He smiled as he spoke. He’d lost his temper with Ted Murphy, and he wasn’t going to do that again. He was really getting his life, himself, back; dealing with arrogant assholes like Chasson in a smooth and politic way was actually far more satisfactory than losing his temper.
Chasson scowled at him before turning back to Bernie Firestone. Firestone had been grinning, but he tried to appear stern when Chasson looked at him for help.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. You said you wanted to film here. And if we’re filming here, Ms. Holly does have a say. You didn’t tell me you planned to talk about Sierra Monte.”
“But—” He stared over at Sandy. “But it’s history!”
Kelsey walked up to them, Sandy beside her.
“It’s Sandy’s property now, Mr. Chasson,” Kelsey said. “And she has the right to call the police and have you evicted if you’re breaking an agreement.”
“I didn’t agree to anything,” he said angrily.
“You can leave,” Sandy offered, apparently delighted with the way things were going.
“We…we paid to film here!” he sputtered indignantly.
“However, I was given script approval,” Sandy said.
Jeff Chasson might have been a jerk, but he knew when he was outnumbered. He smiled again, the practiced smile he gave the camera. “All right, forgive me. I wasn’t aware of your script approval, Ms. Holly. But if that’s the case… You see, the documentary traces the history of the Alamo, along with that of Texas. We follow the Alamo through to the present time. Ms. Holly, the Longhorn is a huge part of that. Now, we can leave, and I can say anything that’s fact, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“That’s true,” Sandy murmured.
“Or you and I can work on a script together, ensuring that the truth is told, but that you’re happy with what I say.”
Sandy looked uncertain at that. Her eyes darted to Kelsey, who shrugged. “Sandy, it’s totally up to you.”
She still hesitated. Chasson placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Ms. Holly? It looks bad if we avoid the truth. Bernie, what’s the schedule? This is all we had for today, isn’t it? Could I have a few minutes with Ms. Holly?”
Bernie Firestone nodded. “Whatever Ms. Holly decides.”
“Or did you want a larger check?” Chasson asked.
Sandy straightened regally. “I made a deal. I’m not reneging because of money.”
“Fine. Sandy and I can hammer this out. It won’t take us more than twenty minutes,” Chasson said.
Guiding Sandy to another table, Jeff Chasson withdrew a pen from his jacket pocket and a cocktail napkin from a longhorn-shaped holder.
Bernie shook his head. “I knew better than to take on this project.”
“Jeff Chasson calls the shots?” Logan asked.
“Not all of them,” Bernie said wearily. “On some of the narration. Like I told you, he really wanted this project, and the executive producer really wanted him. To be honest, he looks good on camera, he’s got credibility and he has a great voice. This is my first real snag. A lot of the film is action, reenactments of what happened, based on the historical record.” He paused. The cameraman, no longer filming, had taken off his headset, set it over the tripod and waited with weary patience. “I’m not sure you met earlier. This is Earl Candy. An amazing cameraman.”
Kelsey and Logan shook hands with him, introducing themselves.
“I wait around a lot,” Candy told them with a good-natured shrug.
Kelsey laughed, and Bernie Firestone flashed her a smile. “Your cousin Sean is an important part of the process. There are dozens of maps spread across the screen as the narration goes on—he does those. And he’s a whiz with film, working with shots that look like hell until he’s added his smoke and black powder or blazing sun.”
“What about the cast?” Logan asked in what might have sounded like a non sequitur but wasn’t.
“You saw today. Most of them have been a dream. Very professional.”
“And you’ve hired on a real cowboy,” Logan noted.
Bernie nodded. “The guy’s got the look, you know.” He smiled at Kelsey again. “I’d love to have you in a few shots, all dressed up like a saloon girl. And, Raintree, you’d make a damned good Alamo defender.”
Kelsey immediately demurred. “I don’t think it’s for me, but it sounds like Corey Simmons is pleased and excited.”
“Yeah, I’ll just have to work around the rodeo schedule. There’s always something. And we’re supposed to wrap this up by next week. That’ll be a miracle.”
Jeff Chasson rose and returned to stand before Bernie. “I’ve got everything settled with Sandy. We’ll film the last part in Room 207. She’s approved the script.”
“What?” Earl Candy asked. Logan saw that his camera was big and heavy; there were also lights and screens, along with sound equipment.
Logan saw that Kelsey was frowning, silently echoing his own reaction.
