Final Curtain (12 page)

A
t eleven o’clock, the intercom to the estate gates chimed. Tim answered and spoke to Detective Archer, who had arrived with Lauren, then buzzed them onto the property. In a few minutes Tim and Placenta and their guests were seated in the great room nervously talking about the night’s plans. Placenta had raided Polly’s closet and secreted out a Bob Mackie dress and wig for Lauren to wear. The rest was up to Lauren and Randy.

“The West Hollywood Police Department has been staking out the park since late this afternoon,” Randy said to help ease everyone’s concerns. “This whole letter thing, demanding an Emmy Award, is probably a crank, but we won’t take any chances. Lauren’ll be safe, and so will Polly’s Award. She’ll never know it left the house.”

Placenta looked at her watch and suggested that Lauren change into her costume. She escorted her to the guest powder room. “I’ll guard the door,” she said. “If you need anything just call out.”

Tim turned to Randy. “Other than Sedra Stone who, since her cremation is now just dust in the wind, Polly’s never had any enemies. I can’t understand why all of a sudden she’s being threatened.”

“Friend to friend, is there something about this case that Polly’s not telling me? I need to know everything.”

“I think she’s got you up to speed. She’s talked to Sharon, you know that. She’s also interviewed a couple of the members of the cast, and she sort of interrogated the dead director’s boyfriend, Jamie. After half overhearing what Jamie and Gerold Goss had to say the other night, as well as not being able to corroborate Jamie’s alibi, I think she’s focusing on him as Karen’s killer.”

“Polly never mentioned that she’d been in contact with Jamie,” Randy said. “I don’t want her to see him again. Understand?”

Tim looked confused. “What’s up?”

“He’s a person of interest.”

“Like a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect,” Randy said. Suddenly, they were startled to see Polly standing in the doorway with Placenta. After a thin moment, Randy and Tim realized that it wasn’t Polly Pepper after all. Rather, it was Lauren Gaul in disguise.

“Amazing!” Tim said.

“Could have fooled me,” Randy said.

Placenta added, “This is one dress that Polly would notice missing, so please return it without any blood or bullet holes.”

“Not to worry.” Randy looked at his watch. “We’ll be back as soon as possible. I just need the keys to the Rolls and we’re on our way.”

“They’re by the front door,” Tim said. “Please, no blood on the leather upholstery either. Keep me informed, okay? Call every half hour. I’ll be up all night if I have to be.” Then he led the detective and the decoy out of the great room and into the corridor leading to the foyer. As they passed through the sunken living room with its grand staircase they were suddenly stopped in their tracks by the sound of Polly’s voice.

“Don’t mind me,” Polly pouted. “I was suddenly wide awake and decided to come down for a glass of champagne and a Xanax. Looks like I’ve interrupted a party—in my own home. I wish that someone had thought to invite me. Randy, dear, your date looks familiar.”

Randy walked over to Polly to embrace her, but she stiffened and backed away. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we’ve got to go. Just trust me, please?”

“That’s all I’ve ever done,” Polly said. “Shame on me.” Then she turned and headed back up the staircase. “Placenta! The wine cooler in my bedroom is empty!”

Detective Archer looked at Tim. “Damn! Say something to her for me. She’s obviously got the wrong impression.”

“As a matter of fact, this just supports her big fear. Polly answered Lauren’s call earlier because she saw your number on the caller ID. She thinks you and Lauren are having an affair.”

“She’s crazy! Okay, look, I’ll deal with this later. Right now, we’ve gotta hustle! Oh, damn! The Emmy!”

Tim smacked his forehead as he raced back to the great room to select one of Polly’s trophies for Lauren to take with her to the drop-off site. He reached for the one that Polly received for a guest-starring role on an episode of
China Beach
. When he returned to the foyer, Placenta had a Gelson’s shopping bag ready and together they lovingly laid the Emmy inside the paper sack.

“Okay, we’re off,” Randy said as Tim handed him the keys. He opened the door, stepped outside, and walked Lauren to the Rolls and handed her the key. “Think you’ll be okay driving this big ol’ thing?”

“No sweat,” Lauren said. “A car’s a car. Just give me a moment to adjust the seat. I’ll see you back here after I drop off the loot. Keep an eye on me.”

Detective Archer returned to his car and followed Lauren as she drove off the estate.

