turned back and directed another shot of cleanser at the wall. Visions of forensic evidence vanishing danced before Bernie’s eyes.
“Libby, take the bottle away,” Bernie told her sister, who as luck would have it was standing right next to Pearl.
Libby looked at Bernie uncertainly.
“Me?”
“No. The king of Siam.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
Bernie took a deep breath. “Please,” she got out through gritted teeth. “Just take the cleanser away from Pearl now.”
“I don’t know,” Libby said as Pearl clutched the bottle to her chest. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Because you’re closer.”
“By five steps.”
“Why do things always have to be so complicated with you?” Bernie snapped.
Libby bit her lip. “We shouldn’t be arguing.”
“No. You’re right. We shouldn’t be.” Bernie thought for a moment. She nodded in Pearl’s direction. “Why don’t you take Pearl into the green room and make her a nice cup of tea?”
Libby brightened.
“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Brittany said.
“I think we could all use something,” Consuela observed. “Maybe a shot of scotch?”
“Cognac,” Jean La Croix said. “What we need is some cognac.”
“How about some cookies?” Libby suggested. “I always find cookies help in times such as these.”
Reginald rolled his eyes.
“Really, my dear,” he said to Libby. “You’ve been reading too many British murder mysteries. Next you’re going to suggest crumpets.”
Bernie watched a flush grow on Libby’s cheeks.
“Hey,” Bernie told Reginald. “That was entirely unnecessary. Libby was just trying to be helpful.”
Reginald put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“So sorry. I didn’t realize your sister was such a delicate flower.”
Bernie took a step toward him. “Don’t be nasty.”
Reginald appealed to everyone. “What did I say?” he asked.
Bernie caught herself before she answered. Just calm down, she told herself. Calm down and focus on the big picture. The important thing was that they were contaminating the crime scene by being here—if it was a crime scene. After all, Estes could be right, Bernie thought. There was a chance. Albeit a slim one.
Maybe the list was in the bedroom. Maybe the stove exploding was an accident. After all, accidents did happen, stoves did explode because of the way they were installed. Unfortunately, Bernie’s gut told her different.
“Who put you in charge anyway?” Estes demanded of Bernie as Libby started leading Pearl out of the room. “I’m the producer. I’m the person around here who’s supposed to be giving the orders. Everyone listens to me.”
“We’re not taping the show yet,” Bernie retorted.
“Good point, Joe,” Reginald said. He pointed a shaking finger at Bernie. “You’re like some Jonah.”
“Jonah?” Brittany said.
“If you were in any way literate,” Reginald snapped at her, “you would know that I was referring to someone who brings bad luck.” He pointed at Bernie. “Wherever you go, bad things happen.”
“That’s not true,” Bernie said, even though she was beginning to believe it might be. After all, she and her sister had been involved in investigating two murders already. “Anyway, no matter what you think of me, you still have to call the police and report this.”
“We will. After the show,” Estes said.
“Are you nuts?” Bernie demanded.
“We have to go on the air soon.”
“Unfortunately, there seems to be a problem.” Bernie pointed to Hortense. No one looked down. “What are you going to do for your hostess? Prop her up, attach some strings to her arms and mouth, and have someone move them?”
“That’s disgusting,” Consuela cried as Brittany Saperstein’s cell went off again. “Show some respect for the dead.”
“I’m trying to,” Bernie said as Brittany answered her call.
“You won’t believe what happened,” Brittany said into her cell.
“I’ve had it with that,” Estes roared as he made a grab for Brittany’s phone.
Brittany feinted, took a step back, and almost tripped over Hortense. “I have to go,” she told the person on the other end of the line. “I have a situation here I have to deal with.”
“A situation?” Estes growled. “Is that what you’d call this?”
Brittany put her hands on her hips.
“Well, what would you call it?” she demanded.
“A catastrophe,” Estes replied.
“Same thing,” Brittany said.
“No, it’s not,” Estes replied. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“I have to agree with Estes on this,” Bernie said.
“Who cares?” Brittany retorted.
Bernie pointed to herself. “I do.”
Consuela gave the gold chain around her neck a tug. “What I want to know,” she said, “is what are we going to do about it?”
“Yes,” Jean La Croix repeated. “What are we going to do?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” Estes said.
“So,” La Croix said, “we are waiting.”
“We have a problem, and we’re going to solve it. As I’ve been trying to say for the last five minutes, Eric will take her place.”
Eric’s thumb stopped in midpress of one of the numbers on his cell phone keypad. His head popped up. “I will?” he croaked.
“You’ve always told me you wanted to, haven’t you?” Estes asked.
Eric lowered the phone to his side. “Well"—Eric began when Estes cut him off.
“In
