Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Phyllis interrupted her: “Don't you think you need your rest today?”

  Lucretia shushed her. “No!” she hissed, then turned back to the phone. “Nothing, Lilac darling. Everything's fine. I'll call Edward and tell him this is the plan for today. Of course he'll want to come! I haven't been to a winery in years. It'll be fabulous. A ride in the country always did me good.” She wrote down the directions and told Lilac she'd see her that afternoon.

  They'd better not double-cross me, Phyllis thought frantically. “Can I come with you?” she blurted out.

  Lucretia looked at her as though she were nuts. “Since when did you want to travel with me? Besides, this is my pre-honeymoon. Also, you have to stick around here to answer the doorbell. The caterer and the florist will be making deliveries today.”

  Phyllis knew she was right. But she was terrified that somehow her deal with Lilac would fall through. Everything suddenly felt out of her control.

  “I must call Edward,” Lucretia cried. “Now get out my overnight bag.”

  25

  Rex was back in bed. He couldn't believe that he had pulled it off. Whitney was in the barn where no one could possibly find her—at least not for a long while. She was tucked away safe and sound until after the wedding. Rex had managed to sneak back into the house undetected. That was over two hours ago.

  He got up, grabbed his cell phone, went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and dialed Eddie's number. A groggy-sounding Eddie answered.

  “It's me,” Rex announced.

  “What's going on, man?” Eddie asked.

  “I got her. She's tied up in the garage.”

  “Are you kidding?” Eddie's voice went up an octave. “Is she safe?”

  “Safe enough. I'm trying to decide what to do now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Should I stay here or should I leave?”

  “Stay. Make sure Whitney stays put in the garage. Where's Regan Reilly?”

  “Still here, I suppose. I'm in my room.”

  “Stay. Keep an eye on things.”

  “Okay. What's going on down there?”

  “It's a nightmare. We were on the news last night. Lucretia's announcing our marriage to the world. I'm a wreck.”

  “You were on the news? How did that happen?”

  “She shopped for a wedding dress at Saks and started yakking away with the salesgirl. One thing led to another.”

  “Nobody said marrying someone worth over fifty million dollars would be easy. By the way, did you know that Whitney and her family are all getting a couple of million dollars each if the group shows up at the wedding?”

  “What? How do they know that? Lucretia told me to make out the checks, but it was supposed to be a surprise.” He paused. “And they're getting it whether they show up at the wedding or not. Why would they think it has to do with showing up? I wonder if that nosy maid has anything to do with it. Now it makes sense that they hired a private investigator to find Whitney! They're doing it because they think they'll get money. How greedy.”

  “Well, my friend, they think the same of you. They suspect you're a con artist. They're right about that.”

  Eddie's call waiting clicked in his ear. “Hold on a second,” he said.

  Rex waited, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. A couple of minutes ticked by. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror. I hate wearing the dopey wig, he thought. He was contemplating that maybe he could use some surgery to get rid of the bags under his eyes when Eddie came back on the line.

  “Oh my God!” Eddie cried.

  “What's the matter?” Rex asked quickly. He'd never heard Eddie sound so distressed.

  “Lucretia had a bad night. Then she talked to Whitney's mother. We're invited up there today to relax, have a nice dinner, and stay over. We'll come back for the wedding in the morning.”

  Rex whistled softly. “Oh, boy. Can't you get out if it?”

  “No. There's a tone in Lucretia's voice that I haven't heard before. She's determined.”

  “Well, pal, I guess I'll be seeing you later today. Remember, we don't know each other.” Rex hung up the phone. Maybe I shouldn't stay, he thought. This may be getting a little too close for comfort. As long as Whitney was hidden, Rex didn't have anything to do. He called another one of his cohorts in New York to check up on another “project.” The news wasn't good.

  “Jimmy got arrested when he tried to sell the artwork to an undercover officer. The feds are questioning him.”

  Oh, great, Rex thought. I guess I'm not going anywhere. It's time to lay low at the winery. Time to just lay low. Maybe I'll take the meditation class.

  26

  Frank Kipsman woke up with a headache. He knew it was tension.-He'd driven down to the Beverly Hills Hotel last night with Heidi Durst, the screenwriter and producer of Jinxed. Heidi was a nightmare. It was bad enough that she created tension on the set for the actors, but she ranted and raved for the entire ride, going on about how Jinxed has to work and how they should have done this and should have done that. They both knew the financial difficulties were her fault, but Frank knew he had to let her vent. Her backers had pulled out because she had been so difficult to deal with.

  God, how he missed Whitney. Sweet, ditzy Whitney. How lucky he was that she auditioned for Jinxed. She was perfect. A young Goldie Hawn. She played the part of the beleaguered dot-com executive with perfect aplomb, as they say. This movie could really advance her career. His, too.

  Frank switched on the bedside light and called the beeper he had given Whitney. He knew that she didn't want to keep checking her cell phone. The beeper was a quicker and easier way to stay in touch because it was just for the two of them. No one else had the number. They laughed about it being romantic. All Whitney had to do was look at the number, confirm it was

  Frank's, and call back as soon as she could. He dialed the number of the beeper, plugged in his number, hung up his phone, and waited.

