by R. T. Jordan
Sharon gave Polly a blank look. “I’ve told this same timeline to everyone. I’m sure I mentioned Jamie. Those two were inseparable. I’m sure it’s in the police records.”
Tim said, “I would have remembered if you had said that Karen’s lover was there.”
Sharon blinked as though she couldn’t comprehend leaving out any detail of that morning. “I’m sure I mentioned it. Jamie’s a sweet and sexy guy.”
Polly thought back to the morning of the murder. She clearly recalled Jamie coming in from stage left loaded down with cardboard trays of Starbucks coffees and brown bags of apple fritters and crumb cakes. It was after nine o’clock and he’d offered as an explanation for his tardiness that the line for double banana coconut Frappuccinos was around the block. “You’re sure Jamie was there?”
“They were joined at the hip. They came to the theater together the first day, and left in Karen’s car. Must have done the same the morning that Karen was killed. Charlotte, the backstage gossipmonger, said they were living together. They were certainly an odd couple. She a Plain Jane. He a gym-built Adonis.”
Polly looked at Tim. “Hon, did you see Jamie with Karen?”
“Who could miss them?” Tim replied. “He’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and Karen was definitely not in his league.”
Polly slapped her knees and stood up. Tim and Placenta followed her. “It’s late, my dear,” Polly said to Sharon and brushed hair out of the young actress’s face. “We’re rehearsing that freaking Moon Lady number today. If I don’t get killed straddling that fake crescent, it’ll be a small miracle.”
“How’s the show coming along?” Sharon asked with envy in her voice.
“Delightful. That is if you don’t mind a screaming director, a brat with an ego the size of a wharf rat playing Little Patrick, and a Gooch who drives everyone nuts mimicking the rest of the cast. Oh, and by the way, you’re lucky you’re not playing Gloria. The so-called actor they hired to be your fiancé, the grown-up Patrick, is a toad. And that’s being nice.”
Sharon chuckled unconsciously. “Gerold’s main squeeze has my role, and he obviously wouldn’t want anyone attractive kissing her. Shows you how dumb I am,” she said wistfully. “I thought they were having difficulty casting the role of Patrick because they couldn’t find a decent boy singer. Gerold planned to give his whining trophy doll my role all along and had to find a stomach-turner to whom she could play opposite. But Gerold had to go through Karen, who told me that she planned to appeal to the producers if Gerold tried to make any more casting changes.”
As Polly hustled out of the jail cell she called back to Sharon, “Shall I send José over to touch up your roots too?”
Chapter 11
“Timmy, sweetie, step on it,” Polly pleaded. “And hand me the phone.”
Tim passed the cell phone to his mother in the backseat.
Polly handed it to Placenta. “Call José and tell him I have a serious case of something.”
“The usual?”
“Infectiouschronicosis. It always works. Just ladle it on extra thick. Make sure he gets the picture that the symptoms make for a not-so-pretty sight. Combine bird flu with hemorrhoids, a fever, and everything running all at once. Rather than José and my roots, we need to visit Jamie before rehearsals. Timmy, darling, can’t you please make this chariot fly any faster?”
As Polly’s car eased onto Woodlawn Terrace in Sherman Oaks, it slowed to a crawl as Tim and his passengers searched for Karen’s house number. “Twenty-five forty-one. There it is,” Polly said, pointing toward a one-story ranch-style house on a street of gardener-manicured lawns. “And look who’s having a party,” she said, heaving a thumb toward the open garage. Jamie was inside and appeared to be entertaining someone. As Tim pulled the Rolls into the driveway and parked behind a silver BMW, he said, “The widower has excellent taste.”
“Let’s see what these two cohorts have to say for themselves,” Polly said as she opened the car door.
The sight of a Rolls-Royce occupying the space behind his car made Jamie and his friend walk out of the garage to see who was visiting so early in the morning. When he saw Polly Pepper, Jamie smiled broadly and swiftly walked to her side.
Polly opened her arms. “Darling boy, I would have come sooner, but I’d heard that you were in seclusion. I wanted to respect your privacy. You’ve been through the most god-awful trauma. Is there anything at all that I can do for you?”
