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Dell Magazines
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Copyright ©2008 by Dell Magazines
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Cover art: Illustrator unknown, circa 1940
CONTENTS
Novelette: WHAT'S IT WORTH? by Melodie Johnson Howe
Novelette: MANILA BURNING by Clark Howard
Department of First Stories: A THIN BRIGHT LINE by Dixon Hill
Passport to Crime: DIRECTION FROM THE GRAVE by Richard Macker
Novelette: TAKE DEATH EASY by Peter Turnbull
Novelette: GETTING RID OF THE BODY by Tom Tolnay
Reviews: BLOG BYTES by Bill Crider
Novelette: A DEATH by Kevin Wignall
Reviews: THE JURY BOX by Jon L. Breen
Novelette: COUNTING CHICKENS by Amy Myers
Novelette: THE DAM by Scott Loring Sanders
Novelette: THE ALEXANDRIAN SOLUTION by Edward D. Hoch
Novelette: THE JAILER by Janice Law
2008 EQMM READERS AWARD BALLOT
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Novelette: WHAT'S IT WORTH? by Melodie Johnson Howe
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Art by Laurie Harden
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In addition to being a former movie actress, a much-lauded novelist (Edgar, Anthony, and Agatha award nomin-ated), and one of the mystery genre's best short story writers, Melodie Johnson Howe is now a blogger (whose columns you can read at www.criminalbrief.com every Tuesday) and a teacher of mystery and suspense writing. Her new story for EQMM brings back series character Diana Poole, whose dry wit about the Hollywood scene makes all of her adventures entertaining.
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Emma Parker had left her keys in her front door. Since I was meeting her for lunch I used them to let myself in. I found her in the living room. Wearing a faded blue chenille bathrobe, she was on her hands and knees, peering under the sofa. The sofa looked like it came right out of a ‘forties movie with its big green-leaf print fabric. I imagined Eve Arden and Joan Crawford sitting on it, sharing snappy dialogue.
"What are you looking for?” I asked.
She peered over her shoulder at me. A thick strand of henna-colored hair flopped across her check. “My self-worth.” Emma was an actress. “And those.” Her tired green eyes focused on the keys dangling from my hand.
"You left them in the front door,” I explained.
Staying on the floor, she leaned her back against the couch. “Oh man, I'm such a mess, Diana. We were supposed to have lunch, weren't we?"
"You wanted to talk about Lund? I think you referred to him as that son-of-a-bitch director who fired you.” I set the keys on the coffee table.
Emma and I had both read for the part of Livonia in Lund Hagan's movie. Despite the character's exotic name, it was the typical dutiful-wife role, which means there is very little dialogue and the actress stands around looking loving, worried, and makes a lot of coffee. But the movie was directed by Hagan, who was known for his taste and intelligence. A rare commodity in Hollywood. He was also known for being a narcissistic bastard who was difficult to work with. Not a rare commodity in Hollywood. Emma got the part. Two days into shooting, Lund Hagan had fired her. This is the kind of blow to an actress's career and ego that makes waitressing look good.
"Oh God, I'm so hung over.” Emma held her head in her hands. Then she anxiously peered up at me. “Do you mind if we don't have lunch? I'm not feeling well."
"No, of course not. Can I get you anything?"
As she struggled to her feet the bedroom door opened, and Lund Hagan sauntered in buttoning his black shirt. His black leather jacket was slung over his arm. At least his jeans were zipped up. The director was a tall, aloofly handsome man in his early fifties, with thick blond hair fading to white. His blue eyes were as warm as two ice cubes. Right now he had the conceited look of having just signed a multi-million-dollar contract, or of having had a great night in bed. It was hard to tell which. These expressions can be interchangeable in Hollywood.
"Diana Poole,” he said, surprised. We shook hands awkwardly.
"I was just on my way out,” I said.
"On your way out?” he repeated, smiling haughtily. “You should never say that in Hollywood. It might come true. You won't tell anyone that you saw me here, will you?” He meant his wife, the producer of his films, and his mistress, the biggest casting director in town.
"This is so embarrassing.” Emma slumped onto the sofa.
Ignoring Lund, I said, “I'll talk to you later, Emma."
"I'm sorry, Diana,” I heard her say as I left the house.
In my car I wondered why Emma had gone to bed with Lund Hagan. Surely she didn't think she'd get her part back. I looked at my watch. I had a callback for a TV commercial at two-thirty, so I had a couple of hours to kill. I decided to go to Saks, and buy moisturizer. It was all I could afford.
My husband, Colin, died suddenly of a heart attack about a year ago and left me with no life insurance. He did leave me with our house—now referred to by the realtors as a tear-down—in Malibu; an old green Jag that blew hot air from its vents no matter what the weather was; and two Oscars. Colin had won each for best screenplay. He also left me with an empty spot where my heart should be. I had been an actress before I married Colin, and now I'd gone back to acting in an attempt to keep the life that he and I had loved. Of course I was older now and the competition for my kind of role was brutal.
