by R. T. Jordan
Placenta leaned forward and patted Tim on the shoulder. “Your mama’s lucky. Detective Archer won’t let anything happen to her. He’s got a vested interest. If you haven’t already guessed, he didn’t go home last night. After you hit the hay, they did too. Although I imagine they had more fun than you or I did.”
“What’s wrong with us that we’re not canoodling with our own variations on Mr. Right? We’re both marriage material!”
Placenta softly sang a lyric to a Carly Simon song. “Now the river doesn’t seem to stop here anymore.”
Tim sighed. “I’m only twenty-seven and already the river has turned into a trickle. I’m wading in mucky tributaries!”
“I’m stuck in a dried lake bed!” Placenta said. “The last man I dated had sex problems. His wife didn’t want him having any with me!”
“Archer says that Polly is the best thing to happen to him in years, so I’m completely confident that he’ll take every precaution to keep her safe.”
Placenta leaned forward again and whispered, “Did you tell Archer that we saw Hiroaki’s car and that he’s probably the one who delivered the letter?”
“Yeah, I described the car. Archer ran a DMV check for Hiroaki Goldfarb. He’s not licensed to drive a car. So it probably wasn’t him that Polly saw at the theater. And it’s just a coincidence that we saw a similar car outside his apartment building. As for the Honda we spotted this morning, it could belong to anyone, but not to Hiroaki. There’s no vehicle registered to him.”
“Honey, this is Los Angeles,” Placenta said. “Nothing here is ever exactly as it seems. Just as not everyone who drives a Mercedes is solvent, not everyone follows the law. Half the motorists don’t even stop for red lights, let alone renew their licenses or registrations. And don’t think that everyone is insured either.”
Like a pet that after a long drive in a car seems to know when it’s almost home, Polly perked up as Tim drove on to serpentine Stone Canyon Road. “Siestas are underrated in this country,” she said. “After forty winks I feel almost as good as new. I think I’ll phone Randy and see if he’s up for a night on the town to celebrate my getting through this horrid day.”
Tim and Placenta exchanged eye contact through the rearview mirror. “I really think you should rest, Mother,” Tim quickly countered.
Placenta hastily added, “Another hard day tomorrow, you know. You need to conserve your strength. You’ll have a lovely bath, then we’ll all sit down to whatever you’d like me to order from Wolfgang.”
As the gates to Pepper Plantation parted, and Tim drove down the long cobblestone way, Polly sighed in resignation. “I certainly hope that Tatanya twat is happy with the way she’s paving her way to an eternity in hell for mistreating stars.”
“Ever since Randy came into the picture, I thought that you were feeling like a younger woman,” Placenta interrupted.
“If you must know, my girlish insouciance isn’t because of Randy or any man. It’s because I’m preparing for my Broadway debut!”
“Absolutely!” Tim said. “And if you’re going to take Mame back to The Great White Way, you’d better get plenty of sleep so you can handle the new choreography as well as all the other physical demands of eight shows a week. Placenta’s right. When we get into the house, you’re heading for the Jacuzzi. Then a light repast, a bottle of Schramsberg of course, then off to bed—alone.”
Tim parked the car and they stepped out into the warm evening and headed for the steps to the house.
Once inside Pepper Plantation, per his routine, Tim placed the car keys and his cell phone in a colorful cloisonné dish on the marble tabletop by the front door. “I’m parched,” he lied. “While Placenta draws your bath, I’ll get us both started on Lush Hour. In the meantime, why don’t you put your feet up and rest until we’re ready.” Tim moved off toward the kitchen, while Placenta climbed the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase, en route to the master bedroom suite.
Polly heaved a sigh as she looked at herself from various angles in the mirror that hung in the foyer over the table. “Randy must like wrinkles,” she whispered to herself and felt a tinge of sadness. “Time to see Dr. Fix-It about the eyes.” She touched the skin under her jaw with her fingertips and lightly pulled it back a few centimeters toward her ears. “Knifestyles of the rich and famous. Oh, but how far to go? What if anything went wrong with the lift? I will not allow myself to look like post-op Nanette!”