  For ten minutes he lay on the bed. He looked at his watch. It was 8:15. He told her he'd call her early in the morning. Where could she be? he wondered as he started to feel uneasy.

  Twenty-eight years old, the boyish Frank had already established a name for himself as an up-and-comer in Hollywood. He'd made a couple of low-budget slasher movies, and Jinxed was his first chance at a comedy. The Three Stooges had been his favorite show when he was a kid and inspired him to get into show biz. He knew Jinxed could be a big hit, and that was why he could put up with the supreme taskmaster, Heidi Durst. She was demanding and egocentric, and put everyone around her through a wringer, but she was also a talented producer. And she could be very funny, even if it was mostly in a mean way.

  What made him feel really uncomfortable was that he thought she had a crush on him. It was unrequited love as not even Shakespeare could imagine. Heidi was only thirty-one, but she was as crusty as any curmudgeon coming down the pike.

  Bitter about having lost a husband to someone who was actually a nice person, Heidi put all her hopes into this movie.

  Frank got up and opened the curtains to another bright, sunny day in Los Angeles. He was supposed to meet Heidi downstairs in the Polo Lounge for breakfast at a quarter to nine. I can't wait to hear her new scheme, he thought as he headed for the shower. We come down here for the weekend to raise a million dollars without any real plan, and we stay in an expensive hotel to try to impress potential backers.

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed in chinos, a navy blazer, and his trademark sneakers, Frank joined Heidi in the restaurant. She was already seated, making notes on her legal pad, swigging coffee, and barking orders at the waiter. Here we go, Frank thought as he took in the sight of her. It's not that Heidi was unattractive; it was her demeanor that made people run for cover. Curly brown hair that was clipped by what looked like a military barber, intense blue eyes, and a determined jaw said it all. She had on a khaki pantsuit that made her look as if she were going into battle. Well, I guess she is, Frank thought as he
smiled and took the seat opposite her.

  “Morning, Kipsman,” she said brusquely.

  “Good morning.” He unfolded the napkin and put it across his lap, well aware that it was going to be a long day. And all he wanted to do was make movies.

  Heidi looked down at her legal pad. “My assistant called this morning. Several people we contacted have agreed to see us today. But I have another idea.”

  “What's that?” Frank asked as he gratefully accepted coffee from the waiter.

  “I couldn't sleep last night, so I was watching GOS. They kept playing this brief piece about a woman who's getting married this weekend. She made over fifty million in one of the dot-coms that crashed.”

  Frank just nodded.

  “She's ninety-three.”

  Frank nodded again.

  “She's marrying a much younger man.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She used to be a silent film star.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Yes, really,” Heidi repeated, sounding annoyed. “She was very big for about five minutes—seventy-five years ago.”

  Frank hadn't seen many silent films. He'd been too busy watching the Three Stooges.

  “She lives in Beverly Hills. I checked. Her phone number is in the book. I'm going to call her and offer her a part in the movie.”

  “Offer her a part in the movie?” Frank gulped.

  “Yes! We'll figure out something. She can play herself—someone who made a fortune off a dot-com instead of losing everything. It can be a brief scene over the closing credits. It'll be funny and good for publicity.”

  “I assume you'll be seeking funds from her.”

  “Well, what do you think?” Heidi snapped. “I'm going to call her this morning and tell her we have a wedding present that we'd love to drop off since we're in town—”

  “Do you have a present?” Frank asked.

  “Of course not. We'll go shopping if she agrees to see us.”

  Frank sipped his coffee. Why oh why hadn't Whitney called back?

  27

  Frank and Heidi had a most unsuccessful meeting with a potential-investor who told them their movie would never work. Frank had the feeling that the guy just wanted to sit and talk about the lousy movies he had made years ago. They sat in his den as he smoked a pipe and went on and on about this actor and that actor. He seemed to start every sentence with “In my day . . .”

  When it became clear that the checkbook on his desk would not be opened for Jinxed anytime in this millennium, they extricated themselves as quickly as possible. They were down but not out.

  “We have to meet the next moneybags in half an hour, but let's see if I can reach Lucretia Standish,” Heidi said as she dialed her cell phone. She cleared her throat and waited. Frank knew the look. She was like a tiger, poised to spring on her unsuspecting prey.

  “Is Miss Lucretia Standish there?” she asked in her friendliest tone.

  Frank sat back and folded his arms. He still couldn't believe Whitney hadn't called back. But he couldn't say a word to Heidi. She'd freak if she knew there was anything going on between them. She'd already said a few snide things about Whitney. Heidi knew she was talented, so she had no reason to complain. She was just jealous because everyone liked Whitney.

  To be your own man, Frank thought. Well, I guess everybody has to kiss somebody's behind no matter where you are on the food chain.

  “This is Heidi Durst, president of Gold Rush films. . . . No, I don't know Ms. Standish. . . . Well, I have what I think will be good news for her. We know that she's an actress, and we wanted to offer her a part in the movie we're currently filming. . . . Yes, now. . . . Of course I'll hold.” Heidi turned and looked triumphantly at Frank. “The maid is running after her. She's out in the car. What people will do when Hollywood calls. It's pathetic,” she said with superiority.

