Done to Death

by Charles Atkins

  ‘It’s got to be someone local,’ Kevin said.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Mattie asked, piecing together a probable sequence of events.

  ‘Who else would know that Route Twelve touches Lenore’s land?’

  ‘Anyone who wants to look it up on Google Earth.’

  ‘Sure,’ Kevin said, ‘but would they know it’s a chain-link fence and that security is minimal?’

  ‘It still doesn’t mean someone local. It does mean someone who’s been here before. And Clarence, you’re telling me that she used this place like a TV set.’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he said. ‘At least once a month in good weather you’d have crews down here, staged dinner parties with celebrities, pool parties. She always did her holiday specials from here. You name it and she’d film it.’

  ‘They were filming yesterday,’ Kevin offered.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Clarence asked.

  ‘They’re shooting a reality show in Grenville.’ He looked at Mattie. ‘Your friend Ada Strauss is somehow involved.’

  Mattie nodded. ‘Yeah, she told me.’ Cell in hand, she tapped Jamie’s number. Her partner picked up.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Mattie asked; she’d had Jamie accompany Rachel Parks to Silver Glen Hospital.

  ‘Not good. I think whatever bubble she’s been in burst about thirty minutes ago. She won’t stop crying.’

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘Not about the murder,’ Jamie said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone in such pain. She keeps saying she wants to die.’

  ‘I’m assuming they’ve got her on a suicide watch,’ Mattie said, fearful that the only potential witness could wind up dead like her brother and mother.

  ‘Oh yeah, and I’ve arranged to have a pair of uniformed officers outside her room. Which I might add is not making me popular with the staff here.’

  ‘Has Dr Ebert gotten there yet?’

  ‘No, you want me to call you when he does?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She was about to hang up.

  ‘Mattie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘They dipped her urine when we got here. She is pregnant.’

  ‘Seems to be a lot of that going around.’

  She hung up and looked from the fence to the road and back to Clarence and Kevin. ‘Clarence, any chance you keep a log of people coming and going?’

  ‘No, but I never erase the video from the front gate. We could go back and see everyone who’s been here.’ He pointed to the fence. ‘At least everyone who comes in through the gate.’

  ‘OK, if you wouldn’t mind going through them with someone from the CSI Team. We’ll need to take them as evidence, but if you could put names to faces that would be a help. And that other thing … Lenore’s surrogate. You have no idea who the girl is?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘and the whole thing seemed so far-fetched, but if you knew Lenore and how she operated … I have no reason not to believe it. Why would she make something like that up?’

  ‘Did she say what the delivery date was?’

  ‘Late summer. She wanted to do a series of Lenore Says on early childcare. I was supposed to get the nursery set up.’

  ‘She was fifty-two,’ Mattie said. ‘Any idea why she’d want more children?’

  ‘God only knows. Here’s what I think. The shows where she had Rachel and Richard had two of her all-time highest ratings. I think this whole “let’s thaw out a couple of my eggs, get a surrogate and do the Mommy thing again” was for ratings.’

  ‘Who would know the details?’ Mattie asked. ‘If this is true, then Rachel isn’t the only natural heir to a few hundred million dollars.’

  ‘I guess whoever did the procedure, Lenore’s obstetrician. The surrogate could be anyone.’

  She looked at Clarence. ‘I get the sense you knew Lenore better than most. Make a guess.’

  He nodded. ‘It would have to be someone she could control. Someone who wouldn’t go to the tabloids. So if I were going to guess, it would be an employee. And because it’s Lenore and everything winds up on her show … Although …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m trying to think if she’d want the public to know. She never revealed, at least publicly, who the sperm donor was for Richard and Rachel.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m trying to think like her. If she never revealed who the father was, maybe she wanted to keep the surrogate’s identity hidden. The media is fickle. What if the surrogate came off more sympathetic than Lenore, or if it looked like Lenore was taking advantage of some young girl? But it’s one hell of a secret to keep. The pay-off for the surrogate would have to be huge. Either money or something else, like your own TV show. Lenore was surrounded by people who’d do a lot more than have her children if it meant getting ahead in the business.’

