EQMM, November 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "Nothing to sink my fangs into.” The fangs remark was a reference to Andrew's earliest and, to date, biggest success in a vampire series. But it was before Brett's time and the younger man didn't respond. Andrew said, “I've been working, but just bits and pieces. Small parts, a little understudying, some kids’ magic shows, and I do some dubbing now and then. Whatever I can find to keep the wolf from the door. And in between I do some writing."

  "In our business it is important to stay positive till our luck changes."

  "I'd say it's important for us to make our own luck."

  Which provided Brett a good segue to say, “They ... they tell me you're with Victoria now."

  "In the sense that she finds half an hour for me now and again. Forty-five minutes on a good day—whatever seems to suit her schedule best. Sound familiar?"

  Too familiar for Brett to remember calmly, because when he and Victoria were together he'd been sure she was the one. But he'd been less experienced then and less mature. He said, “I'm sure she'll make more time for you when all this Frankie Almond stuff settles down."

  "Think so?"

  "She must love your voice. And your eyes."

  Andrew gave Brett a puzzled look.

  Moving rapidly on, Brett said, “So, has she said anything to you about whether Frankie Almond is going to be picked up?"

  "Not a whisper. Nor a murmur. Not even a whit or a tittle."

  Worth a try, Brett thought. Then, impulsively, he leaned forward to make a confidential comment, man-to-man. “She didn't just get us all here in order to leave us fretting all evening, did she? Maybe planning to show up in a few hours, after we're all nervous wrecks? Because that strikes me as just the kind of thing that would appeal to her so-called sense of humor. As you'll find out. If you haven't already."

  "I ... have learned quite a bit about what amuses Victoria.” Andrew was not smiling.

  The men locked eyes. Sympathy passed between them. But only a jot, because at that moment the front door of the penthouse burst open. Victoria Nation swept in.

  She was a sight to behold, grand in her manner, glamorous in gold garments, and looking half her chronological age, at least from a distance. How did she do it?

  "Sorry! So sorry I'm late, boys and girls. But there was a most frightful last-minute holdup at the network about location budgets. Where would we all be without e-mail and the cell phone, I ask you? But you don't want to hear about my little problems, I'm sure. You're all dying to know about the future of Frankie Almond, Private Eye."

  As Brett, Lorelei, Nancy, and Andrew moved closer to hear what she had to say there was a sudden silence in the room. Only Grimm hung back.

  Victoria smiled, looking from one to another. She basked in the rapt attention. Finally it was Lorelei, the writer, whose patience ran out. “So, is it going to series or not? Stop teasing us."

  Victoria laughed. “Outspoken as ever, Lorelei. Well, I saw the network president this afternoon...” She paused again, to recreate the suspense. “I met him, and ... he is mine! The answer is affirmative. We are going to series."

  "Yes!” Brett shouted.

  Andrew was more muted as he muttered, “Well, well."

  Lorelei smiled and nodded and made a fist.

  Nancy applauded. Quietly she said, “Well done, Vicki."

  "So let the celebration dinner commence,” Victoria said. “Grimm?"

  Grimm rang a chime. “Assembled writer, director, producer, actor, and friend of Frankie Almond, pray be seated for dinner."

  As people began to move, Victoria called, “Please note, no ‘ladies and gentlemen,’ but then this is television.” She laughed loudly. Her laugh, if not melodic, was direct and to the point. “Come along into the dining room. If the news had been bad, I'd have sent out for a Dominos, but since it's good, we'll all have a jolly theme meal to celebrate the fame, fortune, and fabulous future of Frankie Almond, Private Eye."

  As soon as Victoria's guests were in the dining room they could smell the food being prepared by caterers in the connecting kitchen. Grimm was heard over all of them. “Find your place cards and take your seats."

  Lorelei was first. “Where ...? Oh, I've found me."

  Andrew, however, grumbled. “Place cards when there are only five of us?"

  Nancy had a theory and she happily whispered it to Brett. “It's the only way Victoria can be sure to have the men on either side of her. Don't be fooled if she starts playing footsie with you, sweetie. She'll be doing the same with Andrew on the other side. Ah, here's me.” And she took her place next to Lorelei. And true enough, the two women faced Victoria directly with the men's seats either side of her.

