register the significance of that detail. Clarence continued: “I’d finished lunch and was throwing my trash away in the lunchroom when I realized that I left my soda on the floor next to my favorite seat. I was back in the theater picking it up when I heard Jorge’s voice. I dropped to the floor just in time. I could see them from between the seats.”
Colt didn’t seem convinced. “Why should we believe you?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
The two men stared each other down and I was getting tired of the distrust in the room. “Colt, what’s your problem? It doesn’t sound plausible to you?”
He blew out a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. “Actually, it fits in with what Frankie told me last night. Guy Mertz too.”
“So you did talk with Guy?” I asked. We had been so preoccupied with the father-and-son reunion that I’d never had a moment to talk to Colt about what he’d learned. “I tried calling you this morning,” I told him.
“I know.”
I didn’t like that answer. Something smelled. Something smelled real bad. “You didn’t answer my phone calls on purpose.” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “You were cutting me out of the loop!”
“I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“You dope! You made me worry for nothing.”
“You couldn’t have been worrying too hard, because you still managed to show up here to snoop around.”
Clarence shook his head. “Beware. Anger, fear, aggression—the dark side they are.”
Well. Clarence could be profound, despite the flaky exterior. “Thank you,” I said to him. “You’re right.”
“Right about what?” Colt looked confounded. “What the hell did he just say?”
“He was quoting Obi Wan Kenobi,” I answered. “He’s saying we should stop fighting and focus on Frankie.”
“It’s Yoda—I was just reading the poster.” He pointed above Colt’s head where a framed light-saber wielding Yoda stood above the deeply meaningful quote.
Or, maybe the kid was just plain peculiar.
“Okay,” I said, “but let’s take a cue from Mr. Yoda there, and move forward without bickering. We’re all here now, right? And Jorge’s going to start wondering what’s taking us so long.”
So, in hushed tones, Colt relayed his conversation with Frankie, who was more than happy to have someone listen to his side of the story. Frankie said he hadn’t added anything to the yams he heated for Randolph Rutter. He simply ladled the last of the remaining yams from the large pot on the stove and dumped them into a smaller sauce pan to heat. He did remember seeing a bottle of vanilla extract on the counter—remembered it well, because he had no idea what it was doing there. None of his recipes had called for vanilla.
Frankie was convinced, himself, that he was being framed by Vivianna Buttaro, his ex-boss who was doing time because of the information Frankie gave up in return for amnesty. He figured Vivianna had arranged it from the inside.
Anyway, Colt considered the possibility that he was right about a Vivianna-ordered frame-up until hearing Clarence’s experience. Mostly because Frankie said a few other things: first, the bottle of vanilla disappeared sometime after Kurt’s death, because it wasn’t there when he supervised the clean up later that night. Second, he told Colt that Jorge had asked Frankie to hire one of the waiters as a favor. Jorge claimed the waiter was his cousin, but during the dinner the “cousin” referred to Jorge as “Mr. Boreggo.” Frankie thought it more than odd. Finally, Jorge also told Frankie to make sure candied yams were on the menu—a woman named Susan Golightly from the film’s production company was adamant, as they were a favorite dish of the director, Andy Baugh.
“Very interesting,” was the best I could muster while processing Colt’s summary. Even though motives were fuzzy at best, certainly leads were pointing to Jorge, Randolph, Andy Baugh, Susan Golightly, or possibly all four.
“It gets better,” Colt said. “Guy Mertz wanted to talk to you last night to relay some gossip floating around the Hollywood news water cooler. Apparently, Susan Golightly and Randolph Rutter were an item until recently.”
“They broke up?”
“She left him. For Kurt Baugh.”
Chapter Sixteen
Clarence asked what a bottle of vanilla extract looked like. I told him small and brown, usually. He perked up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Before he left, Randolph gave Jorge something. I couldn’t see very well, but Jorge dropped it, so I got a glimpse before he picked it up. It was just like that—small and brown. I thought it was cough syrup or something. What’s