Killer Ratings: A Susan Kaplan Mystery

by Lisa Seidman

  Abruptly, Sandy’s tears of laughter turned to pain, and she leaned against the door, sobbing. Without any hesitation, Jennifer took her in her arms. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed a wad of tissues from the Kleenex box, then headed back into the living room, waving them in Sandy’s face as if they were tokens of my friendship.

  Sandy broke away from Jennifer to take the tissues. She covered her face with her hands, shoulders hunched and shaking, avoiding Jennifer who once again tried to take her back in her arms.

  “I’m s-s-sorry, I’m so s-s-sorry,” was all Sandy could say. Her obvious distress made me want to cry myself; instead I went into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the drain board, and filled it with water.

  “Here, drink this,” I ordered as I handed it to her.

  She obediently took a gulp then made a face.

  “I thought you were giving me brandy,” she said.

  “Since when does brandy look like water?” Jennifer asked.

  “Or come in a Fred Flintstone jelly glass,” I pointed out.

  Sandy took a closer look at the glass in her hand then smiled. “I must be losing my mind.”

  But she seemed calmer, and she wiped away tears with a fist clenched full of tissues.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer said quietly. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong. It was an act to scare you into confessing.”

  “You’ve been watching too many detective movies,” Sandy said, but she didn’t seem angry anymore. The tears, I suspected, had been bottled up for so long their release was having a cathartic effect. She sniffled a couple of more times, but the flood seemed to be over. She finished the water in one, long gulp then looked at Jennifer and me.

  I’m sure our faces were mirror images of concern because suddenly Sandy smiled. “It’s all right. I promise not to lose it again tonight.”

  “What is it, Sandy? What’s going on?” I asked gently, and her mouth started to quiver again, belying her attempt at calm.

  “We only want to help,” Jennifer said. “Idiot Susan over here lured Michael Keller to the warehouse tonight. He told her about Gail and Ray.”

  Sandy looked infinitely relieved. “You know.”

  Jennifer and I nodded simultaneously. “How did you find out?” I asked.

  “I knew almost from the beginning,” she said. She walked over to her overstuffed white armchair and sat down. Jennifer and I followed suit on the matching couch. “It began last year. When Gail and Tabitha went on a national tour promoting the show.”

  That was before my time, but Jennifer nodded as if knowing what Sandy was talking about.

  “Ray had me call the florist he uses. He wanted a single, white rose in every hotel room Gail was staying at. But not in Tabitha’s. At first I thought it was because Ray was mad at Tabitha. She wants to have a baby, you know, and Ray won’t let her. He doesn’t want to work it into the show.”

  I didn’t know this and was rather surprised Ray could have that much say in Tabitha’s personal life. I would’ve commented on it, but Sandy was still in confessional mode, and I didn’t want to interrupt.

  “But then Ray decided to fly to New York for the last part of the tour. Winifred didn’t go with him; she had too much work to do at Romulus. His cell was turned off and I needed to speak with him rather urgently, so I called his hotel room. He didn’t answer the phone. But then he called me two seconds later; he told me he was calling from his room and had been there all night. But I could hear Gail’s voice in the background and knew he was calling me from her room instead.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Sandy forestalled me. “Why would he lie to me about being in the room if he wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t have been?” she asked, anticipating my question.

  “And I’m sure there was more,” Jennifer said.

  Sandy nodded unhappily. “Lots, I’m afraid. When they returned, Ray couldn’t stay away from her. Always inventing excuses to visit her in her trailer. Having me order flowers for her dressing room. Calling her late at night in the office, not realizing I could hear everything from mine.” She ran a hand through her short, curly hair. “It was all quite horrid.”

  “Does Ray know you know?” I asked.

  “I think after a while he guessed, but he was too infatuated to really care. He used to make me lie to Winifred if she called when he was visiting Gail in her trailer. I’d have to say he was in a meeting or on the set. As the executive producer he had every right to be with Gail. But because it was for all the wrong reasons he felt he had to totally lie.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Jennifer asked in concern. “We didn’t have a clue.”

