“Whatever,” said Skye. “Shouldn’t someone do something?” She turned to Jane, who was standing in front of the table listening to Oh give the emergency operator Jeb Gleason’s address. Jane watched Oh automatically lay two fingers on the side of Lou’s neck as he spoke quietly on the phone.
“Shouldn’t you do something, Jane Wheel?” asked Skye. “Aren’t you here to do something?”
Jane didn’t look at Skye. She couldn’t take her eyes off the body of Lou Piccolo, unquestionably dead, staring off into the distance. She had the nauseating sense of déjà vu that was becoming too familiar, much too déjà, way too much vu. The first dead man she had seen that day, Patrick Dryer, had been staring into the distance, too. What were all of these dead people looking at?
“Did you hear me?” Skye screamed at Jane. “You’re supposed to be doing something to help us!”
If this were a movie, Jane thought, this is where I’d slap her across the face. However, since it was poolside at Jeb Gleason’s house, Jane didn’t think she’d get away with the old film noir tough-guy treatment for a hysterical dame. Instead, she explained that the ambulance had been called and that they all should be careful not to touch the body or anything in Lou’s vicinity.
“The fool smoked and drank himself silly,” said Bix, staring straight at Lou. “No cardio, no stretch, no supplements, no stress relief. No hobbies, no family, just work, work, work. No wonder, you big idiot.”
It was more loving treatment than harsh assessment. Anyone who heard it, and they all heard it, knew that. Jeb came over to Bix and put his arm around her. Louise stood next to Skye, placing her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Rick and Greg actually kept their eyes averted from the notebook that Rick never set down, had carried with him from the house.
Jane understood Bix’s sentiment. It was easy to get angry at people for dying. To accuse them of all the things they should have done to prevent their own deaths. After all, they were gone and those living were the ones left with the cleanup. Jane got why Bix was so upset with Lou. She just couldn’t figure out why Bix had to play so fast and loose with the truth when she gave her angry farewell speech.
15
It’s not that those who work in the business are insincere. They are, perhaps, some of the most sincere, heartfelt people you will ever meet. It’s just the world in which they have learned to operate…a most insincere world. It is difficult to be a real person in a make-believe world.
—FROM Hollywood Diary BY BELINDA ST. GERMAINE
At first, Jane thought she knew that Lou Piccolo was dead as soon as Jeb turned on the outdoor lights. She saw that Lou hadn’t moved from his spot, hadn’t changed position. But Jane thought she saw something else. The attitude of Lou’s body, so still, yet caught in a kind of frozen surprise. Death? Dying? Me? Now? Lou’s body was thrust forward in the chair, as if he had scooted closer to a companion opposite him at the table to explain there was a mistake. Yo u don’t want me, sweetheart. You got the wrong boy.
But now, watching Oh talk to the EMTs and exhange information with the police who had also arrived on the scene, Jane realized exactly when she knew for a fact that Lou Piccolo was dead. When Jeb switched on the lights, an alarm inside of her did go off. But it was when Jane and Oh walked together through the sliding door that she knew. Their shoulders had touched and they walked side by side, still touching, and Jane knew that she was no longer walking toward Lou Piccolo. She knew, instead, that together, she and Oh were walking toward Lou Piccolo’s body.
Now, as always when there is an emergency, excitement was in the air. Neighbors were wandering over, wondering whether to be scared or thrilled, relieved that whatever bad news those flashing lights signaled, it was not happening behind their own gated driveways. Jane was touched to see Tim offer Bob-bette his handkerchief and pat her shoulder before coming over to Jane.
“She’s afraid someone will say it was her food,” said Tim when he arrived at her side. Jane had placed herself away from the fray so she could watch the B Room interact with the curious onlookers as well as with each other.
“I told her it was probably a heart attack. I mean, we all heard Bix go over the list of reasons he was due,” said Tim. “Right?” he added, when Jane didn’t immediately agree.
