Remains to Be Scene (22 page)

At that moment, the scent of Chanel No. 5 filled the air, and all eyes simultaneously turned to see Polly Pepper, standing in the doorway, and looking every inch a
Vogue
cover model for still attractive over-the-hill TV stars. Tim and Detective Archer both stood up to give the lady the attention she deserved, and both were speechless with admiration.

Polly floated into the room and went directly to Detective Archer. She leaned in to receive a kiss to her cheek and said, “What did I do to deserve such a handsome escort for the evening?”

Detective Archer blushed and simply said, “You look awesome, Miss Pepper.”

In that moment, Polly wanted to scream, “Lord, not another ‘Miss Pepper’ sycophant! I thought he was straight. Tim and his damn broken gaydar!” Instead she smiled and said, “Now detective, we promised that you’d call me Polly.”

“And I’m just Randy,” Archer smiled back. “Shall we head out? Traffic’s a bear and we’ll just about make our reservation.”

“I’m all yours,” Polly chirped, not letting on that she was desperate for one of the champagnes on Placenta’s tray, and that she made it a general rule to never be on time for a dinner reservation. She liked the celebrity perk of getting the best table in the house whenever it was convenient for
her
. “Would you drive?” she asked, handing Detective Archer the keys to her Rolls. When he appeared a little flustered she said, “Never driven a Park Ward Rolls-Royce?” she said in response to his look of trepidation. “Trust me, it’s just a Ford—with a ridiculous sticker price.”

And then they were off.

A
s Detective Archer exchanged the Rolls for a valet ticket and followed three paces behind Polly up the steps of The Ivy, he felt as uncomfortable as he did during his recurring nightmare of being naked in a public place. He asked himself if he was simply paranoid, or had indeed every diner on the restaurant’s patio turned to stare at Polly Pepper, and to judge her escort.

“Adorable Kevin!” Polly cooed to the waiter who warmly greeted them. “Don’t they ever give you a night off? Lucky for me of course, but I worry about your love life. FYI,” she whispered, “Tim isn’t dating anyone—that I know of.” She smiled and accepted a quick hug from her favorite member of the waitstaff. “Would you be an absolute dream and seat us inside?” Polly said. “This is more than a tête-a-tête, and we’ve got a potentially gargantuan deal to discuss,” she smiled, intimating that she was at The Ivy for business rather than recreation.

“Way ahead of you, Miss Pepper,” Kevin said, as he led the way to what he knew was Polly’s favorite table. “I just booted out Sarah Jessica. And, as you can see, the Verve’s chilling. If you’re ready, may I pop the cork?” he said, nodding to the bottle already in an ice bucket beside the table.

“I’ve been ready since New Year’s!” Polly feigned a reprimand as she accepted the chair that Kevin had pulled out for her. “It’s well past Lush Hour and this darling man was afraid we’d miss our reservation if we dallied over a quickie. Drinkie, that is. Oh, and I’m forgetting my manners. Kevin do you know Randy Archer?” she said introducing the detective as though the paths of the waiter and police detective surely must have intersected at one time or another.

Randy and Kevin exchanged greetings and shook hands. Kevin uncorked the bottle, filled two flutes halfway, and asked, “A basket of calamari to start?”

“This is why Kevin gets the big tips,” Polly said loudly enough for other diners in the room to hear her. “He remembers the tiniest details of all his guests’ culinary fetishes. Oh, did that sound too lascivious, dear? So sorry,” Polly said, smiling playfully at Kevin.

Polly took her first sip of champagne. “Yum!” she declared. “Calamari, of course! That is if Randy will share. Yes?” She looked at her date who nodded in agreement but secretly couldn’t imagine eating squid anymore than he’d ever allow a calf’s pancreas to pass over his lips.

“Back in a jiff,” Kevin said and retreated to the kitchen to get Polly’s order started.

Polly looked at Randy and smiled. “It was very nice of you to suggest dinner,” she said, blinking like a coquette and staring into the detective’s brown eyes. “I confess,” she looked down for effect, “that I’ve been quite eager to spend a little time with you. I’m absolutely fascinated by police work. I never miss any of the plethora of “CSI” shows. You must tell me every detail of your exciting career in law enforcement. Is it as exciting as we see in the movies?” From this moment on, as predicted, Detective Archer was putty in Polly’s hands.

