Done to Death Page 6

  And then the meeting turned. Lost in his anxiety, Barry didn’t notice the dark-suited man and woman until they were at the podium. At first he thought they were consultants brought in to chop heads. But a cursory look at their suits − off the rack, the man’s a bit shiny around the collar, the woman’s boxy and out of style – said no, definitely not consultants, or even anyone associated with entertainment.

  He listened as Richard introduced them as a pair of NYPD detectives, in charge of investigating Lenore’s murder. The cops had been around all day, Lenore’s entire penthouse suite now a crime scene. He wondered who’d get tapped to do the made-for-TV movie. Worst case scenario, maybe it was something he could pitch. After all, he was here the day it happened.

  The woman detective took the microphone. ‘Thank you Mr Parks.’ She looked over the conference room. Her dark gaze moved slowly over those assembled. It reminded Barry of old-school mysteries … someone in this room is the murderer. But no, she was all business.

  ‘My name is Detective Jean Murphy. As I’m sure you’re aware,’ she started, ‘Lenore Parks was shot and killed today. I’d ask anyone in this room who believes they have information that can help the investigation to please come forward. If you saw something unusual, it doesn’t matter how small or seemingly unimportant. If you’re aware of anyone who might have had a grudge or some resentment against Ms Parks.’ She paused. ‘A disgruntled employee, someone terminated, or in fear of termination. We want to know about it.’

  Several people coughed, and Barry heard a woman choke on her water.

  Good luck, he mused. Because similar sentiments would be running through the heads of everyone in that room. Lenore ruled through fear. And from the sounds of things, her death wasn’t about to change that. It gave him pause. How many people hated her? Feared her? Wished her dead? He thought of his corner office and the woman who’d occupied it before him. She’d had a semi-successful show. It ran four years, got cancelled and within three months of it getting pulled, she was out of a job. And as he knew through the grapevine, she was borderline unemployable.

  He replayed his last meeting with Lenore. The way she’d toyed with his fears. It was cat-and-mouse stuff, her claws raking over his insecurity. Her message was clear − produce or get out. He meant nothing to her. It hadn’t always been like that. Not when he’d had a hit with the Home and Style Network and been recruited by LPP and one of the major networks. It had been ‘the sky’s the limit’, a corner office in midtown. ‘We want you to bring your whole team – hell, they’ll all get a twenty percent bump.’ The offer was too good to resist, and for a while he let himself believe he was home free. He’d uprooted his pregnant wife from the San Bernardino Valley – no more LA traffic – to the excitement of Manhattan. It had started well, a spot producing episodes of Lenore Says, and then on to a weekly model competition that attempted to recapture his success with Model Behavior. It didn’t, and tanked in its first season. He knew that everyone has shows go under, that wasn’t the issue. It came down to what he currently had on the air, which was zip. One day he’d been the golden-haired boy, the next … He looked up at the detective, who was fielding questions. Good luck, lady, he thought.

  Anyone in this room, and quite a few outside, had motive to want Lenore dead. In the end her murder didn’t help him, it just made things worse. He wished this detective would get off the stage. He knew there was more bad news coming from the trio on the podium. Just get this over with.

  He studied Richard Parks’ somber face. He’s just a kid, and now he’s my boss. They’d been introduced, but he had no sense of the intense young man. Objectively, he had the most to gain from Lenore’s death. Although supposedly he was one of the few people who genuinely cared for her, unlike his sister, who’d also inherit untold millions and who delighted in publicly humiliating Lenore. He looked at Patty Corcoran and Garston Green; they’d been with Lenore from the first episode of Lenore Says. Would they profit from her death? Or were they like everyone else in this room, wondering if there’d still be an LPP if the L no longer existed?

  And then it came, as he knew it would. The detective left with her partner and Patty Corcoran stood. He pictured the ax in her hand. ‘In light of today’s tragic events all scheduled tapings of Lenore Says will be cancelled. All employees may take the rest of the week off with pay. We’ll have made decisions about how to move forward by Monday.’