Jamie held on to Polly for a long moment before they released each other.
Polly looked up at the other young man who had come to stand beside Jamie. “How do you do?” she said, holding out her hand and smiling up into the green eyes of a six-foot-four-inch soap-star-handsome man. “I’m Polly Pepper.”
“Of course you are,” he said as he shook Polly’s hand. His army camouflage shorts revealed muscular legs with a dusting of blond hairs. A tight T-shirt advertised a packed chest, and biceps that, should Polly try, she would not be able to put both of her hands around. “I’m Steve.”
Polly turned to her mascots to introduce them. She was perturbed to see that Tim’s and Placenta’s jaws had dropped at the sight of Steve. “This is my family, as embarrassing as it is to admit,” she said, giving Tim a nudge with her elbow to his ribs. “My son, Tim, and our maid and dear friend, Placenta.” She looked at Jamie. “What are you boys up to and can we be of any help?”
Without asking, Polly made a beeline for the garage before anyone could stop her. She wanted to see if Jamie and Steve were perhaps destroying important documents that would implicate one of them in the murder of Karen Richards.
“Cleaning out my former life,” Jamie said, as he and Steve followed Polly, who was now peeking into boxes and opening cabinet doors. “I’ve been instructed by Karen’s mother’s attorney that I have three days to vacate the premises. My home! Karen’s home. I keep forgetting.” Jamie sighed. “In two weeks, after the show opened, we were planning to find a house of our own together. Steve here is with the estate. He’s to watch my every move to make sure that I don’t take anything that isn’t encrypted with my DNA.” He looked at Steve. “He’s actually been very supportive. Considering.”
Polly was peeved. “Considering what? Considering that you’ve just lost the most important person in your life? Considering that with the blink of an eye your entire future was irrevocably changed? That some harridan of a mother wants to deprive you of what little you have and that your inalienable civil rights aren’t recognized? That’s some lousy consideration!” She reminded herself of why she had come to visit Jamie in the first place. “Honey, can we talk? Privately?” She looked at Steve. “I promise not to purloin so much as a Kleenex.” She then turned to Tim and Placenta. “Keep Atlas amused for a few ticks.”
Jamie nodded toward the house. “Come on in. Coffee’s on.” Polly followed behind him up a flagstone path to the front door.
“Charming home,” Polly said when she entered the house and had an opportunity to admire the décor. As they moved from the foyer through a hallway that divided a large sitting room to the left and a formal dining room to the right and then opened into a combination great room and kitchen, Polly could sense that the house was once filled with joy. Now it was as dull and dead as Karen. Even the morning sunshine filtering in from the French doors that led to the backyard swimming pool failed to brighten the rooms.
“Yeah, we both loved the place. Her mother never bothered to visit. She didn’t approve of her daughter working in the theater. But she knows exactly how much money she can get for the place. And a team of appraisers from Sotheby’s has already started tagging the furniture and art. I’d say she’s been keeping an eye on the booming L.A. real estate market just in case her daughter happened to die intestate, which she did.” Jamie sighed. “I don’t blame her. At least she’ll have something from Karen. Even if it’s just a couple of million dollars.”
“And what do you get from Karen’s death, besides heartache?”
Ja
mie picked up the carafe from a Braun coffeemaker and poured into two mugs. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
When Jamie placed the mugs on the table and motioned for Polly to be seated he said, “I get the most valuable asset that Karen had.”
Polly took a sip from her coffee mug and focused her eyes on Jamie.
“I get the legacy of all that she taught me about life and about the theater. Intangible things can’t be lost or stolen or ordered by a court to be returned to an estate. No one can take away my memories of Karen.”
Polly almost choked on a sip of coffee. She wanted to roll her eyes and beg for an encore so that Tim and Placenta could enjoy a laugh. Instead, Polly reached across the table and placed a hand on Jamie’s. “Why did you lie to the police?”
Jamie flinched and Polly did too. They simultaneously withdrew their hands from each other’s. “Um, er, what do you mean? I never lied to the police, or to anyone. Why would you say that?”
