A Talent for Murder (24 page)

Sergeant Sandy shook her head. “Had my tea. I’ll finish my rounds.”

Once the security guard had wandered past the koi pond, Michael hurried across the lawn toward the house. As he walked around the pool and stepped onto the patio he glanced in every direction. As quiet as the place seemed, he couldn’t tell if he was actually alone. He
furtively opened the French door leading into the kitchen. The first thing that Michael noticed was that the Mr. Coffee pot had not been turned on; a sure sign that no one in the house had yet awoken. Still, he walked around as silently as possible. He made his way out of the kitchen, passed the great room, and down the hall to the foyer. There, for a moment, he stood like a statue listening to every noise in the house. When Michael was confident that he was alone, he slowly and as quietly as possible opened the top drawer of the vanity.

The only light in the foyer came from a stained glass window above the double entry doors. The sun was shining in the right direction and the room was flooded with enough illumination to clearly see into the dark drawer. Michael lifted out a Harry & David catalogue, an old copy of
Time
magazine, and a handful of fast food and take-out pizza menus. He realized this was a catchall drawer, and with each layer of junk he was farther away from anything as new as the security report from a week ago. He returned the contents and closed the drawer.

In an instant he realized that a DVD probably would have been returned to where he’d seen thousands of titles on built-in shelves. He cautiously made his way down the long hallway and entered the great room. He crossed the floor and stood before the enormous library of thousands of films and television shows that Polly and her family had amassed. His heart sank as he tried to figure out where to begin. “Jeez, these people are so freakin’ anal about putting things away,” he whispered to himself.

As Michael went from shelf to shelf he realized that there were multiple categories and subcategories for all the titles. There was a section for movie musicals in
general, and within that section were rows devoted to MGM, Paramount, Twentieth Century Fox, and Columbia. Then the titles were further reduced to films starring Judy Garland, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Kathryn Grayson, Betty Hutton, and Ann Miller. The dramas and comedies were similarly categorized with Humphrey Bogart, Roz Russell, Tallulah Bankhead, Marilyn Monroe, and Jack Lemmon. All that Michael could remember about the disc he was looking for was that the title was hand-printed in blue Sharpie. He searched beyond the professionally pressed DVDs and homemade ones.

Michael looked at his watch. It was nearly eight thirty. Surely, he thought, by this time Placenta would likely be getting up. There was no time to waste. He pulled the library ladder over and climbed to the second step in order to reach the upper shelves of discs. He dragged his fingers across the spines of hundreds of jewel cases. Finally he came to a section that seemed to be for miscellaneous discs. He withdrew the first one from its slot. Through the clear plastic case he read the handwriting on the disc.
“Abbott and Costello Show
, 1966.” He slipped it back into place and took out the next one. “Actors Studio: Kim Hunter, 1948.
Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Judy Canova, Robert Redford, Gena Rowlands
.”

Michael looked at the shelf and knew it would take at least an hour to go through every title. He slipped the next jewel case out of its slot and read,
“Anything Goes. Part One of Six
.

“Yes!” he nearly shouted.

“You like old movies?”

At the unexpected voice of Placenta behind him, Michael was startled and lost his balance on the ladder.
As he fumbled to regain his footing he knocked a dozen discs off the shelf and they crashed to the floor with the sound of plastic bouncing off the hardwood floor.

“Oh my God,” Placenta cried, holding the ladder steady. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

His heart racing, Michael stepped off the ladder, avoiding the discs scattered at Placenta’s feet. He forced a laugh and said, “You must be part cat.”

Placenta and Michael simultaneously bent down to pick up the DVDs and their cases. “You looked bored walking around the estate and I saw you come in here. I figured you were probably watching television,” Placenta said. “I just came to see if you were ready for breakfast. I’ll put those back,” she said, taking all the discs from Michael.

“Sorry about the mess,” Michael said. “I can put them away.”

“Nonsense,” Placenta said. “Polly likes them a certain way. She’s fussy about some things.” She set the stack of discs on the custom-built cabinet and shelves. “The Sunday
Times
is on the patio table. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Pancakes? Eggs? What would you like?”

