A Few Good Murders (Maggie Mars Mysteries),Used

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One Carpe diem. Seize the Day. Whoever first said that back in ancient Rome would certainly never have carped this diem. If one could have gotten out of bed in the morning and known what this particular Monday held in store, and the murders it would later lead to, one would never have Okay, enough with the impersonal "one." It's the personal me I'm talking about. Me. Maggie Mars. Transplanted New Yorker. Former investigative reporter. And current screenwriter for however long it lasts. I would have stayed in bed, cowering under the covers, and never would have washed my face, brushed my hair, put on my lip gloss, and driven to the Malibu set where they were shooting my movie. My movie. Murder Becomes Her. Written by Maggie Mars. "Written by Maggie Mars . . . " The most beautiful four words in the English language. Until murder became a reality offscreen as well as on. As it was, all unknowing, I backed my studioloaned car out of the garage and thought again of how nice it would be to have a limo come by and pick me up. But executive transportation isn't for writers. Directors maybe, producers probably, and, of course, stars. Stars like Allegra Cort, who had been cast in the role of my heroine, Mercedes Pell. "Blecccch," said Mercedes Pell." 'Blecccch'? What's that supposed to mean?" "It's a euphemism for 'what a bitch'!" Well, that's Mercedes for you. My alter ego. The free spirit who says all the stuff I think of but can never get past my Politically Correct lips. "What dumbass was responsible for having her play me?" Mercedes said. "She doesn't look like me at all. She's got two whole cup sizes to go!" Now that wasn't exactly true, but I didn't say so aloud. There's only so much talking to myself I can do in Los Angeles traffic. Besides, whether Allegra Cort looked like Mercedes was not the issue. At least not with me. From the first day we met in Fowler Mohr's office, Allegra and I were not on the same page. Hell, we weren't even on the same planet. "I love the script," she said to me. "I positively adore the script," she said to Fowler, who beamed. That was sweet music to any producer's ears, as well as to the writer who wrote it. "I can hardly wait," she then said, "until I can give Maggie my ideas for rewrites." Which she did. Starting on page one. Every day she asked for more changes in her lines, which meant more rewrites, and sometimes whole new scenes. At first I sought a Rodney King whycan'tweallgetalong approach. "Why not first try the lines as written," I said. Even the director was in favor of that. "Sounds like a plan," Buzz Harding said. "We can always change them later." "Not later, now," Allegra said. "It's just not happening for me. F'rinstance . . ." Allegra Cort could f'rinstance you to death. She'd riffle through the script pages, and tap a glossily enameled fingernail on one or more lines of dialogue. Last Friday the line was in the jail scene. " 'I've got this dickhead detective torn between trying to get in my pants and arresting me . . . '" she said, reading. And then, looking up, " 'Dickhead detective . . .' I would never say that kind of language." "You're not saying that," I said. "Mercedes is." That was my failing. I was being reasonable. "There's your trouble, right there," Allegra said. "Mercedes needs to be a little more feminine . . . a little more Scarlett O'Hara . . ." "Well, fiddledeedee," said Mercedes. "That friggin' feminine enough for you?""Allegra," I said. "You don't want to soften Mercedes' character. Her attitude is what makes her so special and different. It sets her apart from your usual runofthe screen heroines. Reese, Keira, Charlize" She cut me off with a dismissive wave. "Spare me the laundry list." A dramatic pause, and then, "I'll think about it," she said. Blecccch, I thought. And, as usual, she swept off to her trailer dressing room, trailed by her pallid mouse of an assistant, Lisa Lindsey,