"n.o.body wants to cut away when the story is getting so juicy, sweetums," Polly said. "So let's give 'em a really good drama, shall we? Think of the ratings!"

Steven stopped smiling. He walked over to the tall staircase on the set and sat down on the second step. With his microphone in one hand he resembled a denim-clad version of The Thinker The Thinker. "I'm all ears."

Polly came out from behind the judges' table and walked up to the stage. She stood in the spotlight and for an instant she was back on the set of The Polly Pepper Playhouse The Polly Pepper Playhouse. She could feel herself drifting back in time and almost unable to keep herself from asking if the audience wanted to see her popular sketch comedy character Bedpan Bertha, the klutzy nurse. Or Madam Zody, the fake psychic. Suddenly, Polly began singing "Send in the Clowns." When she completed the song, the audience gave her a standing ovation.

"Comfortable up here?" Steven's patronizing tone reeled her back to the moment.

As the audience buzzed about what they were seeing, Polly asked, "Steven. Do you remember the night that Thane was killed? Of course you do. What I should ask is, do you remember your little sparring ritual? Thane asked you why you seldom wear your wedding ring."

Steven shot her a deadly look. "And I told him that I sometimes forget to put on my wedding band."

"Remember his response?" Polly asked. "He said, 'My w.i.l.l.y is more discerning than yours.'"

Oohs and boos erupted from the audience. Polly said, "It was a reference to you having s.e.x backstage with each of the contestants-just as we showed a few moments ago in that priceless film clip. And that's why he stopped being your friend. He may have been a troublemaker, but he hated your marital infidelity. You realized in that moment that his a.s.sistant, Michael, and Richard's a.s.sistant, Lisa, had become chums and that she must have told Michael about the surveillance video. In fact, Lisa told me that Richard had brought you into his office to warn you about your conduct. He's the first one who told you about the surveillance cameras. Lisa confided in me that her boss told you he promised to destroy the tapes."

Polly looked toward the judges' table. "Isn't this true, Richard?"

Dartmouth nodded, as captivated by Polly's a.n.a.lysis as the rest of the audience.

"You realized in that moment that Thane Cornwall was your blackmailer!" Polly said.

"My what?" Steven stood up. "A blackmailer? That's nonsense. No one is blackmailing me!"

"Yes, and no," Polly said. "After the show that night, you waited for Lisa to leave Thane's estate. Then you entered the house. You'd been a guest there so many times, you knew your way around. I suspect that you were wearing latex gloves when you picked up a knife in the kitchen. You found Thane sleeping soundly in his bedroom."

Steven folded his arms across his chest, daring Polly to continue.

"Very clean work, Steven," Polly said. "Best of all, Thane probably didn't feel a thing. Second best of all is that Lisa Marrs's fingerprints were on the handle of the knife. She tells me that when they argued she'd picked up the knife with the intention of killing Thane herself. But she couldn't go through with it. However, and this is where it gets more icky, a few days after Thane's death another blackmail note arrived, and you realized that you'd killed the wrong person."

"Another note?" Steven roared. "Am I supposed to have a drawer full of blackmail letters? Is that what you're suggesting?" note?" Steven roared. "Am I supposed to have a drawer full of blackmail letters? Is that what you're suggesting?"

Polly nodded.

"You're as crazy as Norma Desmond," Steven snapped. "You'd better prove something soon or Sterling Studios' security will take you away to a place you belong, and I don't mean Pepper Plantation."

Polly took a deep breath. "Remember the day that I dropped by with a gift of a bottle of champagne? You were in so much pain. Tiara said it was a toothache. You said it was a virus. A double whammy. I felt awful for you. You were sweet not wanting me to catch anything so you booted me out quickly. But you weren't sick with a cold or flu. You'd received another blackmail letter. I know, because I read it. You'd crumpled it up in anger and thrown it onto the floor. While you were in the bathroom heaving up your guts from fear and regret, I got a glimpse of what your blackmailer was after. Five hundred thousand U.S. dollars. The letter stipulated U.S. dollars. Odd, isn't it?"

Steven sat down again, helplessly sinking.

