Final Curtain (10 page)

A
t six o’clock Gerold closed his copy of the script. “Thanks to a certain so-called legend, we’re behind schedule. Therefore, tomorrow, and for the remainder of the week, Miss Polly Pepper will be spending her days at the Ginger Rogers Dance Studio blocking the dance numbers with the chorus and our choreographer.” Gerold opened his folio and handed Polly a sheaf of papers. “This is your agenda for the next five days—including Saturday. Dance lessons. Vocal coach. Costume fittings. When you return to us on Monday, we’re going into full rehearsal. Know your lines and choreography!”

Although it was common for stage productions to have dance and vocal rehearsals in rented studios scattered around Los Angeles, Polly was aware that the Galaxy Theatre had its own network of studios in the basement of the old building. She suspected that Gerold was sending her off-site to prevent her from collecting more gossip about Karen’s murder. “I’ll miss all of you,” Polly said to the cast. “What will I do without Charlotte’s hourly game of ‘Guess the Dead Star’s Voice’? And I’m bonding so well with my Beauregard and Vera and Little Patrick and Ito and Mr. Babcock.” After a week of daily interaction with these actors she still didn’t have their real names committed to memory. “Be sure to text me with any juicy dish!”

As Polly stood to leave the stage, she called out, “Everybody! Save the date! I’m hosting a lovely party a week from Saturday. I’ll fax you all with directions. Business attire, please!”

A collective hum of excitement and anticipation immediately ricocheted back to Polly, who smiled and waved good-bye to her associates. Mag sidled up to her and whispered, “Gerold says we’re busy that night. But we’re not. I’m desperate to see your house! Invite him personally. Please?”

“Of course, dear.” Polly smiled and collected her script and purse. As Tim and Placenta were marching up the steps to meet her on the stage, Polly spied Gerold retreating up the auditorium aisle, presumably headed to his office. She looked at Mag and said, “I’ll ask him now.” Then she turned to her family. “Give me a sec. I’ll meet you at the car.” Polly walked down the stage steps and followed Gerold, who had already disappeared through the double doors and into the lobby. By the time Polly arrived in the cavernous lobby, she had lost Gerold. Not knowing exactly where his office was located, she made an educated guess.

The Galaxy Theatre boasted two massive carpeted grand staircases on either side of the lobby. Ascending the stairs, you could easily pretend you were in a European palace. Polly found herself on the staircase playacting that she was Queen Elizabeth going up to her bedroom suite at Buckingham Palace. When she reached the second-floor landing she looked to her left. The balcony seemed only to lead to doors for entrance into the mezzanine. However, signs on the wall in front of her indicated that restrooms were located straight ahead. Polly supposed that perhaps the general offices were also along this corridor, and she continued along the carpeted passageway.

From the distance, Polly heard a door close. She smiled to herself, proud that her instinct for directions had not failed her. She walked past the men’s room, then the ladies’ room and found herself proceeding with the stealth of a cat creeping along toward a bird. As she continued she noticed that the overhead lighting fixtures were illuminated only up to a point, and soon she was engulfed in a dark maw. She stepped cautiously as she proceeded, still searching for the room from which the sound of a closing door had echoed down the hall. Arriving at an intersection of corridors, she looked to the left and saw only complete blackness. She looked to the right and could see a strip of light wedged under a door in the otherwise black distance. Polly reached out her right hand to find the wall, and using it as a guide, she continued down the hall toward the light. Soon she could hear muted voices. One voice was unmistakable; it belonged to Gerold Goss.

Polly saw another sliver of light from under a door that was only a few feet in front of her. She quickly realized that the voices she heard were coming from this room. As she got closer, she cocked her ear to try and distinguish who else was with Gerold. Were there more than two people in the room? Could Gerold be yelling at Mag? No, although the voice was much softer than Gerold’s, Polly could tell it was a male voice. And then she heard her own name spoken by Gerold—“That damned Polly Pepper!” he spat. The other voice said, “It’s too late. She’s bound to know.”

