“Oh you know, the usual.” Cormac gestured around at the crew setting up for the next bit of filming. “What’s this scene supposed to be about?”
“George Donner and James Reed are deciding if they should push on or stay and wait out the storm.”
Well, at least the dialog was on the nose. Of course this would be the storm that ended up dropping twenty feet of snow on the area. He looked around at the sun-dappled woods on a bright summer day. “Shouldn’t there be some, you know, snow?”
“We’ll CGI that in post. You know, I’m still looking for expert witnesses. I think you’d be perfect. We’ll give you the script.”
Cormac wasn’t an expert on anything, and he didn’t want to end up on TV. “No,” he said over his shoulder, walking with Domingo back to their vehicles. Just in time to get out of the way as another truck barreled up the drive and threw up gravel as it slid to a halt. Elton Peterson just about fell out of the driver’s seat. He hadn’t appeared to have changed clothes since yesterday, or maybe he just had a lot of the same flannel shirt. The historian glanced at Cormac and Domingo, blinked in what seemed to be surprise, but then stalked toward his original target: Bellamy.
Peterson leaned into his rant, just about spitting at Bellamy while pointing at the cabin.
“You don’t have permission to use this spot for your. . .your theater.”
“Actually, we do.” Bellamy waved a hand and one of his college-age PAs scurried over, holding out a clipboard like an offering. “All the Forest Service and California State Park System permissions are right here. We’ve paid to be here for a full week, and the filming license is in order. This is all publicly posted at the Forest Service Office.”
“You should be talking to me. I know this history better than anyone. Nobody from the Donner-Reed Party even stopped at this spot!”
“Sir, I need to ask you to leave,” Bellamy said patiently.
“I—I’ll give you my new book, the one I’m working on. You’ll see, what I’ve discovered—you should be talking to me!”
Bellamy called over to the ranger. “Ms. Domingo? Can we maybe call the sheriff’s department to get this guy out of here?”
Peterson managed to look both helpless and full of rage. His eyes bulged, his fists clenched. Cormac straightened, because however laughable the guy looked, he was boiling over. “You have no respect for history, for the Donner Party, for. . .for anything! People died, and this is how you honor them, with this garbage?”
“Yes, actually. We’re an educational show. Mostly.” Bellamy’s smile conveyed an awareness of little ironies.
Peterson did not appear to have a sense of irony whatsoever. He lunged at Bellamy, shouting in fury.
Half of Bellamy’s crew lurched to try to grab one or the other of the men; the other half scurried out of the way. Bellamy mostly dodged, so Peterson only clipped his jaw rather than knocking him over. The two switched places in preparation for the next go-around. Cormac chose this moment to act. The actor playing Reed was trying to wade in, but Cormac shoved him aside, grabbed Peterson’s shirt, and hauled backward. The man kicked and flailed, but Cormac stayed behind him, out of reach, and nothing connected.
With the instigator out of the mix, everyone else fell back and recovered. Bellamy had a cut lip but was grinning. He probably really did enjoy this.
Cormac dropped Peterson and stepped away, out of reach. The guy’d run out of fight and sat in the dirt, panting.
The cameramen were filming the whole time. Cormac glared at them.
“What are you doing?” Peterson yelled at him.
“Saving your ass.” The actor with the large beard and axe was standing off to the side, holding it like he might use it.
Bellamy pointed, clearly gleeful. “This is all on film. I’ll go straight to the sheriff and have you charged with assault unless you get the hell away from my sho
ot right now.”
Peterson straightened, brushing himself off. Marked Bellamy, Cormac, and Domingo like he was trying to memorize their faces. Then he climbed into his truck, slammed the door hard, and took about three Y-turns to work his way out of the drive and back to the road, while everyone stood watching and he grew increasingly flustered, bent over the steering wheel like he could use it to physically lift the car.
He might be laughable, but this worries me. The stakes here are so low, and yet—
“Thanks for your help,” Bellamy said, extending his hand to Cormac, who still refused to shake it. “I owe you one. I’ll tell you what—if you don’t want to be my expert witness, you want to be an extra? Just a bit part in the background, one of the teamsters in the party maybe.”
“No.”
He and Domingo walked away, out of earshot. Bellamy went back to the shoot, and the actors went back to worriedly looking up at the treetops as if it were snowing.
“Peterson’s really getting to be a problem. I’ll talk to the sheriff about him,” she said.
“Probably a good idea,” Cormac said. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”