Kiss of Death
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Praise for the Daytime Mysteries
LOVE YOU MADLY
“Oh joy! Linda Palmer has another winner with this outstanding series.”—Rendezvous
“A fantastic addition to this series. Full of insider dish on everything from New York co-ops to Daytime dramas, it zips along at a brisk pace … This is the rare book in which the main character and her world are every bit as intriguing as the mystery she finds herself embroiled in.”
—Romantic Times
“Entertaining … a complex story with unexpected twists and turns.”—MyShelf.com
“A slice of pure escapism, a modern cozy set in the world of television.”—ReviewingTheEvidence.com
LOVE HER TO DEATH
“Morgan is a wonderful character … strong, intelligent, and witty … The author clearly knows her way around Daytime TV and conveys the inner workings of a network with assurance. The mystery takes several interesting twists and will keep readers guessing.”
—The Romance Reader’s Connection
“The heroine can be summed up in one word: spunky … Rich in characterizations and action … Linda Palmer proves with this fine cozy that she has what it takes to reach the top of her profession.”—The Best Reviews
“This is a great book for fans of soap operas and good books alike.”—Fresh Fiction
“Full of sharp details, quirky characters, and juicy gossip, Palmer’s latest not only promises the goods, it delivers them in high style.”—Romantic Times (4 1⁄2 stars)
LOVE IS MURDER
“Divine … The juicy behind-the-scenes soap opera details are to die for!”—Jerrilyn Farmer, award-winning author of the Madeline Bean Catering Mysteries
“I couldn’t put it down! [A] vivid backstage portrait of the world of Daytime drama … A wonderful read and a fun mystery … Spot-on.”—Barbara Rush, formerly of All My Children and Flamingo Road
“One terrific read … A delicious mystery … Clever and smart.”—Linda Dano, formerly of Another World
“Combining romance, humor, and suspense, this offbeat debut mystery … offers a behind-the-scenes look at the soap opera industry.”—Publishers Weekly
“Smart, sassy … A backstage pass into the world of Daytime soaps … Witty and fast-paced … I’m looking forward to more of Morgan Tyler!”
—Kelly Lange, author of the Maxi Poole Mysteries
“Ms. Palmer has written a dynamite new series. Her cast of characters leads us on a merry chase until we find the truth. A unique and enjoyable book.”—Rendezvous
“An author who clearly has the inside scoop on the Daytime drama scene … This is smart, fast-paced fun that hooks the reader from the first page. I hope this is the first in a long-lived series.”
—The Romance Reader’s Connection
“Wry humor and a compelling script keep the reader eagerly turning each page. There are plenty of suspects to choose from, guaranteed to keep you guessing until the very end. Let’s hope Ms. Palmer continues writing more of the same.”—The Best Reviews
“A quick read that will quickly win Linda Palmer many fans and have readers tuning in for the next episode of Morgan Tyler’s life.”—The Mystery Reader
“Dotted with fascinating insider details about the soap world and its stars.”—Romantic Times
Daytime Mysteries by Linda Palmer
LOVE IS MURDER
LOVE HER TO DEATH
LOVE YOU MADLY
KISS OF DEATH
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
KISS OF DEATH
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / May 2007
Copyright © 2007 by Linda Palmer.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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eISBN : 978-0-425-21582-1
BERKLEY ® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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To D. Constantine Conte
I AM GRATEFUL …
To Claire Carmichael (aka mystery novelist Claire Mc-Nab), a marvelous writer and the
world’s most generous instructor. Thank you for turning a screenwriter into a novelist.
To Norman Knight: my real-life “knight” (and the un-crowned “Prince of Latvia”).
To Morton Janklow and Rebecca Gradinger: you are more than brilliant agents, you are gladiators. Thank you for everything.
To Kate Seaver, gifted editor. Thank you for your suggestions that made the manuscript better. It’s a joy to work with you.
