A Talent for Murder

by R. T. Jordan

  “That’s why we have security,” Polly said. She stood up and walked to the intercom, and summoned Sergeant Sandy into the house.

  “We should go to the police,” Placenta said.

  “And say what, that we found someone’s homemade porn?” Polly answered. “Long before Rob Lowe and Pammy Anderson and Tommy Lee filmed their boring smut, do-it-yourself triple-X-rated videos have been a ubiquitous part of Hollywood family mementos. The way families used to film little Ashley’s piano recital, or little Gregory’s Little League game. Everyone does it. Anyway, all the people in Anything Goes are of legal age. They looked to me as if they were all very much consenting adults.”

  “But Steven obviously took advantage of them,” Tim said. “They probably promised to do something for him in exchange for him doing something for them. Quid pro quo can still mean sexual harassment.”

  “It’s an arrangement as old as Hollywood, dear,” Polly said. “And, as far as we know, no one has filed a complaint.”

  “One could package and distribute this like a Girls Gone Wild DVD and be financially set for the rest of one’s life,” Tim said.

  Polly raised her eyebrows. “How much do you think we could get?”

  Tim looked at his mother. “Six or seven big ones.”

  “Millions?” Polly perked up.

  “Bullets to the head!” Tim sassed.

  Placenta tsk-tsked. “If you hadn’t lifted those damn discs from Lisa’s apartment in the first place we would not be in this mess!”

  “How did I know that Anything Goes was code for how far the contestants had already gone to try to win the game and achieve fame? Sleeping with the host is like sleeping with the boss at the office! So tacky!” Polly scoffed.

  Sergeant Sandy knocked on the open door and stepped into the room. She stood with her thumbs hooked over the waist of her uniform pants. “Yes, ma’am?”

  Polly offered Sergeant Sandy a glass of champagne, which she declined. Polly said, “Our houseguest is gone for good. He must not be allowed onto the estate again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Sandy said with a curt nod. “He already told me that he wasn’t coming back.”

  Polly continued. “And we’d better ramp up security.”

  A glow appeared in Sergeant Sandy’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I need to be briefed. What’s the nature of the situation?”

  Polly took another long swallow from her glass and passed it to Placenta for a refill. “Let’s put it this way, the Terminator—and I don’t mean our charming Austrian governor—may be on his way over to blow us all to smithereens.”

  An unusually agitated Placenta interrupted. “What Polly means is, we’ve suddenly found ourselves in a potentially deep ditch of doo-doo.”

  Polly shot her a stern look. “That’s putting it succinctly. It appears that we’re in possession of something that other people want, and we think that they’ve already killed two other people to get hold of it.”

  Sergeant Sandy asked, “Do I have to play twenty questions? Is it the Renoir in the living room? The Emmys over there?” She pointed to the lighted glass shelves. “Your flashy jewelry? You shouldn’t wear so much in public.”

  “It’s a DVD of Anything Goes,” Placenta said.

  Sergeant Sandy made a face. “Not that Bing Crosby piece of dung? Excuse me. I know that your friend Mitzi Gaynor is in that piece of crap. Er, excuse me again.”

  Polly made a “pffft” sound. “No, what we have are DVDs that are labeled ‘Anything Goes,’ but they aren’t the movie. At least not that movie. They’re copies of security camera coverage of some very private encounters in the Sterling Studios dressing rooms. We obtained them accidentally, and now someone is out to get them back. I’d oblige if I knew the rightful owner. But it seems as though there are at least two people—Michael and Miranda—who are after them. I’ll bet Dead Danny was too.”

  Tim looked at Sergeant Sandy and said, “This could be really dangerous. If the wrong person gets hold of the DVDs … there are six discs … they could ruin careers, or make zillions of dollars selling them on eBay, or… But to get the discs, they have to come here. They’d have to go through Polly and Placenta and me, and you too. As I said, we’re dead.”

  “This is the one time that having a police detective boyfriend is not going to help,” Polly said. “Randy would be furious with me for taking something from a crime scene.”

  “You stole the discs?” Officer Sandy said.

