I gave her a weak smile. "Amazingaso is that what he did at the other studio? Did he write screenplays? Do you think he ever worked with some older actors and actresses?"

I was fishing again, trying to find a link between Barry and Hedda-or even Pierce Armstrong. But Amy shot that down.

"Oh, no," she said. "He didn't do anything like that. He was just a grip at first, and then he built sets. He used to come home covered with paint."

Clearly, Amy and Barry had been a lot closer than employer and employee. "I guess that was a dead end for his career then? Or did Barry meet people there who helped him?"

"Oh, people helped him." Amy nodded. "Barry learned a lot from the special effects people. In like, a year, he became the studio's main pyrotechnics guy. It paid pretty well, too, gave him enough money to launch the Web site. Now he makes his living on that. People know his name now, so he can sell books, too. He's got another one coming out this fall. You should make sure to stock up on it at your store. I'm sure he'd come back here for another signing-"

"I'm sorry, Amy, back up a second. You said something about pyrotechnics?"

Amy's head bobbed. "Special effects. Fires. Squibs. Barry did it all." "Squids?"

"Squibs," Amy corrected. "Little explosive bags filled with fake blood. A tiny controlled explosive detonates them to create bullet holes."

"Controlled explosives?" I repeated. "Barry knows about explosives?"

"Oh, you bet!" Amy grinned. "You haven't celebrated Independence Day until you've been to one of Barry's Fourth of July parties!"

My mind was racing now. Bud had told me that the falling speaker that had almost killed Dr. Lilly must have been triggered by a small explosion!

Bingo, baby. You found your crooked Boy Scout.

I glanced around the room, trying to think of what else to ask. I noticed Amy's laptop, and I saw Barry Yello's image peeking out from behind a sprinkling of program icons. He was laughing, eyes crinkled, blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. His head was tilted, so he was almost in profile, and once again I spied that black onyx earring on a silver post.

The earring, baby! You should ask Betty Boop here about the- "Right!" I reached into my purse and showed the earring to Amy.

"Oh my god," she cried. "Where did you find it? Barry came home last night and told me he'd lost it at the block party. I was so sad. I bought that for him in Mexico, back when were going to geta"

Amy's voice trailed off. "Can I have it?" she said. I shook my head. "I'll give it to Barry myself-just as soon as I find him."

"Well, like I said, he'll be here soon. He's at the Movie Town Theater now. He didn't want to miss Double Indemnity." I blinked. "Did you say Double Indemnity?"

"Yeah."

I cleared my throat. "Amy, I'm confused. Barry told me that he was going to the showing of Double Indemnity on Saturday morning. He said that was the film's one and only showing this weekend."

"No," said Amy firmly. "It's playing right now. Right now is the one and only showing. I should know. I post the schedule every day on his Web site."

He lied, baby, Jack whispered in my head. He didn't want to get tied down to signing books for you. So he came up with a fast excuse. The question is, why? What was he doing Saturday morning if he wasn't watching Barbara Stanwyck play Fred MacMurray like a cheap violin?

"Oh, my god, Jacka didn't Seymour say he thought the door to the lighthouse bungalow was blown open with a small explosive?"

Yeah, doll. He did.

"Barry must have been the one! He blew his way into Dr. Lilly's bungalow. He stole her tapes, laptop, and manuscript!"

My thoughts exactly. Which means you better blow out of here fast, doll.

"Thank you," I said to Amy, quickly rising to my feet. "You've been a real help."

"A help? With what?" Amy asked. "I don't understanda "I hurried out into the motel parking lot, my mind still spinning.

"Barry has to be the culprit, Jack. All of the pieces of the puzzle are there. All except one."

Same problem I had with the Vreen case. A motive.

"What did Barry Yello have to gain from all of this mayhem?"

A payoff, doll. Yello's working for somebody. All you have to do is find out who.

"And how am I going to do that?"

Go to the source. You've got to find Barry and brace him. "Brace him!"

Yeah, put the squeeze on him, like I did with Egbert.

"I can't put the squeeze on a guy like Barry. He's big. He's tall. He's young. What do I do, beat him up with strong language?"

You can put the fear of the law into him, baby, that's what you can do. Just call that cop friend of yours, Freddie- "You mean Eddiea Officer Franzetti?"

Sure, You've got the goods, and the badge can provide the muscle. Between you and the cop, Yello should give up the ghosta and I'm not talking about yours truly.

CHAPTER 20. Mellow Yello.

He's one of the smartest men I know. He's in the movie business.

a" Clash by Night, 1952 I USED MY cell to call Eddie. He was on duty and patrolling Cranberry. I asked him to meet me in front of the Movie Town Theater. About fifteen minutes later, I double-parked beside his squad car.

Eddie yanked off his reflecting sunglasses and greeted me with a nod. I looked around. Bull McCoy, Eddie's partner, was nowhere to be seen.

"Bull's working the big homicide investigation up on Larchmont," Eddie said with a frown. "I'm on my own today."

"Well, if my theory pans out, I may have solved that crime and the burglary over at Fiona's place-maybe even the death of Dr. Lilly in my store on Friday morning. And as far as I'm concerned, if you help me, they're all yours."

Eddie didn't even blink. "What do you want me to do?"

It took me five minutes to fill him in. Two minutes after that, we stepped into the back of the darkened movie theater as the final scenes of Double Indemnity played out.

On the screen, the insurance claims investigator, played by Edward G. Robinson, stood over a bleeding Walter Neff, played by Fred MacMurray.

"Walter, you're all washed up," Robinson said, his expression wavering between pity and a scowl.

Inside the theater, I scanned the crowd, row by row. I thought I could spot Barry Yello's blond ponytail, even in the dark. But that proved to be more difficult than I'd imagined.

