Endangers innocent creatures 3 page

"We need to check that lock," I told her. "Either it was jimmied, or maybe it was a different padlock." I turned to Morris. "We might need to check purchase orders to see whether it was the original lock, or if someone substituted a new one."

"I don't remember buying a new lock for that door," Morris said. "And believe me, I've been checking every purchase we've made around here. At this point, I can't even afford a new lock."

"Are you thinking that this wasn't an accident, and whoever sabotaged the generator used a new padlock to close it up?" Bess asked.

"Exactly," I answered. "Either they broke the original one, and had to replace it so the break-in wouldn't be discovered before the generator blew out, or they used a different padlock just to make it impossible to get inside without causing further damage and more trouble."

"I don't believe we've met," Morris said to Bess. "Are you part of Nancy's investigative team?"

"Sometimes," Bess said with a grin. "I'm Bess Marvin."

"Your new carpenter," I added. "Sorry about not getting around to introducing you two. Bess, this is our boss, Morris Dunnowitz."

"Welcome aboard, Bess," he said. "You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, but Nancy says you can handle it."

"Jane, we need that padlock as soon as you can pry it away from Chief Cody," I said.

"No problem," she said. "I'll go keep an eye on it now."

"So you don't think this was an accident at all, right, Nancy?" Morris asked. "What do you think happened—and who do you think did it?"

"I don't have any idea," I answered. "Right now, all my suspicions are based on nothing but a hunch."

"A hunch based on experience," Luther pointed out.

"I think it's pretty weird that the generator blew," I said, "especially in view of the other problems you've been having around here. George, was the generator connected to any of the production company computers?"

"Yes, a couple of them—they're keyed in to the generator chip, and programmed so that the electricity usage coordinates with the production company schedule. But those were the first ones I got back into service. A manual override was used while the computers were down, but we switched back to electronic management when I restored those machines."

"Could someone have played with the data, and programmed the generator blowout?" I asked.

"Maybe," George answered. "I can check that out."

"What about the Muskoka Musketeers?" Dave suggested. "I saw their protest camp along the road when I drove up here. They waved all sorts of signs about how the production company is upsetting the natural balance of the riverbank in this area."

"I don't know," Luther said. "They're a pretty quiet bunch. They've never done anything really destructive. It's kind of a leap from hiding a skunk in a closet—if they did that—to blowing up all the power for the production company."

"Luther's right," I added. "We need to cast the net a little wider. And we might be way off base anyway— we don't even know for sure that the generator blowout wasn't just a horrible accident."

I didn't really believe that it was for a minute. I was just trying to keep Morris's hopes up a little longer. But it didn't take long to clear up the question. The fire chief reported back, saying that the blowout was deliberately engineered.

Morris slumped against a tree. "We're sunk," he said in a low voice. "We can't shoot a film without electricity. We can't finish the sets, we can't go on location to the cabin or the river, we can't even feed the crew. I haven't got the budget to replace the generator—I doubt if I can even afford to try to fix this one. We've got a couple of small backup generators to get us through minor problems, but it's not nearly enough to run the whole production."

"Would you like Bess to take a look?" I suggested. Bess nodded eagerly. "She's just as good with motors as she is with hammers and saws."

"Let me scope it out" Bess urged. "Maybe I can work out a sort of parasite setup, so that the big one feeds off the two backups. At least we might be able to nurse them along for a while, until you can come up with a better plan."

"If we don't get the electricity working, we won't need you to fill in as carpenter," Morris told Bess. "We won't need anybody out here at all, because the production will shut down. Please look at the generator and see if there's any hope. And I'll even pay you the industry rate. It might have to be in installments, though."

"Whatever," Bess said. "If I don't get it all at once, I won't spend it all at once."

"No one's going near the scene until we're through with our investigation," the fire chief warned. "Then you'll have a real cleanup ahead of you before you can do any patching or start up the machines. I'd say you're looking at tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."

"Okay," Morris said. "It's too late to alert all the crew now. Everyone reports to breakfast at nine. Rita and I will work on the schedule tonight. Maybe we can figure out a way to take one of the small generators to the cabin tomorrow for a location shoot while Bess works on the other two back here."

"And George will check out the computers involved and see if there's anything suspicious going on there," I said.

Luther checked his watch. "Well, I'm late for my date," he said, "so I'll be leaving you all now."

I looked at him and smiled. "With Althea?" I asked.

"Yes, with Althea," he said, with a mock frown. "It's a work date." Then the fake frown faded, and he grinned back at me.

