Set Sail for Murder (31 page)

Polly listened for another moment. Her complexion turned from pink to white. She swallowed hard and said, “Right back at ya, fella!” Then she flipped the phone closed. “What a jerk!”

“What?” Tim finally said. “Threats?”

“Defamation of character lawsuit?” Placenta added.

“He wants my autograph. In blood. I think I recognized the voice. Cori Berman. Or Robert Wagner. Or Kathleen Turner.”

Tim instantly picked up the room phone and dialed the operator. “Connect me with Captain Sheridan, please.”

“Hang up,” Polly said. “There’s nothing he can do. This killer thinks he’s Wyatt Earp, and this is his personal OK Corral.”

“All the more reason to get protection for you, and for us!” Placenta said. “Don’t sit there and think we’re going to let you strike out against this nut on your own. You’re a comedienne, not Dirty Harry in a Bob Mackie gown!”

“I have a reputation to consider.”

“Absolutely!” Tim said. “You’re a legend and your public
wants you around for a long time. We’re going to the captain, tell him everything, and hope he has our backs.”

Polly frowned. “I appreciate how you put my vocation before my avocation, dear, but I’m not sitting around waiting for this creepy maniac to make me disappear. You know me better than that. Here’s my plan.”

P
olly gave cruise director Saul Landers an air kiss beside his cheek. “I’ll tell a couple of jokes, maybe sing a song. Although I do feel a tad sorry for the act that follows me.”

“If you’ve seen one Charo impersonator, you’ve seen too many,” Saul said. “Don’t worry your famous red head over cuchi-cuchi.”

“You’re a love,” Polly cooed as she made arrangements to be the opening act in the
Ha-Ha, Hollywood,
musical stage extravaganza. Backstage, together with Tim and Placenta, she met the other dancers and singers, all of whom were far too young to remember Polly’s days as a superstar. Although they knew that they were in the presence of someone famous, it could just as easily have been Donna Summers or Barry Manilow. Although most of the show kids didn’t have a clue who those giants were either. Still, they pretended to know about the celebrity in their midst and made her feel important.

“I’m barging in on your little show,” Polly said in a tone of contrition.

“Whew! Now we get to cut that ridiculous musical tribute
to Colonel Sanders,” said one lithe young chorine doing stretching exercises.

“Trust me, I can happily spend a night without wearing that dumb ass extra crispy chicken breast costume and singing about how finger lickin’ good the Colonel was to his chicks,” said a chorus boy who was not succeeding in his attempt to keep his eyes off Tim.

Polly blew air kisses to everyone. “Good grief,” she said, “it’s almost show time.” She turned to Placenta. “How do I look?”

“Like Polly Pepper. The madwoman,” Placenta said.

Polly looked at Tim. “Are we all set to snare us a big ol’ front page headline?”

“Just remember,” Tim warned, “if we get ourselves killed with this stunt, you’ll never get a send-off like Michael Jackson’s.”

“I’m more than happy to let that sweet, talented, misunderstood soul steal all the thunder of a million dead stars,” she said. “Now, go to your stations. I’m about to put my life on the line as the warm-up act for these Kool Krooz crazies.”

As Tim and Placenta left the backstage dressing area, Polly checked herself in the makeup mirror. As she was fluffing her hair, she could hear Saul through the backstage P.A. system speakers. He was listing the credits of the great Polly Pepper, and telling the audience they were in for a rare treat. “If we give the great lady a warm round of applause, perhaps we can coax her into singing her hit signature song, ‘For New Kate.’”

After tepid applause, Saul announced, “And now, the legend herself, the one … the only … Polly. Pepper!”

More halfhearted applause drew Polly to the center of the stage where, under a bright spotlight, she bowed and curtsied and made the sign of the cross. She milked the attention by lifting the hem of her dress to show off her still
shapely legs. Polly nodded her own approval and expected the same from the crowd. With her hands caressing the curves of her chest, she pretended to self-admire her breasts. Cat calls ensued. She then set her hands on her hips and said, “I’ve still got a
hull
of a ship shape.” With the audience now under her spell, Polly pouted, “I was expecting romance on the high seas this week. But none of you darling men bothered to cast your nets my way. And I’m well worth the catch! No mercury in this fish!”

