Jada’s animated face grew solemn. “Hattie, how do you think this perplexing mystery will be resolved? Where is Lanier Ragan?”
“I don’t know,” Hattie said. “But I don’t think she would have voluntarily gone off and left her daughter behind.”
“Cut!” Alex called. “That was perfect, Hattie. Now, one more interview question with you and Trae, and we’re done here. I want you guys back out on the porch, okay?”
Hattie glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon, and she’d already lost a precious half day of work. But Mo, who was standing just behind Alex, gave her a subtle nod.
“Okay,” Hattie said.
Alex directed her to sit in a rocking chair beside Trae, with Jada’s chair facing them.
“Now, you two,” Jada said, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I want to ask you about those photos we all saw burning up the internet this week—from the looks of it, you’d just shared a cozy, intimate dinner. So what about these rumors of an on-set romance?”
Trae gave Hattie a knowing, sideways glance. “All I can tell you, Jada, is that Hattie and I have developed an amazingly close working relationship these past few weeks. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for someone like Hattie Kavanaugh? She’s adorable and hardworking—and I never have to wonder what she’s thinking, because she’s not shy about telling me!”
“Aww,” Jada cooed. “Hattie? What’s it like, working with a heartthrob like Trae Bartholomew?”
Hattie felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she struggled to regain her composure.
“It’s great,” she managed. “But right now, I’m really focused on Homewreckers, and on working on this house. So I’m afraid matters of the heart are going to have to take a back seat until we reach the finish line.”
“Hmm,” Jada quipped, “I guess we’ll just have to wait ’til Homewreckers premieres in September to see if those sparks can last.”
“And cut,” Alex said. “Great line, Jada. Great work, everybody.”
* * *
Cass found her in the wardrobe trailer, peeling out of the jumpsuit. “Is the coast clear? Have the bad people gone?”
“Finally,” Hattie said, pulling on her own jeans and a T-shirt. “What’s going on out there? Why is everything so quiet?”
“The restoration guys are on break. You saw the truck got there to haul off the old dumpster, right? We knew it would make a hell of a racket during your shoot, so Mo bribed the driver with breakfast burritos.”
Hattie finished lacing up her work boots. “Well, let’s get our people back to work. We need that new dumpster. I don’t want them dumping all that burnt siding on the ground. We’ve got enough of a mess as it is.”
As they walked around to the rear of the driveway they heard the rumble of a diesel engine. Mo stood to one side of the drive, directing the truck driver as he backed his trailer down the sloping drive toward the ruined dumpster.
Hattie found herself watching Mo, intrigued. As uncomfortable as he’d been during his brief stint in Jada’s interview, he was in his element here, juggling all the moving parts of a complicated production, with the assurance that came from a man who was totally comfortable in his own skin. Not cocky, she thought, confident.
The driver hung his head out the window, watching in his rearview mirror as he backed the truck up in halting, then lurching spurts, with black smoke spewing from the truck’s muffler.
Mo kept waving and called, “C’mon. C’mon. Plenty of room! Keep coming.”
When the semi gave one final backward lurch, Mo had to dive sideways to get out of the way. There was a thundering bang of metal on metal as the semi crashed into the dumpster, driving it backward until it finally slammed against the trunk of a huge live oak tree. Hattie let out an involuntary scream as the tree shuddered, then slowly toppled backward, landing in the yard.
“Jesus!” Mo exclaimed. He pulled himself to his feet and stood, trying to regain his bearings. He ran over to the cab of the semi, where the driver was slumped over the steering wheel, blood trickling from a gash on his lip.
“Hey, hey. You all right?” He opened the door and shook the driver’s shoulder. The man looked up, dazed.
“Yeah, man. I’m okay. I think I hit my head when the trailer hit the dumpster.”
He climbed out of the cab, leaning heavily against the door. “Something going on with the gas pedal. It like, stuck.” A huge lump was already rising on his forehead, but he walked unsteadily around to the rear of his rig.