I remembered how Jesse had quizzed me about feelings, and said she used them in her acting. I could understand the terror on her face when she saw her “sister’’ crumpled and broken, and the grief when she realized she was dead.

What I didn’t understand was the dark place Jesse went to pull up that chilling flash of rage.

A crowd milled about base camp. I hurried over to find out what was going on, peering over the head of a vertically challenged woman from the wardrobe department.

Johnny Jaybird stood in the middle of the huddle, immaculately dressed in pressed trousers, a navy blazer, and crisp white dress shirt. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a men’s store along Palm Beach’s ritzy Worth Avenue. Preening, he basked in the attention of cast and crew, bobbing his head toward each corner of the crowd. His smile seemed genuine, absent the arrogant smirk I’d seen on the set the first day.

Getting shot must have agreed with him. Or maybe it was surviving getting shot.

Greg Tilton stood beside the bench seat of a folding table on the fringes of the crowd, watching Johnny. He had what looked like a sandwich wrapped in tin foil in his hand, and a smirk on his face. His fellow cast and crew members seemed to give him a wide berth. It appeared he was alone in his own world despite being surrounded by people.

Paul Watkins stepped from the crowd to approach his first assistant director. Smiling warmly, he clasped Johnny Jaybird’s small hand in a two-fisted shake. “How you feeling, Jonathan? Did you get the flowers we sent to the hospital?’’

Johnny bobbed in deference. “They were beautiful, Paul. Much too extravagant, though.’’

“No cost is too great, buddy.’’ Paul put a tentative hand on the younger man’s back. “We’re just glad you’re okay. Right, everybody?’’

The crowd murmured in assent.

“You going to be up to working again, bud? I have plans for you to shoot some more action scenes. I was absolutely right about your talent in that area. I’ve been doing this long enough to know a budding genius when I see one.’’

Paul’s assessment seemed a bit excessive to me, but Johnny stretched his neck upward, as if letting the director’s praise rain down upon his head.

Paul, the affectionate smile still plastered on his face, seemed like he was going to continue on with the appreciation fest. But Barbara sidled up through the crowd to whisper something in his ear. His face immediately turned serious. She crooked her arm through his and whisked him away.

“Gotta go,’’ he called over his shoulder. “It’s always something, isn’t it? Good to have you back, buddy!’’

I had to wonder where Paul’s solicitous attitude was coming from. It wasn’t as if he’d shown a lot of concern for Johnny Jaybird before. Did he want something from the young assistant director? And if he did, what was it?

I worked my way to the inner circle of the crowd, intent on getting those questions answered. When there was a pause in the well-wishing, I smiled at Johnny. He gave me what seemed like a genuine grin in return. I was encouraged. “How’s the wound?’’

“I was lucky.’’

“You sure were,’’ I agreed. “Listen, I’ve been wondering about something.’’

He raised his eyebrows, offered an inquisitive head bob.

“Where was the director that morning you shot the horse scene? I thought he was supposed to be in charge?’’

The arrogant mask fell back over his face. “The inner workings of film-making can be extremely complicated. You’re the animal wrangler, right? Maybe you should just stick to animals.’’

Someone in the crowd snorted a laugh. I was actually amused, too. He was such a ridiculous snob, it was funny. But Mama had found her way to my side, and she failed to see the humor. She pulled herself up to her full height, which was almost equal to Johnny’s.

“My daughter is no dummy, Mister. Mace was valedictorian of her college class at University of Central Florida.’’

He leveled a cool look at my defender. “Isn’t that the school that has a special program to study Disney World? Never been there. I did graduate work at the American Film Institute. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’’

He sneered, waiting for Mama to answer. She held her tongue, surprisingly.

“Before that, I was at Princeton,’’ he added.

Mama crooked her wrist, fancy style: “Well, la-di-da-da. You know, I dated a boy from Princeton once. He had an impressive diploma, but no common sense. Couldn’t find his own butt with his hands in his back pockets.’’

A chuckle made its way around the crowd.

“Princeton doesn’t mean you’re any smarter than my middle girl, Mace.’’

As Johnny narrowed his eyes at Mama, and she crossed her arms over her chest, I settled in for what I hoped would be a good show. But the crowd started stirring. A wave of whispers rippled from one end to the other. People moved aside, making way. Toby shuffled his feet and kept his eyes on the ground as he trailed behind Greg Tilton. Tilton stepped up smartly, front and center. A hush grew. Soon, there was silence.

Toby, head down, looked like he’d rather be anywhere but at the center of that crowd. A loud whisper came from the rear: “Better duck. It’s Toby Take Aim.’’

“He’s got some nerve,’’ said someone else, not even bothering to whisper.

Some shushes circled around the crowd, but then another voice chimed in. “Yeah, Toby could have killed him.’’

Tilton held up his hands, cleared his throat. The crowd stilled.

“Listen up!’’ He sounded competent, take-charge. Just like in the movie where he was an anti-terrorism task force leader. “Toby has something he wants to say.’’

He nudged the young star forward. When Toby’s voice came out, it was barely audible. I was right next to him, and I couldn’t make out a word. Tilton poked him hard in the back.

“Speak up. Be a man.’’

“I’m sorry I shot you.’’ His voice grew louder, and he raised his eyes to meet Johnny’s. “I didn’t know the ammunition was live. I thought it was the prop gun, loaded with blanks.’’

Johnny waved a hand. “I know you didn’t mean for me to get hurt. Apology accepted.’’

I didn’t like Johnny much, but I thought the fact he didn’t make Toby grovel made him look like a gentleman. The assistant director took three steps toward the young star, coming so close that Toby backed away. He grabbed at Toby’s wrist, and forced the teen’s hand close to his side.

“You can feel the bandages, right there. That’s where the bullet entered and exited.’’

Toby, face reddening, tried to pull his hand away. Johnny Jaybird held it in place with an odd mixture of intensity and intimacy.

“All our actions have consequences.’’ Johnny stared, trying to catch Toby’s eyes. The young star dropped his gaze to the ground. “The doctors say it’s healing pretty well, but it’ll leave a scar. Guess I’ll never have a career as an Armani underwear model.’’

Toby’s head snapped up. Glaring, he snatched his hand away. Did I remember reading something in People that Toby got his start modeling underwear?

“Not cool, dude!’’ the young star said.

“I’m not making fun of you, Toby. You stepped up and admitted what you did. I just wish you’d be as forthcoming about everything in your life.’’

Toby’s face was scarlet—whether from anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. He turned and stomped into the woods. Johnny followed him more slowly, holding his side and walking gingerly. Everyone watched them go.

“Cue the ominous music,’’ some wisecracker said, and several people laughed.

I glanced toward Tilton, who had returned to the picnic table. He was unwrapping half of his sandwich, but his eyes were fixed on the retreating figures of Toby and Johnny. His expression was hard to read. Was he interested? Amused? Did he like being a troublemaker?