Free Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) by Scott Sherman Page A

may not be employed by SwordFight Productions or any of its subsidiaries,” he answered. “Thank you for calling. Have a . . .”
    The creep was going to hang up on me.
    “Wait,” I said, “I’m not asking for personal information. I’m just trying to see if Mason can help put me in touch with Brent. Brent gave me his number, but—”
    “I’m sorry,” the officious screener interrupted, “but I’m afraid the details of how you may or may not have met said individual who is possibly known or unknown to us are quite beside the point.”
    Deepley’s legalistic double-talk was making my head spin. Had I taken my medication today? All those qualifiers were hard to follow.
    Focus, Kevin, focus.
    Deepley monologued on. “We understand many of our customers enjoy our products and imagine they have . . . personal relationships with our models. If, as you say, you met Mr. Haven, and he wishes to . . . encourage your interest, I’m sure he’ll return your call at his earliest convenience. If not, well, perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be.” Deepley sounded inordinately satisfied at the prospect of Brent not calling me.
    Unfortunately, since I didn’t know how to get to Mason without going through this asshat, I had to be polite. “I apologize. I haven’t been clear. I’m not calling on a personal matter. It’s business.
    “Mr. Jarre and I met on the set of Sophie’s Voice . I’m a co-producer. I’m trying to contact Mr. Haven as a follow-up to the successful appearance of another of your models, Brock Peters, on the show. I thought perhaps Mr. Jarre would appreciate the additional exposure for SwordFight. But if he isn’t available—”
    “Sophie’s Voice ? ” Pierce Deepley squealed. “Oh my god, I love her!” His inner queen blazed through his previously icy imperiousness. “She’s so funny, so real, you know? That episode with Brock was fabulous! Hold on, let me see if Mr. Jarre is available. May I have your name?”
    He may, and I thanked him as well. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the power of celebrity open a closed door.
    A minute later Mason picked up. “Kevin,” he said. “Pierce tells me you’re thinking of having us on the show again. That’s marvelous news. I have a few models I think would make wonderful spokesmen for our company. Are you familiar with Seymour Cox? Or Tag Emnow?”
    “Actually,” I said, “we were hoping to feature Brent Havens. He and I were talking after Brock’s appearance and—”
    “Oh,” Mason cut me off, “Brent’s absolutely adorable, but he’s not the brightest bulb on the tree. No, I believe you’d be better served by one of our more . . . articulate performers.”
    He took a moment before announcing, “Now that I think about it, Hugh Jestman would be an excellent guest. He’s actually a classically trained actor who’s performed on Broadway. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?”
    “No,” I answered. I regretted fibbing to Pierce about wanting to schedule another show, but it was the only way I could think of to get through to Mason. Unfortunately, I’m not the greatest liar. I tend to lose track of the details and get easily confused by my own deceits. “That isn’t necessary. I’m sure the other guys are great, but we’re really interested in Brent.”
    “That’s what I thought,” Mason said, his tone no longer quite as accommodating. “There is no show, is there, Kevin?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Cut the shit, sunshine. I saw the way you and Brent looked at each other. The heat between you was enough to set off the fire extinguishers. I’m surprised it’s taken this long for you to call. What happened, did you lose his number?”
    Okay. I was still going to lie, but this one was easier to manage. “You got me,” I said. “But I didn’t lose his number. He’s just not answering. I hear he hasn’t been showing up for his work with you guys, either.”
    “Yes,” Mason answered, “the little brat left us high