by R. T. Jordan
Tim felt safe enough to turn on the lights throughout the house and outside, as well. If someone had trespassed on the property, the commotion would surely have scared them away.
It was nearly 2:00 a.m., and Polly and Placenta joined Tim in the great room of the house. “I can’t reach Randy,” Polly said. “He always keeps his phone on. Not a good sign when you can’t reach your boyfriend twenty-four-seven!”
“Don’t go there,” Placenta advised. “He works hard. He’s probably zonked out and didn’t hear the ring tone.”
Soon, the SOS security detail was once again at the front door. This time Tim invited the two men into the house, and led them to the great room. After introductions, and Polly apologizing for not looking her movie star best, a handsome Hispanic guard, impressively dressed in a stiffly pressed khaki shirt with faux police and military-style badges sewn onto the sleeves and pockets, explained that although he and his partner had covered every corner of the property, they failed to find any trace of a gate-crasher. “If anything, including a raccoon, had wandered onto the property, the alarm would have been triggered,” the guard assured Polly.
“It’s not working properly,” Polly said. “At least the keypad beside my bed isn’t functioning.”
The guard looked sheepish. “Look, because I’m a huge fan of yours, I’ll be honest. SOS sucks. I could get fired for telling you this, but I know that our system has been experiencing intermittent communication failures, especially here in Bel Air.”
Placenta gasped. “Are you telling us that we’re not safe in our own home? We spend a fortune for security, and now we hear that it’s not working.”
“Everyone says to hire Mayday!” Tim said.
“It’s working,” the guard said. “It’s just not working all the time.”
“I’ll stay here until the system is once again operating,” the guard said in a clipped military manner. He looked at Tim and smiled. “Sir, may I see you outside for a moment?”
Tim looked at his mother and Placenta, who were in a deep discussion. “Someone was on the estate, and I think they’re after me!” he heard Polly say as he followed the security guard out of the room.
Once in the hallway, Tim looked at the guard’s badge. “Raul.” He smiled. “Thanks for getting here so quickly. But what’s with the signal breakdown? I hate to say it, but it looks like there’s some truth to the rumor that SOS stands for.”
“I’ve heard ‘em all,” Raul said. “‘Switch Our Service’ being my personal favorite.”
“We’re safe now, right?” Tim asked.
Raul smiled. “If you mean the house, yes … and no.”
Tim’s smile grew wider. “So every night we may have an emergency and you’ll have to keep coming back.”
Just then, Randy Archer rushed into the house and bellowed, “What’s going on, and who’s in charge?”
Raul squared his shoulders and looked defiantly at Archer. “I’m Officer Cervantes, with SOS. And you are?”
“Taking over!” Randy said. “Beverly Hills Police Department. A real policeman. You can go now.”
Tim looked at Randy. “What’s with you? This man’s done a great job of securing the area and protecting us.”
Randy looked at Raul and shook his head. “I’m sure you did an awesome job. But I’ll take things from here.”
Tim and Raul shook hands. As Raul was leaving the house, Tim sprinted to the front door. “Um, here’s my card.” He reached into a drawer in the granite-top foyer sideboard and lifted out a business card holder. Raul looked at the engraved card. “I’ll e-mail you.” He met Tim’s eyes. “Hasta luego, man.”
“Was I interrupting something?” Randy asked when Tim returned to his side.
Tim exhaled in resignation. “Polly’s in the great room.”
When Randy arrived at Polly’s side, he gave her a tight hug and asked her to tell him what she had seen from her window.
“A light,” she said. “Someone was walking around with a flashlight. How did you know to come over?”
“Your number came up on my missed call log. I got here as fast as I could. You wouldn’t call at two in the morning unless it was something important, so I called ahead for backup.”
Polly smiled. “Then you’re not angry with me?”
“How could I stay … Let’s talk about what you saw. It’s a bit breezy tonight. Is it possible that the wind moving the leaves on the trees could have made it appear that the glow from the garden lights was moving?”