  But Andrew was still not impressed by the place cards. “Well, to hell with this. I'll sit wherever I damn please.” With a rebellious expression he took the seat designated for Brett, between Victoria and Nancy. “When is the next time I'll have the chance to sit between a top TV producer and a top TV director?"

  But Brett was not pleased. This way he wouldn't be next to Nancy. “Andrew, that's my seat."

  "Oooo,” Andrew said, “is big bad Bwett gonna cwy? Because he ought to remember, Frankie Almond would never cwy big bad pwivate eye tears. Take a hike, Brett. For once I'm having what I want."

  On the small screen Brett might have dragged Andrew aside and knocked him out with one punch, but in real life, with no lines to read and no stunt coordinator, all he could do was say, “Oh well.” He sat in the seat that had been designated for Andrew, between Victoria and Lorelei.

  Victoria herself seemed not to notice. She was excited. “Now that Frankie Almond has been signed and sealed for prime time, I wanted to mark the occasion with something special. So I declare this theme dinner open. First, please take a look at the wine goblets by your plates. My sister made them from the finest Yorkshire clay. And do you see the face? Recognize Brett—or rather, Frankie? Isn't that sweet? But before we all raise our goblets, I call on Nancy to remind us how she came up with the original idea for Frankie Almond, Private Eye."

  "Original?” Andrew muttered, but if anyone heard him there was no reaction.

  Nancy said, “Well, Frankie ... What can I say? He just came to me out of the blue one day."

  But before she could recall the day, or the blue, Andrew interrupted. “Ain't that the truth."

  This time Nancy was unwilling to let the grumbling from the man on her right continue. “Excuse me, Victoria,” she said, “but just what is your good-looking, if slightly shop-soiled, friend doing at a Frankie Almond event? It's your party, of course, but although we've never even been properly introduced he keeps talking to me. Do you think he might be making a pass? And if so, don't you think you should pack him off somewhere? Perhaps let Grimm teach him what is appropriate behavior and what isn't?"

  Victoria was not pleased with Andrew or the interruption. “Andrew, please. Contain yourself."

  "Sorry, Vic,” Andrew said. His tone was humble, but he didn't make eye contact.

  Nancy resumed. “Frankie Almond ... Well, in truth Frankie was a reaction to the current fad for novelty. Everywhere you look somebody is touting yet another new exotic detective. There are children detectives, ghost detectives, ancient Romans, monks, and Martians all solving murders these days. I even think there are plans for a dog as TV sleuth—and not a cartoon. So I thought, what on earth is wrong with a good old-fashioned private eye? And that's how Frankie Almond was born."

  Lorelei, who wrote the script for the pilot, chimed in. “I think of Frankie as the archetype of private detection. He's elegant, and classic. He's intelligent, handsome, witty, sexy, wealthy."

  Victoria smiled and nodded. “Lorelei, you've put Almond in a nutshell."

  Nancy, who directed the pilot, continued. “And, Victoria, by casting Brett in the title role, I think you've given Frankie Almond the perfect physical embodiment."

  "Aw shucks,” Brett said, in mock modesty, “you're just trying to make me blush."

  "Wait till I get you alon
e.” Nancy laughed, pretending she wasn't serious.

  But Victoria said, “Children, children, control yourselves. Which, in fact, brings up a serious point that does need to be addressed."

  The others were surprised by the notion that they'd have to consider something serious. They fell silent.

  Victoria continued, “With success comes responsibility. Especially since Frankie will be in prime time. It is now incumbent on us all to avoid scandal of any kind. At least until the second series."

  "What sort of scandal did you have in mind, sweetie?” Lorelei asked in a tone of voice that encouraged each of the guests to think of something he or she had never tried but might fancy.

  "All I mean is that you must lock the doors before and do up your buttons after. Don't buy anything illegal or immoral—let a friend do it for you. No insider dealing with the money you're about to earn. And don't say anything to anyone in the media if you don't want to see it in headlines. Basic privacy and no arrests. I trust that's not too much to hope for."

  Positive sounds from around the table were encouraging.

