"Even though Dog was on his way out?" I asked.
Blick frowned at me as he chewed. "Out? Out of what?"
"Weren't you going back to Mae doing a solo show?" Dana asked. "I thought she mentioned something to me about Dog's contract being up and you getting rid of Dog?"
Blick blinked at her like she had just proposed he hire an actress over forty. "Why would I do a thing like that? That man single-handedly turned my wife's show around. Her ratings have never been higher. In fact, we were in negotiations for a new contract for him to do three more years of In the Kitchen."
Dana shot me a look. That wasn't what Mae had told us. Not by a long shot. She'd made it sound like her husband was actively trying to edge Dog out—not reel him in for three more years.
"Is the network planning to do anything for Dog? You know, in his memory?" Tina asked, and I could see her fishing for tomorrow's headline.
Rupert wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Yes, of course. We, uh, have an informal memorial scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. You know, just for his TV family." He paused. "But the press will be there, of course."
Tina nodded, making mental notes. "And what time would that be?" she asked.
Luckily for him—and the rest of the potential mourners—Blick's phone buzzed from the table with an incoming text, and he glanced down at the screen. "Ah, you'll pardon me, ladies. But I have to take this." He mouthed the word Clooney before standing. "Anyway, please enjoy the rest of your meal, and I'll pay the tab on my way out."
"I'd like the dessert menu," Tina said as she finished her third glass of wine.
Rupert turned to Dana. "If you see that shady character on set again, I want you to call Security immediately."
"Of course. Thank you for lunch," Dana said.
"It was delicious," I added.
He smiled at us, but it never quite reached his eyes, which were already on his phone as he walked through the restaurant.
"Well, that was fun," Tina said, glancing at the desserts on the table next to us. "Anyone want another bottle of wine?"
I rolled my eyes. "What are you even doing here?" I asked.
"Same thing as you." She turned a pair of calculating eyes on us. "Pumping the poor man for information about Dog."
"We were not pumping," I said.
"Oh?" Tina asked. "Then, what exactly was the urgent issue on set you wanted to chat with him about today?"
Dana bit her lip. I stared at the white linen tablecloth.
"Yeah, I thought so," Tina said, a smirk hitting her features.
"Okay, fine," Dana conceded. "So maybe our pretenses for being here were as false as yours, Mrs. Partridge."
Tina grinned. "You liked that one? I always thought she had style." Tina grabbed the wine bottle and poured the last dribble into her glass.
"Be whoever you want, but just don't involve me next time, huh?" Dana said.
Tina shrugged. "Sure. But tell me this—what was that look you two exchanged when Blick said he was negotiating a new contract with Dog?"
Dang. Not much got past her.
"Nothing," I said quickly. After what she'd printed about Fernando, that was what she was going to get from me—nothing.
"You are a terrible liar," Tina said.
"Gee, I'm sorry I don't have it down to a science like you do."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment," I mumbled.
"Really, it was nothing," Dana said. "Probably just a misunderstanding. Aunty Mae said that Rupert was trying to get Dog off her show."
Tina raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's not what it sounded like from him."
"Like I said, maybe she just misunderstood him," Dana said.
"Or maybe he lied to her," Tina said.
"Or maybe the wife lied to us," I added.
"Or maybe Aunty Mae couldn't stand the thought of effectively being Dog's sidekick on her own show for three more years and she killed him," Tina suggested.
"That seems extreme. Couldn't she just appeal to her husband?" I asked.
"The husband who thinks she's dumb as a post?" Tina asked, nodding to Blick's now vacant seat. "Yeah, he seemed like he valued her opinion greatly."
She had a point there.
"You know, Aunty Mae did seem kind of shifty when we talked to her," Dana mused. "Like she was trying to put on some sweetheart act for us."
"I've seen her show." Tina put a finger to the side of her head and made a circular motion. "The woman is nuts. Anyone who wears that many pink ruffles has a screw or two loose."
"Says the purple-haired woman in combat boots," I noted.
