A Talent for Murder (18 page)

Polly rolled her eyes. “Who’d be stupid enough to talk about doing murder, especially on tape?”

“Um, try a Menendez brother,” Tim said. “Those id
iots confessed to their shrink that blasting the bloody smithereens out of rich mommy and daddy was about greed. Dr. Lobotomy recorded the whole thing. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that if one of our contestants had a dirty secret, they might spill the beans to a confidant. Especially if they didn’t know anyone else was watching or listening.”

Polly was deep in contemplation. “If there are hidden cameras, and if anyone said anything incriminating on tape, surely the person who keeps that stuff on file would have called the police. First we have to prove that hidden cameras exist. If they do, I can’t imagine who would let us see the coverage. Not Richard. As the show’s producer, he’d probably be the one who set up the video traps in the first place.”

“Lisa would know,” Placenta said. “Any good assistant has the dirt on everything that goes on in their boss’s office.”

“Okay. Tomorrow we go back to the studio and take a look around,” Tim said. “We’ll thoroughly check out your old dressing room. Surveillance devices are so darn small these days, they could be planted anywhere.”

Polly began to fret. “Good grief, if there’s a tape of me saying such awful things about Thane the night he died, I might be accused of killing him myself.”

“‘Hollywood isn’t big enough for the two of us’ could be misconstrued,” Tim agreed. “Especially when you artfully decorate the dressing room mirror with a lipstick circle around Thane’s name and a line through it, like a no-smoking sign,” he added.

“No problem. I smeared it away,” Placenta said.

“If it was on tape, it’s forever,” Polly complained.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Tim reminded her. “The show is dark on Sundays. There’s no one to let us in for this reconnaissance.”

“Plus you’re in exile,” Placenta added.

“That old guard, Jack, likes you,” Tim said. “Bring him a box of Krispy Kremes and he’s bound to be putty in your hands.”

Polly smiled. “I’m charming enough without adding to his weight problem. But it’s worth trying to get into the place, I suppose.” She was silent for a moment. “While we’re at it, can anyone tell me how anyone came to the conclusion that Danny choked on body-piercing accouterment?”

“I’m stumped,” Tim said.

“Ya got me,” Placenta added.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Polly said, sounding like a straight-A student begging to answer a question in class. “Wait. I’ve solved it! Danny broke into our house and one of his ear studs, those hideously big things that looked like rivets that gang members wear, fell out of his lobe. He bent down to retrieve it, and discovered that the backing had rolled behind the sideboard in the foyer. Needing both hands, he put the stud in his mouth as he got down on his hands and knees to get the other piece. Something startled him. He took an unexpected deep breath, and he sucked the stud into his esophagus. Voila! One dead body!”

Tim and Placenta looked at each other, silently agreeing that Polly was either a genius or a nut … mostly the latter. “And why did he break in?” Tim asked. “I suppose he wandered in looking for the annual meeting of the Official Polly Pepper International Fan Club?”

Polly gave Tim a stern look. “You’re the one who thought he was cute. You probably gave him a key to the place!” Polly stopped teasing her son. “I’ve seen Danny’s dead body in my mind’s eye every waking moment since yesterday. There he was, on our floor, clutching his throat with his black-polished fingernails.

And he was missing his right ear stud. I can see it clearly. I hated that stud. The one with the black widow spider! Gives me the creeps just to think about it.”

“Brava!” Tim said, impressed by his mother’s skills of observation. “In that short amount of time that you saw the body, you noticed he was missing his ear stud. Wow! So maybe he died exactly the way you described it. That still doesn’t tell us what he was doing here in the first place. And trust me, I did not give him a key!”

“The alarm system didn’t go off,” Placenta said.

“Because the system failed,” Tim reminded her. “He was obviously here for a good reason. I’d like to believe it was simply a stunt to make the judges and voting audience think that he was doing something nefarious in order to score the most points on the show.”

Placenta slapped her knee and then stood up. “We can spend the rest of the night making these ludicrous speculations. I’m hitting the sack. I’ll save my own foolish theories until after we check out the dressing rooms at Sterling tomorrow.”