To a wonderful group of “test readers,” all so talented in your individual ways. Your early reactions are a tremendous help: Carole Moore Adams, Hilda Ashley, Dr. Rachel Oriel Berg, Christie Burton, Rosanne Kalil Bush, Carol Anne Crow, Ira Fistell, Richard Fredricks, Judy Tathwell Hahn, Nancy Koppang, Kay Partney Lautman, Susan Magnuson, Mari Marks, Jaclyn Carmichael Palmer, Dean Parker, Corrine Tatoul, and Kim LaDelpha Tocco. “Morgan” and I thank you.
To Rosanne and Buddy Bush, who took me to Cucina’s and to The Main Street News in Palm Beach, Florida, to show me where “Walter Maysfield” would have his daily breakfasts and buy his out-of-town newspapers.
To Christie Burton and Susan Magnuson for convincing me that “Nancy” deserved a better man.
To Bruce Thompson, my friend and the computer “man of steel.”
To Richard Fredricks, who ignited the idea of writing a mystery series.
To Wayne Thompson of Colonial Heights, Virginia, who is the inspiration for “Chet.”
And to Berry Gordy, always and forever.
Chapter 1
BETTY KRAFT, THE assistant I shared with my co-executive producer, Tommy Zenos, burst into our office, waving a sheaf of papers. Her corona of gray curls bouncing like Ping-Pong balls, Betty exclaimed, “Morgan, what the hell did the writers do to Evan Duran?”
I was busy revising the taping schedule of Love of My Life, the Daytime drama for which I was also the head writer, because one of our actors had just shattered his right knee in a skateboarding accident.
On Tommy’s side of our antique English partners’ desk, his plump fingers broke off a substantial piece of a Cad-bury’s Fruit and Nut bar and popped it into his mouth while he shuffled through photos of child actors. Puzzled, Tommy looked up at Betty. “Who’s Evan Duran?”
That name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Is there a problem?” I asked Betty.
“You bet your Emmy!” Betty was close enough for me to see that the pages she gripped were reports printed out from the network’s Love of My Life chat room. “The soap channel’s running old episodes,” she said. “Some viewers noticed that the Evan Duran character went upstairs to take a nap—ten years ago—and never came back down again.”
“It’s not our fault,” Tommy protested. “Morgan and I have only been with the show for five years.”
“But you two are in the captain’s chairs now,” Betty said. “And fans are making jokes about the character’s ten-year nap.”
“Jokes?” Tommy blanched. “Morgan—think of something! Ridicule hurts a show. We could lose viewers!”
That worried me, too. The Global Broadcasting Network owned Love of My Life. If our audience share declined, Tommy and I could be replaced. In television, whoever is in control of a show when ratings fall gets the blame. I wanted to stay on Love to protect the characters and the storylines I had created. New head writers have a tendency to take shows in what they tout as “a fresh direction.” The results could be disastrous, with beloved characters damaged and the hard-won trust of the audience betrayed.
Tommy’s fear was different from mine. If he lost this job he might have to go to work for his father, Alexander Zenos. Zenos père had created three other popular daytime TV dramas, but he was a notorious tyrant, and Tommy was terrified of him.
I got up and crossed over to the wall behind Tommy where I’d pinned up our character graph. I’d begun making it the first week I was hired as an associate writer. Betty followed me.
Constructed of poster paper, the graph was two feet high and four feet long, and diagrammed the biological and emotional connections of all the continuing characters.
Using manicure scissors, I had cut small photos of the actors into the shape of Christmas tree ornaments, and hung them from the various branches of the multifamily, three-generation story. If a part had to be recast, I pasted the new actor’s photo over the previous actor’s image.
Betty studied the photos and said to me, “You’re as pretty as any of the girls on the show. I’ve wondered why you didn’t become an actress.”
Compliments about my looks had always made me uncomfortable. “There are a lot of things I can’t do, and one of them is act.” I tapped a picture on a low branch, about two feet from the beginning of the graph. “Here he is—Evan Duran. He’s Sylvia’s younger brother. Duran was her maiden name, before she became Mrs. Hansen, Mrs. Truscott, and Mrs. Marks.”
