by R. T. Jordan
Tim stood up when his mother arrived. “Miss Polly Pepper,” he said, “may I introduce Ms. Sarah Stratton, and Ms. Rachel Lashton.”
Both women had radiant smiles and reached out to shake Polly’s hand. “I was thrilled beyond my wildest dreams when you paged me!” Sarah Stratton gushed. “The Lord made this my lucky day!”
“It’s my lucky day!” Polly countered. “Lord knows.”
“Imagine, being invited for drinks with the famous Polly Pepper! Is this the prize I get for getting sixty-five percent on the Days of Our Lives trivia contest?” Rachel Lashton said.
“I’m the winner. And good for you for knowing your DOOL trivia—sort of! Pop quiz. Bo told Hope about his latest psychic vision. True or false?” said Polly.
“Um …”
“EJ is the only one who saw Sami kissing the former bodyguard, Rafe!”
“Er …”
“Never mind. I prefer General Hospital. Polly raised her hand to get the attention of a cocktail waitress passing by. “We’ll have a bottle of something cold and bubbly and expensive. Tout de suite, por favor, Sweetums.”
Placenta looked at Polly. “Are you sure the ship company is picking up the tab?”
Polly dismissed Placenta’s concern. While she waited for her champagne to arrive, she made small talk with Sarah and Rachel about the fun time she was having on this Kool Krooz. Both women were quickly revealed to be movie star fanatics and had booked reservations on this cruise a year in advance. “This is my annual vacation,” Sarah said. “I’ve already seen Alan Thicke, Ally Sheedy, Tom Wopat, Joyce DeWitt and that dead actress from your old show! And lobster and steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, too!”
Not to be outdone, Rachel added, “I saw Justine Bateman in the pool, and Soleil Moon Frye was walking around without bodyguards, just like an ordinary everyday person. Oh, and I hear that Dr. Ruth and Tina Yothers are aboard! I saw Laura Crawford, too.”
“Before, during, or after her spa treatment?” Polly asked.
“But the biggest star, by far, is you, Polly Pepper!” Rachel said, ignoring Polly’s query.
When the cocktail waitress returned, she set five champagne flutes on the table and uncorked a bottle that was nesting in a bucket of ice. “Barbara Eden and Craig T. Nelson were on the last cruise,” the waitress said.
Placenta knitted her eyebrows and gave her a look.
“But it’s true, Polly Pepper is the biggest name we’ve had in quite some time.” She looked at Placenta again. “Okay. The biggest name ever. Jeez.”
The waitress then poured champagne into each of their flutes. Polly was first and didn’t wait for the others to be served. She drank her full glass, then held it out for a refill.
When at last they all had been served, Polly raised her flute and offered a toast. “To new friends, and to the one dear person missing from this amazing moment, my darling former costar and very close confidante and trusted friend, Laura Crawford.”
“The National Peeper said that you two couldn’t stand each other,” Sarah said between sips of champagne. “I didn’t like her because you didn’t like her. That’s how much of a fan of yours I am!”
“Laura was easy for some to dislike—perhaps even to wish a Hollywood death similar to that Phil Spector victim, Lana Clarkson,” Polly said. “Poor baby. Even I know not to clean a shotgun with my tongue, especially one belonging to that wig-wearing freak-o music producer.”
“Also, the Peeper said that Laura had a potty mouth,” Sarah continued. “As a good Christian, I don’t know if I could ever invite her into my home. My friends wouldn’t understand.”
“You’ll never have that problem,” Placenta said with an edge to her voice.
“Good Lord, the Peeper!” Polly said. “I make it a personal policy to never read a word in that trashy rag. Unless someone gives me a heads-up to something flattering written about me.”
“I’m with you,” Rachel echoed.
“I try to keep a clean mind and not judge those who don’t deserve to be.”
“We’re exactly alike,” Rachel added.
“Yes, Laura and I may have had teensy differences from time to time—all friends do—but she was extremely important to me, and to the success of our show,” Polly said.
“It wouldn’t have been the same without her,” Rachel agreed.
Sarah said, “I’m just like you two, I never judge others—unless they’re not Christians. I was behind Laura Crawford in the check-in line at the dock, and the way she treated the embarkation agent when he wouldn’t give her a cabin upgrade was very disappointing.”
