Dial Emmy for Murder (15 page)

“Believe me,” he said, “when a woman makes a move and asks me to go home with her, I notice.”

“She did that?”

“Yes,” he said. “She did it once. I turned her down. Since then she hasn’t tried again, but she’s been . . .” He groped for a good phrase.

“Making your life miserable?”

“Yes.”

“Has she tried it with anyone else?”

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“Did you tell anyone? Your partner?”

“No,” he said. “I told you. Len and I aren’t that close.”

“So he has no idea why she’s riding you.”

“No.”

“You know,” I said, “I got a glimpse of her. She seems . . . attractive.”

“She’s okay,” he said. “A few years older than me, but not bad.”

“Then what’s the problem? You’re single, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “She’s not my type. And . . . I guess Len told her I had asked you out after that whole Marcy Blanchard case. Ever since she’s been kind of . . . snarky.”

“So, wait . . . Is she pissed off at me?”

“I’d say yes,” he said, “which is probably why she doesn’t want you around.”

“And what happens if she tried to make
my
life miserable?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t let that happen.”

“But you still want me in on this investigation?”

“Definitely.”

“Why?” I asked. “As far as I can see, I didn’t add much to it yesterday.”

“Well,” he said, “that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.” He grabbed an onion ring from my plate. “Let’s talk.”

Chapter 32

“Okay,” I said, “but I need a dessert.” When we both had a piece of cake in front of us, I asked, “What about one of the murders being solved?”

“Kyle Hansen was murdered in Canada, and apparently they’ve made an arrest and closed the case.”

“What if he’s the wrong man?”

“They have a confession.”

“What if they—you know—coerced it out of him? I mean, it happens all the time.”

“Sometimes, sure,” he said. “I can check into it a little further, but I think we should concentrate on the other four.”

Before I could say anything, my cell sang out. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Connie. She had left a couple of messages I hadn’t even bothered to listen to. Guilt set in so I decided to hear what she had to say.

“Sorry, Jakes. I really need to take this.” He shrugged and I got up and moved away from the table. “How’ve you been, Connie?”

“Doll, I’ve been good. I miss you, though. Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thanks. And I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I just needed to step away.”

“I get it, Al. This business can be such a bitch! Now, I got a request. . . .” Before I could object, she went on. “Hold your horses! You’re gonna love it.” I let her tell me and she was right.

The Academy of Television was known for host ing a series of “An Evening with . . .” programs. You know: “An Evening with the Cast of
ER
,” “the Writers of
30 Rock
,” et cetera. Apparently they were doing “An Evening with the Leading Ladies of Daytime” and wanted my participation. It would be me along with Susan Lucci, Melody Thomas Scott and Kim Zimmer. I was very flattered and excited about the idea of speaking about what I know and love at a forum of this magnitude.

“You’re right, Connie. I do love it. Count me in. When is it?”

“It’s on next Monday night. Seven to ten p.m. They’re happy to send a car. They’ll be over the moon to know you’re going to be a part of it. Thanks, doll. I’ll fill you in with more details as we get closer. Now, there’s one more thing. It’s a new game show that puts celebrities in clown suits and asks them—”

“Connie! Don’t push your luck. I love ya. Gotta go.” I pushed “end” and walked back over to Jakes.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just some business. Where were we? I think you were about to tell me about the fifth one.” I sat down.

“Mason Stone,” Jakes said. “He lived here but was from San Francisco. That’s something Len’s been trying to do, get in touch with his family up there.”

“So they don’t even know that he’s dead yet?”

“No.”

“That’s terrible.”

“We’ll notify them as soon as we can,” Jakes said, “because we also want to question them.”

“We,” I said. “When you say we . . .”

“I’m including you, Alex.”

“Okay, let’s get back to that,” I said. “Like I said, I didn’t add a thing yesterday—”

“Alex, just because you haven’t contributed yet doesn’t mean you won’t.”

