Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Lucretia laughed. “You bad boy! I want to make amends with Haskell's family. I want them at the wedding. They never accepted me because they thought I wanted their uncle's money. But that wasn't it at all. Haskell and I loved each other. I've decided that I'm going to take the original eight million dollars he left me and give it to them. Two million each. It will be a surprise. The rest is ours!”

  “More lemonade?”

  Lucretia and Edward both turned to see Phyllis standing there with a pitcher in hand.

  “Not now, Phyllis!” Lucretia snapped.

  Phyllis beat a quick retreat back to the kitchen.

  Edward's head was spinning. Give away eight million, he thought glumly for about a nanosecond. But then he thought of all those other millions that would someday be his alone . . .

  Lucretia wrapped her hands around his. “You have your homes in the south of France and New York. I have this wonderful dreamhouse. We can live here. I don't want to travel anymore, though. A fortune-teller once told me that I was going to die abroad. So I figure from now on, I'll just stay home! I hope you don't mind . . .”

  “Not at all,” he answered almost too quickly.

  She patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, darling. We'll plan the wedding for this Sunday.”

  “Sunday?” Edward gasped.

  “Four days from now. I can hardly wait. I was up all night thinking about the celebration we'll have. I couldn't sleep, so I dug out the photo album that Haskell's niece and nephews gave him just before we met. I must ask Phyllis to start calling them immediately and give them the good news so they can make plans to be here Sunday.”

  Edward pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat that had trickled down from the base of his perfectly parted hair. His palms felt clammy. On Sunday he would be worth $52 million.

  Lucretia opened the photo album. “I want us both to recognize everyone and remember their names. We'll all be one big happy family. It would make dear Haskell so happy.” Lucretia pointed at a picture of a middle-aged guy with a shaved head who looked as if he were wearing a pair of pajamas. “Now this is Earl. He is the one who loves to meditate, the poor dear. And this is Leon. He's the one who runs the winery.” Lucretia shrugged. “I think of my poor father. He had a wonderful winery, and then the government decided that drinking was a sin.” She turned the page. “Here is Lilac with all her candles and incense. Stuff makes me itch.” She turned and looked at Edward. He was staring at the picture below Lilac's. “What's the matter, dear?”

  Edward pointed to the picture of an attractive blond in her mid-twenties.

  “Who's that?” He coughed, trying to conceal the fear in his voice.

  “That's Lilac's daughter. Her name is Freshness.”

  “Freshness?” Edward repeated, suddenly relieved. Lucretia rolled her eyes. “That's what her mother named her when she was born. Something about the air being so fresh that day. A hippie name. But even Freshness knew it sounded ridiculous, so when she became an actress, she decided to use the name Whitney. Whitney Weldon. Apparently she's gotten some nice little parts in movies.”

  Edward felt the blood drain from his head. “You're inviting her to the wedding?”

  “Of course. I'm dying to talk to her about acting. I still miss it! She's the one I really want to spend time with on Sunday.”

  Not if I can help it, Edward thought as he tried to remain calm. I will prevent it, he promised himself. There was no way he was going to let Freshness ruin his wedding day.

  No matter what it took.

  Friday, May 10

  3

  Regan unlocked the door to her office and stepped over the pile of mail that had accumulated on the floor. She felt as if it had already been a long day, and it was only 8:00 A.M. She'd dropped Jack off at the airport at seven and decided to come in to work to catch up on things.

  Normally, Regan loved working. But not today. Even though Regan's body had made it to the office, her mind was someplace else: still on vacation with Jack. But he was gone, and she wouldn't see him for another two weeks, when she'd fly back to New York for Memorial Day weekend.

  Willing herself to be productive, she put the brown bag containing a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin on her desk, let her purse slide down off her arm, and bent down to pick up the mail. Straightening up, she glanced around the familiar surroundings. Usually her home away from home was a great comfort, but today it had a lonesome, almost neglected feeling. Like me, she thought.