"Give me four hours to get where I'm going," MacMurray pleaded, draping a trench coat over his gushing gunshot wound. "I'm going across the border."

"You haven't got a chance," Robinson warned. "You'll never make the border."

"Just watch me," MacMurray rasped, stumbling to the door.

"You'll never even make the elevator," Robinson intoned as a grim epitaph.

That's when I finally saw the back of Barry's head. He was sitting in the second row, on an aisle seat. The seat next to him was empty. On the big screen, the film ended with MacMurray collapsing dead at the insurance office's front door. Then the house lights came up, and people began to file out of the theater.

Barry didn't get up. For some reason, he remained in his chair.

"Come on," I said to Eddie.

Together we pushed against the flow of people as we moved toward the front of the theater. When we reached Barry, I decided he must have fallen asleep. His fleshy chin rested on his chest. A cup of soda was held limply in his meaty hand. A half-eaten bag of popcorn sat on his wide lap.

I stood over him, called his name. Then I touched the man's big shoulder. The soda cup dropped from his hand, exploded at my feet. My shoes and legs were instantly drenched, yet I remained rooted to the spot, watching in horror as Barry's large body slumped forward. His head bounced off the back of the seat in front of him. Popcorn tumbled to the floor like yellow rain.

Eddie gently pushed by me, pressed his fingers against Barry's carotid artery. "He's dead."

Using his police radio, he called for an ambulance and backup. Only a few people remained in the auditorium, watching us curiously. But Eddie and I knew there was a mob of people waiting in the lobby to come in for the next showing.

"Pen, wait here, and don't let anyone get near him. I've got to secure the auditorium," Eddie took two steps up the aisle, and then he stopped to tell me again. "Stay here, Pen. I mean it. Chief Ciders is going to want to hear your story, and you're going to have to answer a lot of questions."

I nodded dumbly, staring at the back of Barry's head. I remained that way for what seemed like a long time, until I was finally shaken from my numbed paralysis by Jack's voice bellowing in my head.

Hey, Penelope! What the hell are you doing? Wake up! Get to work!

"Work? What do you mean, Jack? What do you want me to do?"

First, look for cause of death. Search him for bullet holes, a knife wound-any sign of violence. Find out what exactly killed this lug.

I shook my head clear and took a deep breath. I didn't want to disturb a crime scene. On the other hand, with people dropping like flies, I knew somebody had to solve this case. At least Jack was here. He was an ex-cop, not just a dead private dick. He wouldn't steer me wrong-I hoped.

Have a little faith, baby.

"Okay, okaya "

I took tentative steps forward, approaching the corpse until popcorn crunched under my shoes. Barry had worn another Hawaiian shirt today; this one was yellow and green, and it was clear there were no holes, not even any bloodstains.

"He wasn't stabbed or shot," I told Jack. "Not that I can see."

You're missing something. Keep looking.

"For what, Jack?! There's a soda here and a bunch of spilled buttered popcorn. Maybe clogged arteries killed him!"

Maybe you're onto something.

"What?"

Something he ate or drank, doll. Maybe he was poisoned.

"Poisoned!" I crouched low, and stared into Barry's dead face. His eyes were half-open, the pupils dilated. There were flecks of foam around his lips.

"Oh, my god. I think he was poisoned."

I looked down at my wet shoes and slacks.

"And I think I have the stuff all over me."

Check the seat next to him. If someone gave the poor stiff the joy juice that killed him, it's possible the killer sat down next to Ponytail Man, just to make sure he drank it, and maybe to make sure he stayed upright in his seat until the show was over.

There was nothing left behind on the seat beside Barry. But as soon as I got close, I smelled something-the cloying scent of orange blossoms.

I'd only smelled that fragrance once beforea in my bookshop, during an author signing. "It's Vouloir!" I realized. "Hedda Geist-Middleton's signature scent!"

Nice nose, baby.

"Thanks. But Jacka " I shook my head. "It seems so obvious. Did Hedda really come here and poison Barry to shut him up? Ora do you think maybe Harmony could have borrowed her grandmother's perfume?"

Good question, doll, because that's a good setup, too. Borrowing Granny's perfume to frame the old dame. That way, if Harmony is involved, the clue will throw the cops off her scenta literally.

I pulled out my cell phone and tried to call Seymour. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a signal right away, so I had to pace around the theater. Finally I found a spot where I got a decent signal, but when I called I got Seymour 's voice mail.

"Call me as soon as you get this message," I told him. "I need to know if you located Hedda, and I need to know her exact movements over the past hour. It's urgent!"

I closed my phone and it beeped. I had received a message myself, probably while I was out of range.

"It's Brainert." His tone sounded urgent. "I'm here with Sadie at the store and guess what? She found something in that out-of-print book about Gotham Features. Something that's going to blow this thing wide open. Don't bother to call. Get back here as soon as possible. It's a matter of life and death."

I closed the phone and looked around. The auditorium was empty now, except for me and Barry Yello's corpse. But from the lobby, I could hear Eddie shooting orders to the crowd. Far away, I heard sirens.

I raced all the way to the front of the theater and climbed the stairs to the stage. I hurried down the backstage staircase to the basement, and ran to the steel fire door, which led to the alley.

Before I pushed it open, I switched off the alarm system, just like Bud had showed me the previous night.

A minute later, I exited the alley. On Cranberry Street, lights flashed and sirens wailed. I took off in the opposite direction, toward Buy the Book, my wet shoes squishing with every step.

I started to gripe about how gross the squishing felt when Jack cut me off.

If I were you, doll, I'd count my lucky stars.

"Why's that?"

'Cause I worked plenty of crime scenes in my day, and when it comes to walking around fresh corpses, there's a lot worse things to step in than soda pop.