Set Sail for Murder (9 page)

“I presume he takes a potty break.”

“He would have had to know that Laura was going to the spa, and that her masseuse would walk out during the treatment.”

“Not a stretch, since she alienates everyone. Guessing that the masseuse might quit is an easy one.”

“You’re getting mental.”

“I’m being intuitive.” Polly tapped a finger to her temple. “You mentioned cameras. They’re everywhere. If Lawrence was performing in any of the lounges or the atrium we could match the time that Laura was killed with any time that he may have left his keyboard to take a murder break.”

Placenta nodded. “We’ll be able to definitively prove that Lawrence was working during the time that security thinks that Laura was rubbed out. Let’s see those tapes. I want him exonerated!”

Polly looked at the other passenger names on the list. “Sarah Stratton. Rachel Lashton. First, let’s find these other passengers and see how many reasons they had to knock off Laura Crawford.”

Locating Sarah and Rachel was not as simple as calling for them at their respective cabin doors. Neither was in her room.

“The casino!” Polly declared. “They’re probably blowing what’s left of their paychecks, or some pitiful government stimulus cash.” The trio raced to the Promenade Deck and entered the ship’s gambling parlor. Colorful neon strobes swept the room. Revolving red and blue police cruiser lights on top of slot machines cast an eerie glow. The miasma from hundreds of ring tones announcing gaming winners, as well as dour-faced poker players and scantily clad cocktail waitresses bearing trays of watered-down drinks, instantly put Polly in mind of the time she performed her nightclub act in Las Vegas. “It’s like the Sahara,” she said.

“It’s more like bingo night in the basement of St. Alfredo’s in Norwalk,” Placenta cracked.

“Remember when I used to do two weeks a year on the Strip?” Polly said. “God, they paid a fortune. Fifty grand a week! Now only Bette and Cher and Barry and Criss Angel get the big bucks. Maybe I should think about reviving the old act. Debbie keeps coming back. If Rita Rudner can pack a room, odds are that I can too! I’ll talk to J.J.”

Tim looked at Placenta with eyes that said, “Let her have her fantasy.” He then looked at Polly. “How do you propose to find these two trees in this forest? You don’t even know what these Sarah and Rachel people look like.”

“They’re fans. They’ll find me,” she said. Just then, an elderly woman and her thin-as-a-pipe-cleaner husband shuffled up to her. “Sarah, or Rachel?” Polly said.

The woman grimaced. “We just want to tell you how much we loved your show when you were on the television.”

“Sweet, adorable fans. Thank you!” Polly gushed.

“When are you coming back?”

“I’d love …”

“Do you still talk to Ethel and Fred?”

Polly gave the woman a momentary look of puzzlement. “Every Memorial Day. And Lucy and Ricky, too. I’m the other legend. The one with the famous musical comedy variety show—syndicated in forty-two countries and now available on DVD with special commentary by Liza and Barbra and even Michelle O. And me, of course.”

The Gumby Doll husband gave his wife a look of exasperation. “I told you it was Dinah Shore!” he said, and shuffled away toward the ringing slot machines.

Just then, a shapely cocktail waitress in a black skirt and a brocade keyhole bustier, bearing a tray of drinks, approached the trio. She smiled at Polly. “I couldn’t help overhear those two passengers,” she said. “I hope you weren’t offended by their lack of knowing that they were speaking with the iconic Polly Pepper.”

Polly beamed at the waitress. “They were sweet to think that I might be Lucy or Dinah.”

“Although you’d have to be a ghost,” the waitress laughed.

Polly was instantly smitten with the woman. “We’d love some bubbles,” she said, and paused to look for the server’s name badge.

“Michelle Most. No name tag tonight. I’m new in the casino.”

“Well, Michelle, we’re all very happy to meet you.”

The cocktail waitress smiled. “I, for one, am very excited that you’re in my casino.” She turned to the other two. “You must be Tim, the legendary Beverly Hills party planner.” She reached out to shake his hand, then turned to Placenta. “And you’re Polly’s best friend. I read the
National Peeper
when I’m in line at the store.” Michelle looked at Polly. “My mother wanted me to be you when I grew up.”

