A Talent for Murder (27 page)

“Hola
, sweetums, it’s Polly Pepper. From the television? The show that Mr. Benjamin is hosting? I’m expected, I’m sure. I’ve brought a wee prezy for Mr. and Mrs.”

“Sí
. Come,” the voice answered.

As the twin gates parted, Placenta nudged Polly. “Prezy? You mean a bottle from the trunk?”

“As long as it’s not our last.”

As Tim drove to the car park, Polly recognized the house. “This is Rita Hayworth’s old place!” she exclaimed. “Poor thing. Alzheimer’s, you know. So many stupid people presumed she was a drunk.”

As the trio stepped from the Rolls and walked to the frosted-glass front entrance doors, Tim rang the bell. In a moment, a maid in uniform opened the door and made a slight bow to welcome them.
“Bienvenido,”
she said with a gesture for them to follow her.

Polly looked at Placenta, raised an eyebrow, and cocked her head toward the maid.

Placenta snapped, “Don’t say it! Don’t you even think it!”

“I was just wondering—”

“Keep on wondering—to yourself. If one word about putting me back in a uniform escapes your lips, someone will be investigating
your
disappearance!”

After a few moments of waiting in the living room, Tiara Benjamin came in looking frantic. “Polly!” she called out with exhaustion in her voice. She greeted the television legend with a quick peck to her cheeks. She smiled at Tim and Placenta and hugged them, too. “If I’d known that Maria had let you in, er, I mean, that you were dropping by, I’d have made myself a tad more presentable. Things are a bit … loony today. Steven’s unwell. A dreadful toothache.”

Polly stepped forward and handed Tiara the bottle of
Veuve. “It’s not chilled, but I guarantee it’ll make you and Steven feel like a million. It works especially well dimming all sorts of pain.”

“Thank you for thinking of us,” Tiara said. “Your timing is impeccable,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.

Then, from the distance, Steven called out for Tiara. The summons sounded more like an old man’s death rattle.

Tiara looked panicked. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be back in a tick.”

As Tiara rushed to her husband, Polly took the opportunity to look around the room. “It’s changed so much,” she sighed. “When dear, lovable, and vibrant Rita lived here, it had an abundance of old-world elegance. She learned a lot from being married to Orson, however briefly.” Polly looked back through the years and pictured every detail of the room as it had been in the 1970s. “Rita had a grand piano over there.” Polly pointed to what was now a seating area with expensive Le Corbusier furniture. She looked at the modern stone fireplace. “There used to be a very ornate mantel there, above which was a huge portrait of Rita posing as Gilda. The place was so well decorated then. Now it’s as sterile as an operating room,” she scoffed.

“This place is so antiseptic that I defy any germ to survive long enough to ever make Steven or Tiara ill!” Placenta said.

Polly spied a crumpled piece of beige-colored notepaper on the floor of the otherwise spotless room. “Oh, Maid Sweetheart,” she called out, forgetting the name of the domestic. She bent down to retrieve the paper, then looked around for a trash receptacle. “They don’t even have a goddamn ashtray,” Polly whined as she walked from one end of the room to the other, searching
for a place to deposit the paper. Just as she was about to place it on a glass end-table, her curiosity coaxed her to open the paper and take a peek.

Polly unfolded the wrinkled ball and read to herself, There are no secrets in Hollywood. However, I am willing to protect yours—in return for U.S.$…

Polly’s eyes grew wide, but before she could finish reading the sentence Steven suddenly stumbled into the room, leaning on Tiara for support. Polly instantly squeezed the paper into a ball again and surreptitiously dropped it to the floor.

“Polly,” Steven said, in a weak voice, “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. Can we arrange a visit in a day or two? I don’t want you coming down with whatever I’ve picked up.” He forced a cough.

Polly ignored the dramatic change in diagnosis. “I’ll chance it,” she said in a motherly coo, and touched the back of her hand to Steven’s forehead. “Polly Pepper hasn’t had a cavity or a cold in years, probably because I have a teensy bit of OCD when it comes to washing my hands a bajillion times a day and always flossing after every meal. Please don’t let us bother you anymore. Off to bed! Let Tiara tuck you in. We’ll catch up when you’re one hundred percent! Go! We’ll let ourselves out.”

