Dial Emmy For Murder Part 16

I didn't move, or speak. Neither did he.

"Look-" he finally said.

"I think-" I said.

We stopped interrupting each other.

"About last night . . . ," I said, and then stopped on my own.

"Look," he said, "about that . . ."

"It was just a kiss, right?"

"Is that all it was to you?" he asked.

I couldn't think of one intelligent or meaningful thing to say, so I just looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It's a pretty straightforward question, Alex."

"I've just got to figure some things out, Jakes." I started rubbing my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so wishy-washy. I mean, I do care for Paul; it's just-"

"Enough said. Do what you have to do." He seemed to be stifling a yawn, or was it a laugh?

I opened the door and stepped out. "That's okay," I said. "No need to walk me to the door."

"Alex," he said, rolling his window down, "spend a little time going over your impressions of the day. We'll talk tomorrow."

"All right," I said, "tomorrow. By the way, did you find anything out about Randy?"

"I've got it covered. Sarah's safe."

"Thank you," I said simply.

He waited at the curb until I walked inside. I didn't look back.

Once inside I went straight to the kitchen to get some Cheez-Its and a gla.s.s of red wine. I was starving. I brought them both into the bathroom and started to remove my makeup. When I looked in the mirror, I gasped. Apparently when I rubbed my eyes during my conversation with Jakes, I had smeared black mascara all over the place. I looked like some crazed racc.o.o.n. Not only must Jakes think I'm a wishy-washy flake but an absolutely insane one on top of it. I wanted to cry for several reasons.

"Oh, what the h.e.l.l." I carried my crackers and wine into the front room and plopped down onto my nice soft pillowed sofa. I needed to get grounded. I needed my daughter. And my mom. And George. Did I need Paul? He definitely wasn't the first person I thought of. Not even in my top three. That obviously meant something. I'd have to make a decision soon, but I couldn't deal with it then, so I decided to go over the day's events in my head.

My impressions? Was that what he'd asked for? Well, it was my impression that I didn't have an impression. Was I really supposed to get something from those interviews? If so, then I was clearly in over my head. Again. I had to admit I was flattered at how willing he was to risk his job to include me in this investigation. And I certainly did not believe him when he said the trouble he was in had nothing to do with me.

I was knee-deep in the investigation of these murders. It started with my knowing Jackson Masters, but now I was very interested in solving all six murders-or the five we knew of so far.

I knew what Gil Grissom would do. (I'd updated my influences from Kojak and Columbo.) On CSI he always said, "Follow the evidence." I knew there was a ton of information Jakes had that I didn't. No matter how much he had told me or allowed me to hear, I was still on the outside looking in. What I had to do was either pull myself out of it completely or force him to let me all the way in . . . no matter how much trouble it might make for him.

Like he'd told me earlier in the day, I'd just let him worry about it.

Chapter 29.

I woke the next morning with no conflicted feelings. At least, not about the murders. The extent of a personal relations.h.i.+p with Frank Jakes was yet to be determined. But being involved in the murder investigation of six men? I was in for the long haul.

I had spoken with Sarah and my mother before going to bed the night before. I hadn't told my mother everything I was doing, but she sensed something. Whatever reticence she had about leaving the relatives early was resolved. She and Sarah were coming home right after the barbecue the next day. She felt I needed her here and she was right. Since Jakes knew about the Randy thing, I felt a lot better having them both home.

Jakes had said we'd talk today. I didn't know if I was supposed to call him, or he was going to call me. I decided to concern myself with breakfast first, and then get dressed for work. When I was ready and still hadn't heard from him, I decided to go to work and leave making contact up to him.

I had only two scenes to tape that day, but I kept "going up" on my lines. This is a nice way of saying I was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up.

At one point the director called for a break and said, "Get it together, Alex!"

That was for everyone else's benefit, though. During the break he came up to me and asked, "Are you all right, darling?"

His name was Richard Breck. He hated being called "d.i.c.k"-so of course we all did. And he called everyone "darling." He'd been directing the show for a couple of years and thought everybody around him bought his on-set tough director act. But he took himself so seriously it was hard for the cast to do the same.

"I'm fine, d.i.c.kie," I said. "Just got some things on my mind. I'll get it right this time."

"It's Richard, Alex," he said, gritting his teeth. "And I know you will, hon." He patted my hip awkwardly. "No worries."

"No worries."

We taped the scene, and d.i.c.k shouted, "Cut! Brilliant, hon!"

