Free Genteel Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan Page B

having proved such a dud, I asked Sam, “What’s the reason for the tight security, Sam? Do you expect a mob of respectable Pasadenans to storm the palace in revolt against the moving-picture industry or something?”
    “Of course not,” Sam said, as if my question had been utterly ridiculous.
    “Well then, why’d I have to show my identification? I felt as though I were being allowed into the presence of a royal personage .”
    “Where are you going now?” Sam asked, completely ignoring my question.
    I held on to my temper with some effort. “Mr. Mountjoy told me to drive through the portico and head out to what he called the north forty. I guess there’s a big field somewhere on these massive grounds that they’re using to build the set.”
    “There is. There are signs tacked up to point people in the right direction. Will you drive me out there so I don’t have to walk? It’s getting hot.”
    I considered Sam’s question. Which was a heck of a lot more than he’d done to mine.
    He must have realized that, because he said , I presume as an inducement , “I’ll tell you why security’s so tight.”
    I thought I alre ady knew why security was tight but didn’t let on. Anyway, I kind of hoped I was wrong. Not that I thought the Pasadena Police Department would blab about Monty Mountjoy’s sexual preferences, but news had a tendency to leak out. However, I was kind of surprised that Sam was breaking his silence on the issue, and I definitely wanted to know what he knew.
    “All right, then. Get in.” I lifted my handbag off the passenger’s seat, threw it in the back, and Sam opened the door and entered the Chevrolet. I thought I was being pretty darned nice, all things considered.
    As soon as Sam had settled in to the machine and shut the door, I put my foot on the gas pedal, let up on the choke, and we putted off to the north forty, which Monty had told me was somewhere beyond the rose gardens. He’d said all I needed to do was follow the first right-hand road I got to , and continue to be guided by the arrows tacked up on trees along the way . Except for the prior year when I’d visited the gigantic Castleton estate in San Marino, I’d never seen such extensive grounds. They looked as if they were manicured by a herd of professional gardener s every single day, too.
    In spite of myself, I said before Sam could satisfy my curiosity about the security question, “Boy, this place is the cat’s pajamas, isn’t it? It’s positively gorgeous. It must take a staff of hundreds to keep it in trim.”
    “It does,” grumbled Sam.
    I got the feeling he shared Billy’ s opinion of picture stars who made monstrous amounts of money while the rest of us common folk plodded along , scraping by from week to week whilst working every bit as hard, if not harder, than the rich picture stars. I’d learned in my tenth year that worth and wealth have nothing to do with each other , so I was used to it .
    Lawns rolled on forever, and flowers grew positively everywhere. Sure enough, we soon came to a road that bisected the one we were on . A big white arrow pointed to the right-hand path . This place was as big as a village all by itself. In actual fact, it had some out buildings that looked like they might house permanent staff. And all for the sake of one little , old woman who didn’t appreciate her good luck. I tried not to be bitter.
    “So tell me about the security,” I said as soon as I’d turned onto the appropriate road.
    “New invention,” said Sam, as if that explained everything there was to know about the security question.
    I’d have stared at him balefully if I weren’t driving. “What do you mean, new invention , Sam Rotondo? People are inventing new things all the time, and they don’t all require armed guards and detectives to keep people away from them . Darn you! What’s going on?”
    “All right, all right,” Sam said with a deep sigh. “Some guy named Homer Fellowes—he’s one of