Jinxed

by Kathryn Leigh Scott

  Jack drives swiftly, taking a zigzag route that doesn’t rely on GPS. As we near the airport, he says, “Thanks for understanding. This alert came up sooner than expected.”

  “I don’t mind at all. At least we had some time together. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “We may have gotten a break. Immigration tagged a couple of arrivals we want to check out. I’m not sure how long they can be detained.”

  “So you have to get there fast. Does this involve the case with the Ukrainian student?”

  Jack nods. “Very likely. Two young Latvian women arrived on a flight from Finland. One of them misplaced her papers. By the time she found them, an agent had done some checking. They were students entering on the visa waiver program, supposedly to work as au pairs, but their tickets were paid for by a party we’ve been investigating.”

  “So what happens now?” I ask, surprised that Jack is willing to divulge so much.

  “They’ll be sent back.”

  “How disappointing for them.”

  “It might be for the best if they were duped into thinking they’d be working as au pairs. Meanwhile, we’ve got a chance to find out more about the individual who got them over here. If it’s not too late, I’ll give you a call when I finish up.”

  “You don’t want me to wait?”

  “No, this will take a while. Someone will drop me back at the Bureau so I can pick up my car. Can you grab something to eat on your own?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about me.” I flash on the bouillabaisse I know Donna is preparing and can almost taste it. Then I picture myself sitting at the dining table with Dirck. How hungry am I? “Please call, though. I want to hear how this turns out.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Dodging cars and hotel transport vans, Jack pulls into the curb some fifteen feet from the entrance to the massive Tom Bradley International Terminal. Unbuckling his seat belt, he leans over to give me a quick kiss. “We’ll talk later.” Before I can respond, he’s out of the car, trotting toward the entrance.

  I watch him darting around people pushing overloaded trolleys on the sidewalk, bucking the flow of newly arrived passengers leaving the terminal. I get out of the car and by the time I reach the driver’s side, Jack has already vanished inside the building.

  I sit behind the wheel for a moment, trying to decide what I should do. A traffic cop raps on my window, waving me on. I nod, put the car in gear and pull out, still unsure about heading back to Donna’s. As I’m driving down Century Boulevard, approaching the on-ramp to the San Diego Freeway, my cellphone pings, alerting me to a text message. I pull to the curb and see that Jeremy has sent me a phone number with the message: Lisa don’t know her last name.

  I stare at the message a moment. Jack would want me to pass the information straight to Detective Yarrow. I deliberate another moment or two, pretty certain a girl working for an escort service wouldn’t appreciate having her number passed to a homicide detective for no good reason. It couldn’t hurt to check her out first, I decide, pressing my finger firmly on the number.

  By the third ring, my mouth dry as flannel, I hear a click. I almost jump when Bluetooth broadcasts a soft voice purring, “Hi, there, Lisa here. I know you want me, so leave your name and number.”

  I hold my breath until the tone beeps, torn as to whether I should leave a message. Just as I’m about to end the call, I impulsively say, “Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Chelsea’s. Please call me,” and leave my number. My fingers are icy with nerves as I hit End Call.

  I pull back into traffic and drive toward the freeway ramp. Even if Jack wouldn’t approve, what harm have I done? If she calls, she calls. I only want to ask her when she last saw Chelsea, or spoke with her. Detective Yarrow will be pleased to have the information. But my thumping heart also tells me I’m exhilarated to be on to something no one else has so far considered. Chelsea had no idea her mother was arriving, so what connection is there between her disappearance and Elaine’s murder? Perhaps none.

  I take the Wilshire exit and cruise down the boulevard through Westwood. By now, Dirck and Donna have finished dinner and will be watching a movie in the den. I can grab something to eat in the kitchen, say a quick hello to them and go to my room. With a bit of luck, Jack will still call tonight.

  With those thoughts in mind, I turn off Wilshire, several streets from Donna’s house. But as I’m making the turn, I hear a crunching slap and feel a sting on my forehead. Glass shatters in my lap and I swerve abruptly, my foot hitting the accelerator as I realize I’ve been hit—someone is shooting at me!

