Dial Emmy For Murder Part 10

"You were right. Aaron Summers did audition for a part on the show early last year. Needless to say, he didn't get it."

"Do you have an address for him?"

"Yep, here it is."

I wrote it down. Like a lot of young actors, Aaron Summers had chosen to live in the heart of Hollywood, a place called Beachwood Canyon, near the Hollywood Hills. There were lots of beautiful houses there . . . and lots of not so beautiful dives. But it is an artsy community with lots of color and history.

"Any other information?"

"Well, yeah, I got a copy of his resume and head shot."

"Can you fax me the resume?"

"Sure. Not the head shot?"

"Sure, the head shot, too."

I gave him my fax number. "Thanks for this, Andy."

"Sure, Alex, but why-"

"I can't hear you, Andy. I'm in a canyon. . . . You're breaking up!" Cheap ploy, but effective. He was about to ask me why I wanted the information or what I was going to do with it, and I didn't have an answer for either one.

I started the car and, instead of going home, headed for Hollywood.

Chapter 18.

Without really knowing why or what I was going to do when I got there, I drove to Hollywood and found the house that went with the address Andy had given me. I switched off the engine and sat in my car for a few moments. I was still mad, but now I knew I was angry with Detective Davis. I was in amateur detective mode and he was spoiling my buzz, forcing me to examine not only my own motives for getting involved, but Jakes's motive for accepting-or even requesting-my involvement.

Other than the police, who had more of a right to be involved than I did, considering what I'd gone through on stage? But who was I kidding? I was hardly Carrie, standing on stage with a bucket of pig's blood pouring over me, stigmatized by the experience. Sure, having Jackson's blood smeared on my face and in my hair had been shocking, but I'd been involved in a police investigation before-even found dead bodies. I was anything but catatonic over it. Instead, it had piqued my interest, making me want to know who hated Jackson Masters enough to kill him. And then I'd walked in on poor Henri's body in his bathtub. Of course Jakes wanted to pick my brain, since I had been so close-physically speaking-to the victims, and I was deeply involved with the soap opera world, where these men came from.

h.e.l.l, I thought, defiantly opening my car door and stepping out, maybe that would sound kind of harsh to some people, but it made perfect sense to me.

The drive to Aaron Summers's address was almost a waste of time-until the end.

His landlady answered the door when I knocked, and she rocked back a couple of steps when she saw me. She put one carefully manicured hand to her intricately painted face. She was probably in her forties or fifties, trying hard to be in her twenties or thirties, and doing a pretty smas.h.i.+ng job of it.

"OmiG.o.d," she said. "It's you!"

"I'm sorry?" But I had an idea what she was going to say.

"I watch your show every day," she said. "I mean, I used to watch The Yearning Tide every day. I still watch it, but now I watch your new show, too. I just love you, Tiffany-I mean, Felicia. And that f.a.n.n.y! I love her accent and the way you say 'Bad, bad, bad!' What I don't get is how someone as beautiful as you are can look as unattractive as that f.a.n.n.y! Hours in the ugly chair, right?"

I wish I could say that was true. But it actually took me less time to get ugly than it did to get pretty.

"Well, thanks," I said. "I'm always glad to meet a fan."

"What are ya doin' here?" she asked.

"I was looking for someone who knew Aaron Summers."

Her exceedingly large b.o.o.bs heaved under her floral blouse. "Oh, Aaron," she said, sadly shaking her head. "That poor kid. He thought he was gonna be a huge soap star, ya know?"

"I know," I said. "He auditioned for a role on The Tide last year."

"That's right!" she said brightly. "He was real excited about that."

"Did he live here a long time?"

"No, just a couple of months." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Christ, I'm a c.r.a.ppy hostess. Come on in. Would you like some coffee or tea? I have some donuts but I'm sure you never eat that c.r.a.p, right? Always watching your figure. I know; I read People." She held the door open for me.

I would have liked nothing more than to bury my head in a big box of Krispy Kremes but I didn't want to ruin the illusion.

"No, thanks," I said. "I just have a few more questions."

"Sure thing," she said. "G.o.d, my girlfriends are not gonna believe you were here."

"Did he have a lot of company during the time he lived here?"

"By company, do you mean girls?" She grinned. "Yeah, he had lots of girls-but I'm sure you know all about that. I mean, you actors."

I bit my tongue. I needed information. And besides, she had a point.

"Did you ever meet any of his family?"

"Nope, he never had family come over. Just his . . . friends."

"Men?"

"Yeah, his friends, buddies. Ball games, parties, stuff like that."

"Do you know any of his friends?"

"How do you mean know? A little flirtation here. A little flirtation there. Some of them were cuuute! I sure as h.e.l.l ain't dead yet. If you know what I mean. We older girls need to get it while we still can, right?" She elbowed me in my side.

I wanted to weep. Was I truly that old? Never mind. I still needed information.

If Jakes had been there with me, he'd have known what questions to ask. I didn't like admitting it, but I had a weak bedside manner when it came to interrogation. Maybe I could take a cla.s.s at The Learning Annex. "How to Interrogate Witnesses," taught by Lieutenant Columbo, or maybe Lieutenant Kojak . . . Was I dating myself? Maybe I was old. . . . I was flailing.

