The Funhouse
As the producer of Macklin for Hire, a show that consistently ranked in the top five in the Nielsen ratings, Maynard Kiley ought to have been a happy man or at least one who was proud of his accomplishments. Sadly, Maynard was neither. In fact, he claimed the hypertension and stomach ulcers that plagued him were a direct result of his having to deal with the star of the show, Truman Chambliss, a former professional football player who was better known for his antics off the field than his athletic ability on it.
Several times throughout the show's six-year run, the long-suffering producer thought of quitting the business and retiring to his ranch in Arizona. However, Macklin for Hire was his brainchild. While working as an assistant to one of the execs at Paramount, he came up with the idea of a Hollywood makeup artist turned private detective while watching John Huston's The List of Adrian Messenger. In the 1963 film, not only did Kirk Douglas, the villain of the story, wear several different disguises, but also big-name stars Frank Sinatra, Tony Curtis, Robert Mitchum and Burt Lancaster appeared in cameo roles incognito, only removing their makeup at the end of the movie.
After writing the script himself, he peddled the pilot episode to every major studio. Zephyr International, the new kid on the block, eventually agreed to thirteen episodes. It was their casting director who selected Chambliss to star as Brock Macklin.
"Can he act?" Maynard asked.
"Does he have to?" was the response he got.
Although the former NFL running back was no Lawrence Olivier, he at least made a convincing detective; but then, his was a role where action was key and dialogue was kept to a minimum. To everyone's surprise, Macklin for Hire became the hit of the season, and Zephyr agreed to another thirteen episodes.
By the show's third season, however, Truman let his popularity go to his head. He began making demands. At first, they were relatively minor ones, but they quickly escalated.
"I hear Selleck made over four million last year," he complained when it was time to renew his contract. "So, I want a raise in pay."
The studio negotiated a figure of three and a half million, nearly doubling his salary.
"Magnum drives a Ferrari," he whined. "Why do I have a beat-up Volkswagen?"
"Because Brock Macklin is supposed to be a struggling makeup artist. He can't afford an expensive sports car."
The studio compromised and had the detective drive a 1980 Cadillac Le Cabriolet convertible, which the fictional detective supposedly purchased with money he inherited from his grandfather.
"I suppose a Caddy, even a used one, is better than the Trans Am Hasselhoff drives."
Truman was not content for long.
"Selleck gets to work in Hawaii and Don Johnson in Miami, yet I spend most of my day right here in the studio."
Again, the star got what he wanted. The writers were told to set some of the episodes in more exotic locations.
As Macklin for Hire began its seventh season, Maynard had had enough of his star's demands and threats. He was also tired of covering up the scandals that surrounded the former athlete's private life: the drug-fueled parties, the drunken bar fights and the paternity suits.
When Maynard arrived at the studio the morning the first episode of the seventh season was to be shot, he saw the star sitting in his office.
What does he want now? he wondered, reaching for the roll of antacid tablets he always carried with him.
"You got a second?" Truman asked.
"Sure. What's up?"
"I'm tired of spending all those hours in makeup every day."
"It can't be avoided. Macklin uses his skills to disguise his appearance in order to solve his cases. That's the entire premise of the show."
"I think we should change that. I'm sure the writers can do it. After all, Selleck, Hasselhoff and Johnson don't have to hide their good looks."
"I'll talk to them and see what I can do about keeping the makeup to a minimum."
After the door closed behind the retreating star, Maynard took two more antacid tablets and followed them with a milk of magnesia chaser.
* * *
After glancing at the script for the second episode of the season, Truman Chambliss barged through Maynard Kiley's office door, not even bothering with the simple courtesy of knocking first.
"A clown?" he shouted angrily and tossed the script on the producer's desk. "You want me to dress up as a clown?"
This question was followed by a string of expletives that included all seven of the words George Carlin claimed could not be said on television.
"Calm down and let's discuss this rationally."
"Magnum never has to dress up like a goddamned clown!"
"I do believe you suffer from Selleck envy," Maynard laughed, hoping to lighten the tension in the room with a joke.
"Can you blame me? That lucky bastard gets four and a half mil a season for driving around Hawaii in a Ferrari and flashing his pearly whites. He doesn't have to sit in a chair for hours on end, having prosthetics glued to his face. Do they cover his head of curly brown hair with a bald cap? No. And now you want me to suffer the indignity of dressing up like a clown! I won't do it, and you can't make me."