Tim signaled to maneuver the Rolls-Royce up to the Sterling Studios gates and stopped at the guard kiosk. “Uh-oh,” he said, before rolling down his window and making eye contact with the security guard. “Where’s Jack?” he asked a sullen twenty-something in a dark blue uniform, holding a clipboard. The guard looked at Tim without a smile and tried to peer through the smoked windows of the expensive car.

“Off on Sundays,” the guard responded. “Whassup?”

“Just dropping my mother, Polly Pepper, off at
I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous
. Studio B.”

“They’re not working today,” the guard said.

“I know. But she left her purse here after the show the other night. We’ll only be a moment.”

Just as the guard knitted his eyebrows, the back window rolled down and Polly reached out her hand. She looked at the guard’s name badge and called out, “Jimmy? Is that you, dear?”

The guard was taken aback. “Have we met?”

Polly smiled. “It almost seems so, the way Richard Dartmouth goes on and on about you.” She silently prayed that he wasn’t new on the job.

“Mr. Dartmouth knows who I am?”

“Of course, sweetums! And my dear friend Jack, your adorable confrere, who I would have chastised for not being here to greet me, but I see that he left me in your capable and talented hands. By the way, dear man, and I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I envy your girlfriends having such seductive eyes to stare into. How on earth did you get them to be so green?” Polly fanned herself as if she were blushing and about to faint.

As Jimmy wrote Polly’s name on his clipboard, Polly asked, “By the way, has Mr. Dartmouth arrived yet? We’re supposed to meet to discuss my return to the airwaves.”

Jimmy stopped writing. “I thought you were here to retrieve your purse?”

“Oh, that too,” Polly lied. “My Timmy doesn’t always get his facts straight.” She leaned forward and smacked her son on the back of his skull. “Do you, dear?” she said through gritted teeth.

After hesitating, Jimmy nodded and handed a drive-on pass to Tim. “Display this in the windshield,” he said. “You can park wherever you like. When Mr. Dartmouth arrives, I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

Polly reached farther out the window to shake Jimmy’s hand. “You’re a living doll. I’ll be sure to tell little Dickie Dart, er, Richard Dartmouth how helpful you’ve been.
Ciao, bella
!”

As Tim passed through the famous studio gates and made a left down Tina Louise Lane, he cried out, “Ow! You didn’t have to hit me so hard!”

“So sorry, darling,” Polly apologized. “It was for a good cause. My purse? Indeed! Was that the only thing you could come up with?”

As the car passed by the Louella Parsons Fountain, and found a parking space on Donna Reed Circle, Polly looked around wistfully. “I know this is a stinky show, but I do enjoy being on a studio lot.”

When they arrived at Studio B, they breathed a collective sigh when they discovered that the door was unlocked. Inside, it was deathly quiet, and they automatically spoke in whispers. “First, your dressing room,” Tim said as they walked through the dimly lit stage. Once there, Polly looked at the door and found that her name had been covered over. Obscuring her name was that of Trish Saddleback. Without thinking, Polly reached up and automatically peeled away the tape to reveal her own name. She rolled Saddleback into a ball and tossed it across the corridor. “Now we can enter,” she said.

Slowly opening the dressing room door and flipping on the light switch, Polly whispered, “Don’t they lock anything up in this place? If my purse is missing, I’ll sue.”

“On what grounds?” Placenta said. “That an imaginary purse isn’t in its make-believe place? Now start looking for surveillance devices!”

While Tim pulled the emergency flashlight out of the socket next to the makeup table, and dragged a chair
to the center of the room, Polly and Placenta looked in various plants and vases of flowers. They pulled out a love seat to examine the wall behind it, and then looked for wiring that may have been hidden next to the door frame. “I saw this once in a spy movie,” Polly said. “At the end, the guy who didn’t know he was being watched found his whole apartment bugged. The KGB or CIA had done such a great job of hiding the cameras and microphones that this poor slob never noticed anything for years.”

Just then Tim said, “Oh, oh!”

Polly and Placenta turned to see Tim standing on tiptoes and peering into the dark space behind the acoustic ceiling tiles. He ducked down from the space and replaced the ceiling tile. With a finger to his lips, he cocked his head toward the door. Together the trio silently left the room. When they were once again out in the hallway, Tim whispered, “Don’t look around. Just follow me and return to the car. Act naturally. Don’t rush, just move with purpose.”

“Why? What’s—”

“Shush!” Placenta said. “Do as Tim says.”

