A Talent for Murder (33 page)

Steven sat down again, helplessly sinking.

“But who was really behind the blackmail letters?” Polly asked. “I’ve given this a ton of thought. It didn’t seem logical that Thane Cornwall, who was wealthy, would shake anyone down for money. No, I thought it had to be one of the contestants, or even Lisa Marrs, after all. But the contestants on film were all over eigh
teen, and from watching that interesting DVD a few times, it seems your encounters were consensual. They probably figured that by having relations with you, it would help their chances of winning. That ploy is as old as Hollywood. By the way, my Tim and Placenta were impressed with your endowment. Me, not so much. Killers are unattractive—regardless of how cute they are.”

The audience roared with laughter.

“I thought and thought about this case. It was driving me nuts!” Polly said. “Then I received the sweetest thank-you note from your lovely and darling wife, Tiara, expressing her appreciation for that fun dinner party we had at the plantation. The Brits are so polite and well raised, don’t you agree? Then something jumped out at me. I reviewed the blackmail letters—you really should get more loyal household help—there were several common denominators among them and Tiara’s thank-you note. For one, the stationery was exquisite. Regular bond paper would have sufficed for a common blackmailer. Also, the way the missives were dated. The British always put the day before the month, unlike Americans. And the punctuation. In the States, we place our commas inside quotation marks. In England they’re placed outside.”

The director ordered a split screen of the unfolding events, and the studio audience and television viewers were treated to simultaneous reactions from Polly and Steven. On the left, Polly looked glamorous in her Dolce. On the right, Steven looked tired and his shirt wrinkled with perspiration. “What is this, Remedial English 101?” Steven raised his voice. “What you’re telling us is completely stupid and insane and has nothing to do with Thane Cornwall’s death!”

“I thought so too,” Polly said. “Then my darling
maid and bff Placenta got to be buddy-buddy with your maid, Maria. The two shared their tiffs about their employers. Although I’m a perfectly wonderful mistress of my manor, it seems that your beautiful Tiara had confided in Maria that she suspected that you were having affairs behind her back. Tonight, Tiara told me that she loved you so much, and would never let you go, even if you wanted to leave. She also used a couple of words that appeared in several of the blackmail letters. Do the terms ‘wankers’ and ‘bloke’ mean anything to you?”

Polly turned to Tiara Benjamin. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sick to death about having to rat about your broken marriage on national television. You weren’t really blackmailing your husband, were you? No, just trying to scare him into fidelity. You couldn’t have known how far he’d go.”

The television screen suddenly split into quarters, showing Polly, Steven, Tiara, and the audience. Tiara was weeping into a handkerchief.

Polly continued. “Steven, your rags-to-riches story is indeed an inspiring one. From a trailer in Newhall, to a career as a model, to acting on daytime dramas, and now as the host of
I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous!
You’ve got that great mansion, the expensive cars, and commercial endorsements. But you were about to lose everything because you couldn’t keep your fly zipped. So you killed Thane because you presumed that he was about to take it all away from you. But why did Danny have to go too?”

Polly was quiet for a long moment. Then she answered her own question. “I couldn’t understand why anyone would murder such a darling boy, and in
my
personal mansion! Then I realized that Michael obviously couldn’t keep his trap shut and talked about the
surveillance videos. I remembered that Lisa said she’d become friendly with him as they commiserated about how much they despised their respective bosses. So, armed with knowledge of the DVDs, each of the remaining contestants set out to steal the discs to use against the others. Miranda tried at my dinner party. Danny must have come to my home at the same time that you and Michael did. The funny thing is, I didn’t know what was on those discs until Michael tried to steal them from my house.”

Steven screamed, “You can’t prove one thing that you’re saying! So you have a motive. A lot of people did. Where’s your evidence? You haven’t any!”

Polly opened up her clutch purse, withdrew a clear plastic sandwich bag, and held it up. “It’s not much, but it belongs to you.”

As the television camera moved in for a close-up, Steven peered intently into the bag. “What?” he asked, shifting his eyes to Polly.

“A little something the police found in my home, a few inches from Danny’s body.”

Steven looked puzzled.