Maynard did not bother reminding him that he had signed a contract, one that did not include script approval. Legally, Truman had to dance to the studio's tune, even if he were asked to play Bozo. Instead, the producer resorted to his usual cure-all: he promised to call a meeting of his writers.
"You need to revise the script for the second episode," he announced when they were assembled in his office. "Our star objects to playing a clown."
"I don't know why," one of the screenwriters kidded. "He won't have to act; he can just be himself."
When the laughter finally died down, the head writer spoke.
"In this episode, Macklin is called upon to solve the murder of a circus barker. We assumed, being a makeup artist, he would naturally go undercover as a clown. There must be another persona he can assume."
Various suggestions were called out: the strong man (he had the physique for it), a trapeze artist (he would no doubt look good in tights), a lion tamer, a juggler and even one of the men who follow behind the horses and elephants to sweep up their droppings.
That's a great job for him, Maynard thought. I've been cleaning up his shit for six years. Put the shoe on the other foot for once!
It was the head writer who came up with the perfect solution.
"He can be the ringmaster. We can make his hair darker and glue a false mustache and beard on him. Wardrobe can add a top hat, and it will give the overall impression that he's in disguise."
"Good thinking. You go ahead and rewrite it that way."
Less than an hour later, Rosemarie Huckaby, the woman in charge of set decorating, alerted Maynard to another problem with the second episode.
"When Chambliss got that last big raise, my budget was drastically slashed. I don't have the money to build anything large enough to resemble even a small circus, much less one the size the script calls for."
"Doesn't the studio have any tents left over from that circus picture they did two years ago?"
"Tents aren't the problem. The big scene calls for Brock Macklin to chase the killer through a funhouse. We might be able to assemble enough props, but we would need to build something that looks like a car and tracks for it to ride on."
"Can't we improvise and make it a walk-through funhouse?"
"No, because the script clearly states that the killer gets struck by one of the cars while running across the tracks."
"I suppose I can talk to the writers again," Maynard said.
"I may have a way of solving the problem without any rewrites or budget overruns."
"What is it?"
"You can give your okay for this episode to be shot on location," Rosemarie suggested.
"You know that, because of the cost involved, the studio insists no more than ten episodes be shot off the lot."
"Yes, but if you film 'The Worm in the Big Apple' episode here in L.A., using stock footage of the New York landmarks and skyline, you'll have the money to shoot this episode on location."
"Where do you suggest? Most amusement parks are crowded, and we'll need to hire a security force to keep the people away when we're filming. That could be expensive."
"It won't be necessary. The place I've got in mind, Warbeck's Amusement Pier, is only open on weekends after Labor Day. We can film there Monday through Friday. And for the scenes that don't take place at the circus, we can shoot right here on the lot."
"Warbeck's? I never heard of the place."
"I'm not surprised. It's a combination of circus, carnival and amusement park built on the beach. Trust me, it's no Ringling Brothers, but it does have a big top tent and a funhouse."
"All right," Maynard agreed after several minutes of consideration. "I'll approve location shooting on this episode. I'm not the biggest fan of filming in New York, anyway. I don't care for the weather there this time of year."
* * *
On Sunday evening, the cast and crew, along with cameras, lights, sound equipment, makeup, costumes and props, made the two-hour trek up the coast to the Pacific Motel near Warbeck's Amusement Pier.
"I suggest everyone get a good night's sleep," Kiley announced after they finished devouring the pizzas he ordered. "We start bright and early tomorrow morning."
Donny DeLeon, once a teen idol in the pre-Beatles days of the early Sixties, was guest-starring as the killer. Since he had not had a hit record since before the Kennedy assassination, his sole source of income was appearing at "oldies" concerts and in the occasional TV program. His role in this episode of Macklin for Hire required little acting skill since he was to play a former teen idol who had not had a hit record in over two decades.
Unlike Truman Chambliss, Donny was no diva. He was glad to get the work and willing to do whatever the director or producer asked of him. He was in bed by nine, whereas the star, after spending the evening at a local bar with a blonde whose name he could not remember the next day, did not get to sleep until two.
The sun had yet to rise when Joely Turrell, the director's unpaid intern, began knocking on the doors of people who had slept through their alarms. A continental breakfast was provided in the motel's dining room. Truman, suffering from both lack of sleep and a hangover, sat at a table by himself, washing down four aspirin with a cup of black coffee.
"You better get me a thermos of that stuff to keep me awake, sweetheart," he told Joely, who promptly went to speak with the kitchen staff.
