The gloom that descended on me lifts and I start counting my blessings, one of which is that I’m alive. The second is that Jack is still in my corner and romance appears to be on the bubble. I will also heal, pay my bills and somehow afford to replace my Volvo. I climb back into bed and reach for a cup of cold coffee just as Donna appears at the door.
“Stop! Don’t drink that!” Donna sweeps into the room carrying a hamper. She’s wearing a colorful sundress with a cotton sweater and beams at me with visiting-hour cheeriness. She sets a red-plaid vintage thermos and a carton of half-and-half on my tray. “Good morning! I’ve brought you fresh-brewed French Roast and enough breakfast for all of us. I picked up Doug on the way over here.”
“Dougie’s here? Where?”
“Just outside in the hallway,” she says, speaking quietly. “Look, we’re both really upset about what happened. It had to be awful for you. I am so sorry.”
“I’m fine now. I’d just as soon forget about it.”
“But Doug is very distressed. He really needs to talk with you.”
“What’s between Doug and me happened a long time ago. It’s not something I care to dredge up.”
“Nothing needs to be said.” She gives me a fixed look, her voice firm. “But don’t shun him. He’s really hurting.”
I give myself a moment, knowing I could never shut him out of my life. Whatever happened, he means too much to me. “I know. I understand.”
She flashes a relieved smile, then hurries out to the hallway. Moments later, Doug follows Donna into the room, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“I see you’re ready for your close-up,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
“I wish I’d used a stunt double.”
“Woulda helped.” Dougie hands me the flowers. “I seem to recall you like daisies.”
“I love them, and they don’t get enough respect. Thank you.”
I hold the bundle of daisies in front of my face, looking at Dougie through the opaque cello-wrap. “Did I see you wince when you saw me?”
“If I did, shame on me. How do you feel?”
“Like I spent the night in a cement mixer and lived to tell the tale. Otherwise, fine.”
“It could’ve been a lot worse,” Donna says, still radiating cheerfulness. She takes the bouquet from me and deposits the daisies in my water jug. “You’ll feel much better after eating something.”
She busies herself spreading a pale yellow cloth on my bedside tray and unpacking the overflowing hamper. My mouth waters as she sets a carafe of orange juice, a bowl of fresh mixed berries, a pot of homemade peach preserves and a basket of muffins and croissants on the table. She pours coffee for Dougie and me, tipping just the right amount of cream into my cup.
I take a greedy sip and sigh deeply. “Thank you, Donna. Just what I needed.”
Doug settles himself in the armchair wedged next to the bed. Coffee cup in hand, he gives me an appraising look. “You still wonder why I worry about you?”
“There’s no need,” I say firmly. “Any word about Chelsea?”
“Not a peep.”
“How about Ed Ackerman? He’s got to be going nuts with a pilot starting production next week and no leading lady.”
“You’re right. He’s already got a replacement on tap. You’ll probably be recruited to teach her hat tricks, if you’re up to it.”
“That’s not what I want to hear. Besides, my hat is still on the run, remember?”
“A hat’s a hat and actresses are thick on the ground out here, if you hadn’t noticed. Ackerman’s got to take care of business. There’s nothing solid to indicate the girl didn’t go missing of her own volition. He’s gotta move on. We start shooting next Monday.”
“We’ve got a week, which means there’s still time. Technically, she’s only been missing three days.”
“What about Elaine?” Donna asks. “I wonder if she has people back in Indiana to arrange for her funeral? We should offer to help.”
“I assume her body is still with the medical examiner,” Doug says. “You know, the police are still trying to account for a couple of hours before she came to your place for dinner.”
“Actually, I saw her,” I blurt out. “We had happy hour together.”
“I forgot about that,” Donna says, handing me a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “You didn’t mention it to the detective?”
“I told her last night.”
Dougie leans forward. “Happy hour? You two weren’t exactly best buddies.”
“No, but we happened to run into each other and had a glass of wine together.”
