A Talent for Murder (21 page)

“Gilda was one of Polly’s best friends. They idolized each other,” Tim said. “She was on Mom’s show a lot.” He pointed to another photo. “There they are at Carnegie Hall. They sold out the whole place.”

For the first time since meeting Polly and her clan, Michael was truly impressed. “I didn’t know that your mother was all that famous,” he said. “That idiot Steven Benjamin introduces her as ‘a legend from the last century,’ so I thought she was a nobody, like a lot of judges on reality shows.”

Placenta chuckled. “Trust me, Polly won’t let you leave the house without knowing exactly how famous
she used to be, er, is. Every overnight guest to the plantation gets the same parting gifts: a promo bumper sticker from her short-lived career as an AM drive-time DJ.” He pointed to a framed photo of her Rolls-Royce with a colorful sticker on the back that read
PP IN YOUR CAR!
“You’ll also receive the superdeluxe boxed DVD collector’s edition of classic sketches from
The Polly Pepper Playhouse
. Watching those discs, you’ll be so tired of seeing old stars like Linda Lavin, Kim Darby, Cesar Romero, and Nancy Wilson, your eyes will be bleeding.

“I’ve heard of Cesar,” Michael said. “My folks took me to a fancy restaurant when I graduated from high school, and it was on the menu.”

“Not unless you went to McCannibal’s,” Tim laughed. “He’s not a salad. And not a Roman emperor either. He was an old-time movie star. Dead now, but a big heartthrob in his day. Anyway, Mom had a crush on him when she was a little girl, so when she got to be important and famous she had him on her show.”

Although Placenta had passed this gallery of photos every day for years, it had been a very long time since she had taken a close look at the pictures. “There’s Martha Rae,” she said, pointing to a framed photograph of Polly and Martha onstage holding hands raised in the air. “Oh, and Johnny Carson,” she said, pointing to another picture. “That’s Shirley MacLaine and Bob New-hart on the couch next to her.”

“Wow,” Michael said. “Polly was once a little girl who grew up and made all of her dreams come true. I don’t know why Thane hated her so much.”

Tim looked at Michael. “Thane hated everyone. Mom didn’t take it personally.”

“For some reason, he had a special dislike for your mother,” Michael added.

“She never did anything to him,” Placenta said.

“Some people don’t need a reason for not liking some other people,” Michael said. “I think he thought that Polly was too sweet to be real. I’ve found out today that he was so wrong! But you’re right, he didn’t have much of anything good to say about anyone. Except…”

“You mean there was one person on the planet to whom he wasn’t a nasty so-and-so?” Tim asked.

“Who was the lucky dog?” Placenta encouraged. “I’ll bet it
was
his dog!”

“He didn’t have one,” Michael confirmed.

“Then his own mother?” Tim said. “Even serial killers love their mothers. They kill ‘em, and cook their organs, and stuff ‘em like a taxidermied deer head over the mantel, but they still love ‘em, in a queer sorta way.”

Michael whispered, “Steven.”

Tim and Placenta gave Michael a confused look.

“Steven Benjamin. Thane used to worship the man. They were best buds when I started working there. Then something happened.”

“All those mean on-air innuendos hinting about Steven’s sexuality weren’t just for fun?” Placenta said.

“In the beginning they were on the phone together and at each other’s homes all the time. Never one to give credit where credit was due, Thane actually admitted that Steven was entirely responsible for getting Richard Dartmouth to hire him as a judge in the first place. They had a weird relationship.”

“Were they having an affair?” Tim asked.

“Nah,” Michael responded. “Thane was a totally straight dude. And Steven has a really hot babe for a wife. She’s a famous model from England. Thane and Steven just got downright nasty with each other.”

“What happened?” Placenta asked.

Michael shrugged. “One day it’s kissy-kissy; then
suddenly there was genuine hatred between them. Thane wouldn’t take Steven’s calls.”

Tim pondered the situation. “Maybe Thane came on to Steven’s wife?”

“Nah. I think it was a business thing,” Michael said. “Or maybe it was the hate mail that started pouring in. There are tons of crazies out there. You know the type. A lot of people have nothing better to do than comment on what they see on television. They like a certain star, in this case Steven Benjamin, and if anyone says anything against them, they go ballistic. One of my jobs was to copy the hate letters that Thane got each week, before sending the originals to Sterling’s legal department.”

“Were there threats against Thane’s life?” Placenta asked.