Rachel waited for Polly’s response.
“I’ll bet she got the upgrade.” Polly glanced at Tim and Placenta.
“Of course,” Sarah said. “I overheard her say that you were trading staterooms with her. But isn’t that just like the Polly Pepper that everybody knows and loves?”
“Absolutely, the Polly that we all know and love,” Rachel gushed.
“She surely didn’t learn manners from you,” Sarah continued.
“No manners,” Rachel parroted.
“When she stepped back and crushed my foot, she gave me a look as if it were my fault I was in her way. I thought, somebody needs to be taught a lesson,” Sarah said.
Polly perked up. “A lesson? Oh, for sure. A darn good one, too. She had to be taught right from wrong. What did you have in mind? Something she’d never forget. One that would make Laura Crawford realize that she’d stepped on the wrong toes and you weren’t a pushover! Maybe a threatening letter sent to her cabin? No, she’d tear it to shreds and forget about it. Something more memorable. A kick in the shins? How ‘bout an old-fashioned slap on her behind? Nah. Those wouldn’t do the trick either. You’d have to really show her you wouldn’t be treated like a nobody, just because she once was a somebody!”
Tim shot his mother a withering look.
Sarah, who was now two glasses into a champagne high, gave Polly an evil smile. “You’re reading my thoughts. Of course, the Devil got into me and gave me some ideas!”
Polly reached out and tenderly touched Sarah’s wrist and sang, “‘Jesus loves you, this you know, for the Bible tells you so.’”
“Damn right. And I’m not responsible for what happens when that cunning fiend Lucifer monkeys around with my righteous heart …”
“… and tiny brain,” Placenta whispered.
Polly’s attention was undivided. Sarah, too, seemed to be drifting into a daze of clouded memory. “I prayed on this for a long while after Laura Crawford stepped all over me in public,” Sarah continued. “But I know from experience that when I encounter Beelzebub’s instrument of evil, it’s my Christian duty to do the Lord’s work here on Earth. So I … I …”
“You wanted to confront Laura about her behavior, even though she was a famous TV star.” Polly filled in the blank.
Sarah gave Polly a vacant look. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Having made a decision to teach her a lesson—er—cast out the demon hiding inside of her, you frantically searched the whole ship for Laura and finally found her in the spa. You reminded her that we’re living in the end times and that if she continued to treat little people like the dirt under your fingernails she’d never be raptured up to Heaven. But you, being a true Christian, could save her soul by destroying the evil spirit right then and there and thus free her to be resurrected when the Lord’s time comes!”
Sarah forced a small smile and coughed out a weak, “Ha, ha. Sorry, but I guess I’m overly tired or have had too much champagne, ‘cause I’m not quite getting the joke.”
Rachel looked at Sarah and said, “You have no sense of humor. Polly Pepper is a riot! Let me translate Hollywood humor. She’s explaining how you killed Laura Crawford. Funny, huh?”
“It’s my guess that Laura Crawford also taunted you in the spa,” Polly continued. “She said that you were a nut job. That you were mad, deranged, unhinged, a mental wacko. Laura was everything that Su
nday-school teachers described when talking about the anti-Christ. Am I right? And you stood in the little massage room, with the gentle sounds of harps and falling water and flickering candles, and decided to pull the plug on Satan’s twisted wreckage of a person. So you opened your Polly Pepper Playhouse boxed DVDs collector’s edition and swiped the edge of a disc across her throat. Job done! World peace restored. St. Peter sending another soul on an eternal vacation to the Lake of Fire.”
“My demon can beat up your demon, eh?” Placenta said to Sarah.
Sarah was dumbfounded.
“Demons come. Demons go. Here today, gone tomorrow—or the day we set sail,” Polly continued. “So many others would have killed for the opportunity to do what you did. You stalked your prey. Confronted the devil. Then you succeeded where that adorable and sexy and totally hypocritical Ted Haggard failed. He only wanted drugs and male prostitutes. Your sin actually has a great big commandment. Thou shalt not …”
Sarah grew wildly indignant. “Sins? The Lord took ‘em all away at Calvary!”
“Convenient,” Placenta sassed.
