by R. T. Jordan
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.�
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“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.
As a thousand thoughts collided in Polly’s brain, Placenta whispered in her ear and pointed to Cori. All eyes followed Placenta’s finger and focused on the V of Cori’s open neck shirt.
Cori became self-conscious and touched his hand to a gold braided choker he was wearing. Before Polly could say one word about it, Cori shouted. “Okay. I confess! It belonged to Laura Crawford. It was in a box among her personal things. But I swear I had nothing to do with killing her! I took it as a remembrance.”
Polly looked confused.
“I persuaded the nurse at the infirmary to let me into the storage room where Laura Crawford’s things were being stored. I lied and said that Laura and I were old friends, and that I wanted to meditate for a few minutes while close to what she left in this world. I didn’t think anyone would notice if I took one small item. A memento. Laura was important to me.”
Polly laughed. “Laura Crawford was important to Laura Crawford.”
“What was important was the example she set.”
“How to alienate friends and lose a career by being hostile to directors and producers and fans?”
Cori nodded. “Exactly. By watching her behave so poorly toward others, I realized that I was the same way. Ever since appearing on your show and seeing how mean she was to everyone, including me, I’ve tried to change my ways. I didn’t want to end up a bitter old has-been like Laura Crawford.”
“And yet you still stole from the dead,” Polly said.
As everyone was staring at Cori suspiciously the cell phone rang. While Polly and Cori were having their discourse, Captain Sheridan had pushed the redial button on Laura’s phone and the ring tone from the other echoed out among the crowd. The captain looked at Dorian. “I checked the call log. Miss Pepper is right. This phone received a call at three thirteen and five forty-five. It lasted all of twelve seconds.”
Dorian suddenly looked uneasy. “So? Just because I received calls at the same time that someone called Laura’s phone doesn’t mean anything. Just a coincidence.”
“Then this is your phone?”
Dorian was silent.
Captain Sheridan said, “Let’s take a look at the text messages, shall we?” He scrolled through several pages and stopped to read a particular entry. “Someone who used this phone texted [email protected]. It says, ‘Daily Wave. Headline. PP PISSED. IN THE DRINK.’ It’s dated the day before yesterday. It’s the phony obit.”
Dorian shook his head and said, “I’ll be in my stateroom. I won’t endure any more of this Hollywood-style harassment and insinuation.” He turned to Polly. “I thought we were friends. You’re nothing more than a diva without the talent!” Dorian turned and began to walk away.
“Hold it, Mr. Dawson,” Captain Sheridan ordered.
Dorian turned around with a sneer on his face. “If you so much as whisper an accusation about me being involved with a murder, so help me, I’ll have your commission. I may look like a humble little shoe salesman, but I have friends in places that would make you cringe with fear.”
Captain Sheridan glared. “I simply wanted to tell you to enjoy the rest of your cruise. We’re placing Mr. Berman under arrest.”
Cori Berman railed. “I’m not a killer!”
“You’re at least a thief!” Captain Sheridan yelled. “An admitted one at that. If nothing else, I’m holding you for stealing Ms. Crawford’s personal property. And for tampering with evidence in a murder investigation.” He turned to his security detail. “Take him away.”
Polly, Tim, and Placenta watched as Cori Berman was led from the stage, down the steps, and up the aisle to the theater doors. His last words before they disappeared out the door were, “A.L. stands for Angela Lansbury!”
CHAPTER 26
“The show must go on!” Captain Sheridan demanded of the crowd. “Git!”
As passengers filed back to their seats, and the small band began to tune up, the cruise director picked up the microphone and joked about the excitement that can happen in live theater. “You never know what to expect,” he laughed. “But now, it’s back to Ha-Ha, Hollywood!”
As Polly, Tim, and Placenta made their way into the stage wings, they were followed by the captain. When they were safely out of the spotlight, and away from the possibility of their voices being heard over a microphone, the captain stopped and faced Polly. He stood with his arms tightly folded over his chest. “Perhaps this time you’re right. Maybe Cori Berman is the killer. He has a reputation. His motive for killing Miss Crawford is flimsy at best, but he did steal her choker, and maybe destroyed evidence. I don’t know. I’ll leave this investigation for the police when we dock in the morning.”
Polly mimicked the captain and crossed her arms as well. “I’m no longer sure,” she admitted. “Maybe he’s too obvious. Maybe Dorian did drop his phone overboard. He is a klutz pouring champagne. But I would have sworn that when his phone rang …”
The captain shook his head and said, “Save it for the police and the Coast Guard and Homeland Security. The only reason I feel comfortable holding Mr. Berman is because he confessed to stealing Laura Crawford’s personal property.
“Do me a favor,” Captain Sheridan continued. “Get out of my sight and don’t let me see you again until TCM shows one of your old movies. Then I’ll turn you off.”
Tim reached out and placed a comforting hand on Polly’s shoulder. “Let’s go drown ourselves. I notice Krug, Clos du Mesnil is on the wine list.”
“Lead the way,” Polly said, cinching her arm around Placenta’s waist as they followed Tim to the backstage exit. When Tim pushed the bar handle on the fire exit door, it opened up onto the Upper Tundra Deck. Th
e trio unexpectedly found themselves outside. It was a cool night and Polly leaned in closer to Placenta for warmth as they made their way toward the inside deck.
Polly looked up at the stars. “I wonder if Laura is looking down at me and laughing at the mess I’ve made of my investigation.”
Placenta hugged Polly closer. “It’s about time that shrew had a good laugh. Maybe if she’d watched Frasier and Road Runner cartoons, she would have been happier. Let’s face it. Sad as this is to say about anyone, she won’t be missed.”
Polly nodded. “Imagine being given a small talent, and many opportunities, and not being grateful for it. Right now I’m feeling very sad for her. Oh, not because she’s dead. She probably doesn’t care about that. But she wasted a perfectly good life.”
Tim said, “I think you should be feeling happy for her. Thanks to you and The Polly Pepper Playhouse, she actually left a legacy and a body of work. She’ll be remembered not for the intolerable bitch that she was, but for making audiences laugh.”
Polly said that she thought Tim was probably right. “You two run along to the Polar Bar and order that bottle for us. I’ll be along shortly. The stars are so bright. I sorta want to be alone for a few minutes to gaze up to heaven—not that Laura is anywhere near that place—and say my own version of farewell to her.”
“Don’t freeze to death,” Tim said. “And what did Cori mean by ‘A.L. stands for Angela Lansbury?’”
“Cori’s crazy,” Polly said.
“Say a prayer for me, too, while you’re at it,” Placenta said. “Tell Him I need my tummy rubbed by Lawrence one last time before we reach Juneau in the morning.”
Polly smiled as she left her family and strolled along the brightly lit wooden deck, the sound of flags slapping in the breeze putting her in a meditative mood. As eager as she was to return to her mansion in Bel Air, she was disheartened that she was unable to bring Laura Crawford’s killer to justice.
As Polly walked into the shadows between two lifeboats, she sighed. “Laura. Laura. Laura. Who did this awful thing to you? If you hadn’t needed money, you wouldn’t have been on this cruise in the first place, and you wouldn’t have died the way you did. I feel guilty because we could have worked something out financially.”