Dial Emmy For Murder Part 22

"So what happened?"

"All we know is we got word that he was dead," she said. "Somebody killed him."

"Then what happened?"

"We went with our second choice," she said, looking at her notes again. "Matt Lewis."

"Can I borrow some of that paper?" I asked.

"Sure."

She tore a piece in half and handed it to me. I wrote down Matt's name.

"Anything else you can tell me?" I asked.

"Well . . . there was something odd. I sat in for the actors' readings."

"And?"

"Well, another guy came to audition, and he brought his mother with him."

Just then the waitress walked up with our salads and iced teas. I took a sip of my drink before I said, "That's not that weird. I mean, sometimes you bring a relative or a friend to an audition. Maybe she was visiting?" I asked. "No, this was weird: she was all over him, smoothing down his hair, pinching his cheeks, fixing his collar."

"So, a stage mom." I'd seen it before. This actor seemed a little older than most kids who have them, but I guess it happens.

"She gave new meaning to the phrase. We've all seen stage mothers and fathers. This was different. She was trying to ingratiate herself to the office staff, making sure we had his resume and head shot. She even pulled out some freshly baked cookies for the office staff! And the guy, I mean he's at least twenty-five years old and he's just letting her do this. His face was a blank. It was so . . . inappropriate. And she seemed desperate."

"Huh! That does sound weird. Poor guy." I looked at my watch. "By the way, I was hoping to stop over at The Depths of the Sea and talk to them about-"

Before I could finish, Tilda said, "They're dark today. They're taking some days off for summer vacation. Can you believe it? Some shows get all the breaks. Not us. We've been working on Sat.u.r.days lately. And eighteen-hour days." Well, that put a damper on any future employment possibilities. Yuck!

The waitress took our plates, adding, "Any dessert, ladies?"

"They have a really great cheesecake here," Tilda said conspiratorially.

"I'm sorry," I said to both of them, "but I have another appointment. I really don't have time. You go ahead."

"I think I will! I still have a little time left," Tilda said.

I thanked her and paid the check. As I was walking back to the studio to get my car, I pulled out my cell and called Jakes.

"Alex, how are you?"

I was happy to hear his voice. "I'm okay," I said, "thanks to you. You're my hero, you know."

He was quiet. I think I could hear him blus.h.i.+ng.

"I like being your hero," he finally said. "When can I see you?"

"Actually, I have some answers for you and maybe a few questions," I said. "Where can we meet?"

"Have you had lunch?"

"Just."

"Coffee, then. Meet me at the same place we went last time, with Davis." He'd be able to walk there from Parker Center.

"Okay," I agreed. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Make it twenty."

"I'll be there," I said, and snapped the cell phone closed.

I got the Porsche started and headed for my meeting with Jakes.

Chapter 41.

Jakes was sitting at a table with a gla.s.s of something in front of him. When he saw me he immediately got up. My heart was thumping out of my chest as he held my face in his hands and gently kissed me.

We sat down. I pulled my chair close to his.

"I've missed you," he whispered.

"I've missed you, too." We kissed a little more.

"Want some coffee?" He kissed my neck.

"What have you got?" I kissed his ear.

"Just a c.o.ke." One more kiss.

"I'll have the same."

He waved a waitress over and ordered me a c.o.ke while I sat and stared at him. She brought me my drink and then faded away.

"The eye doesn't look too bad," he said.

"I got a little haircut. It did the trick."

"I like it. It's s.e.xy."

This whole thing was s.e.xy. I shook it off. This was a public place after all.

"What about my car?" I asked. "When can I get it back?"

"Anytime," he said. "You'll need somebody to tow it, though."

"I'll have my garage guy get it."

"You have a regular guy to look after . . . that car?" he asked.

"No," I said, "my other car, but he'll come and get this one for me."

My mechanic's wife was a longtime soap fan. She would have made him come out in the middle of the night to get the car if I'd called.

"Okay," he said. "Just have him come to my office and I'll make sure he gets the keys. Now, do you have any other info for me?"

I took out the notepaper I'd written on and gave it to him. "Mason Stone got the job over at The Best Days Are Ahead, but he died before he could do even one episode."

"And who benefited from that?" he asked.

"That other name I wrote there, Matt Lewis."

Jakes frowned at the paper. "I guess I should look into Mr. Lewis, then. Thanks. What about the other show?"

"I've got a call in," I said, "and I'm still waiting to hear."

"Good," he said. "And what's this name? Eisenstein?"

"Oh," I said, "I remembered that this morning. He's the replacement on my show for Jackson Masters."

"Thank you, Alex," he said, giving me an appreciative look. He folded the note and put it in his pocket. "That's very helpful. Now, what about the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"What we talked about," he said. "You know, about you backing off."

I hesitated.

"I knew it," he said. "You're too p.i.s.sed to walk away, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Yeah, but with me, having somebody try to kill me is an occupational hazard. If it bothered me enough, I'd stop being a cop."

"So, what would you do if you stopped being a cop, Jakes?"

"I'd probably die," he said.

I could tell he meant it. The job was everything to him. I didn't know what it would be like to have a man like that in my life. On a permanent basis, I mean.

"So you're not going to back off?" he said.

"No. At least, not until we find who killed Jackson and the others."

"And who tried to kill you."

"I think it'll come down to the same person, don't you?"

"Yes," he said, "I do."

"But why?" I asked. "And how come they didn't try to kill me the way they killed all the others? Strangling me somehow."

"I guess that's not part of the plan," Jakes said. "They want you out of the way not as part of the pattern, but because they think you know something. Do you?"

"Just what I've told you," I explained. "And certainly nothing that's worth killing me over."

"Maybe if you gave it some thought-"

"I have," I said. "I've been wracking my brain and I can't figure it out. Why don't they try to kill you? Aren't you more of a danger than I am?"

"Apparently not," he said. "But there's also the fact that killing a cop is a bad idea. We hunt down cop killers forever."

"Yes, that would be a bad idea," I said, "but you don't mind if I worry about myself, just a little?"

"I want you to worry, Alex," he said. "I wish you would worry a h.e.l.l of a lot!"

"Well," I promised him, "you're going to get what every man wants."

"What's that?"

"You're going to get your wish."

Chapter 42.

As I got into my car, my cell phone sang out "Let's Talk About s.e.x," and I pushed the phone icon.

"Alex Peterson?" a man's voice asked.

"Speaking."

"Hey, Alex, this is Ross over at The Depths of the Sea."

"Ross, thanks for calling me back. How was your vacation?"

"Never long enough. I guess I should just be thankful we got a few days, right? The other shows-like yours-are working all year," he said. "I saw you at the Emmys. You looked awesome. Too awful about what happened."