Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Two things were bothering Frank. Would it embarrass Whitney if representatives from the movie she was working on showed up looking for money from one of her relatives? The other, more important matter was that she still hadn't called back. Where was she? Frank couldn't have answered her call in front of Heidi, but he had checked his phone a number of times. Whitney hadn't even tried to reach him. Was she angry with him about something? What if she had gone to the winery?

  “It's a good script, don't you think?” Heidi asked Frank, looking for reassurance.

  “It's a great script. And I think the movie has a real shot.” He hesitated. I have to tell her that we're on our way to Whitney's family winery, he thought, because sometimes Heidi exaggerates in her spiel about the film. Not lies; she just blows around a lot of hot air. She'd end up looking like a fool when it comes out that Whitney is related to these people. And of course it would come out. It would be better if Heidi were prepared. She could lay it on about how talented Whitney was, how good she was in the movie, and how important the film was for her career—all of which was true. “What did you say the name of that winery was?” Frank asked.

  Heidi looked at her notes. “Altered States.”

  “You know,” he said slowly, “that name sounds so familiar. Where did I hear it before? Hmmmm. . . . I know. . . . That's the winery owned by Whitney Weldon's family.”

  “What? Her family owns a winery?” Heidi eyed Frank suspiciously. Then she glanced down at her notes. “Wait a minute! Lucretia Standish said she was going to her niece and nephews' winery. That means they're related.” Heidi broke into a huge smile. “It might make it easier to get Lucretia to agree to invest.”

  “Let's hope.” Frank turned on the radio. He had a feeling that Whitney was in trouble. Well, I guess I'll find out soon enough.

  “When did Whitney tell you her family owned a winery?” Heidi drilled him.

  Here we go, Frank thought. He wished he could find someone else for Heidi to nag. In her own way Heidi was a good producer for him to work with. If only he could get her away from any thoughts of romance. “At the first audition,” he answered.

  “How did it come up?” Heidi pressed.

  Frank sighed. “I told her Whitney Weldon was a good name for an actress. She laughed and said, ‘What about Freshness Weldon?’ ”

  Heidi made a face. “Freshness Weldon?”

  “Her mother was a hippie. That's what Whitney was named when she was born, because the air was so fresh that day.

  Whitney then added that her family had a winery which her mother had dubbed ‘Altered States.’ ” Frank laughed. “She was pretty funny when she was telling the story.”

  “How cute,” Heidi said curtly. “Funny the name Altered States didn't ring a bell before. You certainly remember Whitney's story very well.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I have to call my assistant.”

  That's a relief. No one would ever call you Freshness, he thought. Whitney is Freshness. That's what I'll have to call her from now on. She'll just laugh in that endearing way of hers.

  He couldn't wait to see her again.

  52

  Will you look at that?” Nora whispered as they witnessed Lucretia stepping out of the car like the grand movie star she used to be, waving at the growing crowd of gawkers.

  Earl had been conducting a meditation class when the motorcycles pulled up. Needless to say, the peace and calm in the studio evaporated. Earl's words about meditation being the path to enlightenment were forgotten as his students jumped up from their mats and bolted from the room.

  “Calm, calm, calm,” Earl instructed to no avail. “If you can't beat 'em, join 'em,” he then muttered under his breath as he, too, ran to find the source of the commotion. A moment later they were all outside, gazing in amazement at the sight of the Road's Scholars. A camera crew was shooting everything: the motorcyclists, Lucretia getting out of the Rolls, and the reactions of the people emerging from the tasting room and the meditation center.

  “There's the future Mr. Lucretia Standish,” Regan noted as Edward Fields exited the Rolls wearing a pair of dark glasses that covered half his face. He looked like someone on his way home from the plastic surgeon's after an eye job, someone who clearly didn't want to be recognized. “Let's go outside,” Regan said to her parents.

  Lilac, Earl, and Leon were standing together, respectfully greeting their long-lost or never-met aunt Lucretia. Their soon to be Uncle Edward stood back like a true prince consort. The motorcyclists had gotten off their bikes and taken off their helmets, as if they planned to stay. Regan thought that a few of them were actually preening for the camera.

  “What a scene,” Regan whispered to her parents as Lilac called them over.

  Lilac made the introductions: “Meet Lucretia and Edward.”

  Nora and Luke shook hands with Lucretia.

  “Nora Regan Reilly, the writer? I've read all your books!” Lucretia exclaimed.

  “Thank you.”

  “And this is Regan Reilly,” Lilac said. “She's a private investigator. We called her to help us find Whitney, who went off for the weekend before she knew about your wedding.”

  “Did you find her?” Lucretia asked excitedly.

  “She came home unexpectedly last night. Today she went to an acting seminar, but she'll be here tomorrow.”

  “Marvelous! I can't wait to talk to her about her work.”

  Regan instinctively liked Lucretia. She seemed like a fragile little bird with boundless energy. When Regan shook Edward's hand, not surprisingly she felt an instant dislike for him. His palm was sweaty, his handshake weak, and he seemed aloof. “Nice to meet you. Edward is your name?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered, looking past her.

