Angel's Verdict Read Online Free Page B

horrendous. Something is very wrong on the set of Bitter Tide . And they are trying to blame it on me.” Justine breathed in and out slowly, visibly willing herself calm. “I beg your pardon. I’m a bit frightened. I’m not used to living in fear.”
    “Blaming it on you?” Bree said. “How can they blame cost overruns on you? Or damaged equipment?”
    “Phillip is an artist. He insists on multiple takes and that costs money. He can be a bit of a bully. Most great directors are, of course. Erich von Stroheim used to walk around with a riding crop in his hand. And he used it. So it’s no wonder I get a bit flustered and forget my lines. Anyone would. It’s impossible to be at one’s best under those circumstances. But as far as replacing me with Allison Buckley. T’uh!”
    “Allison Buckley?” EB said. “She was in that TV show The Silver Sneakers , Bree. You know, the one about the lady detectives in the nursing home.” She patted Justine’s shoulder “That Buckley’s not half the actress you are, Ms. Coville.”
    “She certainly is not.”
    Bree leaned back against the desk and folded her arms. “Mercury wants to void your contract and put someone else in the role. Is that it? Because he doesn’t feel you’re up to the job?”
    “He says I’m too old.”
    The word seemed to hang in the air like a curse. Bree felt swamped with pity.
    Justine held up her hand. “Listen to me, please. These incidents Phil blames on me could be viewed as the imaginings of a dotty old lady. I want you to come to the set because I want you to see for yourself. “
    “All right,” Bree said.
    “You appear to me to be both forthright and honest. If you think Phillip’s right, you will tell me.”
    “I will.”
    Justine held her head up with spirit. “But if what I think is correct—that someone is out to get me—I expect you to take all appropriate action.”
    Bree suppressed a smile. “You bet,” she said.
    “Then if Mrs. Billingsley can make those few—admittedly minor—updates to my last will and testament as quickly as I believe she can, I will expect you on the set tomorrow afternoon. About three o’clock.” She lifted her chin, looked slowly from Bree to EB and back again, and walked out of the office, closing the door firmly behind her.
    “Hm,” EB said after a long, startled moment.
    “That was quite an exit.” Bree sank down in the visitor’s chair. “Good grief.”
    EB tugged the yellow pad with the amendments to Justine’s will out of Bree’s hand and sat down at her desk.
    “You don’t think we should see her down the elevator?” Bree asked. “Make sure that the hire car’s waiting? That she’s safe?”
    EB looked at Bree over her reading glasses. “That’s one old lady who can take care of herself. You heard her. Wants help on her own terms, and my goodness if she didn’t dictate those terms like Joe Stalin bossing FDR at Yalta.”
    Bree blinked.
    “The teacher’s up to World War II in my night school class.” EB tapped at her keyboard with a self-satisfied air. “You better get yourself on home for lunch while I finish this will up. Antonia e-mailed me twice wondering where you are. Sooner I get this done, the sooner we can go get a gander at what’s happening on that movie.” She shook herself. “Lord! What a great place to work this is! Go on, now, Bree. Get some food in you. You’re getting thinner than a fence post.”
    “Lunch,” Payton McAllister said as he pushed the door open and stepped inside the office. “Precisely why I dropped by. Can’t have you assuming fence-post proportions, Bree.”
    Bree stared coldly at him. “If it isn’t Payton the Rat.”
    The second floor of the Bay Street building was given over to a satellite office of Payton’s law firm, Stubblefield, Marwick. Bree didn’t know which she despised more: Payton, with his gym-toned body and his insolent attitude, or his sleazy boss John Stubblefield. Payton himself was lithe, well dressed,