"I'll have you know these are from Bloomingdales," she protested.
"Maddie's right," Dana said. "I mean, even if Mae hated Dog that much, why not kill him on the set of her own show? Why bother waiting until Dog was on another set?"
"To throw suspicion off herself," Tina said matter-of-factly.
Which, actually, kind of made sense. I exchanged a look with Dana and could see her finding the theory less farfetched the more Tina sold it.
"Anyway," Tina said, rising from the table and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Think what you want. But I'm going over to the studio to talk to Aunty Mae."
"Now?" Dana asked.
"Why not? There's no time like the present." Tina watched as Dana and I exchanged more glances. "Of course," she said smoothly, "I can handle it alone. But I'll be sure to let you two know how I make out. Maybe."
She waved and started walking toward the door.
Dana and I both rose from the table and hurried after her. "Hang on!" Dana called. "We're coming!"
So much for my attempting to mind my own business today.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Since Tina had already consumed three glasses of wine, she decided that we should all pile into Dana's car and drive to the studio lot together. You know, since Dana actually worked on the lot and had a legit reason to be there. Which, I suspected, had been Tina's plan in goading us to come with her all along.
"Hello, Ms. Dashel." A different guard was stationed at the main gate today than we'd encountered on our last trip, and he peered over his horn-rimmed glasses at Dana, giving her a winning smile. "How are you today?"
"Hi, Tom. Just, uh, heading to set."
"Uh-huh. Let me just check my list." He glanced down at the clipboard in his hands, scanning a pudgy finger down the names. His smile faltered as he got to the end. "I don't seem to see you here."
"Well, that's silly." Dana laughed, a nervous, high-pitched thing that had Tina visibly cringing in the back seat. "I mean, I should be on it."
Tom frowned. "Is Charlotte's Angels filming today?"
Dana bit her lip. "Noooo…"
More frowning. "Then I'm afraid that's why you're not on the list."
"Listen, Tom." Dana pulled out her flirtiest smile. "The truth is, I'm such a ditz—I left my phone here yesterday. These long shooting days just make me so tired. I totally forgot it in my trailer."
"Oh, wow. What a bummer," Tom said, nodding.
"Anyway, I just need to pop in really quickly, grab my phone, and I'll be right back out. Scout's honor," she said, holding up three fingers and smiling so widely she practically oozed charm.
Charm that was not lost on the man. Tom's frown slowly ironed out, a smile replacing it. "Well, I guess if you're going to be right back out…"
"Thanks, Tom! You're such a sweetie," she told him with a wink.
Tom's cheeks tinged pink as he opened the gate and then waved gallantly as we drove by him.
"Wow," Tina piped up from the back seat. "I must be rubbing off on you."
"Ha!" Dana barked out. "As if. I've been charming men out of things since I was in diapers."
"That felt like dumb luck," Tina challenged.
"Try me. I could charm a snake!" Dana told her.
"Not sure any of this is something to brag about," I pointed out as Dana found a space in the south lot and parked her car.
&nb
sp; We got out and contemplated the virtual city that made up the lot.
"Where does Aunty Mae shoot?" Tina asked.
Dana shrugged. "I dunno. I've never been to her set."
Tina pulled out her phone. After a little clicking and scrolling, she finally said, "Studio 8B." She looked up to Dana again. "Know where that is?"
Dana nodded. "Actually, it's right near the Jeopardy! set," she said, leading the way.
Fortunately, it was only a quarter mile hike from the south parking lot. Unfortunately, I'd opted for absolutely adorable leather heels that were so very painful for actual walking in. By the time we hit 8B, I was sure I had blisters forming beneath my rhinestone-studded ankle straps.
"This is it," Dana said, indicating a closed side door.
"It looks dark," Tina pointed out. "You think anyone is here?"
"No," I said, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Why would they be? One of the show's stars is dead. It's not like they can continue shooting."
Dana shrugged. "I guess the show doesn't go on. At least not for Mae."