Michael looked longingly at the stack of discs. “Pancakes would be awesome. Bacon, too, if it’s no trouble.”

“Your wish is my command.” Placenta smiled, happy that she could show off her breakfast-making skills for someone who would appreciate her efforts. “Take a look at the headlines and let me know if we missed the planet blowing up while we slept.”

By the time Michael was served his first cup of coffee, Tim straggled down from his room and took a seat opposite him. When Placenta handed him a mug she looked at Michael and said, “Don’t take any offense,
but Mr. Tim is a ceased engine when he sleeps. He can’t get his jaw to move along with his thoughts until after his caffeine rush. He’ll be a real, live, talking doll in a few minutes.”

Tim looked up at Placenta and made a sound like something weak and dying.

“That’s my boy,” Placenta said. She retreated into the house and opened a carton of pancake batter.

After a few long swallows from his mug, Tim made the effort to say, “Hey.”

“Hey, back,” Michael responded. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmm.”

“Me too. Except for a dream about Thane,” Michael said. “Obviously triggered by all that talk about who killed the son of a bitch.”

Polly’s voice was suddenly behind Michael’s ear. “Such language on the Lord’s Day. Oh hell, did I startle you, dear?” she asked as Michael spilled half his mug of coffee. “Join me for a BM. That’ll settle you down.” She took an empty juice glass and poured in a quarter of the Bloody Mary that Placenta had set at her place, and handed it to Michael. Picking up her little tea bell, Polly rang it aggressively.

“In a bloody minute!” she heard Placenta call from the kitchen.

“Must be pancake morning,” Polly said. “She always makes a fuss when she’s trying to get the edges just brown enough.” She looked at Tim. “Did my boys sleep well? Oh, right, something about a Thane nightmare. Did he tell you where to find the buried treasure?”

Michael looked at Polly with a blank stare. “Yo, ho, ho?”

Polly shrugged. “You once mentioned that Thane
said there was a treasure. I was just hoping he came to you in your sleep and told you where X marks the spot.”

Michael chuckled. “Right. Um, no. No nocturnal messages. No secrets from the dead.”

Placenta appeared with a tray bearing a plate of blueberry pancakes, a stack of bacon, and two Bloody Marys. She set the meal before Michael and both glasses in front of Polly.

“Michael wants one too,” Polly said, pointing to her drinks. Before she could object, Placenta removed one of the glasses and placed it before Michael.

“Are you up to eating solids this morning?” Placenta asked Polly.

Polly rolled her eyes and withdrew a stalk of celery from her glass. She playfully flicked it at Placenta, then defiantly took a large bite from the celery.

Placenta laughed as she retreated into the house to fetch another breakfast plate. When she returned with Polly’s and Tim’s meals she said, “By the by, I think we have an old-movie buff in our midst. Michael was having a swell time looking at all the DVDs in the library. Maybe you’ve finally found someone who’ll watch
The Dolly Sisters
with you. God help the unfledged.”

“Don’t fall for the trap,” Tim managed to say. “If you see one Betty Grable film you’ll end up stuck with June Haver, Penny Singleton, and Dorothy Lamour. Save yourself, man!”

Polly took a long swallow from her glass and glared at Tim. “If you insult the memory of Betty Grable, you insult the industry that provided all that we have here. She was my idol. You’ve got your Bouncy—”

“Beyoncé …”

“—I had Betty, and Doris Day, and Lena Horne.
Give me an MGM Technicolor musical over a Batman movie any day,” Polly snapped.

Michael said, “My mother liked Doris Day. I’d love to watch one of her films with you.”

“Brownnose,” Tim mocked.

“Romance on the High Seas
at one!” Polly smiled with satisfaction and finished her drink.

Tim stretched and moved his chair away from the table. “Thanks, Placenta,” he called into the kitchen. Looking at his mother and Michael, he said, “I’d better call Royal Flush and get Trevor out here to fix the toilet. While you two are visiting with Miss Day, I’ll be learning about what to do with a ball cock.”