Then she perked up. "I know he had family, though. I mean, a mother and father, at least."

"Oh? How do you know that?"

"They called me, after he died," she said. "Wanted to know if he had anything of value in his place. When I told them it was just clothes and stuff, they told me to give it to Goodwill or something. That father-what a cold fish he sounded like. I still got the address written down somewhere."

"Why do you have the address if you didn't s.h.i.+p them his things?"

" 'Cause I told that father of his that Aaron owed me two months' rent. He b.i.t.c.hed, but he sent me a check. You want I should try to find it?"

"Yes," I said quickly, "yes, I would. Thanks so much."

"Let me look in my closet. I just about throw everything in there. I won't be a second. Have a seat. Get comfortable. By the way, did I tell you I read tarot cards? Maybe we could read yours? Whaddya think?" She turned and walked down the hall.

Chapter 19.

I heard her rustling around in a closet down the hall and then a loud yelp. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h! That hurt!" She turned the corner, re-poofing her flattened hairdo, and started to hand me a piece of paper. "d.a.m.n, I need one of them organizers in here. That closet is a mess, but I found it!" I reached for the paper but she pulled her hand away.

"Oh, c'mon, now! You can't go! We're just gettin' acquainted! I want to hear all about you and especially that hunky Alec Brandon!" Alec is an actor on my show who has an impressive female following. Apparently, she was one of them.

"I've had a crush on him for thirty years! I'd love to read his cards! Now, why don't I get you some coffee-or somethin' stronger, right? And you relax and we'll do a little reading." She grabbed her deck of cards and started to shuffle them.

Oh, G.o.d, it was going to be a long night if I didn't get out of there fast. I made an excuse about having to learn my lines, grabbed the piece of paper and headed for the door. "Thanks again for your help."

As I drove away I could hear her yelling, "If you ever want your cards read, you come on over. Don't even call first!" I nodded enthusiastically and waved. And hauled out of there.

I jumped onto the Santa Monica Freeway heading toward Venice and promptly got stuck in five o'clock traffic. I pushed the phone symbol and yelled out, "Mom's cell." Nothing happened. I had been having problems with my Bluetooth voice recognition. Sometimes it took a few times.

"Dammit!" I began screaming, "Mom's cell!"

Finally I heard ringing and then "Hewwo?" Sarah still had a little bit of baby in her voice.

"Hi, my beautiful girl. It's your mommy!"

"Hi, Mommy. I'm bored." The dreaded word every parent hates to hear. "And I miss you, Mom!"

"I miss you, too, Stinky. You're not having fun anymore?"

"I am, but it's hot here and the bugs are really really big! I miss my toys an' stuff and the food's kind of icky."

That's not a good way to impress the relatives I never see: have my city kid bas.h.i.+ng the "country" life.

"Okay, sweetie, not so loud! Let me talk to Gramma. You'll be home soon. I love you and I miss you so much."

"Love you, too! GRAMMA. MOMMY WANTS YOU!" I think my ear started to bleed.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Mom. What's goin' on there? Sarah's not having a good time anymore?"

"She's fine. I think she just misses you."

"Well, I miss her, too. Maybe just a little while longer, huh? I really miss you guys."

"They're planning a big barbecue in a couple of days. It would be a shame to miss that. Why don't you just check back in tomorrow?"

"Okay. Ahh!" I swerved as someone cut me off. "I'll talk to you guys tomorrow!"

By the time I got home, I was famished. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the fridge, so I pulled out a frozen mac and cheese dinner and nuked it. At least it was organic! And low in preservatives, high in cheesy fat. I poured a nice pinot grigio into a fancy winegla.s.s and took a big sip. That made me feel more civilized.

I took out the piece of paper with Aaron Summers's parents' address on it and set it on the table. They lived in Hanc.o.c.k Park, California. That was only about five minutes from Aaron's place. Why had they asked to have his things s.h.i.+pped? The real question was, What reason could I have to drive over there and talk to them? Or what reason could I invent? The landlady hadn't said anything about giving the address to the police, so probably what I should do is call Jakes and pa.s.s it on to him.

Thinking about Jakes, I remembered what his partner had said to me in the parking lot. Were Frank Jakes's feelings for me so strong that he was putting his job on the line? And if he did feel strongly about me, how did I feel about him? Paul was going to be gone until the end of the month. That gave me almost two weeks to figure it out.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Jakes's cell number before I realized that I had memorized it.

"h.e.l.lo?"

For some reason I almost froze, almost hung up, but finally said, "Uh, h.e.l.lo, Jakes. It's-"

"Alex," he said, "hi."

"Hi."

"What can I do for you?"

"Did I catch you at work?"

"No, you actually caught me in my car leaving work," he said. "Where are you?"

"I'm . . . home."

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," I said. "Is there?"

He hesitated and then asked, "What is it, Alex? What's on your mind?"

"Your partner came to see me today, at work," I said. "I mean . . . well, in the parking lot at work." I was aware that I was stammering, and I didn't know why.

"Uh-huh."

"He had, uh, something he wanted to tell me . . . about you."

"Okay, let me stop you right there, Alex," he said. "I'd rather not do this over the phone."

"Oh, uh, okay . . ."