Remains to Be Scene (15 page)

Polly piped in, “And that’s what the witness says they heard. You threatened Sedra.”

“But I didn’t really,” Dana begged. “We were fighting over a stupid hypothetical role. And that’s when she screamed at the top of her voice, ‘You’re killing me! I love you and you’re trying to kill me!’ I know she meant killing her career, but if someone heard us I could see how they’d think I was seriously trying to harm her.”

Placenta leaned forward and said, “But she
was
murdered, and shortly thereafter.”

“Yeah. Coincidence, eh?” Dana said without much enthusiasm. “Yes, I was angry. After the fight, I went back to my trailer to check my hair and to see what damage Sedra had done. My scalp hurt like hell where she’d yanked me so hard. I stopped long enough to look in the mirror. Then I got my purse and car keys and left the school campus. I only found out that Sedra was dead when I got a call from Adam. He didn’t want me to hear it over the news. I was as shocked as anybody. I swear it!”

Tim tried to imagine the scene between Dana and Sedra. He’d seen Sedra angry often enough, and certainly watched her throw a tantrum on every rerun episode of “Monarchy,” so he could easily visualize the altercation. “So when you left your trailer and went to your car, did you seen anything unusual?” Tim asked.

“Like what?” Dana asked in a sarcastic tone. “A swimming instructor coming to give Sedra a lesson on how to dive? No. There wasn’t anything particularly unusual. I rushed to my car because first of all it was a chilly night, but also I was afraid that Sedra might come out of her trailer and start up again with me. I just wanted to go home and read my lines for the scene we were supposed to do the next morning.”

Polly asked, “Were there any other cars in the lot?”

“Yeah, there are always cars around,” Dana confirmed. “I noticed Missie’s, and Adam’s, they hadn’t left the parking lot. The cleaning people were there, too, and security. And that’s the whole story,” Dana said, exhausted from talking. “But I didn’t see anything unusual. You’ve gotta believe me.”

Placenta asked, “So Sedra was in her trailer and still alive when you left?”

Dana thought for a moment. “Absolutely. The lights were on, and I could still hear her yelling.”

E
vening descended on Pepper Plantation, and the residents convened in the dining room beneath the halo of a Waterford crystal chandelier. They noshed on Placenta’s Welsh Rabbit appetizer while waiting for her famous blackened salmon. The trio sipped champagne as they mulled over their jailhouse meeting with Dana Pointer.

“I’m still in shock,” Polly said.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “I get the feeling that Dana may not be guilty.”

“No, I’m shocked that the Beverly Hills Police Department doesn’t employ a full-time hair and make-up expert!” Polly snapped. “What are they thinking? With all the celebrities facing the camera in that joint, a proper application of lipstick and hairspray is
de rigueur
!”

Tim shook his head. “Still, I get the feeling that Dana is telling the truth.”

“Her eyes aren’t as killerlike as I remembered,” Placenta agreed. “It’s possible that she’s not a homicidal nymphomaniac after all. Maybe ol’ Sedra was knocked off by someone else. D’ya think? Face it, Dana’s not really an actress. So the sympathy performance that she gave this afternoon had to be genuine.”

Polly took another sip of champagne and then rose from her seat at the head of the table. She walked out of the dining room and retrieved her cell phone from its recharging station in the kitchen, then returned to the dining room table. “We’ll find out,” she said, and flipped open the telephone. She scrolled down the directory of numbers. When she reached the one she wanted she pushed the send key.

Tim and Placenta stared at Polly, whose somber demeanor instantly flashed to sunshine when she said, “Missie? It’s Polly!” After a moment’s pause, and a trace of annoyance in her voice she added, “Pepper.” A fake smile reilluminated her face and she launched into a conversation. “How are you, my dear? And your sweet mother? Coping with all the tragedy? Rotten timing, eh?”

Polly listed for a moment. “Absolutely. And to cheer us all up just a tad, you and your mother are dining with me tomorrow evening. Here, of course. Pepper Plantation. You practically groveled for an invitation. And I’ve wanted an opportunity to reciprocate your sweet hospitality. At the same time we can commiserate about our dear Dana.”

Polly continued, “Round seven o’clock? Just the family, dear. Is there anything that you or your mother don’t eat? Mmm. Nothing with a face.” Polly looked up at Placenta and made her own face of irritation. “Not to worry, I gave up cannibalism years ago.” Polly laughed at her own bit of levity. “Lovely. Tomorrow.” And then Polly flipped the telephone shut. “We’ve hooked another live one on the line,” Polly declared. “We’ll serve veal.”

“You’re starting to get into this,” Tim added with approval. “Dana thinks that Missie’s the one who should be behind bars. Maybe we can wrangle a confession from her. You’re looking at your Dr. Watson and Barney Fife,” he said proudly as his mother picked up her champagne flute.

