Chapter 8
Maddie Ellis and the Malibu Movie Colony is an old-fashioned mystery serial set during the end of the silent movie era. In chapter 8, our heroine and her colleague, director Milo Devlin, visit the reclusive actor cast to play the villain in the film they have been hired to save, and find themselves involved in a perilous, late night rescue on the beach. Join us as we travel back in time to January 1928.
Maddie and Milo walked down the beach to Leon Verlaine’s house. It was at the end of the row—Verlaine valued his privacy. The night was quiet once they were away from the increasingly rowdy party at Louise’s house. The moon was now high, lighting their way.
Maddie was curious about Leon Verlaine. Milo had worked with him before, but she only knew him by reputation, and it was a formidable one. Many film stars got their start in vaudeville or even sometimes in the circus, but Verlaine professed to be a Shakespearean who came to Hollywood from the London stage. He was the sort of actor who could handle almost any role, but his film career was built almost exclusively on the role of the villain. His Richelieu was chilling, his King Richard diabolical, and his Mephistopheles cunning, cruel, and charming. He had mastered cynical and sinister so well that it was difficult to disentangle the actor from his roles.
Signing Verlaine to play the villain in Sands of Afar was a triumph for Mammoth Pictures. He was a personal friend of producer Isaac Hoffmann, and was said to have taken the role in the fledgling studio’s flagship production as a favor. The actor’s injury during the first weeks of filming was a major setback, the first in the series of disasters that had led to both Maddie and Milo being hired to salvage the film.
Verlaine was at home. The valet showed them to a pleasant room that suggested the cabin of a ship, with wooden paneling and even a couple of portholes. There was a fire in the beach-stone fireplace. Several engravings of ships, a chart of the sea coast, and a ship’s clock completed the nautical theme. Verlaine was attired in a blue velvet smoking jacket that should have looked stagey but suited him so well that it seemed entirely natural.
He welcomed them and waved them to be seated. “You will forgive me if I do not rise,” he said. His voice was polished and urbane. “Perhaps you would care to join me for coffee? I can offer you a brandy. Alas, it isn’t very good, but we can drink “confusion” to those responsible for prohibition.”
Maddie took a seat on an elegant leather-upholstered chair. Milo roosted on a high-backed Chesterfield. He resembled a somewhat ruffled heron, and his bare feet were incongruous, but he was soon drawn into conversation with the old actor. This was Milo the filmmaker, talking about his craft with someone who knew it well, and all of his diffidence and awkwardness vanished. All three were soon laughing about the escapades at Louise’s beach party.
“I confess, you make me regret missing it, Devlin,” Verlaine said. “Not enough to have limped over, mind you, and endured the talk of diets and fishing, God help us, but it does sound rather extraordinary. Leave it to that wretched Roberts to turn up in a pirate ship. He should be the villain of your film, Miss Ellis. He’s miscast as the hero.”
The coffee was served from a silver pot by the valet. The cups echoed the nautical theme: white china with navy blue and gold trim. It was excellent coffee and did not taste brackish. The brandy may not have been up to their host’s standards but it tasted fine to Maddie.
“You aren’t here to cheer up an old reprobate, are you, Miss Ellis?” You’ve come to fix Hoffmann’s mess,” Verlaine said, once the manservant departed. “Alas, you are too late to fix my part in it.”
“I hope not,” Maddie told him. She had come prepared to find him arrogant and difficult and found herself liking the man. Whatever vices he embraced he was a true gentleman.
“How is your injury, Mr. Verlaine?” she asked. “I hope you will be on your feet again soon.”
“I am healing dear lady, just not as quickly as I would like,” he replied. “Old bones, you know.”
“You are the perfect Sultan, Verlaine,” Milo said. “Is there any chance you might be willing to return to the role?”
“I think you could be delightfully wicked without fencing, acrobatics, or other stunts,” Maddie told the actor. “The Sultan’s minions can take care of that and the Sultan can oversee them from his throne. Would you be willing to try?”
“I will think about it,” Verlaine said cautiously, but Maddie thought he sounded pleased. “With the caveat that I am not required to be within ten feet of Roberts on the set. At least, not until he learns to take direction,” he added with sudden vehemence. For a second he was a caricature of himself—the murderous king in Richard III, the powerful and unscrupulous cardinal in The Three Musketeers.
“How did the accident happen, Mr. Verlaine?” Maddie asked.
The actor hesitated for a moment. “It was a fight scene,” he said. “Roberts ignored the fight choreographer’s direction and knocked me over. I fell hard, and no wonder, since I wasn’t expecting it and didn’t have time to roll and land safely. Such a stupid accident. I would kick myself, but that is rather difficult with a broken leg.
“Roberts apologized, of course. Said he was ‘living the role’ and forgot himself, but that didn’t help mend my leg, and I found myself abruptly deposed as Sultan of wherever it was, and now, you tell me, you want me back.”
“Shuwa,” Maddie said. “The original scenario never said, so I’ve made you the Sultan of Shuwa, a wealthy and powerful city. You command a mighty army and possess riches beyond measure, spices and opals, and gold. And we’ll give you a simply lovely throne, and minions do your bidding.”
“Villains so rarely get a reprieve,” Verlaine said, with a self-deprecating smile. “In movies, at any rate. The flesh and blood variety is another matter.” He fell silent, and when he spoke again it was about the beach.
“It’s pleasant here,” Verlaine said. “I would not care to live here all the time. Indeed, this is the first time the place has been alive since the autumn. However, it is a welcome reprieve from town.”
