Dial Emmy for Murder (20 page)

“Then why do they run?”

“Because everybody feels guilty about something.”

We heard the lock in the door turn and it started to open. I thought I was prepared for anything, but I wasn’t quite prepared for Adrienne Russell.

Chapter 46

Adrienne Russell looked just like Mrs. Butterworth, from the syrup bottle. She had gray hair neatly wrapped up on top of her head in a bun, a pudgy face punctuated with soft, rosy cheeks and a plump body that was even sporting a floral apron! People had said she was crazy. But to me she looked anything but. I could see, however, why her ex-husband said she was not very sexual.

“Yes, may I help you?” she asked sweetly.

“Adrienne Russell?” Jakes asked.

“Yes? Most folks call me Addie, but, yes, I’m Adrienne,” she replied.

He took out his ID. “Detective Jakes, LAPD. This is my associate, Ms. Peters.” He held the
s
long enough for me to realize he’d almost said my real name.

She blinked a few times behind her bifocals, I guess appraising me for a moment. She finally decided not to ask for my ID.

“May we come in?” Jakes asked.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She opened the screen door and stepped aside for us to walk in. “May I ask what this is about?”

“We’d like to ask you some questions about your son.”

“Nate?”

I always wondered why people do that. If someone asks me how my daughter is, I don’t say, “Sarah?” It’s as if people have to prove they know their child’s name before they answer the question.

“What about my dear sweet boy? He hasn’t been in a car accident, has he? Kids drive so fast these days!” She had her hand over her heart.

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Oh, thank heavens! I almost fainted! Come into the dining room,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse me; I’m a little busy.”

“We appreciate your time,” he said.

We followed her down the hallway past various end tables graced with lace doilies and vases filled with plastic flowers. Knickknacks adorned the shelves that lined the walls and every other available space. The farther we walked, the richer grew the smell of pot roast. When we got to the dining room, we saw what she had been busy with. The antique dark wood table was covered with a large lace table cloth. On top of that rested a mountain of resumes and photos of her son, Nate.

“Excuse the mess,” she said. “We just got Nate new head shots.”

“Head shots?” Jakes asked.

“My son, Nate, is an actor,” she said proudly. “He’s going to be a star.”

I walked to the table and picked up a resume. It gave Nate Russell’s birth year as 1983. If he was twenty-five, then he was definitely a “late in life” baby. Addie had to be sixty-five at least, if she was a day.

“Would you like a photo?” she asked me, holding one out proudly. “Isn’t he just such a beautiful boy? He reminds me of a young Tyrone Power. Oh! He was the most adorable baby. And sweet! What a disposition. He never cried, never got fussy.”

“Yes, he’s handsome,” I said, accepting the picture. “You must be very proud.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “That’s why I work so hard for him. My husband never understood that.” She busied herself with stacking the manila envelopes. “Did he send you here?”

“Why would you ask that?” Jakes asked.

“Well, somebody gave you my address,” she said with a shrug. “It was him, right? My biggest regret in life. That man! If only we could have stayed married. At least for Nate’s sake! Lord knows, I tried.” She looked at me and I swear she had a tear in her eye. “Sorry!” She reached for a tissue in a doily covered tissue box. “Some things are still so fresh, you know. I just never saw myself being a divorcée!”

“Was this a recent divorce?” I had to ask, given her response.

“Oh, heavens! No! It’s been five years this Christmas! Ahhh!” She sighed, “I can only imagine what he must have told you about me and Nate.”

When Jakes didn’t offer anything, she continued looking at me. I didn’t want to risk his wrath, so I said nothing. I’d probably already said too much.

“Has he had any success as an actor?” Jakes asked. “Nate, I mean.”

“Some,” she said. “He’s auditioned for most of the daytime dramas, but . . .”

“But what?” he asked.

“They didn’t seem to appreciate what he has to offer,” she said. “That’s why I’m continuing to send out his resume and photo. Somebody will see it, I’m sure. I know, I know, all mothers think their children are special, but Nate truly is. Did you know he can sing? And dance! He even does accents!”