"What about you, Nancy?" Morris asked. "What's your next move?"

"I'm going to talk to the fire investigators first. Then I might stop off at the Musketeer camp on the way home."

"Nancy, what would we do without you, Luther, George, and Bess?" Morris said. "You've brought us the only good luck this production has had. Thanks so much. Okay then, everybody, we all have our assignments. See you tomorrow."

Luther left to meet with Althea. Morris and George went back to the office, and Bess and I walked to the generator semi. The electric-burn smell still filled the air.

We stepped around glops of fire extinguisher foam and puddles of muddy water. A wide step stool had been placed in front of the semi. I saw Chief Cody standing just inside the rig, talking to one of his investigators. When he saw Bess and me, he hurried down the step stool.

"Now, Nancy, I know why you're here," he said, "but we don't have anything for you yet. I told you I'd get back to you as soon as I knew anything."

"Can you just tell me whether it was an accident or not?" I asked him.

"No, I can't tell you that yet," he answered firmly.

"Okay. How about letting us inside, just for a minute or two. Bess is going to be repairing this machine, if possible, and she wants to see how big that job is going to be."

He shook his head, but then surprised us by saying yes. "All right," he said, "but just for a few minutes. Watch where you step and stay out of the way. If you find something suspicious, call one of us over—don't touch it yourself."

I hurried over to the step stool before he could change his mind. Bess followed closely.

"Boy, Chief Cody wasn't kidding when he said it was a mess," Bess muttered. The fire crew had placed a few large-beam lanterns around the inside of the rig, so it was pretty bright in there. And it was humid. Water dripped and trickled from the walls and slicked up the thick, carpetlike padding on the floor.

Only two people were inside there with us—a man was videotaping the whole interior, and a woman stood beside the generator. It was a huge, multiunit machine. Bess gasped when she saw it.

The investigator was systematically panning across the surface of the blackened machine with a special light. I recognized the instrument she was using as a multiple-color-band forensic light source. It was sort of like a UV black light, only much more precise. Forensic investigators use it to pick up traces of blood and other evidence that can't be seen by the eye alone.

"Have you found anything yet?" I asked her. I tried to sound casual, as if I were just another investigator asking an official question. It worked. She answered without even looking up.

"Not on the machine," she answered. "Just the blood drops on the floor. I probably won't find any on the generator," she admitted. "If there was any, they would have been blown off by the hoses. But the stuff on the floor… it seeped down into that pad."

She finished her inspection while Bess and I cautiously looked around. Finally the woman left to join the investigator at the other end of the semi.

"This thing is huge," Bess said, inspecting the ge­erator. "It will take me forever to patch it up." She took time to look it over and jotted a few notes on a pad. "That's about all I can do right now," she finally said. "Without being able to touch it or try to start it up, I'm just guessing about whether it's even possible to fix it."

"Come on, you two," Chief Cloud called from outside the rig. "You've been in there long enough. Let my team do their job."

He helped us descend the step stool. "How soon can Bess get in here to really inspect the generator?" I asked him. "You heard how desperate the director is to get the electricity back up and working."

"I fully understand the seriousness of the situation," Chief Cloud said, firmly steering us away from the rig. "And I will inform Mr. Dunnowitz when it's okay to let people back in the semi."

I thanked him, and Bess and I walked to our cars. "Looks like George has already left," Bess said, checking her watch. "Her car is gone. Are you still going to stop by the protest camp? It's pretty late."

"I'll check it out when I drive by, and decide then. Let's ride in together tomorrow. Morris said everyone will be at breakfast here at nine."

"I'll drive," Bess volunteered. "And I want to get here early. The sooner I get into that generator, the sooner this movie will get back into production. I'll pick you up at seven." She got in her car and started it up. "I'll follow along with you. If you stop at the camp, I will too."

I drove out onto the road, with Bess following closely. The Muskoka Musketeers' encampment was pretty dark and looked closed down for the night, so I decided to wait until the next day to talk to the protestors. I waved a "forward" gesture to Bess. The two of us had an uneventful ride back to River Heights.

Bess and George picked me up at seven on Monday morning in Bess's car. Bess had already told her cousin about our peek inside the generator rig.

George passed out samples of muffins and juice from one of her mother's catering experiments and shared what she'd learned from the computers. "The generator hookup is really protected," she told us. "Password, full encryption, and—best of all—a tracking system. It's set up so that anyone entering the program leaves a marker that can be traced back to that person."

