Done to Death (3 page)

‘Hello?' A woman's voice answered.

‘Hi, this is Barry Stromstein, of Lenore Parks Productions. I'm trying to reach a Lil Campbell.'

‘How strange is that? I had literally just dialed your number when you popped up on call waiting.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Talk about synchronicity. Do you mind if I put you on speaker? My partner Ada Strauss is with me and we don't often get calls from TV producers.'

‘That's fine,' he said. ‘So what got you to dial?'

‘You're kidding,' she said. ‘The thought of having even a single episode of a show shot in Grenville would be a big deal. I mean several of our dealers have been experts on other shows, but nothing in the town itself.'

‘Right,' and Barry recoiled at the familiar scent of want. ‘So,' falling into his familiar role of gatekeeper to the brass ring, ‘what makes Grenville special?'

He listened as this Lil woman extolled the town's beauty. He'd seen the pictures and knew she wasn't lying. It would be a dream to film: the changing seasons, lovingly preserved Colonial and Federal houses, the tidy greens with their romantic bronzes and ancient cannons. Fine, it's pretty, he thought, lots of places are pretty. And sure, it probably fulfills two out of three −
Antiques Roadshow
and the set of
Gilmore Girls
. He imagined bringing Jeanine and little Ashley out for the shoots; they'd love it. His thoughts drifted, and he made polite noises as though he were paying attention as Lil Campbell talked about the two hundred antique dealers, the weekly flea market and active council −
God save me from active councils
. He'd heard enough. He gently cleared his throat. ‘It does sound like a place to consider,' he said, and prepared to launch into his kiss off.

‘Lil, don't forget to tell him about the murder rate,' a new voice popped in.

‘Excuse me?'

‘The murder rate,' this other woman, with a slight New York accent, repeated. ‘Grenville had the highest per capita murder rate in Connecticut for two years running. And if you think about it, all of the victims were in some way connected to the antiques industry, although in that horrible fire at the assisted living center it was mostly that doctor.'

‘Which doctor? And I'm assuming you're Ada.'

‘Ada Strauss. Long story short: it was a huge Medicaid fraud, we're talking millions, that centered on this doctor − who apparently was both an antique clock collector and a hoarder. We'd see him every week at the flea market. It wound up as an arson slash multiple murder at one of the biggest assisted care facilities in the state. And, considering the total population of Grenville is twelve thousand, it doesn't take much to bump our numbers up. That pushed us to the top for 2011, and in 2010 there was a serial killer who was taking out high-end antique dealers. Come to think of it, another doctor − what is with them? That one was a dentist. The freaky thing is he actually worked on a crown for me that came off when I was eating a crème brulée … sorry, too much information. Although both Lil and I barely made it out when he torched his place.'

‘What? Wait a minute!' Barry was forward in his seat. ‘Not too much at all.' His complacency and the throbbing in his head had suddenly been blown away like leaves in a storm …
meets
The Hunger Games.
Ding ding ding.
‘Tell me about the murders. It seems like you know a fair amount about them.'

‘Please, we were there … I mean really there, as in almost got killed. You see Calvin Williams, the psychopathic dentist, had a lifelong crush on Lillian, and apparently his mother, who had Alzheimer's, had been selling off the family heirlooms to local dealers who'd essentially robbed her blind.'

Barry was mesmerized as plots and twists fell from this Ada Strauss's lips. A town filled with competing dealers, a supply of merchandise that was hotly contested, corruption, bribes, small-town scandals, a child-molesting dentist … murder.
Too good to be true.
He tried to picture Ada Strauss. She sounded a bit older, knowledgeable and funny. At one point he interrupted her. ‘Do I have your headshot?'

She laughed. ‘Why would you?'

‘Right … not an actress or on-screen personality, I'm assuming.'

‘Hardly. I don't know if you're old enough to remember Strauss's department stores.'

‘I remember them.' He laughed. ‘I remember my mother putting us in matching caps so she wouldn't lose us during the back to school sales.' He felt a twinge of regret.
She might be too old for on-screen talent, or she could be a total dog.
‘You're that Strauss … and Mr Strauss?'