Betty grinned. “Hansen, Truscott, and Marks—sounds like she caught a whole law firm.”
“She’s been on the show for twenty years,” Tommy said. “Erica Kane had five husbands by the time she’d been on All My Children for twenty years.”
Back at my desk, I pulled out the character bio file and found the folder marked “Evan Duran.” Scanning the pages, I said, “He started in his teens as a rock singer, then he joined the marines, went overseas, had some bad experiences—but the head writer at that time never specified exactly what happened to him. When Evan left the marines and came back to Greendale, he went to medical school … then his story just stops.”
Betty cocked her head quizzically. “What does that mean?”
“That his story wasn’t brought to a conclusion,” Tommy said. “He wasn’t killed, or sent away into a Witness Protection Program—something like that.”
“It looks as though my predecessor forgot about him,” I said.
Betty’s narrow lips curved in a skeptical smile. “Just forgot? I wonder if that really was the reason.”
Perhaps because she’d been a psychiatric nurse before she left that profession and joined the bizarre world of Daytime drama, Betty was one of the sharpest observers of people I’d ever met. I asked her what she was thinking.
“That actor might have messed himself up on drugs or booze,” she said.
Tommy grimaced. “We’ve been through that a couple of times. Not fun.”
“I’m going to find out the truth,” I said. “This could be a fabulous opportunity for the show. Fans love it when a familiar actor comes back in his original role. It’ll be great publicity.”
Tommy started to bite his thumbnail, but caught himself and instead took three packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from the chocolate stash in the top drawer of his desk. He offered candy to Betty and me, but we declined.
Tommy tore open a package. “You’ve got thirty-two contract players to create stories for now. That’s already a ton of work. Maybe the actor’s dead,” he said hopefully.
I shook my head. “We would have heard if anyone who’d been on the show passed away. Actors’ obituaries always include their credits … Betty, look up the name of the actor who played Evan Duran and see if you can find out where he is now.”
“Will do,” Betty said crisply. She hurried out of the office on her mission.
Tommy finished one peanut butter cup and started another. “How are you going to explain the ten-year nap?”
I’d already been thinking about that. “Assuming that Betty can find him and that he’s able to work, a couple of weeks before he appears on-screen I’ll have characters start talking about him. His sister, Sylvia, will mention that after medical school he did his internship and residency in some other state—then he’s been doing humanitarian work out of the country, but now he’s coming back to Greendale.”
“With some awful tropical disease?”
“No disease,” I said firmly. Not to discourage Tommy’s attempt at creativity, I added, “Maybe in a year or so. Whether or not it’s fatal depends on whether or not he’s popular again with the fa
ns.”
Now that the problem was established as mine and not Tommy’s, he expelled a deep sigh of relief. He picked up the pile of photos he’d been looking through before Betty came in and shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know why anybody bothers to take pictures of kid actors. They look different five minutes after their head shots are printed.” He tossed the glossies into the wastebasket beneath the desk. “We’ve got to find a ten-year-old girl to play Gareth’s daughter. How ’bout if I have Casting schedule some kids for us to see tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow’s fine.”
In another few minutes I’d finished rearranging the taping schedule and gathered the papers together to give them to Betty for distribution to the actors, to our revolving “wheel” of four directors, and to the technical staff.
Taking my shoulder bag from the coat tree by the office door, I said, “I have an appointment downtown. See you after lunch.”
Tommy was instantly curious. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he asked, “You sneaking off to have a romantic lunch with one of the men in your life? Which one—the cop or the crime writer? Or is there somebody new?”
Trying to sound casual, I said, “It’s not as exciting as a rendezvous. Just some personal business—nothing to do with the show. I’ll keep my cell phone on, in case you need to reach me before I get back.”
I hurried out of the office without giving Tommy time to ask anything else. Much as I liked Tommy, I didn’t want him, or anyone else, to know that I was on my way to hire a private detective.