The story so far …

Mark Dalton delivers the wind machines to the location shoot of Snowflake. In line behind another truck, when the line starts to move, the truck in front of him doesn’t. When he opens the door of the truck in front of him, the driver tumbles out… a knife in his chest. The dying man gives a clue, saying, “Aidee. Aidee.” Mark pulls the knife out of the man’s chest, just as the police arrive. Mark is taken away in handcuffs.

Mark convinces the police that he isn’t the kind capable of murder, nor did he ever know this guy before finding him dead. The police reluctantly agree that he’s probably not the killer, but they want him to stick around. He protests, but they still won’t let him go. However, the police do arrange for Mark to get a job with the movie people, driving a van.

He winds up shuttling people and things between the inn where cast and crew are staying and the location of the shoot. As he drives people back and forth, he is able to ask them what they know about the murder. Instead of narrowing down the list of suspects, the list expands as everyone seems to have a connection with the dying man’s words, “Aidee.”

After a good night’s sleep at the inn, Mark was up early running errands before he was scheduled to start shuttling people back and forth from the location. After picking up some dry cleaning in Barrie, Ont. he decided to see if he could see the truck driver they had in custody.

“Hi, I’m Mark Dalton,” Mark said to the officer on duty. “I replaced the driver that was killed and I need to speak to the driver you charged with the murder.”

“You a friend of his?”

Mark wondered what to say. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. “No, it’s just that I’ve got to move his truck and I can’t find reverse on it. I need to ask him, you know… where it is.”

The officer’s face screwed up as if to say, “What kind of a truck driver are you?”

Mark realized he had to bore the man with details. “You see, on a Peterbilt – ” he began.

The officer raised his hand to cut Mark off. Obviously, he didn’t want to hear it. “McNeil!” he called out.

Another, younger officer came to the front desk. “Take this guy to see that driver we got charged with murder. Give him two minutes, then show him the door.”

The younger cop nodded, and Mark was on his way.

“You a lawyer?” the driver asked, when Mark entered the room.

“No, just a driver.”

The guy sighed and turned his head. “I need a lawyer to get me out of here.”

“Well, I might get you out of here just the same.”

The guy suddenly seemed interested. “What do you want?”

“I want to know about your partner.”

“Know what?”

“Like, was he having money problems?”

That made him laugh. “With this job, we were doing great. The pay’s good and we’re not putting any miles on the trucks. Rich said he wanted to buy another rig, hire a third driver and start to make our little company grow. We had money, sure, but not enough for a new rig. But Rich says not to worry… that he’ll be coming into some money soon.”

“Where was he going to get the money from?”

The guy shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t really have a head for money. See, he was a good- looking guy, but dumb as a post. Where he got into trouble all the time was with women, like with that actress… her so young and pretty, and him so big and dumb. If I were the cops, I’d look at her.”

The door opened and the young cop stuck his head inside the room. “You done?”

“So reverse is over to the left, then up into the corner?”

The guy just looked at Mark.

“Got it,” said Mark. “Thanks.”

The cop led him out of the station. When he got into the van, he thought about what he’d learned. So, the driver, Rich, was expecting a windfall of cash, and then he’s dead. And somehow the girl is involved.

But how?

Mark didn’t have to wonder for long. His first passenger of the day was the very girl in question, Adriana Spenser. She was young – really young – pretty too, and had a body that was every bit as curvaceous as Shannon Tweed’s. No wonder the director had taken a shine to her.

“Morning,” said Mark, as he pulled away from the inn.

She smiled at him.

“You’re Adriana Spenser, right?”

“That’s right.”

Just then the woman’s cell phone started ringing. She took it out of her bag and snapped it open.

“Hi mom!” she said. A pause. “No, they’re not doing anything to celebrate it. Doyle doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. He says we’ll be celebrating in Cancun after the film wraps.”

There was more conversation, but none of it very important.

“Celebrating a birthday?” said Mark when she got off the phone.

“Yes.”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“How old do you have to be to drink in Ontario?” she asked.

“Nineteen.”

“Then that’s how old I am, 19.”