  I fight to regain control of the careening Volvo, but the wheels lock. The car skitters off the road up an embankment in what feels like sickening slow motion, then flips over. The last thing I remember is a sense of being airborne and then a teeth-jarring impact that sounds like a sonic boom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After drifting through an eerie sort of twilight, I wake up to the sight of both Jack and Dirck gazing down at me. One looks concerned, the other merely curious.

  “You’ve met.” I state the obvious, then close my eyes again. This could be a bad dream. God willing, it is.

  “Wow, off again. You see that? Like she’s in a coma.”

  My eyes fly open. “I was sleeping, Dirck. I’m not in a coma!” Wait, was I? “What day is this?”

  “You’re going to be fine, Meg.” I look up into Jack’s warm brown eyes and see the shadow of worry. “You’ll be sore for a few days, but at least nothing worse happened.”

  “Wait, I was shot! Wasn’t I?” I raise my hand to my forehead and feel a thick bandage. “Somebody shot at me?”

  “Do you remember what happened?” he asks quietly. “Did you see anyone?”

  I flash on the shattering glass, then the blur of trees as I spun out of control. “I only remember turning the corner and swerving. It took a moment to realize there were gunshots. I’m not sure I really heard them.”

  “There were shots fired and you were hit. But you’re going to be fine.”

  “Am I? Seriously, I want the straight dope. Do I look like a train wreck?”

  “Car wreck,” Dirck corrects. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “It’s nothing serious,” Jack says evenly. “Nothing broken. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. Glad you’re with me,” I whisper to Jack. “I hate to even ask this, but how’s my car?”

  “Totaled, I’m afraid,” Dirck says. “Donna has the receipt for the towing operation.”

  “That’s right. I remember now. I talked to the police before I was put in the ambulance. Are you sure my car can’t be repaired?”

  Jack shakes his head. “But don’t worry about that now. We can deal with it later.”

  “Too bad. I’ll miss her. We went through a lot together.”

  “That car probably saved your life. Dirck’s right about one thing. You’re damn lucky. What else do you remember?”

  “A free fall. Just hanging on. I must have been unconscious for a moment, but I remember being trapped in there, the smell of fuel. The sirens.” Tears sting my eyes, recalling the two young people clambering over to me after the accident. The girl held her hand behind my head, supporting me. Her boyfriend struggled to wrench the door open without jostling me. They stayed until paramedics arrived, the young woman answering calls on my cellphone. Tears course down my cheeks. “God, people are good.”

  Jack can only nod. Emotion has hit him, too. He tightens his grip on my hand. “Thank God for the air bag. If it hadn’t been for the seat belt and the air bag,” he says, and stops. I know what he means. I would’ve been tossed out the windshield.

  “The bruises are well worth it.”

  “Detective Yarrow wants to talk with you. Are you up for it?”

  “Of course.” I try for a smile, making my cheek hurt. “Not missing anything, then? Limbs still attached? No surgery while I wasn’t paying attention?”

  “No, but
your face is banged up,” Dirck says. “Not a pretty sight.”

  “It’s not really that bad.” I refocus and see Donna standing at the end of my hospital bed. She says, “A scratch or two. A scrape on your cheek and a few stitches, that’s it.” Her face is pinched, with frown marks etched between her brows.

  “Stitches? That bad? Please don’t give me a mirror.”

  “You look like you went a few rounds with Sugar Ray, kid,” Dirck says. “If all you got was a couple of black eyes, you’re damn lucky. The big worry is head trauma when the car flips like that. It’s the coup-contrecoup thing, where the impact and velocity sends your brain sloshing forward and back and you just end up with Jell-O in your skull. That can be real bad. It’s veg time, maybe worse.”

  “Thanks, Dirck. Nice of you to cheer me up.”

  “That’s okay. I picked up a lot doing Doctors on Call. Too bad that series didn’t catch on like ER. I coulda ended up like George Clooney.”

  “Coulda, shoulda, Dirck.” I turn to Jack, feeling his hand on my shoulder. “Tell me the truth. Are my dancing days over?”

  “Not with me.” His face breaks into a smile and I melt in the dark caramel of his eyes. “And I owe you a dinner.”

