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“Right here, sleeping in my bed,” said the director. “Mentally preparing myself for another day of making the best reality show on the planet.”

“Isn’t it true that the best reality show on the planet was losing steam?” Odelia asked.

The director brushed a stray lock of hair from his brow.“Pardon?”

“We were told you were so anxious to boost the dropping ratings of your show that you figured a nice, juicy murder might just do the trick.”

He waved an airy hand.“I may have made such a comment, but it was only in jest. I merely wanted to convey the message that it would take a miracle to get our numbers back up to an acceptable level.”

“So you admit that your show is in peril?” Odelia asked.

He smiled that bright smile of his. She wondered if it was veneers or implants. Either way, his choppers looked amazing.“Of course I do. And I hate it. This show is a passion project. It has put my name on the map.”

“So you would do anything to salvage your show—even commit murder,” Odelia stated, taking a leaf from Chase’s book.

Alejandro draped his arms over the back of the couch and leaned back.“You do have a way with words, Detective.”

“Oh, but I’m not a detective,” she said. “I’m a consultant. And a reporter.”

“I knew it. Your facility with the language is remarkable. Yes, I would do anything to extend the life of this show. But I would never kill a person to do so. Besides, without Shana Kenspeckle this show is doomed. She was my star, the biggest and brightest celebrity to step onto the stage. With her gone, the show won’t last another season.”

“What about the rest of the Kenspeckles?” asked Chase.

“Shana was the reason people watched this show. There isn’t enough star power in the rest of the Kenspeckles to carry the weight of such a show. Oh, I’m sure it will go on for a while. People will be curious to see the episodes we’re shooting right now. But soon they’ll get bored with theshenanigans of Shayonne and Shalonda and the others and that will be the end of it.”

So much for the murder giving the show a new lease on life. “Can you think of anyone who’d want the show to get canceled?” Odelia asked.

The director quickly checked around, then lowered his voice.“Eamonn was very vocal about wanting to leave the show. Unfortunately the poor boy signed an ironclad contract that basically ties him to this show in perpetuity.”

Chase checked his notebook.“Eamonn Dot is one of the writers?”

“He is. And he hates this show with a vengeance. Unfortunately he signed the contract back when he was an absolute nobody, and the network likes his work so much they’re keeping him around, even though he’s expressed a wish to be removed from the production. He’s already had to say no to several other projects he’d expressed an interest in, because he’s tied to this show.”

“What about you? Aren’t you anxious to do something else?” Chase asked.

“Oh, but I can,” said the director. “I never signed such a silly contract. I can walk away whenever I want.” He placed his hand on his heart. “But I so love my Kenspeckles. They’re a part of me now, and I don’t want to let go.”

Probably the fact that he got paid a nice packet didn’t hurt either. They thanked the director, who seemed disappointed they didn’t want to extend the interview, and went looking for Eamonn Dot, the troubled screenwriter.

They found him out on the terrace behind the guest house, where he was typing up a storm on his MacBook. He looked a little rattled when they approached him, but then writers usually are a high-strung bunch.

“Eamonn Dot? Police,” Chase said, producing his badge. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the Shana Kenspeckle murder.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, quickly closing his MacBook.

They drew up a couple of iron chairs, the claw feet scraping against the hardwood, and launched into the interview. Odelia was starting to get the hang of this thing. Being a cop was all about asking the right questions, and trying to get the suspect to reveal stuff they didn’t necessarily want to reveal.

“Is it true you were dying to get out of this gig?” asked Chase.

The writer, a bespectacled skinny type with thinning hair and a lot of pimples, blinked nervously.“I—who told you that? I mean, not that it’s true.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I, well…” He looked around anxiously. “Are you going to tell the network about this? Cause I may not be completely satisfied with this gig, but that doesn’t mean I want to antagonize the network. Never antagonize the network, Detective. They’re the ones with the power to blackball you.”

“We’re not going to tell the network,” Odelia assured him.