Remains to Be Scene (17 page)

“Sedra was the big obstacle, if you ask me,” Elizabeth said. “She was especially difficult on the set and holding up production just to wreck Missie’s chances to start this new film. But of course I was desperate for it to be over because Missie had this other gig.”

“Then Sedra died. Lucky me,” Missie said. “Oh, I didn’t mean to sound…”

Polly, Tim, and Placenta were simultaneously aghast.

“So I’m baffled,” Polly said. “What motive would Dana have to knock off Sedra, if you were the one who wanted out of the movie?”

Missie shrugged her shoulders. “Still, if you want my opinion, Dana is guilty. I heard their fight the night of Sedra’s death.”

“I suspect that she’ll be released for lack of evidence,” Tim said. “From what I’ve heard, that overzealous police detective moved too quickly. He apparently believed a lot of baloney from someone on the set.”

Polly made a loud involuntary intake of breath. “I can’t believe that the BHPD would make a mistake when it comes to a high profile celebrity murder case. I swear, this entire town should have learned their lesson with Simpson and Blake and Jackson, and the list goes on!”

Elizabeth, having consumed more champagne than she was used to, began pontificating about why she felt that Dana was guilty and should rot in jail. “She doesn’t have a legitimate alibi. And everyone overheard Dana threaten Sedra. But trust me, all the police have to do is interrogate that stand-in who Missie mentioned, Whatshername, Lauren Somebody. She’s a wacko. But she knew what was going on around the set. A stand-in’s got to be the same height and hair color as the person she’s standing in for, and this weirdo insisted that the costume and makeup department make her look exactly like Sedra. She was constantly mistaken for Sedra, which I’m sure is just what she wanted. She’s clearly a frustrated actor. They’re not supposed to let fans be stand-ins. This one slipped through the psycho testing phase, I suppose. She has motives, like getting Sedra’s role, simply because they were at the end of production and she figured that no one else could have stepped in.”

Polly pondered the theory for a moment then said, “Did Sedra do something to this Lauren woman to make her vengeful? I can’t make sense of your hypothesis.”

Missie placed her fork on her plate and in an almost condescending voice said, “She wanted to take Sedra’s place, as Mother suggested. These stand-ins are wannabe actors. She saw herself as taking over for the star, since she looked enough like Sedra, at least from a distance. It makes perfect sense that she would have wanted Sedra dead.”

Although Elizabeth and Missie’s idea sounded farfetched, Polly, Tim, and Placenta each made mental notes of this new potential suspect.

“Be sure to ask Duane about it when he comes by tomorrow,” Elizabeth spoke up.

“Duane?” Polly asked, feigning bewilderment, and pretending to try and recall who that might be.

Elizabeth said, “Sterling Studios? Security? You’ve invited him to lunch. He’s so excited he’s calling everybody to tell them that you’re his new best friend.”

“
That
Duane! Of course!” Polly smiled while thinking, “
Damn! The Hollywood grapevine is getting shorter every day
.”

“Y
ou better believe you’re cleaning up,” Placentastated as they retreated into the house after waving good-bye to their guests and watching the automatic gates close.

“Elizabeth needs an enema, if you ask me,” Polly said. “And she’s not exactly blind when it comes to a vision for her daughter’s career. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that Mrs. Piety was seducing a Weinstein.”

Placenta heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ve had enough of Hollywood scandal for one night,” she said. “If I hurry I can catch Jon Stewart.”

As Tim and Polly moved to the kitchen they busied themselves with the tasks of scraping food from plates, throwing lipstick smeared napkins into the laundry chute, and wrapping leftovers in plastic food storage containers. In the midst of putting away unused stemware, Polly stopped long enough to retrieve a split of champagne from the stainless steel refrigerated wine cooler. She filled two flutes, as she and Tim began verbally replaying the events of the evening. They came to the same conclusion, that Missie had a motive for making sure that production shut down.

When the last Fitz & Floyd plate had been stacked in he dishwasher, and the soap tray filled with Rinse n’ Shine, and the machine dial turned to the Stubborn Crud selection, Polly heaved a heavy sigh. “How could you have come to the conclusion that Dana Pointer was a killer? She was too obvious.”

Tim was nonplussed. “I’ve maintained all along that she probably
didn’t
do it, Mother,” he said. “You’re the one…”

“I, on the other hand, have always been on Dana’s side, never for an instant have I wavered from my conviction that she was incapable of killing Sedra, or anyone for that matter.”

Bordering on being drunk, Tim was exhausted and didn’t want to argue with Polly, which was a lost cause even when he was completely sober. “Check this space after lunch with Duane tomorrow.” He placed a wet dishtowel on the rack and spilled the remains of his champagne into the sink. “If he agrees with you about Dana’s innocence, we’ll consider alternative suspects.” As Tim began heading out of the kitchen he said, “We’ll see what security thinks of the situation.” Then he turned around and gave Polly a peck on the cheek good-night.

