“You were worried I’d knock George Ritchey’s block off,” Myrna replied darkly, examining the glossy polish on her long, sharp nails. “If he ever tries to slander you again, he and I will be having a little chat.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard took the stuff himself”— Max’s voice dripped with suspicion—“thinking he could get you fired.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Lawrence cautioned. “We don’t have anything to back that up.” Sighing, he returned his cell phone to his smoking jacket’s inner pocket beside his prop cigarette holder. “But you’re probably right.” To his annoyance, as soon as he withdrew his hand, the instrument promptly howled again. “Should I answer this?”
Almost as if in response, Max’s cell phone rang, its bell-like chime a counterpoint to Lawrence’s wolf howls. The producer turned aside and put the phone to his ear, still shaking his head. Myrna slipped a hand inside Lawrence’s jacket and took the howling phone out to examine it.
“Hmmm. Would Ritchey call from Ellington’s desk?”
Lawrence grabbed the phone from her and opened it. “Lawrence here. How are you today, sir?”
Myrna smirked, and looked back at Max in time to see all the blood drain from his face.
Lawrence walked away from them a few paces, saying, “Yes, sir. The Caddy has been a big hit here. We’re taking good care of it for you.”
Max sank into the chair Lawrence had vacated and wiped at the cold sweat on his upper lip. His voice was low as he tried to calm the person on the other end of the line. “It’s okay, Don. We’ll get you out. I’ll send someone as soon as we can find some bolt cutters.”
Myrna frowned, trying to keep up with both conversations. Lawrence was smiling, the fake vampire fangs gleaming. “Yes, sir. The Terror Time fans were really excited to see the Frightmobile.”
Max covered his eyes with a hand. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Yeah. ’Bye.” He thumbed off his phone and stared at it for a long moment, his hand shaking. Lawrence turned back and gave them both a big thumbs- up.
“Yes, sir! We’ll have it back promptly at six. Thanks again for letting us use it for the parade.” He closed his phone with a snap.
Max looked at Lawrence as if he were about to cry. Bootsy walked over to lean against Max’s leg.
“It’s gone.”
“What’s gone, dear?” Myrna asked, patting Max on the shoulder, wanting to ease his distress.
“The Caddy,” Max said in a hushed, defeated voice. “Don was watching the car when this kid wandered by, gushing about meeting you and showing him a picture Myrna had autographed. Don needed to use one of the porta-potties and asked the guy to watch the car for a minute.” He looked up at Myrna with mournful eyes. “While he was inside, someone chained the door and drove off with the car.”
“What?” Lawrence exploded, attracting stares from the stragglers still lingering near the table. He stuffed his phone back into his jacket as if it were on fire. “Please tell me you’re joking, Max. Because if you’re not, both our careers are finished.”
Myrna stepped closer to her boyfriend, twining her fingers with his. “Easy, darling,” she soothed, leaning in until the blonde strands of her flawless wig all but brushed his cheek. “I know it’s bad, but it’s not the end of the world.”
“Not the end of the world?” Lawrence choked on the words. “No, just the end of my television career. When Ellington finds out I’ve lost his precious car, he’ll kick me right out of his station, lock, stock, and wolfsbane! No, scratch that—he’ll kill me. I hope you remembered to take out the additional life insurance on me, dear. You should be in line for a tidy windfall.”
“Now don’t get melodramatic on me,” Myrna scolded, picking up the whining Bootsy to cuddle. “That’s my routine. Besides, I’ve never done a credible Barbara Stanwyck, and I think this situation is less Double Indemnity, more Grand Theft Auto.” She took a moment to draw some calm by stroking the Maltese on his fuzzy little head. “I realize Mr. Ellington is a bit of a bear, but surely he wouldn’t fire you over this. There’s no way he can hold you responsible. You weren’t even there.”
