I peered closely at him. “Is this about the snake?”
He shook his head. “No, every trace of it is gone. Derek and George, that new guard, searched my dressing room to make sure there weren’t any more surprises. And then Garth went in and cleaned and disinfected the place from top to bottom. It’s just psychological, I guess.”
“Psychological stress is as real as any other kind.”
“Thank you, Doctor Freud.”
I chuckled as I poured a dollop of cream into my coffee. “You’ve still got your crappy sense of humor, so I guess you’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be fine.” We took our drinks and walked backstage toward the dressing room hallway. “I’m going to have Chuck add a little bronzer to my makeup so I look healthier.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want to have to shut down the show just because you were too ugly to go on.”
“They could always call Gerald,” he muttered. He leaned against the wall of the hall and closed his eyes.
Now I was really worried. He looked exhausted, first of all. And second, Randy always laughed when I teased him about his looks. And I had to tease him regularly. The man was gorgeous, much prettier than any woman on the set.
“Who’s Gerald?” I asked.
“Gerald Kingsley, the former host of the show?” He glanced at me. “Don’t you remember him?”
“Oh yeah, the old guy.”
“He wasn’t that old, but he was with the show from the very beginning. Then last year he had an appendicitis attack while on the road and landed in the hospital. His recovery was going to interfere with the schedule, so they called me in to do a few shows. I guess they liked me because they decided to keep me, and Gerald retired.”
“Do you really think they’d call him?”
He shrugged listlessly. “I think he’s still active. I heard he was working at a local station back in Minneapolis or Cleveland.” He frowned. “Indianapolis? Somewhere in the Midwest.”
“I vaguely remember him. Tall, good-looking older man with glasses?”
“Right.” He shot me a sideways look. “Except for the tall, good-looking part.”
“He wasn’t nearly as good-looking as you.”
“That’s better.” He managed a weak grin. “And he’s not quite as tall as me, either. But I have to admit, Gerald knew this show backward and forward. And he was much more knowledgeable about antiques than I’ll ever be. He got along great with all the owners, whereas I’m just a pretty face with a charming personality. I don’t know squat about the junk these people bring to the show, but I look good on camera.”
“And you’re humble, too.”
He bowed graciously. “That, too.”
? ? ?
Later, alone with Derek in my dressing room, I repeated Randy’s story about the former host of the show being replaced by a newer, younger version. “Apparently he’s still working somewhere in the Midwest so he can’t be our stalker, but I wonder if he really did retire gracefully.”
“Use the Google,” Derek said.
I smirked at him. “I’ll get right on it.”
Neither of us said aloud what we were both thinking: that Gerald had been pushed aside and replaced by Randolph, a newer, shinier model. If Gerald could eliminate his rival, he might get his old job back. What better motives could a stalker have than jealousy, rivalry, and revenge?
I Googled the former host, and a minute later I recited to Derek everything I’d learned about the original host of the show. “Gerald Kingsley not only hosted This Old Attic for eight years; he was also the show’s creator.”
Derek leaned back on the couch. “It would be hard to accept that you were no longer wanted by the very thing you had created.”
“Yes, it would be,” I murmured. After skimming another few paragraphs of Gerald’s bio, I paraphrased for Derek. “It says he studied acting in college but then inherited his parents’ small chain of high-end antiques stores around Ohio. That’s where he first came up with the idea of having regular people bring their family treasures in to be appraised on television. Because of his acting background, he gave himself the job of host and interviewer, and at first he even did the appraisals himself. The original season was aired on a local PBS station. The studio they used was on the campus of Kenyon College.” I looked at Derek. “That’s in Ohio.”
“Where’s he working now?” Derek wondered.
“I’ll check.” I ran a few more searches and even looked at Wikipedia, which was notoriously unreliable.
“The most recent mention of Gerald Kingsley is in an ad on the Mount Vernon news Web site.” I glanced up at Derek. “Again in Ohio.”
“So he’s back in his own neighborhood,” Derek surmised.