“Pleasant dreams, Sweetums,” Polly called as she dropped three empty champagne bottles into the trashcan. “This stuff was totally wasted on that Elizabeth creature,” she added. “If I had served André, she wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“You would never let André pass your lips,” Tim said. “Johnson & Johnson household cleaning products aren’t nearly as lethal!”

Polly looked at her wristwatch. “I’m on my way, too,” she decided, considering the dire fact that Duane was coming for an early lunch, and she had to look her celebrity best.

With only the swooshing sound from the dishwasher to invade the tranquility of the house, Polly left the kitchen, turned off lamps and wobbled down the corridor and into the living room. There, she checked to see that the security alarm system was activated, then began turning off the lights. She made her way toward the Scarlet O’Hara Memorial Staircase, and ascended to her suite.

Morning arrived way too quickly for Polly Pepper. And after Placenta spent an hour and a half trying to summon her mistress awake with everything from an
a cappella
rendition of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” to a Bloody Mary on a tray, there was just enough time for Polly to comb out her hair, and put on her sunglasses before Duane arrived. “You’re the one who wanted to have the geek over for an early tête à tête,” Placenta said as Polly whined about wishing she’d died in her sleep. Placenta poured two Advil and a Xanax tablet out of a prescription medicine bottle and pressed them into Polly’s hand. “These’ll work while you’re splashing water on your puffy eyes. And for God’s sake—moisturize!” she said, then turned to leave the room.

At the doorway Placenta added, “Gotta be especially nice to this one. The fan, I mean,” she said. “They’re scary when they’re as devoted as he seems to be. Any adult who still takes his official Polly Pepper lunch box to work—one of the early ones that were recalled because all those school kids got lead poisoning—is a wacko in my book. Give these celebrity seekers the smallest reason to think you’re not who they want you to be, and they go nuts. They can shred you to pieces on their Internet blogs and chat sites and message boards. So be as nice as Mary Tyler Moore. By the way, I’ve laid out an outfit from one of your old shows. He’ll wet his pants when he sees you wearing it.”

Polly moaned and slowly untangled herself from the sheets. She pushed away the covers and sat unsteadily on the side of her bed with her eyes closed. “I’m not drinking as much tonight,” she vowed to herself before stepping onto the carpeted floor and stumbling to the bathroom. She looked in the vanity mirror and said, “My God. I’m turning into Bruce Jenner.”

By the time Polly completed her ablutions and lethargically dressed herself in the clothes that Placenta had selected, she was almost sober and ready to start the day. But as she made her way down the staircase en route to the kitchen for coffee and another Bloody Mary she heard the security chimes from the front gate. Polly looked at her watch. “Damn, he’s a half hour early,” she wailed loudly enough for the rest of the household to hear her.

Tim met his mother at the bottom of the staircase. “You’d better greet Duane yourself,” he said. “You’ll score major points if he sees you as the down to earth star that everybody thinks you are. Answer the intercom before he gets all flustered and thinks it’s the wrong day or worse, that you’ve forgotten about him.”

“This sucks!” Polly lamented as she walked through the living room to the intercom station. At the security system keypad and intercom on the wall beside the front door she jabbed the talk button. She summoned what little energy she had and in her famous singsong voice called out, “Is that you, dear?”

The response came quickly and enthusiastically. “Yes, Miss Pepper. I got an early start because I didn’t want to be late and keep you waiting.”

Polly rolled her eyes then pushed the talk button again. “How refreshing to find the virtue of punctuality in one so young,” she trilled, and then ground her thumb onto the button that automatically opened the gates. She turned to Tim. “I’ve gotta put on my interview smile and pretend to be interested in his life. You’d better not leave my side for one moment, mister. We’re all in this together.”

Tim stood before his mother and brushed a few strands of hair off her forehead. He then reached out and adjusted the collar on her blouse before assessing her entire look. “A little out of date, isn’t it?” he asked, not disapproving, but curious. “Oh, I get it,” he quickly guessed. “A freeze-frame from ‘The Polly Pepper Playhouse.’ Good thinking. I’ll give him thirty-seconds to tell you on which show you wore this freakish thing, as well as who your guests were, the titles of the songs you sang, and the Procter and Gamble products that aired during the station breaks.”

Polly gave her son a wearied look that said he was probably right. “Just make sure he’s out by three,” she said. “We’ve got more fish to fry tonight.” Then there was a knock on the door.

“Catch you later, Mother,” Tim said then disappeared down the hall corridor leaving Polly alone and flustered.

Polly took a deep breath and plastered a wide smile on her face. She opened the door and was nearly blinded by the daylight. She adjusted as quickly as possible and took in the sight of Duane dressed in jeans and a white shirt and striped tie. “How nice of you to pay a little visit to Pepper Plantation,” she chirped. “Welcome!”

The moment Duane stepped into the foyer he pushed a dozen yellow roses and baby’s breath wrapped in cellophane into Polly’s hands.

“Oh you sweet man,” she said. “You certainly shouldn’t have gone to the expense just for
moi
!” She put her nose to the petals and inhaled deeply. “Ahh,” she sighed, pretending there was a discernable scent to hot house flowers. She looked at Duane and sighed. She looked at another proffered gift. “And what’s this?”

