Read Online Death in Daytime by Eileen Davidson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eileen Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Actresses, Screenwriters, Television Actors and Actresses, Soap Operas, Peterson; Alexis (Fictitious Character)
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affects his balance. He tends to fall over a lot. But he saves so much money the execs are reticent to let him go. Now they needed him to help us get back on schedule.
I decided to try to talk to Sammy about Marcy's death. I doubted he'd kill her over one lost show a week, but I've watched enough crime TV and read enough books--fiction and nonfiction--to know that people kill for the strangest--and smallest--reasons. Toward the end of the day I managed to spot him going into the commissary.
Here's where the really scary part of the day happens for me. You have to be brave--very brave--to face the commissary chef, Jose. Do you remember the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld ? Jose is a short-order cook with a psycho-killer look that scares the crap out of me. He's better known as Jose the Horrible. I'm a strong woman. I can hold my own with narcissistic leading men, ego-driven writers and sociopath ex-husbands. But our food fascist strikes terror deep into my heart. I have been known to accept, with a smile, something I never ordered, just because I was afraid to face the wrath of Jose the Terrible. Obviously, it was entirely my fault that I hadn't spoken clearly enough. This time, to be on the safe side, I just got a cup of coffee. Coffee was self-serve and not confrontational. I couldn't handle any more confrontation. Not just yet. Sammy had taken a table alone; the burger plate sat in front of him.
"Can I join you?" I asked, standing by the small table with my coffee.
Now, I knew Sammy pretty well and knew that he always sat at a smaller table because he did not want people to join him. Apparently, on this day, he didn't quite know how to say no. And besides, I was only holding coffee. How long could it take me to finish it?
"Sure, why not?" he said.
"Terrible thing about Marcy, isn't it?"
"Yeah, really terrible," Sammy said. "It's because of that bitch my workload was cut. So now they need ol'
Timber to help them catch up. I'd like to tell 'em to go fuck themselves, but . . ."
But he needed the job.
"I meant, about her getting killed."
"I know what you meant, Alex," Sammy said. He leaned over to take a bite of his burger and his belly bumped the table, making it rock. I grabbed my coffee before it could spill.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Aren't you upset?" I asked.
"Let's not pretend either one of us is upset she's dead, Alex. She was a true bitch, in the best and worst sense of that word. You know that better than anyone else. She had it out for you from day one. That, coupled with everything else you've gone through in the last two years. Nobody'd blame you if you--" He stopped short.
"If I what?"
Sammy chewed, swallowed and said, "If you killed her."
"Jesus, Sammy," I said. "I didn't kill her. I mean . . . I didn't."
"I didn't say you did," he replied. "I just said nobody would blame you--"
"Somebody else killed her, Sammy."
"You mean somebody else from our show?" he asked. "Come on, Alexis."
"You said yourself she was a bitch. You even said you're not sorry she's dead. If the police hear you say that--"
"The police have already talked to me."
"Why? I didn't see you that day--"
"I was in the building. They're questioning everyone who was around that day, not just on the set," he explained. "But even they think you did it, Alex. If I were you, I'd get a lawyer."
"B-but I didn't do it." I got up quickly to leave, making the table rock. "I forgot to get a drink," he said. "Are you gonna finish your coffee?"
I still had some scenes to tape and I'm a professional. Even though they were with Amanda, Sammy directing--two people who told me they thought I'd killed Marcy--I went ahead and did them. The show must go on, right?
When we were done I went directly to my dressing room, changed my clothes and left the building. It wasn't until I had dodged all the paparazzi--
apparently they had discovered my not-so-secret exit--and got behind the wheel of my car that I had time to think.
If the police thought I'd killed
I decided to try to talk to Sammy about Marcy's death. I doubted he'd kill her over one lost show a week, but I've watched enough crime TV and read enough books--fiction and nonfiction--to know that people kill for the strangest--and smallest--reasons. Toward the end of the day I managed to spot him going into the commissary.
Here's where the really scary part of the day happens for me. You have to be brave--very brave--to face the commissary chef, Jose. Do you remember the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld ? Jose is a short-order cook with a psycho-killer look that scares the crap out of me. He's better known as Jose the Horrible. I'm a strong woman. I can hold my own with narcissistic leading men, ego-driven writers and sociopath ex-husbands. But our food fascist strikes terror deep into my heart. I have been known to accept, with a smile, something I never ordered, just because I was afraid to face the wrath of Jose the Terrible. Obviously, it was entirely my fault that I hadn't spoken clearly enough. This time, to be on the safe side, I just got a cup of coffee. Coffee was self-serve and not confrontational. I couldn't handle any more confrontation. Not just yet. Sammy had taken a table alone; the burger plate sat in front of him.
"Can I join you?" I asked, standing by the small table with my coffee.
Now, I knew Sammy pretty well and knew that he always sat at a smaller table because he did not want people to join him. Apparently, on this day, he didn't quite know how to say no. And besides, I was only holding coffee. How long could it take me to finish it?
"Sure, why not?" he said.
"Terrible thing about Marcy, isn't it?"
"Yeah, really terrible," Sammy said. "It's because of that bitch my workload was cut. So now they need ol'
Timber to help them catch up. I'd like to tell 'em to go fuck themselves, but . . ."
But he needed the job.
"I meant, about her getting killed."
"I know what you meant, Alex," Sammy said. He leaned over to take a bite of his burger and his belly bumped the table, making it rock. I grabbed my coffee before it could spill.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Aren't you upset?" I asked.
"Let's not pretend either one of us is upset she's dead, Alex. She was a true bitch, in the best and worst sense of that word. You know that better than anyone else. She had it out for you from day one. That, coupled with everything else you've gone through in the last two years. Nobody'd blame you if you--" He stopped short.
"If I what?"
Sammy chewed, swallowed and said, "If you killed her."
"Jesus, Sammy," I said. "I didn't kill her. I mean . . . I didn't."
"I didn't say you did," he replied. "I just said nobody would blame you--"
"Somebody else killed her, Sammy."
"You mean somebody else from our show?" he asked. "Come on, Alexis."
"You said yourself she was a bitch. You even said you're not sorry she's dead. If the police hear you say that--"
"The police have already talked to me."
"Why? I didn't see you that day--"
"I was in the building. They're questioning everyone who was around that day, not just on the set," he explained. "But even they think you did it, Alex. If I were you, I'd get a lawyer."
"B-but I didn't do it." I got up quickly to leave, making the table rock. "I forgot to get a drink," he said. "Are you gonna finish your coffee?"
I still had some scenes to tape and I'm a professional. Even though they were with Amanda, Sammy directing--two people who told me they thought I'd killed Marcy--I went ahead and did them. The show must go on, right?
When we were done I went directly to my dressing room, changed my clothes and left the building. It wasn't until I had dodged all the paparazzi--
apparently they had discovered my not-so-secret exit--and got behind the wheel of my car that I had time to think.
If the police thought I'd killed
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