"So did anyone hack into the program?" I asked.

"I'm still working on it," George said. "But I'll find out. It takes a hacker to find a hacker."

When we arrived at the compound, hardly anyone else was there yet. We went straight to the mess hall where the caterers were setting up a breakfast buffet.

Bess was thrilled to learn that she could get into the generator semi. She took the keys from Morris, promising to let him know as soon as she could give him an estimated timetable for recovering power. We went back to her car to get her huge tool cart and headed for the semi, dragging the cart on its four wheels.

The axed-out hole in the side of the rig had been boarded up. We climbed the step stool, and Bess unlocked the doors and slid one open. Everything looked the same inside except for the addition of good lighting. Someone had installed six battery-operated spotlights on tall stands. We switched them all on, and the long room was flooded with light.

We wrestled the tool cart up into the rig, and Bess began puttering with the generator. I inspected the rest of the room, jotting notes and taking pictures. But I didn't find anything that could be called a clue. I wasn't surprised—a lot of people had trooped around in there since the generator blew out, and Chief Cody's investigators seemed to be pretty thorough.

Bess and I were so absorbed in our separate investigations that we both jumped when Rita Clocker's voice blared through a bullhorn: "Will everyone on the grounds report to the mess hall, please. Company meeting right now in the mess hall."

"Yikes, it's nine twenty already," Bess said. "Morris wanted us all there at nine sharp." She put her tools away in the cart, closed it up, and locked it. I dropped my notebook and camera into my backpack, and we scurried out of the semi. Bess locked the rig, and zipped the keys in her cargo pocket.

When we got to the mess hall, most of the cast and crew were there. George waved us over to her table, which seated eight. Luther and Althea were already there, and Luther introduced Bess to Althea.

"Somebody sitting there?" Bess said, nodding to the seat next to hers. That place and the one next to it were littered with empty muffin and butter wrappers, wadded-up napkins, and used forks.

"Luke and Ben," George answered. "They went back for seconds. I haven't even had firsts yet—Mom's muffins were enough breakfast for me."

"And almost enough for me," I agreed. "But I think I'll get some more juice. How about you, Bess?"

"Juice would be good," she answered. "I'll come with you."

By the time we got back, Morris had arrived in the hall and was barreling toward our table. He pulled Bess and me aside so we could talk privately. "What do you think, Bess?" he asked. "Do you have any idea when we can get back up to speed?"

"It'll take me a few more hours to patch the big generator, but then not long to hook it to the other two. You should be back on schedule by midafternoon. I just don't know how long the parasite system will last."

"Oh, that's great!" Morris said. He seemed not to have heard her last sentence. "Can I use one of the small generators this morning?"

"Sure," she said. "I won't be needing it till afternoon. He grabbed her in a big hug, then bolted off to the small stage in the corner of the room.

"Looks like most everyone is here," he said into the bullhorn. "And I can tell by the buzz I heard around the compound this morning that most of you already know what I'm about to say." He talked for a few minutes about the generator blowout, praising the quick response of the security team.

"One of the local mechanical geniuses is helping us out," he continued, smiling at Bess, "so we hope to be back to full power soon. Meanwhile, I'm changing the schedule slightly. It's nine forty-five now."

A huge belch exploded from my left, and several people at the nearby tables giggled. "Oops, sorry," Luke murmured with a sheepish smile. "Shouldn't have had that second plate, I guess." He ducked his head down and burped again into his napkin.

"At eleven we'll rehearse scene twenty-one at the Rackham cabin in the woods. I need all cast and crew for that scene to report to the shuttles in one hour. Don't be late, guys. We want to do some light takes with the noon sun." He started to leave the little stage, but paused for a moment, looking down at someone sitting at the table in front.

"Hey, are you feeling all right? You don't look so..." His words trailed off, then burst through the bullhorn again. "We need help up here!" he yelled, jumping off the stage. I stood up.

"Someone's having a heart attack!" Morris yelled. "Medic!"

I started toward the front of the hall. I'm certified in CPR, and I knew I might need to put some of that training to use. People around the room began jumping up and crowding around the area where Morris stood. George tapped 911 into her cell phone.

I'd only gone a couple of yards when I heard Bess's voice behind me. "Nancy! Wait," she called. "It's Luther!"

I suddenly understood what people meant when they said they "stopped cold." When I heard Bess's voice, I felt a chill rattle down my back. I rushed back to the table. Luther was doubled over in his chair and his face had turned a pale greenish gray. With a grinding groan, he dropped off the chair onto his knees. Then he crumpled to the floor.

