Dial Emmy For Murder Part 8

"I'm fine, Jakes," I said. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. What's going on?"

"Nothing, just tired . . ."

"Look, I know something's been eating at you for quite a while . . . besides murder. I'm trying to give you your s.p.a.ce, but I can tell from the tone of your voice something is going on and it's not good!"

I was quiet and then I relented. "You're right. Something is going on but I don't want to get into right now. Maybe another time?"

"Yeah, of course. But are you okay for the night?"

"Yeah, definitely. I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early on my way to work."

"Good," he said. "Bring coffee. The stuff we make here is awful."

He hung up before I could ask him how he liked his.

I was ready for bed later when I picked up the phone and dialed on a whim.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"George, it's Alex."

"Alex, sweetie," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I was, in fact, not good at all, but I needed to hear a friendly voice. "I just wanted to thank you for that snappy ring tone. Very funny. And tasteful."

"I thought it was appropriate for you under the circ.u.mstances." He laughed. "By the way, how's that going for you?"

"I don't know, George," I said. "I think I might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble, hon?"

I told him about my afternoon with Detective Frank Jakes.

"And?" he said when I finished.

"What do you mean, and?"

"Well, did he kiss you?"

"No, he didn't kiss me."

"Honey, how can you be in trouble if he didn't kiss you?" he asked. "It sounds like the two of you spent the afternoon around a dead body, talking about other dead bodies. When are you going to get to the good stuff?"

"I don't want to rush anything!"

"Rush anything? This has been simmering for over a year! Would you just kiss him already?"

"Maybe I should wait for him to kiss me . . . ?"

"He kissed you first last year! It's your turn! Or whatever! Someone kiss someone already! Call me back when you're really in trouble!"

"All right! I get it. Good night!" I hung up and just lay there for a minute. Had I always been so inept with men? Yes, I believe so. I snapped off the light and hugged my pillow.

When I was shown into the squad room the next morning, Jakes was sitting in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves at his desk, a grim look on his face.

"Don't tell me," I said, putting the bag down on his desk and fis.h.i.+ng out a container. "You thought I'd forget the coffee."

He leaned forward, snagged it and pried the lid off.

"Good," he said. "Black, the way I like it."

I took the second container out for me and sat down opposite him. "So, why the long face?"

"New developments."

"Like what?"

He touched the computer on the stand next to his desk and said, "Stupid f.u.c.king machine. We put the MOs of these two killings in here, and what do you think popped out?"

I felt oddly privileged to be on the inside, sitting in Parker Center, across from Jakes, being let in on new developments in the case. I looked around but didn't see Jakes's partner anywhere. I did see several other men watching us, though.

"Don't mind them," Jakes said, as if reading my mind. "They've never seen a real live diva this close up before. They're jealous."

"Diva? Why diva? I'm an actress, for Christ's sake. Just when I was starting to like you!" I had a thing about being called a diva . . . obviously.

"Sorry. Jeez. Actress. They've never seen a real live actress!" He leaned forward. "Anyway, the computer kicked out four other cases where the MO is similar. Now I've got to follow up and see just how similar they really are."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"Lots of footwork," he said. "That's why I get the big bucks, though."

"What about the women?" I asked. "The names I gave you? And Shayne Weaver?"

"The Weaver girl is alibied," Jakes said. "Of the women whose names you gave me, two slept with him, but there was apparently no relations.h.i.+p. They didn't know the others."

"Can I make my statement?" I asked. "As it is, I'm going to be late to the set."

"I thought we were going to talk about what's bothering you, Alex." He looked at me pointedly.

"No, that's okay. It's really nothing I can't handle. I just came to give you my statement, like you asked."

"Okay, sure. But you will tell me later?" he asked, and I nodded. "I'll have someone take down your statement and type it up, and then you can sign it."

I sipped my coffee and said, "That's fine."

"Just wait there," he said, sliding his chair back. "I'll be right back." He paused and turned to me. "So, you're starting to like me, huh?"

I sort of smiled.