Duane presented Polly with a white plastic bag on which the Sav-Smart drug store name was written in bold fading blue letters. “Just a token,” he said proudly as he eagerly waited for her to accept the offer. Polly temporarily placed the bouquet of roses on the hall table and accepted the plastic bag. She looked inside and retrieved an ancient copy of
TV Guide
. Her image (as a blundering psychoanalyst character she occasionally played on her show) graced the cover, which was faded with time and had come away from the staples on the binding. Perplexed, but pretending to marvel at his thoughtfulness, she gave Duane a peck on both cheeks.

“It’s from my personal collection,” Duane announced, satisfied that he’d selected the perfect present. “I have almost every issue of
TV Guide
ever printed,” he boasted. “I hope you don’t have this edition.”

Dozens
! Polly wanted to scream. Instead she gave a noncommittal, “I remember the day the reporter came to interview me for this issue. Such marvelous memories! How can I thank you enough for thinking to give me such a treasure?” She dropped the magazine back into the bag and picked up the flowers. “Now, let’s get Placenta to put your lovely posies into water.” As she dragged Duane along toward the kitchen she asked, “What would you like to drink? Join me for a BM?”

Before Duane had a chance to understand what Polly was offering, she was strides ahead of him, practically barreling down the hall corridor, which opened into the kitchen. She wanted that Bloody Mary badly.

Duane gazed around in amazement. Not only was he in a real, live, movie star’s Bel Air home, but the star was his all-time favorite. He tried to act as if this waking dream didn’t faze him in the least; however, he desperately wished that his family and those who had placed him at the top of their loser list could see him now.
If they could see me now, that little gang of mine…
He wanted to sing and dance.

In the kitchen, Placenta was putting the final touches on a tuna salad luncheon. A pitcher of lemonade had been fresh squeezed and spiked with champagne. When Polly and Duane stepped into Placenta’s domain she greeted them both warmly and made a pleasant fuss about the gift of roses. “I have the perfect vase,” she said, untying the red ribbon that bound the stems together, and placing them on the kitchen’s center island. “You two go outside. Here’s your drinkie,” she said to Polly. “I’ll take care of the flowers, and Tim will bring refreshments for Duane.”

The early afternoon had turned comfortably warm and Polly was delighted to see that without exception her landscape workers were shirtless. “Don’t mind the help,” Polly said to Duane, who now seemed more interested in the perspiration glistening Latino pushing a wheelbarrow than in his hostess. “They’re unobtrusive, and should be breaking for lunch soon,” Polly said. “Appearance is so important, don’t you think so?” she asked trying to redirect Duane’s attention to her garden. “These lovely men do an extraordinary job of spilling their seeds and fertilizing the tender buds? Tim insists they have an extraordinary way with a Thallus. And he should know. Oh, a Thallus is the early flat leaf of a fern,” she said to a dumbfounded Duane.

Remembering where he was and with whom he was speaking, Duane brought himself back to the moment and mumbled, “Yes. Well maintained,” he said, stealing another glance at the muscled workers. “The garden and lawns, I mean.” Then he actually took a good look at the acreage. “This is awesome!” he said. “I’ve heard so much about the famous parties you’ve had here. It’s so cool that I get to be where all the action is!”

Just then Tim appeared bearing a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and four tumblers. “Heya, Duane!” he called out as he set the tray down on the patio table. He wiped his wet hands on his jeans and reached out to shake Duane’s. “So glad you could make it, man. Have a seat.”

The trio pulled out chairs from around the table and sat down. Tim reached for the pitcher and without asking if Polly or Duane wanted a drink, he poured them each a tall one over crushed ice. “Has Polly given you the grand tour?” he asked, knowing full well that she had not.

Grinning from one splotchy red check to the other, Duane said, “Gee, if I could really see Pepper Plantation, that would be so neat!”

Polly looked at her wristwatch, trying to calculate the amount of time she would require to serve lunch, get Duane to open up about who murdered Sedra, and discreetly send him back to wherever he lived. If Tim gave Duane a tour, that was less time she’d have to spend trying to act as though she was interested in whatever hobbies kept him busy when he wasn’t guarding movie studio’s location sets. She trusted Tim to gather whatever gossip he could from Duane. “You two run along,” Polly said, standing up from her seat and practically sweeping Duane away. “Just be back within a half hour. Placenta’s serving lunch, and I want to really get to know all about your Polly Pepper collections!”

“Follow me, sport,” Tim said, “and take your drink.” He led Duane back into the house. They began in the Great Room where Polly’s most treasured mementos where on display.

As Duane drooled over the Emmy Awards, and the large oil painting of Polly that hung over the fireplace mantle, he began to offer anecdotes about how he had come to worship Polly. “There was just something unique about your mother,” he tried to explain. “On her show, which I only saw in reruns, she wasn’t a goodie-goodie like some stars of the era pretended to be. She had a naughty side. Oh, I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he amended. “I mean, she was a regular person. She could use curse words, but coming from her they sounded tame and got huge laughs. Can I hold an Emmy?”