“Reality doesn’t wrap up when the director says cut, or the screen goes to black, Mr. Knightly. What you do may give people a break from reality, and that’s all good. But we’ve got to come back to it.”
She pushed to her feet. “I appreciate your time, understand your concerns. Now we both better get back to doing our jobs.”
He rose with her. “We put in a bid on the Icove project.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Nadine Furst’s book. We tried to get the rights to it, but it was above our reach. Congrats on the Oscar noms.”
“Okay.”
“They announced them this morning. It’s up for seven Oscars—best actress, best supporting actor, best director, best adapted screenplay, best editing, best sound, and the holy grail of best picture. You didn’t hear?”
“I’m a cop, Mr. Knightly.”
“Kyle. And you’re the Icove cop.”
“No, I’m the NYPSD cop.”
She stepped out, headed in the direction of the main reception, tagging Peabody as she walked.
“Where are you?”
“One floor up in Makeup. Jesus, Dallas, I met Adrianna Leo. I talked to her while she was getting hair and makeup for a scene. Then Joe P. Foxx just strolled right in, and I could’ve passed out!”
“Do I have to come up there?”
“What? No, I covered it.”
“And your face? What’s on your face?”
“Um. Makeup.”
“Get your made-up face down to the garage.” Eve clicked off, reminding herself she’d been the one who sent Peabody into the damn candy store.
She rode down on the elevator, ignoring other passengers who seemed buzzed on Oscar talk, until one of the women stared at her.
The woman’s eyes popped. “Oh my God, you’re Marlo Durn!”
“No, I’m not.”
Obviously undeterred, the woman continued to chatter while digging in her rhino-sized bag. “Oh, I’m such a fan. I just have to have a picture with you.”
“I’m not Marlo Durn.”
’Link already in hand, the woman frowned at her. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“You could so be her stand-in for The Icove Agenda. I mean you look just like her Eve Dallas character. Are you her stand-in?”
“No.”
Eve escaped the elevator, took another down to the garage.
She got in the car, began a run on Kyle Knightly. And sent Peabody a long stare when her partner climbed in.
“Why do you have blue eyelashes?”
“They make my eyes pop, and it’s just a hint of blue. Mags gave me a professional daytime look.”
“That’s so special.”
“It was for me,” Peabody muttered. “Plus I got to meet one of my favorite screen stars, and interview two of the top studio makeup artists. One of them also does the specialty work—like on Planet Plague.”
“Zombies.”
“Yeah, I love that show. Scares the crap out of me, but I love it. They have everything our UNSUB would need, right in studio. I’ve got a handful of names to run. Plus, Mags’s good friend Uma in Wardrobe half dated Hugh—Jacko’s nephew—a few months ago.”
“Half dated?”
“They went out a couple of times, but it didn’t click. She clicked more with his friend Anson—bartender at Jacko’s—and they’re semi-dating now.”
Eve concluded semi-dating was more serious than half dating. “Maybe it was worth the blue lashes.”
“I’m buying this lash color, you can bet on it. And did you hear? Our vid’s up for major Oscars!”
“Peabody.”
“It’s mega, Dallas. Nadine has to be zooming out of orbit. She could win a fricking Oscar. I’ve got to text her.”
“Peabody.”
“Later. I’ll text her later. Run the names now.”
“Good plan.”
“It was exciting, sitting there getting my makeup done right next to Adrianna Leo, and she was really nice. Mags said she’s total earth. Just like Wendy Rush is a total bitch—and she always plays a sweet thing, but she’s completely not. And how Joe P. Foxx is not only frosted cream, but is always showing off pictures and little vids of his kids. Devoted family guy, which makes him frostier.”
“Mags likes to gossip.”
“Which is how I got the data on the wardrobe pal dating two of Jacko’s crew, and a lot of info on makeup, who does what, where they get it, how accessible it is. Mags is strictly in studio, but they have several artists who work location shoots or travel with the crew for exterior shots. Some are freelance and move from project to project, company to company, but some are contracted to On Screen.”
Peabody shook her head as she studied her handheld. “And my top choice isn’t going to fit. Mags said this Max Bloombaum was the ace at monster makeup and prosthetics, which is why they contracted him to create the makeup for Planet Plague. He’s sixty-three, height six-two, married, three kids, two grandkids.”
“Too tall, too settled for the profile. Finish my run on Kyle Knightly.”
“Does he ring for you?”
“He’s connected to the first vics, has used the caterer and the rental company, has access to the necessary makeups and effects. His alibi is a house droid.”
Eve drummed her fingers on the wheel. “He comes off as sincere, concerned, emotionally attached to the Patricks. But he runs about five-eight, knows their house, would easily know their plans. Not married, lives alone.”