Standing at the makeup counter in Saks, I looked at my reflection in the counter mirror and wondered why they always tilted these things so you saw your neck, chin, and nostrils. My hair was determinedly blond and my eyes blue. A pretty face that was becoming more set in its ways. Less optimistic. Less adaptable. Again I thought of Emma. Maybe she did think she'd get her part back. Desperation can do that to you.
Completing my purchase, I let the escalator drift me upstairs. With my little Saks bag in hand, I wandered around staring at the expensively dressed mannequins. I became aware of other females roaming and looking. Did they just have time on their hands? Or were they Madame Bovarys searching for that perfect dress for the perfect romantic lover? The perfect romantic dream.
It was then I saw Carol Hagan, Lund's wife. She was with Val Franz, his mistress. A saleslady was ushering them toward the dressing rooms. They were the last two women on earth I wanted to encounter. I ducked behind a tall rack of evening gowns, h
iding as if I'd done something wrong. While being slashed by sequins, I tried to figure out the implications of a wife and mistress shopping together. When did sequins make a comeback?
"Diana?” Carol's voice cut through the cushy silence. She swiftly parted the hangers on the rack like a female Moses parting the Red Sea.
"Are you hiding from us?” Val, the mistress, asked with a wry smile. They carried large, expensive purses slung over their shoulders. The bags were so big they looked as if they needed bellboys to carry them. Each woman held an iPhone.
"Carol. Val. Of course not.” I grabbed a gown and held it up to me.
"That's a size two.” Val said drily, placing a hand on her sharp, bony hip. Val was a size two. Her dark hair was pulled back from her lean, carved face. Physically she appeared to be all edges, but her personality was cautious, even thoughtful.
"It looks like something a drag queen would wear.” Carol, the wife, grabbed the dress from me and threw it on a low-slung leather chair. Her hair was a mass of graying curls. She had all the personality and subtlety of a John Deere tractor. Lund was a man of divergent taste in women.
"Why are you avoiding us?” Carol persisted.
"Haven't you ever wanted to be alone?"
"Not in Saks.” Val smiled.
"This is déja vu that we've run into you,” Carol said.
"Serendipity,” Val corrected her.
"We were going to call you, but we can't get ahold of Lund.” Carol shook her iPhone as if to make it ring. “Did you hear that Emma Parker's off the movie?"
"Yes."
"I told Lund she was wrong for the part. Too neurotic. Too New Yorky. But he had a vision.” She paused, her lips curved down. “He didn't come home last night, and he wasn't with Val...” Her voice quivered then trailed off.
"You were on the short list for the role, Diana,” Val continued for her.
They were like a married couple correcting each other and picking up the other's train of thought.
"We need to talk now.” Carol had regained her composure.
The two women guided me to a private dressing room and promptly dismissed the saleslady. I sat on a sofa. My tiny Saks bag looked pathetic in this room filled with Charles Chang Lima outfits and Prada suits. My reflection was on display in the three-way mirror. I wore jeans and a crisp white shirt. I felt fleshy and all breasts compared to these two women.
They began to undress. Val had the body of a mistress, toned and exercised. Carol had the body of a wife, thin but sagging.
"I was trying to reach Lund to set up a meeting for you.” Carol stepped into a pair of blue-and-white striped trousers. “He told me he was going to sleep at the office. Why does he lie?” she asked Val.
Val shimmied into a black dress. “He can't help himself. Even when he doesn't need to lie, he lies. Diana, we'll set up a meeting with you and Lund later today. It'll just be perfunctory. There isn't time to interview other actresses, and he knows it."
"Let me get this straight. You're offering me the role of the wife in Lund's movie?"
"Yes,” they said in unison.
I had a jolt of pure optimism; the kind that shoots through an actor when she hears the word “yes.” It felt as if I'd just downed a Starbucks espresso laced with steroids. I was keenly alert and able to do anything, especially have a career. Then I thought of Lund sauntering out of Emma Parker's bedroom and my optimism ebbed.
"His secretary didn't know where he was,” Carol snapped angrily. “For God's sake, the movie is shut down. My ass is on the line.” She stared at her ass in the mirror, then zipped Val up. In return Val held up a blue-and-white pinstripe jacket for Carol to slip into.
"Maybe Lund doesn't want me for the role? I did read for him. He didn't seem impressed,” I said.
"Lund needs to be pushed into a corner,” Val said.
"It's the only way he can make a decision,” Carol explained.
"So we're pushing.” Val studied her reflection. “A little black dress. Perfect for a funeral. There's always one or two a year at least.” Now her gaze was on me. “We always wanted you for the part of the wife. You have that genteel suburban look. All the other actresses we've seen look like they're trying out for The Real Housewives of Orange County."
Val grabbed her iPhone off a chair and answered, “Yes?"
