A Talent for Murder by R.T. Jordan Page B

Placenta. Finally she looked at Officer Garrett.
    “They made me!” Garrett cried.
    “Yeah, they’re a really scary posse,” Betty snarled. “Complain to the bartender at the Abby. You’ll have plenty of time to hang out there with your new friend’cause I’m petitioning to place you on administrative leave!”
    Garrett looked at Tim and shrugged. Then, with his thumb and little finger against his ear, he made the international sign for “Call me.”

Chapter 7
    “P olicewoman Betty has better developed biceps than Stallone on steroids,” Polly said as they drove out of the Beverly Hills Police Station parking lot. “Remind me to hire her the next time we need the piano moved.”
    Tim drove the Rolls to Sunset Boulevard and turned left heading toward the Beverly Hills Hotel.
    Polly looked around. “I thought we were going to Lisa’s hovel.”
    “I called her landlady, she won’t let us in,” Placenta said.
    Polly rolled her eyes. “Contacting her was a mistake. The surprise of finding Polly Pepper on one’s crummy apartment doorstep is what does the trick. We’ll tackle her later.”
    “That leaves more time for lunch with Michael Mc-Grath,” Placenta reminded her.
    “Not another of Tim’s
Dancing With the Stars
studs,” Polly said. “How many of those talented men have you dated this year?”
    Tim sighed. “This is the kid who worked for Thane.
    Remember? The guy who was ripped apart that first day? You asked Placenta to set up lunch with him.”
    “Drat! I need a nap,” Polly complained.
    Tim ascended the long driveway leading up to the hotel valet, and accepted a receipt ticket in exchange for the Rolls. A liveried attendant assisted Polly and Placenta from the backseat and made a great show of being overly solicitous because of the ritzy car in which they arrived.
    As the trio entered the plush lobby of the world-famous hotel, Polly led the way to one of her favorite watering holes. Stepping into the room, she looked at the maitre d’ and cried out, “Karl!
Grube mein freund
!” Polly accepted Karl’s air kiss to each cheek and stood aside as he expressed the same gesture to Tim and Placenta. “The sultan has you working on such a lovely day! Ogre!” Polly said. “Tell him to go back to Brunei!”
    When Polly thought of the Polo Lounge, she thought of Karl (although she never knew his last name). A great and accommodating gentleman, he had been with the Beverly Hills Hotel as it had been bought and sold by one zillionaire after another. Now, after nearly fifty years working at what was affectionately known as “the Pink Palace,” Karl continued to welcome stars, and subtly reject unaccompanied single men and women when he sensed that they were there to prey on his wealthy clientele.
    “Your guest has been seated. Please follow me, Miss Pepper,” Karl said as he picked up three menus and wended his way past tables of diners who all looked up and wondered if the elegantly dressed woman passing by was anyone of note. Polly’s keen ears picked up several stray comments.
    “Isn’t that…? You know her name … she used to be …”
    “Don’t look now, but I think Shirley MacLaine just walked by!”
    “Who’s the redhead with the lousy dye job?”
    As Polly tried to ignore the peasants, Karl guided her to her favorite table. The freckle-faced young man whom she had last seen crying in the television studio stood up to greet her. Sotto voce, Polly asked, “What’s his name again?”
    “Michael,” Tim reminded her.
    “Sweetheart!” Polly called out, loud enough to cause the other diners to look in her direction. Then she offered her hand for him to shake while she palmed a twenty-dollar bill off to the
maitre d’. “Danka
, Karl,” she said as he pulled out a chair for her.
    Polly returned her attention to her guest. “You look so much more adult without red eyes and a runny nose!” she said to Michael as she patted his forearm. “That was such a horrid day for me,