I shook my head. "I knew this was a bad idea. I mean, even if Aunty Mae was lying about—wait, what are you doing?"
Tina had pulled something from her pocket and was sticking it into the keyhole of the side door. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the doorknob.
Dana let out an excited gasp. "Are you picking the lock?"
"I'm trying," Tina said, her tongue sticking out in concentration.
"You can't do that," I said, instinctively looking over both shoulders. "That's breaking and entering."
"Relax," Tina told me. "I'm not going to steal anything. I just want to look around."
"And you just happen to carry a lockpick around in your pocket?"
She looked up from her work to shoot me a smile. "A good reporter is always prepared."
"This isn't good reporting. It's illegal!" I whispered.
Tina gave an impatient sigh. "Look, if you're going to be such a Debbie Do-Righter about this, you can stay out here."
"You can be the lookout," Dana suggested. Her eyes were shining, and she was bouncing on her toes as she watched Tina work. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was enjoying this.
"Great," I mumbled. "Lookout. You know that still makes me an accessory?"
But Dana was too focused on Tina's lock picking to answer. "Is that a Dunston 220?"
Tina shook her head. "No, this is the Lockmaster Deluxe 520."
"Wow, the deluxe! I heard those weren't available to the general public."
"I know a guy," Tina said, still jiggling the little stick in the hole.
"Since when do you know about lockpicks?" I asked Dana.
"Hey, you learn stuff being a kick-butt crime fighter." She shot me a grin.
"Playing a crime fighter," I corrected.
She gave me a blank look. "Same diff."
I was such a good friend that I waited until she'd turned her attention back to Tina to roll my eyes.
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling distinctly exposed out in the open. Anyone passing by the studio would have an unobstructed view of Tina at the lock. "How long is this going to take?" I asked.
"Almost there…" Tina mumbled, her protruding tongue reminding me of a pug on a hot day.
Finally there was a soft click, and the door swung open.
Tina stood, a triumphant grin on her face. "Piece of cake." Then she practically skipped inside.
Dana eagerly followed a step behind.
I hesitated on the threshold. What if there were security cameras? What if someone caught us? What if that someone was my husband, who thought I was at home minding my own business?
"Are you coming?" Tina whispered at me. "I haven't got all day."
I did an eenie meenie miney moe. Finally I threw my hands up. "Fine!"
Let's face it, if there were cameras, I was already toast. Ditto if Tina and Dana got caught. Tom had seen us all come in together. Besides, I wasn't about to let Dana wear an orange jumpsuit on her own.
I quickly stepped inside the dark studio and shut the door behind me.
Tina turned on her phone's flashlight app and swung the beam around the interior. We were in the dining room portion of the show's set, where a large white farmhouse style table was set up against three walls decorated in wallpaper covered with tiny red roosters and framed black and white photos of someone's family. A chintz tablecloth and lace doilies completed the rustic look, making me feel like we were at Grandma's house on the farm and not tucked between LA high rises.
An archway separated the fake dining room from a kitchen full of stainless steel appliances, whitewashed cabinets, a farmhouse sink, and lots of copper pots hanging from the rafters. The double-door refrigerator and eight-burner stove were located at one end, and there was ample space available on the long marble countertops to make a seven-course meal.
While the layout was enough to make any chef drool, the shadows created by the dormant utensils and the stillness in the air gave the room a slightly creepy vibe. Almost sad. Even though Dog had only been dead a couple of days, the entire place had an air of abandonment about it, as if even the walls themselves knew the star would not be back.
"What's down there?" Tina asked, nodding to the right. I could see a hallway that ran along the back wall.
Dana shrugged. "Dressing rooms maybe?"
Tina led the way toward them, passing by a couple of doors marked as storage before finding one that had Aunty Mae's name on it, accompanied by a big gold star underneath. Next to Mae's door was another one that simply said Dog and had a picture of a Rottweiler next to it.
Tina rapped on the first door. "Hello, Aunty Mae?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before turning the knob in her hand and walking in.