“Bix was comprehensive, all right,” said Jane. “Nellie has all these refrigerator magnets with the seven signs of stroke, the eight warnings of diabetes, the ten behaviors that signal heart attack, all those cheerful kitchen sayings, and Bix sounded like she had memorized magnet number five when she recited Lou’s shortcomings,” said Jane.
“So?” asked Tim.
“They weren’t true,” said Jane. “At least not all of them. What were they? He didn’t relax? Didn’t relieve stress? He had a place in Ojai where he stayed completely disconnected. He told me he went up there and chilled and hung out in some bookstore. And he worked all the time? If that’s the case, he sure was lying to us when he told us about taking the work that the phantom kept sending him. I got the impression he liked being a hack, as he called himself. He wasn’t worried about anybody ruining his reputation. And he might have smoked cigars, but I didn’t see him take a drink tonight and he turned down cake. Looked fit enough. And he had hobbies. You saw his office. He was a collector. First editions, Depression glass. Paperweights, letter openers.
“I’m not saying that he didn’t have a heart attack or a stroke or whatever,” she continued. “It just seems odd that Bix was ready to give a whole litany of reasons that this shouldn’t be considered a suspicious death. I mean, no one had brought up anything about it being anything but natural.”
“She doth protest too much?”
“She doth indeed,” said Jane.
Jane watched Skye confer with Bix. It might have seemed suspicious, Skye’s frantic whispering, but if it did signal anything criminal, Jane would have to also pay attention to Rick and Greg, who were whispering to each other. Jane looked around for Jeb, who had been reassuring neighbors and playing gracious host to the emergency medical personnel and police. She saw him near the sliding door to the house, now talking on his cell phone. Jane suggested to Tim that he continue comforting Bobbette and see if she knew anything about Lou’s health, if he ever requested special food, if he had any medical condition that they all discussed. Since Oh was still busy with the police, Jane thought she might as well see if Jeb had anything to tell her. The B Room gave her canned speeches whenever she tried to learn anything about them and their stalker or prankster or whatever he or she was. Maybe Jeb, with his defenses down, would give her something closer to the truth.
Jeb hung up with whomever he had been speaking when Jane approached. He looked tired, his tanned face sagged despite the fact that he was working his mouth and eyes to erase any anxious lines, any signs of worry. But why erase anything? An acquaintance, if not a close friend, a fellow writer, and adjunct member of his group, had just died sitting next to his pool. Why was Jeb making such an effort to hold in emotion?
Jane considered Oh’s method of listening and not beginning a conversation with a question, no matter how badly one might want to hear answers. Now, standing close to Jeb, her face inches from his so she could see his eyes in the less-than-illuminated patio area, she rejected Oh’s method and implemented her own. Relentless nagging questioning merged with a disconcertingly clear memory.
“Why did you tell Bix to get me out here on the pretense of doing a movie about me?”
“Chain of events and thoughts,” said Jeb. “Not very coherent thoughts, at that. Too confusing to explain.”
“I’m smart,” said Jane. “Try me.”
“I’m the leader of this group, like a father, a…guru…whatever. And things were getting so complicated. Out of hand. These threats, which I’m sure were because of Lou…hell, for a while I thought they might be coming from Lou…stopped being funny. And I had to act like I had it all under control.”
“Why?” asked Jane. “I don’t understand this cont
rolled response to everything.”
“Janie, I am a huge phony. You of all people should know that. I peaked as an actor in college and I peaked as a writer when I did Southpaw and Lefty. Yo u know why? Not because I was the best writer on the show. All of them”—Jeb paused to gesture to the group milling around the yard—” could outwrite me any day. But they all are so damn insecure about it. I could fake it, they couldn’t. And I can edit. They might be able to produce the stuff, but I can make it better. So we fell into this routine where I still edited everybody’s work, was their private story editor on everything they did, even after Southpaw and Lefty.”
“How can you live like this, if they all went on to do other shows and you just edit their work?” asked Jane. She had a vague idea of syndication and the idea of being paid for TV shows in reruns, but how much could that be? Jeb seemed to live pretty well for someone just helping out his friends.
