“Are you thinking of him as a suspect?’’ Maddie’s eyes followed mine to Sam.

“Honestly, the guy’s barely said two words to me. I don’t know much about him, except he’s crazy about Kelly.’’

Maddie said, “Well, he’s a man, so that makes sense.’’

“I was just remembering last night; he was trying to pretend he didn’t care if Kelly was cuddling up to someone else at the bar. He was acting, just like I was.’’

As Sam disappeared into the trailer, some small scrap of information about him tried to surface in my mind. All I kept seeing, though, was our eyes meeting in the mirror behind the bar, two sorry-ass kindred souls.

“What about that guy?’’

Marty’s whisper forced me to refocus. Being lovelorn was distracting me from sleuthing. She pointed out the dapper assistant director, head bobbing as he talked into a cell phone.

“How much do we know about Johnny Jaybird?’’ Maddie asked.

I knew quite a bit, at least about his sexuality. I didn’t share it with my sisters, though. Maybe I identified with the way the poor guy was being jerked around by Toby.

“Getting shot makes Johnny seem more like a victim than an aggressor,’’ I said.

“Maybe he got shot because he was the aggressor,’’ Maddie said.

Johnny slipped his phone into his pocket, and cocked his head across the camp toward Jesse’s new trailer. After her close call, the police commandeered her former trailer as a crime scene. A temporary trailer was hauled in. Toby and Jesse sat in front of it now, in camp chairs.

“I’ve got my eye on Toby,’’ Marty said. “That parking lot ‘accident’ seems fishy.’’

I raised my brows at my little sister, who rarely suspects anybody of anything.

“For one thing, the timing was too perfect,’’ she said. “For another, nobody else saw or heard a thing.’’

I recalled Toby looking artfully disheveled after the near-miss. The question was, how artful?

“Toby’s not the murderous type,’’ Maddie said with her usual certainty. “Remember that movie where he played a Cub Scout? He was as sweet as speckled pup.’’

“Acting, sister,’’ I said.

“Maybe.’’ Maddie nodded thoughtfully. “But a certain innocence, even purity, shines through.’’

“He didn’t look so pure strutting out of Jesse’s trailer the first time I saw him,’’ I said.

“What about motive, though?’’ Maddie asked. “Greg Tilton might have wanted Norman and Toby both out of the way, so his role wouldn’t get cut. But what would Toby’s motive be? You said Norman liked him; and he’s clearly the apple of Barbara’s eye.’’

“Hmmm,’’ I said.

“What?’’ both sisters asked at once.

“About Norman …’’ I looked around, saw no one listening in. “Savannah told me he was a predator, and he wasn’t fussy about gender. Maybe he forced Toby …’’

Marty picked up my thread. “… and Toby hated him for it. Maybe he shot Johnny as a way to explain away his fingerprints on the gun. Maybe Toby used that same gun to kill Norman.’’

“Was it the same gun, Mace?’’ Maddie asked.

“How should I know? Carlos isn’t even talking to me. Even if he was, he wouldn’t share ballistics details.’’ I made my tone a little less peevish. “It’s a good theory, sisters. But Jesse and Toby made a big deal of letting everyone know they were ‘shagging’ all that morning that Norman was killed.’’

“So they said.’’ Marty looked pointedly toward the young pair.

They giggled and tussled together, as cute as a couple of kittens.

“They do look awfully chummy,’’ Maddie said.

Were they chummy enough to provide each other with alibis for murder?

“Rolling.’’ The camera operator was ready to film.

“Action.’’ Paul spoke in a normal tone of voice, and his command was relayed via headset to the assistant director, who repeated it to the scrum of cast and crew members surrounding Mama.

“I know what you did to my daughter.’’ Mama leaned close to the actor playing the drunken cowboy. Her eyes spit fire; her voice was low and threatening. In her flaming red wig, movie make-up, and dancehall-girl gown, she looked gorgeous. “Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.’’

The actor playing the drunken cowboy backed up a step. His face registered shock and surprise.

“Cut.’’

Mama looked off the set of the pretend dancehall to where Paul sat in his director’s chair. He was studying the scene on a video monitor.

“Did I do something wrong?’’ she called.

Johnny Jaybird patted her arm. “You were great,’’ he whispered. “Paul will have us do take after take. That’s normal. Each time, you hear ‘Action’, just act like it’s the first time you’ve done it.’’

I thought it was kind of him to reassure her. As the crew set up to repeat the shot, she glanced over to where Sal, my sisters and I were watching. I flashed a thumbs-up; Sal mouthed, Beautiful! Beaming with pride, Maddie blew a kiss. Marty clasped both hands over her heart.

As filming continued, more spectators drifted over to the dancehall set. Mama performed her lines over and over. I had to admit, she hit it right each time, energy never flagging.

“She’s really good,’’ Marty said, as the camera crew stopped to change positions for the second half of Mama’s Hollywood moment.

“You sound surprised.’’ I smiled at her.

Mama’s enthusiasm seemed contagious. Maybe it was just because it was getting close to the end of the last day of filming, but I did notice more smiles and fewer scowls on the set. Even Barbara nodded and poked me in the ribs after one of Mama’s takes.

“Can’t argue with Paul’s eye,’’ she said. “Your mother’s good as the dancehall girl, even if it will cause me problems with the union. Anybody from the Screen Actors Guild asks, your mother should say she’s weighing whether to join.’’

“Action,’’ Paul said, and Johnny Jaybird relayed the command.

Mama hauled off to slap the cowboy, and pulled her punch just before connecting. Poor Sal bore the bruises of those practice sessions, but they’d helped her master the choreography of fake movie-fighting. Once they’d filmed the male actor’s recoil, and added the sound effect of hand hitting skin, the audience would never be the wiser. They’d feel the sting of Mama’s palm on the cowboy’s cheek; imagine the welt rising up. Her rage was that believable.

Maybe all that guff she’d read in those acting books about mining her emotional memories had worked.

“I guarantee you, Mama’s thinking of Husband No. 2 right there,’’ Maddie said after one fiery take. “Did you see the murder in her eyes when she glared at the cowboy?’’

Finally, the assistant director repeated Cut for the last time. Paul stepped out from the knot of people gathered with him around the monitor and strutted over to Mama.

“You were wonderful.’’ He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, but not too close. His tone was friendly, but not too friendly. “You were Ruby. That was a fine piece of acting, Rosalee.’’

Jesse started the applause, and it spread through the dancehall set. Even Barbara clapped her hands together once or twice.

“That’s my wife! Isn’t she something?’’ Sal circled the crowd, slapping at backs. When he got to Paul, he shook the hand of the man he’d fought with just a day before. “You really know your stuff, man.’’

“Well, thank you, Sal. I had excellent raw material to work with.’’

Paul gave Mama a chaste kiss on the cheek. She fluttered her fake eyelashes.

Greg Tilton snapped off a sharp salute. “Welcome to the club,’’ he said.

Sal slapped him on the back, too. “That’s my wife! That’s my movie star.’’

“Well, then you’re a lucky man.’’ Tilton said, returning Sal’s back slap. Just a couple of normal guys, bonding.