by R. T. Jordan
Tim went over to the leopard and patted the cat’s coat and scratched him under his chin. “Let’s go play with Placenta,” he said and nudged the beast toward the path leading to the exit.
Although the scent of repulsive cologne still hung in the air, it quickly became obvious that the cater waiter was not the one wearing the heady aroma. Polly stood over the young man in his loincloth. By the look of his well-cut physique she knew that he was handpicked for the job by Tim. “Why aren’t you helping in the kitchen?” she asked with a definite edge to her voice.
Still crouching on the ground, he looked up and said, “A couple of guys gave me a hundred bucks to come in here and distract you.”
Polly, with hands on hips, demanded to know the names of the guests who had paid for this charade.
“I don’t know,” the young man said. “But as soon as I yelled, they ran out the back of the tent.”
“There is no back to the tent,” Tim insisted.
The young man, who had by now raised himself to his feet and was brushing off mulch from his bare legs, looked over his shoulder to the side of the tent. “There is now.”
Polly, Tim, and Randy saw that the thick plastic material had been cut and was now fluttering in a light summer evening’s breeze.
“That’ll cost a fortune to repair!” Tim burst into a small tantrum. “Who the hell were these guys?”
“Again, I don’t know,” the waiter insisted. “But one of ’em stank of that stuff that immigrant gardeners bathe in.”
Polly gave Tim and Randy an “I told you so” look. Her expression made it clear that she wasn’t imagining the men who had pursued her. She turned to the waiter. “Give us a description of the goons!”
“Both were wearing dark suits. I could tell that one was a knockout in the sex-appeal department—”
“Never mind the editorializing,” Polly said. “Be specific.”
“As I said, one was a babe, and the other was…I think he was a babe too. I mean, I think he was a she pretending to be a he.”
Polly blanched. “And don’t dis my transgender friends!”
The waiter looked offended. “It was the way he…er, she…moved about. Whatever the gender, the person waded through the plants like they were terrified of what they might find as they moved about the foliage. Ya know, a sissy sort of way of mincing. Plus, I got a look at the butt. It was too pear-shaped to be a guy’s.”
Polly frowned and looked down at her own rear end. “Did either of them say why they wanted you to cause a commotion?”
The waiter shook his head. “I figured they needed a diversion to make an escape.”
“An escape from what? Why not simply leave through the front door?”
“Could be because they were stealing an Emmy Award from your trophy room,” the waiter said.
Polly issued a sound equal to the scream that the waiter had made to attract their attention in the first place.
When Polly returned to the house and entered the great room, she found that indeed one less Emmy occupied her lighted glass bookshelves.
As Tim and Randy tried to comfort Polly, Placenta came into the room dragging Mag Ryan with her. “Nabbed your little Gloria Upson trying to weasel her way off of the estate with your firstborn,” Placenta said, holding up an Emmy. “‘Debut season of the Polly Pepper Playhouse,’” she read from the tarnished metal plate. She then pushed Mag forward to face Polly.
Polly looked down at Mag with equal parts confusion and fury. “I thought we were friends.”
Mag hung her head and looked at the carpet.
Randy stepped forward and flashed his badge. “Mag Ryan. I’m placing you under arrest for burglary, theft, and extortion.”
Stung by the thought of going to jail, Mag cried, “No! It wasn’t me! I was only following orders! It was—”
“Who?” Polly interrupted. “Who told you to swipe my Emmy? There are at least two of you. Don’t deny it. That cater waiter you paid off gave us a complete description.”
Mag sighed. “Why do I always get stuck with the stinky roles?” She looked into Polly’s eyes. “Okay. Here’s the thing. This guy at the party tonight said he’d heard that I was a great actress and that he had a big part for me to play.”
“He obviously had too many martinis,” Polly cracked. “Who was this Neanderthal and what was the big role? Tell us everything, or sweet Polly Pepper will turn into Shirley Temple on a roid rage!”
