The Scottie Barked At Midnight (11 page)

“In front of the cameras?” Liss asked.

“Of course.”

Liss was tempted to ask if he wanted Dandy and Dondi to sport black collars. And maybe Elise could arrange a tasteful black chiffon scarf around Eudora's throat. Mention of Deidre's passing seemed appropriate. If nothing else, it was necessary to explain why Liss had been brought in as a substitute. But anything more was milking unfortunate circumstances for the sake of free publicity.

Somehow, she wasn't at all surprised that Roy Eastmont intended to do just that.

The production assistant, fumbling with her clipboard, produced an envelope with Liss's name on it. “Here are the questions you'll be asked.”

Things are looking up,
Liss thought. It had not been among her major worries, but she had wondered how well she'd do ad-libbing with the MC.

She opened the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper. The questions were there all right. So were her answers. According to the script, she was an old friend of the Amendole family who had stepped in to complete the season following Deidre's tragic and unexpected death from a heart attack.

Startled, Liss spoke aloud. “Heart attack?”

“What's that?” asked the production assistant.

“It says here that Deidre had a heart attack. Does whoever wrote this know something the medical examiner doesn't?”

Overhearing her question, Roy Eastmont stepped in to answer it. “Her heart stopped, didn't it? Relax, my dear. A simple story is best. We don't want to confuse our viewers.”

She kept her opinion to herself. No one cared what she thought.

The next hour passed quickly. To Liss's relief, Eastmont kept his remarks about Deidre brief and tasteful, but she'd overheard him give instructions to the camera crew. They were to make sure they got close-ups of the armbands and give viewers a glimpse of Deidre's grief-stricken fellow competitors. If a few of them were caught shedding a tear or two, so much the better. In the hope that she could avoid being included in this travesty, Liss kept her facial expression carefully neutral.

After the requisite “moment of silence,” Eastmont segued into the usual beginning of
Variety Live,
the introduction of the contestants. Each of them in turn would swan onto the set in full regalia for their question-and-answer session, remaining there until everyone was assembled. Liss and the dogs were scheduled to enter last, which gave her an opportunity to watch the others interact with the MC.

Elise went first, wearing a skimpy little costume, more glitter than cloth, with Eudora draped over two of the more strategic bits of flesh in order to keep the show G-rated. Liss had to give her credit. Elise knew how to work a crowd. She stroked the python with one hand and used the other to appropriate the old-fashioned handheld microphone Eastmont passed her. Caressing it—there was no other word that suited the action—she held it close to her brightly painted lips and, sounding sultry but sincere, thanked all the fans who'd called in to keep her on the show.

“Don't forget,” she reminded them, playing to both the camera and the cheap seats, “I need your votes this week, too.” With that, she threw the audience a big, Marilyn Monroe–style kiss and handed the microphone back to Roy Eastmont. There was a wiggle in her walk as she returned to the sidelines.

If the fan votes didn't count—how could they when the shows were already recorded?—how
was
the winner chosen? Liss wouldn't put it past Eastmont to bypass the judges, too. Why not? He was clearly the one making all the rest of the decisions.

The Great Umberto was up next, his appearance smooth and sophisticated in a tuxedo. It looked as if it might be the same costume he wore whenever and wherever he performed his magic act and stood out in marked contrast to what his assistant was wearing. Iris's outfit was a little bit of nothing that barely covered the necessities, almost as daring as the costume Elise had on.

Liss rolled her eyes. Now that she thought about it, the episodes she'd watched had all shown this tendency toward skimpily clad female contestants. It wasn't that the show didn't display men as eye candy, because it did, but the men's costumes were a lot more subtle than those worn by the women. To level the playing field, Oscar Yates would have to be decked out in very tight pants with his chest bare and possibly oiled. He looked as if he had a decent build, even if he was a bit on the husky side.