“You mean, of all the gin joints, you just happened to frequent the same one? How did that happen?” Dougie sighs, realizing he’s treading on slippery ground. “Never mind, none of my business.”
I nod in agreement. There’s no point in addling him further by mentioning that the gin joint’s bartender is Chelsea’s boyfriend. He’d only ask me how I know that and chastise me for sleuthing around as “Jinx” again.
“Okay, you two. Time to eat.” Donna hands me a plate and passes the breadbasket. I take a buttery croissant. A smattering of crispy flakes falls onto my chest as I bite into it. Dougie takes a bran muffin, but it’s not sufficient distraction to shift him from the subject of Chelsea.
“I know what I said sounded harsh. It doesn’t mean we’re not concerned about her. But without any clue where she might have gone and no report from any hospital—to tell you the truth, I don’t know what to think.” His voice trails off and I catch him staring at the bran muffin on his plate as though it could provide an answer.
I polish off my croissant and reach for a blueberry muffin. “The peach preserves are delicious, Donna. Am I tasting a hint of ginger?”
She smiles. “Glad you like it.”
Doug is still staring at his muffin, lost in thought, when a portly man breezes into the room, announcing himself as Dr. Wardour. “I followed my nose,” he says. “That smells like great coffee.”
“I’ll pour you some,” Donna says.
“Thanks, but I better take a look at my patient, here, if you don’t mind.”
Doug, carrying his plate with the muffin in one hand, coffee in the other, goes into the hallway without a word.
Donna follows, taking her coffee cup with her. “Meg, I’ve brought you a change of clothes,” she says, her hint none too subtle. “We can leave whenever.”
“I don’t see any reason to keep you here,” Dr. Wardour says after examining me. Following my assurances that I will take it easy, I get my discharge papers.
Donna packs up her hamper while I put on the fresh tee shirt and jeans she’s brought. Doug, having finally finished his muffin, heads out to bring Donna’s Mercedes around to the entrance. I text Jack to let him know Doug and Donna are taking me home. Dressed in street clothes and feeling remarkably good, I’m still asked to ride in a wheelchair to the hospital entrance. I take the hamper from Donna and put it in my lap as an attendant wheels me to the elevator.
Doug pulls into the pickup crescent and pops the trunk lid. Donna stows her hamper and climbs into the back seat. I sit next to Doug, holding my bouquet of daisies and a plastic bag with the clothing I wore yesterday.
“Home, Jeeves,” Donna sings from the back seat.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” Doug says, steering Donna’s 1972 baby-blue Mercedes onto the street. With light mid-morning traffic, we manage to arrive at Doug’s house in less than a quarter of an hour.
“Meg, you want to come in for a minute? I’ve got something to show you.”
“If you two don’t mind, I have to get back,” Donna says, climbing behind the wheel of her Mercedes. “See you later!”
We wave her off, then I follow Doug around the side of the house to the garage. He punches the remote button on a key ring and the garage door grinds open. Then he hands the set of keys to me. “She’s all yours,” he says. “I started her up this morning and she purred like a happy kit
ten.”
I peer into the gloom of the two-car garage and realize Dougie has just given me the keys to his wife Edie’s prize possession: her 1983 Oldsmobile 98 Regency in custom canary yellow with a white top and whitewall tires.
My mouth falls open, but I manage to say, “Dougie, no. You can’t.”
“I can. What else am I gonna do with it? Besides, Edie would be proud to have you driving it.” He turns and heads into the house. “Go on. Take it. I don’t want to see it when I open those garage doors again.”
I stare in wonder at the Olds. Once seen, the 98 Regency is not easily forgotten. It’s certainly not the ideal vehicle to provide shelter for a homeless person, and I speak with some authority. If I’d attempted to reside in the luxurious environs of Holmby Park in this conspicuous boat on wheels, I would have been rousted in short order.
Edie loved her car. She herself was an unprepossessing, somewhat plump housewife, married to a successful film director who had enjoyed an especially good year when he bestowed the Olds 98 on the occasion of her thirty-ninth birthday. It was the car she wanted. She was not a woman who desired furs and diamonds: an Olds 98 was all the bling she coveted.
