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They’d decided to conduct the interview in Opal’s study, which was located on the ground floor. And since Opal didn’t want to influence her assistant, she’d decided that Odelia and Gran should talk to him alone. He might be her most loyal and trusted PA, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t stilla little intimidated by her presence. The disadvantage of being an icon and a legend, she’d intimated, was that people were often so impressed with her they had a hard time overcoming their sudden bashfulness. She’d learned over the years how to put people at their ease, but it was still a social hurdle to overcome, even with her own staff, who’d known and worked with her for years and years.

“So, Kurtz, tell us what you think happened this afternoon,” said Odelia once they’d made themselves comfortable in Opal’s study. She’d taken the maroon leather couch closest to the window, while Gran had decided to remain standing, just in case Kurtz tried to attack her—she still thought he could very well be a serial killer. The PA himself was seated on one of the overstuffed chairs.

Opal’s study had bookcases that reached to the ceiling, a large mahogany desk that dwarfed the rest of the space, and where presumably she ran her empire, and stained-glass windows that overlooked the grounds, where that waterfall still attracted Odelia’s attention and she vowed, once more, to takea walk as soon as she had the chance.

“Well, I think someone sabotaged that light,” said Kurtz, whose name was actually Jack Kurtzman but whom everyone seemed to call Kurtz for some reason.

“You think it was sabotage, too, huh?” said Gran, safely ensconced behind Odelia now and out of reach of Kurtz’s presumable serial killer tactics.

The pale PA nodded six times in quick succession.“Oh, sure. No way that light could have dropped down of its own accord. Sabotage, no doubt about it. I talked to the gaffers and the electricians and they’re unanimous: those lights are checked before every show, and they were properly rigged up. They said the bolts that held that particular light in place had been unbolted.”

“Unbolted?” asked Odelia.

“Properly unbolted,” Kurtz said with satisfaction.

“Meaning someone intended that big-ass light to drop on Opal’s head,” said Gran grimly.

“Yeah, it sure looks that way,” Kurtz confirmed.

“Any idea who could be responsible?” asked Odelia.

“None—but I have to say that one of the electricians has a criminal record. I mean…” He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you this—Opal told me not to hold anything back and that I should tell you everything, even the smallest detail, no matter how insignificant, so that’s why I’m telling you—but when this man was hired I brought his criminal record to Opal’s attention and she decided to hire him anyway, so…” He arched a meaningful eyebrow, as if to say, ‘I told her so.’

“And who is this electrician?” asked Odelia, grabbing her notepad.

“Serge Brimley. He was arrested a couple of years ago.”

“What for? Do you remember?”

“Um… no, actually I don’t, but he does have a criminal record, and he was the person who rigged up those lights. Just saying.”

“Any idea if this Serge would have access to Opal’s car?” asked Gran now. She’d emerged from behind the couch, like a turtle poking its head out of its shell, venturing a little closer to Kurtz, as if deeming him not as dangerous as she first thought.

“Um, yeah, sure. Opal’s car is usually parked behind the building, so anyone who works on the lot would have access to it.”

“We need to talk to Opal’s driver,” said Gran, and Odelia nodded. They needed to talk to a lot of people.

“How about Opal’s coffee?” asked Gran, inching a little closer to Kurtz.

“Opal’s… coffee?” asked Kurtz.

“Yeah, you know, the coffee Opal drinks. Would this Serge fellow have access to Opal’s coffee?”

“Um… you mean at the studio? I guess anyone would have access to Opal’s coffee.”

“Was Opal’s coffee poisoned at the studio or at the house?” asked Gran, directing her question at her granddaughter.

“The house.”

“Mh. That complicates things.”

“It sure does.”

“Serge could have an accomplice.”

Kurtz’s eyes had gone wide as saucers. “Opal’s coffee? Poisoned?”

“Yeah, didn’t she tell you? Someone dumped cyanide in her coffee. Almost killed her.”

“Oh, my God!” said Kurtz, bringing a slender hand to his face. “This is terrible! Horrible! Who would do such a thing? Opal is a legend. An icon. A living saint!”

“Sure, sure. Now don’t you go blabbing about this to your colleagues, you hear?” said Gran sternly. She had now emerged fully from behind the sofa and took a seat next to Odelia. “This is all strictly hush-hush, you understand?”

Kurtz nodded and mimicked closing his lips with a key and throwing it away.

“On second thought, I don’t think Opal ever told us where this poisoned coffee was served,” said Odelia, thinking hard, “but I always assumed it was at the house.”