The warm summer afternoon had dissolved into a cool but pleasant evening as Polly gave Randy Archer a thumbnail biographical sketch of the ups and downs of her own career. That he claimed never to have seen her legendary musical variety television show and did not know the lyrics to her hit record “For New Kate” made her feel certain that he wasn’t dining out with her just for the sport of dating a star and adding another notch to his list of conquests. On one hand she was thrilled that he was a potential paramour, but on the other hand—the one that tightly clutched her ego—she was slightly perturbed that she had to explain all that she had accomplished in show business and who was someone named Martha Raye, whom she credited with being her inspiration.

In a short while Kevin was dividing the dregs of the first bottle of champagne between Polly and Randy, collecting their appetizer plates, and bringing a second bottle to the table along with their entrees. That’s when Polly began to ramp up her charm and furtively skim the surface of the Sedra Stone murder case.

Polly tilted a flute to her lips with one hand and reached out and placed the other hand on Randy’s. “It’s time that I confessed something to you,” she said. “Something dreadful. I hope that you won’t think less of me as a result of my stupidity and lack of cleverness,” Polly said, preparing to launch into the real purpose for their date. “I’ve done something so appalling…so untenable…”

Randy gave a reassuring smile and said, “I’m not going to have to arrest you, am I?”

Polly looked at him and hoped he was joking. With Randy’s dry sense of humor, she wasn’t completely certain how to read him. “If I’m ever arrested, you’re just the man I’d want to do the job, you gentle beast, you,” she said, trusting that her famous seductive charm would disarm him. “What I have to say is that I’ve changed my mind about Dana Pointer being the assassin. She couldn’t have knocked off Sedra Stone.”

Detective Archer nodded his head. “Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus. Tim said the same thing. But honestly, I’d already come to that conclusion. In fact, Dana was released this afternoon.”

Polly made a show of enormous gratitude and raised her glass to the detective. “Oh, you smart man! What made you change your mind about her lack of guilt? Was it the fact that she wasn’t even on the location set when Sedra was killed? Or do you have evidence pinning the crime on Missie? Or Adam? Or his flirty squeeze, Judith? Or that Boy Scout masquerading as a studio security guard? I wouldn’t be surprised if the killer was the screenwriter.”

Detective Archer shook his head and took a small sip from his champagne flute. “I was never completely sold on Dana Pointer’s guilt anyway. But I had to take someone into custody, if only to be able to work on a high-profile Hollywood scandal and prove to
The Peeper
that with all our sophisticated techniques, the LAPD is damn serious about finding the killers of movie stars. You actually made a reasonable case for her guilt. Or at least reasonable enough to convince the judge who issued the warrant—who said that Polly Pepper’s word was good enough for him. Oh, and he asked me to bring him back an autographed eight by ten.”

Polly clasped her hands together and said, “Dear Lord, forgive me for my false judgment.”

Detective Archer waved away Polly’s apology. “Hell, we’re always making false arrests. It’s good for the community. Makes the law-abiding citizens aware that if they hang out with the wrong sorts, their lives and careers could be ruined in an instant.”

Polly was equally dismissive of Dana’s plight. “She’ll be fine in a few years. The public tends to forget arrests as long as the offender is attractive. I wouldn’t worry about that kid. But let’s put on our thinking caps about this case. If we were writing a made-for-television movie, would our killer be Ted Danson, Barbara Eden in a comeback role, Joe Pesci in another comeback role, Goldie Hawn in a career-saving role, or Mark Harmon cast against type. Let’s go back to Ted. I never trusted those deep set eyes of his.”

Polly seductively touched her date’s hand once again. “Was I ever a suspect?”

Detective Archer swallowed hard. “As a matter of fact, when it was rumored that Sedra Stone had written a screenplay, and that all the characters were thinly veiled depictions of real-life celebrities, and that you were one of the more prominent, and not well represented, then yeah, a few signs pointed to Pepper Plantation. But we can’t find any script.”

Polly was flabbergasted. “Maybe,” she said, “if it was incendiary as you suggest, that might be motive enough for someone to get rid of both the script and its author.”

Archer shrugged his shoulders as he fed himself the last of his crab cakes. “If we find it, I’ll wager it leads to the killer.”

When the bill arrived, Polly placed her hand over the plate on which the check rested. “My treat,” she insisted. “No arguments, please. I’m rich and famous. Next time we can go someplace that you suggest.”

Detective Archer smiled and looked deep into Polly’s eyes.

“What?” she asked, trying to read his thoughts.

Randy tilted his head slightly and grinned. His eyes appeared to be filming Polly for future reference. “I like you. That’s all,” he said. “You’re fun, and generous, and quite nice. Everybody said you would be.”

