I nodded, and tried to pull away. He tightened his hold. “I asked you a question.’’

“Yes,’’ I said. “I understand.’’

He let go, leaned back in the chair. I rubbed at my wrist as he returned his attention to the storm. Paul’s reaction made me even more suspicious about his whereabouts. There was more than one path to that answer, though.

I stole a quick glance at Carlos, nursing a soft drink in the corner of the tent. He sat with his back to the wall and his cop shield up. He didn’t meet my eyes. From his closed-off body language to the hard set of his jaw, everything about him signaled he wanted to be left alone by everyone, and most especially by me. The message was unspoken, but clear: Walk through the force field at your own peril.

I wasn’t about to take the risk. I’d just have to find another way to discover what Paul had told the police.

The director jumped as a deafening thunder clap rattled the cups and spoons on the table. He looked so spooked, I felt a little sorry for him.

“Don’t worry,’’ I said. “The storm will blow itself out in a couple of hours.’’

“Hours?’’ He put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. “Why did I ever think I should shoot this film in Florida?’’

“Y’all should have come down during winter. That’s the dry season. We hardly ever get rain in the winter.’’

“Figures. This production and I have been cursed since Day One.’’

“Cursed, huh? Norman Sydney might say the same thing. But he can’t, seeing as how he was murdered.’’

I shot Paul a dark look.

“You’re right.’’ At least he had the sense to look chagrined. “I need to keep things in perspective. It’s not life and death. It’s just a movie … and the last chance I’ll ever get to resurrect my career.’’

His head fell back into his hands.

“Why so glum, chum?’’ Mama’s tone was chipper, as she placed a plate full of biscotti on the table between Paul and me. “These cookies are as hard as the gravel they’re using to patch State Road 70. That’s how they’re supposed to be, C’ndee claims. Watch out you don’t lose a filling, Mace.’’

When Paul didn’t raise his head to acknowledge her, Mama seemed a bit put out. She was not used to being ignored by men. I, on the other hand, was becoming quite accustomed to it.

“Have a seat, Mama.’’

Still she stood. I knew she was waiting for Paul to pull out a chair. When he made no move to do so, she huffily seated herself.

“Don’t mind if I do sit, darlin.’ Isn’t this rain something?’’

Paul finally looked up. “It’s something, all right; something that’s burning through buckets of money with weather delays.’’

“Can’t you just change things around to shoot some inside scenes?’’ I asked.

“We’ve shot all the interiors. The whole reason we’re here is to get the exterior shots. I wanted this film to look like authentic Florida. No glimpses of mountain peaks or California redwoods where they aren’t supposed to be.’’

He stared outside to the rain-battered palms again. “What is that scraggly, ugly-looking tree anyway?’’

“It’s a sabal, also called a cabbage palm,’’ I said. “It’s Florida’s state tree.’’

“Better watch out, Paul. Mace takes the symbols of her native state seriously. She doesn’t like to hear them criticized.’’

“Right,’’ I said. “I can poke fun at Florida, but you can’t, as an outsider. It’s like family. I can say my big sister is bossy, and my mama’s a little ditsy. But no one else better say it.’’

Mama narrowed her eyes. I dunked a biscotti into my coffee and swirled.

“And I might call my daughter a stubborn mule who doesn’t know how to keep a man happy, but that’s only because Mace knows I’m saying it out of love. She knows I only want her to be the best she can be.’’

Paul looked over at Mama. She gave him one of her adoring smiles, and added an eyelash flutter, too. He rewarded her with a leer.

“I bet you know how to keep a man happy, don’t you, Rosalee?’’

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. I could see him stroking one of her fingers suggestively.

“Now, Paul, don’t be a bad boy!’’ She leaned away, neatly sliding her hand out from under his. “I’m a married woman.’’

He lowered his voice to seduction register. “And I’m a married man. So what? Maybe the two of us could make each other happy for a little while.’’

I cleared my throat. “Would you two like to get a room?’’

Mama laughed. “Don’t be silly, Mace. Paul is just doing what he thinks he has to do to keep his Hollywood reputation intact. Directors always come on to actresses. They don’t mean anything by it.’’

“Since when are you such an expert on Hollywood’s morals, Mama?’’

Paul chuckled. “Nope, she has it pegged exactly right, Mace. I’m known as a rogue and a ladies’ man. It’s hard for a tiger to change his stripes, even when his stripes are getting gray.’’

He ruffled Mama’s hair and patted her on the cheek. “I like a woman who tells it like it is.’’

Mama aimed a superior smirk at me. “See? I told you so!’’

What unfolded next happened fast. Paul cupped Mama’s face in both hands. He pulled her out of her chair, so that she was standing between his legs. He planted a big, wet kiss right on her lips, and then patted her on the rear end. He must have added a pinch, because Mama’s eyes widened and she gave a surprised little hop.

I hadn’t even seen Sal approaching, but suddenly there he was. As he loomed over our table, his eyes looked murderous. “Take your filthy hands off my wife.’’

The words were ice-cold, and all the more threatening because of their lack of passion. Sal held himself under tight control, making the prospect seem more terrifying that this behemoth of a man might explode.

Paul looked up at him like a rabbit facing a wolf.

“No need to get mad, Big Guy.’’ He scooted his chair as far from Mama as he could, and placed his hands on the table where Sal could see them. “I was just having a little fun.’’

“That’s just how people in Hollywood act, Sally.’’

“We’re in Himmarshee, not Hollywood.’’ Sal’s voice was full of menace as he glared at Paul. “Now, I want you to apologize for manhandling my wife. And then I want you to pick yourself up and leave this tent.’’

People at other tables were starting to look our way. Conversations paused. Eating stopped. Eyes turned toward the big man and the movie director.

“I have no problem saying I’m sorry. My bad.’’ Paul’s smile had lost a shade of its devilish quality. “I have no intention of leaving, though. It’s pouring outside.’’

“That’s not my problem,’’ Sal said. “Look at it this way: You can use the rain to cool yourself off.’’

Paul crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going out in a downpour just because you’re insanely jealous. Besides, if you knew anything about Hollywood, you’d know the director is like a king on his movie set. You can’t order me around. I do the ordering.’’

“Like I said, we’re not in Hollywood. Now, are you going, or do I have to throw you out?’’

“You can’t be serious.’’’

“As a heart attack. Get up.’’

Sal crooked his finger, motioning for Paul to stand. Paul clutched hard at the arm rails of his chair, giving his head a defiant shake.

“No way,’’ the director said.

“Your choice.’’

In a flash, Sal lunged at him, hooking Paul’s neck with one of his beefy arms. He pulled the director backward across the floor, chair and all. Bounce-drag, bounce-drag, bounce-drag.

Paul hung on. People darted out of the way, overturning tables and trays of food. Sal kept tugging. The threesome—Paul, the chair, and Sal, now red in the face—got closer and closer to the exit. No one stepped in to try to stop them.

“Mace, do something!’’ Mama’s tone was urgent. “Sal’s going to mess up my movie debut.’’

I wasn’t as concerned about Mama’s debut as I was about my paycheck. If Paul truly was the King of the Set, I didn’t want him to evict me from the kingdom. I’d earned my pay, putting up with these people. I wasn’t about to get fired before I got it.