“Sure,” Michael said, as if that were a no-brainer. “But it’s hard to take anyone seriously when they write in all lowercase letters, spell everything phonetically: ‘Sicotic. Saten.’ And beg that for the sake of his soul, Thane had to mend his evil ways or go straight to hell. There was only one letter that I knew bothered Thane.”

“A threat?” Tim asked.

“I never got to read it. It was from Steven Benjamin and marked ‘Personal. For Thane Cornwall’s eyes only.’ Come to think about it, they had their falling-out at that time.”

As the trio walked farther along the corridor, Polly and Tim glanced at each other. “And we’re here,” Placenta said, stopping outside a multipaneled oak door. “‘The Vanessa Williams Success-is-the-Best-Retribution Room.’ Hope you don’t mind the collage from her starring role in that infamous layout for
Penthouse
magazine.” Placenta opened the bedroom door and led the way into the guest suite.

Michael suddenly turned around and drew Tim into a tight hug. After a long moment, he let go and said, “Let me die in my sleep tonight. I never want to wake up from this dream.”

Placenta chuckled and continued to play docent as she pointed out all the amenities of the suite. “Flat-screen television and plenty of DVDs. Wet bar. Computer. Balcony overlooking the garden.” Then she escorted Michael into the bathroom. “Steam room. Rain shower. Jacuzzi tub. Electric toothbrush. Bubble bath. Intercoms in all the rooms. If you need anything push the green button and someone will answer.” She pointed a stern finger at Michael. “Don’t even think of using it while I’m trying to sleep!”

“I’ve laid out all your clothes,” Placenta said. “A pair of Tim’s pj’s is under your pillow. We keep buying them, and he just wears the same old T-shirt and boxers! Breakfast is at eight. Nighty-night.”

Tim said good night too, and followed Placenta out the door. When they were far enough down the hallway, Placenta whispered, “We’ve gotta tell Polly about Steven and Thane. Hurry, before she passes out, or Randy hauls her up to her room.”

When Tim and Placenta were once again in the great room, they pounced on Polly. In their haste to report what Michael had said, they stumbled over each other’s sentences.

“Thane … secret … Steve,” Tim said, trying to speak while catching his breath.

“No!” Placenta scolded. “Letter … Thane … Mean …” she wheezed.

“Kissy-kiss …” Tim said.

“Friends …”

Polly looked at Randy, who was in midpour of champagne into her glass. “Either these two have just
had simultaneous strokes, or they need a padded cell,” she said. Then looking at her son and maid, she said, “What the hell are you two babbling about? Here,” she said, handing her glass to Tim, then giving Randy’s glass to Placenta. “Drink up and calm down.”

Making a face as she drank the entire flute of champagne, Placenta said, “Too warm.”

Tim, too, finished his bubbly in almost one long swallow. Then he looked at his mother and said, “Thane had a crush on Steven Benjamin.”

“I knew he was gay!” Polly said.

“They were just pals,” Placenta replied.

“They hated each other’s guts,” Polly countered.

“Michael told us that all that animosity between Thane and Steven was relatively new. They once were very close.”

“Once, I had a secret love,” Polly began to sing an old Doris Day song. “Gay!”

“Mother!” Tim parried. “Thane was a hetero hound. And Steven’s apparently married to a hot babe! Michael thinks a disgruntled fan killed Thane.”

“Not so fast,” Placenta said. “Thane got tons of threatening letters from Steven’s fans and people who didn’t like the way he treated contestants. That doesn’t mean someone followed through.”

Randy cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, whenever a celebrity gets killed we always consider the possibility of a loony tunes fan doing the deed. I’ve personally read some of Thane’s fan mail. There’s zero shred of evidence to support a theory that a freak-o Steven fanatic did the job.”

“Darn it all!” Placenta said, pulling the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket and pouring herself another glass. “Just when we think we’ve got a clue, you go and throw cold water on our theory.” She took a sip from
her glass. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t really think that Thane was killed by a fan. I’m still intrigued by that so-called trophy idea. Something that supposedly holds all the secrets.”

Tim nodded. “Me, too. I’ll wager that the killer thought that one of the judges had it. They got to Thane first. Then they came here. If Brian winds up dead, we’ll know that we’re on the right track.”

“However, if someone wrings Ms. Saddleback’s neck first, we won’t know if it’s our killer or just someone who’s tired of her whiny right-wing ‘Jesus for President’ voice ringing in their ears,” Placenta said.