He walked away, taking his coffee with him. On his desk was a piece of paper with four names written on it. I leaned over, trying to read them upside down.

"d.a.m.n," I said.

Chapter 15.

"Wait a minute," Jakes said moments later when he returned with a civilian woman who was going to take my statement. "You're telling me you know these guys who were killed the same way as Masters and Marceau?"

"Not all four," I said. "I recognize one name." I pressed my finger to the paper, still lying flat on his desk. "That one."

We were both standing on his side of the desk, so that I was seeing the list right side up for the first time.

"Aaron Summers?" he said.

"He is-was-an actor who auditioned for a role on my old show, The Yearning Tide."

"When was this?"

"Last year."

"Did he get the role?"

"No."

"Okay," Jakes said, "so he was an actor. Jackson Masters was an actor. What about these other two?"

"I don't know them."

"So how do I find out if they were also actors?" he asked.

"Call AFTRA or the Screen Actors Guild," I said. "If they were actors, they would have been members. Unless they weren't union yet. But that's a good place to start."

"Okay," he said. "Okay, good. Thank you. Barbara will take your statement now, and as soon as you sign it, you can go to work."

"Thanks."

"No, Alexis," he said. "Thank you." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, looked at Barbara and said, "Use my desk."

"Yes, sir," she said.

He started away and then turned and called out to her, "Have you seen my partner?"

"In the break room, watching TV."

He looked at me, shrugged and left.

"Thank you for joining us, Alex!" the director, Richard Breck, called out.

"I know: I'm late," I said apologetically. "I'll get right to wardrobe." I didn't offer an excuse. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Frankly, I was tired of that kind of attention. I had had enough of it last year on The Tide.

Breck was tall and lean, the exact opposite of Sammy "Timber" Horner. Timber was usually brought in when a show needed to be taped fast, often for budget reasons. Breck was a whole different animal, a man who took his time and made sure he got the scene to his satisfaction.

"We've moved your scenes, Alex," he said. "Had to move on without you, you know."

"I know, d.i.c.k," I said, waving. "Don't worry. I'll be ready."

When I got to the back, talk in wardrobe, hair and makeup was all the same-the murder of Henri Marceau. It was obvious that Henri hadn't had that many friends. People were definitely shocked and upset by his murder, but I wouldn't say anyone was actually sad. The discussion went on as they worked on me to get me ready for my scenes. Apparently no one knew I had been there at the murder scene, because it never came up, which suited me.

They did, however, ask me my opinion.

"First Jackson and now Henri. It's such a tragedy! One right after the other!" Mary said when I was in her makeup chair. "What do you think is goin' on, Alex? Is our show jinxed?"

I didn't want any part of this discussion. I just buried my head in my script and shrugged.

"Or maybe it's just soap operas in general. Look what happened on your old show last year, right?"

I was watching her face in the mirror as it hit her.

"Hey, that's right," she said. "Somebody was killed on that show, and now this one. Maybe it isn't the show that's jinx-" She stopped herself by slapping one hand over her mouth. "Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry. The way that sounded-"

"Never mind, Mary," I said, brus.h.i.+ng it off. "Let's just get me finished, huh? The director's already p.i.s.sed off because I was late."

She started sniffling. I looked up, and sure enough, she was crying. I mumbled something comforting and bolted for the door.

We shot my scenes for the day, and even with perfectionist Breck at the helm, we got through them quickly.

"I hate to say this," Breck said when we finished the last scene, "but maybe you should be late more often, Alex. You were great."

"Thank you, but I wasn't in those scenes alone." Actually, I was. Both of my characters were talking to each other on the phone. Very heated and emotional scenes as f.a.n.n.y had begun to blackmail Felicia with information only she knew.

He came close to me and said, "Very funny, darling. It was all about you today-but seriously, do me a real big favor."

"What?"

"Try to be on time tomorrow."

"I promise I'll do my best. And don't call me darling." Maybe my racquet was strung just a little too tight, but it took every fiber of my being not to smack him across his smug face. I hate smugness.