‘Passed several years ago.'

‘Sorry.'

‘You didn't kill him. But it's kind of you to say.'

‘You're quick.'

‘You're surprised.'

His usual defenses were down. There was something here − at least he hoped there was.
You're desperate, Barry, this is a reach.
‘Is there any way I could get you – I mean the two of you – into the city for a pitch meeting this afternoon?'

‘I have no idea what that is,' Ada Strauss said. ‘I mean aside from what you read in Jackie Collins novels. Lil? What do you think?'

‘We could be there in two hours. It's the middle of the day, and traffic shouldn't be bad.'

‘Fantastic!' And he gave them the address.

After they hung up, he buzzed his assistant. ‘Celia, we've got an Ada Strauss coming in from Connecticut. I want some test shots, and get Jason to get her on tape. Have her talk about anything: antiques, murder, whatever.'

He hung up and realized his headache was gone.
Please
, he thought, feeling the dangerous seed of hope take root.
Please, please, please.

‘W
hat the hell was that?' Ada asked, after they'd disconnected with Barry Stromstein.

‘Not quite certain, but he seemed rather taken with you.'

‘Please, I was rambling.'

‘Yeah, but you do it well.' Lil looked at Ada. ‘Did we just say we'd be in midtown in two hours?'

Ada nodded. Lil was in her robe, hair mussed and in a messy ponytail after their morning's romp. ‘We can do this. I say business casual in under fifteen minutes − ready, set, go.'

‘It's funny,' Lil commented as they headed back to the master bedroom.

‘What is?' Ada asked, as they moved with a practiced efficiency to their respective sides of the spacious walk-in closet.

‘I'd swear that Barry was about to blow me off right before you piped in with the murders.'

‘Why do you think I did that?'

Lil paused, her hand on a gray skirt suit. She looked at Ada, from her bright silver spiked hair to those amazing sapphire eyes. ‘I sometimes forget.'

Ada, holding a cream silk blouse against a vintage blue Chanel suit, looked back and met Lil's gaze. ‘It's OK.'

‘You are amazing.' Struck by how beautiful she found Ada, and amused by their very different wardrobes − Ada's side filled with vibrant blues, greens and purples and hers a study in staid New England brown, gray and navy.

‘We're a team, Lil.' She chuckled. ‘You were striking out, so I decided to take a swing.'

‘Baseball metaphors?'

‘Sure, we're going to a …
pitch
meeting.'

Lil groaned, ‘That was awful.'

‘I can do worse,' and, grabbing a pair of pumps, Ada exited the closet and threw everything on the bed.

Twenty minutes later, and looking like Manhattan executives, the two women headed down the steep path toward Lil's white Lincoln Town Car. Knowing they were being observed, Ada waved and smiled at their across-the-walkway neighbor, Bernice Framm, the mayor's retired secretary. Out of perversity she also gave a wave to Clayton Spratt's living room window, assuming he was probably there as well, monitoring their every move.

‘Such a vile man,' she said under her breath.

‘I think he's jealous.'

‘Because I wouldn't go out with him?' Ada asked.

‘You hurt his feelings.'

‘Please, the man's a sociopath. The way he tried to get the Association to tell me I couldn't have Aaron live with me.'

‘Do you still think we should move out of here?'

‘I used to,' Ada said, as Lil clicked open the locks on the car. ‘I mean this is Twilight Town, but God knows it's convenient.'

‘Houses are great,' Lil said, ‘but the upkeep.' And she threw the car into reverse. ‘You want to punch in the address and locate the nearest garage?'

‘No problem,' Ada said, setting the GPS. ‘In the abstract, I love the idea of owning a house, but let's face it, I lived in Manhattan my entire adult life, and you had the big house with Bradley. I think where we're at is fine; I wouldn't mind breaking through the wall between our two places, but you know the Owners' Association would never go for it.'

‘They don't need to know,' Lil said.

‘Really? Two problems − Bernice and Clayton.'

‘Right. Although she's been much friendlier since our coming out party.'