Mag slumped onto the sofa and closed her eyes for a long moment. When she finally opened them, she also opened her mouth and began to spill her guts. “I’m not covering for anyone anymore. Not even for Gerold. You want a story?”
“I want the truth!” Polly said as she plopped herself down on the sofa with her arms folded across her chest.
“Okay. From the beginning,” Mag said.
The others in the room immediately took seats on the sofa and wingback chairs, concentrating on what Mag was about to reveal.
“You already know that Karen and Gerold argued over casting changes,” Mag continued. “I was glued to Gerold’s side to make sure the dumb ass didn’t get cold feet about letting me have the role of Gloria Upson. I’ve wanted that part ever since I saw the old Roz Russell movie Auntie Mame. It’s a showstopper and I knew I could do it well. But Karen had other ideas, namely Sharon Fletcher.”
Polly interrupted, “When did Sharon get to the theater that morning?”
“She arrived shortly after Charlotte and Hiroaki left. Karen had called each of them and asked that they come in extra early. She staggered their arrivals so that none of them would be embarrassed in front of each other by hearing that they were being let go. Anyway, after Charlotte and Hiroaki took their lumps and left, Sharon showed up with her Emmy and her Pollyanna smile and then got the word from Gerold that she was history. Sharon’s a lot tougher than her bitch character on It’s Never Fair Weather. She was furious with both Gerold and Karen. She said that Karen had no spine, and that Gerold was a big fat fully stocked walking refrigerator.
“Just as we’ve all heard from her statement to the police, Sharon hauled off and threw her cell phone at Gerold. She’s a diva. When divas get mad, watch out. She looked as though she could kill both Karen and Gerold, and me too as a matter of fact.”
Detective Archer leaned forward in his chair. “You said that the others had left by the time Sharon arrived, so there’s no one to corroborate your story.”
“Of course there is,” Mag said. “Karen’s boyfriend, Jamie, was there all along. He was there with Karen when Sharon stormed out of the theater.”
Polly scratched her head and again leaned in toward Mag. “Are you one hundred percent certain that Charlotte and Hiroaki left the theater?”
Mag shrugged. “They left. I didn’t follow them home. But I didn’t see them again until the next day. Coming back as they did, I guess they thought that the death of the director might make a difference in their employment status. Gerold did what Karen tried to protect them from—public humiliation.”
Polly stood up and walked to the wine cooler. She opened the glass door and withdrew a bottle of champagne. She uncorked it and filled a fresh glass and took a long sip. She filled the flute again and brought the bottle back to the coffee table. “What happened next?”
“Jamie said something about being late for an audition. Then he gave the janitor some money and a list of different coffees for each of the cast, and sent him over to Starbucks.”
Polly suddenly snapped, “You just finished telling us that nobody else was in the theater and now you say the janitor was there!”
“I meant no one else of any importance, like from the cast,” Mag said, stung by Polly’s outburst. “Sure, there were a couple of other people, like the cleaning crew.”
“Cleaning crew?” Polly ranted again. “Why are you telling us all this now? By the way, the cleaning people work in the late afternoon, not early morning! Why are we supposed to believe one word you’re saying?”
“Or maybe what you heard was Charlotte or Hiroaki plotting to kill the director,” Polly said. “Or maybe everything you’re saying is a big fat lie and maybe you killed Karen to make absolutely sure that Gloria was your role. The possibilities are endless.”
“No. I swear I didn’t kill Karen!” Mag continued her desperate defense. “The voices weren’t Karen’s or Gerold’s or Charlotte’s or Hiroaki’s. I know what they all sound like. I think the voices were in Spanish or they at least had a foreign accent. Anyway, they sounded weird and that’s why I thought they must have been cleaning people!”
“Accents? You’re suggesting that the butler did it?” Polly reached for the bottle of Krug. “I ought to clobber you with this thing and rattle some sense into that feeble brain of yours. You come to my beautiful show and steal a role that was perfectly cast and then you’re invited to be a guest in my house and you steal the thing most precious to me—other than my Timmy and Placenta. And now you’re flat-out telling me that you were at the scene of the crime, but you didn’t see anything! I’m at my wits’ end, my dear.”
