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Letra e música de “The Postman Always Shoots Twice“ de Mi6.
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Such devotion. She was amazed. The line of cars on Main Street quickly gave way to a row of very large, box-shaped trucks and white RV-type trailers. Many busy and official-looking people were climbing in and out of the trucks that held mysterious equipment and large black cases and boxes. But quite a few of the movie people were just milling about, looking over silver clipboards and chatting with each other.

Or speaking into the headsets that were wound around their heads.

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They paid little mind to the onlookers. They were used to doing their jobs with an audience, Maggie realized. A deep crowd had already assembled around the front of the shop, spilling out onto the street. Wooden barriers—set up by either the movie people or the village police? The white picket fence that enclosed the property helped, too. She always welcomed the first sight of her shop. A wide porch wrapped around the front and long windows that were trimmed with wooden shutters. Stark looking at this time of year, but it would soon be covered with flowers, the window boxes filled, hanging pots trailing petunias, along with the garden blooming in front.

Phoebe, who attended a local college part time in addition to working for Maggie, lived in an apartment upstairs.


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A convenient arrangement. Though not today, with all the noise so early, Maggie realized. Her young friend could sleep until noon on days she was not due at school or downstairs to work. Sometimes, even when she was. As Maggie approached, she felt a small pang in her heart, as if seeing a friend in some distress, but not knowing how to help her.

I know it seems like an invasion of ruffians, but it will all be over soon. More or less? Maggie was thankful for the wooden barriers, keeping some of the barbarians at the gate. It had been a long winter and tender green shoots were just starting to sprout in the flower beds that rimmed the walk and the edges of the fence and porch.

She did fear for their survival. She was glancing around, wondering if anyone was there yet, when she felt a firm grasp on her shoulder. The color set off her dark brown hair and big brown eyes perfectly. Huge designer sunglasses that hid half her face were the finishing touch. Even though the sun had barely risen past the horizon. Are you hiding from the paparazzi, too? She came out of her trailer and walked into the shop. When was that? She stopped to sign autographs for everyone who asked, though you could tell the poor woman was hardly awake. Maybe I should go home and go back to bed.

Who do I ask?

The Postman Always Shoots Twice - Mi6 - VAGALUME

The spot afforded them a clear view of the porch and lawn, and of everyone walking up the brick path and into the shop. What time did you get here? The poor thing. She must be freezing. Maggie saw her poor assistant curled in a beach chair just behind them, a hood pulled over her head, the rest of her stuffed into a sleeping bag like a caterpillar in a thick cocoon, a few hand-knit afghans tossed over that. She was not bitten by the Hollywood bug like the rest of her friends—and most of the town—seemed to be. Some scrambled eggs and toast with a hot cup of coffee at the Schooner Diner down the street seemed like a better idea.

She wondered if anyone else felt the same. But all her friends looked mesmerized by the star watch.

He Postman Always Shoots Twice

The door opened at the front of the shop. Everyone turned to see who would emerge. Maggie felt jostled by the crowd, all the bodies shifting and pushing to get a better view, like the Wave in the stands at Fenway Park. Can you see? Lucy, the tallest, was closest to the fence. Over here. Suzanne Cavanaugh, from Prestige Properties!

Maybe he can get us inside. He hopped down the porch steps and loped across the lawn, a silver clipboard tucked under one arm. The location manager for Three Penny Productions. Todd has some questions. Nobody will even notice. Dana agreed. She had already turned to jostle Phoebe. We just got permission to go on the set.

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Which made perfect sense. There were probably a lot of overly enthusiastic—even emotionally unstable—fans who hung around movie stars on location. They made their way slowly along the sidewalk and finally reached the gate in the middle of the fence. A big bald man with a tiny goatee stood just inside the fence. Dressed all in black, he looked like a former pro wrestler or football player. He smiled and a few front teeth capped in sparkling gold seemed to support that guess.

He blocked the entire opening of the gate quite effectively with his broad body as he peered down at Maggie, much like a genie that had popped out of a bottle. But of course, she held her tongue. Luckily, Lyle Boyd appeared.

Prince of Darkness

She felt self-conscious walking up the brick path. The entire town seemed to be standing there, watching. A few onlookers called out to her. Maggie shook her head, eyes cast down as she steadily walked forward. Lucy walked alongside her and Suzanne followed, waving and smiling, as if she was a famous star, too.

Suzanne shrugged as she rearranged her scarf and pulled a tube of lipstick from her pocket. She stepped inside and paused. A swarm of activity hummed all around her, the worker bees dressed much the same, men and women wearing a sort of uniform—T-shirts, jeans, and walkie-talkie headsets. Some accessorizing with baseball hats and hoodies.

Moviemaking equipment was everywhere. Maggie could only guess the use of the objects—huge lights on metal stands, cameras, microphones hanging from poles, and rolling tripods. Some of it was already set up and some was still being assembled, or pushed over the wooden floors on noisy, rattling wheels. She hardly recognized her shop, reorganized and refurnished with all the equipment, most of the area rugs and some of the furniture pushed into the alcove near the front door, where she kept an antique loveseat and sitting chairs, a cozy knitting nook no more.

Luckily, Suzanne remained sharp. As usual. She nabbed the first person who passed by—a young woman busily unrolling green cable across the floor, pausing every few feet to secure the trail in place with duct tape. Her black T-shirt displayed the movie title on the back and the chopped-off sleeves revealed impressive tattoos.

But yes. Jennifer was a beauty on screen, but even more stunning in person, with smooth, honey-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail at her nape and a radiant, peaches-and-cream complexion. She wore little or no makeup and just ordinary workout clothes—black yoga pants and a magenta wrap around her top that showed off a toned, superslim figure. Maybe her outfit was the best money could buy, but it was still just athletic wear, the only hint of her fame and fortune a huge, square diamond that sparkled on her left hand, visible from all the way across the room.