Chapter Nineteen
I did my best to stifle a yawn while Mike came for my lapel microphone. I recalled that there was something I wanted to ask him, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was. Something about Ray?
When we returned to the dressing room for our break, Seth steered me to the craft services table. “Let’s get you a cup of coffee. Your buddy Caceras seems to think it’s safe now, and I daresay you need something.”
I didn’t argue as he poured me a large cup.
I reached into my purse and deposited a bill in the tip jar set up in front of the pretty blond attendant, the one Marty Wardell had been so quick to defend after Ray’s death.
I took a look at her name tag, intending to thank her personally for her services that week, but the simple phrase, “Thank you, Lorraine,” wouldn’t come.
Lorraine.
I could hear the echo of Marty Wardell saying that Bobby Brandon found out about Lorraine, and the best I could do was hope that the recognition didn’t show on my face as Seth steered me back to my locker. I gestured for my team to gather closer.
“That attendant is Lorraine,” I whispered.
“Lorraine who?” Maureen asked, looking around. “Lorraine Bracco?”
Mort rolled his eyes. “Lorraine, the chick Wardell has stashed in his condo.”
“No wonder he was so quick to come to her defense about the poisoning situation,” Seth said.
“I don’t think it was Lorraine who poisoned Ray either.” I took a reassuring look at her short natural nails, then confided in my teammates what I’d discovered just before the taping began.
“Have you told Caceras?” Mort asked.
“I haven’t had the chance. I was literally whisked away from hair and makeup right to the stage.”
Seth put a hand on my forehead, as if checking for a fever.
“I’m all right, just a little tired,” I said.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “You just told us you were literally whisked to the stage, when clearly no kitchen implements were used to get you there.” He pointed to the coffee. “Drink up, woman.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I said.
“Should I go find Lieutenant Caceras?” Howard asked.
I shook my head. “He’ll be tied up getting his team in place for the…final act,” I said, referring vaguely to his plans to bust the gambling operation, and hopefully the killer, when they attempted to lower the cell-phone blocker.
“Besides,” I said after another sip of the hot brew, “even though I’m fairly certain Lorraine didn’t kill Ray, I’m going to lay odds that she and Marty cooked up the scheme to put the ADHD meds into the coffee.”
“Why would Wardell do that if he needs this show to succeed?” Maureen asked.
“It’s because he needs it to,” I said. “He was banking that the stimulants in the coffee would make the contestants more alert but also more irritable.”
“Holy cow!” Mort said. “He wanted more conflict.”
“Yep, more conflict means better ratings,” Howard said. “Ratings are pretty strong now, but can you imagine if one of the teams had erupted into a fistfight or something? That would be gold in his pocket.”
Seth shook his head. “I guess he’s lucky he didn’t end up killing somebody.”
* * *
The coffee did help keep my eyes open, but I knew the effect would be temporary.
Still, little more was required of us. Jenny had collected our official answer sheets, so our final score was locked in place.
All we’d need to do was sit in our seats while the prerecorded segments played, and then the bright stage lights would turn back on for Bobby to read off the answers on live television.
Then, as scribe, I’d tally up the number of our correct answers.
If our theory was right, the cell-phone blocker would be turned off at some point while the prerecorded session played, and Caceras’s team would be in place to discover who was sending messages outside the secure bubble that Marty Wardell had worked so hard to create.
I cast a quick glance toward the console area, and all the players were present, whether they knew they were part of the play or not.
Evelyn stood in her usual spot, with Gaelan and Jake right behind her.
My eyes were drawn again to her fingernails, those long extensions that made it likely she was one of the women who Lee Ann accused of constantly borrowing her false nail remover, of which the main ingredient was methyl cyanide.
I wondered if she could be sloppy enough to leave her fingerprints on the bottle.
Even if they were found there, was it enough to convict her of killing Ray?
I caught a shiver. Maybe it was the fatigue again, but I wished I’d brought a sweater.
Mike brought our microphones back, and Jenny arrived a few minutes later, setting our final answer sheet down on the table right in front of me with her well-manicured hand.
Her nails were painted a neutral pinkish color, similar to the natural nail bed, with finely detailed vines and leaves winding across each one.
“I love your nails,” I said. “I have a friend back home, Ideal Molloy, who started going in for all those fancy designs. You must have an excellent manicurist.”