  “That’s right. I haven’t eaten. Ready when you are,” I whisper.

  “So, you guys are an item, I hear,” Dirck says, a folksy cheeriness in his voice. “That’s really great. Glad to hear it. Megsie could use some happiness in her life. I don’t know what I’d do without Pru.”

  “She must be missing you, Dirck,” I murmur. “Are you heading back to her soon?”

  “Can’t say, kid. Until Chelsea turns up and this business with Elaine is cleared up, all bets are off, you know that. I can’t jump ship now.”

  I glance at Donna. Her mouth is a straight line. I turn my head slightly and see Doug sitting in an armchair just behind her, glaring at Dirck.

  “Hey, the gang’s all here,” I say, smiling in spite of the pain.

  “Mind if we join you?” Detective Yarrow hovers just outside the doorway, Detective McCauley behind her in the hallway. “How are you feeling? We were hoping we could have a few words with you, if you’re up to it.”

  “Okay. That’s fine. Jack said you were here. Just let me sit up a bit.” Jack reaches for the remote control on the bed while Donna leans over to rearrange pillows behind my head.

  “You’d probably like us to clear out, right?” Doug asks.

  “If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a few minutes,” she says, “we’d appreciate it.”

  “No, hang on, here,” Dirck says, crossing his arms. “I’d like to stick around a minute and hear what you’ve found out. Elaine was shot and killed. Now Meg gets shot—in the same neighborhood!”

  “Somehow I don’t think this is going to affect the real-estate market in Holmby Hills, Dirck. Or are you worried you’ll be next?”

  “Very funny, Meg. I’m not thinking of myself here. Although, now that you mention it, since I’m staying at Donna’s, who can say?”

  “No one. So maybe you should stay in a hotel, to be on the safe side—”

  “That’s not the point. At least with me around, Donna’s got some protection.”

  “Okay, okay, you two!” Donna says, then turns to Detective Yarrow. “Since we’re all somehow involved, can you tell us what you think is going on? Do you have any idea who’s behind this?”

  “Not yet. That’s why we want to ask Meg if she saw anyone last night.”

  “No, I didn’t. In fact, the road down to the park was empty. No other cars. I don’t remember seeing anyone when I turned the corner.”

  “Man, that’s something!” Dirck exclaims. “No one? Nothing? I gotta figure there’s some trigger-happy kid out there playing at being a sniper. You know, they put stuff like that in a movie and some young punk is gonna play it out for real, am I right?”

  “Anything’s possible, but right now there’s nothing to substantiate that theory,” Detective Yarrow says, giving Dirck a frosty look. “You know, we can always come back later if you’d all like to visit here for a while.”

  “No, wait. I don’t mean any offense, Detective, but we gotta ask ourselves, who’s next? Why? We need to get to the bottom of this.” Dirck is playing Columbo again. “If there’s no sniper out there, you gotta look to motive. Elaine’s dead, her kid’s missing. What about Elaine’s husband, Chelsea’s father? Whatshisname, Horne? You tracked him down yet?”

  I roll my eyes and look to Jack. “Welcome to my so-called former life.” He smiles and squeezes my hand.

  “Yeah? Scoff if you like,” Dirck says, turning to me. “I’m making a good point here. Maybe this guy has a vendetta, like he got a bum deal and he’s getting even.”

  “Easy, Dirck,” Doug says, reaching for his arm. “We don’t need this now. It’s not the time.”

  “But, easy question,” Dirck says, turning back to Detective Yarrow. “What about this guy, Horne? Did you haul him in yet and ask about his wife and kid?”

  Detective Yarrow gives a measured nod. “He came to us. He and Elaine divorced years ago and he’s not Chelsea’s father.”

  “You kidding me? She said he was.”

  “He claims you are. And Chelsea knew it because she came to him and asked.”

  In the shocked silence that follows Detective Yarrow’s revelation, hideous thoughts ricochet through my brain at sonic speed. What? How can this be? Not possible!

  As if in answer, the terrible hush in the hospital room is shattered by a triumphant roar. “Of course!” Dirck booms. “Shoulda figured she’s my girl! The voice . . . the talent!”