As Tim walked away from the table he called back, “Let’s meet up at Lush Hour. Here. By the pool. Ta!”

Polly placed a hand on Michael’s arm. “At last. It’s just you and me. A full day of chitchat. We might sneak in an Esther Williams musical!”

“Y
ou’ve got mail!” Polly always felt a slight tingle of anticipation when the voice inside her computer announced that she’d received a message. Although the majority of the missives guaranteed improbable ways to lose a hundred pounds in a week, or nonsurgical methods to enhance the size of her penis, Polly still enjoyed thinking that people were taking a personal interest in her. She rubbed her hands together, touched her mouse, and rolled her cursor to the postage stamp icon. A dozen messages popped up, most of which were lascivious ads that she had triggered when she made the mistake six months earlier of visiting one of Tim’s favorite adult entertainment sites.

One subject line instantly grabbed her attention. We adore you! Polly beamed and clicked her mouse. She read:

Polly smiled, and printed out the letter for Tim and Placenta to read. She looked at the clock on the upper left-hand corner of her screen. “Damn,” she uttered, realizing that it was well past the time she had promised to meet Michael for a movie in the great room. Polly signed off from her e-mail account and shut down her computer. She raced out of her bedroom suite and flew down the Scarlett O’Hara Memorial Staircase. At the bottom step she saw Placenta and as she hurried by she called back, “Don’t miss the first song!”

The double doors to the great room were closed. In her haste Polly pushed the panels and dashed into the room. “I’m hee-er!” she exclaimed. “A million apologies for keeping you—”

She stopped midsentence and looked in astonishment at Michael. He was standing by the DVD shelves and appeared to be stashing a DVD under his shirt. “Sweetums, you can have whatever movie you want. Just ask,” Polly said.

“I. Um. There were six of the same,” Michael explained. “I, er, was going to watch it in my room later and just didn’t want to forget.”

Polly didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t been
around much of the time while Tim was growing up, so she didn’t know how to handle a boy who was obviously lying … and stealing.

Placenta arrived with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. She instantly sensed that something wasn’t right. “Did Doris Day’s romance on the high seas drown?” she said.

Michael handed Polly the disc and left the room.

“What’s the preoccupation with this stupid old movie?” Polly said, looking closely at the disc. “I walked in here to watch a movie with Michael and I find our guest stuffing
Anything Goes
—the same disc that Sergeant Sandy found—under his shirt.”

Placenta examined the disc. “Michael was in here this morning going through all the titles. He must have been looking for this one. I wouldn’t have guessed that he was a Bing Crosby fan.”

Polly looked defeated. “Damn! I was in the mood to play mentor and show another generation the magic of movie musicals.”

Placenta walked over to the large-screen television and pressed the On button for the DVD player. “Hell, we’re here. As much as your old musicals bore the cellulite out of me, and God knows this one is a snooze-fest, I’ll take the afternoon off and have a look with you.” She slipped the disc into the DVD tray and picked up the remote. Placenta walked back to the sofa and filled a glass with lemonade. “This’ll tide you over until Lush Hour,” she said, handing a tumbler and napkin to Polly. Then she picked up a glass for herself and settled down next to the mistress of the manor. They both took small sips from their glasses as Placenta pushed the Play button on the remote control.

The television screen instantly came to life. “Jeez, what a lousy copy!” Polly complained. “Must be a gazil-lion
generations away from the original. It’s not even in color, for crying out loud. I should have let Michael have the damn thing.”

“I’ll get another copy,” Placenta said, and stood up to retrieve
Anything Goes—2 of 6
from the disc library. As she looked for the DVD, Polly suddenly cried out, “JesusJosephandMary!”

A startled Placenta turned, expecting to see that Michael had returned and was holding a knife to Polly’s throat. Instead she saw Polly with one hand over her smiling mouth, and the other pointing to the screen. Placenta followed Polly’s stare. “Holy moly!” she exclaimed. “What the hell?
Anything Goes
, indeed!”