“I saw what I saw,” Polly said.
“But the security system wasn’t breached,” Randy continued. “If someone had gotten onto the property, the alarm would have sounded.”
“It’s not working properly,” Polly testified. “I went to press the Panic button and it was off. Tim’s was fine, but not mine.”
Randy signaled to one of the police officers standing by the doorway. “Check all the quadrants in the house, and the security boxes as well.”
“It’s no use,” Polly said. “That cheap-o security service we have is on the fritz.”
Placenta poured a glass of champagne for Polly. “Anyone else?” she asked. “Polly doesn’t make stuff up, except her date of birth. If she saw someone on the property, it wasn’t from the DTs.”
Randy agreed. “I have no doubt that someone was here. But how are they getting in? Even if the alarm isn’t working, the gates are locked, and the hedges are so high and thick, who could get through? First Danny and the person or persons who killed him. Now someone trespassing in the middle of the night. I don’t like it. And I don’t like you being here alone.”
“I’m hardly alone,” Polly said. “However, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll let you bunk with me for a few nights.”
Randy smiled. “That would make me feel just fine.”
“No pressure,” Polly said with a grin. “You could share space with Tim again, if I snore.”
Chapter 12
Friday morning dawned, and the residents of Pepper Plantation moved into the day with much lethargy. Polly shuffled to the outdoor breakfast table at half past ten. “What time did Randy leave?” she asked Placenta as she sipped a Bloody Mary. “I don’t want a virgin.”
Soon after, Tim wandered down to the patio and greeted his mother and Placenta with a groan. Placenta, too, was tired and took her time pouring the coffee and serving her famous scrambled eggs with cream cheese, and a side of hash browns. When the family was served, she sat down at the table with them and sprinkled Tabasco sauce over her eggs. “I want a man around the place,” she said.
Both Polly and Tim made guttural sounds that seemed to say, “Who doesn’t?”
“I mean a security guard,” Placenta continued. “Someone who’ll patrol the grounds day and night.”
“A retired old codger? Someone who always dreamed of being a policeman, but never made the force? A deluded nut who lives out his fantasy by wearing a uniform and sidearm?” Polly said. “I don’t think so!”
“I was thinking more along the lines of hiring the UCLA gymnastics team,” Placenta said. “We would feel safe, and at the same time live our fantasies.” She looked at Polly. “You keep jeopardizing our lives by playing with freaks and felons. We need more protection than a faulty alarm system or a besotted detective.”
“I agree with Placenta,” Tim said. “The gymnastics part anyway. But seriously, I think we do need someone around here twenty-four-seven. This week has been weird, and last night was scarier than when Bea Arthur comes over.”
Polly looked out through her sunglasses and gazed at her manicured estate. The pool water was shimmering and bees were drifting among the roses and snapdragons and peonies. She loved the privacy and the silence of her property. “With a stranger around, I’d have to be Polly Pepper in my own home. I can’t keep that up all day long.”
“Celebrity guards sign confidentiality agreements,” Placenta encouraged. “If you behave like the Beckhams, they can’t run to the Peeper a
nd spill their story for big bucks.”
“But their nanny did just that!” Polly raged. “So did Rob Lowe’s chef! Big celebrities like me can have their staffs sign confidentiality agreements, but who wants to go through the pain and expense of suing household help?”
Polly sulked. “Fine,” she said. “But I don’t want any part in the selection process. Just find someone who won’t blab all our secrets to Barbara Walters!”
Tim looked at Placenta. “Let’s get on this right away. I know the perfect candidate.”
“Amigo Sanchez cannot be our guard!” she said. “Neither one of us needs the distraction.”
“I can at least have lunch with him and get a few references.” Tim drained his coffee mug, grabbed two slices of bacon, dragged his napkin across his mouth, and stood. “Time for my ablutions. Have to make a good impression on potential employees.”
“It’s supposed to be the other way around,” Polly said.