Polly, dressed in her silk monogrammed robe, wandered down the stairs and into the great room. “I’m ready for that champagne now, please,” she said to Placenta with an edge to her voice. “In fact, I’m ready for a short explanation for what’s going on behind my back. I watched from my window and Lauren drove away in
my
car. I know what grand theft auto is. What’s even more bizarre is that Randy drove off in his own car. I suppose there’s actually a logical explanation to all of this.”

Placenta opened a bottle of Moët and poured three flutes full. She handed one to Polly and Tim and took one for herself. “Drink up. You’ll need the fortification. Tim has something to tell you.”

The trio drained their glasses and Placenta refilled each.

“Mom,” Tim began, “you’ve said yourself over and over that in this town seldom is anything as it appears to be. Earlier you jumped to the conclusion that just because Lauren Gaul called from Randy’s cell phone that they were having an affair. Now you find the two of them together. To top it off, Lauren drives away in your Rolls. All circumstantial evidence—like Sharon Fletcher’s. So, which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”

“The truth would be lovely,” Polly said, draining her second glass of champagne. “What the hell is going on, and why do I seem to be the only one who’s out of the loop?”

Placenta looked at Tim. “Give Polly the letter.”

“What letter?” Polly asked.

“It’s with the Beverly Hills Police Department. But I’ve made a copy.” Tim reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a quadruple-folded sheet of paper. “We should have given this to you earlier, but Randy wanted to spare you any concern.” He handed the paper to his mother.

“This is what’s called ‘sparing me’?” She unfolded the page and began to read silently. Suddenly she shouted, “An Emmy? Never! I almost beat Mary Tyler Moore for the most wins. I’m not giving one of my babies up to some two-bit psychotic killer.”

“Even if it means saving Sharon Fletcher’s life?” Placenta said.

Polly thought for a moment. “You’re mean to put it that way.” She patted her bosom and sighed. “Which one did you sacrifice?”

China Beach
, Tim said. “But we’ll get it back, and someday you’ll be able to regale dinner party guests with the amazing history of that particular trophy and how it helped solve a crime. Otherwise, what do you make of the letter?”

“You thought that I’d be upset by a letter?” Polly asked. “Hell, I’ve read about a gazillion fan letters over the years. Most were in praise of me of course, and the show too. But there were a few that had to be sent to the police for investigation. I had my own stalker once.”

Tim gave his mother a mortified look. “When? You never mentioned having a stalker.”

“I was saving it for my autobiography. He was actually divine. They say you’re nobody until you have your very own shadow. I got a ton of expensive baubles from him. He’s now in Folsom. Each week for months, on the night we taped the show there’d be a box from Tiffany or Cartier or some such store, in my dressing room. His card was simply signed ‘Your ardent admirer, Joe.’ Then the well suddenly dried up. Shortly after the presents stopped coming I was summoned to appear before the grand jury in the case of Wilson versus Fay Wray, Julia Child, and Janet Leigh. That bastard Joe Wilson was two-timing me. He was simultaneously sending gifts to King Kong’s lover, that wine-slurping French chef, and the
Psycho
lady. I thought I’d nabbed a rich fan, and he turned out to be no more than a Beverly Hills mailman who stole from the rich on his daily route and gave to his favorite divas. I’d inadvertently accepted stolen property and had to give it all back! What I’m saying is, most fan mail has an agenda. They want to get either an autographed picture or, better still, a piece of correspondence that they can show to their friends and brag about knowing a world-renowned star.”

Polly read the letter once again. “I’m bereft. I may never see that beautiful statuette again. And all because you two haven’t learned to read between the lines of a fan letter!”

Just then, Tim’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “It’s Randy.”

Polly grabbed the phone from her son’s hand and flipped it open. “Turn the car around, and bring back my personal property, or I’ll call the police! I know that you are the police. You’re splitting hairs. You had no right to commandeer my Rolls and make off with my prized possession.”

Polly slumped in defeat. “The Emmy’s gone. Whoever’s behind this farce didn’t keep his end of the bargain. No exchange of information? I see. I could have told you so. Now some freak-o fan has a bit of Hollywood television history sitting on their coffee table. Mad? Ha! Why would I be mad?” Polly closed the cell phone and handed it over to Tim.

“What about Lauren?” Placenta said. “Is she all right?”