It must've made a noise that only dogs and Val could hear because I hadn't heard anything. She began talking about another movie she was casting.
Carol grabbed her iPhone and punched something, then snapped, “Is he back yet? Get him now."
I sat staring at my little Saks bag feeling doomed and exhilarated at the same time when my cell phone rang. I fumbled around in my purse, finally digging it out and answering it.
"He's gone. Diana, I just want to say again that I'm sorry about forgetting our lunch.” It was Emma.
"Listen, don't worry about it ... I can't talk right now."
"One more thing. Lund was so sweet when he told me I hadn't worked out for the part. He said let's get a drink. One thing led to another. Somehow I thought if I went to bed with him he'd give me back the role. A sort of reversal of the casting-couch seduction. Screw the director after you lose the part."
"Where the hell have you been, Lund?” Carol snarled into her cell.
"Where are you?” Emma asked me
"I'm on a callback for Herbal Heart. I have to go."
"You know what's really sick? I think I'm falling for him.” Emma hung up.
"Four o'clock, Lund.” Carol disconnected her phone and looked at me. “The meeting is set."
"Does he know it's me he's seeing?” I asked.
"Of course he does. What's wrong with you, Diana?"
"I'm not sure."
Val was off her phone now and studying me. “What's Herbal Heart?"
"I've got a callback for a commercial for a premenopausal pill. It's called Herbal Heart."
Carol stepped out of her pinstripe trousers. “I look like a two-bit gangster in this suit.” She turned on me. “Did you say premenopausal pill? Hawking anything that has to do with a woman aging is a bad career move for you, Diana. Don't do it."
"Who were you talking to?” Val smiled slyly. “Why did you lie about being on a callback and not here with us?"
"I was talking to somebody who wouldn't understand.... I should go on this commercial. You know, just in case.” I stood.
"You're going to get this part in Lund's movie, Diana, if I have to stuff you down his throat. So don't bother with that other shit. And don't forget, four o'clock. Lund's office.” Carol was now bare-legged, wearing only the gangsterlike pinstripe jacket. She looked like an aged chorus girl searching for a production of Guys and Dolls.
You need to have a career in order to make a bad career move. So I did go to the callback for Herbal Heart. I was playing a wife in that one, too. Herbal Heart was going to make me a whole woman again so I could enjoy playing with my Labrador and my husband. The director and client smiled and nodded and said they'd let me know.
At four o'clock I was sitting in Lund Hagan's office.
Like many directors’ offices, Lund's had a rented, transitory feeling to it. It was large enough to be impressive, as was his leather chair and glass-and-metal desk. The only personal touches were a couple of posters from his most recent movies and a Best Director Oscar sitting on a dull gray filing cabinet.
Lund's cold eyes took me in. “I see you, Val, and Carol have been very busy. What did you tell them?” He rose from his chair, forcing me to look up at him.
"Nothing."
"You expect me to believe that?” He came around and sat on the edge of his desk and scratched his perfectly unshaven chin. “Let's put our cards on the table, Diana. If I don't hire you, you're going to tell them about Emma and me. Isn't that how it works?"
"No."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes."
"You were on Val's and Carol's short list. Not mine. I never took you for a player,
Diana."
By player he meant a conniver and schemer.
"Do you want me for this role or not? I have a long drive back to Malibu."
"You've pushed me into a corner. I have no choice.” He put up his hands like a man being held at gunpoint.
I thought of the money I would earn and the prestige this role could bring me. I thought of my rotting wood deck, leaky roof, and my Jag's heater that never turned off. What difference did it make if Lund Hagan thought I was blackmailing him?
"I'll do my best for you, Lund,” I heard myself say.
"I'll make you look damn good on film, Diana. But if Carol or Val hear one word about Emma and me, I can make you look just as bad, or reduce your part to nothing in the editing room."
I drove to Malibu with the setting sun in my eyes.
At one o'clock in the morning the phone rang, pulling me out of a restless sleep.
"How could you do this, Diana!” Emma Parker screamed at me.
"Do what?"
"I looked up to you. You and Colin were the golden couple because you both had principles!"
"Are we talking about the role of the wife?"
"Yes! You are the last person I ever thought would use blackmail to get..."
"I'm not blackmailing anyone."
"You threatened to tell Val and Carol if Lund didn't give you the part."
"Did he tell you that? It's not true. I was on the short list. Val and Carol got me a meeting with Lund. It had nothing to do with you and him."
"Really? And how did you get to see Val and Carol?"
I told her what had happened at Saks.
There was a long, heavy pause, then, “You expect me to believe that Carol and Val were sharing a dressing room in Saks and invited you in to give you the role of the wife?"
"Yes."
"When was this?"
"After I left you."
"So you were with them in a dressing room at Saks when I called you?"
"Yes."
"No you weren't. You were on the callback for Herbal Heart. You should get your lies straight, Diana.” She slammed the phone down.
EQMM, December 2008 Page 1