Placenta and Tim both offered their wishes for Steven’s speedy recovery and then the trio turned to leave.
“Gracias,”
Polly said when they met Maria in the foyer.
“Adios.”

When they were safely back in the car and heading down the driveway toward the estate’s gates, Polly slapped her knee and said, “Steven’s sick all right, but it’s not a virus or a cold or food poisoning or a silly toothache. He’s ill because he’s about to lose a ton of money
and
his career, and probably his wife, too. He’s being blackmailed!”

Tim looked at his mother in the rearview mirror. “You picked that up just from touching his forehead?” He grinned.

“Shush!” Polly interrupted. “He’s in trouble with someone who’s shaking him down for a big payday advance. That crumpled piece of paper that I found on the floor? It was a note that instructed him to transfer money or his career would be over.”

“How much?” Tim asked.

“D’know.”

“I don’t suppose it was signed,” Placenta said.

“Didn’t get that far,” Polly fumed. “Steven and Tiara came in and I had to ditch the damn note. However, it was on Crane stationery, and printed from a computer. The font was Helvetica. The type size, twelve point.”

Placenta rolled her eyes and in a voice meant to sound like a psychic on
Larry King Live
, said, “The perp is five feet seven inches, works as a dental hygienist during the day, writes screenplays at night. He wears a toupee, walks with a limp, and collects
Captain America
comic books.”

“Don’t be rude,” Polly said.

“D’ya think the letter is from one of the contestants?” Tim said.

Polly shrugged. “Run-of-the-mill blackmailers wouldn’t use expensive stationery. Who among them has any taste? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone involved with this show has discovered that Steven is on the surveillance tapes and now’s the time to score big money by ratting him out! If we find the blackmailer, we’ll probably get to the killer too.”

“Richard Dartmouth?” Placenta said. “If Richard
knows, then Brian Smith may also. And whoever transfers the videos, too.”

“We’re back to everyone being a suspect!” Tim ranted. “It’s been nearly two weeks since Thane bought the farm and we’re not any closer to finding his killer. I think we should just give up, and let Lisa fend for herself.”

Polly said, “You’re wrong about our not being any closer. We know that it can’t be Lisa writing blackmail notes. Jail is a pretty good alibi. Same for Danny. Dear, dead Danny. Two down. As for Richard Dartmouth, it’s improbable that he’d be tied up in a blackmail scheme. He’s got loads of moolah. Plus as Thane’s replacement judge he’s becoming a celebrity.”

Tim honked the car horn out of frustration. “That doesn’t mean that he didn’t kill for the job.”

“Doubt it,” Polly said, and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, what am I talking about? This is Hollywood. Anything that one can imagine happens here in real life. On this one show alone we’ve got a killer, a blackmailer, an adulterer, a cast of six whores, a pervert who goes around secretly videotaping people in private acts. And everyone—except the dead bodies—is a suspect! It’s
The Twilight Zone
and
General Hospital
and everything dear Jackie Collins has ever written, all on one lousy reality show!”

As Tim drove the car through the East Gate of Bel Air, and followed Stone Canyon Road along its serpentine length toward the plantation, the passengers all remained silent. As they reached the PP-monogrammed iron gates of Pepper Plantation and waved to Sergeant Sandy, who sat under an umbrella in the late afternoon sun on a folding wooden stool, Polly broke the ice. “While I’m having my hair done tomorrow, you’ll take Placenta back to the Benjamins’.”

Tim and Placenta both made faces. “And do what, take Steven’s temperature?” Tim asked.

Polly looked at Placenta and reached out to take her hand. “Sweetums. Dear heart. Friend. You know I’m not in the least bit prejudiced about any minority group, with the possible exception of young casting directors who are too stupid to know that
The Polly Pepper Playhouse
remains a seminal show in the history of television, and have never seen my films or heard my number-one hit record. So I say this with all due respect.” Polly cleared her throat. “You have to go back to the Benjamins’ as a …” She waited a beat, then said, “… domestic engineer.”

“A maid?” Placenta snatched her hand out of Polly’s.

“Just
pretend,”
Polly begged. “Anyway, that’s what it says on your W2 Form!”

