“Yes…the monster makers. There are companies that do that kind of work. Robert, my ex-husband, worked with several when he was into his horror-flick phase,” she said, her thoughts still on Lynnetta. “Why?”
“A long shot, just a theory,” and one Carter obviously wasn’t going to share. “Could you give me a list of the companies who worked with the films you made or anyone you know in that business?”
“Sure.”
“You think some Hollywood makeup man is stalking Jenna?” Turnquist asked.
“I don’t know who is, but I want to check out every possibility.” He drained his cup as his phone rang. “Carter.” If possible, his face became more grim as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” he said, then hung up. “Gotta run. A would-be ice climber just fell off of Pious Falls. Looks like he shattered his pelvis.” He plowed tense fingers through his thick
hair. “I’d appreciate it if you could jot down the names of the makeup companies.”
“We’ll fax it later,” Jake said, and watched as Hans Dvorak’s rig rolled up to the gate and stopped. Hans rolled down the window and punched in the code. The gate swung open.
Carter noticed the foreman’s truck drive through. “How many people have the security code?” he asked.
“Six…maybe seven. People who work here,” Jenna said.
Turnquist nodded and finished his coffee. “I’ve got their names.”
“Fax that, too, and change the code every day.”
“Every day?” she repeated, stunned.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll call Wes Allen to reset it,” Turnquist said.
Carter rubbed his jaw, scratching his whiskers. “Why don’t you try someone else?” he suggested, his frown deepening.
Turnquist’s eyes narrowed. “Something wrong with Allen?”
“He’s real busy, what with his own business and the theater.” Carter pulled his jacket off the chair and stuffed his arms through the sleeves.
“Wes would make time,” Jenna said, sensing an undercurrent she didn’t really understand, then remembered Rinda saying there was some bad blood between her brother and the sheriff. Something about Carter’s wife.
Turnquist said, “Then I’ll call the guy Harrison knows, Seth Whitaker.”
“I don’t really know him.” Carter glanced at Jenna.
“I’ve met him—he seems okay,” she said.
Turnquist nodded. “I’ll vouch for him.”
“He did work for you before?” Carter was eyeing Jenna.
“Yes, when the pump froze.”
“Then have him show you how to program it and you change it every day. The only people who will know what it is are you, the kids, and Turnquist here.” Carter nodded at Jake as he zipped his jacket.
“And Hans and Estella,” she corrected.
“No. You buzz ’em in. Have the electrician, Whitaker, work it so that you have control from the house.”
“That might take a while.” She wondered how the girls would keep up with the ever-changing access code.
“Then find someone else. A company who will install the buzzer today or tomorrow.” He eyed Jenna as he squared his hat upon his head. “You won’t have to do this forever,” he assured her as he headed for the door. “Just until we get the son of a bitch.”
Rinda called less than an hour later. She was a wreck, her voice trembling as she cancelled all activities at the theater—dance classes, voice lessons, even the rehearsals for the coming play. “It’s just too weird, too disrespectful,” Rinda whispered, her throat sounding clogged as if she were fighting tears. “You were right—we should have stayed later last night until Lynnetta’s husband showed up. We should never have left her alone.”