“You must spend a fortune to keep your perfect teeth looking movie star bright. I’ll bet you have a strict regimen for brushing and flossing and rinsing. Oh, it must have hurt to chip one of your pearly whites. In fact, I know it did. I stopped by when you were experiencing that horrid toothache! Remember?”

Steven shook his head. “So what if I had a toothache? I had a cavity.”

“It’s no use. The police have already matched your DNA to that tooth,” Polly said. “As for placing you at the scene of Thane’s murder, well, that was a little harder.”

“Because I wasn’t there!” Steven insisted.

“Surveillance videos tell a different story.” Polly smiled.

“Thane’s security system was out of service,” Steven said triumphantly. “He had SOS, the same as you. That wretched company can’t keep their equipment working. Even the police said the cameras were inoperable that night!”

Polly snapped her fingers. “Darn! You’re right. Thane and I have that same crummy service. I suppose that’s how unwanted guests keep finding their way into my house.”

There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the audience.

“You were wise to go with Mayday. I’ll be calling their installation service first thing in the morning. They really are a better grade for celebrities such as us. In fact, your cameras are always working just fine.”

Steven looked uneasy.

“They take such good pictures, in fact, that even in the middle of the night, with very little light, you’re as clear in the image as you are sitting in front of this live television audience.”

Steven blanched.

Polly tsk-tsked. “It was fairly easy for me to put you at the scene of Danny Castillo’s death,” she said. “The bit of tooth was all the evidence I and the police required. But I didn’t know how the hell to connect you with Thane’s death. The blackmail notes weren’t enough. Sure, the finger was pointed, but I had no hard evidence. And when the security system at Thane’s failed, I thought, well, I guess Lisa Marrs is going to fry like bacon.

“But as I kept thinking about security cameras, it occurred to me that yours might have been working just fine. Guess what? Those darling technicians and
customer service agents at Mayday Security were able to access the hard drive on which your cameras’ footage was downloaded. At first I couldn’t understand what you were doing up so late! Then I figured it out.”

Steven put his face in the palms of his hands.

Polly looked out at Tiara. “Honey, it’s two a.m. Do you know where our Steven is going in the middle of the night?”

Steven stood up and pointed at Ped-Xing. “It’s his fault! Yeah, Richard Dartmouth told me about the surveillance footage, but all the contestants wanted me. They thought it would help them win.”

“Na-ah!” Socorro spat. “We all agreed you were at the top of the boring lover list.”

Steven continued. “I trusted Richard to destroy the evidence. He promised. I didn’t count on his evil little assistant making copies. I promised Ped-Xing that he’d win the competition if he and Michael got hold of the discs. They broke into Lisa Marrs’s apartment, but you beat them to it, stupid woman.”

“Polly Pepper is not stupid, nor is she a thief,” she said with indignity in her voice. “How often do I have to say that I borrowed the DVDs? I thought they were old movies with my girl chum, Mitzi.

“Back to your own thievery,” Polly continued. “When your two little assistants returned empty-handed and told you that I took the evidence, you decided to pay a visit to me at Pepper Plantation. Fortunately, I wasn’t home and the alarm system was on the fritz. However, Danny must have heard your plans because he was already there when you and Ped-Xing and Michael arrived.”

“If only that were the case.” Steven sneered. “Yeah, Danny insisted that he hadn’t found the DVDs at Pepper Plantation. But all these kids are liars. I suspected
that when he heard us enter the house, he’d ditched the discs. While Ped-Xing and Michael were scouring the house, Danny was out of control. He threatened to go to the
National Peeper
and tell them what we’d done, and the surveillance tapes would have been proof. I told him that I’d arrange for him to be the winner of the contest, but he said he wanted more than that for his silence. He wanted money and a house and a car. I knew he’d always hold the strings in my life, so I…”

“Killed Danny,” Polly said. “And in the struggle you hit your mouth on the floor, and there went that precious tooth.”

Polly looked into the camera. “I think we have a winner! Who in our studio, despite not being
in
the competition, has proved that he’ll do anything to
stay
famous?”

The audience erupted: “Stee-ven! Stee-ven! Steeven!”

