distinct note of resentment in her voice.
"And Dog?" I asked. "What were his feelings about joining your show?"
"His feelings?" That frown threatened to peek through her perky façade again. "Well, how should I know anything about that man's feelings?"
"You saw Dog the day he died, right?" I asked, changing gears. "You visited him on the Jeopardy! set?"
"Y-yes," she said, blinking at me in surprise. "I'm sorry, were you there?" She looked from me to Dana, and I could see her suddenly wondering who we were and how we'd gotten onto the studio lot.
"My stepfather was competing on the show that day as well. Fernando."
"Oh." She raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't realize he was…married." The to a woman hung in the air unspoken.
I ignored that. "You did go visit Dog yesterday, though, correct? In his dressing room before the show started?"
Mae licked her lips. "Yes. I…I wanted to wish him luck."
That was the same story Angela had told.
"You two were close, then," Dana noted.
"Not close. Just…cordial," Mae finally settled on. "My mama raised a Southern girl with manners." She sent us another camera-worthy smile. One that was meant to conjure up images of apple pie, Americana, and all things wholesome.
I suddenly wondered how much of the Aunty persona was real and how much was put on for the viewing public…or in this case, us. I could definitely feel an undercurrent of emotions toward Dog that she was trying to suppress, but whether it was mild distaste or downright hatred it was hard to say.
"Dog had an energy drink with him on the game show set," I said, watching her reaction. "You didn't happen to notice it when you visited him in his dressing room, did you?"
She sent me a knowing smile. "You mean those Invigorate drinks he used to guzzle?" She shook her head. "He had to down at least two every morning before we started filming just to keep his eyes open."
"So he drank them regularly?" I asked.
She nodded. "Every day."
"Did you notice one in his dressing room?" Dana pressed.
"Not particularly, but it wouldn't surprise me if he had one. The taping was early." Mae looked from Dana to me again. "Why?"
"No reason," I said, changing gears. "Do you know what your husband and Dog might have been arguing about?"
"Arguing?" Again an unspoken emotion flitted behind Mae's eyes, though it was so brief I'd be hard pressed to identify it.
"At the Jeopardy! taping. Your husband seemed to be upset at Dog over something."
Mae blinked at me. "I'm sorry, you'd have to ask him about that."
"He didn't mention it to you?" Dana pressed. "Mention how he felt about Dog?"
Mae turned to face her. "No, but Dog was good for ratings. My husband likes anything that raises his viewing numbers."
The note of resentment creeping into her voice again gave me the feeling we were getting a very abbreviated version of the relationship—both between Mae and her husband and Mae and Dog. Clearly she hadn't been Dog's biggest fan. Let alone been excited to have him co-hosting her cooking show. If Blick had insisted on it, I could well see that as a point of tension. I wondered exactly how much Dog had raised those ratings and if it had been worth it to Blick to live with an unhappy wife.
Then again, maybe it hadn't and Blick had gotten rid of the problem.
"Well, look at the time," Mae said, her made-for-TV smile popping back into place as she glanced at her rose gold wristwatch. "I'm late for a meeting."
Without waiting for a response, she quickly power walked in the direction of the Bob Hope building, slipping inside the doors we'd just exited.
"Well that was interesting," Dana said as we watched her go. "I don't believe she and Dog were chummy for a second."
I nodded. "Agreed. She was holding something back."
"Like open hatred?" Dana joked.
"Or at the very least resentment at having to take on a co-host as a gimmick." I thought about that a beat. "Which still makes it seem weird she'd visit him backstage just to tell him good luck."
Dana arched an eyebrow. "You think maybe it was to add a little antifreeze to his energy drink?"
I shrugged. This was Hollywood. Anything was possible.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Since Dana had been up since five and I never said no to caffeine, we hopped into my minivan and made a quick afternoon Starbucks run. Dana ordered a cold brewed, non-fat, extra skinny soy, and I went with a blueberry muffin and a white chocolate