“I’m not sure that I buy that trophy theory either,” Polly said. “What is it, the Maltese Falcon, for heaven’s sake? And I’m Sam Spade!” The room was silent for a moment. Then Polly added, “We’ve been dreadful hosts! It’s been a week since our last dinner party!”

Tim moaned, and Placenta sighed.

“It’s time we invited the dear Brian Smiths and Steven Benjamins over for a light repast,” Polly said. She looked at Tim. “Call up Bob Mackie and make an appointment for Michael to be fitted for a tux.” Then she looked at Placenta. “Use the leftovers from last week’s soiree. They’ll never know the difference. I’m going to bed.” She held out her hand for Randy to take.

D
uring the predinner party staff meeting in the dining room, Polly told Sergeant Sandy to relax her security rules for the night. She made it clear that she didn’t want them to suffer the humiliation of being patted down and detained while their immigration status was being verified. “I know these people, and they should feel as comfortable in my home as I do in Mark Harmon’s and Pam Dawber’s.”

Placenta said, “You wouldn’t feel so comfy and cozy if Pam knew how much you lusted after her husband.”

“Nonsense!” Polly spat. “Pam isn’t an idiot. She knows how I, and bajillions of others, feel about Mr. Mark. Pam’s a darling who cleans up my drool, and Timmy’s, too, without any fuss.”

Tim looked around the table, which he and Placenta had set with Polly’s most elegant china and Waterford stemware. “Place cards,” he replied as he retrieved small Post-its-size Crane stationery on which he had hand-inscribed their guests’ names in calligraphy. He placed Polly’s card in its PP-monogrammed crystal holder at her place setting, then set Placenta’s at the opposite end of the table. “Where do you want me to sit tonight?”

Polly nibbled on her thumbnail as she tried to picture where each guest should be seated. “Um, I’m placing you and Michael in the middle on either side of the table. Steven and Brian will be on my left and right, respectively. We’ll seat their wives next to you and Michael.” Starting at her place, and going around the table, Polly pointed with her index finger and said, “Girl, boy. Boy, girl. Girl, girl. Boy, boy.”

Placenta frowned. “It’s supposed to be boy, girl, boy, girl, all the way around.”

“Screw Miss Manners,” Polly said. Then she looked at her wristwatch. “Holy moly! They’ll be here in two hours. I’m nowhere near ready!”

As Sergeant Sandy left the dining room and headed back to complete another circuit around the estate, Polly flew out of the room and headed toward the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase. “What am I wearing?” Polly called back to Placenta. “Oh, and any luck with getting Patricia Arquette to do her ‘Medium’ shtick after dinner?” she yelled to Tim.

As Polly ascended the staircase, Placenta was immediately behind her and said, “You’ll be in a smart cocktail dress. The silver one you wore to Star Jones’s divorce party. And no, Patty wasn’t available. At this late notice we’d be lucky to get the 1-800-Dentist guy suggesting root canal specialists.”

“That should make everybody eager to drink the Kool-Aid,” Polly snapped as she walked down the corridor toward her room, undressing as she went along, and passing each garment item to Placenta. “I’ll have to be entertainment enough.”

Shortly after seven o’clock, Sandy’s voice crackled through the intercom system. In every room, the resi
dents heard, “Please be advised that a party of four, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Steven Benjamin, and Mr. and Mrs. Brian Smith, has arrived. Their ETA at your doorstep is … one, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand. Ding-dong!” Just then the doorbell rang.

Gathering with her family in the foyer, Polly patted Tim’s cheek and smiled at Michael as she straightened his black clip-on bow tie. Then she twirled around in her cocktail dress and said, “Anything hanging out that shouldn’t?”

“You were wise to go with the pearls,” Placenta assured Polly.

Polly frowned and said, “Don’t forget to return my emeralds before you go to bed!”

Tim opened the double entry doors.

As the guests entered the mansion, they oohed and aahed at the fabled home of Polly Pepper. The mistress of the manor graciously accepted a bottle of red wine wrapped in colorful cellophane and ribbons from Brian, and a bouquet of Casablanca lilies from Tiara Benjamin. Polly cooed to her guests, “You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did.” Then she handed the tokens off to Placenta. After initiating hugs and reintroducing everyone to each other, Polly called out, “Follow the leader,” and led the way to the formal sunken living room. Tim politely waited to be the last in tow.