Polly reached out and touched Michelle’s smooth cheek. “I hear that a lot. There’s only one me, but you’re a beautiful young woman, and I’m sure your mother loves you
even though you aren’t a household name. I’ll send her an e-mail and rave about how well you perform delivering three flutes of Cristal to us. Nice and cold, please?”

Michelle laughed. “You’re much nicer than that rude and mean-spirited Laura Crawford.”

“Not really,” Placenta said. “If her awesomeness doesn’t have a taste of something bubbly soon, you’ll see.”

“Coming right up,” the cocktail waitress said with a smile. “In the meantime, here’s a free one-hundred-dollar gambling card. Take a seat at one of the slots and win a fortune. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Polly looked at the card. “Let’s give it a shot,” she said, and wandered over to a computerized poker machine. She sat on a stool in front of a multicolored, blinking screen. Tim showed his mother where to insert the card and how to start the game. As icons of playing cards appeared on the touch screen, and she tapped at the images, she started to hear the electronic sounds of invisible coins proclaiming that she was winning. Soon, Polly looked at the tally on the screen to see how much she was raking in. She giggled then she slipped into a zone of complete concentration.

When Michelle returned with champagne for the trio, Polly showed zero interest. She was glued to the electronic poker game, and screamed with delight every time she won a hand and heard the coins and saw that her free one hundred dollars had transformed into three hundred, then four hundred, and five hundred dollars.

“Quit while you’re ahead!” Placenta begged. “You tell her, Michelle. She’ll end up losing everything.”

“It’s my job to make sure our guests have fun,” the waitress said with a smile. “Keep tapping those cards on the screen, honey!”

Tim could hardly believe his mother’s good fortune. “Beginner’s luck,” he said, and swallowed a good portion of his champagne.

Polly shushed him and Placenta. “Now look what you’ve done! You’ve broken the spell. You jinxed my winning streak!” Polly’s hundreds of dollars soon drained into twenties, then, finally, she was broke. She looked at Michelle. “Good times and bum times, eh? I’ll take that drink now.”

Michelle handed Polly a flute. “The important thing is that you had fun. After all, it was a freebie. It’s not as if you really lost anything.”

“I never know when to stop when I’m having a good time,” Polly admitted. She reconsidered what had just happened. “Actually, it’s a good thing that I lost when I did. We didn’t come here to play. We’re looking for a couple of fans.”

Michelle looked around the cavernous room. “You’ll find more than a few in here, I’m sure. At least the ones who are over fifty and don’t confuse you with Shirley Jones.”

“Two specific fans,” Polly said. “Maybe you can help us. I haven’t a clue what they look like, and they may not even be in the casino. But their names are Sarah Stratton and Rachel Lashton.”

Michelle shrugged. “They could be anywhere. It’s a big ship. The fastest way to find ‘em would be to page their names.”

“Duh!” Placenta said. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“Just tell me where you want to meet these two and I’ll make the call,” Michelle offered.

Polly looked at Tim. “The Blue Dolphin Bar?”

Tim nodded.

“You got it,” Michelle said, and scurried away. Soon the trio heard the names of the two passengers they were seeking. When the waitress returned, Polly raised her glass to Michelle and drank what was left of her bubbly. “By the by,” she said, “what time did Laura Crawford visit the casino on her last night alive?”

Michelle shrugged.

“But you said she was rude and mean-spirited,” Placenta reminded.

“I used to be the hostess at the Tsunami Grill,” Michelle said. “Miss Crawford came to the restaurant but she wasn’t scheduled for the first dinner seating, and we were booked solid. She got angry when I suggested that she’d have to wait at least an hour or that she could get a fast bite at the Starlight Bistro. She threatened to call my supervisor. I did the unpardonable. I told her she was welcome to do so. I even dialed the phone and handed it to her. I wasn’t in the best of moods that night.”

Polly frowned. “You got into trouble?”

“As I said, I
used
to be the hostess. My supervisor relieved me of my duties and I collected a demerit. As I walked away, Miss Crawford gave me a look that I’ll never forget. It said, ‘You’re a nobody, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’”

Placenta shook her head. “The truth is, at this stage in her career,
she
was the nobody!”

“In Laura’s defense, her ego was incredibly fragile,” Tim said. “She needed to be treated as a star. Of course she had no right to behave as she did toward you, but that’s how she convinced herself that she was important. She looked down on anyone who wasn’t in show business.”