"But who was really behind the blackmail letters?" Polly asked. "I've given this a ton of thought. It didn't seem logical that Thane Cornwall, who was wealthy, would shake anyone down for money. No, I thought it had to be one of the contestants, or even Lisa Marrs, after all. But the contestants on film were all over eigh teen, and from watching that interesting DVD a few times, it seems your encounters were consensual. They probably figured that by having relations with you, it would help their chances of winning. That ploy is as old as Hollywood. By the way, my Tim and Placenta were impressed with your endowment. Me, not so much. Killers are unattractive-regardless of how cute they are."

The audience roared with laughter.

"I thought and thought about this case. It was driving me nuts!" Polly said. "Then I received the sweetest thank-you note from your lovely and darling wife, Tiara, expressing her appreciation for that fun dinner party we had at the plantation. The Brits are so polite and well raised, don't you agree? Then something jumped out at me. I reviewed the blackmail letters-you really should get more loyal household help-there were several common denominators among them and Tiara's thank-you note. For one, the stationery was exquisite. Regular bond paper would have sufficed for a common blackmailer. Also, the way the missives were dated. The British always put the day before the month, unlike Americans. And the punctuation. In the States, we place our commas inside quotation marks. In England they're placed outside."

The director ordered a split screen of the unfolding events, and the studio audience and television viewers were treated to simultaneous reactions from Polly and Steven. On the left, Polly looked glamorous in her Dolce. On the right, Steven looked tired and his shirt wrinkled with perspiration. "What is this, Remedial English 101?" Steven raised his voice. "What you're telling us is completely stupid and insane and has nothing to do with Thane Cornwall's death!"

"I thought so too," Polly said. "Then my darling maid and bff Placenta got to be buddy-buddy with your maid, Maria. The two shared their tiffs about their employers. Although I'm a perfectly wonderful mistress of my manor, it seems that your beautiful Tiara had confided in Maria that she suspected that you were having affairs behind her back. Tonight, Tiara told me that she loved you so much, and would never let you go, even if you wanted to leave. She also used a couple of words that appeared in several of the blackmail letters. Do the terms 'w.a.n.kers' and 'bloke' mean anything to you?"

Polly turned to Tiara Benjamin. "I'm so sorry, honey. I'm sick to death about having to rat about your broken marriage on national television. You weren't really blackmailing your husband, were you? No, just trying to scare him into fidelity. You couldn't have known how far he'd go."

The television screen suddenly split into quarters, showing Polly, Steven, Tiara, and the audience. Tiara was weeping into a handkerchief.

Polly continued. "Steven, your rags-to-riches story is indeed an inspiring one. From a trailer in Newhall, to a career as a model, to acting on daytime dramas, and now as the host of I'll Do Anything to Become Famous! I'll Do Anything to Become Famous! You've got that great mansion, the expensive cars, and commercial endors.e.m.e.nts. But you were about to lose everything because you couldn't keep your fly zipped. So you killed Thane because you presumed that he was about to take it all away from you. But why did Danny have to go too?" You've got that great mansion, the expensive cars, and commercial endors.e.m.e.nts. But you were about to lose everything because you couldn't keep your fly zipped. So you killed Thane because you presumed that he was about to take it all away from you. But why did Danny have to go too?"

Polly was quiet for a long moment. Then she answered her own question. "I couldn't understand why anyone would murder such a darling boy, and in my my personal mansion! Then I realized that Michael obviously couldn't keep his trap shut and talked about the surveillance videos. I remembered that Lisa said she'd become friendly with him as they commiserated about how much they despised their respective bosses. So, armed with knowledge of the DVDs, each of the remaining contestants set out to steal the discs to use against the others. Miranda tried at my dinner party. Danny must have come to my home at the same time that you and Michael did. The funny thing is, I didn't know what was on those discs until Michael tried to steal them from my house." personal mansion! Then I realized that Michael obviously couldn't keep his trap shut and talked about the surveillance videos. I remembered that Lisa said she'd become friendly with him as they commiserated about how much they despised their respective bosses. So, armed with knowledge of the DVDs, each of the remaining contestants set out to steal the discs to use against the others. Miranda tried at my dinner party. Danny must have come to my home at the same time that you and Michael did. The funny thing is, I didn't know what was on those discs until Michael tried to steal them from my house."