  ‘Good thoughts, Clarence. If you come up with more let me know. You said Lenore never publicly revealed who Rachel and Richard’s biological father or fathers were. Do you know?’

  ‘Not for certain, but I’d put money on John Gregory. You can see it in Richard − same eyes, similar facial features. It’s less clear with Rachel, or maybe Lenore used different sperm donors.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Could that have been what they were fighting about?’ Mattie asked.

  ‘You lost me,’ he said.

  ‘You said that Mr Gregory and his … “trainer” left early, that there was some kind of fight between him and Lenore. If all of this is true and he’s a closeted actor trying to maintain a straight image, it seems that fathering a kid or two would help. Or maybe he wanted to let Rachel and Richard know that they had a father, or …’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Clarence nodded. ‘It makes sense but, like I said, if it wasn’t what Lenore wanted, it wasn’t going to happen.’

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Damn shame,’ Barry said to Melanie as he stared through the viewfinder at the set they’d thrown together in the ballroom of the Grenville Suites Hotel. Seated at a table was Ada in a vintage pale pink and black chiffon dress, and next to her was a local dealer whose idea of on-screen attire included striped suspenders and a red bow tie. The stage was littered with hastily gathered pieces of antique furniture, silver and porcelain. ‘She looks great.’

  ‘She does,’ Melanie said, looking at how natural Ada was, ‘but this one’s useless. Too stiff, and the voice …’ She shouted to the stage, ‘Thanks so much, we’ll let you know.’ She looked to the back of the room, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the man in the bow tie and suspenders.

  ‘My numbers are on my résumé,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Melanie said without turning. ‘Next!’ She glanced at Barry. ‘There’s no way we can use the mansion?’

  ‘I don’t see how. It’s a fucking crime scene.’

  ‘Shit! We both know that using Lenore’s estate would shoot this thing through the roof. There’s got to be a way.’

  ‘I don’t know. Richard wanted to pull the plug, and Rachel … that girl is one messed up chick.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Melanie said. ‘One messed up chick with keys to the house. Where do you think they’ve stashed her?’

  ‘Don’t know and we need to find out.’

  ‘And LPP?’ she asked.

  ‘No clue. They’ll cobble together something, but Melanie, this show is our ticket. If we can get this pilot shot. Even if LPP were to go up in smoke, I think there’s half a dozen studios that would jump for this.’

  ‘I know,’ and she left Barry with the cameraman and headed toward the next audition. This one looked better − handsome, late thirties, sandy blond, expensive-looking haircut, navy blazer, good build, even features. She grabbed his CV and headshot from the assistant. ‘Mr Jacobs.’ She extended her hand. ‘So, you’re the owner of Grenville Antiques.’

  ‘Yes.’ He glanced toward the stage and nodded toward Ada.

  ‘You know Mrs Strauss?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK,’ she laughed
, ‘I’m sensing there’s some history.’

  ‘A little.’ He inhaled deeply as Ada left the stage and walked toward them.

  ‘Hello Tolliver.’

  ‘Mrs Strauss.’

  Melanie looked at the handsome man with his perfect-for-the-camera face and whiff of an English accent. Of the two dozen interviews they’d already whipped through, this Tolliver at least looked and sounded the part. ‘What am I missing?’ She glanced at Ada and then back to Tolliver Jacobs.

  ‘Ada,’ he said, ‘can we please just bury the past?’

  Ada’s jaw twitched. ‘Fine. No reason you can’t have the same shot as everyone else.’

  ‘OK then,’ Melanie said. She looked at Tolliver and figured she’d get the skinny from Ada after his audition. It would figure that the first real candidate would have some deal-breaking flaw. Then again, she thought, a little on-screen tension could heat things up. ‘This is the set-up, Mr Jacobs …’

  ‘Tolliver,’ he said, displaying perfect teeth.

  ‘Tolliver, there’s a variety of items on the stage; pick whatever strikes your fancy and then explain it to Ada while we film. You want to make it as fascinating as possible, but don’t turn into a grad student talking about his dissertation.’

