by R. T. Jordan
“Trust me, you won’t,” Polly said. “Miss Lansbury’s a living icon! The greatest star ever! Four Tony Awards! Three Oscar nominations! Sixteen Emmy nominations! This is the problem with you young so-called modern movie stars, you have no background in the theatre. You don’t know anything about the business you’re in. Hell, you didn’t even know that I’m a big star in this town. Once. Yeah, sweetie, I’ve got a closet full of Emmys to prove it! If you ever beat this rap I’ll let you caress one of them.”
Placenta had to calm her down. “Deep breaths,” Placenta instructed. “Take a seat. Go to your quiet place. Think of Lake Como. It’s springtime and you’re on vacation in Switzerland. That’s right. Everything is tranquil. Deep breaths.”
Tim took over. “Dana, I’ll be honest, things look really bad for you. You were overheard arguing with Sedra in her trailer the night she died. You’re quoted saying you’d see her buried in Forest Lawn.”
“That was very late,” Dana said. “I thought that the rest of the cast had gone home. I didn’t think anyone was around to hear us. Not that I ever really said those words.” She thought for another moment. “It was that weasel of a security guard, wasn’t it? That Duane. He never liked me.”
“You didn’t like him either,” Tim said.
“And he sure as hell hated Sedra. I know the type. She publicly insulted him and he vowed revenge. These wussy types are all the same. He’s the one who should be arrested!”
“What about the fact that you found Sedra having an affair with Jack? Did you, in a jealous rage, do something you now regret?”
For a long moment, Dana sat in silence while the gears in her brain were grinding. She finally conceded, “All right, it’s true. I was angry with Sedra. But not because she and Jack were an item. That’s just too weird to even think about!”
All eyes were suddenly riveted to Dana. “Sedra wasn’t Jack’s type. Hell, I’m not Jack’s type either. Go figure.”
The room was silent for a long moment as Polly, Tim, and Placenta tried to fathom what Dana was telling them. “Everybody knows that Jack’s going to be a big star soon, and everybody wants to hitch a ride. When Jack told us all to step aside, that’s when someone started spreading rumors that he was sleeping with all the grips and carpenters.”
“As if that’s anything unusual in this town,” Polly added.
“Exactly,” Dana agreed. “Like who isn’t bi these days? Actually, Jack’s rather proud of the fact that he hooked up with Alan Cummings. Who wouldn’t brag about that! Oh, and that screenwriter Ben Tyler, too. But that was mainly because the dude wrote an awesome role that Jack thinks he’s perfect for.” Dana looked at Tim. “Sorry honey,” she said. “In your case you’d better stick to the Beverly Hills Police Department. You’ll have better success of scoring here than in Jack’s world. No offense. You’re a cutie and all, but…”
“Drats! I knew it was too good to be true about Jack. Damn that silly rumor!” Then Tim returned to the subject. “What about your fight that night with Sedra? What was that all about? ’Cause she died just a short while later, so someone was pretty angry with her. Enough to make her go away permanently.”
All ears waited impatiently for shocking news, something that they wouldn’t even find in Ted Casablanca’s “E! Online” gossip column.
Dana looked at the trio as if they were cannibals at a feast tying napkins around their necks and holding knives and forks in their fists.
Placenta, who until now had remained a silent observer, said, “You haven’t satisfied me that you didn’t murder Sedra. You talk a lot but make me believe you.”
“I swear to God, I didn’t do anything!” Dana yelled back.
“But you threatened her,” Polly added. “There are witnesses.”
Dana became contrite. “I’m scared,” she said, tears streaking her famous face. “Please get me out of here.” She sighed loudly and tried to remember the details of her last evening with Sedra. “That was the night that Sedra told me she’d booked a major film role. She asked me to come to her trailer before I left the location. When I arrived she was still in her costume. She put her hand on my shoulder and thanked me for helping to reignite her career. She said that the fact that I’d gotten her into Detention was the best thing that happened to her in years. Apparently Woody Allen had heard great things about her work—after only one day—and offered her the lead in whatever secret project he’s doing.”
“Woody Allen!” gasped Polly.
Tim and Placenta glared at her.