The sun was just peeping over the horizon when the crew's vans arrived at the gates of Warbeck's Amusement Pier. The security guard let them in and, being a big football fan, hung around to meet Truman Chambliss and get his autograph.
"I'm going to go check out the funhouse," Rosemarie announced, "to see if we need to add any additional props."
"Good idea," Maynard said. "And make sure we can control the speed of the car. I don't want to put Donny in any danger."
Twenty minutes later, the lights and cameras were in place. Truman was sitting in a makeup chair having his face powdered and his hair styled, as the director discussed the scene with Donny DeLeon in the funhouse.
"You're hiding in here from Macklin," he said. "When you hear him come in, you decide to run out the back door. It's dark, and you have difficulty seeing. You run past this skeleton and push the dummy in the noose out of the way. That's when you realize, too late, that you're standing on the track and there is a car coming right at you. Don't worry. The car will be barely moving, and I want you to come to a stop about six inches before the track. We'll shoot the actual collision with a stuntman. Ready for a take?"
As directed, Donny ran past the skeleton and shoved the hanging mannequin out of his way. No one had anticipated that the amusement park's prop would fall to the ground, but it did. Moments later, the bright lights were turned on so that the damage could be assessed.
"Get Rosemarie Huckaby in here to secure this dummy so that we can reshoot the scene," the director told his intern. "Everybody else can take a break."
As the set decorator and intern lifted the heavy figure off the ground, one of its arms broke off.
"It's not my fault," the intern cried.
"Don't worry. I'll see what I can do to reattach it," Rosemarie said.
When she picked it up off the ground, however, she saw bone and muscle tissue and screamed.
"What's wrong?" Maynard inquired when he heard his set decorator's shriek.
"This isn't a dummy; it is, or rather was, a human being."
"I'll go phone the police," Joely announced.
"Wait! We can't call them now. We've only got five days to shoot these scenes. If the police come, they'll no doubt shut us down while they conduct an investigation. That will probably mean staying for another week and blowing the budget."
"But this is a dead body. We can't just ignore it," Rosemarie reasoned.
"We won't. We'll call the cops after the last scene is shot on Friday."
"When word of this gets out ...."
"Only the three of us know. I certainly don't intend to tell anyone, and if you value your job, Rosemarie, you won't either."
The producer then turned and faced the unpaid intern.
"How would you like a full-time job at Zephyr Studios after you graduate?" he asked.
Thus, the film student's silence was bought with the promise of a steady paycheck.
* * *
By midday, the funhouse scene was shot without further incident. The final location scene, where Donny DeLeon kills the barker who had wronged his sister, was completed on Friday afternoon, on schedule, thanks to the former teen idol's willingness to take direction.
"Okay, folks, let's pack up and head back to L.A.," Maynard called, hoping to save the expense of another night's lodging for the entire cast and crew.
"How long before we hit the road?" Truman asked.
"Maybe an hour or two. Why?"
"There's someone I want to say goodbye to."
"Be careful, will you?" Kiley cautioned. "I don't want to have to deal with another paternity suit."
"Are you forgetting something, Mr. Kiley?" Joely asked once the last of the equipment was put into the vans.
"What's that?"
"The dead body in the funhouse. You said you would notify the police after we finished shooting."
"You're right. I'll call them when we get back to the studio."
"There's no need to wait. There's a phone in the security guard's office."
When the producer entered the guard's trailer, he was surprised to see another man there.
"You must be Maynard Kiley," the stranger said, extending his arm for a handshake. "My name's Marlon Grecco. I work here."
"Glad to meet you. Mind if I use the phone?"
"No. Go right ahead. I'll wait outside, so you can have some privacy."
Several minutes later, the producer stepped outside the trailer.
"Damn it!" he exclaimed as he shut the door behind him.
"Something wrong?" Marlon asked.
"I was about to return to L.A., but the police want me to stick around for questioning."
"What about?"
"The dead body we found when we were shooting in the funhouse on Monday."
"A dead body? Here in our funhouse? I'll be damned!" Grecco said, finding the situation highly amusing. "Had we known that, we would have advertised it."
Since the police also wanted to question Rosemarie Huckaby and Joely Turrell, the only other two people who were present when the corpse was discovered, he would send everyone else home.
"Where's Truman?" he asked, noticing the star's car was still parked in the lot.
"He hasn't come back yet," Rosemarie replied. "You know him. He probably found a star-struck young woman in town and wanted to leave her with more than an autograph."