When they were once again in the car, Tim said, “When we get to the gate, I’ll tell the guard that you heard from Dartmouth and the meeting was canceled. Then I’ll tell you what I’ve found. Again, just act as though nothing is wrong.”

“What
is
wrong?” Polly pleaded.

“Whistle, or something,” Tim said. “Act nonchalant.”

Finally out on the street again, Tim looked in the rearview mirror and found Polly’s and Placenta’s inquiring faces. “We’re in trouble. Polly was right about hidden cameras. The room was bugged. Everything that we said or did when we were on the show was pro
bably recorded. In fact, there’s a motion sensor. It’s set to go on automatically when there’s activity in the room. No doubt they have us snooping around today. Surely the hallways have cameras too. There’s no denying that we were here.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Polly said. “This is all my career needs, a breaking and entering rap!”

A
s Polly’s Rolls-Royce traveled down Sunset Boulevard toward Bel Air, Placenta whined, “Why can’t you be an average international living legend? Like Doris Day? Or Shirley Temple?”

“Oh God, save me from average anything!” Polly whined with equal petulance. “And you know better than to lump my extraordinary Doris with anyone mediocre! Now stop complaining and dial Officer Betty at the Beverly Hills Police Station. I want to let her know we’ll be arriving soon.”

Tim let out a loud moan. “You’re dragging us back to the station? It’s Sunday. A day of rest! You didn’t get much of anything from Lisa before. What makes you think she’ll have a new tune to sing?”

Polly ignored Tim as she accepted the cell phone from Placenta. She reached forward and tapped it on Tim’s shoulder. “Tell her she’s invited to dinner. But don’t say when. As for why we’re seeing Lisa again, have you already forgotten what we found in my dressing room this morning? We need to find out what she knows about this!”

* * *

Officer Betty grabbed her hair and made a mock primal scream when Polly Pepper sauntered into the lobby of the police station. “What did I ever do to you?” Betty said. “You must be my reward for being a serial killer in a previous life.”

“I don’t expect hero worship, but I’m really a lot of fun … when I’m not knee deep in dead bodies.” Polly reached out and grazed Office Betty’s cheek. “We should have a girlfriends’ sleepover and play dress-up. You’ll love my Bob Mackies. And I have a wonderful product that would help with your five o’clock shadow.”

“Heaven help me.” Officer Betty made an unflattering noise with her lips as she got up from behind her desk. “This way,” she said, cocking her head for Polly and her family to follow her. The group moved to the steel door behind which the prisoners were held. Betty pushed the button to automatically unlock the door. “No more than twenty minutes,” she said as she led the way down the corridor to Lisa’s cell.

When the group arrived together Betty called out, “Company!” She unlocked the cell door. “Can you spare a minute?” She chuckled and ushered Polly and her troupe into the tiny room. “Help me out here. I needed a break from Movie Star Lady.”

When Officer Betty was gone and the foursome were making idle chatter about what it was like being in jail, what the latest news was about Thane’s murder investigation, and how the ratings of
I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous
had rocketed the show to the number-one spot for its time period, Polly dropped a bomb. “I can understand someone wanting to kill Thane, but poor Danny …”

Lisa looked confused. “Danny Castillo? What about him?”

Polly looked at Placenta, then at Tim, and back to Lisa. “I’ve always heard that jailbirds were more tuned in to what’s happening on the streets than those of us who are solid law-abiding citizens.”

Lisa looked blankly at Polly. “This isn’t Folsom. I don’t have a fink who keeps me in the loop.”

“Danny’s dead,” Polly said.

Lisa gasped. “What happened? Who did it? This might prove that I’m innocent!”

“Why would you assume it was murder?” Polly asked.

Lisa shrugged. “I didn’t say that I thought anything. You said you ‘could understand someone wanting to kill Thane, but poor Danny …’ What was I supposed to think?”

“You asked, ‘Who did it?’“ Polly reminded her. “Danny’s death could have been an accident, but you assumed that he was killed. Why?”

“I suppose I’m getting used to people dying in suspicious ways whenever you’re around,” Lisa said.

Placenta cackled and nudged Tim. Then, for a long moment, there was silence in the cell. Placenta looked at the cinder block walls painted gray, and Tim looked at the combination toilet and washbasin. Polly continued to look at Lisa.