Polly shrugged. “Pour me another glass.”

Tim sidled up next to his mother on the sofa. “Trust Randy. He’s a good cop. He has your best interests at heart. Wait’ll he gets back and gives you the details before you decide to ruin a good relationship.”

Polly waved away Tim’s explanation. “I’m sure he did the best he could. If it’s at all possible, he’ll get my property back…eventually. Still, I don’t know if I can go on seeing someone who isn’t comfortable enough with me to be up front and honest. I’d have given him full permission to do whatever he felt was best. But to enlist the help of you two, and not even consider that I might be as eager as anyone to ferret out the killer, well, I’m just at a loss for what to think.”

Tim put a hand on his mother’s arm. “We should have been more discreet.”

“More loyal!”

“I take full responsibility,” Placenta said. “If I’d just handed you your mail instead of taking it upon myself to play secretary…”

Polly picked up the letter. “What did you two see in this message that made you so concerned?”

“For one, they called you a ‘Snoop Sister,’” Tim said.

“That’s so derogatory!” Polly agreed.

“For another, they threaten that your show won’t go on unless you follow their stupid demands and hand over an Emmy,” Placenta added. “I’d say extortion is a fairly reasonable excuse to get the police involved.”

Polly stared off into the distance. “The letter referred to me as ‘sister.’ Only another woman would think of me as ‘sister.’ And why would the price for information about Karen be something as specific as an Emmy Award? Why not a million dollars? Or the new boxed collection of
The Polly Pepper Playhouse,
season two?”

Tim and Placenta both stared at Polly.

“Charlotte Bunch was awfully keen to have Sharon bring in her Emmy Award for show-and-tell,” Tim said. “She’s sort of Emmy-crazy, and would love to get her mitts on one of those awards, even if she didn’t earn it.”

“No,” Polly said. “I’m thinking that Angela Lansbury has gone nuts and decided to steal an award that she rightfully should have received for every year of her
Murder, She Wrote
series.”

“I
t got a little scary when a man who lives in a cardboard box a few yards from the restrooms thought I was Carol Burnett,” Lauren said, with a soft chuckle. “I sort of made a big deal that I was the legendary television icon Polly Pepper, for the benefit of whoever was making the pickup. I wanted them to know that I was there, or rather that you were there, just as instructed. I guess it worked because after I explained to the poor homeless man who I was, er, who Polly Pepper was…is…when I turned around the bag was gone. Now I realize that the grungy fellow must have been part of the operation. I mean, the snobs in WeHo don’t allow homeless people in their town! He certainly succeeded in distracting me. How could I have been so stupid?”

Polly nodded her head in agreement. Then she turned to Randy. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you caught the thief on surveillance tape.”

Randy hung his head. “I’ll check tomorrow, but I’ve heard that the West Hollywood Police Department’s budget cuts have eliminated video surveillance.”

“And how many of your men, out of the legions assigned to watch me, er, Lauren, saw anything out of the ordinary?”

“At the very moment that Lauren walked into the park, we got a call to break up a fight at Rage, just up the street. I wasn’t leaving Lauren alone for anything, but the other guys had to hustle. I was distracted for a moment. And that’s when they swooped in for the kill…so to speak.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “And he might very well have killed me, er, Lauren. You’re obviously not a father, otherwise you’d know you can’t take your eyes off a child for even the briefest of moments, otherwise they could wind up with a plastic bag over their head, or fall out of a penthouse window.”

“I’ve disappointed you, and that’s the worst thing about this whole mess,” Randy said.

“No, the worst thing is that I’m out one Emmy! I promised to leave them to Debbie Reynolds’ Hollywood Museum upon proof of my demise.”

“Speaking of death,” Placenta said, “no one was hurt tonight, and what we should really be talking about is how grateful we are for this miracle.” She turned to Polly. “Now, change the subject and tell Randy your latest hypothesis.”

All eyes turned to Polly as she readjusted herself on the sofa. She held out her champagne glass and waited for someone to fill it. After a long pause she finally said, “It’s the same subject—my Emmy! But I’ve come to the conclusion that Charlotte Bunch is your man.”

Randy nodded his head. “Could be. What specifically makes you peg her?”