She seemed beyond determined to me but not at all bitter about all the rejection Nate had suffered.

“Well, if Natey isn’t hurt,” she said, “what can I do for you, Detective?”

“Do you know where Nate is?”

“At work, I assume.”

“We went to his job. He wasn’t there.”

“Oh, that,” she said, waving it off. “It’s just temporary. Did you talk to that Neanderthal boss he works for?”

“Yes, we did.”

“He’s a horrible man.” She sat down at the table and started stuffing resumes and pictures into the manila envelopes. “Why do you want to see Nate?”

“We’re investigating some murders,” Jakes said. “All the victims are young actors who resemble Nate.”

She stopped what she was going. “Are you telling me Nate is in danger?”

“Could be.” Jakes jumped on that right away. If she thought we were thinking of Nate in terms of being another victim, she might talk more openly.

“My God,” she said. “Wait, was that one of the murders that happened on the Daytime Emmy Awards a few weeks ago?”

“Yes, it was.”

“How many murders have there been?”

“Five, so far.”

She sat back in her chair and let her hands fall into her lap. Suddenly I wondered if she had ever done any acting herself. It was something to look into later.

One benefit of being in the business is you can almost always tell when somebody’s acting—whether they’re doing it badly or well. In Adrienne Russell’s case, I had the feeling she was doing it very well.

“This is awful,” she said. “Will I have to stop sending Nate out on auditions?”

“Well,” Jakes said, “nobody’s yet been killed while out on an audition.”

“That’s good news.”

“Does Nate have an agent?” Jakes asked.

She smiled and said, “You’re looking at her. I know I’m not exactly ICM or CAA, but nobody believes in him like I do.

“And if you’re thinking of me as a stage mother, I’m here to tell you I’m much more than that.”

That much was obvious.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot for Nate,” she said. “But it will all come back to me in the end.”

I wondered if it all came back to her, would she give any to Nate?

Chapter 47

“What kind of a hostess am I?” Adrienne asked. “Would you like some tea or coffee or a cold drink?”

“No, nothing, thanks,” Jakes said.

I shook my head and caught her looking at me funny.

“Do I know you?” she asked. “I mean, have we met before?”

I fidgeted behind my disguise. “I don’t believe so,” I said.

“You look so familiar.”

“Mrs. Russell—” Jakes said.

“Addie, please.”

“Addie, do you know where Nate is right now?”

“Oh! Goodness! I forgot all about my pot roast!” And she shuffled into the kitchen. “I have gotten so forgetful! Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

Jakes and I looked at each other. I was about to mouth, “Do you think she’s for real?” when Addie popped her head around the dining room door.

“You know, normally I know where he is every minute of the day.”

“But not now?” Jakes asked.

“Right at this minute? No.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have, normally, but now that you’ve told me he may be in danger, I am worried, yes.”

“Here’s my card,” Jakes said, handing her one. “If you happen to locate him, would you let me know?”

“Of course, Detective,” she said. “And I imagine you’re going out to look for him now?”

“If we can.”

“Please let me know if you find him before I do.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll start making calls right away,” she said with a smile. “You know, to Nate’s girlfriends. He has so many.”

Either she was in denial about Nate being gay, or she was lying . . . or Mr. Russell had lied. I wondered how Jakes could live his life like this, day in, day out, trying to figure out who was lying and who was telling him the truth.

“You might as well call his boyfriends, too,” Jakes said. “I mean, his buddies.”

“I’ll do that,” she said. “I’ll call . . . everyone. Shall I see you out?” For an ever so brief moment I thought I detected a darkness wash over her face. Overactive imagination? I wasn’t sure.

She walked us to the door and stood pulling at her apron strings. Her nerves were starting to show.

“Thank you for your time, Addie,” Jakes said.

“Not at all, Detective,” she said. “Thank you for the warning.”