  Barry, as if reading a teleprompter or subtitles for a foreign movie, translated Patty’s caring tone and vague words into something closer to the truth: everyone connected to Lenore Says is getting canned. You can’t really do a show called Lenore Says without Lenore. Four hundred people were about to get their pink slips.

  And the bad-news buffet continued. Patty cleared her throat, no longer making eye contact as she read from a prepared statement. ‘All employees of LPP are to present on Monday. These are the exceptions: shows currently in production with scheduled tapings are expected to move forward.’

  Shit! He had to get out of there. He had work to do, and the more he thought about it the more he knew the window of opportunity, if there even was one, would slam fast. He had no illusion as to what was going to happen on Monday. Anyone without a current show in production would get fired. He, and his team, would show up for work and find their belongings in boxes and security guards with checklists wanting their badges and their keys.

  His time with LPP was up. The only sliver which might save his ass, his apartment and his career was to get Final Reckoning green-lit and in production − and do it now. It was a long shot − Antiques Roadshow meets The Hunger Games on the set of Gilmore Girls. It was what Lenore wanted, but with her dead, would anyone else? He knew he’d been stupid, he’d believed what he’d wanted to be true, that a producer position with LPP meant job security. That illusion was gone, replaced by a sucking pit of despair. He was so screwed. He thought of Jeanine, and that fucking Birkin bag. No, he could do this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pulled a rabbit out of his hat. But if he couldn’t … he had no Plan B.

  NINE

  Ada and Lil awoke to a ringing phone. It was five a.m. It had been after midnight by the time they’d made it back home.

  ‘It’s got to be for me,’ Lil muttered, assuming it was someone from the paper.

  ‘Calls this early are never good,’ Ada said, bracing for news of some relative’s death.

  Lil focused on the caller ID. ‘I don’t recognize the number. Should I pick up?’

  ‘Let the machine get it,’ Ada said. ‘Maybe it’s a wrong number … my head … how much Scotch did we drink last night?’

  ‘We,’ Lil said, ‘not so much. You? You were pretty wired.’

  ‘Remind me not to do that again.’

  The ringing stopped and their outgoing message clicked on. They listened as Lil’s voice ended and a chipper young woman spoke. ‘Hi Ada, sorry to call so early. This is Melanie Taft, I was hoping to—’

  Lil picked up the phone and held it toward Ada. ‘Hollywood calling.’

  Ada pushed back in bed, took the phone and clicked the green button. ‘Hello Melanie.’

  ‘I’m so sorry if I woke you; it’s just that none of us have been to sleep and we’re driving out to Grenville.’

  Ada stared at Lil as Melanie blurted out Barry Stromstein’s and the company’s ambitious plans for the morning. ‘Dear,’ Ada said, trying to break into Melanie’s excited rant, ‘exactly how much coffee have you had?’

  ‘Pots of it. This is so exciting. Barry thinks we can get a pilot shot by the end of next week. It’s crazy, but I think we can do it.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ Ada asked, and immediately regretted it. She turned to Lil, who’d left the room. She heard her in the kitchen, and hoped she was getting her a cup of tea. She was going to need it.

  ‘There’s so much to do. I’ll be coming down with David and a crew to start scoping locations. The big thing is how to get that first estate. I mean really it’s a fabul
ous idea, but the details. Ugh! Although you’d be surprised what people will do to get on a reality show. I don’t think we’ll have trouble. Neither does Barry, it’s just the time. Like there’s none of it. So your friend Lil works for the local paper; I was hoping she could help us place an ad, probably a few, one putting out a call for a fresh estate … is that gruesome? I mean I know the whole Antiques Roadshow, Hunger Games, Gilmore Girls thing is kind of morbid. I mean someone will bite, won’t they? What am I saying? They always do.’

  She spoke without pause. Ada wondered when the girl managed to catch her breath.

  ‘And then we’ll need a casting call for the talent … you know, the dealers. We’ll want some real characters. But also eye candy ’cause, let’s face it, the demographics for these shows are women and gay guys. We need someone who’s going to look hot with their shirt off. You must know some of them. And Lil, I bet she knows loads of them. Maybe she could start chatting people up, letting them know we’re coming to town. Just think of the publicity for their businesses. They should both be full page. Is there a specialty paper, like something just for antique dealers we should target?’