By the time I pile my gear in the roomy passenger seat and back the Olds out of the garage, Doug is already taking Ridley for a walk. I pass them a block from the house and park at the curb. Doug stops and gives the car a long look, his eyes bright with a sheen of moisture.
“I’ll sign her over and get the papers to you. Everything else you need to know should be in the glove compartment.”
“I’ll take good care of it.” I wrap my arms around his thin shoulders, feeling the roughness of his safari jacket against my cheek. “Thanks so much.”
“While we’re at it,” Doug says quietly, “are we still okay with each other? No hard feelings that I didn’t tell you about the two of them way back when?”
“If you had, we probably wouldn’t have stayed friends, Doug. There are some things you just can’t tell someone.”
He nods, looking relieved. “That’s how I saw it, too, at the time. I didn’t know about the kid, but I kinda suspected. Don’t think I didn’t consider saying something. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt for the world.”
“So let’s forget it.” I give him another hug.
He doesn’t reply and I know he can’t. His chest heaves against mine and I hold him even closer. Then he stands back, watching as I climb into the driver’s seat. Perhaps he’s picturing Edie, a trademark bright kerchief tied jauntily around her pulled-back hair, cruising into the studio lot to meet him for lunch.
I haven’t checked the odometer, but if ever there were a “Sunday best” car, it would be Edie’s Olds 98, which never traveled the open road, never saw a freeway. She used it exclusively to tool around town for lunch, do errands and attend daily morning mass at Good Shepherd. If Doug has any misgivings about me taking good care of Edie’s car, he doesn’t betray them.
I wave as Doug and Ridley get on with their walk. As I turn the corner, I see Donna up ahead, her Mercedes idling at the curb. She gives me a thumbs-up and pulls out, driving ahead of me the short distance to her house. I realize she and Dougie have worked it out, showing caution in putting me behind the wheel of a car after what happened last night. I’m not surprised when Donna takes a back route that avoids the corner where I was shot. By the time I drive up to the garage, she’s already carrying the hamper into the kitchen.
I park my ’83 Olds next to her ’72 Mercedes, the two old birds both looking game in their dotage. I roll the window down and sit back, looking around the plush crème interior with its wood-grain trim, breathing the lingering scent of Edie’s sweet floral fragrance. Cotton rugs cover the floor mats on both the driver and passenger sides, reminding me how fastidious Edie was. I make a mental note to launder the cotton rugs and dust the interior at least once a week. Checking out the contents of the glove compartment, I find a tin of throat lozenges and a tube of Fire & Ice lipstick wedged in with service statements.
Perhaps it’s the sight of these prosaic items that reminds me of everything I stashed in my Volvo. I realize I have to find my car and retrieve the contents from my own glove compartment.
I start to roll up the window when I hear Dirck’s voice. “So how many gallons to the mile on that baby?”
I turn to see him dropping rubbish into a bin. At least he’s making himself useful. Without responding, I continue rolling up the window.
It’s true that when Edie took possession of her Olds 98, gasoline was a buck-and-a-quarter a gallon, but I’m just grateful to have wheels, even whitewalls, however much gas the car guzzles. Besides, in the time it’s taken me to drive Edie’s Olds home, I’ve fallen in love with it. I climb out and gently close the door to find Dirck standing at my shoulder.
“I heard Dougie palmed Edie’s car off on you. I told Donna maybe she should install a gas pump in the driveway to save you both trips to a filling station.” He laughs. I ignore him.
“You think it’ll pass a smog test?” He laughs again. “You better hope those pimpmobile tires hold up.”
“Shut up, Dirck! It’s a damn fine car and I’m lucky to have it.”
“Hey, lighten up! Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” I push past him and enter the back door to the kitchen. I can smell fresh coffee. I want some even if it means sharing space with Dirck.