Steven screamed, "You can't prove one thing that you're saying! So you have a motive. A lot of people did. Where's your evidence? You haven't any!"

Polly opened up her clutch purse, withdrew a clear plastic sandwich bag, and held it up. "It's not much, but it belongs to you."

As the television camera moved in for a close-up, Steven peered intently into the bag. "What?" he asked, shifting his eyes to Polly.

"A little something the police found in my home, a few inches from Danny's body."

Steven looked puzzled.

"You must spend a fortune to keep your perfect teeth looking movie star bright. I'll bet you have a strict regimen for brushing and flossing and rinsing. Oh, it must have hurt to chip one of your pearly whites. In fact, I know it did. I stopped by when you were experiencing that horrid toothache! Remember?"

Steven shook his head. "So what if I had a toothache? I had a cavity."

"It's no use. The police have already matched your DNA to that tooth," Polly said. "As for placing you at the scene of Thane's murder, well, that was a little harder."

"Because I wasn't there!" Steven insisted.

"Surveillance videos tell a different story." Polly smiled.

"Thane's security system was out of service," Steven said triumphantly. "He had SOS, the same as you. That wretched company can't keep their equipment working. Even the police said the cameras were inoperable that night!"

Polly snapped her fingers. "Darn! You're right. Thane and I have that same crummy service. I suppose that's how unwanted guests keep finding their way into my house."

There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the audience.

"You were wise to go with Mayday. I'll be calling their installation service first thing in the morning. They really are a better grade for celebrities such as us. In fact, your cameras are always working just fine."

Steven looked uneasy.

"They take such good pictures, in fact, that even in the middle of the night, with very little light, you're as clear in the image as you are sitting in front of this live television audience."

Steven blanched.

Polly tsk-tsked. "It was fairly easy for me to put you at the scene of Danny Castillo's death," she said. "The bit of tooth was all the evidence I and the police required. But I didn't know how the h.e.l.l to connect you with Thane's death. The blackmail notes weren't enough. Sure, the finger was pointed, but I had no hard evidence. And when the security system at Thane's failed, I thought, well, I guess Lisa Marrs is going to fry like bacon.

"But as I kept thinking about security cameras, it occurred to me that yours might have been working just fine. Guess what? Those darling technicians and customer service agents at Mayday Security were able to access the hard drive on which your cameras' footage was downloaded. At first I couldn't understand what you were doing up so late! Then I figured it out."

Steven put his face in the palms of his hands.

Polly looked out at Tiara. "Honey, it's two a.m. Do you know where our Steven is going in the middle of the night?"

Steven stood up and pointed at Ped-Xing. "It's his fault! Yeah, Richard Dartmouth told me about the surveillance footage, but all the contestants wanted me. They thought it would help them win."

"Na-ah!" Socorro spat. "We all agreed you were at the top of the boring lover list."

Steven continued. "I trusted Richard to destroy the evidence. He promised. I didn't count on his evil little a.s.sistant making copies. I promised Ped-Xing that he'd win the compet.i.tion if he and Michael got hold of the discs. They broke into Lisa Marrs's apartment, but you beat them to it, stupid woman."

"Polly Pepper is not stupid, nor is she a thief," she said with indignity in her voice. "How often do I have to say that I borrowed the DVDs? I thought they were old movies with my girl chum, Mitzi.

"Back to your own thievery," Polly continued. "When your two little a.s.sistants returned empty-handed and told you that I took the evidence, you decided to pay a visit to me at Pepper Plantation. Fortunately, I wasn't home and the alarm system was on the fritz. However, Danny must have heard your plans because he was already there when you and Ped-Xing and Michael arrived."

