Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him for a long moment. She’d been doing that a lot lately and it was beginning to get seriously disturbing.

“Don’t give them ideas,” she snapped at last, shook off his hand, and headed down to her workshop.

For the seven years she’d been his entire special effects department, Arra had made no close attachments among the crew. She’d interacted as much as necessary to perform her job but no more. Now, it seemed, in less than a week she’d made a friend. Or acquired an accomplice. Chester Bane wasn’t sure which, but given everything else that had been going on, the timing was interesting.

Standing just inside his office, he watched Arra head downstairs and, after a long moment spent staring at the closed door, he saw Tony Foster disappear in the direction of the soundstage.

It, whatever it was, had something to do with light levels.

There was nothing he hated more than being lied to, so before he asked questions, he liked to make sure he could identify the answers.

About to return to his desk, he paused as the outer door opened and the two RCMP officers who’d investigated Nikki Waugh’s unfortunate death walked into the office. He watched as Rachel hurried to meet them and stepped forward as she turned in his direction.

“Mr. Bane, these officers would like a word with you.”

“Of course.” He indicated they should precede him into his office. The man, Constable Elson, moved like he was hunting and close to his quarry. The woman, Constable Danvers, rolled her eyes before she followed her partner. There was disagreement between them, then. Not on the larger issues, perhaps, but she was definitely indulging him on the smaller.

Interesting.

“Alan Wu is dead.”

About to lower himself into his desk chair, he paused and turned, staring at the two officers. After a moment, Constable Danvers added, “He died Saturday afternoon.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was. In a profession with more than its fair share of insecure nut jobs and delusional divas, Alan Wu had been dependable. He sat, indicated that the police officers should sit, and he waited.

Constable Elson made an obvious and obviously unnecessary show of checking his notes. “Alan Wu is the second of your employees to die in less than a week.”

Less than a week. Now, it seemed, in less than a week she’d made a friend.

“Alan Wu was not my employee. He was an actor who I regularly employed.”

“Tony Foster was with him when he died. He told us he’d been driving around with another of your employees, an Arra Pelindrake. They do both work for you?”

“They do.”

“Good. And that’s not all.”

He locked his gaze on the younger man’s face. “Go on.”

It got more interesting by the moment.