Trace

It was your typical movie set. There was producer Biff Birnbaum, buried under a mountain of bills and sky-high on snow. Leading lady Tami Fluff, whose talent for rising in the film world was developed on her back. Writer Arden Harden, a perversely twisted and poison-tongued pro. Ramona Dedley, a female shrink cum X-rated sex therapist. Jack Scott, TV-land's geriatric boy-next-door, and director Roddy Quine, so veddy-veddy British. Above all, there was superstar Tony McCue, living proof that too much drugs, drink, and sex can't kill you. It was, in fact, Devlin Tracy's job to make sure that nothing killed the heavily insured and accident-prone Tony McCue--at least until the film was completed. But when one member of this cast of coke-heads was found mysteriously tied up and dead in a dumbwaiter, Trace suspected he had graduated from being McCue's babysitter to being his watchdog against murder...