Free Angel's Verdict by Mary Stanton Page B

“Shit! You’re wasting my time here, people. I’m at my trailer in ten, Flurry. I want those new pages stat. Justine, try to be ready to reshoot this scene in thirty. By the way, Justine, if you don’t turn over that damn peacock pin, I’m going to rip it off you myself.”
    Bree worked this out. Ten: ten minutes. Thirty: thirty minutes.
    Justine waited until Mercury had charged out of the room before she said, “Repellant little man.”
    Flurry shrugged into her hoodie and slung her tote over her shoulder. “He’s making a pretty good movie, though, Justine. And he’s right. You ought to consider his offer to buy out your contract. Catch you later, Bree? I’d like a little face time. See what you remember about your uncle.”
    Justine didn’t wait for Flurry to disappear outside before she said, “The little slut’s against me, too.”
    Bree bent forward and looked at the jewel on Justine’s lapel. “Why does Mercury want you to remove the peacock pin?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Why does Mercury want you to remove it?”
    “Something to do with the lawsuit. The Bullochs want it back. Except for Dixie. Dixie’s on my side. But Dixie had a perfect right to lend it to me. Consuelo wore it all the time. When I wear it, I get such a feeling that she’s with me. It helps my performance tremendously.” Her lips trembled. “I’m an excellent actress. Excellent. These people have no idea what great art is all about.”
    Bree personally thought that great art should be more about compassion than beating up on an octogenarian. “Would you like me to handle this contract dispute for you, Justine?”
    “There is no dispute. I am part of this movie.”
    “We want to keep it that way. I’d like you to find your performance contract for me so I can review it.”
    “My agent has it. She’s in New York.”
    Bree nodded. She could find the address through the Screen Actors Guild website.
    Justine fumbled with her handkerchief and pressed it to her lips. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a lawyer on call. Do you think you can stop this persecution?”
    “I’ll do my best. There is one thing we can take care of right away. Might help to defuse the situation a bit.”
    “You want me to give up the brooch.”
    “Yes,” Bree said gently.
    Justine blinked away tears. Her fingers were surprisingly deft. She unpinned the jewel and laid it carefully on the damask cushion. “Will you see that it gets back to Dixie Bulloch?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Well. That’s that.” Justine closed her eyes for a long moment. Then her chin came up. “Do you remember what the New York Times had to say about my Medea? The 1965 production, on Broadway. I absolutely wiped Zoe Caldwell’s eye. I stood in for her for two performances. I am capable of doing great work.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “I am Consuelo Bulloch.”
    “You’ll be splendid.”
    “Thank you, my dear. I’m going to freshen up in my trailer now. I need to ready myself for the work later on today. Perhaps we can get the business of my will done tomorrow?”
    “Certainly.” Bree stood up politely and escorted Justine to the foyer.
    She came back for the brooch.
    For a few minutes, she stood looking down at it as it lay glittering on the couch. It was a beautiful piece of work. The peacock’s body was set with diamonds. The tail feathers glowed with emeralds, tipped with sapphires. The bird’s eye was a small round ruby.
    Consuelo was wearing it when she died.
    Bree’s dead clients frequently came to her through such objects.
    Bree bent and picked up the jewel.
    She wasn’t disappointed.
    The apparition trickled from the jewel like water pooling from a narrow crevice. It was dark—more an absence of light than any particular gray or black—and formed itself into a shape that was vaguely human. A woman, Bree decided, or womanlike, at least.
    “I’m Brianna Beaufort,” she said. “Have you come to me for help?”
    “Help . . .”