  “No!” Polly protested. “Polly Pepper doesn’t have to steal anything! She’s rich and famous and fans give her tons of useless garbage for free.”

  “Didn’t stop Winona Ryder,” Sandy said.

  “I’m not a klepto! I merely borrowed an old movie. Or what I thought was an old movie,” Polly said. “And please don’t compare me with a talented young actress and friend who made a stupid mistake, and will probably have that sorry business brought up in her obituary.”

  “Randy would insist that you take the evidence to the police,” Placenta said.

  “But you can’t do that without getting yourself in trouble,” Sergeant Sandy said. “And if he knew that you had this material and didn’t turn it in, he’d be in trouble for aiding and abetting, or some such thing. I don’t know exactly how that works, but I’m sure that he’d never speak to you again.”

  Sergeant Sandy rubbed her jaw, as if she were stroking a beard, as she thought of a plan of action. Then, transforming herself from subservient employee to a takecharge military field marshal, she ordered, “The first thing you’ve got to do is get those discs out of the house. Give them to me and I’ll stash them safely at my place.”

  Polly thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. Tim will take them to our safe-deposit box.”

  Tim nodded. “In the morning, when the bank opens. But in the meantime, what if someone tries to steal them?”

  “No one will get past me and Dak. I’m calling her in for backup,” Sergeant Sandy replied. “Next, I want a list of all the people on the surveillance tape and anyone who may know about the discs. Everyone is a potential suspect. Finally, I need to watch the DVDs myself.”

  Tim said, “I wouldn’t mind watching ‘em again. Especially three and six. Ped-Xing has more talent than I gave him credit for, if you know what I mean.” He sniggered. Sergeant Sandy did not. “They’re actually more funny than sexy. I mean, especially since we know all the people. There’s definitely a reason why Steven was a model. He still has the goods! His partners in the films may have been sleeping with him to score points on the show, but it couldn’t have been that difficult, if you know what I mean.”

  Sergeant Sandy looked sternly at Tim and said, “No! I do not know what you mean! When someone in authority takes advantage of his position, that’s never acceptable. I don’t care how consenting the subjects are. It’s wrong!”

  Polly, Placenta, and Tim all looked at Sergeant Sandy with concern.

  Tim nodded. “You’re right. Steven should be held accountable.”

  Polly returned her attention to Sergeant Sandy. “Dear, I’m starting to become a wee bit disillusioned with Hollywood. It’s all well and good to come to Tinseltown to make an attempt at becoming a household name like me, but if my intuition is correct, one of the contestants on the I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous show is either trying to stop these tapes from surfacing because they’re potentially embarrassing, or they want them for personal gain.”

  “They’re all caught in the act, so to speak,” Tim said. “Whoever wants these discs enough to kill for them is probably someone who sees dollar signs.”

  “I’ve always had things that other people wanted,” Polly sighed. “Talent. Fame. Fortune. Pepper Plantation.”

  “Husbands,” Placenta said with an insolent tone.

  “We could be killed for something as stupid as having closed-circuit TV evidence of hanky-panky,” Tim said.

  Sergeant Sandy seemed to take offense. “No one will be harmed duri
ng my watch,” she said with such force and assuredness that Polly, Tim, and Placenta instantly felt at ease. Although Sergeant Sandy probably couldn’t stop so much as an invasion of carpenter ants, her presence made the family feel more at ease, as though she could somehow protect everyone at Pepper Plantation from whoever might be lurking around.

  Polly raised her near-empty glass to Sergeant Sandy. “Cheers! To our knight… er, our knightress? … um, our Lady of Divine Intervention?”

  “When Dak gets here, I’ll need a private room in which to view the evidence. By the way, if you have an edited copy, where’s the original?”

  Polly, Tim, and Placenta looked at each other. They hadn’t considered that they weren’t the only ones with the material.

  “This stuff is usually stored on a hard disc drive,” Sergeant Sandy said. “I suppose whoever maintained the security cameras has the original raw data.”

  Tim said, “I guess that would be Sterling Studios’ security department. But wouldn’t it be illegal for them to monitor a dressing room? It’s like spying in a public bathroom.”