“It’s this letter,” she said, waving the paper in Randy’s face. The salutation. I’m referred to as ‘Snoop
Sister
,’ which sounds rather like I’m part of a category, or an alliance, to which the letter writer also belongs. Just a guess. Plus, Charlotte gets goofy about Emmys. Remember, Sharon said that Charlotte had specifically asked her to bring her statuette to the theater because she wanted to see a real one. And the person who promised information about the case was willing to exchange information for an Emmy. Anyone else would have insisted on a suitcase full of gems or my
For New Kate
gold record.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously nodded.

Placenta said, “But what about Gerold and Jamie? You heard them plotting against you in the theater last night.”

Tim interrupted. “There isn’t necessarily a connection between Charlotte and Gerold and Jamie. It’s possible that Charlotte has information about Karen’s death independent of the other two.”

“Which brings up an interesting point,” Polly said. “Perhaps more than one person knows what happened to Karen. On
Matlock
, silent witnesses often came out of the woodwork after danger had passed, or when there was something for them to gain by passing on information.”

“Six major suspects in this case,” Lauren said. “That’s a fairly good number.”

“That’s one too many,” Polly corrected, counting on her fingers. “Charlotte. Jamie. Gerold. Mag. Hiroaki.”

“And Sharon,” Randy said.

“Nope! Not Sharon,” Polly insisted. “I refuse to believe that she had anything to do with Karen’s death. Even with her bloodstained Emmy, she’s innocent. And if you can’t help me prove it, then I’ll…”

Randy gave Polly a hard look.

Polly huffed. “I’ll sign you up for dance classes with Tatanya Morgan. Believe me, you’ll regret not helping me.”

Polly realized she had to report to Tatanya at the dance studio in only a few hours. She looked at Placenta. “Any rooms available at the inn?”

“As a matter of fact, the Cleopatra Jones Suite has fresh sheets. But the Englebert Humperdinck Room and the Donny Osmond Suite are a mess, and of course the Natalie Wood water bed needs a refill.” She smiled evilly.

Tim and Randy looked at each other and simultaneously froze.

“We’ve got dozens of other guest rooms,” Tim said.

“I’m not that tired after all,” Randy said. “It’s not that far to my apartment.”

Polly, Placenta, and Lauren each exchanged looks of amusement.

Tim caught Polly’s smirk and realized they were teasing. “It’s not that I have anything against sharing a bed with straight policemen,” Tim said. “On the contrary…”

“No, of course not. Me either,” Randy said, trying to be as politically correct as possible. “It’s just that I snore and thrash around a lot. I end up monopolizing the whole bed.”

“Not a problem. It’s a king,” Tim said. “I roll around a lot myself.”

Polly stood up and declared, “It’s settled. You boys will have a sleepover. You can tell ghost stories with a flashlight under the sheets.”

Randy gave in. He was too tired to try to find alternate arrangements. He followed Placenta, Lauren, Tim, and Polly up the staircase. When they reached the second-floor landing, Randy leaned over to Polly and whispered, “Can’t I please crash with you for the night?”

Polly smiled weakly. “I’m exhausted. And I haven’t totally forgiven you for losing my Emmy. Plus, I look abominable. We’ll talk in the morning. Timmy can be just as much fun. You’ll see.” Polly gave a wide smile and said good night to all.

As Placenta escorted Lauren to her room, Tim guided Randy to his own. When the two men reached their suite, Randy said, “What do you sleep in?”

“The bed, of course,” Tim replied.

“No. I mean…?”

Tim laughed slyly. “What about you?”

“Generally, um, um…”

“Generally, um, me too,” Tim said, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the love seat beneath the window. “Top or bottom?” Tim smiled as a flustered Randy made an audible swallow. Then Tim opened a drawer in his highboy and withdrew a pair of silk pajamas and tossed them at Randy. “Take both.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll brush in the guest bathroom,” Tim sniggered and began undressing, the sight of which caused Randy to turn and walk to the bathroom. “Fresh toothbrushes are in the top vanity drawer,” Tim called out.

By the time Tim returned and slipped out of his bathrobe and into another pair of pajamas, Randy was pretending to be sound asleep.

“Go away! Let me die in peace,” Polly complained when Placenta woke her at 7:00
A.M
. “I’m too tired and too hungover to dance today.”

“You can’t call in sick,” Placenta demanded. “Polly Pepper doesn’t let choreographers push her around. Now rise and shine and take a shower. Coffee’s on but you’re not getting a cup until you come downstairs. Now get your famous fanny in gear!”