“You sure you’re not using me to piss off your boss?”

“Believe me,” he said, “I don’t have to try to piss her off . . . but am I waving you under her nose? No way. I consider you a valuable resource.”

“Why?”

“Because soap operas—and women—seem to be the two things all these cases have in common. Granted, Jackson was the only one working regularly, but the others have auditioned and, for all we know, could’ve played some bit parts.”

“I’m still waiting to hear what my contribution is going to be.”

“Okay, Len’s trying to find the Stone family,” he explained. “I have to follow up on all the interviews I did yesterday. It catches people off guard when you come right back at them.”

“And me?”

He took out his notebook, tore a slip of paper from it, put it on the table and pushed it toward me. It had the names of four soap operas on it.

“Do you know people at those shows?”

“I know someone at almost every show,” I told him. “It’s the nature of the business—especially if they’re on the same network.”

“Good,” he said. “I want you to get in there and find out what you can about our dead guys. Who auditioned for what part, and who got the job.”

“I can do that,” I said. “How do you know which shows they auditioned for?”

“Agents,” he said. “That was the one thing we were able to find in all their apartments: the names and addresses of their agents.”

I picked up the slip of paper. “Good. Now I’ll feel useful.”

He called the waitress over and took care of the bill. We had all driven there in our own cars, so as we left the place he took my arm and walked me to mine.

“I’ll give you a call to see if you found anything out,” he said. “Remember, we’re on the clock.”

“If I get anything, I’ll call you first,” I promised.

He waited while I unlocked my door. I opened it and then turned and leaned on it.

“You could ask these questions, Jakes,” I said, “or have another cop do it. Why me?”

“Jesus, Alex,” he said, “could we put this question to bed?”

“Humor me.”

“Okay,” he said. “People lie to the police. It’s automatic.”

“But if they didn’t do anything—”

“Everybody feels guilty about something,” he said. “It’s a reflex. Believe me, you have a better chance of being told the truth than I do.”

I thought a moment and then shrugged and said, “Okay, I accept that.”

“Good. Talk to you soon.”

As I pulled away from the curb, I could see him in the rearview mirror, watching.

Chapter 33

When I got home and flipped on the lights, Sarah scared the you-know-what out of me by yelling, “Surprise! Mommeeeeee,” and running into my arms. I got over my fright quickly, squeezed the stuffing out of her and covered her with tickle kisses. I was hugging her again when my mom came walking in.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, looking at her over Sarah’s head.

“Hi, honey!”

I released Sarah long enough to give my mom a kiss and a big hug.

“I’m so glad you’re both home,” I told her. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come and picked you up at the airport.”

“Sarah said she wanted to surprise you. It was just a short cab ride.”

I turned and caught Sarah as she jumped into my arms again.

“I missed you so much, Mommy,” she said. “I didn’t like the Middlewest so much.”

“Oh, honey, there are good things about it and not so good things. Just like here.”

“I like living here the best,” she said. “This is where my room is.”

Perfect little girl logic.

“I made dinner,” Mom said. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I would’ve taken you both out.”

“Nonsense,” she said, turning and heading back to the kitchen. “I’ll have it on the table in no time.”

I played with Sarah for a few more minutes and then listened during dinner while she told all of her “Middlewest” adventures. After that we watched some TV together while Mom did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. I felt guilty leaving the cleanup to her, but Sarah would not let me go. By the time I read her a bedtime story and tucked her in, my mother had two cups of tea ready.

We sat on the sofa together with our tea. Things felt more normal than they had in weeks.

“Now tell me what’s been going on, dear,” Mom said, “and don’t leave anything out.”

 

My mother was quiet by the time I finished telling her everything—well, almost everything.

“Mom?”

“Alex,” she said finally, “I understand what happened at the Emmy Awards was traumatic, and you’d like to help find who killed that young man, Jackson, but you have to remember you have Sarah waiting for you at home.”