‘Is that what we're calling having pictures of us sleeping together posted on the Internet?' Ada asked.

‘Hey,' Lil said, ‘it was our fifteen minutes, not everyone gets that.'

‘I'd be happy to return it. Two years later and I still have nightmares about that awful woman we let into our home.'

‘I know,' Lil said. ‘She had everyone fooled … including us. And considering the fact that she was responsible for five deaths, and for setting the fire at your mother's assisted care facility, having her shoot a few compromising, albeit chaste, candids of us in bed was getting off easy. When I think about what she was capable of … what she did.'

‘Let's not dwell,' Ada offered. ‘It was two years ago and Alice − may she rest in peace … or in hell – is gone. As to the fifteen minutes of fame − Miss Syndicated Reporter − you get yours every week.'

‘You know I'm going to try to turn this thing today into a column.'

‘Whatever this is,' Ada said. ‘Why would that Barry person want to see us? And why did he want to know if we had headshots?'

‘If
you
had a headshot,' Lil corrected. ‘You were kind of fabulous on the phone.'

Ada blushed. ‘Don't be ridiculous, I just didn't want him to hang up. So what's the deal with Lenore Parks? I can't see her actually being on some reality show.'

‘I don't think she would be. It's like Oprah with all of her spin-offs. Lenore's a brand, so this would be something like that.'

‘Right,' Ada said. ‘Which considering all her other merchandise, she's practically taken over Martco. I bought a spatula with her name on it.' Ada stared out at the highway. ‘So how does a reality show about antiques fit into knock-off made-in-China merchandise that pretends to be high quality?'

‘It's a fantasy,' Lil said, ‘a life people think they want: affluence, lovely things, grace.'

‘What we have,' Ada commented.

‘Yes, but we have something more.'

‘Which is?'

‘Contentment.'

‘There is that,' Ada said, and she thought back through the morning. Her funk over the Medicare application, the joy of being with Lil … and now this. There was a tingly excitement in her gut. ‘This feels like the start of something.'

‘This meeting?'

‘I don't know why, but there was something interesting about that Barry guy.'

‘How so?'

‘Hard to find the words, and it was just a phone call, but … he seemed desperate, hungry … searching.'

‘Interesting assortment. And you're doing your weird clairvoyant thing, which if you weren't always right … You got that from the phone call?'

‘Yeah, and it gets weirder,' Ada added, letting her thoughts drift. ‘I think in some way he needs us.'

‘You,' Lil said. ‘I don't need a crystal ball for that. It's you.'

‘Maybe … What I don't understand is why.'

L
enore Parks focused on the steady in-and-out of her breath as her nubile trainer, Jodi, corrected her kneeling pigeon pose. A bead of sweat trickled from her brow to the tip of her nose and dripped to the floor.

‘Now take your left hand,' Jodi instructed, her voice soothingly accompanied by Japanese flute and harp music, ‘and grip your left ankle. Sink your pelvis into the floor as you pull your leg into your buttocks. Feel the stretch in your quad, and hold for five breaths.'

Lenore's thoughts were anything but calm. She'd focus on the breath and then her mind was off running statistics and facts, such as that at the height of Lenore Parks Productions she'd had fifty-five full-time producers and now she had twenty-nine. Or the fact that her long-running talk and style show,
Lenore Says
, was on the network chopping block. Or that Martco was in conversation with that silly gay man from the Style Network. They'd assured her his brand wouldn't replace hers … but that was a lie, or at the very least a strategy to leverage her into a smaller cut.
Fine
, she thought,
they'll pay for that.

‘And one last breath on this side,' Jodi instructed, ‘and push up into downward dog.'

Lenore felt the tug in her shoulders as she raised her ass skyward. It was all about staying hot and current. Truth was,
Lenore Says
had a great run, but the midday audience had shrunk. After all, who stays home in the middle of the day watching TV? The answer − and she'd done the research − was obvious: the retired, the unemployed and the unemployable. She snorted; these were her peeps, the legions of Lenore.

‘Swing your right heel back, as high as you can go, and hold for three fluid breaths. In for five and out for five.'