Final Curtain (22 page)

“She was right, of course. I let my first two bozo husbands direct sketches on my TV show. They both decided they could also direct my private life!” Returning to the subject of Jamie having a role in the show, Polly said, “Karen was planning to surprise you with that wonderful present.”

Jamie once again stared off into a memory. He slowly shook his head and said, “Wow. If only I’d known sooner.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Polly sang, patting Jamie on the hand and still trying to stay one step ahead in her mental shell game.

Suddenly Jamie’s face took on a hard look. Then he shook his head and growled, “Gerold
must
have known.”

Kevin the waiter hovered by to take their dinner orders and Polly politely shooed him away. She returned her attention to Jamie and looked deep into eyes. “Of course Gerold knew. He was the artistic director.”

“That slime bucket made me…I jumped through hoops for that role,” Jamie growled. “Even though he knew it was going to be mine all along. I still had to…”

“Had to do what, dear?” Polly asked.

“I swear I could kill the son of a bitch!” Jamie said, ignoring Polly’s question.

“We’ve had one too many murders on this show.” Polly breathed a sigh of discomfort. “Let’s maintain perspective. What did you mean about jumping through hoops for Gerold?”

“I planned to get into the show even though Karen objected. I just wanted her to see that I was good enough to be with a star like you.”

Polly nodded her head as an idea occurred to her. “You don’t have to lie any longer about where you really were the morning of the murder. You weren’t ordering double-latte low-fat cappuccinos.”

“Fess up,” Placenta added.

Jamie was suddenly more alert, as if Polly had just kicked him under the table. “Of course I was…” He started to dismiss anything contrary to his original story. “I was at…Well, I was giving…”

“An audition?” Polly suggested, remembering what Mag had said about Jamie’s plans that fateful morning.

Jamie turned bright red. He blinked rapidly as if trying to understand how Polly knew the details of his day. “Yeah, an audition.”

“Euphemistically speaking,” Tim said under his breath.

“Yes, dear, we know,” Polly said to Jamie. She quietly sipped her champagne as Tim and Placenta exchanged dubious looks. Soon she cooed to Jamie, “Honey, you know that I’m the epitome of discretion. Everyone knows that I adore receiving dish, but I never actually sling the stuff myself. It’s
un
-becoming a legend most. I haven’t said a word to anyone about you and your untruth about being the java brigade. None of us have.

“However,” Polly continued, “there’s a beautiful girl wrongfully sitting in a jail cell who is depending on us for help and exoneration of her celebrity name. Surely, you of all people know what it’s like to be used as a pawn in someone else’s scheme.”

“Think Gerold.” Jamie’s eyes began to water. He brushed away a tear that had begun to trickle down his left cheek. “I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done. I should never have…”

Tim leaned over and put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder. “Hey, man, we all do what we have to do.”

Jamie looked at Tim. “I doubt that Karen would have understood.”

“Bumping off your own girlfriend made her certain not to complain,” Placenta announced.

Jamie was stunned and whipped his head to look at Placenta. He sat up straight in his chair and the color drained from his face. “What? You think I killed Karen?” he asked. “You’re not serious! Never in a gazillion years! I couldn’t hurt the most important person in my life. She disappeared while I…we…I wasn’t there.”

Polly was baffled by Jamie’s cryptic attempt at an explanation. However, after a lifetime spent in Hollywood she was no longer shocked by anything. “I’m sure that Tim is right. You didn’t do anything that hasn’t been done before…lying, cheating, killing…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Jamie said, looking at Polly. Then he realized that what he was saying might be misinterpreted.

“That must have been an important audition for you to leave without looking for your Karen,” Placenta said.

Jamie suddenly became very quiet as he remembered the day of Karen’s death. “Gerold promised me the role if…Now you say that Karen was going to give it to me
free
—as a birthday gift. I’m a freakin’ fool.”

“Back to your lie,” Polly said, trying to uncover his motive for keeping the truth of his whereabouts from the police.

Jamie looked at Polly. “Do I have to spell it out to you? I was
auditioning
with Gerold. If the police knew that Karen was the only one keeping me from getting the job, a role that I wanted badly, I’d be suspect number one.”

As the picture became clear to Polly, she forced herself not to judge Gerold. Then she said, “The role of my handsome nephew was rightfully yours.”

“I’ll never forgive Gerold for going back on his word!” Jamie spat.

Kevin, with the hearing of a Doberman, decided that this was the perfect opportunity to appear at the table and to take their dinner orders.

B
y the time Jim Belushi arrived at the Ivy, Tim was retrieving the car from the valet. Polly offered her left cheek for the corpulent TV star to peck. Although she never watched his series, deciding it was likely to be too lowbrow for her taste, Polly nevertheless lied and gushed that the last episode was a tickler. “Your writers place you in the most amusing predicaments,” she guessed, trusting that he’d landed in typical network sitcom fare with an improbably gorgeous wife who puts up with her sloth of a hubby.