  The office was in an old building near Hollywood and Vine that had black-and-white tile floors, ancient plumbing in the bathroom, and, some say, ghosts in the hallways. It felt just right to Regan. No sleek new office building for her. She preferred character in a joint.

  Regan walked over to the casement window and pushed it open. A cool morning breeze filtered in. “That's good,” Regan mumbled to herself. “Get this place aired out. Time to get moving.”

  Flipping the lid off her coffee cup, she sat down in the chair that had promised to give everything from back support to unconditional love, and had cost her a fortune. She took a sip of the coffee and started sorting through what was a lot of junk mail when the phone rang, piercing the quiet.

  A look of puzzlement crossed Regan's face as she mentally reviewed who could possibly be calling this early. Her mother was in Los Angeles on a book tour. Her father had flown in yesterday to spend a few days with Nora and meet with producers about a film adaptation of her latest book. Jack and Regan had a late dinner with them last night. They wouldn't be calling this early. And Jack should be somewhere over the state of Nevada by now.

  The phone rang again. Probably a sales call, Regan thought as she grabbed the receiver. “Regan Reilly.”

  “Is this Regan herself?” a breathy woman's voice asked.

  “It is.”

  “I'm so glad you're there. Hi.”

  “Well, hi. How can I help you?” The caller sighed.

  “Oh, this whole thing is so weird. Okay. Now. Let's see. . . .”

  Regan picked up a pen and pulled a legal pad closer to her as she waited for the caller to say something worth writing down. The woman sounded like a space cadet. But the call helped Regan get her mind off the fact that she wished she were still on vacation with Jack.

  “Actually, we sort of met yesterday—at Altered States.”

  Regan's eyebrows raised. “Oh, you were the woman at the desk.”

  “Yes, that's right. My name is Lilac Weldon. I'm so glad I found out you were a private investigator. I think it was Kismet.”

  “Kismet?” Regan repeated. “Why was it Kismet?”

  Lilac cleared her throat gently and lowered her voice. “Yesterday I heard from the maid of an elderly actress my uncle married a few years back. He's dead now, and she is getting remarried. She wants my two brothers and my daughter and me to come to the wedding this Sunday.”

  So far, so good, Regan thought.

  “The thing is, we haven't been close at all. We've never even met this woman. They were married only a couple of years, and he left everything to her. We didn't get a dime. Not even a nickel. Not one single penny. Anyway, I was polite and said it was awfully short notice, that I'd have to see. Maybe we could visit another time—ya know, blah blah blah. This Sunday is Mother's Day, and we're busy. I guess the maid could tell I had no intention of coming.”

  Regan still hadn't written anything down.

  “So the maid calls me back early this morning. You could have knocked me over with a feather. She told me that she thought Lucretia—that's who's getting married—was planning to give us the money our uncle had left her if we came to the wedding. But she wasn't going to tell us about it. She wanted to see if we'd bother to show up. If we all showed up, she'd fork it over.”

  “How much?” Regan asked.

  “Two million each.”

  “I'll go,” Regan offered.

  Lilac laughed nervously. “Oh, I know. It's kind of crazy. But Lucretia made over $50 million
off a dot-com. Well, I just talked to my brothers, and they want to go to the wedding.”

  Naturally, Regan thought.

  “I mean we could use the money. We sunk all our money into this place when we bought it, and it still needs a lot of work. But the thing is, my daughter is gone until Sunday night. She's going to come here for dinner for Mother's Day, which will be too late.”

  “You can't call her?”

  “Well, she's an actress and lives in Los Angeles, but she has a part in a movie that's filming near Santa Barbara. I talked to her yesterday morning before I heard about the wedding, and she said she had off Friday and wasn't sure what she was doing for the next few days. It's one of her go-with-the-flow weekends.”

  “Go-with-the-flow weekends?”

  “Sometimes she just likes to get in her car and take off and be alone and out of touch for a couple of days. Be out of touch so she can get in touch with her inner self. Commune with nature, you know? I tried her hotel room this morning, and there's no answer. I left a message, but she may be gone already.”