  "Good,” Victoria said. “We understand each other. So, please, everyone, raise the smallest of my sister's ‘Frankie face’ goblets. You'll find it to the right of your plate, just north of the forks. Grimm took the liberty of pouring you each a small celebratory libation. I now wish to propose a toast."

  Lorelei asked, “Is that going to be an almond toast?"

  "Great minds, Lorelei. As it happens, the liqueur in question is an almond cordial. So raise your goblets. I give you Frankie Almond, Private Eye."

  Everybody echoed, “Frankie Almond, Private Eye,” and drank.

  Then Andrew coughed.

  Nancy said, “Wow, is this stuff disgusting, or what?"

  "Just don't tell Entertainment Tonight,” Victoria said cheerily.

  "If it meant success for the series,” Brett said, “I'd happily drink it every day."

  But Andrew's problem was not just that some of the unusual liqueur had gone down the wrong way. He continued to cough, and choke, and then he began to thrash.

  Nancy, next to him, at first assumed this was some kind of attention-seeking maneuver but after looking more carefully at his face even she was concerned. “Andrew? Are you all right?"

  But Nancy's concern didn't result in a cure. Andrew choked again and, perhaps responding to her voice, he sprawled over Nancy, her place setting, the whole shebang.

  "Get off me,” Nancy said. “I mean it. Get off. Stop messing."

  Andrew did get off. He rolled onto the floor.

  From her position across the table Lorelei said, “It looks like he had a fit."

  Brett, next to Lorelei, was concerned for Nancy. “Are you all right?"

  Nancy was fine and said so, but Lorelei stood up to see where Andrew was lying. “He's gone limp."

  Victoria intervened. “Grimm,” she said, “please see to Andrew."

  "Yes, Ms. Victoria.” Grimm moved to where Andrew lay sprawled on the dining room carpet and knelt. After a few moments of examination he rose. He shook his head.

  "Grimm?” Victoria said, anxiety in her voice.

  "Ms. Victoria, I regret to inform you that the gentleman is dead."

  There were gasps from around the table.

  Victoria said, “Dead? Are you sure?"

  "Yes, Ms. Victoria. I worked for three years in an abattoir. I know dead when I see it."

  "Has he ... had a heart attack?"

  "Of that I cannot be certain, Ms. Victoria."

  "Well,” Victoria said, “that's quite put me off my food. I must say, we don't get many people dying between the apéritif and the hors d'oeuvres where I come from, but this is New York, I suppose."

  Lorelei was shocked. “Victoria! How can you be so heartless? And him your boyfriend."

  "Hardly a boy,” Victoria said. “And this is still a special night, once-in-a-lifetime for us all. Frankie is still going to series, and I can hardly expect my guests to dig into their tucker with a corpse lying on the floor. Grimm, remove Andrew, please. Take him to the living room."

  "Yes, Ms. Victoria."

  As the other guests watched in stunned disbelief, Grimm took Andrew's feet and dragged his body toward the door.

  Finally it was Lorelei who asked, “Is that something he ought to be doing? I mean, shouldn't we be leaving the evidence alone?"

  Victoria asked, “What do you mean, evidence?"

  "Well, Andrew seemed healthy a couple of minutes ago. There's going to have to be an autopsy, and the police will need to be involved."

  "I'd really rather not,” Victoria said.

  Nancy was less certain about police involvement. “At least don't you think that maybe Grimm should call a doctor?"

  "Grimm will do everything that's required."

  And by that time Grimm had dragged Andrew's remains through to the living room. A few moments later he returned, closing the door behind him. “Ms. Victoria?"

  "Yes, Grimm?"

  "I have laid the corpus by the white leather couch, but I have the sad obligation to inform you that it is my belief that the gentleman was poisoned."

  Now, Victoria was aghast. “Poisoned? But Grimm, that would mean that one of us murdered him."

  "Exactly so, Ms. Victoria,” Grimm said.

  As the first shock of Grimm's news sank in, the people around the table tried to reconstruct what had happened. As members of the Frankie Almond, Private Eye production team, they even felt that they had qualifications for the job, of a sort.

