Laura Levine - Last Writes (Jaine Austen Mysteries)

DANGEROUSLY DELICIOUS

When Quinn went to the kitchen counter for the donuts, he came back empty-handed. Sorry, he said, abandoning the script. There arent any donuts?

Props! Audrey shouted, fuming. Where are the donuts?

We all looked around for Marco, the prop guy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Will somebody please go to the prop room and get the donuts? the director shouted from the control booth.

Ill go, Kandi said. Minutes later, she returned with the donuts.

Okay, the director called out. Lets take it from the top.

This time there was a pastry box on the counter. Quinn brought it back to the table.

Sure you wont have one?

He held out the box to Mr. Watkins, but Watkins waved it away.

Youll be sorry, Quinn said, plucking a sugar-coated donut from the box. But as it turned out, Quinn was the sorry one. He took one mouthful and grimaced.

I think theres something wrong with this do

But before he could utter his last nut, he doubled over in pain, his face a nasty shade of blue

Books by Laura Levine

THIS PEN FOR HIRE

LAST WRITES

KILLER BLONDE

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A Jaine Austen Mystery

Last Writes

Laura Levine

KENSINGTON BOOKS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

For D.W.P.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my agent, Evan Marshall, and my editor, John Scognamiglio, for their guidance and support. And thanks also to my cat Mr. Guy, without whose constant demands for food this book would have been finished a whole lot sooner.

Contents

Chapter One

I shouldve known there was trouble ahead when I saw the sign over the studio gate:

MIRACLE STUDIOS

If Its a Good Picture, Its a Miracle

Miracle Studios, for those of you lucky enough never to have been there, is a sorry collection of soundstages in the scuzziest section of Hollywood, a part of town where the hookers outnumber the parking meters two to one.

But when I drove onto the Miracle lot that hazy Monday morning, I was a happy camper. I, Jaine Austen, was about to become a bona fide Hollywood Sitcom Writer. After years of toiling at my computer as a freelance writer, churning out brochures and resumes and personals ads, I was about to strike it rich in show biz. No longer would I have to come up with fictional resumes for college grads with room-temperature IQs. Or slogans for my biggest client, Toiletmasters Plumbers ( In a Rush to Flush? Call Toiletmasters ).

I owed my good fortune to my best friend, Kandi Tobolowski. Six weeks earlier, shed called me with the news:

Guess what, she said. Ive kissed the cockroach good-bye!

The cockroach to whom she was referring was the star insect of a Saturday morning cartoon show, Beanie & The Cockroach , a heartwarming saga of a chef named Beanie and his pet cockroach, Fred. Kandi had been a staff writer on Beanie for more years than she cared to admit. Like most animation writers, shed long dreamed of landing a job in the far more prestigious world of live-action television.

And that day had finally arrived. Her agent had taken enough time off from lunch at Spago to line up a job for her on a comedy called Muffy n Me a Saturday morning syndicated show about a buxom teenage girl who gets hit on the head with a volleyball and develops magical powers.

As the Miracle bigwigs pitched it to the network, Its Bewitched with tits.

Okay, so it wasnt going to win any Emmys. But it was a big step up from the cockroach, and Kandi was thrilled. So was I, two weeks later, when she told me shed managed to get me a script assignment on the show.

At first, I was terrified. After all, I wasnt much of a comedy writer. But then Muffy n Me wasnt much of a comedy. So, after chaining myself to my computer, armed with only my wits and a copy of Henny Youngmans Giant Book of One-Liners , I managed to complete my comedic masterpiece, Cinderella Muffy. Its all about what happens when Muffy magically changes her ratty bathrobe into a glam prom dress, only to have the spell wear off in the middle of the prom, leaving her stranded on the dance floor, doing the Funky Chicken in her jammies.

I know, it sounds ghastly to someone of your refined tastes. But remember, were talking Hollywood here, the town that brought you My Mother the Car and The Gong Show . The head writers loved it! Okay, so maybe they didnt love it. But they liked it. Enough to invite me to be a guest writer on the show for a week. And heres the truly wonderful part. If they liked working with me, they were going to offer me a staff job! And if I did well on Muffy, it would be only a matter of time before I made the leap from syndication to prime time. Do you know how much prime-time sitcom writers make? Well, neither do I. But I hear its scads. Truckloads of really big bucks. Think Bill Gates. Think Donald Trump. Think plumbers on overtime.

Ever since Id handed in my script, Id had visions of Seinfeldian contracts dancing in my head. Id already mentally bought my beach house in Malibu, complete with his and hers Jaguars for me and my husband. Not that I had a husband, but I was sure Id pick one up along the way.

All of which explains why I was in a jolly mood that morning as I drove past the wino sunning himself at the studio gates and onto the Miracle lot. I pulled up in front of the guard booth, where an ancient man with rheumy eyes and the unlikely name of Skippy asked me where I was headed.

Muffy n Me! I grinned.

Was it my imagination or did I see a trace of pity in those rheumy old eyes?

Park over there, he said, waving to a tiny spot next to the commissary dumpster.

I parked my trusty Corolla in the shadow of the dumpster and stepped out onto the lot, trying to ignore the smell of rotting garbage. Swinging my brand-new attach case, I headed over to the office I was to share with Kandi, eager to start on this exciting new chapter of my life. Somehow it still didnt seem real. I had to keep reminding myself that I actually had a job at Miracle Studios.

Of course, I didnt know it at the time, but the real miracle was that Id live to tell about it.

Chapter Two

M y friend Kandi has been a comedy writer, a waitress, and a part-time salesclerk at Bloomingdales. But never as far as I know has she been a physician. Which is why, when I walked into her office that Monday morning, I was surprised to see her with a stethoscope dangling from her neck, the earpiece pressed up against the wall.

What are you doing?

Listening to Stan and Audrey.

Stan and Audrey Miller were the head writers on Muffy n Me . Id met with them when I first got my script assignment. Theyd ushered me into their office and told me how much theyd liked my story outline, how the Cinderella thing really worked for them, and how they just wanted to suggest one or two teeny-tiny changes. Three hours later, theyd totally ripped my story apart and put it back together again. But Id walked out with an assignment, and that was all I cared about.

Now here I was, in an office next to theirs, watching Kandi eavesdropping on them with a stethoscope.

Where did you get that thing? I asked.

The prop department. It works like a dream. Want to try?

No, thanks. I prefer to do my eavesdropping at X-rated motels.

Kandi ignored my sarcasm.

Its a great way to find out the latest dirt, she said. Whos getting hired, whos getting fired. Whos getting laid.

Well? Whats happening?

Same old, same old. Audreys accusing Stan of being an alcoholic, and hes accusing her of being a frigid bitch.

Apparently nobody was getting laid in that relationship.