  “Doesn't she have a cell phone?” Regan asked.

  “Cell phones are a no-no on go-with-the-flow weekends. She has it with her but only uses it for emergencies, like if her car breaks down. Otherwise, she says it stresses her out to be constantly checking messages and answering the phone. So for all intents and purposes she has probably disappeared until dinnertime on Sunday.”

  That would be a drag, Regan thought. It amazed her that someone could take off like that and be unreachable. Being Irish, she was always expecting the other shoe to drop. It would make her too anxious to think that her parents couldn't get hold of her. But these people were of a different mind-set. “What is your daughter's name?” she asked.

  “Freshness.”

  “Freshness?”

  “Yes. Freshness. She was born on the most glorious spring morning. But now she goes by Whitney.”

  Score one for the daughter, Regan mused. “Lilac, what would you like me to do?”

  “Find Freshness.” She paused. “Regan, we all could really use the money. We have debts and—”

  “I understand,” Regan said quickly. Then suddenly she wondered why the maid bothered to contact Lilac about the money. Could it be some sort of ruse? “You know, you might not be getting any money at all,” Regan cautioned. “Who knows whether the maid was telling you the truth?”

  “I thought of that,” Lilac said. “But on the chance that it's on the level, it certainly won't hurt us to make the trip. Uncle Haskell was a good guy, and he must have liked this lady. It still hurt that he didn't leave us anything. The other thing is . . .” Her voice broke. “Regan, all of a sudden I'm worried about Freshness. I can't explain it . . . but I have the feeling that something bad is going to happen to her if you don't find her before Sunday. Did you ever get a feeling like that?”

  “Oh, yes,” Regan said quietly. “And my superstitious Irish grandmother had premonitions all the time, and they often came true. Now let's start with some facts. Where is the movie being filmed? I can drive up there and talk to people on the set. And what's the name of the movie?”

  Lilac hesitated before she answered Regan's last question. “The movie is Jinxed.”

  4

  Eddie Fields hadn't slept a wink all night. He had the brass ring just within his grasp, and now one little jerk named Freshness could ruin everything. Why did he ever take that acting class in New York anyway? He thought it would help him perfect his role as a conservative investment adviser, but he didn't need any help at that. He was a master at deceiving people.

  Whitney Weldon was in that class. They were to do a scene together, so they rehearsed at his apartment. A friend of his had called and left a message on the answering machine while they were going over their lines. Eddie hadn't thought to turn the volume down.

  “Congratulations. I understand you got the old bag to come through with the eight hundred thousand. Don't forget your partner here. You owe me eighty thousand. Ten percent. And this time don't waste your money on the horses.”

  “That's nice,” Whitney remarked sarcastically. “I wish I had a tape of that to take to the police. You're despicable.” Then she walked out.

  Eddie never showed up for the class again. That was three years ago. Then the dot-com he'd been asked to raise money for paid off handsomely for Lucretia. She moved to California, and he followed her.

  He needed Lucretia. He needed her millions. He hadn't taken his buddy's advice, and once again he'd lost all his money at the track.

  His apartment in Venice Beach was shoddy, at best. Unlivable, at worst. I hate this place, he thought, stepping into the shower and trying not to notice the mold and mildew. But I have to put up with this for only a couple more days if everything goes as planned. He lathered himself up and gave his hair a good shampoo. He couldn't stand all the gel he had to put in to give it the nerdy look. Once he and Lucretia were married, he'd slowly let her see his real appearance—the handsome one.

  He laughed and thought again about how one presented oneself to the world made such a difference, about how appearances matter. Clothing, hairstyle, demeanor, attitude. If Lucretia ever saw “the real Eddie” wearing his psychedelic T-shirt and threadbare denim shorts, his hair wild and curly, dancing at the bar at the beach, she'd probably have a heart attack. He couldn't let her see that side of him. But then again, it bugged him that she thought he was a nerd. What had she said about not being interested in his type when he was younger? Huh! It just shows that she had no clue.