The ring tone from Tim’s cell phone blared out a techno version of Weezer’s “Only in Dreams.” Polly called out to Tim, “Phone’s ringing!” She looked at the caller ID and recognized Detective Archer’s number. Without thinking, she flipped open the phone and sparkled, “Did you forget my number, you sexy thing, you?”
Suddenly her smile faded. “Who shall I say is calling? Lauren Gaul?” Polly’s smile returned as she recognized the name and voice of her stand-in from the still unreleased teen musical comedy that they’d filmed several months back. “When, dear, are we ever going to get together again? I don’t want to be one of those Hollywood types who make empty promises to do lunch.”
Polly knitted her eyebrows. “Tonight’s actually a little too soon. But…if Tim said so, then I guess we’ll see you. Around eleven? Lovely. Ta!”
Polly shook her head, flipped the phone closed, and made her way down the long corridor to the kitchen. When she arrived in the cavernous room full of modern appliances and custom cabinets, Tim was popping the champagne cork and setting the bottle into a bucket of crushed ice. “Dear, your phone rang,” she said, handing the cell to Tim. “I wouldn’t have answered it but I must have misread the caller ID. I was certain it was Randy’s number. Instead, it was Lauren Gaul.”
Tim froze. “Um, Lauren Gaul?”
“She left a message for you. Said she’d be here at eleven. Tonight.” Polly blinked her eyes. “Why is she coming to the Plantation? And why so late? Please don’t tell me you’re going straight and she’s your new love. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a straight man…I’d love you just the same, and I’m sure that Lauren would make a wonderful daughter-in-law. But a mother wants to be as proud of her son as possible, and I’d hate to have my friends know that you’re not gay. Of course I’ll support you, no matter what.”
“Lauren’s just dropping by for…um, to give me…to borrow…er, to discuss plans for a party that she wants me to do with her. Yeah, a party,” Tim blurted. “We’re making plans. You know, themes, and food ideas and entertainment. Just business stuff. There’s no need for you to stay up to greet her. You need your rest after an exhausting day today. You’ll see Lauren again soon.”
Polly gave her son a quizzical look. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two? You’re acting rather strange.”
“Strange? Nope. Nothing’s going on, except planning another party, of course.” He lifted the tray on which the champagne ice bucket, bottle, and glasses rested. “Let’s get you into the tub.”
Polly grabbed Tim’s arm. “Lauren was calling from Randy’s office phone. I’m sure of it. She’s very pretty, and a lot closer to his age than I am.”
“What are you thinking, that Randy may be seeing Lauren? Trust me, he’s not!”
“You can’t be sure,” Polly pouted. “Randy and I haven’t known each other very long. Maybe he started an affair with Lauren during that god-awful time when he was investigating the deaths on our last movie location. What if—”
“Don’t be silly. I know for a fact that Lauren’s not seeing Randy. My impression is that Randy’s a one-woman man. My gaydar may be shot to hell, but I still recognize a man of character. He’s not the type to cheat.”
“Should I confront Randy about this?”
“No! I mean guys don’t want to have to explain themselves. Do you want to place Randy in a position of feeling that he has to reveal his every move to you? Anyway, your theory is nuts. There’s nothing to suggest that Randy and Lauren are seeing each other in any capacity other than pro
fessional. The only evidence you have is that she used his phone.”
“Well, why would she even be in his office?”
“Maybe Randy’s finalizing the crime report on your last murdered misfits, Sedra Stone and Trixie Wilder.”
Polly sighed. “I’m simply afraid that the difference in our ages could mess things up. Heck, even if this relationship…if you can call that…only lasts a few weeks or a month, I’m having a dandy time.” Polly yawned. “I’d better not have anything to drink if I’m going to be sober when Lauren arrives.”
Tim set the silver tray down on the kitchen island and poured a glass of champagne. He handed it to Polly and said, “Drink up. You’re taking a bath, then going directly to bed. As Placenta said, you’ve got a tough day tomorrow. You’ll see more of Lauren as her party plans come together.”
