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Epilogue
Dust motes stirred within the sunlight streaming into the hayloft of the abandoned barn. The hay bales that had been left behind were busted and moldy, fit only for the rats that wintered there, and partially hiding the couple making love on the mattress nestled along the back wall.
The heat of the day and the lack of moving air coated their bodies with beads of sweat, but it was the heat building inside them that was out of control.
Alicia groaned, and Jerry slid his fingers through her long dark hair and kept on moving, shifting his body just enough so that the camera in the shadows on the other side of the loft caught the bounce of her breast and the long length of her legs beneath him.
In the midst of their passion, Alicia heard voices approaching the barn. Her eyes widened. They were about to be found out! She grabbed Jerry’s arms.
“Someone’s coming!”
Jerry froze, then put his hand over her mouth and motioned toward their clothing in a pile at the foot of the bed. With the mood broken and their affair on the verge of being discovered, they scrambled to get dressed. But their bodies were slick with sweat and their hands were shaking. All they got on was underwear before the men entered the barn below.
Half naked and shaking in terror, they huddled together on the mattress, listening in disbelief to what sounded like a drug deal going down. Jerry turned toward the camera, his eyes widening in horror, then looked back at Alicia just as a gun went off below them.
Alicia clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming as more gunshots sounded, and as hay sprayed around them, she realized some shots were flying into the loft. She buried her face against her knees, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.
The shots ended as abruptly as they’d begun. She heard footsteps running out of the barn and turned with relief to Jerry until she saw him slumped down behind her, blood spilling onto the mattress.
“Jerry! Oh my God, Jerry!” she cried, and knelt beside him, trying to feel for a pulse. But there was none.
He was dead.
She leaned over his body, sobbing uncontrollably at the reality of what had just happened, then rocked back on her heels and screamed.
“Cut!” the director said, and then jumped out of his chair while Sahara Travis pulled herself up from the hayloft as gracefully as if she’d just curtsied before the queen.
She held out her arms as someone from wardrobe came running with a dressing gown to cover her up.
The director was pleased with both actors, and the lilt in his voice showed it.
Bobby French, the actor playing Jerry, stood up, scratching his bare belly and waiting for someone to bring him a robe.
“That was great, Bobby. Absolutely riveting, Sahara. We’ll break for lunch now. Everyone back on set in one hour.”
Sahara nodded as she began fastening her dressing gown while looking around for her personal assistant.
“Has anyone seen Lucy?” she asked.
One of the cameramen waved toward the craft service area.
“Catering was here. She might have taken your lunch to your trailer.”
“Thanks,” Sahara said, and strode off the set and then outside into the sunny California heat.
She was halfway to the trailer when she heard someone calling her name.
“Wait a second!” Lucy called, as she ran to catch up. “I was dropping off your lunch, and I got a call from wardrobe. They wanted you to stop in before you get back on set, but I told them to send someone to your trailer for measurements instead.”
Sahara frowned. “Thanks, but why do they need new measurements?”
“Your director doesn’t like the wardrobe in tomorrow’s scenes,” Lucy said.
“Whatever,” Sahara said, and walked up the steps and into the trailer with Lucy behind her.
The air-conditioning was welcome as she entered. Sahara turned toward the kitchen to wash up and was startled to see a woman curled up on the floor.
“It’s Moira,” Sahara cried, running to her.
She dropped to her knees beside the wardrobe assistant, assuming Moira must have fainted. But then she felt for a pulse and there was none.
“She’s not breathing! Call 911,” Sahara shouted to Lucy, then rolled Moira onto her back to begin CPR while her assistant frantically pulled out her phone.
Sahara tilted Moira’s head back and ran her finger inside her mouth to make sure the airway was clear, only to realize it was packed with food Moira never got to swallow. She leaned closer, intent on clearing the airway, when she smelled something that nearly stopped her heart. She yanked her finger out of Moira’s mouth and frantically wiped it on her robe, then jumped to her feet to wash her hands at the sink.
The tray with Sahara’s catered meal was on the counter and it was obvious that the food in Moira’s mouth came from that plate. Sahara smelled the food and then shoved it aside, staggering toward a chair to sit down, trembling in every muscle. The ramifications of what she was thinking were too horrifying to accept.
“The police are on the way,” Lucy said, as she turned around, and then saw her boss sitting at the table, staring at the body on the floor. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you doing CPR?”
“She’s dead. I think she’s been poisoned.”
Lucy gasped. “What do you mean? How do you know?”
“Her breath... I smelled bitter almonds. Someone put cyanide in my food, and she ate it.”
Lucy ran toward the counter and lifted the cover off Sahara’s lunch. Sure enough some food had been eaten off the plate. She smelled it, then spun toward Sahara with a look of disbelief.
“I smell it, too, but—cyanide? How do you know?”
Sahara was rocking back and forth where she sat with her hands curled into fists, shaking uncontrollably. She ignored Lucy’s question completely, focusing instead on the implications of what had just happened.
“Why would she eat my lunch? Maybe she thought I’d never miss it. Who cares—she’s dead, Lucy! But if she was poisoned by my food, then... Oh my God! She died because someone tried to kill me! Why? Why?” Sahara cried, and then burst into tears.
Lucy ran to comfort her as the sound of sirens filled the air. By the time the police cars were on the lot and heading for Sahara’s trailer, most of the crew was already there.
Tom Mahan, the director, was in a panic, thinking