Polly offered a wan smile. “I had a lovely conversation with Sharon Fletcher. She tells me that you were present with Karen when that no-neck monster Gerold fired her. An argument between Karen and Gerold ensued and you were there to witness the whole ordeal. But you claim you were at Starbucks at the time. It simply doesn’t add up…the timeline, I mean. One moment you’re in the same room as Sharon and Karen and Gerold, and then poof, you’ve gone to collect coffee for the cast. I don’t think so, dear.”
Jamie sat back in his chair and looked defeated. “I wasn’t there when Karen died. I swear it. When things heated up between Sharon and Gerold, Karen tried to protect me by sending Mag and me up to the office for her bottle of Xanax. By the time we got back Sharon was gone and so were Karen and Gerold. When you discovered her body backstage, that was the first time I’d seen her since about eight fifteen.”
Polly touched Jamie’s hand again. “You were as in love with Karen as she was with you?”
Jamie nodded.
“Then why would you leave her alone if there was even a hint of trouble that might place her in an unsafe situation?”
“I trusted Karen. If she wanted me to leave, it was so that I wouldn’t see the tough business side of her personality. I never for a moment thought that anything bad could possibly happen to her, especially not in the theater. Not in the place she loved best. How was I to know? But of course I feel guilty now. If only I’d hung around a few minutes longer…” Jamie began to weep.
Polly stood up and looked around. She saw a box of Kleenex on the granite bar countertop and brought it over to the table. “Forget my promise to that inordinately unattractive space alien outside.”
Jamie chuckled as he wiped his eyes and dabbed at his running nose. “Did you really think that I could have anything to do with the death of such a beautiful and talented woman as Karen Richards?”
Beautiful? Polly thought to herself.
“I’m not a perfect person, and I’ve made some bad judgments in my life, but I’d found the woman of my dreams and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
Polly sat down again and leaned forward on the table. She looked deep into Jamie’s eyes. “Do you think Sharon killed Karen?”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t want to believe it, but Sharon’s Emmy Award was the murder weapon, and Gerold and I and Mag were there when she was fired. She was naturally angry, so she has a motive. If she didn’t do it, I don’t know who else would have. Gerold? His girlfriend? Charlotte or Hiroaki? Maybe.”
Polly sighed. “But ol’ Gerold and his little tart claim that they didn’t see anyone else before Karen’s death.”
“There was Charlotte and Hiroaki.”
“Together? When did you see them?” Polly asked.
“Eight-oh-five.”
“It’s all so complicated,” Polly whined.
“Some things are more obvious than others. Do you want a cup of coffee—to go?”
“I’ve had my fill, thanks.” Polly rose from her chair at the table. “By the by, now that you’re being evicted from your home, where are you going to live?”
“I’ve got a roommate thing in West Hollywood,” Jamie said. “I always land in clover.”
“A handsome boy like you always does,” Polly said and gave Jamie another hug. “Please come to dinner at the Plantation one night this week. I know that you and Tim would get along well, and I want to know more about Karen. She had such a great reputation for creativity. Check your schedule and we’ll call you later,” Polly added as she followed Jamie back through the house and out the front doorway.
Once outside, she was not surprised to see Tim and Placenta both engaged in conversation with muscle-bound Steve. Tim was especially flagrant as he flattered Steve with admiring questions about his tattoos, and asked for pointers on what vitamin supplements he should take after working out at the gym. Sotto voce to Jamie, Polly said, “Ignore Tim. He’s been a virgin for nearly a month.”
Jamie sniggered. “Steve’s a stunner all right. He could make a man forget his grief.”
Chapter 12
“That was quite a show back there,” Polly said once her car was out of sight of Karen’s house.
“A-men!” Placenta agreed. “When God decides He wants to punish His children, He makes a specimen like Steve so we all hate ourselves.”
Polly snorted, “I’m talking about Jamie! He’s either the most sentimental young fool, or he’s a hell of an actor. By the way, I’m utterly mortified by the way you both behaved around that U.S. Marine Corp poster boy.” Polly mimicked Tim panting like a dog. “‘Show me your tattoos.’” Then she imitated Placenta demurely asking, “‘How do you keep your teeth so white?’ You both had better find boyfriends ASAP.”