  ‘There’s the Auction and Antiques Weekly Trader,’ Ada said, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard over the line.

  ‘Fabulous! I’m on their website. Crap, their offices don’t open till nine. What about the paper where Lil works? That’s a daily, right? They should be open. How quickly can I get our ads in there?’

  Ada looked up as Lil came in with her mug of tea. ‘Lil, Melanie needs to ask you a few things.’ She took the tea and passed the phone. She mouthed ‘thank you’ and savored that first delicious sip.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lil hung up. ‘Oh my, is she on something?’

  Ada leaned back against her pillows, set the tea on the nightstand and grabbed her iPad. She opened her browser; the top item was Lenore’s murder. ‘It all feels so strange,’ she said, as she scrolled down.

  Lil perched on Ada’s side of the bed and looked on. ‘Do they have anyone in custody?’

  ‘No, not that they’re saying.’ She tapped on a slide show of Lenore through the years. ‘I can’t get that image out of my head, seeing her on that stretcher. So raw …’ Ada looked at Lil and then leaned her head against her shoulder. ‘It’s all so short.’

  ‘It is,’ Lil said, ‘one day you’re here and the next …’

  ‘There’s a Poe poem called Lenore.’

  ‘Lenore nevermore,’ Lil added.

  ‘No, I think that was The Raven … still. So what exactly did Melanie want?’

  ‘She’s bringing the circus to town,’ Lil said. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Ada?’

  ‘Honestly I don’t know what this is. All of that craziness yesterday − this could be a big thing, or nothing at all. And I’ve the sense it could go from one to the other in a heartbeat.’

  ‘I got that too. The way that girl talked. Like she was planning a wedding overnight. It could all happen … or someone could get stood up at the altar.’

  ‘They’re all so high-strung,’ Ada added. ‘I don’t think it’s just the shock of their boss being murdered. And what I don’t understand is how do they expect Lenore Park Productions to exist without Lenore at the helm? Isn’t she the de facto reason they have jobs?’

  ‘Let’s look at their website,’ Lil suggested.

  Ada punched in the URL for her favorite search engine, tapped in ‘LPP’ and clicked on their hyperlink. The home page had a moving banner that switched from upcoming episodes of Lenore Says to the dozen or so shows the production company had running on major networks, plus several more on style and DIY channels. There was a tab for Lenore’s magazine − L − and links to pages and articles on everything from wine pairing, through buying foreclosed real estate, to ‘The Seven Secrets of Mind-blowing Oral Sex’.

  Lil clicked on that one.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ada asked, pulling her tablet away.

  ‘Maybe there’s something I don’t know.’

  ‘Hmmm. I don’t want you loading my browser with smut.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lil said, snuggling next to her.

  ‘What time did Melanie say they were coming here?’ Ada asked.

  ‘She didn’t,’ and Lil turned in to Ada. She ran a finger down Ada’s side.

  ‘Stop that!’ Ada said, ‘you know I’m ticklish.’

  ‘I do,’ and Lil squeezed closer, loving the feel of Ada against her, the smell of her hair conditioner, the warmth of her body. Their eyes connected and then their lips. And then the phone rang again.

  ‘You have got to be kidding.’ Ada didn’t move. Her lips brushed Lil’s. ‘Let’s ignore it.’ They listened as the recording came on.

  Melanie’s voice came over the speaker. ‘I forgot to say that we grabbed a Scooby bus and are … five minutes away. I was hoping to get some locations scouted and shot this morning. It’s going to be a gorgeous day and I know we can fake our way through some opening banter. But don’t worry … we’ve got breakfast. See you soon. And Ada, if you can do the Chanel thing again, it would be awesome.’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ Lil whispered, her breath tickling Ada’s ear.

  ‘Uhuh.’ Ada felt a tingle down her spine as Lil nipped her lobe. ‘I’ve got to get dressed.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll give us an hour.’

  The phone rang again, followed by a knock at the door. Then the doorbell.