“These?” Jenny said. “I have to confess, they’re not real. I buy them from some Ukrainian woman on Etsy. She does lovely work, doesn’t she?”
“I’d never guess they weren’t real,” I said. “I just assumed most false nails were longer.”
“Personal preference.” She gave me a second look before she went to the next table with their answer sheet.
“Jessica,” Maureen said, then stopped.
I sent her a warning look and pointed to my lapel microphone.
“What?” Seth said, but Mort shook his head, then turned his gaze to me, extending the eye contact before nodding.
That Jenny, the contestant coordinator, also used false nails, meant she could be one of the women who routinely borrowed the nail remover from Lee Ann Carroll. But why would Jenny want to kill Ray?
Soon the large screen was up and playing back the questions from this morning, but I found myself watching Jenny as she made her rounds. I lost sight of her for a moment, trying not to be obvious in my staring, but then I saw her approaching Evelyn.
Maybe this was all my imagination. That a woman wore false fingernails didn’t make her a killer, and it didn’t prove that Jenny was involved in the gambling conspiracy.
And Jenny would have a million and one reasons why she might need to talk to Evelyn during a television show they both worked on.
But then Jenny strode past Evelyn and stood next to Gaelan, who put an easy arm around her.
Seth tapped me on the arm. When I looked up at him, he pointed to Mort, who silently mouthed, “Don’t stare.”
I nodded and focused my eyes on our answer sheet. If Jenny were romantically entangled with Gaelan, it made it more likely that she was involved in the gambling plot, and since Jenny was responsible for collecting the answer sheets…
She also was one of the more mobile staff members. Not connected to a console, throughout the show she was often moving from station to station and wouldn’t have been noticed if she’d been near Ray’s console on Day One. She’d have more opportunity than anyone.
But motive? Why would she kill him?
Because she could be fired and lose any money she would earn as part of the gambling scheme? That didn’t seem worth a man’s life. What if she feared losing Gaelan, who was apparently someone she cared about? And then there was the looming threat of jail time.
Then again, Jenny was the one person from the show that we’d been in touch with from the beginning.
Of everyone on the staff, she had the easiest access to the contestants, because she was the one who sent out our contracts and liaised with all the teams. Did her job go further than that?
Could she have been responsible for actually choosing which teams were scheduled to compete?
If so, might she have recruited Julie Clifford?
Instead of being merely an accessory, was it possible that Jenny was the ringleader of the entire operation?
On the screen, the prerecorded version of Bobby read the last question and then segued to a commercial.
I let my eyes sweep across the console area.
Jake was no longer standing behind Evelyn, who was reaching into her front jacket pocket, where the light from what could only be a cell-phone screen spilled from the top of the pocket and was reflected from her clothing.
She looked confused, as though whatever she was surreptitiously attempting to do wasn’t working.
She kept reaching back into her pocket, frustration growing on her face.
When she did finally look up, she locked eyes with me, just for a second, then started to move toward the door.
The commercial countdown on the big screen came to an end, and the prerecorded deliberation section began. While the other teams were watching their own antics on the screen, ours was following the drama offstage.
When Evelyn reached the door, she was met by the same policewoman who had posed as a craft services attendant on the day they arrested Julie Clifford.
Gaelan, who had started to follow Evelyn, whirled around when he saw what had happened and scanned the other exits, each now manned by one of Lieutenant Caceras’s team.
With no clear escape route, he doubled back, crossed the soundstage, and headed toward the greenroom.
When none of Caceras’s team followed, I assumed they had someone stationed there too.
Caceras hadn’t moved from his spot but, arms folded, was watching everything progress with a look of amusement. When he caught my glance, he winked and touched a finger to the side of his nose.
“Jenny Yager,” I mouthed.
He squinted at me.
“Jenny Yager,” I repeated, mouthing the words in a more exaggerated way.
Caceras shook his head.
I turned and looked toward the spot where I’d last seen Jenny, and she was no longer there. I surveyed the room and finally found her, just as she said something to the uniformed officer stationed at one of the doors. He laughed and let her pass. Of course he did; she hadn’t been a suspect.
I stood up and pointed toward that door. The confusion on Caceras’s face suggested he still didn’t get my meaning, but Howard rose from the alternates row and chased after Jenny into the hallway. Shouts and a scream followed, and Caceras and the rest of his people scrambled in that direction.