“They make it look so complicated on television,” Polly insisted. “In reality, all we have to do is round up the usual suspects and let ’em hang themselves by their own tongues. Actors love to chatter and gossip about everybody else. Surely one of them will spill their guts—with a little help from Dom Perignon.”

“Break out a chilled bottle of
Chateau Grand Inquisitor
, nineteen forty-nine,” Placenta chided. “We’ll find out what, if anything, Missie has to implicate Dana—or anyone else.”

“Every bird has a song to sing,” Polly insisted. “I’m betting that after a few drinks, Missie’s a parrot. And it really is high time we had the Millers slash Stembourgs over for a light repast,” she agreed. “Then we’ll make dinner dates with all of our new friends from
Detention Rules!
and ferret out the real killer. That is, if it’s not Dana.”

“Finally, a bit of excitement ’round here that doesn’t include reruns of your old TV movie,
Dog is My Copilot,
” Tim said.

“Exactly,” said Polly. Then she thought for a moment, and her eyes rolled up into her head as she considered all the work ahead. “I’d rather have hemorrhoids than live through an entire evening with the security blimp Duane. Lunch on the patio will suffice for him. Shall we say day after tomorrow? Then we can cram Adam and Judith in for the evening. Within a week we should have statements from all the major players.”

Placenta gave Polly a defiant look. “You’d better be thinking of catering, ’cause I sure as hell won’t be cooking lunch
and
dinner for folks who might be ruthless killers,” she said.

Polly pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Duane’ll be fine with a dozen frozen pizzas,” she said. “As for dinner with Adam and Judith, call up Gelson’s. Tell ’em to deliver surf ’n tuff for five. Just don’t let me see those damn lobsters crawling around the kitchen floor. I swear that the last time the herd was plotting a
coup d’état
against me!”

After a full day of preparation and attention to every detail for a flawless and memorable evening with Missie and her mother, Polly retired to her bedroom suite for a bath before dressing to meet her guests. It was nearly six o’clock when Placenta ambled into her bathroom. She sat down on the side of the tub and immersed her hand in the warm sudsy water. She swirled it around contemplatively. “We haven’t discussed our game plan,” she said. “What exactly are we trying to wring out of Missie?”

Polly made a sound of complete satisfaction as she drained half the glass. “Leave it to me,” she said. “I’ll draw information out of Missie like a big ol’ hypodermic. Remember, she’s a toady. They’re such the easy touch, it’s almost pathetic. And her insufferable mother’s goo-goo for me, too, I can tell.”

“Ol’ Battleaxe Elizabeth thought you were a brother and sister duo singing act, for crying out loud. So don’t expect an obsequious bootlicker like Duane,” Placenta said. “What should I wear to dinner.” She changed the subject as she stood up to examine Polly’s bottles of perfumes neatly arranged on the sideboard. “And don’t say my uniform! We’re all in this together. We’re sharing the duties tonight! I’ll be at the table with you and Tim.”

Soon Tim appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Mom,” he said, avoiding looking directly at the tub, “Detective Archer just called. He wanted to know if you were free for dinner on Friday night. He’s miffed that you haven’t called since he got you in to see Dana, so I lied told him that in hopeful anticipation of his call, you’d already made reservations at The Ivy for eight o’clock.”

“Hell, I meant to call him!” Polly frowned and splashed the water with annoyance. “On his salary, I’ll be footing the bill.”

Polly looked at the hand-painted antique clock on the vanity. “I’d better get made up before Tweedle-Dee and Dum arrive. Of course, I want to make an entrance, so you’ll start with cocktails in the front living room. Or should you usher them into the Great Room so they can envy my Emmys? What about music?”

“The living room is a fine place to start,” Tim said. “And I’ve already got the CD carousel loaded. A little Natalie Cole, some Rosemary Clooney, Sinatra, Doris Day, Michael Feinstein. Placenta and I will give them a guided tour and when you hear us return to the front entrance hall, that’s your cue to descend from the heavens down the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase. They’ll be in awe. Guaranteed.”

Placenta dragged a beach blanked-size terry cloth towel from the warming rack and held it up to both shield Polly’s modesty, and to gesture that she’d better get started on her dressing preparations. “We’ll begin with champers, naturally, and nibbles I had sent over from Crustacean.”

“Make sure they know where the eats have come from,” Polly said, insisting that her company be impressed by her spare-no-expense extravagance. “Any faces in the appetizers?”

Placenta made a “Pfft” sound. “The lengths to which we’re going to make them feel comfortable better yield us a murder confession,” she said.