“Oh, shut up, heathen!” Sarah exploded at Placenta. Many in the bar looked in the direction of Polly’s table. Sarah bellowed, “Laura Crawford got just what she deserved! She was a lousy singer, too. Her acting wasn’t much better, but that hardly matters when she treated me with disdain. Miserable people like Laura have to be eliminated. I’m only sorry that I wasn’t the chosen one to do something about her.
“I’d better go,” Sarah said, scooting her chair back and rising. “I’ll tell my husband that I had drinks, er, I’d better say a Coke, with the famous Polly Pepper. He’ll think another demon has gotten sucked into me. It happens a lot. Actually, maybe it’s best that I forget we ever had this meeting.” Sarah shook Polly’s hand. “It’s been … informative,” she said, and nodded to the others.
As Sarah started to walk away, she hesitated for a moment and then turned back to Polly. “I know that you Hollywood people worship that golden graven image of the false god Oscar, but I won’t stand by as you blaspheme The Church of the Righteous Sinners, the one true religion. I don’t mind being in your funny story about how Laura Crawford died—bless her damned soul—but I wouldn’t want a joke like that to get around. You know how people talk, especially on the Internet. If Pastor Deuteronomy hears such a tall tale, he and the church elders might keep me from coming back again on next year’s Kool Krooz. And—heaven forbid—our church bulletin will suggest every Christian boycott your DVD collection. We were successful in obliterating ticket sales of Eddie Murphy’s Imagine That, so you know our power.”
“Somehow I doubt that your congregation alone moved that flick out of theaters so quickly,” Placenta teased.
After Sarah had finally disappeared out the door, Rachel took a long swallow of her drink and looked straight into Polly’s eyes. “What did we really do for the privilege of having drinks with America’s … um, the world’s … most famous television star from the old days?” she asked.
Polly disliked being reminded that no one under the age of forty had probably ever heard of her television program. “I simply wanted to get to know a few people who I’m told appreciated my program enough to purchase the all-new boxed set collector’s edition DVDs of The Polly Pepper Playhouse,” she said. “You were just two out of hundreds who bought the new compilation here on the ship, so I wanted to autograph your discs.”
Rachel, having imbibed an impressive amount of champagne said, “I think you’re full of it. So did Sarah, but she’s too much of a wimp to say so. Sure, I crack up whenever I see you as Bedpan Bertha. Oh, the things you, as Bertha, used to do to poor Bill Bixby, Sherman Hemsley, Ralph Macchio, and all the other stars! Performing a Pap smear on Tom Selleck was a classic laugh riot. But I think you’re nuts if you really think that Sarah had something to do with Laura Crawford’s death. Granted, I don’t know her. But I know her type. Needs a pack of parishioners behind her before she’ll commit to anything dastardly. She’s sheep and needs a dog nipping at her hind legs.”
“They’re all on your new DVDs. The Bedpan Bertha sketches, I mean,” Polly said.
“I think you’re investigating the death of your so-called friend, and we’re somehow suspects,” Rachel continued. “Like I said, I read the Peeper. So I know that you hang out with dead people and find out who made ‘em stop breathing in the first place. Just don’t think for a fraction of a second that I had anything to do with anybody’s death. I don’t know about that Sarah chick—she is sorta possessed. As a matter of fact, I don’t even have your DVDs, so you don’t need to sign ‘em for me.”
Polly looked at Tim, who took out the Excel sheet that Tiffany-Amber had provided, and unfolded the paper. “According to the sales report, you purchased the Polly Pepper Playhouse special collector’s edition the day before yesterday.”
Rachel made a face and snatched the paper out of Tim’s hand. She looked at the names and turned the sheet over. “Hundreds of people?” Rachel sniggered at the short list.
Without missing a beat Polly said, “I didn’t want to carry around all seventy-five pages filled with names, dear. I won’t have time to thank everybody, the way I wanted to express my appreciation to you and Sarah.”
Rachel gave Polly a quizzical look, and took another sip from her champagne glass. “The truth is, a guy came into the bookstore while I was there. He didn’t have his Kool Krooz Swelltime Pass for shopping. He asked if I would charge it to my account, and he’d give me the $29.99, plus tax. I was just doing a good deed for another passenger.”