She looked at me. “I still can’t help feeling we know each other.”

I just nodded. I didn’t want to risk my voice giving me away.

Jakes took my arm and guided me outside. By the time we reached the car, Adrienne Russell had closed her front door.

“She almost made you,” he said after we got into the car.

“I was telling the truth,” I said. “We haven’t met. She probably thinks she knows me because she’s seen me on television. So, what did you think of her?” I asked.

“Well, on the surface she’s a sweet, older woman intent on making her son a star. Still a stage mom, in my book, as much as she’d like to call herself an agent. What did you think?”

“She was acting.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, I think,” I said, “She’s very good at innocent little old lady, but it just didn’t ring true. Especially her concern about Nate being in danger.”

“He can’t be in danger of being killed if she’s his accomplice to murder.”

“Tell me,” I said, “what chance do we have of finding Nate before she does when we have no idea where to look?”

“But I do have an idea,” he said.

“Where?”

“Here.”

“You’re going on a stakeout?”

“Care to join me? They’re boring as hell, but maybe we could find a way to pass the time.”

I knew exactly what he meant, and Lord knows, I was tempted. “I can’t. I’d love to but I want to spend some serious time with Sarah.”

“Gotcha. Um, I should stay here, so how do we get you home?”

“George lives ten minutes away. Could you drop me off there? I’m sure he or Wayne could take me home.”

“Let’s go!” He pulled out onto the freeway, heading toward Silver Lake. “But I still want to kill some time with you. Not necessarily on a stakeout.”

Chapter 48

When I got home, I could smell dinner cooking. Again I felt guilty that my mother had been doing all the housework since she got back home. Even though I had to work on my show, I tried to do as much at home as I could. Except, of course, when I was trying to find a killer.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, entering the kitchen and kissing her. “I’m sorry you have to make dinner again.”

“I don’t mind pitching in, Alex,” she said, “until things get back to normal. Any idea when that would be?”

“Soon, Mom. Very soon.”

“Well, Sarah’s in her room.”

“All right.”

I had to go and say hi to my baby girl, stopping first in the bathroom to remove my makeup. I heard every word she said as she told me about her day.

“Here, dear,” my mother said, handing me a glass of white wine as I reentered the kitchen.

“Mom, would you kill someone for me?” I asked.

“Why, who do you want me to kill?”

“I’m serious, Mom.”

She turned away from the stove and looked at me. “I can see you are. Well, Alex, a mother’s love is very strong. You know that. I would kill to protect you, just as you would to protect Sarah.”

“Yes,” I said, “to save her, I would. But . . .”

“But what?”

“We found out that the same actor has auditioned for the parts some of the dead men got. Not all, but some. And he always had his mother with him.”

“Are you wondering if she killed all those men to get her son a part in a TV show?”

“It’s possible, Mom, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He didn’t get the parts,” I said. “Why would she kill them if he didn’t get the parts anyway?”

“I think you need to go over these things with your friend the detective,” she said.

“I think you’re right.”

The doorbell rang at that moment.

My mom winced. “Oh, dear. I forgot to tell you. Paul called and said he’d be dropping by this evening.”

“Mother!”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Maybe it wasn’t Paul, I thought on my way to the door. Maybe it was Jakes. Please . . . make it be Jakes.

When I opened the door, Paul Silas was standing there. We hadn’t spoken since I had told him not to come home after the Emmys.

“Paul.”

“Hello, Alex. Could you step out here, please?”

The fact that he wanted to talk outside, and didn’t try to kiss me hello, spoke volumes.

I walked outside, closed the door and turned to face him. “When did you get back?” I asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Paul—”

“Let me say something first.”

“Okay. Uh . . . do you want to go somewhere?”

“No, actually I don’t. I just didn’t want to see Sarah.” It looked like he was tearing up a little. He turned away from me for a second before he sighed and said, “Let’s just keep this simple and to the point. You’re involved in solving a murder again,” he said, “like last year, right?”