Polly swallowed hard. “Know what?” she wanted to say aloud. Instead she stood outside the office with her head nearly resting against the door. Still, it was difficult to make out all that was being said. Once again she heard her name mentioned.
Is that Jamie’s voice
? she asked herself. The voice then yelled, “You promised me! You’re going back on your word. The police would love to hear my revised statement. The truth!”

Gerold laughed in a tone of contempt. “I’m a witness! Say a word about this to anyone and it’s bye-bye, career! Of course, where they’d send you, you’d have lots of boyfriends to take your mind off showbiz. Now get out of my face.”

Polly backed up and in her haste, brushed against an aluminum trash can and tipped it over. The sound of metal on the carpet was a soft thud, but loud enough to startle her. She quickly ran toward the weak light at the end of the corridor. The door to the office had opened behind her and she could tell she was under hot pursuit. Turning at the corner, Polly could see the staircase ahead of her but knew that she’d never make it down the long flight of steps without being seen. She made a snap decision to hide in the ladies’ room.

When she opened the door she found the light switch and turned it off. With only a flash of memory of the layout of the room she made her way as quickly as possible to the stall at the end.

As Polly crouched on the toilet seat in the darkness, her heart beat loudly enough to be heard in the otherwise silent room. Her breathing was labored and she swallowed hard. Then her worst fear came to pass. She heard the sound of squeaking hinges as the bathroom door was slowly opened. Footsteps moved furtively and echoed on the tile. They stopped midway into the room.

For a few moments, there was no sound at all, but Polly could sense the vibration of someone else in the room. Cowering on the toilet seat, she felt her legs becoming sore and then going numb. In the darkness her sensory depravation was bringing on vertigo. But she concentrated on not moving a muscle. Suddenly the room was flooded with light as the intruder flipped the switch and blasted the room with fluorescent incandescence. The door opened again and Gerold’s voice said, “I got her. It was one of the cleaning ladies. She doesn’t speak English.”

“What was she doing and why did she run?” the other voice asked.

“The hell if know! I said she doesn’t speak English!
Comprendo
? Now get out of here and don’t let me see your ugly face again.”

In a moment, the lights were turned off and the men were gone. Polly waited a long moment before she plucked her cell phone from her clutch purse and dialed Tim’s number. “Don’t ask any questions,” she whispered when Tim answered. “Just pull the car out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. Don’t let Gerold or anyone see that my car is still here. Pick me up at the Starbucks directly across the street. I’ll be there as soon as I can. But if I’m not out in ten minutes, call Randy and tell him I’m in trouble.”

Polly didn’t wait for a response and flipped the cell phone lid closed. In a moment she felt safe enough to slip out of the bathroom and make her way down to the lobby. In the distance she could hear a vacuum cleaner moving over the carpet. She also heard a few voices speaking in Spanish. From listening to Berlitz CDs to learn to speak to Hector, her gardener, Polly picked up a few phrases. “Fat ass!” She could understand the words of one woman. “The man is loco!” She translated another’s sentence. Then she slipped down the stairs and out the front door.

It was early evening and still bright outside. When she reached the crosswalk, Polly looked around with intense paranoia, afraid that she would run into Gerold or Jamie. When the light turned green, she sprinted across the street and found Tim and Placenta. “Move it!” she yelled before she was inside the car. She didn’t speak for the remainder of the drive home.

The gates to the Pepper Plantation estate parted and Tim eased the Rolls down the cobblestone lane. From the distance Polly could see another vehicle in their drive park. “What’s he doing here?” she asked, perturbed by finding Detective Archer leaning against his Honda Accord.

“I made an executive decision,” Tim said. “When you called and said to notify Randy if you weren’t out in ten minutes, I decided to call him anyway. You’re getting yourself into deep doo-doo and I don’t want you to be the next corpse someone stumbles over!”

