Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I hope so, too.” Jack cleared his throat, always a sign to Regan that he had something important to say. “So you'll get to meet Lucretia's fiancé. From what I've found out so far, this Edward Fields is quite a hustler.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. His first name is Hugo, but he dropped that before he met Lucretia. Now he uses his middle name, Edward. Hugo has quite a history. Over the years he's lived with several older women who have provided for him. He actually had a job on Wall Street ten years ago, but it didn't last. He's enjoyed stints as a fund-raiser for charities where he ended up paying himself great bonuses. He's raised seed money for different companies, such as the one Lucretia got involved in, and collected handsome commissions. He also did some front-running—buying a stock, promoting it so the value goes up, then selling it before anyone else does. Basically he calls himself a consultant. He's a smooth operator, so there's nothing we can pin on him. He's never been convicted of a crime. Lucretia is his big catch. After the wedding he'll be able to retire. His favorite hobby is gambling. Let's just hope he doesn't lose all of her money at the craps tables or the track.”

  Regan sighed. “There are so many of those con men around. It's unbelievable what they can pull off. And now Hugo's going to get away with taking Lucretia for a ride. Of course there's no law that says you can't marry someone for their money.”

  “And who wants to be the one to tell the blushing bride that her intended is a gold digger?”

  “Shoot the messenger,” Regan joked.

  “I'll tell you one thing,” Jack said. “I bet Hugo's very anxious to get Lucretia down the aisle before there's a messenger who needs to be shot. California is a community property state. Since they've been engaged only two days, I doubt there's much of a prenuptial, if there is one at all.”

  “Lucretia's only relatives are the winery owners, and she's meeting them for the first time today,” Regan mused.

  “Eddie must be wishing they never meet at all. Oh, that's another thing. His friends call him Eddie. When he puts up a front, it's Edward.”

  Something in the back of her mind started to nag at Regan. Whitney wasn't officially missing, but if it turned out that she met with foul play, would Edward have anything to do with it? Did he know that Lucretia was planning to give away millions if all four relatives attended the wedding? “I can't wait until later when we all gather for a glass of wine,” Regan said, planning her attack. “ ‘Tell me about yourself, Edward,’ I'll say ever so sweetly.”

  Jack laughed. “I have faith in your ability to rattle him.”

  “By the way, how's your case going?”

  “We're still questioning the guy we brought in for selling the stolen artwork. He's obviously not working alone. We have a search warrant for his apartment. Detectives are over there right now. Hopefully they'll find something to help us figure out who this guy's cohorts are. Something tells me they're a dangerous crowd. Hold on a second, Regan.”

  Regan waited, the nagging feeling about Whitney still bothering her.

  Jack got back on the line. “I've got to run. I'll call you later.”

  When Regan hung up, Nora said, “I can't wait to meet this Lucretia.”

  “And I can't wait to meet her fiancé,” Luke added as he turned down the dirt road to Altered States.

  “You can ask him his intentions, Dad,” Regan said, patting her father on the shoulder.

  When they pulled into the parking lot, Lilac came out of the candle shop to greet them. “Welcome,” she said with a big smile. “We're so happy to have you at Altered States.”

  Regan introduced her parents just as Bella was seen emerging from the fields.

  “Oh, good,” Lilac noted. “Bella's back from her lunch hour. She can take over in the shop, and I'll get you checked in.”

  “Have you heard from Whitney?” Regan asked.

  “No.”

  “Did the head of the acting seminar call back?”

  “Not yet.” Lilac seemed unconcerned. “Earl says those kinds of workshops go for hours without stopping for a break.”

  As they retrieved Luke and Nora's bags from the car, Bella waved to the group and headed straight for the shop. To Regan she looked a little red-faced and winded. There's something about her that I can't put my finger on, Regan thought. Regan shrugged her shoulders. Whitney was her main concern at the moment. I'll put another call through to that acting seminar, she decided. They must have broken for lunch by now.

  44

  Lucretia's Rolls-Royce was surrounded by twenty-one motorcycles as it traveled up the highway, an escort worthy of any head of state. Edward tried to pretend he was enjoying the attention, but every time he looked in the rearview mirror, Big Shot's evil grin unnerved him a little more. Edward was sure that he had taken the spot directly behind the car for exactly that reason. Dirt was riding in front of the Rolls, and the rest of the Road's Scholars, as they called themselves, were in formation all around the car. Not a single one of them would you want to meet in a dark alley.

  “Darling, you said I was fun, didn't you?” Lucretia asked, her eyes glittering.

  “I did say that,” Edward agreed, wondering if he would make it through the weekend alive. I have to call Rex and make sure he doesn't do anything to harm Whitney, he thought in a panic. Edward was getting worried. He'd done a lot of dirty deeds in his life, but putting someone directly in harm's way was never one of them. The only thing he'd taken aim at, so to speak, were people's wallets. A trickle of sweat ran down his back, and Edward realized with no uncertainty that he didn't want to get involved in any hard crimes that put people's lives at risk. Not now. Not with someone like Big Shot riding his tail. He hoped he'd made that clear to Rex.