Chapter 16
At eleven o’clock, the intercom to the estate gates chimed. Tim answered and spoke to Detective Archer, who had arrived with Lauren, then buzzed them onto the property. In a few minutes Tim and Placenta and their guests were seated in the great room nervously talking about the night’s plans. Placenta had raided Polly’s closet and secreted out a Bob Mackie dress and wig for Lauren to wear. The rest was up to Lauren and Randy.
“The West Hollywood Police Department has been staking out the park since late this afternoon,” Randy said to help ease everyone’s concerns. “This whole letter thing, demanding an Emmy Award, is probably a crank, but we won’t take any chances. Lauren’ll be safe, and so will Polly’s Award. She’ll never know it left the house.”
Placenta looked at her watch and suggested that Lauren change into her costume. She escorted her to the guest powder room. “I’ll guard the door,” she said. “If you need anything just call out.”
Tim turned to Randy. “Other than Sedra Stone who, since her cremation is now just dust in the wind, Polly’s never had any enemies. I can’t understand why all of a sudden she’s being threatened.”
“Friend to friend, is there something about this case that Polly’s not telling me? I need to know everything.”
“I think she’s got you up to speed. She’s talked to Sharon, you know that. She’s also interviewed a couple of the members of the cast, and she sort of interrogated the dead director’s boyfriend, Jamie. After half overhearing what Jamie and Gerold Goss had to say the other night, as well as not being able to corroborate Jamie’s alibi, I think she’s focusing on him as Karen’s killer.”
“Polly never mentioned that she’d been in contact with Jamie,” Randy said. “I don’t want her to see him again. Understand?”
Tim looked confused. “What’s up?”
“He’s a person of interest.”
“Like a suspect?”
“Everyone’s a suspect,” Randy said. Suddenly, they were startled to see Polly standing in the doorway with Placenta. After a thin moment, Randy and Tim realized that it wasn’t Polly Pepper after all. Rather, it was Lauren Gaul in disguise.
“Amazing!” Tim said.
“Could have fooled me,” Randy said.
Placenta added, “This is one dress that Polly would notice missing, so please return it without any blood or bullet holes.”
“Not to worry.” Randy looked at his watch. “We’ll be back as soon as possible. I just need the keys to the Rolls and we’re on our way.”
“They’re by the front door,” Tim said. “Please, no blood on the leather upholstery either. Keep me informed, okay? Call every half hour. I’ll be up all night if I have to be.” Then he led the detective and the decoy out of the great room and into the corridor leading to the foyer. As they passed through the sunken living room with its grand staircase they were suddenly stopped in their tracks by the sound of Polly’s voice.
“Don’t mind me,” Polly pouted. “I was suddenly wide awake and decided to come down for a glass of champagne and a Xanax. Looks like I’ve interrupted a party—in my own home. I wish that someone had thought to invite me. Randy, dear, your date looks familiar.”
Randy walked over to Polly to embrace her, but she stiffened and backed away. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we’ve got to go. Just trust me, please?”
“That’s all I’ve ever done,” Polly said. “Shame on me.” Then she turned and headed back up the staircase. “Placenta! The wine cooler in my bedroom is empty!”
Detective Archer looked at Tim. “Damn! Say something to her for me. She’s obviously got the wrong impression.”
“As a matter of fact, this just supports her big fear. Polly answered Lauren’s call earlier because she saw your number on the caller ID. She thinks you and Lauren are having an affair.”
“She’s crazy! Okay, look, I’ll deal with this later. Right now, we’ve gotta hustle! Oh, damn! The Emmy!”
Tim smacked his forehead as he raced back to the great room to select one of Polly’s trophies for Lauren to take with her to the drop-off site. He reached for the one that Polly received for a guest-starring role on an episode of China Beach. When he returned to the foyer, Placenta had a Gelson’s shopping bag ready and together they lovingly laid the Emmy inside the paper sack.
“Okay, we’re off,” Randy said as Tim handed him the keys. He opened the door, stepped outside, and walked Lauren to the Rolls and handed her the key. “Think you’ll be okay driving this big ol’ thing?”