Cut!

"Luther!" I knelt besidehim. His face was still an ashy color, but his eyes were open. "My stomach," he moaned. "Terrible cramp... Really hurts."

"Get one of the medics over here," I told George. "He needs help right away."

As George raced off to find one of the on-site medical staffers, I heard another groan nearby. Luke Alvarez tumbled to the floor, overturning his chair with a metallic clang.

"Nancy, there's something awful going on," Bess said. "Lots of people are getting sick. A few are even unconscious."

"It looks like food poisoning," I told her. "Check on Luke, will you? Just try to keep him comfortable. If he's chilled, throw a jacket or a tablecloth over him. Don't give him anything to eat or drink—not even water."

Near the entrance Morris and his security team were working with the company doctor and nurse to set up triage. They grouped all those who had become ill so that when the ambulances arrived, the sickest people would be treated first.

For the second time in two days, I heard emergency vehicle sirens driving into the compound. Within minutes George returned with one of the emergency medical technicians—EMTs—who'd arrived in an ambulance. I left Bess with the EMT to care for Luke and Luther, and asked George to come with me. We headed first for the kitchen. Grabbing bags of small plastic cups and lids, we went back out to the serving tables and the breakfast buffet.

"We need two sets of samples from everything," I told George. "Everything on the buffet: eggs, sausage, yogurt, waffles, cream cheese, burritos, fruit, protein smoothies—even the bagels and sweet rolls, the syrup and salsa, the mustard and the water. We need a set for the paramedics, and I want one set for me."

I knew it would be important to have the samples so that doctors could determine just what type of food poisoning everyone had contracted. It would also help determine what medicines and treatments to use.

We worked quickly, spooning samples into the cups and labeling them. Then we snapped on the lids and dropped the cups into two bags. By the time we'd finished, the most seriously ill—including Luther and Luke—had been taken by ambulance to hospitals in the area. Others were being taken by shuttles, and some were evaluated on site and released, with suggestions to see their own doctors for possible treatment.

"What's going on, Nancy?" George asked when we had finished giving all the samples to the EMTs. "Was this just bad food, or are we looking at more sabotage here?"

"We're going to find out soon, I hope," I answered. "That's why I'm getting my own samples. One set's for the doctors, one's for the criminal investigators."

"So your instincts are telling you this was intentional."

"My instincts are telling me to not take anything for granted, and to consider this a crime until I find out the truth. If this poisoning was intentional, whoever is doing this has crossed the line."

"I fired the caterers," Morris said, joining us as we watched the last vehicles leave for town. The three of us took seats at one of the tables. "They said they weren't to blame, but I can't take any chances. It's hard enough to get insurance for this production as it is."

"I agree," I said. "Even if they were supercareful with their refrigeration and preparation, it looks like something—or someone—got to the food. So that means they weren't careful enough about keeping everything clean, or their security wasn't tight enough."

Morris sighed and nodded. "I see you're thinking the same thing I am. It was no accident." He didn't wait for a response. "Nancy we have to get this figured out. The doctors have shut me down for at least a couple of days. It'll take that long for the sickest people to get completely well—and that includes some of the stars of the film. Jane says it will also take that long to finish the security investigation. She said there's an outside chance it wasn't the food."

"You mean it might be another kind of infection?"

"Yes, maybe bacteria in the ventilating system or the water, or some virus carried by insects."

Neither of us mentioned the other possibility—sabotage by the same person or people who damaged all the computers in the compound, and snuffed out all the electricity.

"Do we have to evacuate the compound?" George asked.

"No, the investigators say they can work around us," Morris answered.

"The best bet is food poisoning, and they should be able to find out if that's what this is very quickly," I pointed out. "Then the investigation turns immediately from what to who."

"Well, shutting down this production for two days is a financial disaster," Morris said. "But I'm not giving up yet. I'm going to spend that time trying to raise more money. If I don't get it, the shutdown might be permanent."

"I should have all the computers online by tomorrow," George promised. "And Bess said she'd have the generators hitched together before then."

"That's true," Bess said, walking up. "Maybe sooner. Boy, this food poisoning was awful, wasn't it? I'm so glad we didn't eat any breakfast."

"Me too," Morris said. "I'd been so busy working out the new schedule with Rita, I hadn't eaten yet either. I had planned on loading up a plate after I'd finished with the announcements. We were lucky."

