"I wish we had copies."

"And you a.s.sume we don't?"

I gave her the eye. "You've kept copies?"

"Mac, seriously, did you think I wouldn't know an obsessive-compulsive like you would need to pore over them?"

"You think I'm obsessive?"

"And compulsive."

"Oh," I said, and helped myself to a second serving. But just a little one since I was on a low-broccoli diet.

"So the length of each letter hardly varies at all," I said.

"Two or three are a few sentences longer." Elaine was standing upright, gazing at the letters laid out in chronological order across her mattress. Hers had been a better option than mine, as it didn't look as if a humpbacked monster were lurking beneath the scattered covers.

"And each begins with Dearest Ms. Ruocco. Your stage name." I scowled. "Very formal."

"So maybe he's an older man," Laney said.

"But not so old that he's shaky. The words are extremely well formed."

"His speech is quite proper, so I would guess he's educated."

"And it's written with ..." I leaned down, putting my face close to the papers. "A fountain pen?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Does that mean he's ... Catholic?"

Even though Elaine is decidedly un-Catholic, we had attended Holy Name Catholic School together for more years than I care to remember. The nuns there thought ballpoint pens were instruments of the devil. "Or he just really likes fountain pens."

"He must have some resources," she said.

I nodded. "Either he followed you here to L.A. or he lived here in the first place and traveled to Idaho."

"Every loop is approximately the same size as the last. And the s.p.a.cing between the words is uniform. He's very careful."

"So he wants to impress you," I said, and scowled. Laney had never met a man who didn't hope to make an impact in one way or another. I wasn't surprised one would finally stoop to penmanship. More than a few had tried poetry. Several had sung ballads. Three love-struck fellows had tattooed her name on some part of their anatomy and one particularly inventive chap had christened his prize-winning bull after her. b.u.t.terfield wasn't really that bad a name for a dairy animal.

"His letters are narrow and vertical," she said. "Suggesting a need to control."

I looked at her.

She looked back. "I was paying attention during Murder, She Wrote." Murder, She Wrote."

"Seriously?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"It's bound to happen once." I scowled. "But I think the fact that you believe Solberg to be h.o.m.o sapiens has covered that eventuality." I was chewing my lip. We were both staring at the letters, considering our findings.

"So, in review ... he's probably past middle age," she said. "Judging from the phraseology."

"But not yet old."

"He's relatively wealthy."

"And educated."

"Possibly Catholic."

"Repressed."

"Definitely Catholic," we said in unison. Catholic," we said in unison.

"Formal," I said. "Yet with each letter he seems to become increasingly familiar."

"As if he knows me," she said.

"Or feels feels that he knows you." that he knows you."

She nodded. The paparazzi had been pretty busy lately. As far as we knew, none of them had yet realized she was slumming in Sunland with her dearest friend. So Letter-Writer must have gotten his information elsewhere. I wondered if it made him feel important to have obtained knowledge that others would have paid money for. "He's controlled," Laney said.

"Neat."

"Polite."

"Obsessed."

We scanned the letters. Each one was almost identical to the next. "Methodical," Laney said. The salutation was the same, the body of the letter was short, direct, and adoring.

"And infatuated," I said. "Which probably brings the possibilities down into the millions."

15.

Apparently a large number of people are extremely bored.-Patricia Ruocco, aka Elaine b.u.t.terfield, after hearing of Amazon Queen's phenomenal viewership The next week was a whirlwind of activity. I saw a zillion clients, shopped for shoes, and finally perused Laney's list of cast members, aka potential whack jobs. The sheer numbers were daunting. Who knew it could take that many people to make a cheesy, international hit?

It was Monday night. I glanced up from the kitchen table at Laney, who stood beside me, reviewing the same list. "Yikes," I said.

"I know."

"Anybody you have any bad vibes about?"

"I'm not feeling great about judging people on a pa.s.sing whim," she said.

"How do you feel about me getting shot in my sleep?"

"Iffy," she said.

"Good to know. Anyone?" I asked again.

She skimmed the list, scowling a little, then pointed to a name. "He's kind of ..." She shrugged a shoulder. "Different."

I read the name. Benjamin Vanak. "What kind of different?"

"I don't know. He's ..." She shook her head, thinking. "Aloof maybe."

I raised my brows and looked over my shoulder at her. "Are you saying he's not smitten?"

"Shocking, isn't it?"

"And refreshing. How long has he been with the Amazon Queen Amazon Queen team?" team?"

"A year or so, I think."

"And he hasn't asked to sire your children yet?" She wrinkled her nose at me.

"How about poetry. Has he written any sonnets in your honor?"

"Not even a haiku."

"I'm calling the police," I said, and she banged my shoulder with her almost-hip. It was like being b.u.mped by a fly.

"I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she said. "Jobs are hard to come by. Especially in this economy."

"So who could I call to feel Vanak out?" I asked.

"Why would you you do the calling?" she asked. do the calling?" she asked.

"Who else?"

"I can still speak, you know."

"Don't you hire someone to do that for you these days?"

"Here's the thing," she said, ignoring my cleverness, "I think Derrick would be most knowledgeable about the cast."

"Derrick. The producer?" She nodded. "Yeah, but-"

"You're afraid he'll immediately fire everyone on the set if he thinks someone's causing you trouble."

"Not everyone." everyone."

"Everyone except you?"

"Could be."

"Because he's not not aloof." aloof."

"'Aloof' isn't the term I'd use for him, no."

"What is is the term?" the term?"

She thought for a moment. "Jittery? Short? Friendly?"

"Uh-huh. How many times has he he proposed?" proposed?"

"I'm not that good at math," she said, and I gaped.

"That many?" many?"

"He's kind of a flirt."

"A flirt who has a wife and four dozen kids."

"Approximately."

I nodded, thinking. "Anyone besides Vanak give you weird vibes?" I asked.

"Are we talking male and and female?" female?"

"We're talking interspecies."

"Agatha once said she'd kill to have my body."

"Do you think she meant it literally?" I asked, scanning the paper until I found her name with my right index finger.

"Supposedly my death would not actually give her my body."

"Is she bright enough to know that?"

"A Rhodes scholar."

"So was President Clinton. He wasn't smart enough to keep his pants zipped."

"I've never seen Agatha in pants."

"Ever?"

"Always wears dresses."