“You don’t know him,” Lawrence mused. “Ever since I pitched the revival of Terror Time to Channel 11 last year, I’ve begged the old man to let me use the Caddy. I thought it would be a nice way to tie the new series to the old one. But he’s so protective of the blasted thing, I never thought he would agree. When I got the invitation to be the featured guest in the parade today, I convinced him appearing in that car would be incredible publicity. Now it looks like I managed to talk myself right out of a job.”
“Us out of a job,” Max corrected, his hands covering his face as the implications of the situation began to sink in.
“I don’t want to lose this job,” Lawrence lamented, looking at Myrna with glazed eyes. He hunched his shoulders and huffed out an anxious breath. “I’m... I remember watching Ghoulini and the other Terror Time hosts back when I was a kid. I thought it must be so cool to be like them. I’ve paid my dues. I’ve done hosting gigs for everything from home shopping to game shows. I want to do something fun now. I really love being Lawrence Frightengale, and there’s no way Ellington will forgive me if he finds out I’ve lost his car.”
“Grace under pressure, precious,” Myrna reminded him. “You’re not out on your ear yet.”
“My God!” Max looked up, eyes wide. “Why are we sitting here talking? We have to call the police!”
2:10 PM
MYRNA gave the man a curious look, her head cocked askance as her smile took on a twisted cast.
“Certainly, we could do that,” she ventured, her blue eyes locked with his, “if the two of you want to lose your jobs.”
“What are you talking about?” A familiar uneasiness grew in the pit of Lawrence’s stomach.
“Think about it for a moment. If we call the police, the first thing they’re going to do is to notify Mr. Ellington, the owner of the car. In fact, they may even consider him a suspect if anyone starts thinking about the possibility of insurance fraud. In any event, he’ll be their first call, and you’ll be sunk.”
“So what are you suggesting here?”
“Darling, it’s only a little after two o’clock,” Myrna pointed out, as if she were explaining a math problem to a slow child. “The parade doesn’t start until four, and as featured guests we’re riding at the end of it. So that buys us a few extra minutes. If we can find the car in the next two hours, no one will ever have to know it was gone.” She grinned, triumphant in her own logic, before adding, “And you won’t lose your job.”
“If we can find the car? We—as in, you and I? Are you insane? Sweetheart, I think you’ve gone so deep into Myrna Loy you’ve come out as Nora Charles.”
Myrna froze, stiffening, her eyes widening in hurt astonishment. “Well,” she pouted, as Lawrence realized he had put his foot in his mouth well up to the ankle, “this is the thanks I get for trying to help salvage your career? Fine! Call the police. Stick your neck right into the noose, for all I care. But I’ll thank you to leave the namesake out of this!”
Whenever Myrna invoked the namesake (always in hushed and reverent tones), Lawrence knew there was no point in further argument.
And after all, what did he have to lose? If the car wasn’t in the parade at four, Lawrence Frightengale and Terror Time would both be toast by the end of the evening. What did it matter if the police were brought in now or in a couple of hours? If he waited, there was at least a chance a miracle could occur.
“So,” Lawrence asked his partner, his eyes downcast, “where do we start looking for a stolen Cadillac?”
He saw the man beneath Myrna’s makeup smile and the twinkle return to his blue eyes. Lawrence felt his breath stutter in his chest and fell a little in love again with the complex man beneath the glamour and glitz of Myrna Boy.
“First, we need this to stay between the three of us. Max, do you think you can keep this under wraps for now?”
“What difference will it make?” the producer moaned. “I can tell my staff the car is out being washed or something, but as soon as it doesn’t show up for the parade, people are going to know something’s up. We hyped the Caddy as one of the event’s attractions in all of our flyers.”
“Cover for us until the parade starts,” Myrna prompted him, setting the wriggling Bootsy back on the ground. “I have no intention of letting either you or Lawrence leave the working rank and file to become men of leisure. We’re going to find the car and bring it back in time for your little procession.”
“I don’t know,” Max shook his head. “When this whole thing blows up in our faces—and it almost certainly will—what if they ask why we didn’t go straight to the cops? It’s not going to look good.”
