A Talent For Murder Part 11

"Without further ado, welcome back Miranda Was.h.i.+ngton!"

Miranda made her entrance down the long flight of stairs that graced the stage and wandered up to the microphone and the panel of judges.

Steven Benjamin said, "During the commercial break the judges decided to let Richard Dartmouth have the final question for the evening. Do you feel lucky?"

"No, but what can I do?" Miranda said.

"At least you're honest," Richard said, "which is no way to win this game, but have it your way." He stared at Miranda for a long moment. "Everybody has a dark side to their personality. Some otherwise very nice people suddenly snap and kill a noisy neighbor. Or the quiet guy at the office gets one e-mail too many and shoots his colleagues. If you were this close to being famous, but someone smarter or more talented... or younger got in the way, what would your dark side reveal?"

Miranda pursed her lips and rubbed her nose. "I've got a mean streak a mile long, all right," she said. "I sent my dumb-a.s.s boyfriend to the ER for constantly leaving used Kleenex around in piles. I suppose if I were faced with someone about to steal my limelight, it would be like they were taking a parking s.p.a.ce I'd been waiting a long time for. If they pulled into my fame s.p.a.ce, I'd have to whup their sorry b.u.t.t. Ain't nothin' gonna keep me from winning this game, and becoming the famous person I was meant to be. I've got dreams, and I mean to make 'em come true. My voice alone will take me where I'm going."

"To the unemployment office," Polly said. "Yikes! What a lousy show! I may not go back, even if they ask me!"

Just as Placenta was about to turn off the television, Steven Benjamin looked into the camera and said,"Join us next week when one of our contestants will say adios to all their dreams of becoming famous. And we'll have extra security on hand, just in case a poor loser takes aim at one of our wonderful judges. Don't forget what we, who have important Hollywood jobs, always say, 'When the going gets tough, the tough take out their rusty razor blades and carve up anyone who gets in their way!' See you next week!"

Placenta turned the lights on in the media room as Polly stood up and yawned. "It's time for a nightcap," Polly said, looking at the four empty bottles of Veuve left on one of the chairs in the room. She put her arm around Raul's waist and said, "Are you sober enough to drive, or shall I ask Placenta to dust off the sheets in one of the guest rooms?"

"I had another dreadful night," Polly complained when she arrived at the patio breakfast table Sat.u.r.day morning. "Which one of our friends does a commercial for sleeping pills? I'm getting desperate. Kelsey?"

"I think he's irritable bowel syndrome," Placenta said.

"Cybill?"

"Menopause."

"Whosy Whatsy, from Northern Exposure Northern Exposure?"

"Janine? Nah. She used to do a commercial for that dry-eye disease. I think it's off the market like the stuff that Dorothy Hamill hawked."

"Well, what does Sally sell? She always looks young and well rested. She must have a pill!"

"Osteoporosis, I think. Just go to Dr. Feel Good. He'll prescribe anything you want," Placenta said.

"Drugs are too d.a.m.ned expensive! I just want a sampler to get me through an afternoon nap. Tonight's important, and I'm going to be a wreck if I don't get some shut-eye!"

"Speaking of tonight, Tim has hired a guard to keep us safe from those murderous contestants you've invited to dinner."

Polly looked up from sipping her Sat.u.r.day morning mimosa. "What's his name?"

"Sandy."

"As in hunky Orange County surfer? Leave it to my Timmy."

"As in Sandra. Tim hired a female security guard."

Polly rolled her eyes and poured another mimosa from a juice pitcher. "If she's anything like Officer Betty down at the jailhouse, I feel safer already." She looked around, then glanced at her wrist.w.a.tch. "Speaking of Tim, he's got a ton to do before tonight. He can't sleep the day away."

Placenta cleared the breakfast table. "Timmy's long gone. He and Raul ... no, he didn't spend the night ... were meeting for coffee. Apparently, Raul has access to the files that SOS kept on Thane Cornwall."

Polly took another sip of her drink. "Sounds a tad unethical. I knew I liked that young man. I'll bet he knows the secrets and mating habits of every celebrity in Bel Air." She paused. "If SOS has a file on Thane, surely they have one on us! That's not good."