  He nodded. ‘You want me to sell it.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She walked them to the stage.

  Melanie explained the marks where Tolliver was to stand or sit. ‘But feel free to move around; we’ll follow. Also, the closer you can get to Ada the better. Even if it feels unnatural, it won’t read that way on the camera. Got it?’

  ‘Got it.’ He eyed Ada. After Melanie walked off he whispered, ‘Are we good?’

  She looked up at him, unable to forget his past behavior, but also putting it into a more accepting context. Three years back Tolliver’s partner had been murdered. He’d been devastated. What subsequently unfolded was a tragic story. Yes, in the midst of this Tolliver had behaved badly by seriously undervaluing a painting that had belonged to Ada’s friend. He admitted what he’d done and, at the end of the day, Evie’s heirs got an unexpected windfall from the sale of said painting. ‘I’m very good,’ she said. ‘This is to see how you do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered back. ‘You have no idea how much I need this.’ He glanced around the stage. ‘How do you feel about early American furniture?’ His gaze landed on a small eighteenth-century cherry games table.

  ‘Your pick,’ she said.

  Barry watched the monitor as the good-looking man with the perfect hair and right outfit walked Ada and the viewing audience through the wonders of a two hundred fifty-year-old drop-leaf table. Ever since he’d first heard her on the phone, he was impressed by Ada’s ease. She knew which questions to ask, the ones the audience would want answered. Her face was expressive, but with the subtle nuance that was perfect for TV. So too were her movements, graceful without a lot of hand waving or gesturing. This Tolliver guy wasn’t half bad, and having some eye candy for the ladies and gay viewers would be a plus. Maybe create a situation where he’d have his shirt off − of course that could be a stretch on an antique appraisal show.

  Melanie, at the monitor next to him, was nodding. ‘He’s a keeper,’ she said.

  ‘Agreed; one down, and now we need at least a couple more to flesh out the season.’

  ‘If we get a season.’

  Her words triggered a rush of anxiety. ‘This will work,’ he said, not at all certain of that. Not even sure if Lenore Parks Productions was still open for business.

  His cell vibrated. He pulled it out and saw Jeanine’s number. ‘Hey babe.’

  ‘I just heard about Richard Parks,’ she said, her voice coming through the speaker phone in her car with a slight echo.

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty awful.’

  ‘Barry …’ She hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m on the road, about half an hour away. I need to see you.’

  ‘OK,’ his anxiety suddenly back. ‘What’s wrong?’ expecting this to be the moment his too-beautiful wife would tell him that she’d been seeing someone else, someone more successful, someone able to give her all the things she deserved.

  ‘Sweetie. You can’t hide anything from me. “What’s wrong?” What’s wrong is you’re freaking out and pretending everything’s OK. What’s wrong is I need to be with you. We’ll get through this. Barry, you are brilliant and creative and Lenore was lucky to have you.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  ‘I know that, and it’s not what you say, it’s what you do. I love you too. Ashley, say hi to Daddy.’

  ‘Hi Daddy.’

  Barry smiled. ‘Hi sweetie. Jeanine, we’re doing auditions. It’s dull stuff.’

  ‘To you maybe. Don’t try to talk me out of this. You need us there and you know it. Plus it’s a beautiful day, and I want to see my handsome, albeit stressed out, husband.’

  ‘You got half of that right,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘So you’re not stressed out? I’ll see you soon. Blow Daddy a kiss.’ The line clicked off.

  He stared at his iPhone, savoring the dual air kisses from his wife and daughter. It was nearly eleven, time enough for the LPP powers that be to have made a statement. Question was, did he want to hear it? He stared at the stage, and then at the monitor next to Melanie. Ada had just asked the big question, ‘So what’s it worth?’ Her timing was flawless, leaving a long enough pause for the audience to try and guess before the expert.

  He leaned in to hear Tolliver’s response. He was good, starting with the high figure if the table had never been refinished, and finally coming out with the retail and insurance values.