  Nancy, the director, spoke first. “Grimm, what on earth leads you to believe that Andrew was poisoned?"

  "Because, Ms. Nancy, the gentleman collapsed so rapidly and his skin was very pink as I laid him out on the hall floor."

  "So what? My mother died of a heart attack while she was jogging in the park and she was pink as a pig."

  But Lorelei, the writer, had taken the next step. “Cyanide."

  "I beg your pardon,” Nancy said.

  "I think Grimm is suggesting that Andrew was killed with cyanide."

  "Exactly so, Ms. Lorelei."

  Lorelei knew about cyanide. “Cyanide is extremely toxic and it's also widely available because it's used in a lot of common products. Many of them can easily be administered orally. What happens is that the victim's stomach acid acts to release hydrogen cyanide gas. That causes immediate unconsciousness. Death follows within a minute, a few minutes at most."

  "How the hell do you know all this?” Nancy asked, for everyone.

  "Cya-Nora," Lorelei said.

  "Say what?"

  "Early photographers used potassium cyanide in their processing. I used it as a poison in my play about Nora North, the suffragette photographer-detective, when she went to Japan. Hence, the title, Cya-Nora."

  But Brett recalled something. “I thought you could smell cyanide."

  "You can,” Lorelei said. “But it smells of almonds. And what have we all been drinking?"

  Victoria said, “My special almond cordial. Oh dear."

  "Which would mask the cyanide smell completely,” Lorelei concluded.

  "But Grimm,” Brett said, “are you saying that one of us poisoned Andrew with cyanide?"

  "That would appear to be a reasonable conjecture, Mr. Brett."

  As a ripple ran round the table, Brett said, “But who ...? Why ...?"

  "I may be able to be of further assistance, sir,” Grimm said. “Ms. Victoria, if I may?"

  "You carry on, Grimm,” Victoria said.

  "When I laid the gentleman's remains on the carpet, I chanced to discover an audio cassette tape in the breast pocket of his jacket."

  "Do they still make those?” Nancy said.

  "The cassette in question bears a label which reads, ‘To be played if I am dead.'” Grimm held up the cassette and showed everyone the label.

  This news was a further shock for the already shocked company.

  Grimm said, “If I might have permission to
utilize your mini-stack, Ms. Victoria?"

  "Any time, Grimm."

  Grimm inserted the cassette tape into a small sound system on a buffet at the side of the dining room and pressed play. Soon Andrew's mellifluous voice was heard clearly throughout the room. “My name is Andrew Stark. If anything bad has happened to me tonight, then it wasn't from natural causes. I just had a checkup and I'm in perfect health—a fine specimen of manhood. So if there's no knife in my back or bullet hole between my eyes, then I must have been poisoned...."

  A murmur went around the room.

  "When Victoria invited me to this Frankie Almond dinner I accepted immediately. Why? Not just because I adore Victoria's incomparable company..."

  "He was such a sweet boy,” Victoria said.

  ” ... but because it seemed the ideal opportunity to confront Nancy Oliver in person."

  "What?" Victoria said. She looked at Grimm.

  "Because it was Nancy who stole my idea for Frankie Almond."

  There were intakes of breath all around the table.

  The tape continued, “I never mentioned it to Victoria, but I've known Nancy for a long time. Then, a few years ago, I had a supporting role in a play she directed off-Broadway. One morning, over croissants, I told her all about my blockbuster idea for a ‘classic’ private eye."

  Nancy said sharply, “That's a lie."

  "The only difference,” Andrew's voice continued, “between my idea and what has become Frankie Almond is that I thought the detective should be my age and have some experience of the world. And I called him Charlie Cashew."

  Victoria said, “This is not at all what I expected."

  "What I didn't know then,” Andrew's voice said, “is that Nancy steals things. Usually it's just people. For instance, she bragged one time how she stole Lorelei's husband. Even now Lorelei doesn't talk with Nancy except about work. And more recently Nancy stole Brett away from you, Victoria. At least that's her version. I don't care about all that, but what I do care about is that she stole my idea—my idea—for the TV series that's going to make you all rich."

  Nancy could stand it no longer. “It's all lies,” she said. “He thinks he can say anything just because he's dead."