Dial Emmy For Murder Part 23

"Yes, well, that's kind of why I called you, Ross," I said.

I explained to him that I was "a.s.sisting" the police in their investigation by gathering information about the parts the dead men had auditioned for.

"What? You mean, more were killed? Not just Jackson Masters?"

"That's not for public consumption, Ross," I said. "If it gets out, you and I could both be in a lot of trouble with the cops."

"Oh, no, don't worry," Ross said, "I won't tell a soul."

"I'm looking for some information on an actor named Tom Nolan," I said. "I understand he auditioned for your show some time ago."

"That's what you said in your message, so I looked it up and you're right. He auditioned but wasn't what we were looking for."

"Who got it?"

"Michael Baze."

"He's cute," I said.

"That's one word for it!"

There was a billboard on Sunset Boulevard with Michael's substantial a.s.sets blown up for all the world to appreciate. He was an underwear model for a major designer.

"How did Tom Nolan react to not getting the part?" I asked.

"I don't know for sure. Disappointed, I guess." Then his tone changed. "But you'll find this funny. This other man who also auditioned? I couldn't believe this one."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I've seen a lot of nuts at readings, let me tell you. This one takes the cake," Ross said.

"Why?"

"He brought his crazy mother with him."

Chapter 43.

I called my contacts at the other shows and then the a.s.sociate producer at The Yearning Tide, deciding not to go through Andy again. I asked them all the same question and got the same answer.

I went home excited and found my kid car parked in front of the house, looking battered and bruised.

When I got inside I discovered that Jakes himself had accompanied it and stayed a while.

"Your mother was nice enough to offer me coffee," he said as I entered the kitchen.

"My mother has always been a very good hostess."

I smiled at Mom, and she smiled back.

"I have also always known when to get lost," she said. And discreetly left the room.

"Mom, you don't have to-" I started, but she was already gone.

"I hope she didn't leave because of me," Jakes said.

Was he kidding? I just looked at him and shook my head. Men can be so dense. "I have some news for you," I said. "Let me get myself a cup."

"You look like you're busting to tell me."

"I am."

I carried my coffee cup to the table and sat opposite him. I told him about my day, and the things I'd discovered, ending with the twenty-five-year-old actor who still had a pushy and crazy stage mother.

"So?"

"I heard the same thing from two people today," I said, "so I called the other two shows. And guess what?"

"What?"

"The same actor had auditioned for them, too . . . and his mother was with him."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'?"

"Are you trying to say that this uber-stage mother killed all four actors because her son didn't get a part he went out for?"

"It's too much of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"But, Alex, wouldn't she kill the actors who got hired ahead of her son? What's the point of targeting the men who have been killed? None of them were even working on a soap."

"Except Jackson."

"Right, except Jackson, but my point still stands. It was good thinking, Alex," he said, "but you know more about this stuff than I do. Wouldn't a pushy stage mother always be there?"

"For a child, yes," I said, "but this guy was twenty-five years old."

"And still attached to Momma's ap.r.o.n strings."

I sat back in my chair, feeling defeated.

"Don't feel bad, Alex," Jakes said. "I've had a million theories slapped down over the years."

He took a business card from his pocket and put it down on the table between us. "I know you have a mechanic, but he probably specializes in sports cars. This guy restores wrecks. Tell him I sent you."

"I will. Thanks."

He looked at his watch. "I've got to get going," he said, standing up. "Tell your mother thanks for the coffee."

"I will."

He grabbed my shoulders as he pa.s.sed and pulled me to him, kissing me hard. I pulled away, looking around the room.

"Um, my mom . . ."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He kissed me again anyway before heading for the door. "Just out of curiosity, what's that actor's name? The one with the pushy mother?"

"His name's Nathan Russell."

"Russell," he said. "Thanks."

I sat where I was until the front door closed. I sipped my coffee and then jumped out of my seat and ran. I reached his car just as he was about to pull away and yanked open the pa.s.senger door.

"Alex, wha-"

"You almost got me, you faker," I said. "You like my theory. That's why you asked for the actor's name."

"Alex-"

"You're going to go and see this guy and his mother, aren't you?"

He hesitated and then said, "Just to ask a few questions, that's all."

"Well, you're not leaving me behind."

I got into the pa.s.senger seat and slammed the door behind me.

"I'm not going right now, Alex," he said. "Besides, you can't just leave without telling your mom to pick Sarah up at camp."

"d.a.m.n," I said. He was right.

"Look," he said, "are you working tomorrow?"

"No," I said, giving him my most dejected look.

"I'll pick you up in the morning, and we'll go and talk to Nate and his mother."

"You're a s.h.i.t, you know?" I said. "You were really going to do that without me? When I'm the one who found the lead?"

"The lead?" he said, smiling. "Yeah, you're right. It was your lead."

"Okay." I opened the door and put one foot out.

"But use some of that makeup you've got, change your face a little."

"Right."

"Maybe you could try disguising yourself as a stripper this time? Huh? Fishnets, patent leather boots?"

"Very funny!" I punched him on the shoulder and slammed his door. He was laughing as he drove off.

Chapter 44.

Jakes picked me up nice and early and handed me a container of coffee as I got in the car.

"There ya go, partner," he said.

I opened the lid, took a look, closed it and sipped it.

"Just the way I like it."

We put our coffee in the holders between us. Our hands brushed only slightly but it was enough. We grabbed each other and went into a kiss. Breathless, I pulled away.

"d.a.m.n! We've got to control ourselves or we'll get nothing done!" I shook my head, trying to reach some degree of composure. "Where are we going?"

"Calabasas."

"Oh, the family must have money. Calabasas is nice."

"Not the nice Calabasas. The old Calabasas. Before all the developers took over. And the Kardashian girls."

"Did you call ahead?" I asked.

"No," he said, pulling away from the curb, "I didn't want to warn them."

"So what do we do if they're not home?"

"That's easy," he said. "We hear a noise inside, making it necessary for us to investigate."

"Break in?"

He grinned and said, "Only as a last resort."

We pulled up in front of an old ranch style house from the sixties. The "lawn" was a tired brown in dire need of watering. Or better yet, plowing. The sun was beating down on the concrete driveway, creating a glare that was blinding. Squinting, I managed to see a gray-haired, portly man about to get into a car. It was a Beamer, quite a few years old.

Jakes quickly got out of the car and I followed, first using the visor mirror to check that my wire-framed gla.s.ses, phony nose and front teeth were in place.