props in the shop by designers who walk through and want to claim pieces for movies and shows. Remember, Tim, I showed you?”
“Yeah, all the ornate silver…candelabras and tankards, vases, and that kind of kitschy bling were tagged for the sequel to
Pirates of the
whatever. All the loot-worthy pieces that could pass for swag had big green tags on them with the movie logo and a
reserved for
message on them,” Tim explained to Jane.
“Sometimes people use plain index cards to mark property, sometimes there are cards with a distinguishable color or picture to identify the project or the designer,” said Bix, adjusting her arm, allowing Jane to plump the pillow that was supporting it. “When I saw the wooden box with this tag on it, my first thought was to get the tag off before Tim saw it and told you, so I ripped it off and put it in my pocket. Then I opened the box….” Bix closed her eyes.
Jane looked at the tag.
BIXPIXFLIXBIXPIXFLIX
was written as a continuous frieze around the top of the card in a font that mimicked old typewriter letters. Written in purple ink was
Save for SCARECROW MURDERS/JANE WHEEL.
Bix had seemed plenty confident in her office that morning, but Jane figured that was how people in her business had to act. Sure they could get Teri Hatcher or, hey, why not Julia Roberts to play Jane Wheel, then Jane signs on the dotted line and suddenly, instead of going with a star, it’s going to be a breakout role for someone who’s been doing cartoon voice-overs. Jane had been in advertising long enough to recognize the bravado. But to go ahead and tag props for a movie not optioned? Script not written?
“Who could have tagged the box?” Jane asked.
“Access to the tags wouldn’t be a problem. The front desk in the bungalow is open and Cynda’s running off to auditions and meetings herself half the time, so anyone could take out stationery. Our tags might even be in the office at the prop shop. To get into the warehouse, you need to sign in. Authorization and identification…all that. But…” Bix paused. “People have gotten in who shouldn’t be there. It happens. People on studio tours have been known to sneak in. If furniture’s being moved out and the side doors are open, someone could walk in, I guess.”
“You kidding? Someone could live undetected up on the third floor,” said Tim. “Once you’ve gotten in, with or without credentials, who notices when you leave? If you leave?”
“You’re supposed to sign out with the time. There’s a book…someone must check it,” said Bix.
“Is someone sitting with the book?” asked Jane.
“Yes. Well, not always. I mean, they don’t necessarily watch you sign or anything,” said Bix.
“Honey, there was no attendant when you and I walked in and signed today,” said Tim. “You called out hello to someone and they answered from another office where they were on the phone.”
“Yeah…but they know me.”
“So, if they know me, I could just sign in and mark a time out for fifteen minutes later while I’m signing in, then disappear upstairs without anyone knowing I was there past the time I wrote in,” said Jane.
“Hardly has to be that complicated,” said Tim. “I saw people returning a dining room set through a side door and it was just a bunch of workmen carrying things in. Someone could have walked in right behind them carrying that box, already tagged, set it down, and left the lot altogether.”
This was where Jane needed the Bruce Oh side of her brain to kick in. Without him by her side, she felt herself drifting into the land of infinite questions. She hadn’t found a tangent yet that she didn’t want to explore. She was already jealous that Tim had seen the props warehouse and she hadn’t. Aisles and aisles of Hollywood stuff, movie props, set dressing, and one of those pieces literally had her name on it. Until it blew up.
“What was the box anyway? An old chemistry set like they said?” Jane asked.
Bix
“Yeah, all the ornate silver…candelabras and tankards, vases, and that kind of kitschy bling were tagged for the sequel to
Pirates of the
whatever. All the loot-worthy pieces that could pass for swag had big green tags on them with the movie logo and a
reserved for
message on them,” Tim explained to Jane.
“Sometimes people use plain index cards to mark property, sometimes there are cards with a distinguishable color or picture to identify the project or the designer,” said Bix, adjusting her arm, allowing Jane to plump the pillow that was supporting it. “When I saw the wooden box with this tag on it, my first thought was to get the tag off before Tim saw it and told you, so I ripped it off and put it in my pocket. Then I opened the box….” Bix closed her eyes.
Jane looked at the tag.
BIXPIXFLIXBIXPIXFLIX
was written as a continuous frieze around the top of the card in a font that mimicked old typewriter letters. Written in purple ink was
Save for SCARECROW MURDERS/JANE WHEEL.
Bix had seemed plenty confident in her office that morning, but Jane figured that was how people in her business had to act. Sure they could get Teri Hatcher or, hey, why not Julia Roberts to play Jane Wheel, then Jane signs on the dotted line and suddenly, instead of going with a star, it’s going to be a breakout role for someone who’s been doing cartoon voice-overs. Jane had been in advertising long enough to recognize the bravado. But to go ahead and tag props for a movie not optioned? Script not written?
“Who could have tagged the box?” Jane asked.
“Access to the tags wouldn’t be a problem. The front desk in the bungalow is open and Cynda’s running off to auditions and meetings herself half the time, so anyone could take out stationery. Our tags might even be in the office at the prop shop. To get into the warehouse, you need to sign in. Authorization and identification…all that. But…” Bix paused. “People have gotten in who shouldn’t be there. It happens. People on studio tours have been known to sneak in. If furniture’s being moved out and the side doors are open, someone could walk in, I guess.”
“You kidding? Someone could live undetected up on the third floor,” said Tim. “Once you’ve gotten in, with or without credentials, who notices when you leave? If you leave?”
“You’re supposed to sign out with the time. There’s a book…someone must check it,” said Bix.
“Is someone sitting with the book?” asked Jane.
“Yes. Well, not always. I mean, they don’t necessarily watch you sign or anything,” said Bix.
“Honey, there was no attendant when you and I walked in and signed today,” said Tim. “You called out hello to someone and they answered from another office where they were on the phone.”
“Yeah…but they know me.”
“So, if they know me, I could just sign in and mark a time out for fifteen minutes later while I’m signing in, then disappear upstairs without anyone knowing I was there past the time I wrote in,” said Jane.
“Hardly has to be that complicated,” said Tim. “I saw people returning a dining room set through a side door and it was just a bunch of workmen carrying things in. Someone could have walked in right behind them carrying that box, already tagged, set it down, and left the lot altogether.”
This was where Jane needed the Bruce Oh side of her brain to kick in. Without him by her side, she felt herself drifting into the land of infinite questions. She hadn’t found a tangent yet that she didn’t want to explore. She was already jealous that Tim had seen the props warehouse and she hadn’t. Aisles and aisles of Hollywood stuff, movie props, set dressing, and one of those pieces literally had her name on it. Until it blew up.
“What was the box anyway? An old chemistry set like they said?” Jane asked.
Bix
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