you say?" he asked, mad as hell at me.

In a cowardly way, I nodded my head toward Barrett.

"Oh my God, Joel," Barrett said weakly. He'd dropped to his knees and was pressing his face with both hands as if to force the grief out of it. "Celia is dead. She died some awful way."

As if I were a fly, Joel Park Brooks took me by the shoulder and shoved me aside. Before I could stop him, he flung open the trailer door. Leaping up the step into the trailer, he bent over Celia. Meredith and Mark were peering through the door, too. Both of them stood with one hand pressed against the door frame, on opposite sides. Altogether, the movie people were doing a great job of destroying evidence.

And I heard the voice I'd been dreading to hear, Robin's.

"What's wrong, Roe?" he asked.

"I'm so sorry," I said, almost whispering. I wanted to be a hundred miles away.

"What's happened?" Robin's voice got louder as his fear mounted.

"She's dead," Barrett said. "I can't believe it, but she's dead. We spent last night together, and now she's dead."

"What did you say?" Robin bellowed, and I crouched down.

"We..." All of a sudden, Barrett seemed to realize that this was neither the time nor the place nor the best choice of confidant. "Forget it, man," he muttered, but there were many ears clustering around by that point, including mine, and if Barrett had truly wanted to keep this intimate knowledge to himself, it was too late by thirty seconds.

That helped me pull myself together more than anything.

I moved over to my stepson, and laid my hand on his arm. He looked at me, too distraught to be hostile. "Barrett," I said, as quietly and earnestly as I could, "don't say anything else. Everyone is listening. The police will be here soon."

"An ambulance," he began, and then closed his mouth with a snap.

"We called 911. But it's not gonna do her any good, and you know it. That woman was killed," I told him, keeping my voice even and low.

"Murdered?" he said, way too loud. I could see cell phones spring up right, left, and sideways.

"Quiet, Barrett. Yes, she was murdered. I'd keep my mouth shut, if I were you."

Anger flashed across his handsome face, followed by intense thought. Barrett was certainly good at projecting his changing emotions.

"What did you say?" Robin was standing to Barrett's side, his fists clenched.

"I was just talking. Ignore me." Barrett turned to walk away.

As if I weren't there, Robin spun Barrett around and clamped both his hands on Barrett's shoulders. Barrett was younger than Robin by around fifteen years, but he was shorter, and Robin had a pretty good grip. I was going to have to believe Robin hadn't disengaged from his affair with Celia as much as he'd thought.

The movie people on the set were milling around, and I could hear sirens coming closer. But everyone there seemed to see his or her role as that of spectator, rather than participant. Robin opened his mouth to yell at Barrett, and Barrett's eyes ignited with anger, and I cast around for someone to help me.

Of course! Angel Youngblood met my eyes and moved behind Barrett, while I got behind Robin and circled him with my arms and pulled. Someone behind me actually laughed, and I resolved to track down who that was and kick him in the shins. I know I am small, and I know Robin is tall, but I was not in the mood for amusement.

Robin actually struggled for a minute, but I clung like a barnacle, and when he realized who it was had ahold of him, he relaxed. Blocked by his body from seeing what progress Angel had made with Barrett, I pulled gently on Robin's arms to get him to take a few steps away. He came willingly, and I could see that the anger had drained out of him. Robin wrapped his long arms around me and pulled me close, bowing his head over mine and crying.

For once I wished I were taller. I would put his face in the hollow of my neck and let him cry there, concealed, if only I could. I stood on tiptoes to let him lean on me more comfortably, and I patted his back. I wondered if I had any tissues in my purse, a soft mesh shoulder bag that was now banging uncomfortably on my bottom.

Will Weir was sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, his head buried in his hands. Meredith Askew was slumped by him, her makeup a mess, her hair all tangled. She was sitting as close to Will as she could get without climbing in his lap. Joel Park Brooks began shrieking at someone a few yards away. I recognized his voice, though I couldn't see him for the cloud of people, all chattering away on their phones.

"Hang up the damn cell phone," he screamed, and a Motorola whizzed past me. Then a wafer-thin red phone. Everyone moved back in a hurry to protect their property from the director's hands, and there was a flurry of clicks as people hid their cells. I glimpsed Carolina sliding hers down the front of her tee shirt. Unless I missed my bet, Joel Park Brooks would be in no hurry to go after that one.