  Placenta said, “There could be a crazy person in security who wanted pictures of future stars. In fact, what is there to prevent someone at NBC or Disney or MTV from infiltrating dressing rooms for up-close and personal images to sell on the black market? With the way technology is today, if I were a star, I’d want my dressing room on every show scrutinized for bugs.”

  Tim shook his head. “If not a Sterling Studios security freak, then how about the show’s producer, Richard Dartmouth?”

  Polly was intrigued. “Hmm. Good looking but ruthless television reality show executive, climbing the ladder to success, finds that it takes more than charm to build a career, so he secretly videotapes his contestants.”

  “But why?” Placenta said. “They’re not famous. Un-less cameras were installed to keep an eye on the possibility that someone would cheat—at the game, that is. But how do you cheat at a talent competition, unless you lip-synch to Cher?”

  Tim snapped his fingers. “Maybe, since the show is about proving they’ll go to the ends of the universe to win, the cameras were installed to catch anyone who might harm another contestant.”

  Polly considered Tim’s suggestion. “But why then would the judges’ rooms also be under surveillance?”

  “To protect you from the contestants. One might have held a judge for ransom,” Placenta theorized.

  Polly huffed. “So many possibilities. But there is one person who I’ll bet has all the answers.”

  Tim and Placenta each simultaneously spewed forth practically everyone in their Rolodex:

  “Steven!”

  “Michael!”

  “Miranda!”

  “Ped-Xing!”

  “Thane! No, he’s dead,” Tim corrected himself. “Amy!”

  Polly quietly poured herself another glass of champagne. “For pity’s sake!” she groaned. “Listen to yourselves! And after all the years of watching CSI and Cold Case and Matlock! We can’t talk to Steven. Heck, even if he knows the discs exist we couldn’t go to him for information. Same with Michael, Miranda, and Ped-Xing. They’re all in the surveillance videos!”

  Tim smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Of course! Brian Smith!”

  “Duh!” Polly said. “It’s Lisa, for crying out loud! The discs were in her apartment!”

  Placenta poured herself another glass of Veuve. “Obviously, we’re going back to jail tomorrow.”

  Chapter 21

  “By now, we should have a reserved parking space,” Tim said as he glided the Rolls into the parking lot of the Beverly Hills Police Station. Although it was only ten in the morning, all of the slots were taken. He let Polly and Placenta off at the entrance to the building. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Placenta held open the door to the station allowing Polly to make a grand entrance. She strode through the lobby with all the confidence of a runway model, and spied policewoman Betty with her feet up on her desk and chatting with Garrett, the rookie who had caught Tim’s eye the last time they visited. As Polly drew nearer to the desk, Garrett looked up and beamed a smile. He looked behind Polly, hoping to see Tim. Betty looked up too.

  “I see it’s the Princess of Pepper Plantation,” Betty quietly said as she leaned farther back in her chair and touched her fingers together in a “here is the church, here is the steeple” fashion. “To what do we owe this insincere pleasure? Don’t tell me I missed another big fat celebrity murder and you’re here to interrogate the lone and somehow dubiously innocent suspect?”

  Polly smiled, reached into the clutch purse she carried, and withdrew a packet of Tic-Tac mints. She took one for herself, then rattled the plastic box to motion an offer to Betty. The policewoman declined. Polly sniffed the air. “Two hard-boiled eggs and an onion bagel for breakfast?”

  Betty’s face turned red, she took her feet off the desk, and sat upright in her chair. She tried to smell her own breath against the palm of her hand, then slapped Garrett’s arm. “Why didn’t you say something?” she complained. Betty took a sip of Coke from a can and then accepted the proffered mint. Betty sighed and said, “I may as well petition the mayor of Beverly Hills to give you your very own card key for twenty-four-seven access to the prisoners who end up here.”

  “That would be lovely!” Polly beamed.

  “I’m being facetious,” Betty deadpanned. “But for all the time you seem to spend here, it’s not a bad idea.” She stood up. “I’m setting the timer for fifteen minutes. I can’t give you any more than that.”