While the audience applauded their approval, Tim and Placenta fanned out through the theater, keeping their eyes peeled for each of the week’s suspects, and anyone else who appeared to be a threat to Polly. Tim was waiting for a cue from his mother.

Polly told a few more jokes, then said it was her nature to be a sentimental old fool. “God knows I lost a dear friend the first day on this otherwise divine Kool Krooz,” she said. “You all know who I’m talking about. The lovely and talented Laura Crawford. Someone on this very ship cut her life short. Literally. Perhaps I’ve passed him in the corridors of this great big boat. Maybe he’s danced on the floor right next to me. It’s possible that you’re sitting beside that awful beast at this very moment. Look around. Does anyone seem suspicious to you?”

The audience was starting to get restless. After all, they came to see a show; they weren’t interested in hearing about death and dying. Polly instantly switched course and began telling her famous chicken jokes. They were lame, but with Polly’s perfect comedic timing, the punch lines still received titters if not roars of laughter. “And now, for my next trick …”

Tim heard his cue and dialed Laura Crawford’s cell phone.

Suddenly, a cell phone rang. Polly shielded her eyes against the spotlight and said, “Whoever it is, tell ‘em you’re seeing Polly Pepper live on stage. You’ll call back.”

As the phone continued ringing, and the audience looked around, annoyed with whoever hadn’t had the courtesy of turning off their phone, Polly laughed, “Ha! It’s me!” She held up the phone. “Would you all excuse me for just a teensy moment-o?”

The audience laughed.

Polly flipped open the phone and looked at the caller ID. Then she turned to the audience and said, “I’d better take this. It’s from Laura Crawford’s killer.”

The audience squealed with laughter.

“Seriously,” Polly said, and held up the telephone. “See? It says, ‘1-800-Kiler4U.’”

Again the audience sniggered and applauded mildly, until Polly frowned and said, “Drats! We’ve lost the signal. That’s a huge problem on this ship. God knows dear Laura herself lost the signal for good!”

From the back of the theater Tim disguised his voice and yelled out, “Redial!”

“Brilliant idea!” Polly replied, and for a moment built suspense by pretending to not know how to accomplish that simple task. She held up the phone to the audience and asked, “Which button?”

One of the chorus boys dashed out from the stage wings and sidled up to Polly. He looked at the cell phone and pointed to the button clearly marked Redial. Polly looked with appreciation at the dancer, who was wearing his practically nonexistent costume of sequined footless ballet tights and a glitter-dusted muscled bare chest for the upcoming “Salute to Liberace” production number.

The audience laughed as Polly pretended to have a difficult time weaning her eyes away from the attractive young man. When she finally faced the audience she tsked, “He’ll need years of therapy someday when the glitter is all tarnished. Thank God he’s tech savvy. He’ll have a trade.” She looked back at the dancer who was smiling and eating
up the attention. “I have a lot equipment at home,” she said to him. “With all your bells and whistles I’m sure you could click my browser and download a blog or two.”

As the audience continued to be amused by Polly’s naughty but harmless nature, she finally said, “Looky! I’m redialing. Let’s find what Mr. Killer wanted to say to me.” Polly surreptitiously went into Laura’s call log and selected the number that Tim had dialed earlier. She found the number and pushed Dial. “One ringy-dingy, as my darling Lily Tomlin used to say.”

Suddenly a ringtone could be heard in the audience. Everyone froze and became silent as they tried to determine where the sound was coming from. As the ringing continued, Polly could see two dark shadows in the audience tussling. She yelled into her mic, “That’s the killer! Turn up the house lights! Where’s security? Someone, get those men!”

In an instant, Tim, along with a couple of unexpected volunteers, grabbed the men and dragged them, flailing and shouting, to the stage. With a strong thrust, they were set at Polly’s feet.

“We’ve got him!” called out one of the men who had subdued the passengers.

“You’re a love,” Polly called out.

By now the cast of the show had assembled around Polly. The theater house lights went up and flooded the venue. Polly gasped. There before her was Cori Berman and Dorian Dawson. Cori was still holding the phone. “I should have known,” Polly said with disgust. “Cori Berman. Child star and infamous troublemaker grows up to be a has-been hell-raiser!”

The audience surrounded the stage for a better look at the man who killed Laura Crawford. “He’s been a bad seed since day one,” a woman called out. Another said, “I stopped watching
Highway to Heck
because the
Peeper
said that your every other word started with an F!”