  Her superiority was short-lived.

  “Miss Standish, helllloooo,” she said. “Yes, that is right. We would love to work with you, and we thought we might stop by your house today. . . . Not good, huh? . . .”

  Frank wasn't the least bit surprised.

  “Oh, I see. . . . You're heading up to your niece and nephews' winery. . . . Tomorrow's the wedding, and you'll be away for a couple of weeks. . . . Well, our movie doesn't finish shooting for another month, so we could still use you. If you have a minute, we're right in the neighborhood.”

  Frank thought the voice at the other end of the phone sounded like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family. That was another one of his favorite shows even though it was produced long before he was born. Thank God for cable.

  “We could have a glass of wine with you at the winery later today. . . . That sounds wonderful. . . . We're heading up that way anyhow.” Heidi wrote down the directions. “The Altered States Winery . . .”

  Frank inhaled sharply, causing Heidi to look at him quizzically. He smiled back as though everything was fine—everything except that that was Whitney's family's business.

  How much did they know about him?

  28

  At Norman Broda's acting seminar, he took attendance, which didn't take long at all. There were eleven students who would be spending the day learning how to release their creativity, remove blocks, unleash their own voice, their own self. “Mine the vein of gold that is you” was Norman's battle cry.

  A day and a night of this with a dozen students added up to six grand. Not bad if you do it a couple of times a month.

  Norman was most disappointed that Whitney Weldon hadn't shown up yet. As it was they were getting a late start, and she still wasn't here. He wondered where she could be. She'd already ponied up the $500. And that was just yesterday. It was unusual for someone to sign up so late and then not attend the seminar.

  Norman had been hoping to use Whitney's name to attract more attendees at these seminars. He was considered a wizard at getting actors to loosen up. He had taught in Hollywood and then retreated to the mountains three years ago to write screenplays. Two had actually been optioned. He still directed an occasional television movie. All in all it was a good life. Age fifty-two, he lived with his girlfriend, Dew, who was twenty-five and worked at the radio station in town.

  He had the feeling that he should call Whitney to see if she was coming. He normally didn't do that. If someone didn't show up, she didn't show up. But he had actually answered the phone yesterday when Whitney called, and she sounded so excited about the seminar.

  No, he decided. I'll wait until lunchtime. If she isn't here, then I'll call. If I can't reach her, I'll call Ricky and find out what happened. Maybe she can come to the next seminar in a couple of weeks. He'd love to get her to read the script he had just written. She would be perfect for the lead.

  “Okay, everyone,” he said to the students. “I want you all to bring a chair up onstage. . . . We're going to start with sense memory exercises.”

  As he led the group through an introductory relaxation technique, he couldn't get his mind off Whitney Weldon.

  Where was she?

  29

  Whitney was a prisoner in her own car. Her hands and feet were bound, her eyes were blindfolded, and a gag was tied around her mouth. The car was hidden in the back of the barn where no one would ever find it until they decided to clear out the place. The building was full of junk: old tractors, oak barrels, falling-apart furniture. Whitney thought she'd heard her captor throwing things over the car. Clearly he had been here earlier.

  He had thrown the quilt over her as soon as she stopped the car. In that quick moment she had seen in the rearview mirror that he was wearing a ski mask. He'd shoved her roughly to the storage area behind the backseat and then tied her up.

  When will anyone miss me? she wondered. Her family had begged her to keep her cell phone on and to be sure to keep in touch. The wedding tomorrow was too important to miss.

  Whitney lay there with her hands tied behind her back. The gag in her mouth tightened when she tried to scream, as if it
would choke her if she tried too hard. The blindfold was so tight around her eyes that her head throbbed. What can I hope for? she wondered. Will someone find me? Will I be left here to die?

  Maybe, just maybe, they'll miss me at the seminar. Maybe they'll call to see where I am. It was her only hope.

  30

  After Regan hung up with her parents, she still couldn't shake the feeling of concern for Whitney. It just didn't make sense that Whitney would drop her dress and not notice it, no matter how rushed she felt and no matter how early in the day it was.

  But what could have happened? Regan walked out of her room, down the hallway, and into the grand room of the lodge. All was quiet. She glanced out a front window and saw three women getting out of their cars, dressed as if they were going to join Earl's meditation class. It was a beautiful May morning. The sun was shining, and it was one of those days when everything should come up roses.

  In the office Regan found Lilac conversing with a woman who was probably in her forties and was dressed in jeans and a floral sweater.

  “Regan, this is Bella. She helps us with everything around here.”

  “Oh, I just love every minute of it,” Bella said as she grabbed Regan's hand, squeezed the life out of it, and pumped it several times. “How are you, Regan?” she asked. Her body was broad, but her face looked like a Kewpie doll's, with dramatic carefully lined red lips. They reminded Regan of a bow tie. Brown hair curled around her lined face.

  Regan pulled her hand back, resisting the urge to massage it, and replied, “Nice to meet you, too, Bella.”

  Bella turned her attention back to Lilac. “I'll go open the candle shop. We're also open all day for tastings?”