"If only that were the case." Steven sneered. "Yeah, Danny insisted that he hadn't found the DVDs at Pepper Plantation. But all these kids are liars. I suspected that when he heard us enter the house, he'd ditched the discs. While Ped-Xing and Michael were scouring the house, Danny was out of control. He threatened to go to the National Peeper National Peeper and tell them what we'd done, and the surveillance tapes would have been proof. I told him that I'd arrange for him to be the winner of the contest, but he said he wanted more than that for his silence. He wanted money and a house and a car. I knew he'd always hold the strings in my life, so I..." and tell them what we'd done, and the surveillance tapes would have been proof. I told him that I'd arrange for him to be the winner of the contest, but he said he wanted more than that for his silence. He wanted money and a house and a car. I knew he'd always hold the strings in my life, so I..."

"Killed Danny," Polly said. "And in the struggle you hit your mouth on the floor, and there went that precious tooth."

Polly looked into the camera. "I think we have a winner! Who in our studio, despite not being in in the compet.i.tion, has proved that he'll do anything to the compet.i.tion, has proved that he'll do anything to stay stay famous?" famous?"

The audience erupted: "Stee-ven! Stee-ven! Steeven!"

Polly applauded the audience, then turned and applauded Steven. "We can save the interview questions for the prosecuting attorney." Polly looked into the audience, shielding her eyes against the bright lights. "Where's my adorable BHPD bf Randy Acher? C'mon up with a batallion of your finest and let Steven have Lisa Marrs's room at the Bastille."

Chapter 27.

As Steven Benjamin was escorted out of the studio by a platoon of police officers, a PA approached Polly. "Mr. Dartmouth wants you in his office, p.r.o.nto," she said.

Polly looked at the a.s.sistant. "I'm p.o.o.ped. Tell the big D that we'll celebrate our success over something bubbly when I wake up-in a week or two."

"If you aren't there in five minutes, the studio security team will drag you by your gray roots."

Polly blanched and tottered on her heels.

"I'm merely the messenger."

Polly waved to Tim and Placenta, who were wending their way to the stage through the sea of tweens leaving the studio. When they were at Polly's side and offering hugs and congratulations, Polly grimaced. "I've been called to Dartmouth Dungeon."

"A commendation for sure." Tim smiled.

"A summons." Polly sniffed. "d.a.m.n J.J. He goes way too far when he threatens to make pretty men not so pretty."

Polly and her troupe followed the PA out of the studio and across the lot to the executive building, other wise known as Sterling Stalag. Regardless of the reason for one's business in this stark steel and gla.s.s structure, which housed Sterling's global headquarters, entering the building generated more discomfort than preparing for a colonoscopy.

The young PA escorted her charges into the elevator and ascended to the penthouse of the twelve-story building. When the doors parted, the only illumination in the foyer was dim amber light emanating from modern decorative sconces on the walls. "This way," the leader said. At the end of the long hallway was a set of tall, frosted-gla.s.s double doors, as ominous as the portal to the throne room of the Wizard of Oz. "Just knock," the young woman said as she quickly peeled away and disappeared down the hall.

The trio exchanged uneasy glances before Tim rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Yo!"

Tim pulled the handle on one of the ma.s.sive doors and held it open for his mother and Placenta.

The room was impressively large. Richard's desk, designed to complement the rest of the building, was chrome and gla.s.s. The only objects resting there were a telephone and a banker's box with an Emmy Award resting on top of papers, books, and picture frames. Richard was seated on a white leather Barcelona chair in the middle of the room.

Polly offered her most effulgent movie star smile. "Don't pout, precious. I know that J.J. has you rattled, but trust me, Liz Smith is the last one on the planet to care about your silly 'Mummy and Me' Egyptian-themed sacrificial altar weekend play dates. She'll never print such a trifle."

Richard shook his head. "Sit." He motioned toward a twin sofa and two matching La Corbusier chairs.

Polly looked around. "I'm parched. Where do you keep the champers, dear?"

"Darn. I totally forgot about your habit. Er, your preference," Richard mocked. "I won't keep you but a tick. Then you can run along to your Pepper Plantation and guzzle to your ulcerating kidneys' delight." He looked away from Polly. Then in a small voice he said, "I've been fired."

"But... the show is a hit," Polly exclaimed.