  ‘Perfect!’ Melanie said. She looked to Barry. ‘Agreed?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s one.’

  ‘Mr Stromstein?’ A woman’s voice from the back of the room.

  Barry turned and saw a short woman with curly dark hair in a navy suit, and the chunky chief of police he’d met yesterday. He swallowed and stood. ‘Chief Simpson, good morning.’

  Kevin Simpson waved to the stage. ‘Hi, Mrs Strauss, Tolliver.’

  Ada stared back. ‘Kevin?’

  Kevin looked back at Barry. ‘So you’re already filming the show?’

  ‘Auditions,’ Barry said, wondering what the hell the chief of police was doing here.

  ‘Cool. This is Detective Mattie Perez with the State Major Crime Unit.’

  ‘Hello.’ Mattie extended her hand.

  They shook.

  Barry felt unsettled by the intensity of the woman’s gaze. Like kids in a staring contest. She didn’t blink.

  He looked away. ‘How can I help?’ he asked.

  ‘Is there someplace we can talk in private?’ she asked.

  Barry’s nerves were in overdrive. Why would a detective investigating Richard Parks’ murder want to talk to him? He’d heard that Rachel shot her brother, which on the one hand got the meddling duo out of his hair, and on the other quite possibly meant the death of any active LPP projects. He wanted to tell this detective he didn’t have the time, that he was in the middle of auditions. But somehow her request didn’t seem optional, and pissing off the local police who could make or break the show was all kinds of wrong. ‘Sure, we could go to my room.’ He turned back. ‘Melanie, go on without me. You know what we need.’

  ‘No problem, boss.’

  Mattie took in Barry’s lavish suite − at least five hundred bucks a night. His clothes were casual, but from his hand-stitched loafers to the iconic polo player on his chest, they weren’t cheap. His eyes seemed in constant motion; his anxiety was palpable. She wondered at its source as he directed her and Kevin Simpson to comfortable leather club chairs. He sat across from them.

  ‘A couple people,’ she said, ‘saw you and Richard Parks in a pretty heated discussion yesterday.’

  Barry swallowed. ‘Yeah.’ He leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘This show,’ he said. ‘Richa
rd was pretty pissed off.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Take your pick. I was an easy target. His sister, who by all accounts hated Lenore, had decided to use Final Reckoning as an FU to her mother.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mattie asked.

  He explained the show’s premise. ‘Every week we have experts go through the estate of someone who’s just died. They present proposals, or outright offers, to the heirs and then dispose of the belongings. It all gets tallied and the heirs get the cash. Rachel’s idea was to use Lenore’s estate − or at least stuff from her house in Shiloh − for the pilot. She was very excited about the idea. And while I’m the first to admit it was beyond bad taste, the ratings would be unreal.’

  ‘Richard wasn’t on board with that.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘But if it was Rachel’s idea, why get mad at you?’

  ‘I’m convenient,’ he said. ‘I had the sense that Richard didn’t want to start something with Rachel. The girl has a reputation for not liking the word “no”.’

  ‘What did Richard want you to do?’

  ‘Pull the plug.’

  ‘On the episode or the show?’ she asked.

  ‘The whole thing.’

  ‘Obviously you didn’t.’

  ‘No,’ he said, rubbing fingers on his forehead. He looked to Kevin and then back to Mattie. He realized that she was the one running the show.

  ‘And yesterday,’ Mattie continued, ‘Richard Parks was the acting CEO of LPP. Seems like if he said to pull the plug that’s what would happen.’

  ‘It’s splitting hairs.’ Barry sighed. ‘He wanted me to pull the plug, not him. That way he could tell Rachel the show wasn’t working and it wouldn’t be his fault. Crap – I mean, she even wanted a producing credit.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Kevin asked.

  Barry laughed. ‘It depends. I’m a producer and basically I do everything. If Rachel wants to be a producer, she gets the credit and I do everything possible to keep her away from the shoot. Can I ask where she is?’

  ‘A hospital,’ Mattie replied.

  ‘Did she kill him?’ he asked.