Polly groaned and slowly pushed the bedsheets and comforter away with her feet. She dangled one arm over the side of the mattress and tried to recall what had happened the night before to make her so exhausted. She knew that she’d gone to bed at an early hour and…

“My Emmy,” she softly cried out as she raised herself into a sitting position with her legs over the side of the bed. She hung her head in both pain and sadness. “Why go on living if just anyone can come along and take your hard-earned status symbols of success? I’ll be damned if I’ll sit by and wait for the Beverly Hills Police Department to do the jobs for which I pay my outrageously high taxes.”

With new resolve, Polly stood up and dragged herself to the bathroom. By seven thirty she was dressed and entering the kitchen. Tim and Lauren were seated at the breakfast table and being served crepes Lucerne, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, melon balls, English muffins, and black coffee. “Morning, all,” Polly called, pretending to be as bright and energized as Ellen DeGeneres when an especially exciting movie star guest was scheduled to appear on her program. “Did we all sleep well? Placenta, coffee, please, and a BM. Pronto.”

“Like a log,” Lauren said, enjoying the lavish array of food set before her.

Tim wasn’t nearly as awake as the others. The most he could manage was a monosyllabic “Ugh.”

Placenta set a Bloody Mary and a mug of coffee before Polly and surreptitiously laid two Advil tables on a napkin beside Polly’s plate. Polly looked up at her maid and formed the words
thank you
with her lips. Placenta nodded and went back to the stove to retrieve more crepes.

Polly looked around. “Where’s the other one?”

“The other one what?” Placenta countered.

“There was another man in the house last night. His name is Mud.”

“You mean Tim’s roommate?” Placenta teased. “He got up and out early to try and make amends for letting your Emmy slip through his fingers.”

“I always wake up alone,” Tim said.

“Guess it’s true that there’s no such thing as a completely straight man.” Placenta elbowed Tim as she passed by with a plate of English muffins.

Polly furtively popped the Advil into her mouth and chased them with a long pull from her virgin Bloody Mary. “I owe the
National Peeper
a scoop on the latest gossip. A story about the Beverly Hills party planner and his cadre of LAPD sex slaves should satisfy them until Jennifer Anniston gets engaged and dumped again.”

Placenta slapped the back of Tim’s head, and took Polly’s empty Bloody Mary glass. “We’re late,” she said. “Brush your teeth and get in the car.” She looked at Lauren. “Feel free to hang out here all day long, if you like. Use the pool. It’s supposed to be a scorcher.”

Lauren smiled and thanked Placenta and Polly and Tim, but insisted that she had a million things to do and would leave at the same time as the rest of the family when they drove off the estate.

After another grueling day at the hands of Torquemada, Polly lethargically dragged herself out of the dance studio and into her waiting Rolls. “When Jerry Herman sees what Gerold Goss is allowing this woman to do to his masterpiece he’ll have a bigger cow than when Lucille Ball stomped all over the movie version of
Mame
,” Polly said. “We’ll never make it to Broadway once the critics get a look at the techno trash that she’s come up with.”

From the driver’s seat Tim said, “Speaking of trash, Gerold messengered this over from the theater.”

“What is it?” Polly took a number 10 business envelope from Tim’s hand.

“I don’t read your mail anymore. For all I know it could be a letter bomb. Better that you open it than me or Placenta.”

Polly leveraged her thumb under the envelope flap and ripped through the fold. She withdrew a note and read silently. “Well, this really sucks!” Polly handed the letter to Placenta.

“It’s the rehearsal schedule,” Polly said to Tim. “We’re starting twelve-hour days on Saturday.”

“So much for our party,” Tim said.

“Change it to Monday, our day off,” Polly said. “These kids today party all the time. For them, a night off from rehearsal just means a night without anything to do. No one will give up an opportunity to visit Pepper Plantation.”

Tim heaved a heavy sigh. “At least Randy will be happy to hear of your extended rehearsal days. There’s less time for you to get into trouble.”

Polly yawned. “Nonsense. We all have twenty-four hours a day. The trouble we get into depends upon how we use those hours. In fact, we have another six left in this one. Take the Los Feliz exit and let’s drop down to Hollywood and pay another visit to Charlotte Bunch. I think she may have something that belongs to me.”