Placenta tossed bits of a blueberry m.u.f.fin to a few sparrows that had flown into the yard. The birds pounced on the meal and hopped around looking for more. "You won't have to worry about SOS until after Tim and Raul stop seeing each other. Right now, Raul is in the 'Let me impress you' phase. He'll volunteer cla.s.sified information just to keep Mr. Perfect hanging around. He's the one who recommended the new security guard."

Polly huffed. "When things cool down, I'll have to get the poor boy fired, so he doesn't take revenge by letting any of Pepper Plantation's secrets out! Oh, I hate playing the bad cop! And speaking of cops, or at least security personnel, when does this Sandy person begin?"

"Noon. She's coming to meet you, and to start patrolling the grounds. She'll be working in twelve-hour s.h.i.+fts, along with a partner."

Polly stood up from the table. "I'd better put on my Polly Pepper face," she said, tightening the belt around her bathrobe. "I'll be in the shower if anybody needs me." She left Placenta to continue cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

At eleven-thirty, Tim entered the house and greeted his mother with an air kiss to her cheek. "It's been a very productive morning!" he said as he poured a gla.s.s of lemonade for himself. "Raul is amazing! He got us into the SOS confidential computer files and we had a blast checking out George and Tom and Keira and Kevin and Elton. I felt like a snoopy nurse at Cedars!"

"Anything useful ...for when Angelina calls to dish?" Polly asked. "What types of records does SOS keep? Guests to Thane's home? Telephone calls? The time of day when he activated his security system?"

"Thane had their super celebrity protection package," Tim said. "They watched the house twenty-four-seven. In addition to the regular remote alarm service, they patrolled the property with drive-by service once every half hour. And get this! They had a two-way intercom connection. Raul said that without clients knowing, the guy who owns SOS monitors what goes on in their homes. He's got months of recordings on some of the biggest stars in town, including Thane Cornwall!"

"Oh my G.o.d," Polly said, shocked. "We're definitely changing to Mayday!"

The chime at the front gate sounded. Tim looked at his watch. "It's our new security detail. Your very own armed response team!" After confirming who the visitors were, he pushed the intercom b.u.t.ton to release the entrance gates. Within a minute, he was introducing his mother and Placenta to Sandy Sanchez and Dak Ditson.

Polly reluctantly put on her professional face and instantly ingratiated herself into the lives of the two women. Dak was old enough to be Sandy's mother. The women were military professional. They "Yes, ma'amed/no, ma'amed" and never cracked a smile or let on they may have been impressed by Polly Pepper. Indeed, as they rattled off the list of celebrities for whom they had served, Polly was merely one of many notable names.

Polly, Tim, and Placenta listened with trepidation as the pair of guards explained how the estate would be operated under their care. It was made clear that no one was allowed to exit the grounds or reenter without first notifying the guard on duty and signing in on a minute-by-minute log. Also, visitors, including close friends, would be screened before being admitted to the property, and scrutinized throughout their stay, in order to ensure that not only the family would be safe, but also the contents of the house.

"We do do expect to be addressed as Sergeant Sandy and Officer Dak. We don't expect to be your friends," Dak explained in a clipped military tone. "We're here with one mission, to secure the residents and property from unwanted and potentially hostile intruders." expect to be addressed as Sergeant Sandy and Officer Dak. We don't expect to be your friends," Dak explained in a clipped military tone. "We're here with one mission, to secure the residents and property from unwanted and potentially hostile intruders."

Polly and her troupe could only nod in agreement.

"Do we get any time off?" Placenta asked.

"We are not here to make you comfortable with us," Sergeant Sandy stated. "We'll be watching you as closely as we watch your video monitoring devices. Get used to it."

Polly looked at Tim, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Sorry. I didn't know the Gestapo was moving in."

Sergeant Sandy looked at her wrist.w.a.tch, then nodded to Dak. "Enough small talk. Dak will return at midnight. In the meantime, I've got a job to do." Sergeant Sandy saluted Polly and with toe to heel, she pivoted 180 degrees and marched away.