“Kelsey, do you mind?” Sandy asked, hurrying over to her excitedly. “He’s going to introduce me as the new owner up in your room. We’ll be quick—we have to be. I need to reopen the bar area soon.”
“You did a wrap-up on the practice tape,” Bernie said.
“And you can edit it, and I damned well know that,” Jeff Chasson snapped. “Come on. Sandy and I have this all worked out, and it’s going to make for a better piece. Our market is the history and learning channels. You have to offer them something new. Something out of the ordinary.”
Chasson turned away, starting for the stairs with Sandy.
Bernie Firestone glared after them. “Yeah. How about history?” he muttered. But Chasson didn’t hear him, and Sandy had apparently become his best friend.
“Want me to carry some of the camera equipment?” Logan asked. “I don’t know much about it, but I can haul and take directions.”
Bernie and Earl Candy looked at him with gratitude. “Wait, I’ll get you more help!” Kelsey said cheerfully.
A moment later, Kelsey was back with Corey Simmons, who was happy to assist with the equipment. Kelsey grabbed a couple of the screens, and with all of them participating, they were able to take up the entire video and sound ensemble in one effort.
When they reached the room, Sandy was applying what had to be Kelsey’s makeup and trying to move Kelsey’s belongings out of the way. Logan watched Kelsey’s eyes as she surveyed the scene; she held her temper and stepped forward. “Sandy, I can shift my belongings into the bathroom and closet for now. Finish your makeup and let me clear everything away.”
Chasson had already studied the room, and he started giving directions. “Bernie, get the room, and then me, with the curtains just so, like that, looking out on the street. We’ll have Cameron play with the film and get some mist going. And shadows. That’ll be great.”
Logan held still. It was up to Sandy. If she wanted to go along with the arrogant weasel, that was her choice.
“I’ll set it all up,” Earl Candy said. “Don’t mind me,” he added a little bitterly.
“Let me just, uh, get out of the way,” Corey Simmons said. He’d put down the heavy camera he’d carried, looking torn. He’d run screaming from this room, Logan remembered.
“I’ll be back in the kitchen for now, in case y’all need me!” Corey said next. Maybe he was expecting the director or Jeff Chasson to ask him to stay. Neither did. Logan wasn’t sure if Corey was relieved or disappointed.
“Thanks, Corey,” Logan said. The others hadn’t really seemed to notice him, once his function had been fulfilled.
“I’m here, if you need me,” he repeated. Then he left, heading back down the long stairway.
“Is this the way it usually works?” Logan asked Earl Candy in a low voice.
“Well, there isn’t always a usual in documentaries, but no,” Candy said. “Hell, I make a good income and I’m paid by the hour. Guess this’ll let me get the wife an iPad.”
Chasson did have an eye for the dramatic. He started to tell Bernie what to film, but Bernie took over. “I know what you want, Chasson. And I’ll make it work, but listen to me now. They call me the director for a reason.”
“We’ll get out of the way, too,” Logan said.
Kelsey frowned, and he almost smiled. She wasn’t leaving what was currently her room with these people in it.
“We’ll wait here, in the hallway,” he said.
Kelsey nodded slightly and joined him.
What Chasson had planned wasn’t derogatory, or disrespectful. He spoke softly, with a reverent hush to his voice as he said, “We’ve come to Room 207. When some guests phone to book it, they call it the murder room. This was where Rose Langley entertained men from the Alamo, and where she met her death. And where, nearly two centuries later, another young woman encountered a terrible fate, although the truth of that fate is still not known. With me is Sandy Holly, current owner of the Longhorn Saloon and Inn. Sandy, can you tell us more of the story?”
Sandy looked very pretty—shy and sweet—as she stepped closer. Chasson laid an arm across her shoulders. “Ms. Holly, you bought the Longhorn right after the incident with Sierra Monte, didn’t you?”
“I was in the process of buying the saloon, yes, and it was so tragic! We don’t know what happened, other than that a tremendous amount of blood was found in the room. But after the police were finished, a clean-up biohazard crew came in and, as you can see, the room is beautiful now.”
“But, Sandy, twice in the same room… Do you think the spirits of Rose Langley and Sierra Monte are still here?”
“No. I think that if there are spirits, they’re the souls of those who have gone on, and both women know I revere the history in this place, and that they’re as welcome as any other guest of the Longhorn Saloon,” Sandy said earnestly.