Dana groaned with frustration. “Of course I wasn’t gullible enough to totally believe her,” she said. “But when I asked if maybe she could put in a good word for me, that’s when she got all bent out of shape. ‘Trying to steal my role?’” Dana mimicked Sedra’s affected voice. “I never even considered that, until she mentioned it. ‘Gonna run along to Mr. Allen and offer your body in exchange for a few dumb ass lines?’ By now, Dana was yelling. “I told her that I had no such plans and that she was being ridiculous. She said that I probably thought that she owed me something because I had given her a break. I sort of agreed that she did. But then she said that by making my movie better with her iconic screen presence that was the best payback I could get. Well, I sort of agreed with that, too. But then I said something I guess I shouldn’t have.”
Polly, Tim and Placenta stopped breathing.
“Since I knew someone who was actually in a Woody Allen movie once, I was aware that he never lets any of the cast, even the leads, read the whole script. They just get the pages on which they have dialogue. That is unless you’re like a Mia Farrow, and you’re raising his future bride. So I told her what I’d heard about his scripts being secret, and I called her bluff about getting a lead in Woody’s film. I told her that unless you’re Diane Wiest, who can actually act, all of Woody’s actresses have to be young enough to be his great-granddaughter, like a Mira Sorvino, who’s not all that young, but she’s got the bazongas that he likes.
“That’s when Sedra flew into a rage. If anybody heard us fighting, that’s what it was all about. I was pissed because she wouldn’t even think about helping me go legit by getting into Woody Allen’s Fall Project. Then she was mad as hell because I accused her of being a big fat liar. I said that any role offered by Woody Allen would have to be a cameo, a one day job, and that she’d be playing another grandmother.”
Polly came back from her quiet place and asked, “Did you call Mr. Allen after Sedra’s unfortunate demise?’ You’re just his type, although at eighteen, you’re on the cusp of being too old.”
Dana made a face that said, Doh! “There wasn’t any Woody Allen film. She made it up. Then Sedra walked up to me and gave me a hard slap on the face. Like we were in some stupid daytime drama. I wasn’t going to stand there and take a beating, so I slapped her back. I think she was used to fake slaps from her ‘Monarchy’ niece because she was really shocked by what I did. Her eyes grew wild with anger and she made a rather feeble lunge for me. I stepped aside just in time and she crashed into the minibar.”
“No broken bottles?” Polly asked.
“Just a plate that she threw at me,” Dana said. “And no broken bones either, I don’t think, ‘cause she got to her feet and started after me again. I decided to get the hell out of there before I really got mad and kicked her butt. So I dashed to the trailer door. I got out, but not before she grabbed a fist-full of my hair. When I was safely outside, I told her she was a pathetic old thing, and how dare she treat me like a dog after all I’d done for her. I said I wasn’t afraid of her, like everybody else in Hollywood, and that if it came to a show down, she’d be dead meat.”
Polly piped in, “And that’s what the witness says they heard. You threatened Sedra.”
“But I didn’t really,” Dana begged. “We were fighting over a stupid hypothetical role. And that’s when she screamed at the top of her voice, ‘You’re killing me! I love you and you’re trying to kill me!’ I know she meant killing her c
areer, but if someone heard us I could see how they’d think I was seriously trying to harm her.”
Placenta leaned forward and said, “But she was murdered, and shortly thereafter.”
“Yeah. Coincidence, eh?” Dana said without much enthusiasm. “Yes, I was angry. After the fight, I went back to my trailer to check my hair and to see what damage Sedra had done. My scalp hurt like hell where she’d yanked me so hard. I stopped long enough to look in the mirror. Then I got my purse and car keys and left the school campus. I only found out that Sedra was dead when I got a call from Adam. He didn’t want me to hear it over the news. I was as shocked as anybody. I swear it!”
Tim tried to imagine the scene between Dana and Sedra. He’d seen Sedra angry often enough, and certainly watched her throw a tantrum on every rerun episode of “Monarchy,” so he could easily visualize the altercation. “So when you left your trailer and went to your car, did you seen anything unusual?” Tim asked.
