Murder in the Air by Ellen Hart Page A

smoke.”
    Since the building was smoke-free, most people chewed gum as a way of assuaging their oral needs, a habit Valentine had obviously adopted.
    “I got better stuff to do with my time,” he muttered.
    It seemed inconceivable to Bram that such a weaselly-looking old guy could project the voice of the young and handsome, sexy and tough PI. Yet Valentine did it with ease. “Grab a doughnut and relax,” said Bram. He helped himself to some coffee.
    Valentine snapped his gum. “Our fearless leader's probably checking her makeup in the ladies' room. Vanity, thy name is woman. Jeez, I wish she'd get a move on.”
    “You could be trampled to death for a comment like that. Want some coffee?”
    “Nah.” Again, he checked his watch.
    By now, everyone had become well aware of what Valentine Zolotow's “better stuff was. Put simply, he gambled. So far he'd been late for two rehearsals because he “couldn't tear himself away from a previous engagement.” Everyone knew that the engagement was a casino. Last Thursday, in front of everyone, Dorothy had informed him that if he was late one more time, contract or no contract, he'd find himself out of a job. Whether he'd lost most of his ready cash at the tables or Dorothy had really put the fear of God into him, he hadn't been late since.
    “When do we start work on the next episode?” asked Bram, waving the smell of Juicy Fruit away from his face.
    “Whenever we get the next damn script,” replied Valentine.
    Bram blew on his coffee. This guy was a real character. Yet in spite of his flaws, Bram admired him. Valentine Zolotow had seen and done just about everything in radio.
    “You know,” continued Valentine with a sour look on his face, “I was hoping to talk to this Wish Greveen, but so far, I haven't caught up with him. Dorothy said he'd checked into the hotel, but he hasn't answered my phone messages, and when I knocked on his door earlier this morning, there was no answer.” He turned and looked Bram square in the eye. “I don't suppose you'd know where I could find him?”
    Bram shrugged. “Sorry.”
    “Well, I'll just have to take my chances.”
    “With what?”
    Valentine smiled. “Not with what, pal. With
who”
    “Meaning?”
    “Skip it.” He unwrapped another stick of gum and jammed it into his mouth. After a few seconds he seemed to reconsider. Leaning close to Bram, he whispered, “That first script. Did it remind you of anything?”
    “You mean the Kay Collins murder?”
    Valentine seemed startled. “Hey, kid, you're smarter than you look.” He grinned, revealing a set of badly nicotine-stained teeth.
    “Gee, thanks.”
    “Nan, I mean it.” He flicked the gum wrapper into the trash. “We've all been beating around the bush this past week, but I'll bet everyone feels the same way I do.”
    “And how's that?”
    “That, you know, this rebirth of the radio mystery is just a vehicle to vindicate Justin Bloom.”
    Bingo. This was the first time Bram had heard anyone in the cast touch on his own suspicions. “And you think Wish Greveen is behind it?”
    “Of course not, asshole. Use your brain.” He lowered his voice even further. “Heda's orchestrated the whole damnthing, but nobody, including yours truly, is going to get a straight answer out of her. I thought maybe Wish and I could have a drink. You know, for old times' sake.”
    “You know him?”
    “Hell, yes.” Looking off into space, he added, “That is to say, Fm pretty sure we met back when I was in Hollywood. In any case, I know I could get the story out of him— man-to-man.”
    “Man-to-man?” repeated Bram, raising an amused eyebrow.
    Valentine gave a serious nod.
    “But, how come you care? I mean, so what if the stories are similar?”
    Valentine's smile grew sly. “You never know, kid. There may be someone out there who'd care. The way I figure it, if this story continues on the way I think it will, they might care a lot.”
    “You sound like you know who that