Like the rest of the set, it was dark. Tina shut the door behind us and flipped on a light switch, the sudden onslaught of brightness hitting me.
As I blinked my eyes back into focus, I took in the room.
Every square inch of it was pink. Several different hues. It was like walking into a Pepto Bismol bottle. A bubblegum pink color covered the walls. Hot pink lace curtains framed a small mirror at a dressing table. Frilly doilies in rose colors covered the brass adorned side table. Aunty Mae's sofa was a bright fuchsia.
"Wow, someone likes pink," Dana mused.
Tina snorted as she moved to the vanity and started rummaging through drawers. "Didn't I tell you there was something off about her?"
"There's nothing wrong with liking a feminine color," I protested, looking down at my own pale pink top.
Tina shot me a look, her eyes going to my shirt. "Uh-huh."
I stuck my tongue out at her as she turned her back to me again, focused on the contents of Mae's vanity.
Dana wandered to the closet. "Even her clothes are pink," she said, pulling the doors open.
"Check this out," Tina said. "She's got her lipstick arranged according to height. A little OCD maybe?"
"Be careful," I whispered. "Don't mix them up or she'll know someone has been here."
"What exactly are we looking for?" Dana asked, sliding garments aside.
Tina flipped through an index box of recipe cards. "Anything that lends itself to a headline about Mae and Dog." She paused. "A jug of antifreeze would do nicely."
"I thought we were coming here to talk to Aunty Mae," I said. "Not go through her personal things."
Tina shrugged. "Mae's not here. I'm improvising."
"Like you improvised that story about Fernando this morning?" I said.
She looked up.
"Yeah, don't think I'm going to forgive you for that." I wagged a finger her way.
"What?" she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "I didn't spill his secrets."
"But you certainly made it sound like he had some to spill," I pointed out.
She shrugged. "I kept it vague."
"Mae's got like fifteen aprons that are all exactly the same,"
Dana said from the closet. She pointed to a row of pink and white checkered aprons trimmed in lace.
Tina shook her head. "Yikes. One is ugly enough."
I shot her a look. "Combat boots. Just saying."
"Look, if you're going to insult my footwear," Tina shot back, "you could at least make yourself useful by looking through Mae's desk."
I threw my hands up in surrender. "Fine," I said, moving to the small oak writing desk in the corner.
Like the rest of the décor in Studio 8B, it looked like a throwback to a farmhouse in the distant past—except a past where everything was Hello Kitty colored. In the top drawer were pencils (arranged by height), pens (arranged by color), and paperclips (all neatly stacked in one corner). In the next one were piles of paper receipts. I glanced at a few but found nothing out of the ordinary. Ingredients, makeup, aprons, and Starbucks. Each pile was tied with a bright pink ribbon. Apparently Mae wanted to be sure to be reimbursed for everything. I wondered vaguely if her husband was as stingy with his money as he was with his praise.
"Look at this." Tina held out a floral-covered reusable water bottle. Inscribed on the side was, Aunty Mae does Cooking Right. "Take a whiff."
I wrinkled my nose when the powerful scent hit my nostrils. "That water smells more like vodka to me."
Dana inhaled the smell and instantly recoiled. "Straight vodka."
Tina grinned. "I knew it was impossible for anyone to be that naturally perky."
In the bottom drawer of the desk I found a floral makeup bag. Inside it were bottles of nail polish and a prescription bottle with Aunty Mae's name printed on the side. I squinted at the writing and then held up the bottle for Dana and Tina to see. "Antidepressants go well with vodka."
"Yikes," Dana said. "Poor Mae."
"Well, you've met her peach of a husband," Tina noted.
Dana shrugged her concession to that one.
"Find anything?" Tina asked her.
Dana held up a full pink and white floral skirt with a crinoline that looked like it belonged in a Southern wedding from the Civil War. "Anything interesting? Yes. But not entirely incriminating. Unless you're the fashion police."
"You?" Tina asked me.
I shook my head. "Sorry, no jugs of antifreeze."
Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 12) Page 13
