< previous page page_35 next page >

Page 35
These men, probably only extras, had certainly gotten into character, Mariah thought. They were costumed like the British soldier mannequins in the museum, even down to their Pennsylvania rifles, and their accents even sounded British.
"Do not worry, good sir," she said with a self-conscious laugh. "I would not do such a thing." She might as well play along, pretend to be one of the characters at old Fort Pitt.
But . . . Angela had just hired her for the project. Mariah had read the script only last night, started scouting locations today. She hadn't even thought about the rest of the production planning.
How could Lemoncake have begun filming so quickly?
It was impossible. They hadn't even acquired the rights to the screenplay yet. Hundreds, maybe thousands of things had to be done between the time a suitable property was acquired and commencement of filming: budgeting, securing funding, assembling a production staff, casting, contracts . . . the list seemed endless.
Yet here they were. Dressed extras already milled about. How could this have happened?
A frightening explanation crossed Mariah's mind. Maybe she'd suffered some kind of memory loss.
She lifted her hand to her head. It hurt. Did it ever! Had she had some kind of mini-stroke? Oh, lord, no! That couldn't be. She was never sick.
"Miss, are you ill?" Milson, the taller of the two men, echoed her thoughts. He had a broad nose and myopic-looking eyes.
Jacko, who had an underslung jaw, laughed mirthlessly. "More likely, Milson, my friend, the wench has spent too much time at the tavern."
"Sssh, Jacko! Such disrespect for a lady!" Milson seemed scandalized.
"Ladies," intoned Jacko, "do not pass out against the redoubt wall. They have their vapors in more auspicious locations. If this is a lady"
"Hey, cut it out." Mariah didn't want to interrupt their

 
< previous page page_35 next page >