"I suppose once the police are done with us, he can drive us back in the Cadillac."
"And if he decides to extend his stay," the set designer said with a mischievous smile, "I'll drive us back."
She reached into her pocket and took out a duplicate set of keys for the vehicle.
"What are you doing with those?" the producer laughed.
"I'm the set decorator. The car was purchased by the studio, which makes it a prop—an expensive one, but a prop nonetheless."
Two detectives, who looked nothing like any of the dashing stars who portrayed crimefighters on TV, arrived shortly after the film crew's vans left.
"I realize we should have called you sooner," Maynard immediately began to apologize after they entered the funhouse.
"Don't worry," Lieutenant Juan Flores, the senior detective, said. "We're not gonna arrest you for failure to report a crime. By the looks of this guy, I'd say he's been dead a long time."
The questions were brief and routine. The detectives made no attempt to put pressure on the three witnesses.
"You Hollywood people make police work seem so exciting," Juan joked as he wrote everyone's names and addresses down in the three-by-five notebook he always carried in his pocket. "The truth is, it's a lot of damned paperwork."
After the coroner collected the body, Maynard, Rosemarie and Joely were free to go.
"I've got your phone numbers if we need to contact you," Lt. Flores informed them.
"There's still no sign of Truman," Rosemarie observed when they returned to the parking lot. "But at least the Caddy is still here."
They waited another hour for the star, but he did not show up.
"Let's just go without him," Maynard said; it was getting dark, and he was eager to get home to his family after being away all week.
"How will he get back if we take the car?" Joely asked.
"I don't ...."
The producer stopped speaking when he saw Marlon Grecco get out of a pickup truck that was parked between the Tunnel of Love ride and the funhouse.
"Hey!" he called out to him. "Have you seen Truman Chambliss anywhere around here?"
"Who's Truman Chambliss?" the caretaker asked.
"The former football player and star of our show, Macklin for Hire."
"Oh, yeah. Him. No. No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"
"We're going to return to L.A., but if we take this car, he won't have a way to get back."
"He can always stick out his thumb on the freeway," Rosemarie said, only half-joking.
"I've got some work to do around here. If he shows up, I can drive him back."
"It's a two-hour trip," Maynard pointed out.
"But the traffic will be light this time of night."
"Thanks. I really appreciate that. Here," the producer said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "Let me give you some money for gas."
"That won't be necessary."
"I insist. Truman is a cheap so-and-so. He wouldn't offer you a dime even if you drove him all the way to New York."
* * *
"Where is Truman?" Maynard asked when the cast and crew reported to the set on Monday morning. "Try calling his house again."
"I've been calling every five minutes. No one answers," Joely answered. "If you want, I can drive over there. Maybe he fell and hurt himself and can't get to a phone."
"Yeah. Would you do that?"
"I'll go right now."
Meanwhile, the director did his best to shoot around the absent star. Unfortunately, there were few scenes Chambliss was not in. By the time Joely returned, most of the crew was sitting around with nothing to do.
"Well?" Maynard asked anxiously.
"He wasn't there."
"Are you sure?"
"I looked in every room. I even checked the closets and under the bed. You don't suppose he's still up by that amusement park, do you?"
"No. He may be a heavy drinker, a womanizer and an all-around pain-in-the-ass, but he never failed to report to work. Sure, he's been late, but never this late. Do me a favor and phone every hospital en route from here to Warbeck's Amusement Pier."
When there was still no sign of Truman Chambliss at noon, the producer sent everyone home for the remainder of the day. If they were filming a movie, stopping work for half a day would not be a big thing; however, a weekly television show was different. They had to stick to a much tighter schedule.
"I called all the hospitals," Joely announced after entering the producer's private office. "I also spoke to the California Highway Patrol and several local police departments. If he's been involved in an accident, no one has reported it yet."
"I wish I could remember the name of that guy who offered to drive him back to L.A. He told me, but I've completely forgotten it."
"Is there anything else you want me to do, Mr. Kiley?"
"No. You can take the rest of the day off, too."
Maynard waited another hour, pacing the floor of his office. When his star failed to appear, he decided to drive up to Warbeck's Amusement Pier, the last place the actor was seen.
"If you hear anything—anything at all—call me on my car phone," he instructed his secretary before leaving the studio.
As he made the two-hour drive north, he kept his radio on. Surely, if something had happened to Truman Chambliss, it would make the news. When he arrived at Warbeck's, the parking lot was empty.