Contemplating the obvious sexism in the competitors' clothing, Liss missed what the magician had to say. All that registered with her was the melodious sound of his voice and that hint of an accent. Regional? Foreign? She couldn't put her finger on it. It occurred to her that it might be his own invention.

Eastmont turned next to Iris, a patently false sympathetic smile on his face, and thrust his microphone into her face. “You were good friends with Deidre, Iris. You must miss her terribly.”

Iris burst into tears.

Eastmont patted her on the back. “There, there, my dear. I know it's hard to lose someone you care for. Deidre Amendole was a lovely person. We all loved her.”

Someone hadn't, Liss thought. Deidre had been genuinely distraught over Dandy's disappearance, and the person who'd taken the Scottie hadn't cared.

Now that she thought about it, Liss was surprised Roy Eastmont hadn't seized on the dognapping to generate publicity for the show. He must have known about it.

Her eyes narrowed. She wouldn't put it past the MC to have taken the Scottish terrier himself as a ploy to boost ratings. Maybe he just hadn't had time to get the word out before Deidre's death provided him with an even better opportunity for sound bites on the entertainment news shows and headlines in the supermarket tabloids.

Don't be so cynical,
she admonished herself, but as she watched and listened to the remaining Q&A sessions, she didn't find any reason to change her mind. Hal Quarles was dressed as he would be if he were headlining as a stand-up comic in Las Vegas. Mo Heedles and Willetta Farwell were attired Vegas-style, too, but at the showgirl end of the spectrum. Their scripts had been written to tug at the heartstrings of the show's fans. Quarles, sour faced, referred to Deidre as “a good egg.” Willetta claimed she'd been a dear friend, and Mo, voice husky, perhaps from getting too close to the dogs, remembered her as generous and kind.

When Liss's turn came, she considered rebelling. She wanted to tell the truth instead of pasting a false smile on her face and lying through her teeth, but she'd agreed to play the game. She could not go back on her word.

“As an old friend of the family, this was the least I could do for poor Deidre,” she said for the benefit of the camera.

Hoping that she would cry or otherwise lose her composure, Eastmont asked, “And how are you holding up?”

Liss was supposed to tell him how much Deidre had meant to her. Instead, she went off script. “Dandy and Dondi miss her terribly.”

The camera swiveled downward to focus on the two Scottish terriers. Viewers at home, in a week's time, would undoubtedly be dabbing moisture from their eyes as they watched this touching moment unfold on their television screens.

The only live audience in the ballroom, aside from the regular cast and crew, consisted of the three judges, minor celebrities whose main qualification appeared to be that they looked good on camera. Liss recognized only one by sight, an actress she'd seen in a very bad disaster movie on the science-fiction channel. She was not sure why she'd started watching it in the first place, but once she had, it had been like witnessing a train wreck. She'd kept telling herself not to gawk, but she hadn't been able to move on, let alone turn off the TV. She'd sat through the entire thing and then been disgusted with herself for wasting so much time.

The names of the other two judges rang distant bells, but Liss couldn't place either of them. The tall distinguished-looking gentleman might be a reality-TV star. Or a used-car salesman. It didn't really matter, nor would it matter that none of them had seen her performance.

With the cameras off, Eastmont glowered at Liss, but he didn't take time to reprimand her. He barked out orders to his crew. While Liss received her scores, the stage would be set for the magic act. She was awarded two nines and a ten.

Sounding exuberant, Eastmont announced that she was now “on top of the leaderboard.”

Liss feigned joy and relief and gave the signal for Dandy and Dondi to stand up on their hind legs and spin in circles. Enthusiastic applause would no doubt be dubbed in later.

With due fanfare and evocative lighting, Oscar Yates and his lovely assistant took center stage. Since performance time was limited by the need to give everyone a turn, record the judges giving their scores, and spotlight the musical number of a better-known celebrity guest, plus commercials, the Great Umberto would perform only one illusion. He'd chosen a complicated version of an old standard. He made Iris disappear, and then, with some sleight of hand Liss couldn't follow, but which probably had a perfectly logical explanation, he switched places with her so that she appeared wearing a skintight version of his tuxedo and he came out of his “magic box” dressed in a long, spangled cape that covered him from head to toe. Only in color and glitter did it match the skimpy outfit Iris had worn at the beginning of the stunt.