  “Because if Ray heard that I, or you, spilled the beans in some way, I might’ve lost my job. I was too afraid to say anything.”

  I thought about what a good actor Sandy had been, pretending like nothing was wrong pretty much up until the time of the murder. I also couldn’t reconcile my image of the aloof, gruff Ray as an infatuated, adolescent-behaved lover.

  “Winifred suspected Ray was having an affair,” I said. “She just suspected the wrong person.”

  Sandy nodded. “I’m not sure how Rebecca found out, but she also knew.”

  “Michael Keller told me she walked in on them late one night.”

  “That makes sense. Ray and Gail often stayed late after shooting finished. I always had to tell Winifred he was in a late story meeting or had some sort of business dinner.”

  “Do you think that’s why Gail misled me about when she finished work the night of Rebecca’s murder? Was it because Ray came to the set and they were doing it in her trailer?”

  Sandy’s head dropped into her hands. “I wish that were the reason,” she said, speaking almost inaudibly from between her fingers.

  Jennifer leaned over to her. “What was the reason?”

  We waited tensely for at least thirty seconds, although it seemed like thirty years, before Sandy looked up at us, her expression bleak. “Peggy was right, Suze. I’m sorry for yelling at you. But I didn’t know what else to do. Zack did leave before me. And he didn’t kill Rebecca.”

  I held my breath and I could practically feel the tightening of Jennifer’s skin, as she waited expectantly next to me. I think both of us were afraid to speak and possibly break the mood. I could hear the apartment elevator whirring as it made its journey to another floor, and the gentle tick-tick-tick of Sandy’s kitchen wall clock.

  Sandy stared at the torn and matted tissues still clutched in her hand, looking like she wasn’t sure how they got there. As if hypnotized, she said, “I had come back to the office to confront Rebecca about Ray putting me on probation. I went into my office to work up the nerve, and then Zack came back and started arguing with her. I couldn’t move. I was too afraid they’d hear me. So I just stood in my office, not even breathing, wanting to sneeze so badly I thought I was going to die. Zack finally stormed out, but she was still alive. I swear she was still alive.”

  I waited to hear what came next, but somehow I knew before Sandy spoke what she was going to say.

  “Of course I couldn’t go in then and face Rebecca. I thought she would leave, and I waited and waited. Then the front door opened again, and I heard footsteps walk past my office. I heard Rebecca say, ‘I thought you already left.’”

  “It was Ray,” Jennifer said, staring at Sandy, horrified.

  No more little girl, wide-eyed wonder. This was real. And very terrifying.

  Sandy nodded in confirmation.

  “He killed her,” Jennifer continued softly, making it a statement and not a question.

  “I don’t know,” Sandy said in despair. “As soon as I heard his voice, I panicked. I got out as quickly as I could.”

  “Did they hear you?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sandy said again. “But Gail saw me.”

  Jennifer and I stared at her in shock.

  “She was with him?” My voice was barely a squeak.

  “She was sitting in he
r car. She must’ve driven Ray back from the set.”

  “But how did he get there in the first place?” I asked. “Winifred came to the warehouse to take him home.”

  “I suspect Ray told her he needed to take care of business on location and asked her to drive him there. Then he probably sent her home. Winifred knew he could always get a ride home with one of the drivers.”

  “But if she suspected he was having an affair …?” Jennifer looked confused.

  “With Rebecca.” I interrupted. “Winifred thought Ray was sleeping with Rebecca. That’s why she hated Rebecca so much.”

  Sandy nodded. “I think you’re right. And Rebecca knew. So she blackmailed Ray into promoting her to producer. And letting her write two scripts. In return for her silence.”

  “But Ray didn’t promote her,” I said. “You told me he changed his mind.”

  Jennifer looked from me to Sandy, her head swiveling back and forth as if watching a tennis match. “Because he decided to kill her instead?” she asked in some awe.

  “That’s what I think,” Sandy said. “Ray didn’t tell the police he had returned to the office. As soon as I heard Rebecca was dead, I knew he had killed her. Or at least I suspected it.”

