Smoke and Mirrors by Tanya Huff Page A

sarcasm in Peter’s voice. “Why don’t you go see if they’ll work for scale; I’m sure CB would appreciate the savings.”
    Come to think of it, CB would appreciate the savings. And he wouldn’t be too happy about losing his chance to shoot in a house he’d already paid a week’s rent on. Maybe he could get CB to agree to put the ghosts in the show. They clearly wanted to be involved; maybe official ghost status would be enough to placate them.
    â€œYou’re going to exhaust the hamster.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Lee grinned. “The hamster running around on that wheel in your head. You’re trying to figure out how to keep those kids out of trouble, aren’t you?”
    Close enough. “Yeah.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. I’ll put in a good word for them. Darkest Night isn’t quite a solo act no matter what Mason seems to think.” They turned together to look at the clump of people grouped around the actor who was standing, arms crossed, glaring at Peter. “You might tell them to keep out of his way, though.”
    Sure, I’ll hold a séance and get right on that. Even if he got hold of CB, how was he supposed to get hold of the ghosts? Glancing around the room, he doubted there was a medium among all the size twos.
    â€œWant to share the joke?” Lee asked as Tony snickered.
    He did. And as bad a joke as it was, he even thought that Lee would appreciate it—right up until the back story killed the laughs. As he hesitated, Lee’s expression changed; closing in on itself until the open, curious, friendly expression was gone and all that remained was the same polite interest he showed the rest of the world.
    â€œNever mind. I should get back to work before we end up keeping the extras over their four-hour minimum.”
    Tony couldn’t think of a thing to say as Lee flashed him the same smile he’d flashed a thousand cameras and walked away. An opportunity missed . . . An opportunity for what, he had no idea—but he couldn’t shake the notion that he’d just dropped the ball in a big way.
    A sudden soft pressure against his shins drew his gaze off Lee’s tuxedo-clad back and toward the floor. The caretaker’s black cat made another pass across his legs.
    â€œTony!” Ear jack dangling against his shoulder, Adam approached the fireplace. “You get that mirror done?”
    He held up the plastic bottle. “It’s covered.” “Good. Clean your grubby footprints off Peter’s chair, put it back behind the monitors, and . . .” His head dropped forward and he stared at the cat now rubbing against his jeans. “Where the hell did this animal come from?”
    â€œI think it belongs to Mr. Brummel, the caretaker; he was holding it earlier.”
    â€œThen grab it and get it back to him. The last thing we need is an unattended animal running around.”
    One of the extras shrieked with laughter. Both men turned in time to see Mason moving his mouth away from her throat.
    â€œ Another unattended animal,” Adam added wearily, shoving the ear jack back where it belonged. “He’s got a bed in his dressing room, doesn’t he?”
    â€œIt’s a bedroom.”
    â€œRight. Let’s move it with the cat, then; we’ve got to do what we can to get these people out of here before he talks her into a nooner.”
    Given that it was the woman who’d put the moves on him in the kitchen, Tony suspected “You want to?” would probably be conversation enough. He bent and wrapped his hands tentatively around the cat. It squeezed through his grip, skittered about six feet away, sat down, and licked its butt.
    â€œAdam . . . ?” Peter’s voice.
    â€œTony’s got it.” Adam’s answer.
    A fine sentiment but less than truthful—every time he got close enough for another grab, the cat moved. Once or twice, his fingertips