Mag was silent, but her body was shaking from the emotional trauma of the evening. She leaned forward and picked up someone’s half-full glass of champagne and swallowed the drink. She reached for the bottle, but Polly slapped her hand away. “I need something to calm my nerves.”
“And I need you to tell me who you were working with tonight.”
The meager amount of champagne that Mag had swallowed was enough to embolden her. She looked at Polly defiantly. “One drink, one answer.” She held out her glass.
Polly stared at the impudent actress for a long moment, silently transmitting her disdain. Then she reached for the bottle and began to slowly pour Mag’s drink. “You’ll play by my rules,” she said and stopped pouring when the glass was filled halfway.
As Mag downed the drink, her eyes remained fixed on Polly’s. “Charlotte,” Mag finally said.
“Huh?” Polly said. “What’s that supposed to mean? Charlotte what?”
“Charlotte Bunch’s fence—Fernando—paid me to pinch your Emmy tonight. Charlotte has to take special medications for her MPD, and her SAG insurance doesn’t cover the cost. Plus, she’s broke.”
“MPD? A new iPOD model?” Polly asked impatiently.
“Multiple personalities disorder,” Tim said. “Now Charlotte’s weird behavior makes sense!”
“She’s channeling voices or something,” Mag added.
“She’s not imitating people, she becomes them?” Polly said with a groan. “Jeez, I’m in The Twilight Zone!”
Mag continued. “This Fernando guy—the one who recognized my major talent—sells movie star memorabilia to collectors all over the world. The only way that Charlotte can pay to keep her prescription filled is by getting him to sell off her celebrity garage sale junk. She was going to steal Sharon’s Emmy, but her plan was foiled. You’re the only other star she knows with a bunch of acting awards. She knew you’d miss a few, but could probably get ’em replaced.”
“It was Charlotte who absconded with my Emmy,” Polly cried. “And this Fernando character, I suspect he wears Patchouli.”
“Charlotte said she knew that you suspected her of grabbing your other Emmy, the one you dropped off in West Hollywood Park. She wanted to stop hurting you. She knows what she’s doing when the voices take over, but she can’t control them or her actions. Charlotte didn’t mean to be unkind. My raid on your fancy-schmancy mansion tonight was going to be the end of her stealing from you.”
Polly and the others were dumbfounded. “This is a nightmare, or a bad Saturday Night Live sketch. We’re supposed to be in la-la land, but all around us are murderers and thieves and crazy people who have uninvited guests dancing around in her head! Hollywood is beginning to feel like a strange world to me!”
Detective Archer finally spoke up and addressed Mag. “Take us back to the theater, the morning of the murder. When did you discover Karen and Gerold missing?”
“I basically turned around and pffft, Karen and Gerold were gone,” Mag said. “I went to Gerold’s office and didn’t see Karen ever again.”
“And when did you hear the cleaning people or whoever they were?” Archer asked.
Mag thought for a moment. She pursed her lips and knitted her brow as she tried to recall exactly where she was and what she had heard and seen. “As a matter of fact…” She paused. “When I walked backstage to go to the office, I heard some people arguing in the wings. I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Why would I? As I said, I thought it was a cleaning crew.”
“You could hear yelling over the sound of vacuums?” Archer said.
Mag tentatively shook her head. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I heard vacuuming.”
Polly heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, we’re back to freaking square one! You still don’t have an alibi for the morning of the murder, and Jamie seems to have his own uncorroborated alibi—although he lied about getting coffee—and Charlotte’s a mental case who was after my Emmys to sell for meds to control Charles Laughton or Elizabeth Montgomery, or whoever she has floating around up there. If Hiroaki left the theater before Sharon arrived…that leaves only Gerold and Sharon as the prime suspects!”