As Placenta scraped up the rest of her scrambled eggs with her fork Polly complained, “This’ll shoot my budget all to hell. I almost can’t afford the gallons of Veuve that flow through our veins, let alone add someone to the payroll. Personal safety takes a backseat to personal satisfaction.”
“Look at it this way, I’m cheap labor,” Placenta said. “I haven’t had a raise in five years, so you’re probably actually saving moolah even if you hired two guards.”
Polly rolled her eyes. “If people would just stop trespassing and falling down dead around this place, we’d be fine.” From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance amid the pygmy palms and tall hedge that divided her property from Kenny Rogers’s estate. “What the hell…?
Placenta followed her gaze to the end of the yard. “I’m calling 911!” she said as she reached into her apron pocket for her cell phone.
Before her trembling hands could turn the device on and let it find a satellite signal, two rugged but filthy-looking men wearing work boots, jeans, and orange vests approached the patio. One called out, “We’re lost.”
“Damn right you’re lost,” Placenta said. “This is private property. How’d you get in?”
“Sorry. DWP. We were checking the underground cable. Who knew that rich people had their own personal access to the sewer?”
Polly was suddenly excited. “I have my own hole?”
“What’s a maintenance utility hole doing in our backyard?” Placenta asked, looking from one man to the other.
“A what?” Polly asked, bewildered. “Placenta, get these interesting men some coffee.”
“A manhole,” one of the men said to Polly. “They’re not just for sewers, the holes, I mean. We’re working on the city’s cable lines. Everyone in the area is experiencing outages. I guess you rich people in Bel Air have problems, too.”
Placenta gave the men a quizzical stare as she poured two cups of coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is good,” both agreed.
Polly took another sip of her drink and stood up. She started to cross the patio toward the grassy yard from which the men had appeared. “How long have I had my hole?” she asked as the men followed her. “I’ve never seen it. Never knew it existed.”
“It’s pretty well covered over,” one of the men said to Polly. “It’s possible that even your gardener hasn’t seen your hole.” Both men looked around and admired the huge manicured estate. “This place reminds me of that house they once showed on that old show Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” one said to the other. “Wait a minute.” The man stopped and looked at Polly. “Are you? Is this?”
“Holy moly,” said the other man. “Are you … Polly Plantation?”
“Pepper,” Polly corrected, “Polly Pepper.” She smiled her most winning international icon smile and started to offer her hand to shake, then thought of where the man had been working. “Do you make it a habit of popping up through celebrity holes?”
Both men looked contrite. “Your opening isn’t markedon our map, so we just wanted to see where it led. Really pretty place you have here.”
Just then, Tim returned to the patio. He was at first concerned by the two men escorting his mother and Placenta into the garden and sprinted to their side. Polly introduced them, and explained that they were fixing the electrical cable in the neighborhood.
“Can anyone get in here from the manhole?” Tim asked.
Both men shrugged. “If you know where it is.”
“Then it’s possible that someone gained access to the estate without the alarm going off,” Polly said. “That could be how Danny got in here without SOS racing to the scene.”
Both men looked at each other, and then at Polly. “This is where that reality show guy got knocked off yesterday,” one said to the other. “Wow! You must’ve freaked when your boyfriend got wasted.”
“He was not my boyfriend,” Polly said. “I hardly knew the young man.”
“Sometimes that’s more fun.” One of the men grinned. “I say, go for it, lady!”
“I don’t go for anything,” she said. “I mean, I’m involved with someone. Oh, hell, why am I explaining myself?”
“Could Danny Castillo have somehow known about the manhole and used it to access the estate?” asked Placenta.
“Unlikely,” the men agreed. “Hell, like I said, it don’t even show up on the DWP map. We discovered it by accident.”
When the troupe arrived at the location of the manhole, Polly was thrilled. “Let me see!” She took a flashlight from one of the men, and aimed it down into the blackness. “Where does it go? Can I get to the beach from here? Maybe we can use it to avoid traffic, or from having to pass by Jackie Chan’s ugly old place down the street.”