“The property manager was telling us about how several of the houses have been burgled over the winter,” Maddie said, seizing the opportunity to learn more about the unsolved mystery.
“Including mine,” the old actor said. “You probably heard they took my hammock—the outrageous nerve—and also a few things from inside the house. Nothing that signifies. Still, it is an uncomfortable sensation. I believe I heard you’ll be living at the Harringtons’ place. I wouldn’t worry about burglars, my dear, the Harringtons’ Victorian monstrosities would break the back of anyone rash enough to attempt burgling them.”
“True,” Maddie acknowledged. “Your cottage is entirely delightful, Mr. Verlaine.” Like the cottage of Louise and Hal it seemed to perfectly mirror the character of its owner.
“Believe it or not, it was built by the same character who did the Harringtons’ madcap Tudor mansion,” Verlaine said. “He’s a set builder who works as a carpenter on the side. He’s built many of the houses here. As you see, I prefer a simpler ambiance than your hosts, but the location does invite an element of whimsy.”
“Do you enjoy yachting, Verlaine, or was your theme chosen to match the setting?” Milo inquired.
“You aren’t implying that I took my own hammock to equip my yacht are you, Devlin?” Verlaine sounded amused. “I am familiar with the theory that the burglars arrived and departed on a boat. It wasn’t mine, I assure you. Neil Hamilton is the only one around here with a yacht, “the Digby,” but he would hardly burgle his own house to furnish it. And as for me, if I must travel by water, I prefer to do so aboard an ocean liner, not in a pretty toy.”
The conversation lapsed. The clock on the mantlepiece chimed the hour. It was late.
“I will consider your invitation, Miss Ellis,” Verlaine said. “Tell Isaac I’ll be in touch.”
The audience with the Sultan was over. Maddie and Milo thanked their host, bade him goodnight, and headed in the direction of home.
The party at Louise’s house at the other end of the beach was over, too, but Roberts and his pirate crew were still apparently celebrating by the light of the moon. There were shrieks and whoops and splashing at the edge of the water. The sound carried a long way, even over the sound of the surf, which was louder now, each breaker echoing along the beach as it rolled in. The tide was coming in, swiftly, covering up more of the beach with each swell.
Now there was another sound: soft, gurgling. Someone was crying out on the water, a girl, sobbing uncontrollably. Maddie stopped to listen. It came from the rocky reef that jutted out into the bay. There was a figure on the rocks where nothing human should be.
Maddie didn’t wait. She dropped her jacket on the sand and began to pick her way carefully but quickly among the rock pools. The water was bitterly cold. Milo followed her, but more slowly, feeling his way with his cane.
“Hello there,” Maddie called as she approached, not wanting to startle the weeper. “The tide is coming in, perhaps you should come in, too. It’s a beautiful night, but this rock will be underwater soon.”
“I don’t care.” The voice was shaky, full of tears, and sounded very young.
“Well, I do, “ Maddie said, trying to sound conversational and to keep the panic out of her voice. The waves were rolling in bigger and stronger with every passing moment. The water pulled at her legs and made it hard for her to keep her balance. She knew that this reef would soon be submerged.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Maddie was edging closer, slowly, carefully, pulling herself up on the reef behind the small figure. The volcanic rock under her feet had sharp edges, and the footing was uneven. Clumps of mussel shells made it hard to walk, and there were patches of slippery seagrass and algae and the sharp edges of barnacles. She slipped and stifled a curse as the jagged rock cut her arm.
“There’s nothing to tell, except that I’ve been a f-f-f-fool,” came the voice, followed by more sobs. “I’m so unhappy. Please go away, and…” The last words ended in a gasp, choked off as a wave swept over the rock. Maddie braced herself and hung on, but the water knocked the weeper off balance. Cries of terror replaced cries of sorrow.
Maddie uttered a prayer to whatever saint or deity watched over ship-wrecked mariners, braced her legs, and made a grab. She caught the girl’s arm and hung on. Another wave rolled over the rocks, drenching both women. The strength of the water took Maddie’s breath away, but she managed somehow to retain her balance and keep her grip.
“Come on,” Maddie said, trying to stay calm and sound encouraging. “I’ve got you. Don’t try to get up, just scoot along the rock towards me. That’s right. Here, give me your other hand.”
Another wave swept over the rock, nearly pulling them into the water. Maddie hung on with all her strength. Her glasses were wet, making it impossible to see. Her dress was soaked and the fabric clung to her, heavy, cold, and encumbering. The ocean was like a live thing, pulling them with tremendous strength, then buffeting them back against the rock, but Maddie kept talking.
“That’s right,” Maddie had to shout now to be heard over the roar of the surf. “Just a little further this way. Good! I’m going to climb down now. You take my other hand. That’s right, switch! Hang on, we have to time it between the waves. Ready, set, now!”
Maddie managed to get off the rock, pulling the girl with her. The water swelled around them, pushing them back toward the rocks, but Milo was there. He took the girl’s other arm, and they floundered, half staggering, half swimming, to the shallows, where they could pick their way out from among the rocks.
Milo guided the girl onto the shore, where she fell to her knees in the sand gasping, retching, and sobbing. He hurried back to give Maddie a hand onto the beach. “Thanks!” she gasped, struggling to keep her balance and catch her breath. When she was safely on the sand she looked back towards the rocks. They had completely vanished beneath the rising tide.
