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weeks ago that production on a reality program, Surviving the DZ , was shut down after a car bomb killed three of its stars.
    Whatever else could be said about Élan Durham, he was a smart businessman, and he knew the success of DiZzy Girl was in large part due to the appeal of Priya Mistry. I tried to broach the matter gently.
    â€œI don’t know Élan Durham personally,” I said. “But he seems like a smart guy. He’s not going to let anything happen to you.”
    â€œBut the note says not to trust anyone,” she replied.
    â€œThe note from Noogus,” I said.
    She bit her lip.
    â€œI wish I could help you, Priya,” I said, allowing my gaze to linger for a moment at the hint of cleavage visible above the dip in her shirt. Man, did I wish I could help her. “But frankly, this isn’t a lot to go on. My guess is that somebody is playing a joke on you. Noogus is probably one of the other actors on DiZzy Girl , someone with too much time in between scenes. Or maybe some bitter actress who you once beat out for a part. You know how this town breeds crazies. They’re mostly harmless, though. And if there’s ever a real threat, well, that’s what the security is for. If they work for Flagship Media, they’re pros. They’re not going to let anything happen to you.” I tried not to think of some of the knuckle-draggers who had worked security for me at CSI.
    Priya leaned forward and put a hand over her face. As her shoulders began to bob slightly, I realized she was crying.
    â€œHey,” I said, by way of comforting her. I couldn’t think of anything to say after that, though, so I just said it again. “Hey.”
    â€œMaybe I am going crazy,” she said, sobbing. “Like you said, this town breeds crazies. Maybe I’m just one of the crazies.”
    I felt like hugging her, but something told me that would be wildly inappropriate—not to mention logistically difficult, since she was hunched down in a chair on the other side of my desk. “You don’t seem crazy to me,” I said. “You’re probably just under a lot of stress. I know how it is, shooting a hit show like DiZzy Girl . We worked this case once for this producer who was being blackmailed by … well, I can’t really go into details, but—”
    â€œHave you seen that commercial for that face cream, Prima Facie?” she asked, taking her hand from her face and looking up at me. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
    â€œProbably a hundred times,” I said. “‘Approach life the way I do: face first.’” I did my best to muster the sort of enthusiasm Priya had evinced in the ad. She made a compelling pitch: I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the target audience for the ad, and even I had given some thought to buying a tube of the stuff.
    She burst into tears again, sobbing loudly into her hands.
    Her reaction confused me. “I thought you were great,” I said sincerely. “Are you worried about having sold out or something? Because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with—”
    â€œI never made that commercial,” Priya said, continuing to sob.
    I wasn’t sure what to make of this. “You mean they misrepresented what you were going to be selling or…?”
    â€œNo!” she exclaimed, looking me in the eye. “I … never … made … that … commercial!”
    â€œOh,” I said. “Wow. It’s an amazing simulation, then. Like I said, I’ve probably seen that thing a hundred times, and I never noticed it was a sim. And I used to work for Canny Simulations, Inc., so I’ve seen a hell of a lot of them.”
    â€œIt’s not a sim,” said Priya. “It’s me.”
    â€œBut you just said—”
    â€œI know! I don’t know how to explain it, but that’s me in the commercial, even though I never made it.