“Yeah, you could get around down there,” one of the men said. “If you don’t mind rats and spiders and snakes and raccoons and two-headed slime monsters.”
Polly shivered. “I guess we’ll just keep closing our eyes when we have to drive by Bill Shatner’s place.” She turned around to go back to the house. “Be sure to seal it up tight when you leave. I don’t want zombies wandering up my hole.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Placenta said, “but I think you gentlemen should go back to work and take care of business. I’m sealing this thing off for good.”
As the men descended back into the dark pit, one said, “Marty Ingles has a hole too. But trust me, you don’t want to see it.”
When the manhole cover was replaced, Tim helped Placenta rake leaves and dirt over the lid. Then they moved a wrought-iron park bench over it to both conceal its existence and make it more difficult for anyone—or anything—to gain access to the estate. “We still don’t know if this is where the person who Polly saw last night got in,” Tim said. “Like the guy said, it’s not even on their official map. If someone had been in the sewer last night, it’s unlikely they’d know that it led to Pepper Plantation.”
“I won’t dismiss anything,” Placenta said. “Now get on with your date. I’ll feel better once we know that a guard is standing by. And FYI, tonight we’re having buffalo wings and champagne while we watch Famous.”
“Polly still wants to watch the show, even though she’s been dumped?” Tim asked.
“We should all know how the contestants are doing since they’re coming over tomorrow night. Oh, crap! We’ll have to do vegetarian. If I served Mexican, Taco Bell would think I was making fun of her. And God knows who’s allergic to what. I wouldn’t want to kill anyone off with all the peanuts they use in Thai food.”
Tim gave Placenta a hug. “There’s never a dull moment around Polly, or Pepper Plantation,” he said before leaving for lunch with his SOS date.
Chapter 13
Fifteen minutes before I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous was scheduled to air, Polly, Tim, Placenta, and Tim’s new friend, Raul Cervantes, seated themselves in the media room and balanced trays with plates of buffalo wings and coleslaw on their laps. For the benefit of his guest, and to add to his ow
n allure, Tim explained that his mother had been a judge on the show they were about to watch, but that she had been temporarily replaced because one of the contestants had been discovered dead in this house. “Right in the foyer, where you first came in,” he boasted to Raul. “The program is crummy, and the ratings for the first show stank, but with all the notoriety about a dead judge and a dead contestant, the television audience should be huge this week.”
Placenta popped a cork from a chilled bottle of champagne and passed it on to Tim, who filled Polly’s and Raul’s glasses, then his own.
“Shush,” Polly said. “It starts right after this guy on the Lavitra commercial gets laid.” Moments later, the screen was filled with the handsome face of Steven Ben jamin, who was welcoming the audience to the program. He joked about how quickly stars come and go in Hollywood, and tried to jest about Thane Cornwall and Polly Pepper not being available for this week’s broadcast. “One is gone but not forgotten,” he said. “The other is mostly forgotten but not entirely gone.” He laughed at his own lame sense of levity, then welcomed the two new judges, Richard Dartmouth and Trish Saddleback, and returning judge Brian Smith.
The television camera practically glowed when it focused on the handsome face of Richard Dartmouth, who smiled and nodded his head in artificial humble appreciation for the enthusiastic ovation from the studio audience. “I wouldn’t be here except for the very sad fact that one of the great men in our industry, Mr. Thane Cornwall, was killed shortly after the last broadcast,” Richard said. “I know that everyone who saw the show last week was impressed by Thane’s rich contribution to the program. We’ll all miss him. But we know that he would want the show to continue, which is why our producers and Sterling Studios decided to keep the contest alive. By the way, I’m not replacing the irreplaceable Thane Cornwall. I’m simply keeping his seat warm.”
“Be wary of young and handsome Hollywood producers,” Polly said. “That one’s a wolf in Abercrombie & Fitch clothing.”
“I wouldn’t mind him preying on me,” Placenta said.
