“Close enough.”
“Where everyone would know him. And they would know that he was no longer hosting the show he’d originated.” Derek returned to the couch and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Could he put a positive spin on why he was no longer working on the show that made him famous? Tell everyone it was he who’d grown tired of them instead of the other way around? Could he hold his head up high? Or would he be awash in humiliation? Unable to cope with the shame?”
“You’re creeping me out.” I scanned the advertisement. “Okay, this is basically an announcement for a new local talk show. I guess that’s what Randy was talking about.” I clicked on the link and read what came up. “But according to the TV listing, they’ve got someone else hosting the show.”
Derek gazed at me. “So where, oh where has Gerald gone?”
“He seems to have disappeared,” I said. “At least, according to the Google.”
“Can you pull up a picture of him?”
I clicked over to Google Images and typed Gerald’s name, and several dozen photographs flashed across the screen. “Come see.”
Derek crossed the room and leaned over my shoulder. “Do you recognize him?”
I nodded. “I’ve been watching This Old Attic for a few years, so he looks familiar. But I’ve never seen him in person. Have you?”
“No.” Derek frowned and stared more carefully at the pictures on the screen. “Do we know how tall he is?”
“I would guess he’s at least five foot ten.” I repeated what Randy had said about Gerald being slightly shorter than him.
“And I’d estimate that Randy is six feet tall, so five foot ten sounds right.” Derek stood. “Let’s go talk to him.”
? ? ?
“They were doing three weeks of shows in Madison,” Randy explained, “and Gerald got an appendicitis attack halfway through. Tom had seen my reel and liked my work, so I was called in to substitute. The producers decided Gerald was getting too old for the gig and he was fired.”
“While he was still recuperating?” Derek said “That must have been devastating for him.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Randy frowned. “He continued coming to the tapings because I guess he felt it was his show, you know? Some people probably thought it was weird, but I didn’t really mind. He’s such a nice guy, and he never took it out on me.”
“So Gerald stayed around.”
“Yeah, he’d go hang out in the guest hall with the antiques owners. They got a kick out of it. Probably thought he was still associated with the show. And nobody ever said anything to the home audience. There was no fanfare. One day, Gerald was hosting the show. The next day, he was out and I was in. He kept coming around for a while, like I said, but eventually he just stopped showing up.”
Derek nodded thoughtfully. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
Randy thought about it. “Probably about six months.”
Derek and I both stared at him.
Randy blinked as he put it together. “Wait. You think Gerald could be my stalker?”
“It makes sense.”
“But he was so nice to me. And he was really helpful during the whole transition.”
Derek wasn’t buying his nice-guy story. “Can’t you see he has every reason to try to get rid of you?”
Randy looked stricken. “You think he wants me dead? Just so they’ll hire him back? That’s sick.”
“Stalking is sick,” I said. “You mentioned that he took a job back in Cleveland, but I can’t find him listed as working anywhere.”
“I can’t imagine he took the enforced retirement well at all,” Derek mused.
I jumped in. “Put yourself in his shoes. Even if we ignore the fact that the producers coldly fired him while he was recuperating from surgery, the fact remains that he created this show. It was his baby all these years. And then some young whippersnapper comes along and takes it away? It might not make him too happy.”
Derek leaned forward. “Have you seen him in the studio or on the set?”
Randy paced restlessly. “No. I haven’t seen him in months. It’s got to be someone else.”
Derek and I exchanged glances and I sighed. “Okay. Let’s make a list.”
“Fine.” Randy frowned. “You start.”
I was happy to begin. “It could be a woman. Someone who works here.”
“But who? Everybody likes me.”
“You drive Angie crazy.”
He looked hurt. “What are you talking about? Angie loves me.”
There was a fine line between love and hate, especially when love was unrequited. But that was a little heavy-handed so I kept it to myself. “One of the stagehands, then. Or maybe you pissed off the caterer.”
“No.” He looked doubtful for a second, but then repeated himself. “No. Absolutely not. I haven’t pissed anyone off. It’s a good group. We all have a great time. Don’t you think so?”
“Sure, except for snakes and stage flats and Tish being attacked and . . .”