Lawrence squared his shoulders. “Look, Max, I know this is crazy, but Myrna does have a point. If we call the cops now, you and I are definitely former employees of Channel 11. And if Myrna’s long shot doesn’t pay off and we don’t recover the Caddy, we’re just as fired. But waiting two hours to report the theft isn’t going to hurt anything, while involving the law at this stage guarantees Ellington will kill Terror Time posthaste. Buy us a little time, okay?”
Max sighed in defeat. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.” Bootsy barked agreement.
“I only gave out one autograph today, to a sweet little boy named Justin. That has to be the young man Don was talking to. Is he still around? Can he give a description of the thief?” Myrna pulled out her phone and began typing.
Max shook his head. “Don says he called to him, but nobody answered. Crap! Don’s still trapped inside the potty. I need to get someone down there to let him out.”
“Myrna, darling, have you stopped to consider that your ‘sweet little boy’ is probably our car thief? After all, he was the one watching the Caddy when Don was locked up, and he seems to have vanished now. If he isn’t our guy, don’t you think he would have called for help when he saw somebody making off with the car?”
“Such a timid little thing?” Myrna shook her faux blonde locks and pursed her lips at the thought. “He had a hard time just asking for my autograph, Larry. No, it doesn’t add up. I can’t see him stealing a car.
“I am worried, though,” she continued. “If whoever did take it realized that Justin saw them, they may have tried to hurt him. Max, can you have your people look for him? We need to make sure he’s okay.”
“I’ll get the word out,” the producer assured her, casting a glance at the doubtful Lawrence. “If he’s still there, my guys will find him. Hopefully, he can give us a description of our carjacker.”
They all jumped as Max’s phone rang again. He pushed the talk button cautiously. “Hello? What...? No... we, uh, decided to have it washed.” He gave a distasteful look, as if he didn’t believe his own lie. “It’ll be back in time, don’t worry. Leave the can in the maintenance area for now. Hey, and get a pair of bolt cutters down to the porta- potties. Some yahoo thought it would be funny to chain them closed. Thanks.”
Max looked up at Myrna and Lawrence. “Stevie is back with the gas for the Caddy and wants to know where the car is.” Max put the phone down, his hands still shaking, and let out a sigh. “I think I’ll have a stroke.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Lawrence quipped. “You’re not leaving me to face the music alone.”
“Wait a minute, Max,” said Myrna, a glimmer of a thought manifesting itself in a hopeful smile. “Why did you send Stevie for a can of gas?”
“Typical Ellington stinginess,” he snorted. “When he had the car dropped off, it was running on fumes. I guess he figured if he was supplying his wheels for the parade, Out & About could supply the gas.”
“Don’t you say another cross word about that man!” Myrna exclaimed. “Oh, I could kiss him!”
Max looked puzzled, but the light dawned on Lawrence. “Myrna, what would I do without you? Of course! If the Caddy’s tank was practically empty, and Stevie just got back with the gas can, our thief couldn’t have gotten far in the behemoth. Not without stopping for fuel, at least.”
“There can’t be too many gas stations in the immediate vicinity,” Myrna continued Lawrence’s thought. “If we hurry, we might still be able to pick up his trail!” She reeled in Bootsy’s lead, unwinding him from the nearest table leg.
“Well, whether you find the Caddy or not, be back here at four. I promised you would be in this parade, one way or another.” Max stood up from the table, stepping around the little dog.
“Don’t worry,” Myrna assured him. “We’ll be here—with the car! Leave your phone on, and we’ll check in with you. But in case things don’t pan out, start considering which of the floats you’d like us to hitch a ride on as a fallback plan. Choose a pretty one—nothing that clashes with my dress.”
The older man rolled his eyes but shot her a smile.
“Hey,” Max called after the retreating pair, “if you’re really going after the car, don’t you want to at least scrape off some of that makeup first?”
Lawrence touched his powdered cheek and shook his head. “No time,” he said. “Even if we manage to find the Caddy, we’ll be cutting it tight to get back here. There won’t be time to sit for makeup again. Besides,” Lawrence mused, watching Myrna being pulled toward the parking lot by her tiny dog, “Lawrence Frightengale might just be the right man for this job.”
