Madison Avenue Shoot by Jessica Fletcher Page A

displaying terrible manners. Not only are those conversations usually loud enough to disturb people at nearby tables; they also send a message to whoever is unfortunate enough to be sitting with the phone wielder that the person on the other end of the call takes precedence over present company.
    I paused in front of a bus stop and answered my phone.
    “Grady! I was just thinking about you.”
    “I can’t talk long, Aunt Jess. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. It’s been a crazy time.”
    “May I call you later? I can barely hear you with the noise of the traffic.”
    “No, that’s okay. Just wanted to let you know I’m afraid we have a scandal brewing. I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
    “What are you learning?”
    “Huh? I’m not turning anywhere.”
    “Learning. I said, what are you learning?”
    “Can’t hear you. Was that a bus?”
    “Yes. I’m on the street. Oh dear, here comes a fire engine.” The loud siren had me covering my ears. “Grady, you still there?”
    “Sorry, Aunt Jess. Gotta go. When I see you tomorrow, I’ll explain everything.”
    Back at the Waldorf, refreshed and unfortunately wide-awake, I set my alarm clock for five thirty, dialed the operator for a wake-up call, and arranged for breakfast from the twenty-four-hour room service. That’s like having a belt, suspenders, and a balloon to hold up your pants, I thought. But there would be no chance I’d sleep late and miss the car. I pulled out my large shoulder bag, tucked the Eye Screen folder inside, checking it first to make sure my script was the first paper on top, placed it on the desk next to the unopened champagne, and climbed into bed.
    As relieved as I was to have heard from Grady, I still wondered what was making his life so crazy, and what scandal could possibly be brewing. I hoped it wasn’t as bad as he suggested. If it was, would he still be taking the time off to bring Frank to the set?
    I was eager to see Frank again. It’s going to be such fun for him, I thought. He’ll get to watch his great-aunt act in a commercial, and I’ll get to enjoy seeing the production from the perspective of a nine-year-old boy. We’ll have a wonderful time, I told myself. Won’t we?
    But as I drifted off to sleep, a thousand thoughts swirled through my mind, and a line from Shakespeare came to me. It was from A Midsummer Night’s Dream , and in my dream, I heard Puck say to the fairy king: “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

Chapter Eight
    “A h’m so glad they put us in the same limousine.” Stella Bedford drew out the word “glad” until it had two syllables instead of one. “You know the others insisted on cars just for themselves. Now, that’s just wasting fuel, if you ask me. In these days of global warming, you shouldn’t do that. We could certainly have fit more in here. Lookit all this room.”
    “Count your blessings, Cookie,” Jimbo Barnes said from the passenger seat next to the driver.
    We were on the West Side Highway heading north out of the city. The Hudson River was a gray white strip to our left, a mist hovering over the surface. Across the water on the New Jersey side, the windows of apartment buildings lining the Palisades reflected the early-morning sun as it edged out from behind the clouds. On the southbound side of the highway, cars were already stacking up as the rush into New York City from its suburbs had begun.
    Stella pulled up the sleeve of her white sweater, held out her right arm, and rocked her hand from side to side, admiring the gold-and-diamond ring on her third finger, and the matching bracelet. “Got these at Tiffany’s with Antonio’s card. Ain’t they nice?” she said. “ ’Course, I had to add a bit to get them both, but I think it was worth it. Don’t you?”
    “They’re very pretty,” I said.
    “I think so, too,” she said, tugging down her sleeve. “ ’Course, I won’t wear them when I put on the overalls for my commercial. I’d be