Polly looked at Tim and made a face. "How can we have any privacy with the SS keeping their eyes on us? I may as well stay in bed all day!"

"Alone!" Placenta added.

Tim shrugged. "She came highly recommended by Raul."

"Then why aren't they still working for all those B-list celebrities?" Polly said, and walked away in a huff.

"Give her a fair chance," Tim said. "She just might save our lives!"

Placenta put her hand on Tim's shoulder. "As a matter of fact, with the lowlifes who are eating at our table this evening, I'm very happy for the added protection. What the heck is your mother thinking when she invites killers to the house?"

"We don't know that one of tonight's guests is a killer," Tim said.

"Someone's out there killing judges and contestants on that sucky show," Placenta said. "Every single one of the people she's having over tonight had a motive to kill Thane Cornwall. And opportunity, too, I suppose. Do me a favor. Run back to your new friend and have him check out the file of Thane Cornwall for the night of his murder. See if there's a recording of what went on in the house. Maybe there's a record of someone other than Lisa Marrs being there. Oh, how about a tape from the intercom? Something that proves that one of the kids didn't do the deed. I'll feel much better knowing that Ped-Xing, or Miranda or Taco Bell or anyone else I'm serving, isn't going to carve me up."

"We already checked. So did the police," Tim said. "Thane's security system failed that night. The cameras, too."

Placenta heaved a heavy sigh. "Life's too short to worry about death."

Sergeant Sandy stationed herself at attention outside the front entry gates to Pepper Plantation, imagining herself at the gates to Buckingham Palace. As each guest arrived she insisted on two forms of identification, plus contact with the main house to confirm that the name on her clipboard matched the master guest list that Tim kept by the front door.

When Ped-Xing finally got through the checkpoint and entered the mansion, he opened his sports coat and boasted to Polly, "The chick in the pants didn't catch this!" He showed off a large knife sheathed in leather and attached to his belt.

Well-trained hostess that she was, Polly offered a hearty laugh and a hug. "She's new at the job. I've planted a dozen WMD and she hasn't found a single one. So much like that last idiot we had in the White House, but not quite as moronic!"

Soon the invitees were all in attendance and Tim was serving drinks. Polly, dressed in an elegant aqua-colored silk back-zipped dress with a ruched bodice blouse above a darted skirt and a matching beaded jacket, circulated among her young guests. As they each asked questions about the grand house, wanting to see exactly where their cocontestant Danny Castillo's body had been discovered, Polly became more comfortable with the group. Everybody loved the house, and seeing the display of Emmy Awards, People's Choice Awards, and other symbols of Polly Pepper's fame, made each even more impressed with their hostess.

"So, which way was his head twisted?" Taco Bell asked when Tim escorted her to the place where Danny was found. "Did it look like the priest who got thrown down the stairs by Satan in The Exorcist?" The Exorcist?" she asked. she asked.

Tim a.s.sured her that no, the body looked like Danny had just gone to sleep.

"That's not what I heard."

Tim and Taco Bell turned to the sound of Amy Stout's voice, and found that she and Miranda Was.h.i.+ngton had joined them at the scene of the crime. "Thane's a.s.sistant, Michael, said Danny looked like he was staring at a ghost."

Tim c.o.c.ked his head. "I was here, he wasn't."

Amy shrugged. "Are you calling him a liar?"

Tim was taken aback. "I'm just saying ..."

At that moment, Michael joined them. "Who's a liar?"

"Apparently, you are," Miranda said.

Tim shook his head. "We were just talking about finding Danny's body right in this spot, that's all."

Taco Bell took another sip of her champagne. "And Mr. Rich Boy here said you lied about how the body looked when they found it cold as ice on the granite floor."

Tim was incredulous. "I didn't say anyone was a liar. I just described what I saw, and you said that's not what Michael saw. And the floor's not granite."

Michael squared his shoulders. "I just reported what I heard, that's all. Ped told me what it looked like."

Miranda put two fingers to her lips and blew an ear-shattering whistle. "Yo! Ped! Over here!" she demanded.

Polly, who had been speaking with Ped-Xing about the lack of sadness felt by almost everyone over the death of Thane Cornwall, followed him into the foyer where the others were gathered.