As Polly stepped out of the tub, Tim backed out of the bathroom. “By the time they’ve heard all your old showbiz stories they’ll be charmed nearly to death by our hospitality. They’ll feel like old confidants,” Tim predicted. “By then even Missie’s butch New England mother will be divulging all the dish that she probably picks up with her extra-sensitive semi-blind person’s hearing.”

And then Tim was out the door and headed down the hall to his own room. Earlier, he’d selected one of his sexiest but casual outfits to wear for the evening: Givenchy slacks with an untucked Armani purple tuxedo stripe shirt. The tailored cuts of both accented his toned body, and never failed to receive a double glance from men as well as women. He wouldn’t shave—he liked the two-day beard stubble—but his ablutions would take as long as his mother’s.

Time raced by, and he and Placenta were soon dividing their attention between the kitchen and the front living room, making last minute adjustments to floral arrangements as well as the tune stack on the CD player. They set out coffee table books of riotously colorful fall foliage in Vermont, to give the guests the impression that the famous Polly Pepper had paid close personal attention and recalled their New England roots.

Just as Placenta had finished changing the potpourri dish in the entrance hall, chimes rang out in the house. It was the security signal from the call box at the main gates. Although she was immediately next to the intercom and button for the automatic gate opener, Placenta was momentarily flummoxed and quickly walked away. “You answer it,” she called out to Tim as she hastily retreated to the kitchen to dispose of the empty potpourri bag in her hand.

Masterful host that he was, Tim took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and exhaled all of his anxiety. Then he pressed the intercom button and said, “Come on down.” He then pushed another button to open the gates.

“Battle stations,” Tim called out loudly enough for Polly to hear on the second floor of the residence. “All hands on deck!” Then, just as Missie had done when the Pepper clan had visited her in Fryman Canyon, Tim opened the front door and stepped out into the evening to welcome their guests personally.

Missie maneuvered her black Mercedes along the driveway and came to a stop next to Polly’s Rolls. When Missie opened her car door and stepped out, Tim called, “You found us!” He walked over and hugged the young star. She sounded out of breath as she half complained and half laughed that the streets in Bel Air were very confusing. Tim quickly moved to the passenger side of the vehicle to lend a hand to Missie’s mother. “Hope you didn’t have a problem finding us,” Tim said to her. “I should have given you better directions. I always presume that everybody knows where Pepper Plantation is located. Heck, there are enough tour coaches that drive by every day.”

Tim started to chuckle at his bit of humor, but was interrupted by Mrs. Stembourg who declared, “We may be from out of town, but we’re not tourists.”

And the evening is off to a fine start
, Tim said to himself as he deftly guided Missie and her mother up the steps and into the house.

Missie was immediately struck by the thought that she was actually standing in the fabled Hollywood home of Polly Pepper. With the expected “Ooh’s” and “Ahh’s” and “Oh, my God’s” tripping over themselves to reach Missie’s lips, she admitted that she had saved the issue of
Architectural Digest
in which Pepper Plantation had been the cover feature several years ago. “What’s it like to actually live here?” she asked in awe and reverence.

“It’s a house for God’s sake,” Mrs. Stembourg said. “People just live here like anybody else.”

Missie appeared embarrassed. “Obviously, I’m unsophisticated and overwhelmed.”

Just then, Placenta came into the front living room acting as nonchalant as Wal-Mart employees avoiding customer assistance. “And we’re overwhelmed to have you,” she said, having caught the last of Missie’s comment. “Welcome! I’m pouring drinks. We’ll all have champagne, unless you’d like something different.”

“Then we’ll give you the ten-cent tour,” Tim promised, winking at Placenta.

Both Missie and her mother agreed that would be a lovely way to start the evening. As Placenta departed for the kitchen to retrieve the drinks, Tim made small talk about the easiest route to get to the house and he hoped that traffic wasn’t too terrible. “Sunset Boulevard’s a bitch this time of night,” he said. “Especially around the UCLA campus. Of course, rush hour is twenty-four seven in this town, isn’t it? I mean you have to plan well in advance just to go to the beach,” he laughed.

Missie agreed wholeheartedly and said what everyone in Los Angeles says, that traffic was getting worse. “It’s that damn Pasadena Rose Parade,” she laid blame. “On New Year’s Day, as the rest of the country is freezing their buns off, they’re tuned in to the floats and see nothing but blue skies and those mountains that we never see in summer because of all the smog that’s probably giving us black lung and emphysema.”

“I don’t count us among the throngs,” Elizabeth said. “We’re just here to become a star,” she spoke as though Missie’s celebrity was her own. “We’re cashing in and too bad for the poor folks back home.”

Tim was slightly taken aback. “With production closed down on
Detention Rules!
—and who knows when you’ll resume—maybe your time’s finally up,” Tim tried to joke. Missie gave a weak smile and remained silent. Tim was suddenly uncomfortable, and looked around hoping to spot Placenta.