  “But why protect him?” I asked. “He’s not worth it.”

  “Because I don’t have any proof!” Sandy wailed, starting to lose it again. “And what if I accuse him and he’s innocent?”

  “And if he’s guilty? And he killed Zack as well?” Jennifer asked. I shot her a dirty look. She didn’t have to be so tactless about it.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Sandy said, the tears spilling down her face once again. “Don’t you think I’ve lost sleep over this, wondering, afraid, feeling responsible? But I just don’t know what to do!”

  Jennifer and I watched helplessly as Sandy cried into the remnants of the tissues I had given her.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer said quietly. “If it were Charles, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

  Why? I wondered. Why were we so loyal to our bosses? Because their continued employment of us kept a roof over our heads and food on our tables? Because they had the power of our future in their hands: one word from them and we got a raise or a script assignment or a promotion. And in return we said nothing to the police if we suspected them of murder. Was that the price of our souls? A script assignment? A weekly paycheck?

  “I can’t go to the police, I just can’t!” Sandy sobbed. “What if that only makes them suspect me?”

  Something was wrong about this; something Sandy had said earlier that didn’t make sense. I stared at the kitchen clock trying to figure it out when it suddenly fell into place.

  “Ray may not have killed her,” I said, and both Jennifer and Sandy looked at me sharply.

  “Why do you think that?” Jennifer asked.

  I turned to Sandy. “Tell me exactly. What did Rebecca say to Ray when he came back to the office?”

  Sandy looked at me, not understanding. “I told you. She said, ‘I thought you already left.’”

  I told you. Where had I heard those words before? Why did my body stiffen as if they were important? I told you.

  Sandy and Jennifer were staring at me.

  “What’s wrong?” Sandy asked.

  I pulled myself together with an effort. “‘I thought you had already left.’ Those were Rebecca’s exact words?”

  Sandy nodded. Like I told you. “Why?”

  “Don’t you remember what Sherman said? Rebecca told him not to lock the front door because she was expecting a visitor. But from what you just said, she wasn’t expecting Ray.”

  Comprehension started to dawn on Sandy, and I could practically see the weight of anxiety and guilt lift from her shoulders. “No, she wasn’t expecting him. I’m sure of that.”

  “Could someone please translate this for me?” Jennifer asked, looking annoyed. “What am I missing here?”

  Sandy turned to her, the words spilling out of her mouth. “If Rebecca was expecting someone, what happened to him? If he had shown up and found her dead, why didn’t he call the police?”

  “Unless she was still alive when Ray left and the visitor came,” I added. Like I already told you, Rebecca had said.

  Jennifer looked from me to Sandy. “Then what I want to know is,” she said, “who the hell was her visitor?”

  But I was no longer paying attention. I had figured out who had sent Rebecca the death threats. And why.

  9.

  Since Jennifer and I had come directly to Sandy’s from work neither one of us had eaten dinner. Jennifer suggested we stop at Chin Chin’s, on the Strip, and, desperately needing to talk to her away from Sandy, I agreed, saying nothing about what was on my mind regarding the death threats.

  We sat outside, facing Sunset Boulevard, heat lamps keeping the night chill away. Cars cruised the Strip—Porsches, BMWs, Mercedes—looking for parking places near The Roxy and The Viper Room, or maybe just looking.

  “Jennifer, I need to ask you something,” I said as soon as the waitress had taken our orders and left.

  Jennifer unfolded a white paper napkin and put it on her lap. “Shoot.”

  “Remember the day Charles told me he liked my spec script? Rebecca was in the bullpen, giving all of us new job descriptions?”

  “Yeah.” Jennifer smiled faintly at the rugby-shirted guy sitting at the table next to us. His girlfriend frowned back.

  My mouth felt dry and I took a sip of water. “Well, remember when Rebecca told us she was getting promoted, and how things were going to change?”

  “Sure. And I said, let’s see what Charles has to say about that. And Rebecca freaked.”

  “But before that. When she was giving us our new duties. She said to you, ‘Like I already told you.’” Suddenly, I had Jennifer’s full attention. “What did she mean by that?”