Polly was in a snit. “I can certainly take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“You’re our responsibility,” Placenta blasted Polly. “If you’re going to go around doing crazy, dangerous things on your own, be prepared to have us bring out the collar and leash!”

The trio stepped out of the car and Randy met them at the front steps. “Polly, I need to have a word with you, please.”

Tim pressed the alarm system keypad and opened the door for his mother and Placenta. “Come on in, Randy.”

Polly ignored her beau until she arrived at the great room. There she plopped herself onto the sofa and waited for Placenta to bring a glass of champagne.

“Polly—” Detective Archer began.

“Wait until Placenta brings reinforcements, dear. I’ve just had the most god-awful experience and I’m in desperate need of nourishment.”

Presently, Placenta arrived with an open bottle of Dom in an ice bucket and four champagne flutes. Tim poured. Polly drank.

After a few silent moments and her glass practically empty, Polly heaved a heavy sigh and looked first at Tim, then Placenta, then Detective Archer. “Okay. I know you’re all going to give me hell, especially you, Randy, but I couldn’t help what happened. It wasn’t my fault, and I’m probably going to end up dead.”

Tim and Placenta both gasped.

“What exactly happened?” Randy asked.

“Mag asked me to personally invite Gerold to our party,” Polly began. “I figured he was probably in his office, so I went looking for him. When I got there, I overheard him yelling at someone and he mentioned my name. Then that someone said I knew something that I shouldn’t—and don’t. It appears that they think I know who killed Karen Richards. Then two men chased me. I was damn lucky to escape.”

Detective Archer stood up and pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “Polly!” he said sternly. “This is exactly why I warned you about meddling in police business. Dozens of people get killed in this town every day, and for doing little more than taking a parking space that someone else was waiting for. Here you are, snooping around and asking questions of people who love to gossip and may be telling everyone else that you’re curious about finding Karen’s real killer, and this just gets you into danger. If you want to jeopardize our relationship by getting killed, you’re being selfish. Helping Sharon is admirable, and I’m all for being loyal to friends. But while you’re snooping around on her behalf, you’re obviously making someone nervous. If Sharon isn’t the killer and you get too close to the truth, whoever whacked Karen would have no hesitation sending you to the same fate.”

“You’re more upset than I am.” Polly reached out to have Randy take her hand in his. “I didn’t mean to find myself in hot water. And I certainly would never deliberately give you cause to be concerned for me. You’re sweet to be mean about this.”

“Not mean,” Randy said in a calmer voice. “Protective. It’s what I do. Would you please not pursue this mission of playing amateur sleuth?”

Polly nodded her head. “I can try. But sometimes I find myself immersed in a situation and I honestly don’t know how I got there. Like the time I found myself in Sylmar making
The Can Opener
, that dreadful low-budget feature about a Cybill Shepherd clone and her penchant for giving enemas to stray cats. Tonight I was trapped in the ladies’ room with a homicidal maniac bursting through the door with an ax, like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
.”

“An ax?” Tim cried out.

Polly shrugged her shoulders. “An ax, a gun, or a rope. Who knows? It was dark.”

“So you never actually saw an ax,” Placenta said.

“I said I was hiding in a lavatory stall. I don’t have X-ray vision.”

“But someone did follow you, right?” Tim asked.

“Of course!” Polly was indignant. “I’m fairly sure that it was Jamie. I’m thinking that someone from Starbucks tipped him off that we’ve been asking about his alibi.”

Detective Archer shouted, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You’ve watched too many detective shows on television. You think you know how to conduct an investigation.”

Polly held out her glass for a refill. “How hard can it be? One has only to ask a lot of questions,” she said, and was then quiet for a long moment. “Okay. You win. I don’t know what I’m doing and could find myself dead waiting in Purgatory’s Greenroom for an audience with St. Peter. But I refuse to believe that Sharon is guilty of murder. I won’t believe it until she confesses. As a matter of fact, the very idea that someone thinks I know the truth means that Sharon is really innocent!”