“I would’ve come along this morning, but I slept in. Man, I was zonked after last night. Hospitals really do me in. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Hey, if you’re pouring, I could go for a cup, too.” He leans against the counter, standing inches from me. “It’s, like, weird we hardly ever get to talk.”
“Why?” I take another mug from the cupboard and fill it. “We didn’t talk for nearly a decade.” I hand him the mug and pick up mine.
“You know, maybe lack of communication was our big problem. I’m sure as hell willing to take some of the blame for what happened back then. I hope you’re not still upset over this thing.”
“Thing?” I stare at him, my hand shaking with the urge to toss scalding coffee on his manly-man outfit, but I don’t want to mess up Donna’s pristine kitchen. “My God, you never disappoint.”
“Oops,” he says. “Looks like you’re still steamed. You can’t let something like this eat you up, Meg. Let it go, girl.”
“Yup, you’re right.” Carefully gripping my coffee mug tightly in both hands, I head for the stairs.
“If you’re looking for Donna, she’s out in the garden.”
“Thanks.” I change course and walk down the hallway to the French doors in the den, Dirck at my heels.
“There’s no reason we can’t be friends. I mean, like, cordial conversation, you know? Pru would enjoy meeting Jack, and there’s no reason we couldn’t all be on good terms.”
I quicken my pace. The idea of a couples’ night with Dirck and Pru is so distasteful that—but then I stop and turn to Dirck, the full implication of what he’s said sinking in. “How would Jack and Pru ever even meet?”
“I’m glad you brought it up. I was thinking of bringing Pru and Priscilla out to LA for a while. It would be great for all of us to get together.”
“I wouldn’t make plans just yet. If Chelsea doesn’t turn up soon, she’ll be replaced. You won’t have any need to be here.”
I open the French doors and step outside, a fresh breeze fanning my sense of relief. No Chelsea, no Dirck. He could be heading back to New York very soon. But I regret the thought instantly when I realize it would mean something awful has happened to Chelsea.
“Wait, that’s my daughter you’re talking about,” Dirck wails. “They can’t do that!”
Despite the fact that he’s the most irritating man on the planet, it’s never taken much for me to feel sorry for Dirck. Seeing his anxious face induces the sort of reaction I have to guard against because it generally leads me to do things I regret.
But then I hear
him say, “I mean, of course I feel bad for her. She’s my daughter, after all, but this is a real blow. I was kinda hoping I’d have time to test the waters. If I could teach and do some voice work, we could move out here. With a kid, it would be nice to have more space and a backyard.”
I steel myself. Now is not the time to either toss scalding coffee on him or go soft and end up with the entire Heyward family in the guest house. “I’m really sorry, Dirck, but that’s the way it is. Ed Ackerman already has someone in mind.”
“You know who? Maybe I could—”
I spot Donna coming out of her orchid pavilion carrying a plant with creamy white blossoms that I’ve learned is a Phalaenopsis. “For you,” she says. “Welcome home! I’ll put it in your room.”
“Thank you! It’s beautiful. I’ll take it up. I’m going there anyway to get some papers. I just came back to get the towing receipt from you so I can check on the Volvo.”
Donna shakes her head. “The police told me they were impounding it as part of a criminal investigation. They hauled it off on a flatbed truck to a crime lab somewhere. They’re not going to let you near it.”
“My car?” I stare at her, somehow not comprehending. “But it’s my car.”
“You can kiss that baby goodbye,” Dirck says. “She’s junkyard scrap once they’re through with her.”
“Dirck, please!” Donna glares at him, then takes my arm. “Let’s go inside.”
The two of us walk across the lawn to the den. “I’m really sorry,” she says under her breath, “but he’s getting on my nerves.”
“It’s his job in life.”
“He excels at it.” She closes the French doors firmly and we watch Dirck amble off to the pool house. “I can’t kick him out until Chelsea’s found. I know that, but—”
“For her sake, let’s hope it’s soon.” I sink onto the Chesterfield sofa, the energy draining out of me as my head rests against the cool, nut-brown leather.
Jinxed Page 19
