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“Maybe I should call the hotel,” she said. “If she’s back there, she should be told what’s happened.”
    “As if she didn’t know already,” Jerry muttered darkly.
    “I thought I told you to shut up,” Hank said. “Taking pot shots at each other won’t help anybody right now. We need Veronica if we’re going to bring this film in, so watch what the hell you say to the police.”
    Molly stared at him. “You intend to finish the picture?”
    The assistant director met her gaze evenly. “There’s a helluva lot at stake here. Besides, it’s what Greg would have wanted. We all owe it to him to pull together and see that his last film is a fitting tribute to his genius.”
    The sound of distinct clapping came from the trailer’s open doorway. “I couldn’t have said it better,” producer Laura Crain said as she stepped inside. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed, but her narrow face was utterly composed.
    Molly couldn’t tear her gaze away from Laura’s performance. Gossip on the set and in the tabloids had linked Laura and her boss romantically fromthe first day of production. The chemistry between Greg and the older producer had been obvious to anyone observing them in the same room for more than a few seconds at a time. The long, soulful glances, the steamy stolen kisses, the briefest of touches that occurred too often to be accidental.
    From what Molly knew, Greg Kinsey never made a film without making a conquest in the process. Forty-year-old Laura Crain, with her stylishly cut frosted hair and nearsighted squint, had apparently been chosen as beneficiary of his affections on this production. Had the thin, hyperactive producer known that the romance was doomed to end in the next couple of weeks? Or had she, like all the others in his past, assumed she would be the one who lasted?
    Whatever her emotional turmoil over Greg’s death, Laura Crain wasn’t about to let it show. She was quite possibly the best actress of them all, Molly decided, watching her move to Hank’s side. With her clipboard in hand, she methodically went over a dozen scheduling details as if the murder had been no more than a minor glitch in an otherwise routine day.
    Hank listened for several minutes, then gently placed a hand over hers. “Stop,” he commanded softly. “There’s not a damn thing we can do tonight and you know it, so you might as well give it up. Go tell the crew to start breaking for the night. They can get the equipment loaded. They might as well get a decent night’s sleep, once the cops are through.”
    Laura stared at him helplessly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “But …”
    Hank’s gaze locked with hers. “It’s okay, babe. You hear me? Everything is going to be okay.”
    A fresh batch of tears finally spilled down Laura’s cheeks. Hank stood up and awkwardly pulled her into his arms. As Molly watched, Laura’s shoulders shook with silent sobs.
    Of all the people affiliated with the production, Molly had worked with Laura most closely, but she didn’t feel she really knew her. Laura was one of those women who never seemed to relax around other women, as if she viewed them all as competition, no matter how farfetched that idea might be. Even so, Molly felt she had to say something to her now, offer some sort of consoling words.
    She crossed the trailer. “Laura, I just want you to know how very sorry I am about Greg. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
    Laura whirled on her, her eyes flashing furious sparks. “Help? It’s because of you that this happened. Greg would be alive today, if you hadn’t convinced him to bring this production to Miami. We could have shot it anywhere, but he told me how persuasive you were, how accommodating.” Her voice turned even more spiteful as she added slyly, “I wonder exactly how accommodating you were.”
    “That’s enough!” Hank said firmly to Laura, when Molly could only stand there gaping. He shot an apologetic look at her. “Molly, maybe you