Free A Talent for Murder by R.T. Jordan

arriving on the studio lot.
    “Ma’am, I’ve seen ‘em come and go. Stars, I mean,” the security guard said as Polly reached out through her open window to shake his hand. “But you’ll be a legend for as long as people need laughter. That’s a fact.”
    Polly was in heaven and played up her best character role: the humble yet ethereal supernova. “Dear, dear Jack,” she said after catching a furtive glimpse of his name badge, “I’m only an international superstar because of darling people like you who continue to support me. Now, where shall we park?”
    Jack looked at his list of authorized drive-on passes. He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re not on the list, Miss Pepper.”
    Just as Polly’s frozen smile was about to melt, Jack shook his head and said, “These dumb assistants today, they can’t even call in a simple drive-on pass for a legend. I swear, Miss Pepper, this industry is filled with screwups at every level. You just go ahead and park wherever you feel comfortable. I’ll call ahead and tell ‘em you’ve arrived. Where did you say you were going?”
    Tim gave Jack one of his most winning smiles. “You are so right about the kids in the business today. One of ‘em was even stupid enough to kill Thane Cornwall and get caught. I suppose you heard all about that.”
    Jack gave Tim a serious look. “Mr. Cornwall was a piece of work, wasn’t he? Whenever he came on the lot, he didn’t even bother to stop at the gate. No matter if you’re Clint Eastwood or Robert Redford, everyone is supposed to stop at the gate. And Mr. Eastwood and Mr. Redford always stop! They’re right nice gentlemen, too. But Thane Cornwall just drove on through without so much as a courtesy wave.”
    Tim continued. “Anyway, Mom, er, Miss Pepper, brought a cake for the kids on her show, sort of a condolence present.”
    Jack peered into the car.
    “It’s in the trunk,” Tim lied. “We’re going over to the set to surprise everyone. No need to call ahead. We know the way.”
    “Sure thing,” Jack said, writing on his clipboard. He looked at Polly once again. “And isn’t it just like you to think of others during their time of grief? I wish that someone would teach these new stars how to behave like you and Betty White!”
    Studio B on the Sterling Studio’s lot was easy to access. There weren’t any security guards or thick-necked bouncers standing sentry at the doors, so Polly and her troupe waltzed in. They knew their way around and soon found the rehearsal room. A window in the door confirmed what Polly had hoped for, that all five contestants were together, going through a group dance routine with the in-house choreographer. Tim quietly held open the door as Polly and Placenta slipped in to watch from the sidelines. However, every wall wasfloor-to-ceiling mirrors, so their presence was instantly known.
    When the choreographer stopped yelling at her charges for making stupid errors in a simple dance routine, she called for a ten-minute break. With disdain dripping in her voice, she said to Polly, “They’re all yours, Your Highness.” Then she flounced out of the room in a huff.
    The moment the door closed, Polly applauded the contestants and gave them an enthusiastic ovation. “You’re already stars!” she said. “Sure, this part is drudge work, but you’ll find that it gets into your system and you won’t be able to live without aching feet and the feeling that you’re just not good enough. And of course the inability to hold down your dinner when the announcer calls you to stage is just part of the job. Oh, those were such good times for me. I miss all those mornings when I was put through the wringer by my choreographer. Sadist that he was, I adored his talent and dedication to making me look good.”
    As Polly continued pontificating about her past and the hard work it takes to make it in Hollywood, the five contestants slowly surrounded her, like a pack of jackals closing in on a