Page 12 of Romance Is Dead
He wiped some dust from the cover as he cracked it open.
“Your mom made this with photos she took on the set of the first Puzzle Face movie.” On the first page was a photo of the two of them, my dad decked out in his costume as he wrapped an arm around my mom and kissed her neck.
She was laughing, head thrown back, as she threw up a peace sign.
Around the photo, she’d pasted cute decorative cutouts: a movie camera in one corner, a reel of unwound film in another.
“Mom made this?” It was hard to imagine my mother, so career-driven and analytical, creating something so sentimental.
“Oh yeah, she had a big scrapbooking phase for a while.” He chuckled. “Didn’t last long. I think this was the only one.”
As we flipped through the pages, I tried to take in every detail, thirsty for glimpses of my parents when they were still happy.
On one page she’d stuck a photo of my dad listening intently to the director next to a snap of my dad holding up bunny ears behind the same man when he wasn’t looking.
On another, there were photos of the two of them — my mom and dad curled up napping between scenes or eating together with the cast. I tried to ignore the pangs of sadness that my mother had thought it important to document her early relationship with my dad but not the early years of her only child.
Baby photos of me existed, but not in anything even remotely resembling a baby book.
“Did you tell her you found this?”
My dad shook his head, a wisp of a rueful smile on his face. “Nah, I’ll show her at Christmas.”
There was no bad blood between my mom and dad, and my relationship with her wasn’t too strained either.
She flew down every year for the holidays, and we spent the week together, catching up and watching A Christmas Story on repeat as we baked cookies.
But while my dad and I had formed a close, natural bond before my brain had even started to form memories, my mother and I struggled to find things we had in common.
I was sad when they divorced, and it was a transition when she moved east to take the New York City real estate market by storm, but my dad had always been my rock, grounding me even when things were uncertain.
My mom and I texted on occasion and had a monthly phone call, but that relationship was nothing like the one I had with my dad.
Finally reaching the end of the scrapbook, we turned to the last page, which featured a huge photo capturing the entire cast and crew.
I peered from face to face, each of them beaming exhausted but happy grins.
There was just one that hadn’t bothered smiling, a glowering man standing all the way on the left side who looked strangely familiar.
I peered closer. There, staring back at me, was the face in Trevor’s Instagram photo. It was the man who’d been so angry when Trevor and Teddy broke the lamp on the first day.
“I know him,” I murmured, my pulse thumping. “That’s our props master.”
“Scott Rossi? He’s still in the business?” My dad frowned, his whole face darkening. “Stay away from him, ok? He’s not a nice guy.”
“Why? What’s he done?”
“He was the props assistant on this first movie. Real piece of work. Always in a bad mood, and I saw him punch an extra for ruining a prop once. It was just an old boom box, not even anything expensive. The guy’s an asshole.”
“Yikes.”
“He ended up getting fired halfway through filming. Never forgave me, though, for turning him in to production. Best to just avoid him, if I were you.”
My stomach sank, a dark picture of what could have happened to Trevor forming in my mind. “Got it. I will.”
I hated lying to my dad.
Thankfully, there was no more talk of my career as we decimated the spaghetti and a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream for dessert.
Daffy even woke up in time for me to make her a special dessert of strawberries and the tiniest squirt of whipped cream.
It made her like me for a whole forty-seven seconds.
The sky had darkened by the time I put on my shoes to leave, and my dad walked me to my car even though it was a mere ten feet from the house.
He leaned through the open window of the passenger side door. “Thanks for visiting, Squish. It’s always good to see you.”
“Of course. It was good seeing you, too.”
“Drive safe.”
“I will.”
“And listen. . .”
I tensed, knowing where this was going.
“Will you at least think about calling my buddy? Just to chat?”
I sighed. “Sure, Dad. I will.”
But as I backed out of the driveway and took off down the road, getting in touch with my dad’s friend was the last thing on my mind. Dots were starting to connect, and I was convinced I’d found our first lead.
Scott had a motive, and apparently a history of lashing out when people damaged his props.
And now, we had photographic evidence that he was near Trevor shortly before his death.
Did Trevor go to apologize, but Scott snapped and hurt him?
Or could Scott have planned the entire thing — rolling back the fencing before following Trevor and pushing him into the ditch?
He could have even moved some rocks, making sure Trevor didn’t have a safe landing.
Either way, I would have to forget whatever happened between me and Teddy while rehearsing the lap dance scene. We needed to regroup, and then Teddy and I needed to talk to Scott.