“Wait a minute,” Tim insisted. “Mag just established that all the other suspects were at the theater that morning too. What if…and I’m simply concocting a hypothetical scenario…what if Charlotte didn’t leave the theater? After all, she was desperate to get her hands on Sharon’s Emmy Award. What if the voices Mag heard were actually Charlotte going through one of her episodes? What if she was backstage engaging in a conversation between Mama Rose, Ethel Merman, and Ethel Barrymore, in order to distract Karen and Gerold long enough for them to investigate the noise and for her to sneak out and abscond with the Emmy?”
Polly caught on. “Okay, it’s like this. Hiroaki leaves the theater thinking his career is over. Charlotte pretends to leave, but hangs around because she needs the Emmy that she believes is coming with Sharon. Sharon has her snake pit meltdown scene when she gets canned. Mag and Jamie leave the stage for a few minutes. Charlotte, who has been hiding in the wings, lets her weird personalities escape. Karen and Gerold go backstage to investigate her imitation of Pat Boone speaking in tongues, while she sneaks in front of the curtain to grab the statuette. The two returned just in time to catch Charlotte. She makes a run for it, but Karen stops her and retrieves the Emmy—hence her fingerprints on the statuette. Charlotte is totally embarrassed at being caught, so she flees. Or, there’s a struggle with the Emmy and Karen gets clobbered to death by Charlotte.”
Placenta looked at Mag and said, “If the killer was anyone other than Sharon, why wouldn’t Gerold have said something to the police? Would he really cover up a heinous crime just so you could have stage time in a local musical production? Is he that much in love with you that he’d let your rival for the role rot in jail for the rest of her life?”
Mag smiled with self-satisfaction. “I’m very cuddly.”
“It actually makes sense that Charlotte killed Karen,” Tim said. “Everyone knows that when someone needs money to buy drugs, they’ll do anything to score.”
Randy spoke up. “It’s time to consider Gerold as a prime suspect too. I’ll have him picked up.”
“Friday is opening night!” Polly said. “You can’t risk my career by dragging him away from the production just yet!”
Chapter 28
Detective Archer looked at his wristwatch and then looked at Mag. “It’s time I got you down to the station for booking.” He stood and withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his suit coat pocket.
Polly smiled with lascivious delight. “You found them,” she said, eyeing the shiny restraints and simultaneously blushing.
Mag began to cry. “Please, let me go!” She looked first to Detective Archer, then to Polly Pepper. “I can’t go to jail. I have a show to do. What will Gerold say? Who will play Gloria? We don’t have understudies.”
Polly patted Mag’s shoulder. “There are a gazillion girls out there who have played your role, hon. It won’t be hard to fill your tiny shoes.”
“Please, Polly! Mame is my big chance! It’s everything I’ve worked for! I’ve had to put up with that Yeti for months, just to get this show. Don’t take my dream away from me. Please?”
Polly faced Mag with her hands on her hips. “Someone took Karen’s dream away, and Sharon Fletcher’s too. Give us one good reason why we should ignore the fact that you’re a thief and why we should bother to lift a finger to save your skinny, untalented derrière?”
Mag whimpered. “No other actress knows the new dialogue.”
Polly shook her head. “Anyone professionally trained in the theater is forced to become quick studies. Learning Shakespeare in a matter of hours is de rigueur at RADA. As for you helping to find the real killer, you sound like O.J. after those idiots on his first jury acquitted him. What if you are Karen’s killer? It makes sense. And to answer Placenta’s earlier question, perhaps the reason that Gerold isn’t contradicting everyone’s presumption that Sharon murdered Karen is to protect you. You must be giving him plenty of lovin’ in return.”
“What do I have to do to prove that I’m innocent of everything except taking a bribe to snatch an Emmy? You got the damn thing back, so no harm, no foul,” Mag said. “I’ll die if I go to jail!”
Polly laughed scornfully and shook her head in mock amusement. “Life in the Big House didn’t seem to hurt Leona Helmsley. Save the pity party for a jury. But with the beloved Polly Pepper appearing as a witness against you, the matrons at Folsom will be happily pulling on their latex examination gloves for a cavity search even before my testimony is over.”