“Like what?” Dana asked in a sarcastic tone. “A swimming instructor coming to give Sedra a lesson on how to dive? No. There wasn’t anything particularly unusual. I rushed to my car because first of all it was a chilly night, but also I was afraid that Sedra might come out of her trailer and start up again with me. I just wanted to go home and read my lines for the scene we were supposed to do the next morning.”
Polly asked, “Were there any other cars in the lot?”
“Yeah, there are always cars around,” Dana confirmed. “I noticed Missie’s, and Adam’s, they hadn’t left the parking lot. The cleaning people were there, too, and security. And that’s the whole story,” Dana said, exhausted from talking. “But I didn’t see anything unusual. You’ve gotta believe me.”
Placenta asked, “So Sedra was in her trailer and still alive when you left?”
Dana thought for a moment. “Absolutely. The lights were on, and I could still hear her yelling.”
Chapter 16
Evening descended on Pepper Plantation, and the residents convened in the dining room beneath the halo of a Waterford crystal chandelier. They noshed on Placenta’s Welsh Rabbit appetizer while waiting for her famous blackened salmon. The trio sipped champagne as they mulled over their jailhouse meeting with Dana Pointer.
“I’m still in shock,” Polly said.
“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “I get the feeling that Dana may not be guilty.”
“No, I’m shocked that the Beverly Hills Police Department doesn’t employ a full-time hair and make-up expert!” Polly snapped. “What are they thinking? With all the celebrities facing the camera in that joint, a proper application of lipstick and hairspray is de rigueur!”
Tim shook his head. “Still, I get the feeling that Dana is telling the truth.”
“Her eyes aren’t as killerlike as I remembered,” Placenta agreed. “It’s possible that she’s not a homicidal nymphomaniac after all. Maybe ol’ Sedra was knocked off by someone else. D’ya think? Face it, Dana’s not really an actress. So the sympathy performance that she gave this afternoon had to be genuine.”
Polly took another sip of champagne and then rose from her seat at the head of the table. She walked out of the dining room and retrieved her cell phone from its recharging station in the kitchen, then returned to the dining room table. “We’ll find out,” she said, and flipped open the telephone. She scrolled down the directory of numbers. When she reached the one she wanted she pushed the send key.
Tim and Placenta stared at Polly, whose somber demeanor instantly flashed to sunshine when she said, “Missie? It’s Polly!” After a moment’s pause, and a trace of annoyance in her voice she added, “Pepper.” A fake smile reilluminated her face and she launched into a conversation. “How are you, my dear? And your sweet mother? Coping with all the tragedy? Rotten timing, eh?”
Polly listed for a moment. “Absolutely. And to cheer us all up just a tad, you and your mother are dining with me tomorrow evening. Here, of course. Pepper Plantation. You practically groveled for an invitation. And I’ve wanted an opportunity to reciprocate your sweet hospitality. At the same time we can commiserate about our dear Dana.”
Polly continued, “Round seven o’clock? Just the family, dear. Is there anything that you or your mother don’t eat? Mmm. Nothing with a face.” Polly looked up at Placenta and made her own face of irritation. “Not to worry, I gave up cannibalism years ago.” Polly laughed at her own bit of levity. “Lovely. Tomorrow.” And then Polly flipped the telephone shut. “We’ve hooked another live one on the line,” Polly declared. “We’ll serve veal.”
“You’re starting to get into this,” Tim added with approval. “Dana thinks that Missie’s the one who should be behind bars. Maybe we can wrangle a confession from her. You’re looking at your Dr. Watson and Barney Fife,” he said proudly as his mother picked up her champagne flute.
“They make it look so complicated on television,” Polly insisted. “In reality, all we have to do is round up the usual suspects and let ’em hang themselves by their own tongues. Actors love to chatter and gossip about everybody else. Surely one of them will spill their guts—with a little help from Dom Perignon.”
“Break out a chilled bottle of Chateau Grand Inquisitor, nineteen forty-nine,” Placenta chided. “We’ll find out what, if anything, Missie has to implicate Dana—or anyone else.”
“Every bird has a song to sing,” Polly insisted. “I’m betting that after a few drinks, Missie’s a parrot. And it really is high time we had the Millers slash Stembourgs over for a light repast,” she agreed. “Then we’ll make dinner dates with all of our new friends from Detention Rules! and ferret out the real killer. That is, if it’s not Dana.”
