-How do I look? Lorna asked, leaning on the counter, letting her perfectly coiffed blonde hair fall down and holding a long black smoking cigarette holder in her right hand that composed an attractive and sensual image of herself.
-Beautiful, answered Mark, looking up for a moment from the keyboard of the typewriter on his desk at the other side of the counter.
-I love 40’s fashion, she said, puffing on her cigarette smugly. It has glamor , Don’t you think?
-Well, I’m wearing a suit and a hat and I’m rather uncomfortable here waiting for us to start shooting this scene of our film.
-And What are you doing writing on that typewriter?
-Getting on the mood of my character
-And what do you write?
-A horror story. Remember. Now I’m a private detective in a mystery movie set in the 40’s it has to be a murder.
-Yeah, but we wont shoot that part today. It’s scheduled for next week.
-And Is wrong. He said. The whole screenplay is wrong. They destroyed all my ideas.
-Yes and turned a mystery into a predictable and a meaningless story!
Lorna began to felt uncomfortable. She looked back . All was silent.
-Its strange, she said. Where are the others? Hadn’t we agreed to start shooting at ten? It’s already a quarter past ten and no one shows up here except us.
-We don’t need nobody else, said Mark, and with a quick movement he rose to the full height of his 6 feet and grabbed Lorna by the neck with a huge force.
-She could neither scream nor resist the unexpected attack. she scratched with her manicured nails the firm hands of her murderer who did not let her go until she exhaled her last breath.
At noon, the scheduled time for the shoot of the scene , Tim, the stage manager walked onto the set to find Lorna’s body sprawled at the foot of the wooden counter. Covering her face it was a piece of paper in which it was typed: “She found out too late that the detective was the murderer.”