“Not so much, though they threatened to come talk to me again. I told them I don’t know anything else.”
“What a pain.” Roz paused, aware of how awkward the next couple of minutes were going to be.
Sheryl sat back and looked up at her. “Have—have you learned any more about what happened?”
So maybe that was why Sheryl came to the office. And Roz didn’t want to answer that question directly.
“We’ve learned a little more about Wayne,” Roz said.
“Oh, really?” Dread colored her question.
“How much do you know about the movies he made?”
Sheryl seemed to relax a little. “Oh, they were really good. They won awards and were in film festivals. Mostly small ones, but he’d done a feature or two.”
“So you’ve seen some of them?”
“Well, no. Except Fastest Spin Wins.” Sheryl lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “He said the rights were tied up in sensitive negotiations and that’s why they weren’t on YouTube or streaming.”
There was that phrase again. “He didn’t have a copy he could show you?”
“Oh, he did, I’m sure. It just wasn’t convenient, I guess. I mean, we always had other things to talk about.” Sheryl looked starry-eyed for a second as she pushed her hair away from her face. “Why are you asking?”
“Alden and I have been looking into Wayne, and we think maybe he didn’t make all the movies he talked about.”
Sheryl’s face froze as she blinked up at Roz. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Are you sure?” Roz didn’t want to be too tough on Sheryl, but how could she be so innocent given her connection to the guy?
“Well, he told me …” Sheryl’s voice trailed off.
“Wayne told people a lot of things,” Roz said gently. “How far had he gotten in developing your script?”
“Um, well, he said he had a couple of directors interested. You know this Hollywood stuff. Nothing happens overnight.”
“That’s what I hear,” Roz agreed. “Had you invested in the movie?”
“Just in some preproduction work Wayne said he had to do—a trailer. A pitch deck. Storyboards to get the right actors interested and so on.”
And there it was. He should’ve been paying her as a scriptwriter. Instead, she paid him.
“How much?” Roz asked.
“Oh, um.” Sheryl seemed to be catching on. Her voice wavered. “About fifty thousand dollars. But he said I’d make ten times that when the movie got made.”
“He said you’d make half a million dollars? That’s—a lot.” Some writers made that, but it was way more than a first-time scriptwriter could expect unless they’d written a huge blockbuster, at least according to stuff she’d googled.
“I know! I was so excited.” Sheryl paused, her enthusiasm fading. “And he was so nice to me. So sweet. We were going to go on a trip together, just the two of us. He’s the first man I’ve seriously dated since the divorce.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
Now Roz felt terrible. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Sheryl sniffled and turned back to the laptop, though Roz wondered if she could even see the screen through her now copious tears. Sheryl might be sorry in more ways than one as she thought about what Roz said.
That weasel Wayne Vandershell had bilked Sheryl out of fifty thousand dollars. Even if he’d intended to use the money as he said, all of which sounded like a scam, he’d lied about his credentials. Was she his only mark?
And was Sheryl as innocent as she seemed? Roz sat at her desk and snuck a look at her. If Sheryl had figured out Wayne was a weasel, did she kill him?
Roz had just closed her laptop when her phone vibrated. She eyed the ID and picked it up. “Duke? What’s up?”
