(31/40) Murder, She Wrote: Madison Avenue Shoot Read online

  “I can’t believe I had to travel all the way to New York to find your honey,” I told him.

  “We come down here every fall and hit all the farmers’ markets in the city,” he said. “We stay for two weeks or until we’re sold out. The wife and me, we have a trailer we park on the West Side.”

  “Do you save any honey for us in Maine?”

  “Oh sure,” he replied, chuckling. “We sent a few cases to Charles Department Store before we left.” Charles Department Store was a treasured landmark in Cabot Cove.

  “Well,” I said, “I’m giving this jar away to relatives here in the city,” I said, admiring the hand-drawn label and the little piece of gingham tied over the lid with a strand of raffia. “I’ll make sure to get another one from the store when I get back home.”

  “Say hello to David and Jim for me when you see them,” he said, referring to the brothers who owned Charles. “Tell ’em Hollister sends his regards.”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. Hollister.”

  Frank was waiting on the front stoop when I arrived at Donna and Grady’s building. “Can I help you carry anything, Aunt Jessica?” he said, eyeing my packages.

  “You can take the apples,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  He reached up and pressed a call button on the panel next to the building’s front entrance. At the answering buzz, he pushed through the door and held it for me. Their apartment was on the first floor, down the hall from the mailboxes and the elevators. Frank skipped ahead of me, swinging the bag of apples. I followed with a wince, crossing my fingers in hope the plastic wouldn’t rupture before we reached the kitchen.

  “Oh, Aunt Jessica, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Donna said, embracing me and relieving me of my packages. “Frank, please put those on the counter and go wash your hands.”

  “You found us,” Grady said, taking my coat from my shoulders.

  “Of course I did, although I dropped bread crumbs along the sidewalk so I can find my way back to the hotel,” I said, laughing.

  “Goodness, Grady, she used to live here,” Donna said. “You don’t forget how to get around the city that fast.”

  “I know, I know, but she’s been back in Maine for a while,” he said, sighing. “Anyway, I was just kidding.”

  “Aunt Jessica, if you left bread crumbs, the pigeons will eat them up,” Frank said from the kitchen, where he’d placed the apples in a bowl.

  We laughed. “I have no doubt that you’re right,” I said.

  “Are your hands clean, young man?” Grady asked.

  Frank held his palms up for inspection. “Kind of,” he said.

  Donna pointed to the bathroom. “Wash. Now.”

  He ran down the hall.

  She looked at Grady. “Why is he being so good?”

  “He knows Aunt Jess has a present for him.”

  I held up the little box I’d wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red ribbon.

  “Ah,” she said. “Do you mind if he doesn’t open it until after dinner? I’d like him to be on best behavior during the meal.”

  “Whatever you say is fine with me,” I said.

  We put the box with Frank’s gift by his place at the round table, a visible incentive for him to mind his manners, and I looked around at the apartment. The table was next to a galley kitchen, closed at the far end, which Grady and Donna had painted a buttery yellow. It was a typical city layout with scant counter space, but including a good-sized refrigerator and stove. Adjacent to the dining area was the living room with two windows flanking a flowered sofa and leather-top coffee table. A cozy armchair was set against one wall opposite a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. In addition to books—some of them mine—the shelves were filled with keepsakes from their travels and framed family pictures, mostly of Frank as a baby, but also of their wedding, including one with the three of us together. There wasn’t space in the living room for much more, but they had hung pretty prints on the walls, and the room was cheerful and warm.

  “This is charming,” I said.

  “It’s small, but we love it,” Donna said. “The neighborhood is close to Grady’s office and Frank’s school, and there are always a million things to explore in New York City on weekends.”

  “New York’s an exciting place to live, isn’t it?” I said. “I enjoyed my time here, and I miss the city every now and then. But I found I’m happiest back home in Cabot Cove.”

  “And you can always visit New York,” Donna said, setting a salad on the table.

  Frank showed off his best table manners throughout the meal, although he couldn’t resist reaching out once or twice to play with the ribbon on the gift box. But he pulled his hand back quickly whenever Grady aimed a frown in his direction.

  “How’s the new job?” I asked over dessert, a delicious pear upside-down cake Donna had made.

  “Going well so far,” Grady said. He’d just started working for a payroll company in the advertising industry. “It seems pretty straightforward. Carl, the boss, is training me on all the union requirements, pension and welfare deductions, that sort of thing. I’m fine with the regular accounting. It’s the industry-specific stuff I needed to catch up with, and I have. I’ve got about ten production companies I’m working with directly. One of them is Eye Screen. They’re one of the biggest shops in the business. Do you know them?”

  “No,” I replied, “but I can’t say that I’m familiar with the names of any commercial-production companies—or many film-production companies, for that matter.”

  “They’re shooting a commercial next week and he’s going to bring Frank to visit the set,” Donna put in.

  Grady grimaced. “I only said I was thinking about it.”

  “Awesome!” Frank said. “Can I be in the commercial?”

  “No!” his parents chorused.

  “You’ll have to promise to be quiet as a mouse,” Donna told him.