"Now that you fired the caterers, what are you going to do about food up here?" George asked.

"I hadn't even thought about it yet," Morris said.

"I work with my mother," George said. "She's the best caterer in River Heights. And she's never poisoned her customers," she added with a crooked smile. "I'll check with her if you want."

"That would be great," Morris said. "It's just one less thing I have to worry about. If she's got the time to take us on, have her get the details from Rita." He stood up. "Thanks again for all your help, girls. Keep me posted." His shoulders were slumped as he walked out. I wondered how much more he could handle before he gave up.

"What about the Musketeers?" Bess asked me. "Do you think they'd be capable of some of the stuff that's been going on? Other than the hidden skunk, of course."

"Luther thinks they're pretty low-key types," I answered. "Not the kind of ruthless people who'd actually put someone in the hospital with food poisoning. But I still want to talk with them. I was originally scheduled to rehearse With Jake and the horses for part of this afternoon. If that's still on, I'll probably stop by the Musketeers' camp later, or on the way in tomorrow morning."

I looked at my watch. "It's a little after noon. I've got just enough time to run these food samples in to the lab before my session with Jake. Let's check back with one another here around four."

"Sounds good," George said. "I'm pretty close to breaking through the last electronic wall into the company computers. I might have news to report by then."

"I should have the generators humming by then too," Bess said.

Bess and George went off to their tasks, and I went to mine. I drove Bess's car back to River Heights and the chemistry lab at the university, where a friend of mine was an assistant professor. I'd helped him with a case a few months earlier, so I knew he'd be happy to return the favor. I dumped all the food samples off with him, and he promised to begin checking them right away.

When I got back to the movie compound, I reported to the menagerie. I spent a couple of hours working with Jake. He showed me how to ride on the bouncy seat of a buckboard without looking ridiculous. He also let me take the reins a couple of times for an exciting run along the bluff trail.

After scheduling another session for the next day, I checked in with the security team. Both Jane and Dave were there.

"Hi, Nancy." Jane greeted me with a warm smile. "What have you got for us?"

"I was hoping you had something for me," I answered. "Have you heard anything from the fire investigators? Do they know whether the generator blowout was an accident or not?"

"We're pretty certain it wasn't," Jane said. "My key didn't work in the padlock because it wasn't the original lock. The company had not bought a new one, so we think it was put on there by the trespasser."

"To cover up the fact that someone had been inside," I guessed. "Anyone who glanced at the door and saw the padlock would assume everything was okay."

"The new lock is very similar to the old one," Dave added. "We compared advertising-brochure photos. But it's a pretty common lock—it'd be hard to trace it to its point of purchase."

"Apparently the first lock was cut open,"Jane said. "We found shavings of metal matching the original lock on the ground beneath the doors. We also found traces of blood there."

"There was blood inside the semi, too, in the padding near the generator," I pointed out.

"That's right," Dave said. He seemed surprised. "So we could be looking for someone who already had an injury—or someone who scraped or cut their hand or finger while they were cutting the lock open."

"And it has to be an inside job," I said, "by someone who knew the location of the generator and when it would be deserted."

"Someone who didn't have a key to the lock," Jane continued. "We have one here, the maintenance crew has one, and Morris has one somewhere."

"He couldn't locate it this morning, though," Dave pointed out.

"The culprit had time to plan everything very carefully," I continued, "which meant getting a backup padlock similar to the original. Have you noticed whether anyone in the cast or crew has a fresh wound, aside from Morris's skunk bite?"

"Jake Brigham has a half dozen new wounds a day," Dave said. "Animal bites, scrapes and cuts from leashes and reins, punctures from bird talons."

"One of the carpenters stabbed his palm with a nail building the boat set," Jane offered. "Rita sliced her finger with a drafting knife when she was making the new schedule board. Lee Chang pinched his wrist tightening a camera he'd mounted on a cherry picker. And Althea broke her nail grabbing her laptop when it started to fall. She saved the computer, but tore half her nail off in the process."

"I guess the question is, is there anyone in the company who couldn't have bled on the generator," I said. "This seems to be a company of the walking wounded."

"In more ways than one," Jane said.

We talked a little about scheduling a good time for a visit to the Muskoka Musketeers' protest camp, and Heft.

At four fifteen I walked to the mess hall. A yellow crime tape was strung across the door, barring anyone from going in. Next door George's mother had set up a tent to use until the original mess hall was cleared for food preparation again. Bess was waiting for me there.

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 703