"Mr. Kiley," the security guard greeted him. "I wasn't expecting you. I thought you people finished filming on Friday."
"We did. I seem to have misplaced the star of the show, though," the producer said, resorting to humor to calm his rising fear that Truman was dead.
"I haven't seen him, but you're welcome to come inside and have a look for yourself."
"Thanks."
Fortunately, Warbeck's Amusement Pier was no Disneyland. With only two dozen rides, a scattering of concession stands, a gift shop and a large circus tent, it did not take long to search the place.
"Any luck?" the guard asked as Maynard was preparing to leave.
"Nah. He isn't here."
"I didn't think so. We were open all weekend. I'm sure someone would have seen him. We were pretty busy, too. Seems there was a rumor going around that a dead body was found in the funhouse."
"That's no rumor. Two of my employees found it. But don't worry. It appears to be quite old."
"Damn!"
"By the way, do you know all the employees here?"
"Most of them."
"I met a guy Friday night who said he would drive Chambliss home. I don't remember his name, though. I was hoping you might know it."
"What did he look like?"
"Tall, about six-two, I'd say. On the thin side. Dark hair, blue eyes."
"That description fits several people here."
"He drives a blue pickup."
"That might be Marlon Grecco."
The name rang a bell.
"That's it. Do you know where I can find him?"
"He's not exactly employed by the park. He's more of a free-lance guy. He and his wife work here from time to time when one of the other circus acts can't perform.
"What do they do?"
"He's a magician, and she's his assistant."
Believing he would have better luck locating his missing actor in the vicinity of Warbeck's Amusement Pier, Maynard again checked into the Pacific Motel. The following day, after phoning his office and learning Truman still had not reappeared, he paid a visit to the local police station where he filed a missing person report.
"Truman Chambliss? The football player?" the desk sergeant asked in surprise.
Maynard noticed he did not refer to him as an actor.
"Yeah. And, if you don't mind, the studio would like to keep this quiet, if possible."
In L.A., the police often bowed to the wishes of the studios, but this was not Hollywood. No doubt someone on the force was about to make a few extra bucks by selling the story to the tabloids.
"We'll try. When will you be going back to the city?" the officer asked.
"After I've had the opportunity to speak to the magician."
"It's best if you don't contact him yourself. One of our people will question him."
As Maynard crossed the parking lot toward his car, he heard someone call his name.
"I thought that was you," Juan Flores said. "What are you doing here? I thought you left on Friday evening."
"I did, but my star didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I was just about to go get some lunch. Care to join me?"
"Are you kidding? On a cop's pay, I never turn down a free meal."
All the while Maynard described his efforts to locate Truman Chambliss, Lt. Flores listened without interruption, enjoying his burger and fries with apparent gusto. When the producer concluded his tale, the detective reached into his pocket and took out a Rolex watch. He brushed sand off it and handed it to the producer.
"Ever seen this before?" he asked.
"Yeah. The studio gave it to Truman when he completed his one-hundredth episode of Macklin for Hire. What are you doing with it?"
"Someone found it on the beach this morning. We were under the impression that it was a fake. In the past, we've had a number of conmen trying to sell ten-dollar Rolex watches and knock-off handbags out of the trunks of their cars."
"What would Truman's watch be doing on the beach?"
"Maybe he went for a late-night swim and didn't want to get it wet."
"That's impossible. He didn't know how to swim."
"I'll need that watch back," the detective said.
"Why?"
"It's evidence."
"Of what?"
"Your friend is missing."
"He's not my friend."
"Okay, your star is missing. He might be dead. People often go into the water and don't come out. It could be an accident, suicide ...."
"Suicide! No way! The man loves himself too much for that."
"... or murder. In which case, that watch is all we have to go on."
"Murder?" Maynard echoed.
The detective wiped the ketchup off his fingers with a paper napkin and reached into his pocket for his notebook and pen.
"Did Chambliss have any enemies?" Flores asked. "Anyone who might want to see him dead?"
The producer sighed, pushed his plate of half-eaten food away, and said, "You're gonna need a much larger notebook than that."
* * *
Two days later, Detective Flores met with Maynard Kiley once again. This time it was dinner, not lunch.
"Anything new?" the producer asked.
"My partner and I spoke to the magician, Marlon Grecco. He swears he never saw Chambliss that night, that he waited around for three hours for him to show up before finally going home. His wife confirms his story."
"I don't suppose any bodies washed up along the coast anywhere."
"Not a one. Ain't that a kicker!" the detective laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"First, we find a body with no crime, now we possibly have a crime but no body."