Mark almost asked her if she were sure, but decided to ask her in a different way. “So you were born in 1972, right?”

“That’s right.”

Mark didn’t really think he’d catch her so easily, but there it was. If she was 19, she’d have corrected him and said 1971. But she agreed she was born in 1972, which made today her 18th birthday, and which also made her just 17 the day before.

No wonder the director, Doyle, didn’t want to make a big deal about her birthday. And no wonder the driver, Rich, had been murdered.

When he arrived at the location, Mark dropped Adriana Spenser off and told her, “Happy birthday, and break a leg!”

He took a few extras back to the inn and then picked up the second unit director, Steve Zacks, to take him out to the location as well. He seemed to be in a hurry, and a little bit on edge.

“You’re the second unit director, right?” Mark asked. “I met you yesterday.”

“Yeah, hi!”

“I’ve just been working in movies for a day, but I’ve already learned that the second unit director is also sometimes called the assistant director.”

“Boy, you learn fast.”

“But not too many people call it Assistant Director, they just call it AD.”

“That’s me,” said Zacks, putting up a hand.

“So how’s the movie going?”

“Very well, actually,” said Zacks, leaning forward on his seat to be closer to Mark. “Two more days of shooting and then two weeks editing and it will all be done.” A pause. “Then I’ll be back here in December, shooting Snowflake 2.”

“You know that already, eh?” asked Mark. “Doesn’t the first one have to make money first?”

“See, the way we shot it on the cheap, it’s already turned a profit with rights sales to Japan, Russia and Brazil. The deal for the sequel was inked yesterday, and I’m going to direct it.”

Dalton felt a chill creep up his spine.

“So I guess it was really important to you that this shoot went off without a hitch, right?”

“Yes.” He sounded guarded.

“And the murder of that driver was probably a close one, in terms of the movie getting finished.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Mark, trying to sound simple-minded, but proud of the fact he’d been smart enough to figure it all out. “Any adverse publicity and the whole production might get shut down, the movie would be left hanging and there’d be no Snowflake 2. No big break for you.”

“I suppose.”

“So if there was something that might screw up the film, you’d really want to make it right.”

“What the hell are you gettin’ at?” The man’s caution had slid over into anger.

“Like if that driver was going to blackmail you about how the director was sleeping with a minor, that could throw the whole movie into the toilet, what with all the nudity in it.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“Hey,” said Mark. “I’m just talking here.”

But the AD was through talking. He had a knife in his hand now, much like the knife Mark had pulled from the dead man’s chest.

“Put that away!” said Mark, turning the wheel wildly left and right, trying to throw the man in the back seat off balance. It was working, but only a little. The sliding door had rolled open, and the man’s knife was ripping through the driver’s seat, coming dangerously close to Mark’s arm.

Mark leaned forward in the seat and could hear the knife tearing through the seat behind him.
He’d only been asking a few questions, trying to figure out the puzzle in his head. He never dreamed he would stumble upon the murderer.

The guy was still slashing wildly at him from the back seat. The only thing saving Mark’s life was the fact that the man wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and couldn’t hold the knife steadily enough to deal a lethal blow.

“That damn idiot Doyle!” he screamed. “I told him… ‘Keep it in your pants ’til her birthday!’ but he couldn’t resist that bitch. Never once thought about me… my career.”

Another slash tore into the seat behind Mark and he could feel the knife tip press against the small of his back. The next one was going to go right through the seat. He began honking the horn since he was rapidly approaching the shoot. There were people milling around, even a couple of cops on hand to keep an eye on things. Mark stepped on the gas and headed for the police and their cruiser.

People began to scatter.

About 50 feet away from the cruiser, Mark turned the wheel hard to the left and jumped on the brake pedal with both feet. The minivan’s rear end swung out as the tires screamed against the asphalt. For a moment it looked as if the vehicle might topple over, but then it came to an abrupt halt, sending Steve Zacks, AD flying out the open door. He rolled head over heels over head several times before coming to a halt at the feet of two constables.

Mark knew right then that his career in movies was finished.

And he was glad of it. n