Soon Polly was making the rounds of several other tables. She air-kissed Megan Mullally, Bridget Fonda, and Will Ferrell, and when her social chores were over she hugged her waiter, Kevin, good-bye and then settled into the back of the Rolls. She made comments about several of the restaurant’s famous clientele. “That’s not a judgment,” she defended her sniggering at William Shatner’s crooked toupee. “It’s merely an observation. Polly Pepper never says a negative word about her friends and colleagues.”

Tim and Placenta ignored her. They’d heard her rationalizations too many times before.

Polly continued to make small talk until Jamie was deposited in front of his apartment building. After they bade good night to each other, and Tim had pulled away from the curb, Polly said, “News flash—that boy wasn’t
auditioning
in the dressing room with Gerold!”

Tim looked in the rearview mirror and found his mother. Together with Placenta they both yelled out, “Duh! D’ya think?”

“Yes, I do ‘
think
’! But I
don’t think
that either of you could have done half the job that I did in sweet-talking information out of that suspect. Under further questioning, I’ll wager that he’ll squeal like a Gitmo detainee and tell us who killed Karen.”

Tim accelerated the car up LaCienega Boulevard to Sunset Boulevard. He turned left and proceeded toward Bel Air. When the monogrammed gates at Pepper Plantation parted, they drove through the entry and discovered Detective Archer’s Honda Accord in the car park. He was sleeping behind the wheel. Polly knocked on the window.

Randy was groggy but managed a smile of recognition when he saw Polly.

“Why didn’t you let yourself into the house?” Polly asked.

“You haven’t trusted me with a key,” he said. “And I didn’t want to set off the security alarm.”

“You couldn’t stay away from me, eh?”

“That, and I’ve got some news about the case. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“I’ve got news for you too,” Polly said and ushered Randy into the mansion.

Although it was after eleven o’clock, and the day had been long and exhausting for all of them, the prospect of more news about the murder of Karen Richards was enough to reenergize everyone. “I’ve had my fill of champers for the day,” Polly said, surprising Tim and Placenta. “However, if Randy is having one, I’ll have a teensy bit too.”

Randy was bushed, but following an uncomfortable nap in his car he needed something to hydrate his cotton mouth. “A small one, please,” he said to Placenta.

“Just a tad larger for me,” Polly said to her maid. Then turning to Randy she said, “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” She giggled. “Your news of the case, of course! You’ve apprehended the killer? It’s Charlotte Bunch! No, Mag Ryan! Um, Gerold Goss? I can’t stand the suspense.”

Randy accepted a flute from Placenta and took a long sip. He expressed his satisfaction with an uncouth “Ahhhh.” Then he looked at Polly and raised his glass. “Cheers! To your instincts, which seem to be more on target than all the technology we use in the police department.”

Polly, Tim, and Placenta huddled close by.

“We got a confession,” Randy said.

“A confession!” Polly, Tim, and Placenta echoed in unison.

“We traced the Starbucks receipt to the barista who took Jamie’s large coffee order the morning of the murder. She clearly remembered everything, and she definitely said—”

“That it was a skinny old guy in a janitor’s uniform who placed the battalion-sized order,” Polly interrupted. “He paid with two fifty-dollar bills. It wasn’t Jamie.”

Randy straightened his posture. “Jeez, the Hollywood grapevine is a heck of a lot shorter than a Google search.”

“I thought you had something new!” Polly said.

Randy shrugged.

Polly took a sip of her champagne. “That’s old info. But we got a confession too. From Jamie himself. He admitted that he lied about being at Starbucks. He was actually performing, er, auditioning for a role in the show.”

“Does he have an alibi?” Randy asked.

“Bring Gerold Goss in for questioning. He’ll cough up Jamie’s alibi. It’s his alibi too. They were in private discussions about Jamie getting into the show. Gerold hadn’t been walking around Glendale that morning after all, and Jamie wasn’t ordering double-latte cappuccinos for the cast. Can you arrest these people for being dishonest?”

Polly was as disappointed as she was tired. “Tomorrow promises to be another long day of rehearsals. At least I have one thing to look forward to. I’m getting my Emmy back Thursday evening. Mag promises that she’s coaxed Charlotte into accidentally and conveniently tripping over it in West Hollywood Park. She’ll play the hero by returning it to me here at the house around eight o’clock. If I didn’t think she might have vital information about the murder, I’d file charges against her. But no, I have to act like Polly Pepper. I have to practically call a press conference to publicly thank Charlotte and all the weirdos in her head. I should get another Emmy just for the acting job I’ll do.”

“You can still get her for extortion,” Randy said, almost eager to start the paperwork. “Those ransom notes are all the evidence we need.”

“Nah.” Polly waved away the idea. “All I really care about is that my baby comes back home safe and sound. Charlotte’s a sick-o and I’m not interested in making matters worse. Plus, I think I can still squeeze more information about the murder from her.”