The center of attention, Ped-Xing was surrounded by his cocontestants and the Pepper Plantation household. "Wha.s.sup?" he asked.

Miranda said, "Our host says you're a liar."

Tim gasped. "I never said that. In fact, I never said anything about anybody lying about anything."

Amy Stout joined in. "Michael said Danny's body was a twisted wreck, with his eyes popping out of his head, like he was being attacked by zombies. But Tim here disagrees. Michael told us that you saw the body. So now you're being called a liar. Whatcha gonna do 'bout that?"

Ped-Xing looked at Michael with smoldering eyes. Then he looked at Tim and shrugged. "I was just guessing, that's all. It's like I used my imagination and thought of what a dead body that had been strangled would look like. I never said I actually saw Danny all busted up and looking any special way. How could I? This is my first time in this ritzy crib."

Michael drank the rest of his gla.s.s of champagne and said, "So now I look like a liar, 'cause I believed what you said you saw."

"Sweetums!" Polly interrupted. "Dead bodies in Bel Air look just like the ones found on Sunset Boulevard or in Laurel Canyon. They're just dead people. You see them all the time on CSI CSI, so what's to imagine? I think it's time that we all skedaddle into the dining room, that's what I think. We'll all feel less hostility with full tummies. I know I will!" Polly tapped her three-carat pear-shaped diamond ring against her champagne flute. "Placenta has a very special menu planned for this evening. Hop to it, ladies and gentlemen," she said, leading the way to the formal dining room.

Place cards at each setting identified where Polly had determined each guest would be seated. With Polly at the head of the table, Tim and Placenta pulled out chairs for Miranda and Amy and Taco Bell, while the men seated themselves, giving no indication that they knew anything about dinner table etiquette.

Tim joined Placenta in the kitchen and began serving the soup course. Polly was the first to be served, followed by the women, then the men. "Start, start, start," Polly encouraged, before Tim and Placenta had finished placing all the bowls of squash soup before their guests. "You'll die when you taste this," Polly said.

As Ped-Xing slurped soup from his spoon, and Miranda looked around to make sure she was using the right utensil, Polly added, "Speaking of dying, I think we can all understand why Mr. Thane Cornwall came to his end, but why do you suppose our sweet Danny was done in?"

"Typical dinner table conversation at Pepper Plantation," Taco Bell said as she patted her lips with her cloth napkin. "I've heard about your famous parties."

"You aren't far off," Polly said, "but perhaps we should save such talk for dessert."

As everyone oohed and aahed about the starter course, Michael asked his hosts, "What'd you think of the show last night?"

Polly took a sip of champagne and said, "I thought that Miss Jesus-in-the-Mirror motor mouth was actually quite acceptable as a judge."

Taco Bell noisily dropped her spoon into her bowl. "She made fun of me!"

Amy Stout declared, "You got off a h.e.l.l of a lot better than I did with Richard! What the h.e.l.l was he doing making up such a vulgar quote from Thane? 'The stench of my voice'? What was that all about?" She coughed into the palm of her hand and tried to smell her breath.

"He was just saying what he thought Thane might say," Ped-Xing said. "I'm the one who got hit between the eyes by Brian! He said I was stupid!"

As Polly finished her soup and placed her spoon in the bowl, she looked up, rested her elbows on the table, and intertwined her fingers. Her diamonds shone under the light of the Waterford crystal chandelier. "You're all reading negative ideas into the judges' questions. I'll admit their queries weren't very good, but I don't believe the judges were at all as hostile as you've led yourselves to believe. They don't need to be a.n.a.lyzed like a dream in which you discover yourselves tying your honey-slathered mothers over a hive of African red ants. G.o.d knows I don't give advice-" Placenta nearly spat up her soup. "-but I'll tell you that in all my years as an international celebrity and icon, I've found it's best to eliminate the negative and focus on the positive."

Placenta wiped up the soup spittle from the front of her dress and said, "For instance, it would be negative of Polly to say she's positive that there's a connection between the deaths of Thane and Danny."