At Liss's side, obedient to the commands to sit and stay, the two Scotties watched the show with apparent interest. They were well behaved. They did not bark, nor did either one of them try to sing along when Willetta Farwell took her turn, belting out another well-known show tune at full volume and confirming Liss's opinion that she was the most talented “champion” in the group.

Willetta was receiving her scores from the judges—three nines, which left “Deidre and her Dancing Doggies” still in the lead—when a commotion at the entrance to the ballroom diverted Liss's attention. Three men had cut Elise Isley out of the herd. One wore the uniform of the Maine Warden's Service. Over the general din, she heard the second man, one of the resort's security guards, identify the third individual as being from animal welfare.

Elise's shriek of outrage had every head turning in her direction. “You can't take Eudora!”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but we've received a complaint. It would be one thing if you kept the snake in a cage, but carrying it around loose like this endangers everyone.”

“She. Eudora is a she. And you have no business hassling me about her. I don't need a permit for my python. I checked state regulations before I came here.”

“This isn't a matter of having a permit,” the animal-control officer said, “and
she
will be taken good care of while the charges against her are being investigated.”

Liss gave the man points for tact. If looks could kill, the exotic dancer's glare would already have skewered him. Eudora, supremely unconcerned, remained draped over Elise's shoulders, as if she was waiting patiently for her cue to perform.

“How long will that take?” Elise demanded. “We have a show to do. Besides that, Eudora is accustomed to her little luxuries. She's a
house
pet.”

The officer's face wore a pained expression. “It will take as long as it takes. No more than a few days, but—”

This time Elise's shriek was positively earsplitting. “Nobody,” she shouted, shaking her fist, “is going to deprive me of my chance to become champion of champions on
Variety Live.
”

The game warden stepped in, speaking in a reasonable tone of voice. “We can't ignore a complaint as serious as this one, ma'am.”

“Lies! All lies! Someone is trying to make trouble for me!”

Liss, watching Eudora, realized that the snake was showing signs of agitation. The animal-control officer noticed, too. Seeing the python's tongue flick rapidly in and out, he backed up a step.

At a little distance, Iris Jansen looked on, wide-eyed. The expression on Mo's face was one of amusement. Valentine Veilleux was taking pictures, although she was careful to do so unobtrusively. Yates, Quarles, and Eastmont looked torn. Jump in to defend Elise, thus earning points for bravery? Or opt for self-preservation by staying well out of the way?

Concerned that there might be a knock-down, drag-out fight if the officers tried to take Eudora by force, Liss shoved Dandy and Dondi back into their carriers and made sure the catches were secure. No one needed two small dogs underfoot. Both immediately pressed their noses against the plastic grilling, eager as little children to see what was going on, but neither of them let out a peep. It was as if they knew that loud barking wouldn't begin to compete with the racket Elise was already making.

“Who accused my baby?” she shouted. “I want a name!”

The animal-control officer looked at the game warden. The game warden looked at the hotel security guard. The guard shrugged and reached into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt for a small spiral-bound notebook much like the one Gordon Tandy carried. He took his time flipping through the pages, looking for the notation he sought.

“Augustus Brown,” he read aloud. “Room 312.”

“Get him down here!” Elise demanded. “Let him accuse Eudora to her face!”

At the game warden's nod, the security guard took out his radio and mumbled a few words into it. “Be a couple of minutes,” he said when he'd stuffed the unit back into the case attached to his utility belt.

“In the meantime,” said the animal-control officer, “why don't we secure your pet so she doesn't get overexcited.” He indicated the large cage he'd brought with him.