Polly applauded the audience, then turned and applauded Steven. “We can save the interview questions for the prosecuting attorney.” Polly looked into the audience, shielding her eyes against the bright lights. “Where’s my adorable BHPD bf Randy Acher? C’mon up with a batallion of your finest and let Steven have Lisa Marrs’s room at the Bastille.”

A
s Steven Benjamin was escorted out of the studio by a platoon of police officers, a PA approached Polly. “Mr. Dartmouth wants you in his office, pronto,” she said.

Polly looked at the assistant. “I’m pooped. Tell the big D that we’ll celebrate our success over something bubbly when I wake up—in a week or two.”

“If you aren’t there in five minutes, the studio security team will drag you by your gray roots.”

Polly blanched and tottered on her heels.

“I’m merely the messenger.”

Polly waved to Tim and Placenta, who were wending their way to the stage through the sea of tweens leaving the studio. When they were at Polly’s side and offering hugs and congratulations, Polly grimaced. “I’ve been called to Dartmouth Dungeon.”

“A commendation for sure.” Tim smiled.

“A summons.” Polly sniffed. “Damn J.J. He goes way too far when he threatens to make pretty men not so pretty.”

Polly and her troupe followed the PA out of the studio and across the lot to the executive building, other
wise known as Sterling Stalag. Regardless of the reason for one’s business in this stark steel and glass structure, which housed Sterling’s global headquarters, entering the building generated more discomfort than preparing for a colonoscopy.

The young PA escorted her charges into the elevator and ascended to the penthouse of the twelve-story building. When the doors parted, the only illumination in the foyer was dim amber light emanating from modern decorative sconces on the walls. “This way,” the leader said. At the end of the long hallway was a set of tall, frosted-glass double doors, as ominous as the portal to the throne room of the Wizard of Oz. “Just knock,” the young woman said as she quickly peeled away and disappeared down the hall.

The trio exchanged uneasy glances before Tim rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Yo!”

Tim pulled the handle on one of the massive doors and held it open for his mother and Placenta.

The room was impressively large. Richard’s desk, designed to complement the rest of the building, was chrome and glass. The only objects resting there were a telephone and a banker’s box with an Emmy Award resting on top of papers, books, and picture frames. Richard was seated on a white leather Barcelona chair in the middle of the room.

Polly offered her most effulgent movie star smile. “Don’t pout, precious. I know that J.J. has you rattled, but trust me, Liz Smith is the last one on the planet to care about your silly ‘Mummy and Me’ Egyptian-themed sacrificial altar weekend play dates. She’ll never print such a trifle.”

Richard shook his head. “Sit.” He motioned toward a twin sofa and two matching La Corbusier chairs.

Polly looked around. “I’m parched. Where do you keep the champers, dear?”

“Darn. I totally forgot about your habit. Er, your preference,” Richard mocked. “I won’t keep you but a tick. Then you can run along to your Pepper Plantation and guzzle to your ulcerating kidneys’ delight.” He looked away from Polly. Then in a small voice he said, “I’ve been fired.”

“But… the show is a hit,” Polly exclaimed.

Richard snorted. “Good ratings are generally a sufficient reason to keep even the most malevolent producer or studio exec at the helm of a show. However, Sterling prides itself on keeping its vault of secrets tamperproof. Tonight, you let a few of the most feral cats out—so to speak. As the producer, I’m the fall guy.”

“I didn’t say anything to the millions and millions of television viewers around the world that wasn’t true.”

“Millions,” Richard sighed. “Sterling’s stockholders are a money-grabbing and not-so-liberal slice of old-fashioned Americana,” Richard said. “They can tolerate one of Sterling’s employees murdering Thane Cornwall. It made for huge ratings. But hanky-panky in the dressing rooms? Caught by Big Brother’s surveillance eyes? That’s a little too weird for people who actually think we’re a Pollyanna family empire. The big cheese CEO is livid with me for not saying bupkiss about Steven fooling around backstage.”

“You gave that Cock of the Walk a warning,” Polly said.

“I should have fired the killer. That might have saved Danny, too.” Richard took a deep breath. “I’ve been a jerk. I was trying to fill Thane Cornwall’s Frankenstein shoes ‘cause the show needed conflict to keep audiences tuned in.”