Polly smiled back and nodded her head. “I like you, too, Randy. Why aren’t you already taken by some gorgeous meter maid half my age?”

Randy inhaled. “All the usual excuses,” he said. “Married to my job. Selfish with my free time. Genital herpes.”

Polly’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“Kidding!” Randy quickly laughed. “Maybe I’m too much of a kidder for anyone to take me seriously.”

Polly laughed too. “I’ve been accused of the same thing. But at least I made a fortune getting the last laugh. And speaking of the last laugh, if Sedra Stone were alive today and saw us together, she’d be so jealous that she’d try her damndest to get you to go out with her.” Polly raised her glass. “I’m certainly not laughing at Sedra’s terrible misfortune, but I am laughing on the inside as I think about how she tried to ruin my life. Yet, I’m still here and she’s not. So who do you think pushed her into the empty pool?”

Detective Archer suggested they take a drive to his office where they could talk more openly.

“You’re not taking me in for interrogation, are you?” Polly said, wide-eyed with sudden excitement.

“Not unless you want me to,” he said, impishly, making her quiver with excitement. “I thought we could go over evidence.”

“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine, eh?”

Detective Archer smiled mischievously as he pushed back his chair then helped Polly out from behind the table. “We could just as easily discuss the case at my apartment.”

“I’ll ask Kevin to put a bottle of Verve into a doggie bag,” Polly said then corralled her waiter who raised an eyebrow along with a dimpled smile, and said he’d meet her at her car. As Polly led the way out of the restaurant she was forced by etiquette to stop at various tables and accept air kisses and bits of chatter from various friends and acquaintances. “I’ve got all your episodes on DVD,” she said to Jerry Seinfeld. “Ellen, I watch you every afternoon. Keep dancing, girl. Wish I had your rhythm!”

But just as she reached the steps of the patio and was about to accept Detective Archer’s hand to guide her to the sidewalk, she automatically exclaimed, “Missie! Adam! J. J.! Sweethearts,” before realizing she was face to face with Missie Miller seated with their mutual agent, and Adam Burg. “Working out the details of getting us all back to
Detention
?’ she said. “I’m ready when you are. Oh, but I forgot about your new project,” she said, looking at Missie. “You start filming on Monday, right?”

Missie forced a smile, but she didn’t say a word. No one at the table was particularly effusive in their greeting of Polly. “Well, then, I’m off,” Polly faked a warm smile. “My best to your mother,” she looked first to Missie. “And say hello to Judith,” she blew a kiss to Adam. “Love to Jackie,” she addressed J. J. “Vickie? Whatever.”

By the time Polly’s Rolls was delivered curbside, Kevin her waiter had arrived with a bottle of champagne protectively covered in bubble wrap and placed in a colorful party bag. As he placed the handles over Polly’s fingers he asked, “Want me to mess with their food?”

Polly smiled and affectionately touched Kevin’s cheek. “Don’t get into trouble on my account,” she said. “But if you happen to overhear what they’re scheming, I’d love a report.”

“Done,” Kevin smiled and returned to the patio dining area. As Detective Archer began to ease the Rolls away from the curb and into traffic, Polly watched as Kevin started to clear away the plates at Missie’s table. Then they were down to Third Street and turning left.

Detective Archer was the first to break the silence and to wonder aloud what two of the other suspects in his investigation were doing together. “Who was the third wheel?” he asked.

“My idiot agent, J. J. Norton. He’s Missie’s agent, too. And he represented Sedra,” Polly clicked off the list. “What’s weird is that Adam is still speaking to Missie. Now that Dana’s out of jail, production can resume on our film, but Missie’s taking off to do another project. You’d think that Adam would be so furious that he’d not only be ready to kill her but he would be bringing her up on SAG union charges.”

“I hear that his career isn’t going too well, so maybe he’s trying to play nice,” Detective Archer said. “Maybe they’re all having dinner to try to convince Missie to change her mind.”

“That’s unlikely,” Polly said. “We had Missie and her mother to dinner the other night. That old woman runs the show. She’s determined that her little girl will become a star. Trust me, Elizabeth makes Mama Rose look like The Flying Nun.”

As the car glided to Crescent Heights Boulevard, Detective Archer make a left hand turn and drove north to Fountain Avenue. “I’m a little embarrassed to have you see my place,” he said, making excuses for the condition of his living arrangement. “It’s just a small condo. But there’s a nice view of the city.”

With those words, Polly set the exchange between Missie and Adam and J. J. to the back of her mind. All she could see was the man driving her car, and her thoughts turned toward touching what she hoped was a firm hairy body.