Final Curtain by R. T. Jordan Read Free Book Online Page A

Sharon says she quarreled with Gerold, but Gerold swears he wasn’t in the theater—although we saw his car in the parking lot.”
    Tim glanced at his mother and Placenta in the rearview mirror. “You heard Sharon. Whenever she thinks she’s in hot water, she tries to cover her hiney. In other words, she’s a liar.”
    “Human nature,” Polly tut-tutted. “How many times have I given an interview and had to call Lindsay or Christina or Barbra and insist that I was quoted out of context? It’s called ‘The Blame Game.’”
    Placenta harrumphed. “I vote for Gerold being the super-sized Fib Monster.”
    “Yeah, I don’t buy Shamu strolling the streets of Glendale for exercise at eight in the morning,” Polly said. “The only activity that man gets is reaching for Little Debbie—and I don’t mean the snack cakes. We need more personal info about that Yeti—and Sharon too. Turn right at Sunset, hon,” she instructed Tim. “Let’s pay an unexpected visit to dear ol’ Charlotte Bunch.”
     
    The Beverly Hills stretch of Sunset Boulevard was wide and bordered on both sides by tall palm trees and immense neo-Renaissance-style mansions of unimaginable expense. Estate after ostentatious estate, the grandeur became so commonplace that after a while one hardly noticed the homes. As Tim chauffeured his mother and Placenta east toward Hollywood, he entered Charlotte Bunch’s address into the car’s GPS and followed the voice directions. After forty-five minutes the voice chip finally announced, “You have reached your destination.”
    Tim double-parked the Rolls on Gardner Street, opposite a two-story, four-unit apartment building with a sign on the front wall that announced TUSCANY VILLAS. LUXURY ONE-BEDROOM APARTMENTS. VACANCY .
    Polly frowned. “Luxury? Maybe compared to a cave in Afghanistan.”
    The building was a disaster, with curb appeal that only a demolition contractor would appreciate. The stucco was probably white at one time, but was now Purina Puppy Chow beige with layers of dirt and smog that had filtered through the air and settled on the paint. The balcony decks on the second level were slanted and looked unsafe to hold even a Hibachi grill. One unit was decorated with a string of Christmas lights around the front door, and a paint-on-velvet portrait of the Virgin Mary, which was hung like a holiday wreath—in July. “God, this could almost be the apartment I grew up in,” Polly said. “Except that ours had Elvis on velvet.”
    Placenta shook her head. “We should have called first. Charlotte’s going to be embarrassed when she opens the door and finds the rich and famous Polly Pepper standing on her cracked concrete front step.”
    “We don’t have time for social etiquette,” Polly snapped as she opened the car door.
    Tim complained that the parking situation looked bleak. “Even if I find a place, it wouldn’t be wise to leave a Rolls-Royce unattended in this neighborhood.”
    “That’s why we have insurance. Park it in that driveway.” Polly pointed to a narrow lane between Charlotte’s building and the even more squalid apartment units next door. “If someone needs access they’ll honk.”
    “Or shoot,” Placenta warned.
    Tim rolled his eyes and followed his mother’s instructions.
     
    The trio approached apartment number 1. At the pockmarked door a hand-printed label above the doorbell read C . BUNCH . Polly looked at Tim and Placenta with a “Here goes” expression and then pushed the button. After a moment the door flew open and a Siamese cat raced outside. Charlotte, who was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, yelled, “Let the coyotes make a meal of you. D’ya think I care?” Now, standing before Polly, she plastered a wide smile on her face.
    “As I live and breathe!” Charlotte cried. “It’s Polly Pepper! For heaven’s sake you are as sweet as your image—coming to check up on me after that nasty bit of business this morning.” She leaned in to hug Polly.