“I take a cut for editing scripts. They pay me. And I sell story ideas. It’s sort of like I provide a creative space, improve their work, even help them get story ideas and jobs sometimes, then they pay me back.”
“It’s a pyramid scheme,” said Jane.
Jeb laughed. And to Jane, it sounded like the first real laugh she had heard since her arrival in Los Angeles. It wasn’t that fake tinkly actress laughter, or that self-deprecating chuckle that everyone had perfected. Jeb sounded truly amused.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess it is. But I do provide a service. I love this group of people. And I help make their work better. They think they can’t do it without me and I don’t disabuse them of the notion.”
“So maybe you’re more like the Wizard of Oz than the Shaklee vitamin salesman?” Jane asked.
“Maybe,” said Jeb. He asked Bobbette, who was heading past them into the house, if she would mind putting on a large pot of coffee and throwing together some food to serve to the neighbors, who seemed to have turned a tragic night into a come-as-you-are block party.
“So, continuing the chain of thought…?” prompted Jane.
“I saw you on TV and thought you might be able to shed some light on what was going on. I didn’t think you’d uncover anything sinister, just maybe see who was sending these notes. I figured it was Patrick Dryer who Lou had pissed off, and since Lou was associated with the group…I figured you’d find out something that we could use against Patrick and shut him up.” Jeb paused. “I also truly thought your story might make a good movie. That story about the farm in Kankakee? It seemed like a great movie idea for one of the women’s cable channels, if not for something bigger…so, you know…two birds with one stone.”
Jane finally got hold of her inner Oh and didn’t respond. She just waited for Jeb to keep going. Funny how once people got rolling, they were unstoppable.
“And I wanted to see you again. You looked so cute on T V. All confused and talking so fast and getting ahead of yourself, and I just remembered how much fun we had together in college and, you know, we never had closure on anything, I never got a chance to—”
“Hold it. I got closure.” Jane took a deep breath. “I came over and Linda Fabien answered the door in a bath towel. That was closure enough for me.” So much for Jane Wheel as the strong silent type.
“You thought Linda Fabien and I were…Wait a minute. That night you were supposed to be out of town giving your paper. That was you who came to the door all dressed up and Linda answered and you didn’t give your name? Yes?”
Jane nodded.
“So…you put two and two together and decided I was cheating on you. I hope you’re a better detective now than you were then.” Jeb laughed. “Linda and I had a botany class together. We had been working in the greenhouse all day long and she drove me home, came in for a beer, called her roommate and found out they didn’t have hot water at their apartment, so asked if she could shower.”
Jane was glad she could see the ambulance from where she stood. The fact that Lou Piccolo’s body was being loaded in plain sight kept her grounded in the present as Jeb spoke. If there hadn’t been flashing lights and people milling about talking about cholesterol counts and the importance of cardio workouts, she might have felt herself transported back to college, back to when she was twenty-one years old and the girlfriend of the handsomest man on campus.
“You weren’t sleeping with Linda Fabien?” Jane asked, completely puzzled about why this mattered to her now.
Jeb opened his mouth and Jane could tell by the way his left cheek twitched he was about to tell a lie. It was clearly his tell. She only wished she had noticed it earlier in their relationship, twenty-five years earlier, so she could sort fact from fiction. Then, just as suddenly as the tic began, it stopped. Jeb’s face relaxed and he looked into Jane’s eyes.
“I wasn’t,” he said. “But,” he added after a pause,” I did.”
Jane waited.
“After we both had showered, we had another beer. Linda mentioned someone had come to the door, probably selling something, and we hung out, and one thing led to another, and that night…you know.” Jeb actually looked like he might be blushing, although it was a tough call to make in the night shadows.