As Cori continued to kneel at Polly’s feet he said, “You’re making another huge mistake. I wrestled the phone out of this guy’s hand.” He pointed to Dorian.

“Tell it to the captain and the chief of security,” Polly said as she saw Captain Sheridan being escorted to the stage by a team of men in white ship’s officer’s uniforms.

When the captain took center stage with Polly, he gave her an angry look. Just as he was about to open his mouth with a reprimand Polly spoke out. “This time I have the real killer,” she said, pointing to Cori. “I can prove it.”

“How?”

“With this. Laura Crawford’s cell phone.”

Captain Sheridan snatched the phone from Polly’s hand. “How did you …?

“Never mind how I got hold of it. You’re just lucky I did. You should be thanking me for saving you the embarrassment of letting a killer off your ship.”

Tim and Placenta made their way to the stage to stand beside Polly. Tim said, “When I checked Laura’s call log I discovered that she’d been talking to a certain number over and over, right up until almost the moment she was killed. So I dialed it myself. And guess which phone it turned out to be? This one!” he said, taking the cell phone away from Cori.

“Stand up!” the captain ordered Cori. “Is this your phone?”

“Of course it is,” Polly declared. “Posession is nine tenths of the law!”

“Physical possession does not necessarily mean ownership,” Cori stated. He reached into his pocket and withdrew another cell phone. “555-2803,” he said, reciting his telephone number.

“Then who owns this phone?” the captain demanded as he held the other cell in his hand. He looked at Dorian.

Dorian shrugged.

The captain looked at Tim.

Tim presented his own phone.

Polly chuckled. “Timmy’s an elitist when it comes to technical toys,” she said. “He’d never be caught dead with any gadget that wasn’t up to the minute.
That
phone looks to be at least six months old.” Polly suddenly took a good look at the cell phone.” Then she looked at Dorian. “Sweetums, this
is
your phone.”

“Nope,” Dorian said.

Polly took a longer look at Dorian and said, “I saw it today at the auction.”

Dorian huffed and said, “Um, mine fell overboard this afternoon. A wind came along and swiped it out of my hand.”

“Convenient,” Cori snorted.

Suddenly, Polly froze. “Oh, my God. I’ve made another huge mistake. I’m so sorry.”

Dorian smiled. “Not to worry, my dear. You’re under a lot of stress. You can’t find Laura’s killer and it’s driving you nuts. No hard feelings.”

“But what I’ve done is unforgivable,” Polly cooed. “Once again I’ve accused the wrong man of killing Laura.” She turned to Cori and said, “Over the years, the hot studio klieg lights have burned holes in my brain. It’s my only excuse. How can I ever get you to accept my apology?”

As the gathered crowd collectively looked at Polly with suspicion, Dorian chuckled softly and said, “Why are you apologizing to a killer? Let Captain Sheridan take over. You and I will go out for a bottle of champagne, to celebrate that you cracked the case, as well as our last night out at sea.”

“This is your phone,” Polly said to Dorian. Then a loud whisper began to roll through the crowd.

“No, it’s not,” Dorian stammered. “I’m insulted by your insinuation. If you don’t drop this foolishness, I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth, including the Warhol, Hockney, and Bachardy!”

Polly looked at Dorian. “You keep bringing up those damn paintings,” she said. “What’s up with my art collection?” She turned to the captain. “Dorian and I were at the most god-awful art auction this afternoon. At three thirteen he received a call on his phone. I know the exact time because I was bored and looked at my watch.” She turned to Dorian. “I was also surprised that you had a cell phone. You previously claimed you didn’t bring one because you didn’t think it would work at sea. The call you received came from my son, Timmy.”

She turned to the captain. “If you’ll look at the incoming calls on that phone, I suspect you’ll see Laura’s number displayed over and over, but most recently at three thirteen and five forty-five, just before my call a few minutes ago.”

The captain took a deep breath. “I swear to God, Miss Pepper, if this is like the missing DVD disc, or the dead pool, I will not wait for the police in Juneau. You’ll be in the brig so fast …”

Polly was suddenly ill at ease. Another false accusation could not only find her facing charges of slander, but the tabloids would have a field day reporting how she’d sailed away to Looneyville.