“What do you think we were trying to do?” Placenta said.
“As I was saying,” Polly continued, “the performance that Jamie put on for me was a doozy.” Now she mimicked Jamie exalting the merits of Karen. “However, he still won’t admit that he lied about being present at his girlfriend’s last gasp.”
Tim divided his attention between the road and watching his mother in the rearview mirror. “I take it that he didn’t come right out and say he was a Menendez brother,” Tim said.
“Not in so many words. But his alibi and sorry story about being at Starbucks at the time of the crime has as many holes in it as Bonnie and Clyde. But I’ve got a plan.”
Placenta and Tim were listening intently as Polly reached into her suit jacket and withdrew an eight-by-ten black-and-white head shot of Jamie that she had carefully hidden under her arm. “When our boy was weeping over the loss of his great love—or the loss of his house—I snatched this, which was lying beside a box of Kleenex.” She held up the picture for all to see.
“So Jamie’s an actor, eh?” Placenta said as she took the glossy from Polly’s hands. She turned the picture over and began to read his credits listed on the reverse side. “Les Miz. Of course. A Chorus Line. Natch. Annie, Fiddler, Rent. Not bad,” she said, sounding slightly impressed. “Get this—seven productions of Mame! In every production he had the role of adult Patrick.”
Polly pondered the situation for a moment. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
“It’s at least five years old?” Placenta said.
“Not the eight-by-ten!” Polly snapped. “The big picture. Here’s an actor, living with the director of a show that he’s done a gazillion times. Why isn’t he in this production?”
“Probably burned out from doing the same part over and over,” Tim suggested. “I mean, how many times can a guy sing ‘My Best Girl’ to his old lady aunt?”
Polly took back the picture and studied the head shot. She read his other theater credits. “Perhaps the director found him hot in bed, but too limp onstage. That could be a motive for murder.”
“People have killed for less,” Placenta said.
“Sharon said they couldn’t cast that role for the longest time,” Polly said. “Perhaps Jamie was expecting that the
y’d eventually see that the right actor for the part was in their midst. When Karen ultimately said no, Jamie went ballistic and bashed her head in. Just a thought.”
“So, what’s this plan you said you have?” Placenta asked.
“It’s brilliant. I was trying to think of a way to refute Jamie’s story about being at Starbucks. The best way to get to the truth would be to ask the baristas who were on duty. When I saw his head shot it instantly occurred to me that armed with my charm and celebrity and his photo, it would be easy to get someone to swear that Jamie was in the store on Tuesday morning. Or not. Aren’t I the most clever star in Hollywood?” Polly beamed.
“Not so clever, if you’re late for rehearsals,” Tim said. “We don’t have time to run around showing mug shots today.”
Polly heaved a sigh. She leaned forward toward the driver’s seat. “Hand me the phone,” she said and once again forced it into Placenta’s hands. “Gerold. You know the drill. Infectiouschronicosis. But tell him I’ll drag myself onto the stage ASAP, ethical star that I am. That should buy us a couple of hours. Hell, I know the show backward and forward anyway.”
Placenta shook her head as she speed-dialed Gerold. “Mr. Goss?” she said when he answered his cell phone. “This is Placenta calling for Miss Polly Pepper. It’s not pretty….”
The long line at the counter inside the Starbucks store on Brand Avenue across the street from the Galaxy Theatre was crowded with office workers desperate for their first infusion of caffeine of the day. Tables scattered about the room were filled with wannabe writers at their notebook computers and unemployed or self-employed people killing time. When Polly and her crew walked into the shop they were in line for only a moment before she was recognized.
“You’re that lady on the banners!” said a man who was wearing the uniform of a gas station mechanic. In a louder voice he said, “I seen youse on the tay-vay.”
Suddenly everyone in the store was staring at Polly. Even those who were too young to remember her career understood that someone famous was in the café. Once she had been pointed out, the older customers instantly recognized Polly and began telling her about particular episodes of her old show that they remembered most fondly. Polly was delighted for an opportunity to play the humble legend, and she did so with ease and mastery. “Stars are people too,” she giggled. “We have to have our java just the same as any ordinary garden variety mortal.”