  I look at Dirck, who’s beaming with pride. A small voice inside me responds: But when Chelsea was born, we were still married.

  “You’re too damn full of yourself, Dirck,” Doug says. “Shut up. You’re not thinking straight.”

  My gaze shifts to Doug, his eyes locking on mine. He shifts forward in the chair, his hands gripping the armrests as though he’s about to spring to his feet. My inner voice informs me that of course Dougie was aware that something was going on between Dirck and Elaine. Why didn’t he tell me?

  “Elaine shoulda said something to me. I coulda been a real father to Chelsea. It’s my right!”

  “You were married, remember?” Doug’s voice is quiet but emphatic. “Now shut up.”

  All eyes seem to shift to me, but my attention is still focused on Doug. Is this why he despises Dirck?—the reason he warned me not to pursue getting involved with Elaine and Chelsea? He had to know!

  “Okay, okay, big deal. Meggie, I’m sorry it had to come out like this, but it was a long time ago. A coupla quickies, okay? Who knew there was a kid involved? There’s no need to get upset now.”

  I look at Dirck. “No? You don’t remember?”

  Bewilderment clouds his eyes. “What? What? We were going through a bad patch. You know, like any married couple.”

  It’s just as well Dirck doesn’t remember. But I look back at Doug, who surely does. Why didn’t you say something at the time? You could have spared me such a lot of heartache. During the filming of the last episodes of Holiday, Dirck had reluctantly agreed we should try in vitro. Dougie had finessed my work schedule to accommodate the procedure. I didn’t get pregnant. But Doug was privy to everything and had to have known about Dirck and Elaine. Why the hell didn’t he tell me?

  “Look, what does it matter now?” Dirck says. “Wow, you know, it just hit me. My girl tracked me down in New York. That’s how she came to be in my acting class. And if it hadn’t been for what I taught her, she wouldn’t be where she is now.”

  “She’s missing!” Donna says. “We can’t find her, remember?”

  “You’re right,” he says, turning to Detective Yarrow. “My daughter is missing. What’re you doing about it? You’ve got to find her!”

  “Get him the hell out of here,” Doug says. “That’s enough.”

  “Mr. Heyward, let’s take this outside,
please. We can talk out in the hallway.” Detective Yarrow glances at me, her plump face chalky, her eyes suffused with regret. “Detective McCauley, take him into the hall, please.”

  “Megs, I hate to leave you like this. Maybe we need to talk,” Dirck says.

  “Out!” Jack says, his voice a guttural explosion. “Now!”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  I close my eyes in the silence that follows, but there’s no escaping the horror. Donna lays her hand on my shoulder, fingers spread wide and firm, as though to restrain me should I try to rise up and scream.

  I hear feet treading on linoleum, then Dirck’s voice in the hallway. “Oh my God, Pru! Hey, don’t anyone say anything to Pru, okay? That’d be a disaster!”

  My hand shrinks inside Jack’s firm grip. He’s heard everything, the whole works. My face burns, imagining what’s going through his mind. My second husband a fugitive felon, the first a clueless philanderer! If only I could fly out the window and sail into oblivion. Where’s a speeding bullet when you really need it?

  “Meggie.” Doug’s voice is soft and pleading. “Hear me out, please.”

  “Too late! Don’t come near me!” I cry. “Don’t even try. I trusted you!”

  I turn my face into the pillow, squeezing my eyes tightly closed, aching to die, to disappear. If only I could get my brain to shut down. Donna lifts her hand from my shoulder and I feel her move away, knowing she’s taking Doug with her. I hear the soft whoosh of the door closing.

  Tears boil under my eyelids. In an instant, Jack gently lifts me from the pillow into his arms, cradling me. Before I can draw another breath, his mouth is on mine, kissing me tenderly, holding me close as though I might actually take flight.

  “It’s okay, Meg,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “It’s okay now.”

  Tears course down my cheeks. I look away, not trusting myself to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry you heard all that.”

  “It’s okay, darling. You’re safe with me. Trust me.”

  “Then don’t let me think. Or say any more.” He brushes my hair from my cheek, his lips on mine, taking me to another place of sweet oblivion.