“Finally, a bit of excitement ’round here that doesn’t include reruns of your old TV movie, Dog is My Copilot,” Tim said.
“Exactly,” said Polly. Then she thought for a moment, and her eyes rolled up into her head as she considered all the work ahead. “I’d rather have hemorrhoids than live through an entire evening with the security blimp Duane. Lunch on the patio will suffice for him. Shall we say day after tomorrow? Then we can cram Adam and Judith in for the evening. Within a week we should have statements from all the major players.”
Placenta gave Polly a defiant look. “You’d better be thinking of catering, ’cause I sure as hell won’t be cooking lunch and dinner for folks who might be ruthless killers,” she said.
Polly pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Duane’ll be fine with a dozen frozen pizzas,” she said. “As for dinner with Adam and Judith, call up Gelson’s. Tell ’em to deliver surf ’n tuff for five. Just don’t let me see those damn lobsters crawling around the kitchen floor. I swear that the last time the herd was plotting a coup d’état against me!”
After a full day of preparation and attention to every detail for a flawless and memorable evening with Missie and her mother, Polly retired to her bedroom suite for a bath before dressing to meet her guests. It was nearly six o’clock when Placenta ambled into her bathroom. She sat down on the side of the tub and immersed her hand in the warm sudsy water. She swirled it around contemplatively. “We haven’t discussed our game plan,” she said. “What exactly are we trying to wring out of Missie?”
Polly made a sound of complete satisfaction as she drained half the glass. “Leave it to me,” she said. “I’ll draw information out of Missie like a big ol’ hypodermic. Remember, she’s a toady. They’re such the easy touch, it’s almost pathetic. And her insufferable mother’s goo-goo for me, too, I can tell.”
“Ol’ Battleaxe Elizabeth thought you were a brother and sister duo singing act, for crying out loud. So don’t expect an obsequious bootlicker like Duane,” Placenta said. “What should I wear to dinner.” She changed the subject as she stood up to examine Polly’s bottles of perfumes neatly arranged on the sideboard. “And don’t say my uniform! We’re all in this together. We’re sharing the duties tonight! I’ll be at the table with you and Tim.”
Soon Tim appeared in the bathroom doorway
. “Mom,” he said, avoiding looking directly at the tub, “Detective Archer just called. He wanted to know if you were free for dinner on Friday night. He’s miffed that you haven’t called since he got you in to see Dana, so I lied told him that in hopeful anticipation of his call, you’d already made reservations at The Ivy for eight o’clock.”
“Hell, I meant to call him!” Polly frowned and splashed the water with annoyance. “On his salary, I’ll be footing the bill.”
Polly looked at the hand-painted antique clock on the vanity. “I’d better get made up before Tweedle-Dee and Dum arrive. Of course, I want to make an entrance, so you’ll start with cocktails in the front living room. Or should you usher them into the Great Room so they can envy my Emmys? What about music?”
“The living room is a fine place to start,” Tim said. “And I’ve already got the CD carousel loaded. A little Natalie Cole, some Rosemary Clooney, Sinatra, Doris Day, Michael Feinstein. Placenta and I will give them a guided tour and when you hear us return to the front entrance hall, that’s your cue to descend from the heavens down the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase. They’ll be in awe. Guaranteed.”
Placenta dragged a beach blanked-size terry cloth towel from the warming rack and held it up to both shield Polly’s modesty, and to gesture that she’d better get started on her dressing preparations. “We’ll begin with champers, naturally, and nibbles I had sent over from Crustacean.”
“Make sure they know where the eats have come from,” Polly said, insisting that her company be impressed by her spare-no-expense extravagance. “Any faces in the appetizers?”
Placenta made a “Pfft” sound. “The lengths to which we’re going to make them feel comfortable better yield us a murder confession,” she said.
As Polly stepped out of the tub, Tim backed out of the bathroom. “By the time they’ve heard all your old showbiz stories they’ll be charmed nearly to death by our hospitality. They’ll feel like old confidants,” Tim predicted. “By then even Missie’s butch New England mother will be divulging all the dish that she probably picks up with her extra-sensitive semi-blind person’s hearing.”