Jane felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She had been right and she had been wrong—in all the best ways. Jeb hadn’t cheated on her, but he was about to, so she ended things before she was betrayed. Why did something so silly make all the difference in the world? The Jeb Gleason baggage she had carted around…the of-course-he’s-so-handsome-and-talented-so-why-would-he-want-to-go-out-with-me-anyway bullshit she felt even now on occasion—when she had lost her job, when she had allowed that disastrous kiss with her neighbor Jack Balance, when Nellie questioned her parenting skills, when Charley introduced her to a graduate assistant who was half her age. Jane allowed herself a moment of unconflicted joy, then firmly brought herself back to the present.
“Just like college, Jeb. Nothing really sinister was going on until I showed up. Then Bix gets injured and Patrick Dryer gets murdered. Looks good for you, doesn’t it—you get me involved because you’re worried about everyone, then when I come and things get lethal, no one is looking your way because you, after all, called in a detective. Never mind that she’s an old girlfriend who you probably thought you could make believe whatever you wanted, just an amateur sleuth who you thought seemed cute and scatterbrained on television.”
“I figured Patrick Dryer was behind all the notes and the stunts. He was crazy. Jealous and crazy. But I didn’t think Lou would kill him,” said Jeb.
Jane opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind. Jeb seemed to still be in truth-telling mode. Did he really believe that Lou Piccolo killed Patrick Dryer? If Patrick was behind everything else, if he was the crazy phantom writer that was tormenting Lou and Bix, and Lou killed him…that would end the notes and pranks. What about the mobile? They had found it in Bix’s hospital room closet late in the afternoon. Patrick was killed early in the morning. No reason he couldn’t have planted it there the night before. Skye was supposed to be keeping an eye on things, but Jane had watched her in action at the hospital. The nurses kept her busy at their station all the time to entertain them, to sign autographs, to regale them with stories of the glory days of Southpaw and Lefty. Right after they found the mobile, Jane checked out the sight lines of the room. Patrick Dryer could have popped in the night before and placed the mobile in the closet without being seen while Skye was down the hall. Bix was sound asleep. He was the most likely person to have had those advertising postcards for his new book. And he was a writer…he would have known how to make that phony blurb sound like a blurb. He had even cited another novel.
“Are you an Agatha Christie fan, Jeb?”
Jeb gave Jane a blank stare. He shrugged. “What’s she been in?” Then he smiled and winked.
So maybe he didn’t make the mobile. Jane saw Oh shaking hands with the policeman he had been talking to since his arrival. They exchanged business cards.
“Okay, so why did you
steal the mobile?” Jane remembered one of the other reasons Tim didn’t trust Jeb. “And the scalpel?”
“I took the mobile because it seemed creepy and scary. I didn’t want Bix to see it. I thought it was probably some Patrick trick and if Patrick was dead, Bix didn’t need to know about it. She was getting spooked. So was Louise…everybody.” Jeb rubbed his eyes. “I took the scalpel because Skye said Lou had a gun. I thought he had already killed Patrick and I figured if Lou had snapped, he might come after me. He and I have never liked each other. It seems really stupid, but I saw it in the tray and I took it. Impulse.”
“I’m so sorry about your friend, Mr. Gleason,” said Oh. He had walked across the lawn, nodding to the neighbors, who smiled at him, assuming he was just another guest at this midnight gathering whom they hadn’t yet met.
“I’m sorry you had to get involved in this, Professor,” said Jeb. “Poor old Lou.”
Jane could see Jeb had slipped back into his L.A. version of hail-fellow-well-met persona.
“You certainly were involved in a long discussion with the police officer who was here,” said Jeb.
“ We traded some stories,” said Oh. “I feel terrible asking a favor now, Mr. Gleason, but I haven’t been able to get some of your book titles out of my mind. May I borrow one to take to my wife’s uncle’s home? I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight and I’m afraid the only books they have are silly popular novels. I would much prefer to lose myself in one of your research volumes.”
“Anything you want, Professor. Help yourself.”
Oh gave just the hint of a bow and walked into the house. Jane continued to be dazzled by how Oh immersed himself in a Japanese persona when he wanted to be trusted as a harmless academic.
Hollywood Stuff Page 17