  “Oh, with all this excitement, I haven't called Phyllis yet,” Lucretia exclaimed, diving for the phone that was situated between them. She pressed in her Beverly Hills number and put the call on the speakerphone.

  Edward felt doomed as they waited for Phyllis to pick up.

  “Hello. Standish residence,” Phyllis answered in a reluctant tone of voice.

  “Phyllis,” Lucretia screeched. “Oh my God! I saw you on television. How exciting!”

  “You didn't mind?”

  “No. The backyard looked beautiful. You should have led the reporter to the wall of pictures of me in my Hollywood days.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That's all right. Why did they come back?”

  “They're still here,” Phyllis whispered. “She just went out to the television van to get something. They've gotten so many calls about the story that they want to do more on you. I tried to say no, but the reporter said that they had gotten an e-mail from two of your childhood friends who say they have a secret they share with you.”

  “Polly and Sarah!” Lucretia's voice—if possible—went up several octaves.

  “So you remember them?”

  “Of course I remember them!”

  “Do you know what the secret is?”

  “Yes.” Lucretia's voice broke, and all the gaiety she had been feeling seemed to evaporate.

  “Is it bad?” Phyllis asked.

  “It could be worse, I suppose.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, listen, I made the reporter give me the e-mail in return for the interview in the house.”

  “She's not going to use it?”

  “I can't be sure, but I don't think so. Polly and Sarah addressed part of the message directly to you.”

  “What does it say?” Lucretia's heart was beating wildly.

  “Hold on.” Phyllis dropped the phone on the counter, lowered the TV, and retrieved the e-mail that she had stuffed in her purse for safekeeping. She also pulled out her eyeglasses and put them on. “Okay. Here goes:

  Dear Lukey,

  Lucretia screamed.

  Phyllis paused.

  “Sorry,” Lucretia said, recovering quickly. “It's been so long since someone called me that. Please continue.”

  “Okay,” Phyllis said. �
�One more time:

  Dear Lukey,

  Remember us? Polly and Sarah? We couldn't believe it when we saw you on television today. It's been so long since you've appeared on any screens anywhere.

  “How catty!” Lucretia interrupted.

  “Whatever.” Phyllis continued:

  But you look great, and we wanted to congratulate you on finding a younger man. We know you've done it before! Remember when we came down to Hollywood for your birthday party the day the stock market crashed? What a night that was. Remember the pact we made that very night? We're sure you do. We're sorry we never got to see you much after that. You grew apart from us. Unlike you, we both married only once. Our husbands are gone now. We decided it would be more fun to live together than rock in our chairs alone.

  The times we remember most fondly are of the three of us as teenagers going up to the graveyard behind your father's winery. We thought we had our lives figured out, didn't we? We had some great discussions up there.

  After we saw you on TV, we started wondering what people would think if they knew about the secret pact we made that night at your birthday party. It makes us giggle.

  Lucretia screamed again.

  “There's one more line.”

  “What?”

  We'd love it if you got in touch.

  “What's their number?” Lucretia asked quickly.

  “I don't know.”

  “Why not?”

  “They only gave an e-mail address.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Doesn't say. Oh—I think the reporter is coming back in.”

  “Tell her she can have anything!”

  “What?”

  “I don't want her contacting those two. Put her on the phone.”

  “All righty.” Phyllis handed the phone to Lynne, who was now standing by her side.

  “Hello, Lucretia,” Lynne began in a falsely cheery tone that grated on Lucretia. “So many people are interested in everything about you. They just can't get enough of this story.”

  “How flattering,” Lucretia replied, willing herself to sound calm and chatty. “We're on our way up to my niece and nephews' winery north of Santa Barbara to have a family get-together before the wedding.” She then whispered, “You'll never guess what's going on.” She knew she had to give this reporter something to keep her away from Polly and Sarah.

  “What?”

  “We have a twenty-one-man motorcycle brigade escorting us to the winery. They're all coming to the wedding tomorrow.”

  “What a great visual,” Lynne said excitedly. “Where did you meet them?”

  “At a roadside diner.”

  “I love it! What I'd really love to do is arrange for a camera crew from our affiliate in Santa Barbara to get footage of your arrival at the winery. I just hope they can get there in time.”

  “You've got at least forty-five minutes,” Lucretia said. “I'll tell Edward here to slow down.”

  Lynne laughed. “Wonderful! Would you mind if I took a ride up there myself? I'd love to interview your relatives.”

  “Why not?” Lucretia retorted. “The more the merrier.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Phyllis will give you the address. Can I speak to her again?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hello, Lucretia.”

  “Give me that e-mail address. I'll get in touch with those two. I'll use Edward's Blackberry or blueberry or whatever they call those miniature computers.”

  Edward gasped, then pretended he had a cough.

  Phyllis whispered while the reporter was excitedly talking to her boss on her cell phone. “Do you mind if I ask what the secret pact is?”

  “I certainly do! Now give me that e-mail address.”

  When Lucretia hung up on Phyllis, Edward reached for her hand. “All this talk of a secret. You're going to tell me what it is, aren't you?”

