Show Business Is Murder by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page A

to the wrong people. I’m warning you. They’ll come back and bite you in the ass.”
    â€œYou’re on her side, too,” Evelyn said. She knew she sounded whiny.
    â€œI am not,” Margaret said. Even when she was angry, Margaret was striking. She had black hair, dark blue eyes, and pale skin. Evelyn often wondered why Margaret wasn’t on camera. But Margaret preferred to be a special projects producer. Everything she touched turned to Emmy gold. The lustrous statues lined the shelves above her desk.
    â€œI’m on your side, Evelyn. But you’re making yourself look bad. It’s contract renewal time, and I have to tell you: Milt is talking about making Tiffany the six o’clock anchor. I think I can head him off, but I don’t know for how long if you keep undermining yourself. Milt wants team players.”
    â€œIt isn’t a team. It’s a support system for Tiffany,” said Evelyn, bitterly.
    â€œSee, that’s what I mean,” Margaret said. “How many times have I told you? Success in television is by the numbers. Right now, Tiffany has them. Viewers will tire of herprofessional cuteness. They always do. Then Milt will decide she’s overpaid and dump her. She’ll be gone soon. Sit tight and keep your mouth shut.”
    But the next morning, while Tiffany was doing a live remote in front of City Hall, a yellow blur of fur raced by her and ran into Market Street. The whole city saw Tiffany run after the dog and rescue it, just before it slipped under the wheels of a truck. In case anyone missed the dramatic rescue, it was shown on the six and ten o’clock news.
    The following morning, Tiffany was on the set with the little yellow mutt. Saved and savior looked remarkably alike. Both were small and perky, with yellow hair and floppy bangs. Both oozed cuteness. The mutt licked Tiffany, and Tiffany smooched the dog. Evelyn couldn’t decide which one she wanted to kick first.
    Evelyn nearly choked on her breakfast eggs when Tiffany announced a contest to name the dog. She lost her appetite totally three days later when Tiffany said she’d received two thousand e-mails and faxes. Evidently, viewers also thought Tiffany looked like her dog. The winning name was Tiffany Too.
    A week later, Milt sent out a memo that Tiffany and Tiffany Too would be featured at the Fair Saint Louis on the Fourth of July. Tiffany would be the dayside anchor, then do color commentary on the fireworks that night.
    Every year, some two million people sweltered on the St. Louis Riverfront, under the Gateway Arch. The temperature and the humidity were in the nineties—if the city was lucky. Sometimes, it was a hundred degrees or more.
    The staff complained about covering the three-day fair in the broiling St. Louis sun, but they knew it was a career showcase. For four years running, Evelyn had been the dayside anchor and nightside commentator. This year, Milt’s memo demoted her to a lowly reporter. She’d be trudgingthrough the almost liquid heat to interview boring people who said things like, “We’re having a wonderful time. There’s nothing like this in Festus.”
    Milt gave that sneaky, simpering blonde Evelyn’s assignment at the fair. Soon she’d have Evelyn’s anchor slot, too.
    Evelyn told her mentor Margaret that she felt sick and wanted to go home. She wasn’t lying. Her stomach heaved when she read Milt’s memo. She barely made it to the restroom before she threw up.
    Evelyn had to save her career before that fair-haired fathead took everything from her. She felt hot angry tears. This was dangerous. She couldn’t be seen crying in the newsroom.
    She ran to her BMW and started driving anywhere, nowhere. She didn’t want to think. But Evelyn’s driving was not aimless after all. She found herself on Christopher Drive, the road to Granny’s house in the country. Granny was common sense itself.