2:27 PM
“LARRY! Slow down! You know I can’t run in these shoes.”
Myrna frowned when Lawrence strode past her and lifted her skirt to its split in order to close their distance in a sprint, Bootsy bounding at her side.
“You cad, who are you to make me dash around like this in these heels?” she said, breathless, as they neared her turquoise Toyota Camry.
“I’m the only one between you slipping in the shower and Bootsy eating your face off two days later.”
“Clever boy,” Myrna congratulated him dryly. “You’ve managed to evoke both Lassie and Psycho in one disgusting image. Bootsy would never hurt Mummy, would you, dear?” She smiled down at the little dog, who danced up on his hind legs.
“Which direction do you think we should start with?” Lawrence asked, ignoring her sarcasm as he unlocked the passenger door for her. “I think the closest station is a few blocks up Oakmont, but if he was heading east—”
His speculation was cut short by another wolf howl emanating from within his smoking jacket. This time, he scarcely got the phone open before the Terror Time theme blared from the instrument at top volume.
“Bastard!” he swore, thrusting the phone back into his jacket. “It’s almost like he knows something’s wrong today, and he’s doing his best to taunt me.”
“Don’t get paranoid, dear,” Myrna urged as he slid behind the wheel. “Let’s stay focused on salvaging your career.”
2:58 PM
THE trail of the Caddy had gone cold by the time they pulled into the Royal Service Stop at the end of Euclid. They started their search to the west, hitting nearby gas stations and convenience stores in a gradual arc heading north. Unfortunately, after seven stops all they had drawn were negative responses and more than a few uncomfortable stares at Lawrence’s fangs. No one had seen an outrageously customized convertible. Unless, of course, it had pulled into the Gas Mart, whose Asian owner had shouted in nothing but Cantonese and locked himself in his stockroom at the sight of the somewhat disheveled vampire approaching his counter.
They caught a break when Myrna received a message on her cell phone.
“Yes!” she cried in triumph. “Head back to Euclid.”
“Any particular reason?” Lawrence asked as he swung the car around.
“Because that’s where the Caddy is. Or at least where it was. While you and Max were talking earlier, I took a gamble. Practically everyone we know is coming to Out & About, so I decided to shoot a message out on Twitter asking if anybody had seen the car on their way there. The thing is so ridiculous, nobody c
ould miss it.”
“And someone spotted it?”
“You can thank our good friend Philip,” Myrna confirmed. “He saw it on Euclid, not ten blocks from the parade route.”
The Royal Service Stop looked less than regal, with the rusting sign above its pumps badly in need of replacement. However, the attendant on duty was polite when the overdressed woman and the pasty- faced guy with the fangs began to question him.
“A tricked-out ’73 Caddy? Nah, haven’t seen anything like that come through today,” he reported with a shake of his head. “Hey, Lou! You seen anything like that?”
“Like what?” A baby-faced black man in coveralls stuck his head out of a nearby mechanic’s bay.
“An old El Dorado with custom chrome and a spider hood ornament.”
“And a completely unnecessary batwing spoiler,” Myrna added. Bootsy, beside her, barked and walked in a tight circle next to her ankle.
“No, I’d remember something like that,” Lou responded. His eyes lit up as he spotted Lawrence. “Hey, you’re the guy from the TV!”
“Guilty as charged.” Lawrence graced him with a broad smile, displaying even more of his false fangs. “Thanks for watching.”
“Oh man, you’re the best.” Lou’s enthusiasm bolstered Lawrence’s spirits. “But, wow, the movie you ran last night was a dog!” Bootsy barked again, and Myrna stifled a giggle.
“Yeah, we got stuck with that one when the station bought our last package. Sorry you had to suffer through it,” Lawrence sympathized. “Trust me; it was as painful for me as it was for you. Be sure to tune in next week, though. We’re running one of my favorites—Scream for Your Supper.”
Lawrence Frightengale Investigates Page 2