  “No! It's a girly thing. It's silly, but I don't want the world to know.” Lucretia batted her eyes at him. “Besides, we are all allowed to have a few secrets, aren't we?”

  Oh, yes, Edward thought. More than a few. More than you can ever imagine.

  45

  After Norman spent four hours teaching his students how to tap into their creative powers and discover their own charisma, he felt satisfied. They were a pretty good group. As usual there were one or two students who tried to grab all the attention. It happened at every workshop. Norman once read that when you put together a random bunch of people, certain personality types always emerge. Someone who is a leader in one group might assume a backseat with a different collection of individuals, but somehow all the roles become filled. It was almost as if it were a law of nature. You always have the quiet ones, and a class clown will usually emerge.

  “Okay, everyone,” he announced. “Lunch is served inside the house. We'll resume in an hour.”

  Most students opted for the group lunch since they were in a remote spot in the mountains—not to mention that the price of the seminar included meals and a place to stay for the night. Norman had transformed his basement into two dormlike rooms. The seminar didn't end until midnight or one in the morning, and Norman felt that when the students stayed overnight, it helped solidify the work they'd done all day in breaking down their individual barriers and defenses. It was like camp for grown-ups. Norman also felt that it would make the students more appreciative of the comforts of their own beds and their own space, something that could help them as actors.

  “Be aware of everything around you,” Norman told his students over and over. “When you look at someone, really see them. When you taste a food, really taste it. Remember how it feels to be hot or cold or exhausted. Be specific.”

  Norman walked out of the backyard and across the barn to his house.

  “Norman?”

  He turned. It was Adele, one of the attention grabbers. A fiery redhead, she had a great figure and was dressed in one of the most revealing mesh tops he had ever seen. She had also shoehorned herself into a pair of designer blue jeans.

  “Yes,” he answered warily.

  “I feel I'm having such trouble letting go,” she pouted. “I mean, I feel my creativity just begging for release, but it's blocked all in here.” She put her hands over her chest.

  Oh, boy, Norman thought. I don't think you've ever let anything block you. “We'll work on that after lunch,” he assured her.

  She grabbed his forearm and squeezed her eyes shut. “Thank you. I think this morning has already changed my life.”

  “That's good,” Norman said quickly. “How about lunch?”

  Adele opened her eyes. “I have special dietary needs, so I brought my own.”

  “Terrific,” Norman said, managing to break away. It's always the least talented people who make the biggest fuss, he thought. Somehow he knew that Whitney Weldon wasn't like that, and he felt all the more disappointed that she wasn't there. He was debating whether to call her when he walked into the house where some of the students were already helping themselves to the buffet at the dining room table and saw Ricky standing in the kitchen.

  “Hey, buddy.” Norman extended his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, so I thought I'd take a ride.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” Ricky shook his head. “I'm still a little wobbly. Do you have any ginger ale?”

  “Sure.” Norman reached down into a cooler of soft drinks and pulled out two cans. “Let's go into my office.”

  They walked down the hall, past the bedrooms, and into Norman's office. It was a comfortable room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a large window that looked out on the front lawn, a big wooden desk with a computer and printer, and an overstuffed couch against the wall facing the window. Taking seats at either end of the couch, they flipped open their cans of soda.

  “Would you like a glass?”

  “No,” Ricky assured his friend. “This is fine.” Norman took a sip of his soda. “Whitney Weldon didn't show up t
oday.”

  Ricky looked puzzled. “She didn't?”

  “No. I'm surprised, too. I spoke to her yesterday, and she paid with a credit card. It's a pretty expensive day to just blow off.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “I was going to, but then I figured I'd wait until lunchtime. If she still wasn't here, I'd try her then.”

  The phone in the office rang.

  “I bet that's Dew,” Norman said as he got up and walked over to his desk. “She's down at the radio station.” He picked up the phone. “Hello. . . . Hi, honey. . . . Yes, everything's fine. . . . What? . . . The wildfires are spreading, so they're thinking of evacuating? . . . I'd better let the students know. . . . Call me on the cell phone this afternoon if you hear anything more. . . . I'll keep the phone turned on during the session. . . . Talk to you later, babe.”

  “What's going on?” Ricky asked.

  “We haven't gotten enough rain. The trees are so dry, the whole area is like a tinderbox. Wildfires are starting up north, and they're spreading. Homes in the mountains here are the most at risk. The conditions are bad out there, they're just bad. I want to tell the students in case any of them want to leave now.”

  They left the room in a hurry. Norman did not notice the scribbled message that the maid had left by his computer.

  The students were eating their lunch in the large den off the kitchen. Some were on the couches; others were sitting Indian-style on the floor.

  “I just received a call from my girlfriend,” Norman announced. “She works at the radio station in town. There are wildfires around this whole area, and they're spreading. We might be forced to evacuate.”

  A collective gasp went up in the room.

  “If anyone wants to leave, you can come to the next seminar. I want you to feel comfortable. I would like to stress that they're not evacuating anyone yet. My girlfriend is going to keep me posted. I'll keep my cell phone turned on this afternoon, so we'll hear immediately if things have gotten worse.”