Polly stood up to say good night, and touched Randy’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re welcome to stay. But I’m too tired for more than a quick massage.”

Randy smiled. “If you insist.” He stood up and took Polly’s hand in his. He guided her out of the great room. “Night, everyone,” he said as he departed with Polly and led her to the staircase.

Tim and Placenta were practically brain-dead from exhaustion. Still, Placenta poured another glass of Veuve into each of their flutes. She kicked off her shoes, lay back on the sofa, and rested her feet in Tim’s lap. Tim reached down and put his hands around her right foot and began to squeeze and knead Placenta’s sore instep and toes. She closed her eyes and moaned with satisfaction. “Honey, it’s been a long time, but as I recall sex was never this good.”

Tim smiled and continued rubbing Placenta’s feet. Except for Placenta’s muted moans the room was quiet. Tim fell into a reverie. He thought about what Jamie had to say about Gerold auditioning him for the role of Patrick Dennis, and felt bad that he had to barter for the role with the likes of Gerold. He remembered too Jamie’s response to Polly’s ruse about Karen being prepared to give him the role as a birthday present.

Tim filed his thoughts away and noticed Placenta had fallen asleep. When he gently touched her shoulder to awaken her, she smiled and said, “Thanks, Keanu.” Tim let Placenta find her way to her room before he set the security alarm and turned off all the lights in the mansion.

He nearly stumbled with heavy-lidded eyes as he made his way to his suite. After a cursory rinse of Listerine, he flopped into bed and lay down. His pillow felt exceptionally comfortable. But he couldn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jamie and Gerold and Karen. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. Although it was pitch-black in his room he could clearly see the backstage area of the Galaxy Theatre and Karen’s dead body. He threw off his blanket and stepped out of bed and made his way down the hall toward Polly’s bedroom.

Arriving at the door, he hesitated, remembering that his mother was hosting her new boyfriend for a sleepover. Still, what he had to say couldn’t wait. He tapped on the door. “Mom?” he whispered. He tapped again, this time a bit louder. “Polly! It’s me, Tim. I need to speak with you.”

From the other side of the door she heard voices and finally Polly said, “Come in, dear.”

When Tim entered the dark room Polly said, “What’s wrong, hon? Another nightmare? The one where Neil Patrick Harris leaves you for Anderson Cooper? Poor baby. I’d invite you to crawl in with me the way you did when you were a child, but three’s a crowd, if you know what I mean.”

Tim sighed in frustration. “Polly,” he said, finding his way in the dark and sitting by her side on the mattress. “I can’t sleep. It’s this investigation. I was thinking about all the stuff Jamie said tonight. And what Gerold said earlier. And then I thought about Mag. Remember that she insisted that there was no one else in the theater at the time of Karen’s murder? Then she retracted her statement and said that the cleaning people were there. Then you suggested that perhaps it was Charlotte whom she heard, using a foreign-sounding voice.”

Polly leaned over and switched on the light by her nightstand and sat up against the bed’s headboard.

Tim asked, “Who else was in the theater?”

Polly finger-brushed her hair out of her face. “Oh, hon, we’ve been over this so many times. The police have too.” She turned to Randy, who was now wide awake and sitting up. “We talked to the entire cast, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely.” Randy nodded. “Everyone has an alibi, or at least they lied about having alibis.”

Tim shook his head in disagreement. “Remember earlier this evening at the theater when Gerold made a big fuss about not hiring Jamie to coach Stewart Long? He said that George, the stage door guy, had been given instructions not to let Jamie into the theater.”

Polly thought for a moment, trying to recall the words and context of what Gerold had said. She looked at Tim and said, “Oh my God! Innocuous George. He’s always there. We skipped right over him because he’s so obvious that he’s not obvious.” Polly turned to Randy. “What about the police, did they interview him?”

Randy shrugged, knowing that he never personally spoke to George, and had never heard one way or the other about anyone else getting a statement from him.

“The guy was usually asleep or looking at
Playboy
magazine when I signed us in,” Tim said. “There’s a good chance that he saw something that could be relevant to this case.”

Polly was quiet for a moment as she recalled that no one, not even Sharon, ever mentioned the stage doorman. That Polly herself had failed to think about this bland old man to whom she gave a cheerful if cursory “Good morning!” each day as she sashayed past his desk, confounded her. “They all look alike to me, these old gems of theater tradition,” Polly said, trying to find an excuse for her lack of attention to detail. “No matter what theater I play, there’s always a George. Although they’re usually asleep at their post, they somehow manage to keep up on all the backstage gossip. I’ll speak to him first thing in the
A.M
.” She patted Tim on the cheek.

Randy rolled over on his side and said, “That’s my job.”

Polly smiled at her son and winked good night. “We love our Doogie Howser, so go back and dream that he’s my son-in-law.”