Michelle nodded. “But I really didn’t appreciate being dressed down in public, especially since my mother was in the dining room and witnessed the whole scene. It was humiliating. I was miffed that my boss offered the same resolution to the problem as I did, but she accepted his suggestion to seat her with another group. She just wanted to throw her weight around.”

“Is there any way to know with whom she dined that evening?” Polly asked.

“Talk to the maître d’. His name is Marco. I’ll bet he remembers Slaughtered Crawford … oh, sorry … as vividly as I do.”

Polly embraced Michelle and promised to return before the end of the voyage. “If my two fans don’t show up, I’ll have another go at the poker machine later tonight,” she said, and left the dark cave of the casino.

Sotto voce to Tim and Placenta, Polly said, “Don’t discount a waitress who has a grievance.”

A
s Polly, Tim, and Placenta raced toward the elevator, Tim asked, “How could you have remained friends all these years with someone whom everyone else despised? Even strangers disliked her. You’re judged by the company you keep.”

Without breaking her pace, Polly said, “Laura Crawford and I were
never
friends. Colleagues, yes. How many times do I have to repeat this story? It’s all in that horrid and retarded unauthorized biography.”

“Pickled Polly Pepper,”
Placenta said.

“The one thing that moron writer got right was that hiring Laura was your first father’s fault. I got the little squirt in a package deal. I should have known at the time that she weaseled her way into my show via your father’s pants zipper.”

Polly continued her brisk pace along the corridor. “It goes all the way back to the time when we were casting the show. Mr. Pepper #1 insisted that I needed to have someone younger and edgier, and of course sexier—but he wouldn’t say it—to spar with on the program. He said it would make me stand out more, and give me an opportunity to show the public how generous I was to new and
less-talented performers. I thought that was why we hired guest stars, like Valerie Bertinelli.”

When the trio arrived at the elevators, Placenta shook her head and tsked, “The politics of Hollywood. Laura Crawford brought a negative vibration to the set of
The Polly Pepper Playhouse.
She helped kill off your calamitous first marriage. Yet, because the ratings were high, and audiences got a kick out of her, you let the diva walk all over the place as though she was the Diana Ross of the Sterling Studios lot. Did anyone ever sneeze as loudly?”

“Only Jay Leno,” Polly said, and pushed the call button for the elevator car. “Mr. Pepper #1 was right about me looking more saintly next to her. The public loved me more than ever.”

Remembering what the sleazy celebrity biographer had written in his book about Polly, Tim quoted from memory, “‘Only Polly Pepper has fans as ardent—and demented—as Jodie Foster’s.’”

When the elevator arrived, the trio stepped inside and offered paper smiles to the other passengers. They remained silent until they reached deck six and stepped out into the corridor. Placenta added, “Yeah, and that nasty book revealed that a lot of fan mail had to be sent to the FBI. Remember the one who offered to rip Laura’s vulva out through her nose?”

Polly nodded. “And that lovely man in Iowa who wrote to say that he’d invite Laura to his pig farm, and accidentally on purpose knock her into his bottomless manure pit. People can be so darn sweet!”

Placenta said to Tim, “The fact is, whenever the
National Peeper
cooked up stories about Polly’s and Laura’s supposed catfights, the ratings zoomed. When they fingered your first father for having an affair with Laura, Polly got another Emmy.”

Polly stopped in her tracks. “There was no connection!”

“I’m not saying that you didn’t deserve to win that year,
but Lana Turner was totally convincing as Ethel Rosenberg in that Hallmark Special. The electrocution scene was so convincing, I swear I could smell her burning flesh!”

Polly lifted an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating …”

“That the Academy doles out sympathy Emmys?” Placenta said. “Is there another explanation for why Kirstie Alley took home Bette Midler’s Emmy for
Gypsy?”

As they continued down the corridor, the raucous sound of drunks floated out to meet them. “God, I hope we’re not seeing those two killers in a sports bar!” Polly complained as they arrived at their destination. To Polly’s relief, the revelry was coming from a table behind which a banner announced
HAPPY
70
TH ANNIVERSARY
! A very old couple looked dazed and nearly catatonic as they sat hunched over plates of barely touched cake and melting ice cream.

Placenta pushed Polly toward the group. “Make their day.”