Polly gave Rachel a wide, insincere smile. “Then he’s the next customer on my list of passengers to whom I must give a great big Polly Pepper hello and autograph. What’s his name?”
Rachel shrugged. “Sorta cute-looking. Maybe a little tough acting.”
Tim leaned in toward Rachel and said, “Neil Patrick Harris cute? Or Mark Harmon cute and tough acting?”
Rachel returned Tim’s smile. “We’re on the same page, sugar. This one was Colin Firth extreme.”
“And you didn’t get his name?” Placenta marveled.
Rachel shook her head. “I’ve been kicking myself ever since! I figured I’d see him around and then guilt him into buying me a drink. You know the game. I did him a favor, now it’s his turn to repay. But I haven’t seen him anywhere. Maybe he’s spending all his time watching those darn DVDs.”
“That’s the only logical explanation!” Polly said. “But in the meantime, I’m keeping my eyes on Miss Vacation Bible School. Something tells me there’s a serpent missing from the garden, and she knows where it’s slithered to.”
CHAPTER 9
As Polly and her posse left the lounge, they wandered to the glass elevator in the center atrium. Soon, they found themselves walking without purpose along the vast expanse of the outside Lido Deck. It was late. The air was crisp and breezy. Despite the hour and cool temperature, laughing couples were enjoying the Jacuzzi. A few other romantics were enfolded in each other’s arms. “That puts me in a mood,” Polly sighed as she and her team strolled passed another canoodling couple.
Polly looked at Placenta. “You have Mr. Piano Man,” she said. She looked at Tim. “And you have Mr. Danger-glow. Don’t ever let me go on a romantic cruise again, unless I’m with Randy, or a reasonable facsimile of Mr. Right.”
Tim hugged himself against the cold air. “You and Randy aren’t married, or even engaged. There’s nothing wrong with you making a new friend—just for this week.”
Polly harrumphed.
“A Kool Krooz is not elegant enough for your mama to find anyone suitable to hang with,” Placenta agreed. “God knows she can’t be seen sitting alone at a bar in the Coral Lounge. The Peeper would love a shot of that! That only leaves a one-in-a-bajillion chance encounter with an eligible man in the library or at the bingo parlor or the shuffle-board playoffs. The good ones don’t play old folks’ games, and they bring their own books. So it’s a los
t cause.”
Tim briskly rubbed his arms for warmth. “When I see Dangelo tonight, I’ll get the skinny on who’s single and available. You do the same when you meet up with Lawrence,” he said to Placenta.
Polly shook her head. “I can take care of myself. The only man I want is whichever of your boys killed Laura Crawford. Just hand him over to me in the morning!” Polly turned around and started back toward the warmth of the inside deck. “Get on with your love lives! And play safe!” she said to Tim and Placenta. “I’m going to my stateroom. And don’t call me before nine, unless you’ve got someone handcuffed.”
“You mean with a signed and notarized statement of guilt in hand!” Tim said, and gave his mother a kiss on her left cheek.
Placenta gave her a tight hug. “Sleep well,” she called back to Polly as she and Tim bolted toward the glass elevator and their respective assignations.
Polly shook her head. “Who needs it? I’ve had my fair share.” She gracefully walked along the carpeted floor to the center atrium. At the railing that overlooked all the decks, she peered down ten stories to the sparkling mirrortiled grand piano on a platform stage. Soon the music stopped, and although she couldn’t see well enough from her distance, she knew it was Placenta who closed the keyboard cover and guided her boyfriend off the small stage. “I guess that’s a wrap,” she said, and started to walk away.
“Rotten timing,” said a voice from a man she hadn’t noticed leaning against the balcony beside her. Polly turned and did an imperceptible double take. He was slightly taller than she, probably in his early sixties, and wore his gray hair in youthful but not immature short spikes. “I was going to cap off the night with a drink by the piano,” he said.
Polly smiled as she instantly absorbed the bright white teeth behind the man’s own wide smile, as well as his rimless glasses, smooth facial skin, brass buttons of his navy blue sport coat, and a lapel pin that Polly assumed was from a fraternal organization. “There’s always the Carpathia Lounge,” Polly offered. “That is if you like Gershwin, Rodgers and Hart, Porter, Coward and a smattering of the Beatles.”