  “If you’re not, they’ll kick us off the set and my name will be mud,” Grady added. He looked up at Donna. “I’m not sure I should take him. It’s the first time I’m going to be on a shoot. Maybe I should just see how it goes before I bring him along.”

  “You already said you would, Grady.”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’ll be good. I know how to be a mouse.” Frank wiggled his fingers in front of his nose and made little squeaking noises.

  Grady smiled fondly at his son. “Very funny, sport.”

  “What is the commercial for?” I asked.

  Grady looked uncomfortable for a moment. “It’s for Permezzo, the international credit card.”

  “I have one of those,” I said. “I use it when I travel abroad. Their concierge service is very helpful.”

  “They’re making a big advertising push in America. The agency awarded Eye Screen the job to make a series of spots. They’re using celebrity testimonials. You know, TV personalities, famous people.”

  “Who’s going to be in the commercials, Dad? Anyone I know?”

  Grady shrugged. “Anne Tripper and Stella Bedford, for two.”

  “I never heard of them,” Frank said, clearly disappointed.

  “I’ve seen Tripper on TV,” I said. “She writes those industry exposés. I’m not sure about Bedford, although the name sounds familiar.”

  “You must know her, Aunt Jessica,” Donna said. “She’s the lady with the barbecue cooking show on the food channel. The one who always dresses in overalls.”

  “Oh, yes, I know who you mean. I don’t believe I’ve seen her show, but she’s written a cookbook.”

  “Several cookbooks, actually,” Grady added.

  “Her picture is on the cover,” I said. “Overalls and a straw hat.”

  “That’s the one,” Donna said. “She—”

  “That’s not a real celebrity,” Frank said. “They should use a rock band. I could give them the names of my favorites. How about Five for Fighting, or—?”

  “Don’t interrupt, dear,” Donna said.

  “They’r
e also using Lance Sevenson,” Grady said. “He hosts the program It’s in Your Stars.”

  “The mystic?”

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “We were on a panel together once. He’s, well, he’s an interesting man.”

  “He’s nuts is what you mean.”

  “Grady!” Donna frowned at her husband and cocked her head toward Frank.

  “But some people are nuts, Mom, aren’t they?”

  “We don’t talk that way about people, Frank,” Donna said, placing her hand on his and drawing it away from the loose ribbon. “We just say he has an unusual point of view.”

  Grady muffled a laugh.

  “Your celebrities should get Permezzo a lot of attention,” I said.

  “They could really use someone like you, Aunt Jess.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a famous writer. They’d be happy to have you in a commercial. I think I could arrange it.”

  “I don’t think so, Grady, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “No, really, Aunt Jess. They would be thrilled to have you in their commercial. I mentioned it to Dan Howerstein, the producer. The lady from the agency was there and they got all excited.”

  “Grady,” Donna said, her brow knit, “you didn’t promise that Aunt Jessica would be in the commercial, did you?”

  “I didn’t promise,” he replied, holding up his hands in defense. “Not at all. I just, uh, I just said I would ask. Aunt Jess is a bigger celebrity than any of those people.”

  “Yay! Can I watch you be in the commercial, Aunt Jessica?”

  “I’m not going to be in any commercial,” I said, smiling at Frank. I looked up at Grady. Misery was written all over his face.

  “This is something we can talk about later,” I said. “Now, I think this might be the perfect time to open the present.”

  Frank grabbed the silver box and tore at the paper.

  “Take it easy, son,” Grady said, putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Your aunt Jessica got you a very special gift that might be, well, fragile, or breakable. Be careful with it.”

  Donna smiled and hugged herself while she watched Frank, who now worked at the knot in the ribbon very slowly, his excited eyes flashing from his parents to me and back to the box. I had checked with Donna and Grady before buying Frank’s gift. I wanted to be sure they approved, and also that Frank was old enough to take on the responsibility of something that wasn’t designed to withstand rough handling.

  “An iPod! You got me an iPod!” Frank bounced up and down in his seat, laughing. “I always wanted one. Michele has one and he listens to his all the time. It’s his special treasure.”

  Grady cleared his throat. “What do you say to your aunt Jessica, Frank?”

  Frank got up from his seat and came to where I sat. Clutching the iPod to his chest, he said solemnly, “Thank you, Aunt Jessica. It’s what I wanted most in the whole world.”

  “Looks like I made a good choice, then,” I said. “You enjoy it.”

  “I’m going to put music on it right now. Can I, Dad?”

  “We have to read the instructions first.”

  “I know how to do it. Michele showed me.”

  “Nevertheless, we’re going to read the instructions.”

  “You two go ahead,” Donna said, rising from her chair.

  “Yes, go on,” I said. “We’ll clean up.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Donna told me. “You’re a guest. Besides, there’s hardly enough room in this kitchen for one, much less two.”

  “I can be a guest another time,” I said, picking up my dessert plate and carrying it to the sink. “How about if you wash and I dry?”

  We had the kitchen clean and dishes put away in short order. I was folding the dish towel when Frank came back to the living room with a huge grin on his face.

  “I’m going upstairs to show Michele my iPod. We called. His mom says it’s okay.”