"I think so too," Ped-Xing said. "We all do. That there's a connection, I mean. It's too freaky that two people involved in the same show have died within days of each other. It's been a whole week since the last one went, but that doesn't mean that the killer is through with us. The show has bad karma, and you know what they say, everything comes down to money. I think there's a killer producer on the loose. Last night's big ratings proved that the publicity from murders worked."

"Hold that thought," Placenta said as she stood up and retrieved the soup bowls. Tim joined her in the kitchen to serve the main course.

While placing chicken b.r.e.a.s.t.s stuffed with fontina, artichokes, and sun-dried tomatoes on eight plates, Placenta whispered, "That Ped-Xing isn't as stupid as he looks. I think he's on to something. The producer connection, that is."

"If he's right, and the ratings do reflect all the freebie publicity, then we're looking at Richard Dartmouth as a possible killer. Oh, but please, dear G.o.d, don't let Polly catch on. She'll have another potential murderer over and we'll have to play this same game with him."

"Polly's not a complete idiot," Placenta said. "She'll add two and two and at least come up with three." She picked up two plates and moved toward the door to the dining room. "I'll take these to Michael and Ped. Don't forget to add the sodium pentothal bearnaise sauce."

When once again everyone was seated, and with each forkful of food making yummy sounds, Polly announced, "I'd like to propose a toast," raising her champagne flute. When everyone else had set their silverware down and lifted their own gla.s.ses, Polly closed her eyes as if in prayer. "To dear Thane Cornwall and lovely Danny Castillo. Your friends and fans miss you. We, at this table, are particularly sad that you aren't here to join us, but we know that you're both in a better place than Hollywood, which isn't exactly all that's it's cracked up to be anyway, especially if you're just a tart-tongued judge and a minimally talented contestant on a bottom-of-the-barrel television show that takes advantage of youthful dreams and capitalizes on America's thirst for blood, and challengers' devotion to winning a compet.i.tion at all costs."

Polly drew a breath and continued. "I remember how Lana Turner tried to sabotage me when I had my first screen test at Metro. I was supposed to play her precocious stepdaughter in a movie that never got made. She wanted an established actress for the role. So Lana, dear killer Lana, in her inimitable way, made sure that the cinematographer didn't light me well. She also made certain that I had the wrong script pages. But did I take my anger out on that luminous legend? I did not. And when the morbidly obese but still darling star who played Perry Mason, and that crippled Ironside guy on television, came on my show and refused to learn the ch.o.r.eography for a sketch about wheelchair waltz compet.i.tions that my darling writers had spent weeks perfecting, did I expose one iota of his secret gay life to any of my friends in the media? a.s.suredly not!"

Polly waited just long enough for the guests to think that the sermon might be over. Wrong. "So, you two darling men of the theater, or at least of pop culture and television, I propose a toast to you and send our most powerful thought vibrations for your killers to be identified, and brought to justice. I am doing all that I can in my limited capacity as a living legend to ferret out the loathsome creature or creatures who perpetrated these crimes and deprived both of your beautiful bodies from drawing another breath and being with us at this fine and expensive antique dining room table with the professionally starched and ironed linen tablecloth that was given to me by Rosalind Russell on the occasion of my marriage to Mr. Pepper number one. You'd love the food and drink, I'm sure, and the company of others here who are just as determined to succeed in show business as both of you were.

"When we all meet in heaven, I'll be sure to bring along a case of my favorite bubbly, and we'll have our own little celebratory reunion and I'll regale you with reports of all that you missed out on just because someone decided you were dispensable. Trust me, dearest dear men, the planet is not the same without you. We miss Thane and his cruel behavior, which led everyone who didn't know the real Thane Cornwall, the one that lived way deep down a couple hundred layers beneath the surface of your strident exterior, to misunderstand you and to not know that you were just a human being with the same frailties as Caligula, and with just as much obvious need for attention. Your lack of a bridle on your tongue was a wonderful thing that most people couldn't tolerate, but that didn't stop you from being exactly who you were. As inconsiderate and spiteful as you appeared to be, I know that at your core was a volcano that wanted very much to be smothered out with cotton candy and lemonade, and to no longer cause pain and suffering among the ma.s.ses."