“I knew you’d find a way to get me back into that stinking uniform!” Placenta snapped as the car pulled up to the front portico. “Why can’t
you
befriend the señora? I could tell that she recognized you when we walked in.”

“But you speak her language!” Polly complained.

“No hablo español
!” Placenta retorted.

“I mean, you two work for rich and famous stars. You have things in common. I need you to go there and make nice with the help and get that letter for me,” Polly begged. “I need to find out who sent it to Steven. Please help me out? Just this once?”

“Once?” Placenta huffed, and leaned as far away from Polly as she could. “I’m on your side twenty-four-seven! Aren’t I, Tim?”

“She’s right, Mother,” Tim said as he turned off the ignition and opened his door. He walked around the car to the passenger side and pulled on the handle to his mother’s door and reached out to help her.

Polly walked to the front steps, punched in the security code, then turned and looked at Placenta. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

“Sí, Señora! Es un placer servir a usted durante el tiempo que me necesite!” Placenta beamed.

“No hablas español
, my Bob Mackie-clad butt!” Polly snapped.

As the trio entered the mansion, Placenta and Polly both had satisfied smiles plastered on their faces. They headed for the great room, and Placenta said, “Cash, up front, Mrs. Scrooge.” While she was uncorking a chilled bottle of Veuve, Polly went to the floor safe in the kitchen panty. When she returned, she exchanged a flute of champagne for two one-hundred dollar bills and a fifty. “The balance upon delivery of that blackmail note,” she said with an edge to her voice. She seated herself on the sofa and took a long swallow of her drink.

Placenta gave Polly the evil eye, then looked at Tim. “You’re my witness. Your mama owes me two-fifty! And I won’t take it in trade for cocktails at the Polo Lounge!”

W
hen Placenta breathlessly rushed into the great room at Pepper Plantation waving a photocopy of the note that she retrieved from the Benjamins’ maid, she panted, “Steven
is
being blackmailed!”

“What did I tell you?” Polly said as she grabbed the paper out of Placenta’s hand.

Polly looked up again and her eyes met with Tim’s and Placenta’s. She looked back at the note. “August tenth. That’s the day after tomorrow!”

Polly looked at her watch, then held out her wrist to Placenta. She tapped the crystal.

Placenta rolled her eyes and started for the wine cooler but stopped as she reached for a bottle of Veuve. “First things first,” she said. “Cough up my dough. I wore this stinking costume and made nice with the Benjamins’ maid. By the way, the whole meek and subservient routine is an act. She’s tough-as-nails Cy-bill Shepherd masquerading as vacuous Melanie Griffith playing the role of an obsequious Mexican maid. As for her
‘Bueno. No speaky ing-gee, por favor
‘ routine’ it’s a great big snow job. Not only does she speak English better than me … er, better than I… she’s got ears like a Doberman’s and picks up everything she overhears from her employers. She has an enormous talent for spying on Steven and Tiara. The CIA or the KGB could learn a trick or two. Maria, actually her real name is June Smith, has a hidden trove of documents that, if she wanted to use, could embarrass the Benjamins and maybe even get them a cell next to Lisa Marrs’s. So, where’s my loot? Oh, and throw in an additional three hundred. That’s how much Maria, er, June, charged me for a photocopy of that note.”

“Three hundred?” Polly whined.

“That was cheap. For a photo of the Mr. and Mrs. swimming with Hugh Jackman and his wife … photo-shopped so they appeared naked… she wanted twelve hundred!” Placenta said.

Tim perked up. “My birthday’s coming up. Remember that picture when you’re thinking of the perfect gift for a perfect son.”

As Polly went to open the safe, Tim said to Placenta, “Now is the time we should get Randy involved. But Polly won’t hear of it. She’s afraid that he’ll be angry. He’ll be angrier when he finally finds out—and he will—that Polly has been hiding her investigation from him.”

“On the one hand, it’s none of our business,” Placenta said as she uncorked the bubbly. “On the other hand, we want what’s best for your mama. If we tell Randy what’s been going on, he’ll never be able to trust Polly again. We have to play this very carefully. He’s got to find out, but I don’t think that we should be the ones to tell him. Drop a few hints and let him come to his own conclusions. Yes?”