  “How am I supposed to know? That was last week. I don’t remember what I did two hours ago.”

  “Rebecca told you about her promotion before she told me. Didn’t she?”

  Jennifer impatiently blew her bangs off her forehead. “So what if she did?”

  “You didn’t say anything to Sandy and me. Why?”

  “Rebecca told me to keep it a secret. Look, am I under interrogation here? What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is none of us can keep a secret. And since when do you listen to what Rebecca tells you to do? Unless you thought of a way to get even.”

  Jennifer’s blue eyes glittered. “And how, pray tell, did I do that?”

  “You wrote those death threats to Rebecca, didn’t you?”

  The words hung between us, and I wished I could snatch them back. What if I was wrong? What if I had just wrecked a promising friendship?

  Jennifer started shredding her napkin. “What’s your proof?”

  “You threw out the proof. I saw you toss a bottle of rubber cement into the trash after the flood. And bond paper. The same kind the death threat was written on.”

  Jennifer sniffed in disgust. “The whole office can get their hands on rubber cement and that stationery.”

  “But you knew about the promotion before the rest of us. With the exception of Charles—maybe. But he doesn’t keep glue or stationery in his desk. You also saw me hide the threat I found. You could’ve taken it out of my desk.” A memory came back to me. “I saw you at the dumpster in the parking lot. After Charles told me Ray didn’t like my script. You were throwing it out, weren’t you?”

  Jennifer looked away, studying the cars cruising past on Sunset.

  “I’m not going to the police with this,” I said. “And I won’t tell another soul. But if you did send those notes, I have to know.”

  The waitress arrived with our food, but I could only stare at my plate of spicy Thai noodles. Jennifer didn’t even bother looking at her Chinese chicken salad, but when she finally turned toward me there were tears in her eyes.

  My stomach closed into a fist and
for a moment I had forgotten how to breathe. I reached for my glass of water and rolled it against my cheek, the coldness forcing air back into my lungs.

  “Why’d you do it?” I said when I felt I had my voice under control.

  Jennifer shrugged. “I thought it was a good idea at the time. She was so goddamned smug. About being a co-producer. About getting to write a couple of scripts. I thought I was gonna puke. Or scratch her eyes out.”

  “But, Jennifer, … death threats? A squashed cockroach?”

  “Okay, okay, it was pretty sick. But, Suze, I was so mad at her. All I could think about was wiping that smug smile off her face. I loved that she was so terrified.”

  I stared across the table at the face of a stranger. Jennifer’s eyes were gleaming in memory, her mouth curled upward in a satisfied smile. I shuddered. Who was this person I called a friend? Was she also a murderer?

  As if reading my mind, the corners of her mouth turned down. “And, no, I did not kill our dear Miss Vampire Woman. I’m not that psycho.”

  “Why’d you take the first note out of my desk?”

  “I didn’t want you showing it to anyone else. Someone might’ve gotten cute and decided to check for fingerprints. Look, it was a stupid thing to do and I apologize. Okay?”

  “Jennifer, Rebecca suspected me!”

  “But she didn’t really. Sandy convinced her it wasn’t you. C’mon, Suze, don’t you see the humor in it?”

  I stared at Jennifer in disbelief. “You scared that woman. You got me in trouble. And you think it’s funny?”

  “Well, if she hadn’t died, it would’ve been.”

  I scraped my chair back against the pavement. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  I stood up. Jennifer looked at me in shock. “You’re leaving?”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Eat your dinner. We’ll talk this out. It’s no big deal.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  I threaded my way past the other tables, remembering too late I hadn’t paid for my meal. It would serve Jennifer right to get stuck with the check. I got into my car, turned west on Sunset, and drove aimlessly past the gated mansions of Beverly Hills. I didn’t know if I could be Jennifer’s friend again, didn’t know if I wanted to be. Yet, a part of me still liked her. It’s easy to remember the good things about a person when you don’t want to think about the bad. I thought of her sense of humor, her breezy, “What, me worry?” attitude, the way she stuck up for me when Rebecca tried to denigrate my Dress Blue script.