  “Just for a few minutes, sport. Your aunt Jessica came a long distance to see you. You don’t want to be rude.”

  “We’ll be right back, Aunt Jessica. I just want to show Michele the great present that you got me. We can dance together now. He’s got ‘Superman’ on his, and now I put it on mine.”

  “Isn’t that a movie?” I asked.

  “It’s a song.”

  “He really does know how to load that thing,” Grady said, shaking his head. “Kids and computers. He’s a lot faster than I am.”

  “Say hello to Mary for me,” Donna said as Grady and Frank walked out the door, and we took seats on the sofa.

  “He’s so excited about his friend Michele,” I remarked.

  “He’s a good friend,” she agreed.

  “Is he in school with Frank?”

  “No. Michele is sixteen.”

  “Sixteen? That’s quite an age gap between them.”

  “Michele is a Down syndrome child. He has a little difficulty with speech—Italian is his first language—but he’s making great strides. He and Frank met in the laundry room when his mother, Mary, and I were doing the wash. They hit it off right away. At first, I thought that Frank was flattered by the attention of an older boy. And Michele was happy to befriend someone who accepted him for who he is. Then they discovered that they both like the same kind of music. And they laugh at the same jokes. Michele is quite the jokester.”

  “A good foundation for friendship,” I said. “I’m proud that Frank is his friend. It says a lot about his character.”

  “Frank’s a very generous, open boy, and so is Michele.”

  “You and Grady have done a fine job with Frank.”

  She laughed. “Tell me that on the days when getting him to dress for school is like pulling teeth. There’s no one who can procrastinate better than Frank.”

  “Maybe it’s in the nature of little boys. I seem to remember Grady putting off his homework until the very last second.” I smiled at the memory. “He was a handful,” I said, “always excited about something new. He’s still a bit like that, I think.”

  Donna’s eyes met mine. “I’m sorry, Aunt Jessica.”

  “About what?”

  “I didn’t know that Grady was hoping you’d be in one of the commercials.”

  “No harm done,” I said. “I’ve always been curious about how commercials are made, but even so, I’m not sure I want this face on camera.”

  “Why not? It’s a wonderful face.”

  “You’re such a dear. We’ll talk about it more later, maybe after Frank goes to bed and Grady can tell me exactly what he said to this producer.”

  I had a feeling that Grady had promised the producer that he could convince me to be in the commercial. He’d been impetuous from the time he was a boy, and it was his boyish enthusiasm that sometimes got him into trouble. While it was one of his most endearing traits, it could also be a trying one. How many times had I had to rescue him from the consequences of his eagerness to please? More times than I could count. I’d have to think about this. Did Grady need to be rescued again? I hoped not, but a little voice was telling me that that might be the case.

  Chapter Two

  “I think it’s a great idea.” “You do?” “Absolutely! Your next book is coming out in April and it could use some exposure. I talked to Vaughan Buckley just the other day.” Vaughan had been my publisher for many years. “He says they’re cutting back on marketing budgets, like most publishers. That especially impacts well-known writers like you. You know how it is—your books get published and they sell well because of your large and enthusiastic fan base, which means the publisher can spend less on advertising and PR. But being on national television could raise your sales to an even greater level. Your fans will see you up close and personal on millions of TV screens across America. I think doing a commercial makes a lot of sense, Jess. It’s not something to walk away from.”

  “But it’s a commercial for a credit card, not for my books.”

  “It’s exposu
re, Jessica. Name recognition. Could save you the wear and tear of a book tour.”

  “I don’t mind book tours, Matt. I enjoy meeting my readers.”

  “You can do that, too.”

  Matt Miller sat across from me at the City Bakery, a popular coffee shop, gourmet bakery, and salad bar close to my hotel and downstairs from his office. He took a sip of cappuccino and peered at me over the rim of the cup.

  “I suppose,” I said.

  Frankly, I was surprised that Matt was so keen for me to participate in a commercial for Permezzo. I was a little suspicious, too. He’d never suggested I do anything of this sort before, and there had been other opportunities for endorsements that I had routinely declined.

  He’d also acted strangely when I’d arrived at his office. He was standing by the elevator when the door opened, and immediately ushered me back inside it, not even giving me a chance to say hello to Paulette, his receptionist. He’d called over his shoulder to her, “Tell her I’ll call her back” as he joined me in the cab and pressed the button for the first floor. “I can use a little caffeine to keep me going this afternoon,” he’d said by way of explanation.

  “Don’t you need a coat? It’s chilly out.”

  “Nah! It’s right next door,” he’d replied.

  Now, at a small table in the City Bakery, I took a sip of its famous hot chocolate and eyed my agent. Always well dressed, this day he wore a crisply tailored pink and blue striped shirt with his initials on the cuff, a navy silk tie, and suspenders in a miniature pink and red check. He’d left his suit jacket upstairs.

  “Okay,” I said, “what else should I know?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his eyes widening in an effort to appear innocent.

  “Come on, Matt. We know each better than that. You’re not telling me everything. I’ll just keep drumming at you until you do.”

  “Am I as transparent as that?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, Detective Fletcher, here it is.” He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I have a new client. In fact, she’d called just as you arrived.”