Richard snorted. "Good ratings are generally a sufficient reason to keep even the most malevolent producer or studio exec at the helm of a show. However, Sterling prides itself on keeping its vault of secrets tamperproof. Tonight, you let a few of the most feral cats out-so to speak. As the producer, I'm the fall guy."

"I didn't say anything to the millions and millions of television viewers around the world that wasn't true."

"Millions," Richard sighed. "Sterling's stockholders are a money-grabbing and not-so-liberal slice of old-fashioned Americana," Richard said. "They can tolerate one of Sterling's employees murdering Thane Cornwall. It made for huge ratings. But hanky-panky in the dressing rooms? Caught by Big Brother's surveillance eyes? That's a little too weird for people who actually think we're a Pollyanna family empire. The big cheese CEO is livid with me for not saying bupkiss about Steven fooling around backstage."

"You gave that c.o.c.k of the Walk a warning," Polly said.

"I should have fired the killer. That might have saved Danny, too." Richard took a deep breath. "I've been a jerk. I was trying to fill Thane Cornwall's Frankenstein shoes 'cause the show needed conflict to keep audiences tuned in."

Polly tried to feel sorry for Richard. However, she looked him in the eye and said, "Sweetums, you got exactly what you wanted: contestants caught sabotaging each other, ruining established s...o...b..z careers, and destroying any hint of the myth that Hollywood is only for the talented few. You decided that if you showed how cruel and cra.s.s people can be when their egos want to slurp from the well of celebrity, then your own career would skyrocket. And it did. At least until a little ol' inconvenient truth popped up. The only real talent on this show was a talent for murder."

Polly stood up. She looked at a forlorn Richard Dartmouth. "Honey, you know as well as I do that in Hollywood, when an executive is fired from one position, he gets an even better job at another studio. It's called 'failing up.' It worked for Shari Draper. She used to occupy this very office. Not to worry your impossibly handsome kisser. Call J.J. if you need a reference. You'll have to kiss his b.u.t.t. However, you made it this far in H-wood, so I suspect you've perfected that skill."

Suddenly, the office door opened. Polly, Tim, and Placenta looked up as a young man wearing tortoise-sh.e.l.l eyegla.s.ses, an untucked white satin twill shirt, faded blue jeans, and a Bluetooth cell phone headset embedded in his ear confidently walked into the room. "Time's up, Dartmouth," he said.

Polly studied the man for a moment. "Combat pay?" she asked.

A smile played across the young man's face. "Not anymore. J.J. fired me. But Seymour Tallowschmid hired me. I'm now his director of development here at Sterling. This is my new office. Oh, and my name's Shawn."

Tim looked at J.J.'s former temp receptionist. "We knew you'd quickly move up the ladder, but this is ridiculous," he joked.

"Only in Hollywood, eh? One day you're a n.o.body receptionist earning ten bucks an hour. The next, you're producing TV and films, with a six-figure salary, a BMW, and an expense account," Shawn said.

Suddenly the kid from J.J. Norton's office became serious. "Polly. Er, Miss P. Your performance tonight killed us. That song. Mwah! Your stage presence. Wow! Awesome! Stellar! Seymour and I wanna make you a star. D'ya follow me?"

"I'm already an icon, dear." Polly looked down her nose.

"Sure. Of course. We all know that. Right. But you're from my parents' generation," Shawn said. "However, there's still a place for you in Hollywood. Seymour thinks so. I know so. Seymour thinks you should do a special. I say a big event in Central Park. No. A talk show, like Ellen Ellen. Hmm. No. A sitcom about a famous star who solves murder mysteries?" Shawn put his fingertips to his temples. "I'm getting a vibration about this one."

"It's the radiation from the cell phone embedded in your head," Polly said.

"I'm calling J.J. to set up a lunch. Tomorrow. The Ivy. Two o'clock," Shawn said. As he turned to leave the room he looked at Richard Dartmouth and his box of personal effects. "Don't think about using that Emmy to get rid of me. It's no longer an original idea," he said. Then, at the door, he faced Polly again. "You were nice to me at that sucky job."