“No sweat,” Lauren said. “A car’s a car. Just give me a moment to adjust the seat. I’ll see you back here after I drop off the loot. Keep an eye on me.”
Detective Archer returned to his car and followed Lauren as she drove off the estate.
Polly, dressed in her silk monogrammed robe, wandered down the stairs and into the great room. “I’m ready for that champagne now, please,” she said to Placenta with an edge to her voice. “In fact, I’m ready for a short explanation for what’s going on behind my back. I watched from my window and Lauren drove away in my car. I know what grand theft auto is. What’s even more bizarre is that Randy drove off in his own car. I suppose there’s actually a logical explanation to all of this.”
Placenta opened a bottle of Moët and poured three flutes full. She handed one to Polly and Tim and took one for herself. “Drink up. You’ll need the fortification. Tim has something to tell you.”
The trio drained their glasses and Placenta refilled each.
“Mom,” Tim began, “you’ve said yourself over and over that in this town seldom is anything as it appears to be. Earlier you jumped to the conclusion that just because Lauren Gaul called from Randy’s cell phone that they were having an affair. Now you find the two of them together. To top it off, Lauren drives away in your Rolls. All circumstantial evidence—like Sharon Fletcher’s. So, which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”
“The truth would be lovely,” Polly said, draining her second glass of champagne. “What the hell is going on, and why do I seem to be the only one who’s out of the loop?”
Placenta looked at Tim. “Give Polly the letter.”
“What letter?” Polly asked.
“It’s with the Beverly Hills Police Department. But I’ve made a copy.” Tim reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a quadruple-folded sheet of paper. “We should have given this to you earlier, but Randy wanted to spare you any concern.” He handed the paper to his mother.
“This is what’s called ‘sparing me’?” She unfolded the page and began to read silently. Suddenly she shouted, “An Emmy? Never! I almost beat Mary Tyler Moore for the most wins. I’m not giving one of my babies up to some two-bit psychotic killer.”
“Even if it means saving Sharon Fletcher’s life?” Placenta said.
Polly thought for a moment. “You’re mean to put it that way.” She patted her bosom and sighed. “Which one did you sacrifice?”
China Beach, Tim said. “But we’ll get it back, and someday you’ll be able to regale dinner party guests with the amazing history of that particular trophy and how it helped solve a crime. Otherwise,
what do you make of the letter?”
“You thought that I’d be upset by a letter?” Polly asked. “Hell, I’ve read about a gazillion fan letters over the years. Most were in praise of me of course, and the show too. But there were a few that had to be sent to the police for investigation. I had my own stalker once.”
Tim gave his mother a mortified look. “When? You never mentioned having a stalker.”
“I was saving it for my autobiography. He was actually divine. They say you’re nobody until you have your very own shadow. I got a ton of expensive baubles from him. He’s now in Folsom. Each week for months, on the night we taped the show there’d be a box from Tiffany or Cartier or some such store, in my dressing room. His card was simply signed ‘Your ardent admirer, Joe.’ Then the well suddenly dried up. Shortly after the presents stopped coming I was summoned to appear before the grand jury in the case of Wilson versus Fay Wray, Julia Child, and Janet Leigh. That bastard Joe Wilson was two-timing me. He was simultaneously sending gifts to King Kong’s lover, that wine-slurping French chef, and the Psycho lady. I thought I’d nabbed a rich fan, and he turned out to be no more than a Beverly Hills mailman who stole from the rich on his daily route and gave to his favorite divas. I’d inadvertently accepted stolen property and had to give it all back! What I’m saying is, most fan mail has an agenda. They want to get either an autographed picture or, better still, a piece of correspondence that they can show to their friends and brag about knowing a world-renowned star.”
Polly read the letter once again. “I’m bereft. I may never see that beautiful statuette again. And all because you two haven’t learned to read between the lines of a fan letter!”
Just then, Tim’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “It’s Randy.”
Polly grabbed the phone from her son’s hand and flipped it open. “Turn the car around, and bring back my personal property, or I’ll call the police! I know that you are the police. You’re splitting hairs. You had no right to commandeer my Rolls and make off with my prized possession.”