  He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the bedroom, which held his meager collection of earthly belongings. A lumpy mattress was graced by a scruffy quilt. He'd rented the apartment furnished. It had obviously been occupied by a number of tenants who didn't treat the place as lovingly as they would have if it were really their own.

  In the closet hung his few good suits. The suits and his car were the most important tools of his trade. Show up in a nice car, especially in Los Angeles, look respectable, and you've won half the battle.

  Within fifteen minutes Eddie was ready to leave the apartment, appearing for all the world like Lucretia Standish's respectable fiancé. But he wasn't heading straight to Beverly Hills. He had to go to the airport first.

  He pulled up outside the baggage claim area at Terminal A at LAX. Eddie's friend had just called to say his plane had landed. And there he was, his partner in crime, Rex. Mr. Ten Percent.

  After throwing his bag in the trunk, Rex opened the passenger door and started laughing. “You're a beaut,” he said. “Nice hair. When's the bachelor party?”

  Eddie put the pedal to the metal and pulled out abruptly.

  “Hey, man, you didn't let me get my seat belt on,” Rex protested. He was a big beefy guy in his mid-thirties, attractive in a thuggish kind of way. He had dirty blond hair, green eyes, and rugged features. His square jaw and broad nose could seem scary or cute, depending on his mood. When he wanted to, he could turn on the charm. When he didn't feel charming, his temper was bad.

  They pulled out into the lane of cars exiting the airport.

  “I'm telling you, Rex. I've finally hit the jackpot.”

  “And I get ten percent—which is what? I'd say about five million dollars. As of Sunday you'll be worth at least fifty million.”

  “Only if you find Freshness and keep her away until after the wedding.”

  “I'll do my best,” Rex said, his voice suddenly deadly serious, which caused Eddie to glance over at him.

  “I can't believe I took that stupid acting class in New York. Of all the luck. I'd be home free otherwise,” Eddie moaned.

  “Maybe, maybe not. You crossed a lot of people. Who's to say one of the other old ladies you ‘advised’ won't turn up somewhere along the way?”

  Eddie waved his hand dismissively. Rex shrugged.

  “So where's my new girlfriend's picture?”

  Eddie reached down to his left and handed an envelope to Rex.
It contained the picture he had taken from Lucretia's album.

  “Not bad. She has that all-American girl-next-door look. Blond hair, freckles. Maybe I'll have to marry her.”

  “Not until next week,” Eddie snapped.

  “Take it easy. I know you're under pressure, but, please, I want your wedding day to be just perfect. Like you always dreamed of.”

  Eddie grunted and laughed slightly. “Sorry, Rex.” He made a left turn off the main road leading from the airport and headed for the car rental area. “Now you're going to get yourself into one of those vehicles and drive up to the movie set near Santa Barbara. That's where she should be.”

  “Should be?”

  “Where else would she be? Her mother told Lucretia she had a part in a film and was scheduled to be on location there for several weeks.”

  “That's all you know?”

  “For now. Except the name of the movie. It's called Jinxed.”

  “Sounds like a winner.”

  Eddie pulled the car up to the rental office and stopped. “You've got her picture. You've got the address of the production office. I'm sure you can find our little Freshness.”

  “The thought of five million dollars does inspire the mind,” Rex said nonchalantly as he opened the door. “Ta-ta. I'll be in touch.” He got out, but then turned around and leaned back in. “It wouldn't hurt to see what else you can find out, partner.”

  “I'll be all ears,” Eddie promised. “Do call and let me know you arrived safely.”

  Rex playfully hit the side of the car as Eddie drove off to Lucretia's, stopping only to pick up a dozen red roses.

  5

  Regan drove up to her apartment in the Hollywood Hills above Sunset Boulevard. The small complex was quiet and peaceful. Birds were chirping, and the sun was rising in the clear blue sky.

  In her comfortable two-bedroom apartment, Regan's suitcase was still on the floor, still unpacked. She threw a few clothes in a smaller bag and gathered her toiletries. The clock in her bedroom read 9:02.