I went to my dressing room and threw on my own clothes. When I came out I saw d.i.c.k talking to a young man who-just for a moment-I thought was Jackson Masters.

"d.i.c.kie!"

He stopped, turned and looked at me while the young man walked away.

"Alex," he said, "your scenes were fine today-just fine."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks," I said. "Who was that guy you were talking to just now?"

"His name is David something or other," he said. "He's auditioning to replace Jackson."

Well, that explained why he looked so much like Jackson.

"I see," I said. "Thanks."

I walked away from d.i.c.k, wondering if I should chase down the guy and warn him that someone was killing actors who looked like him-or like Jackson Masters. Or maybe they all looked like the first actor who was killed. And who was that? I realized that while Jakes had told me the names of the dead actors, I didn't know who had been killed first.

In any case, I thought, maybe I should at least tell the kid to bleach his hair blond.

If he had already auditioned, then he'd been seen by a director-probably not Richard, since I'd been working with him all afternoon-and a producer.

I decided to find out exactly who he was. Maybe then I could get his name and address.

I went upstairs to the production offices and found one of our producers, Sean Peters, sitting behind his desk.

"Sean, did you do an audition today for someone to replace Jackson already?"

"Now, don't get upset, Alex," Sean said, smoothing back his gray hair with the palm of one hand. Sean touched his hair whenever a woman entered the room. "We do have to replace Jackson."

"I get that," I said. "I'm just curious. What's his name?"

"The one we saw today is David-" He stopped to look at a piece of paper. "-Eisenstein. Horrible name, but just between you, me and lamppost, we're going to hire him."

"To play Jackson's part."

"Right," Sean said. He stood up-or unfolded. At six-seven he always seemed to unfold when he got to his feet. "I've got to go and talk to Gloria." Gloria Dennis was our head writer. "Was there anything else?"

"No," I said, sitting down. "My d.a.m.n shoe. I'm just going to take a moment to fix my heel."

"Take as long as you like, Alex." He looked down at me and smoothed his hair again. "See you tomorrow."

"You, too, Sean."

I listened to his steps recede down the hall, and when I couldn't hear them anymore, I quickly sat behind his desk, found a blank piece of paper and copied down David Eisenstein's name, address and vital statistics from his application.

Chapter 30.

I was getting into my car at the studio parking lot when I heard "Let's Talk About s.e.x." Jeez! Caller ID told me it was Detective Jakes.

"I'm sorry," he said right away. "I was shot out of a cannon this morning and haven't had a chance to call. Where are you?"

"I'm leaving work."

"Can you come here?"

"To Parker Center?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"I can't get away right now," he said, "and I need to talk to you."

"Is anything wrong?"

"Alex . . ."

"Yes, all right," I said. "I was just going to get lunch. . . . Can we eat afterward?"

"Is that all you do? Eat?"

I sighed. "I'm on my way."

I got a pa.s.s upstairs with no problem and took the elevator to Jakes's floor at Parker Center. Since I'd been there before, I remembered the way to his office-or his section, or whatever they called it. He didn't have his own office. On TV shows some detectives have offices, but I knew in real life they pretty much just had a desk.

As I entered the room full of desks, I saw his partner, Detective Davis. He spotted me crossing the room toward him.

"Alex," he said.

"Detective Davis, hi. Is Jakes around?"

"He's in with the boss." He indicated a closed door across the room.

"Do you know how long-"

"Don't know," he said. "Why don't you have a seat on that bench? He'll see you when he comes out."

"That bench right by the door?"

"That's the one."

"Thanks."

He nodded. It seemed like he was still mad at me, but I didn't know if it was because I had left The Yearning Tide or I was causing problems between him and his partner.

I went and sat down. I could hear the murmur of voices inside, voices that occasionally became agitated. Then suddenly the door opened briefly, but before I could sneak a peek it closed again but not all the way. It was ajar, and I could hear everything.

"You're lettin' this woman mess with your head, Frank," a woman's voice said.

"That's not what's happening, Captain," Jakes said.

Interesting, I thought. Jakes's boss was a woman.

"It's not? Then you tell me what's happenin', Detective."

"She's a resource," Jakes argued. "She knows the soap world inside out."

"So you're telling me this whole case is connected to the soaps?"

"Well . . . yeah." Jakes sounded like he was speaking to a child.

I heard the rustle of papers and then the woman said, "Did you know that one of those five cases was closed? Someone was arrested!"

"I know," he said. "Len told me."