Trouble in Paradise - [10]

“What…?” The woman appeared more puzzled than scared. Then she looked past Bailey as though expecting to see someone else.

I stepped forward and flashed my badge. “Your name, ma’am?”

She jerked her head toward the front window. “It’s right there on the sign.”

“Right there on what sign?”

“Excuse me,” she said as she leaned out the door to look at the window. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I took it down so I could get some rest. My name’s Babu Maduro, I’m a-”

“Fortune-teller,” I said.

“Right.”

For the record, Babu the fortune-teller had a surprisingly American accent.

She reluctantly stood aside, and we entered. Erica let out a yelp and grabbed my arm. There, on a table to my left, was a red-and-pink scarf. The next thing I knew, Erica was running past us toward sliding glass doors that opened onto the backyard.

The backyard. Where a little blonde girl in cutoffs and a blue T-shirt was playing with two kids who bore a strong resemblance to our host, Babu Maduro.

I pointed. “Tammy Susie, I presume?”

Babu gave me a “no duh” look.

“How did she wind up here, Ms. Maduro?” Toni asked, her voice stern.

Babu was indignant. “Someone brought her here, of course. How else?” With an irritated expression, she said, “Excuse me, will you? I’ve got to make a call.”

She wasn’t acting like a kidnapper. And, based on the happy abandon with which Tammy Susie was currently jumping rope, the child was not acting like someone who’d been kidnapped. I let Babu make her call and went out to see Erica, who was squeezing the little girl so tightly I thought her head might pop off. But Tammy Susie endured the embrace stoically, the way kids do.

“Hey, Erica,” I said. “Do you happen to recognize that woman in there?”

Erica finally pried herself off Tammy Susie. “No. Why would I?”

Because I had a hunch. “What about the name Babu Maduro?”

Erica mouthed the name to herself a few times. “It does sound familiar.”

“Might that be the name of the fortune-teller who was going to be in the next episode?”

Erica’s features opened with the realization. “Oh, yeah! It might be.” Her brow furrowed, and she looked up at me. “How did Tammy Susie get here?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Erica did. “Mikey’s friend Sasha brought me here,” Tammy Susie said. “She told me we were playing hide-and-go-seek with you. You found me.” She didn’t look terribly pleased about it.

“Who’s Mikey?” I asked Erica.

“Mike Borden. One of the producers,” she explained.

Uh-huh. “One of the producers who’s been texting you about Tammy Susie all day?”

“Yeah. Him and Sasha. Sasha’s his new assistant.” Erica stood up, still holding Tammy Susie by the hand.

I gestured for Bailey to come over and take charge of Tammy Susie and pulled Erica aside.

“Is there bad blood between you? Any chance he might see you as a threat, want to get you fired?”

“No way. I’m just a PA. In fact, there’re rumors Mike’s going to get promoted to co-executive producer next season. And Sasha’s sleeping with him, so she’s good.” She paused, looking perplexed. “And I’ve never had any problems with either of them. So…”

I left Erica with Tammy Susie and went to bring Bailey and Toni up to speed. I’d just finished when Babu came in.

“Do you mind my asking who you just called?” I said.

“Yes, I mind,” Babu said. “What is this, Nazi Germany?” She jerked her head toward Erica. “That Erica Garber?”

I wondered what was with the sudden attitude. “Yes-”

“They want her to bring Tammy Susie back to the hotel, pronto.”

“Who told you that?”

“Someone who works on the show. Obviously.” Babu folded her arms across her impressive bosom. “And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

There was no point in trying to pry any more answers out of Babu, so we called a cab and headed out. On the ride back to the hotel, new suspicions began to run through my mind. Erica and Tammy were in the front seat with the window rolled down. I leaned forward and spoke into Erica’s ear so Tammy Susie couldn’t hear. “How come Tammy Susie’s parents never called to ask about her?”

She shrugged and whispered, “Probably busy taping their own segments.”

I told Bailey what Erica had said, and Bailey shrugged. “I guess they wouldn’t have any reason to worry if that producer guy, Mike, didn’t say anything to them.”

“But why didn’t Mike say anything to them? Know what I mean?”

Bailey looked at me. “Shit.”

I leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Could you let us out here, please?”

He nodded and pulled over. Erica turned back to us. “What are you doing?”

“Yeah, what are we doing?” Toni said.

“Just checking something out,” Bailey said. “Erica, we’ll see you back at the hotel.”

One hour later, with Erica in tow, we marched into the suite of Randall Kraft, executive producer-top dog of Tammy Susie and Company. Toni, Bailey, and I made it a point to start by simultaneously flashing our badges. Kraft’s stricken look was gratifying.

“This morning, about five minutes into our vacation, your PA, Erica Garber, came to us, panicked by the disappearance of Tammy Susie,” I said.

“What?” Kraft said. “Tammy Susie was missing?” He turned to look around at the other producers. “Did any of you know about this?”