“Well,” I said, “up to now she’s been away with you, but now that’s she’s back I have every intention—”

“No,” she said, putting her hand on my knee. “I mean all the time, not just now. You got hurt the last time, remember? You could have gotten killed. And then where would Sarah be without a mother? For all intents and purposes, Sarah has already lost her father. And where would I be without my daughter?”

I put my hand over hers. Little did she know Randy was back in the picture. Or trying to be, anyway.

“I understand, Mom,” I said, “but this is different. I’m not in danger, and I won’t be.”

“You know that for sure?”

I took my hand away from hers. “Well, of course I know that, Mom.”

She patted my knee and said, “Just checking, dear.” She stood up, picked up both cups, but didn’t leave the room. “What about Paul?”

“What about him?” I asked, not meeting her eyes. “He’s still away, working.”

“I assumed that,” she said. “I meant . . . what about you and him?”

“What are you asking me?”

“I’m not too old to recognize attraction to the opposite sex, Alex,” she said. “I saw it last time between you and that detective. I assume it’s still there.”

“Mom—”

“I’m just saying, you almost lost Paul last time,” she said. “Do you want to risk it this time?”

“Mom . . . I haven’t done anything. . . .”

“I believe you—I do. You haven’t done anything . . . yet. I’m just . . . being a mother, you know?”

“Yes,” I said, “I know.”

As she left the room and went back to the kitchen, I understood what she was saying. After all, I was a mother, too, and wanted what was best for Sarah. I didn’t ever want her to get hurt . . . not even a little. My mother didn’t want me to get hurt. A skinned knee, a bruised ego, a broken heart . . . they all hurt.

Mom came back into the room to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Alex.”

“Night, Mom. I’m really glad you’re back.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she said. “So am I.

“Maybe we can all go to the beach and have a picnic tomorrow.”

“All right, Mom,” I said. “That sounds like fun!”

As I passed by the window on my way to bed, I noticed a car parked across the street. The cop nodded to me and gave me a thumbs-up. Jakes hadn’t missed a beat. He already had someone watching Sarah. I would sleep well tonight. My family was home and safe!

Chapter 34

I went to the studio Monday prepared to do Detective Jakes’s bidding. One of the shows he wanted me to check out,
Too Late for Yesterday
, taped in the same building we did, so it was a simple thing to walk over there before I started work.

I had spent the entire weekend with Sarah and my mom. I knew I’d missed my little girl, but even I didn’t know how much until I got to have breakfast with her Saturday morning. She chattered away about her trip and had a lot to tell me for someone who claimed she didn’t like it. When she asked me what we were going to do that day, I told her that Saturday and Sunday were for her. We’d do whatever she wanted to do. After that I might have her and my mom go stay with George and Wayne for a few days while the whole Randy thing got sorted out. I was probably being overprotective. So what?

“Hey, Alex,” Danielle Asbury said as I walked into her office. “What brings you over to the competition?”

She was kidding, of course. Our shows were on the same network, but the last I heard
The Bare and Brazen
was a little higher in the ratings. Unfortunately, we were both trailing
The Yearning Tide
, which—despite my departure—was highly rated.

Danielle was the associate producer on her show. Associate producers do a little bit of everything and a whole lot of other things, including knowing the ins and outs of their respective shows.

“I have a question about an actor named Aaron Summers, Danielle.”

Danielle frowned. “I don’t think we’ve ever had an Aaron Summers on the show. At least, not during my tenure.” Danielle was in her fifties, and her tenure probably went back twenty years.

“No, you haven’t,” I said, “but you did have someone by that name audition for a part that he didn’t get. I’d like to know when and for what part.”

“What’s this about, Alex?”

“Aaron Summers is dead,” I said. “He was killed in a way similar to Jackson Masters. He was also the same general type.”

“Are you playing detective, Alex?”

“I’m . . . just helping the police with their inquiries.”