Karson clears his throat and angles his body so the two of us are not facing each other. “We’re simply making sure our trainees are law-abiding citizens. We don’t want any trouble here.”
I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about me again. I can’t wait to prove him wrong.
Drew shrugs. “No need to worry if you have minor infractions like speeding tickets or being reported for disturbing the peace when you threw a party in college.”
Charlie raises his hand but doesn’t wait to speak. “What about if your neighbor called the cops because she saw your roommate duct-taped to a chair through your window, and she didn’t realize said roommate asked to be duct-taped so she could practice escaping for a script she’s working on?”
Or what about if you have murderous thoughts toward your roommate for bringing up your history with the police in front of your whole class?
Kai turns his head sideways and covers his face as if he’s trying to hide. Maybe he’ll take care of Charlie for me. Except we both know the dummy truly believes he’s helping.
Drew blinks. No doubt he’s never had to answer such a question before.
Karson’s brooding expression doesn’t change, and his arms remain crossed. “In such situations”—meaning my situation—“I’ve recommended the actress stick to acting and leave police work to professionals.”
My mouth gapes. How could he think such a thing? “I’m not an actress. I’m a writer.”
Drew’s dark eyes widen in delight. He motions my way. “That was you?”
Both of Karson’s eyebrows arch this time. “Did you or did you not act in the superhero TV show that was filmed downtown?”
So he’d recognized me from the TV show I worked on last summer. I’d only taken that job with hopes it would open the door for selling my screenplay to the director.
Chairs squeak and clothing rustles as everyone else in the room twists to see if they recognize me too.
But what I want to know is, after I appeared, did Karson keep watching the show or turn off the television?
The role wasn’t my finest work. I’d tried suggesting some changes to the writers so they could make it more believable, but then they poisoned my character. Which was actually much nicer than what other writers have done to me.
Ahh … poison. The most dignified of murder weapons.
“Yes, it was me,” I respond to both policemen. “But—”
“I thought you looked familiar,” a slouchy guy in the front row interrupts.
The frumpy woman next to him harrumphs. “You said she looked like a Barbie doll.”
I don’t need that kind of judgment in my life. Even if I’m judging her for wearing such crazy bright sneakers. I lean forward against the edge of the table to present my case. “I do a little acting when the opportunity presents itself, but I’m here to learn about police work so I can write more realistic stories.”
“Really?” Karson’s chin raises.
Does he guess that’s only part of the reason I’m here, and he’s the other part?
“Is there anything realistic in Hollywood?”
Whew.He’s not questioning me. He’s questioning the whole film industry.
Charlie jabs a thumb to his chest, taking the opportunity for himself. “Actually, I film documentaries, so reality is my focus. I’d love to put together something about the issues you deal with on a day-to-day basis.”
“Whoa, boy.” Drew gives a loud clap of his hands. “Are you all in the movie biz? What about you, dude?” He snaps his fingers at Kai.
The term “dude” fits. Not only is Kai actually a Hawaiian-born surfer, but he looks like one too, with his shaggy hair and puka-shell necklace. He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I just take pictures.”
I elbow him. He should be proud of his art. “Actually, Kai’s a cinematographer. He does beautiful work.”
More rustling and murmurs.
“All right then.” Karson calls our attention back. “Anyone else here make movies?”