"I don't follow you."
"That guy in the funhouse, we got a positive ID on him. Can you believe it? After more than seventy years, they still had his prints on file."
"Who was he? What was he doing in the funhouse?"
"His name was Jethro Whaley, and he had an interesting life, to say the least. He was born in Maine back in 1880, and after several years of drifting around the country, he joined the Army. It was while serving Uncle Sam that he learned to work with explosives. He would later put his newfound skills to use by robbing banks and trains."
"A regular Jesse James, huh?"
"But nowhere near as successful. To make a long story short, Whaley was shot by a sheriff's deputy in 1911. His only family was back east, and no one came out to claim his body. The mortician who embalmed him, hoping to receive some form of compensation for his time and expenses, decided to charge people five cents apiece to view the outlaw's remains."
"You're kidding!"
"God's honest truth! The mortician had several offers from people wanting to purchase Jethro's remains, but he wouldn't sell them. Eventually, a man who ran a traveling carnival pretended to be the dead man's brother and demanded the wily undertaker hand over the body for burial. Once in possession of it, of course, he exhibited it all around the country."
"And it wound up at Warbeck's Amusement Pier."
"Yes, but only after it spent time in a movie theater lobby in the Thirties, a crime museum in the Forties and a wax museum in the Fifties. Once the wax museum closed, Jethro found a more permanent home here in the funhouse."
"Amazing!" Maynard exclaimed as he finished the last bite of his seafood dinner. "That's a more interesting story than what you see on the big screen these days."
Moments later, the coffee cup stopped on its upward journey from the restaurant table to the producer's lips.
"Something wrong?" Flores asked.
"Jethro Whaley's story would make a hell of a movie! And until Truman Chambliss shows up—if he ever does—production of Macklin for Hire can't continue. I have lots of time to outline a script."
As the coffee cup completed its mission to deliver its hot, sweet beverage to the producer's mouth, visions of Oscar nominations danced through Maynard's brain.
* * *
On Friday morning, Maynard Kiley checked out of his room at the Pacific Motel. He was in much better spirits than he was when he arrived there five days earlier. Before getting on the freeway and heading south, he drove by Warbeck's Amusement Pier one last time.
"Has Mr. Chambliss turned up yet?" the security guard asked as he unlocked the gate.
"No. The police think he might have gone swimming and drowned."
It was far better, as far as Zephyr International was concerned, for one of their top stars to die accidentally rather than by suicide or murder.
"That's too bad. Macklin for Hire is one of my favorite shows. Are you going to replace him with another actor?"
"No. Actually, I'm going to pitch a movie to Universal Studios. You might want to see it if it comes out. It's going to be about the guy whose body we found in your funhouse. Speaking of which, do you mind if I take a last look in there, just for inspiration?"
"Go right ahead, Mr. Kiley."
Despite the amusement park being closed, the funhouse was not deserted. Two people were inside: the magician, Marlon Grecco, and his assistant/wife. Neither saw Maynard enter.
"Why did you show me this?" the blonde cried.
"Let it be a lesson to you. Don't ever cheat on me again. It might be you next time."
"I won't. I swear it!"
The two left the funhouse and snuck out of the park, undetected by the security guard, through a break in the fence.
What was all that about? the producer wondered. Why did the magician bring his wife ...?
He looked up. In the same spot where Jethro Whaley's mummified remains had been found, he saw another body hanging in their stead. Although the corpse looked as though it had been covered in a waxy substance, he had no difficulty recognizing the face.
"Truman!"
The friend he wanted to say goodbye to the night he went missing must have been the magician's fair-haired wife, he realized.
"I always told you to stay away from the married ones. You should have listened to me."
The police believed Chambliss had drowned. Flores had the sandy Rolex watch found on the beach as evidence. And, hopefully, Mrs. Grecco had learned her lesson and would not force her husband to kill again. That was good enough for Maynard Kiley.
Without informing anyone of his grisly discovery, he returned to his L.A. home. Not only did he want to see his wife and children, but he had a script to write as well.
This story was inspired by actual events. In 1976, while filming an episode of The Six Million Dollar Man, a prop man moved what he thought was a wax dummy, and the arm broke off. He discovered human bone and muscle inside it. The mummy was later identified as Elmer McCurdy, an outlaw shot by police in 1911. His body was later put on display as described in this story.
Salem doesn't look like he's having too much fun here. (I don't think he likes the clown head looming over him.)