  The machine picked up. ‘Guess it wasn’t five minutes,’ Melanie gushed. ‘I think we’re at the right address. These condos all kind of look alike. We’re at the front door. I’m not sure which one is yours and which one is Lil’s. I’ll walk around back.’

  Ada stared at the sliders and the breaking dawn over the wetlands. They’d not drawn the curtains last night. Her arm shot across Lil and she grabbed the phone. ‘Melanie, stay where you are! We’ll be right out.’

  The morning was a blur, and awkward. As Ada explained why she was in Lil’s condo … and bed … at five a.m.

  ‘So you two, are like together together?’ Melanie asked, as she, the film crew and the hair and make-up artists she’d met the day before filed into Lil’s condo with cartons of coffee, juice and bags of bagels.

  ‘Yes,’ Ada said, ‘for the last three years. Although we were friends for much longer. Best friends.’

  ‘But you were married, you and your husband ran Strauss’s.’

  ‘We owned Strauss’s and were married, yes, and I have a daughter and Lil has two. We’re both grandmothers. Our relationship,’ she looked across at Lil in her matching blue robe and smiled, ‘it just happened.’

  ‘I am so in love with you,’ Melanie said, and then, to Lil, ‘As in total admiration, not as in, steal your girlfriend. Those are the best kind of relationships, you know, the ones that start with friendship.’ Melanie poured a mug of coffee. ‘You take it black, right?’ She handed it to Lil.

  ‘You’re observant.’

  ‘It saves time,’ Melanie said. ‘Speaking of which, we need to get Ada dolled up. My goal is to get at least three locations shot, so Barry can get a feel for the visuals. In the meantime the ads will have done their thing and we can start winnowing through the talent.’

  ‘By talent you mean?’

  ‘Dealers who want to get cast … possibly as regulars. But the make-or-break for this show is someone willing to let us turn the liquidation of a loved one’s estate into compelling TV. There’s a timing element there that’s never been done. People don’t die every day – I mean they do, but … it’s the logistics of the thing …’

  ‘You think there’ll be takers?’ Ada asked.

  ‘Pretty sure. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a few. Because if – when – this takes off, we’re going to need to move fast. The goal right now is to figure out the process and film a pilot. We’ll hash through the rough spots later. So, I say Chanel. Yesterday’s outfit still good to go? Every wrinkle gets magni
fied on screen.’

  ‘I was thinking of the green,’ Ada said.

  Melanie’s head tilted. ‘You have more than one?’

  Lil snorted.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Ada warned.

  ‘You should be filming Hoarders.’

  ‘Lillian, that is not fair.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if it’s true.’

  ‘Ignore her,’ Ada said. ‘We need to go next door. Lil has no appreciation for my wardrobe.’

  With coffee in hand, she led Melanie, David, James the hair guy and Gretchen the magical make-up artist out Lil’s front door and around the trimmed yew hedge to her mirror-image condo.

  ‘Will my relationship with Lil be an issue?’ Ada asked, with her key in the door.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Melanie glanced at David.

  ‘You just get more interesting,’ he said. ‘The viewership for this show − if we do it right − will be women and a whole lot of gay men. This could be a plus. It’s a bit cart-before-the-horse, but I think there’s marketing gold here. Cover of The Advocate. Are the two of you out?’ he asked.

  Ada caught movement in Bernice Framm’s kitchen curtains. Does that woman ever sleep? She waved and shrugged. She wondered if her neighborhood nemesis and vocal homophobe, Clayton Spratt, was also up and about. She imagined what he’d make of this band of young and enthusiastic Manhattanites − probably call the cops and say she was having an orgy. She chuckled and turned the key. ‘Yes, we’re out.’ She led them down the hall. ‘It wasn’t our choice. We were outed on a local blog, as though anyone should care about such things.’

  As they passed her living room with its dark wood furniture and glass-fronted cabinets filled with late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century art glass, her mother Rose − shy of five feet and with light-blue eyes − emerged from what used to be Ada’s bedroom. Her fine white hair mussed in bedhead wisps. ‘What’s going on? Who are these people?’