  “You’re a love,” Polly purred as she and Placenta followed the policewoman to the metal security door. Polly called back over her shoulder, “Garrett, dear. Be a gem and take care of Timmy when he arrives. You’re a doll. Mean it.” And then she disappeared into the wing of the building reserved for Beverly Hills felons and doyens with nothing better to do than slap their illegal immigrant maids.

  “Company!” Officer Betty called as she rapped on the door behind which Lisa Marrs sat in deep despair. Betty unlocked the cell and held the door for Polly and Placenta to enter. “Do your business fast,” she said as she left the star and her maid with the prisoner.

  Polly didn’t waste a moment of her precious time. “No need to offer a seat on your bunk, but thank you anyway, dear. We’ll only be staying a tick or two.”

  Lisa was dazed from sleeping all day long. She looked up at her visitors and shook her head. “Is this like Groundhog Day? Because I swear we’ve done this before.”

  Polly folded her arms across her chest. “Not to worry your little felonious fanny, I’m as tired of this as you are. I’m here for one last rattle of your brain. You claim innocence, and I was on your side for the longest time. However, I’ve just been shocked into reconsidering my hasty judgment.”

  Lisa stared at Polly for a moment, before looking at Placenta. “I am innocent. I didn’t kill Thane Cornwall. I haven’t harmed anyone.”

  Polly sighed. “Question. What looks like gold but smells like trash? No, it’s not Charlie Sheen. But close. Give up? Good, because I don’t have time for riddles. Answer. The set of six DVDs you had in your apartment, all of which you planned to show to Richard Dartmouth before selling them to Access Hollywood, thereby ruining the career of your nefarious boss and raking in a good chunk of coin at the same time.”

  Lisa looked at Polly with an incredulous stare. “DVDs? Show to Richard? Chunk of coin?” She blinked her eyes with incomprehension. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

  Polly faltered. “The DVDs labeled ‘Anything Goes.’ I found them in your apartment.”

  Lisa shook her head. “You’re funny. I’m in stitches right now.”

  Polly pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow.

  Lisa stood up from her bunk and moved the few inches to her washbasin. She turned on the tap, splashed water on her face, and used the sleeve of her shirt to mop her cheeks. “Think this through with me. I am …
er, was … a lowly assistant to Wannabe Big Cheese in television.

  You with me so far? I used to get to the office by seven a.m., spend twelve hours in hell then it was off to Thane’s for lousy sex and being told I need to work out, or that I shouldn’t have had a second glass of wine. Jeez! Nothing was going right in my life. I wanted a change.

  “For a paycheck that maxes out at six hundred fifty-five dollars a week, I played the slave to Richard Dartmouth,” Lisa continued. “When he tells me to copy a set of DVD discs and then personally take them to his house and place them in the safe, I figure they must have some market value, so I do what anyone who hates their boss and wants to move up would do. I made a spare copy of each disc. I did the same with the false expense reports he submitted, the love letters he exchanged between television’s number-one Little Miss Morning Sunshine weathergirl on KRUQ, and sports commentator Matt Roth… yeah, you heard right.”

  As Lisa went on about her sneaky activities, Polly wondered if every assistant in Hollywood practiced the same level of unethical behavior, and would everyone on the planet, including the Dalai Lama, qualify to be a contestant on I’ll Do Anything to Become Famous? “I suppose you were saving all those gems for a time when you thought they’d be of use to you,” Polly suggested. “Something to exchange for a promotion and raise, or to negotiate a lucrative exit strategy from a job you hated. With all the sex on those discs, why not just blackmail Steven Benjamin?”

  Now it was Lisa’s turn to look incredulous. “Sex? Blackmail? Steven? What am I missing here?”

  Placenta placed her hands on her hips and made a scornful sound. “If you didn’t know what was on the discs, why did you bother to have ‘em copied?”

  Lisa shrugged. “Richard wanted them in his vault. Only his most valuable materials go in there, so I knew they were important. If I’d had some free time …” She looked around her cell. “… I would have reviewed the discs to decide just how to use them.”