  I hate when people do that, Regan thought as she turned to see what had captured his attention. Emerging from the vineyard was Don, her neighbor from the meditation class. His skull and crossbones tattoo can't compare to the ones on the motorcycle gang, Regan thought.

  “These nice boys escorted us up here.” Lucretia gestured at the group. “And tomorrow they're coming to the wedding. Dirt, here, gave me a ride on his bike when we met them at the restaurant on the way here.”

  “How nice of them,” Leon said guardedly. He wasn't sure he wanted a group like this on his property.

  “How about a glass of our wine for everyone?” Lilac called out so they all could hear.

  “We don't drink and drive,” Dirt pronounced. He was clearly their leader. “It's hard to have a designated driver when you're all on motorcycles, you know.” He pointed his two forefingers. “We only drink when we've arrived where we're staying for the night.”

  “Where are you staying tonight?” Lilac asked.

  “We don't know yet. We have our bedrolls. We'll see.”

  “Stay here,” Lucretia cried. “We'll have such a good time. Then we can all ride down to the wedding in the morning in style.”

  “I'd love it if you stayed,” Lilac said hesitantly. “But we don't have enough bedrooms.”

  “We sleep under the stars,” Dirt said. “On these weekends we just take it as it comes.”

  “My daughter enjoys go-with-the-flow weekends,” Lilac said enthusiastically.

  “Not anymore,” Leon muttered.

  “What did you say?” Lucretia asked him.

  “Nothing. It's just that we worry about Whitney when she disappears and we can't get in touch.”

  Especially when there are millions of dollars at stake, Regan thought.

  “You're welcome to stay here tonight and sleep under our stars,” Lilac offered. “Roam around, enjoy, have dinner with us.”

  “We don't want to put you to any trouble,” Dirt said. “The big thing is, we just wanted to make sure this little lady Lucretia arrived safe and sound. We don't want anything to happen to her,” he said, training his gaze on Edward and baring his teeth in a warning smile.

  Interesting, Regan thought. These guys have Edward's story. She watche
d as Edward wiped his brow and attempted a smile.

  Leon could tell that Lucretia was enjoying the motorcycle gang. And God knows we want to make her happy, he thought. “We'd love to have you stay,” he finally said with an air of authority. “It's no trouble at all.”

  Dirt leaned against his bike, crossed his arms, and looked as if he were mulling it over. All the while the camera was recording him. He milked the attention for all it was worth. Dirt turned to his group. None of them moved a muscle. He turned back. “We accept your offer. But only if we can go out and bring back food for dinner. You got a grill?”

  “A big one on our deck,” Lilac said proudly.

  “Good. We'll bring back burgers and hot dogs and maybe some corn on the cob, potato salad, stuff like that. Then we'll sample your wine.”

  Lucretia jumped up and down. “Isn't this fun, Edward? We're having a real rehearsal dinner.”

  Edward managed another feeble smile.

  Regan got the distinct feeling that Edward wasn't having nearly as much fun as Lucretia. He must hate us all, she thought. He just wants to marry her, get her money, and get it over with.

  Dirt cleared his throat. “Lucretia told me she's meeting you folks for the first time, so we'll get out of here and give you some time alone, ya know, some quality family time while we check out the countryside and do some food shopping. We'll be back about six o'clock, and then we'll fire up the barbecue. And we'll make toasts to the happy couple. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful,” Lilac answered. “Do you think you could pick up some turkey burgers?”

  “No problem.”

  As the guys started to get back on their bikes and Lucretia started to chatter about how happy she was, one of the bikers walked up to Edward. Regan overheard him asking Edward if he would like anything special for dinner. “You seem like the type who likes chicken,” the biker said to him in an odd way.

  “A ha-ha-hamburger would be fine,” Edward stammered.

  “A hamburger it is then,” the tattooed hulk repeated and then walked away.

  That was strange, Regan thought. This is all so strange. What was going to be an intimate family evening at Altered States has now turned into a barbecue with a motorcycle gang who will be sleeping outside our windows. But that didn't bother Regan. All she cared about was determining that Whitney was okay. She hadn't called back, and that was a worry.

  As the motorcyclists disappeared down the road, kicking up a dust storm, and the meditators and wine tasters returned to their previous business, the rest of the group started to walk into the lodge.

  Lilac turned to the camera crew. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Right now we'll walk around and get some shots of the winery if you don't mind,” the assistant to the cameraman said. “Then we'll be on our way.”

  “Come with me,” Leon said proudly. “I'll show you my machines. You can see how we turn out our beautiful wine.”

  Who else is going to turn up? Regan wondered.

  Then something else happened that seemed strange to her. Edward was getting the bags out of the car when Don Lesser appeared from the shadows and offered him a hand. She didn't know why, but it just seemed odd.

  Let me go in and call Whitney, she thought. And of course I'd really like to talk to Jack.

  53

  Bella was freaking out. She overheard everything that was discussed in the parking lot with that gang of weirdos. They were going to spend the night at Altered States! What if they started roaming around the property and discovered the holes in the ground and the piles of dirt behind the barn? She'd be found out. Or Lilac and her brothers might start digging themselves and discover Grandpa Ward's treasure. Bella couldn't let it happen.

  What if that pack wanted to sleep “under the stars” back there?

  Bella had gotten the lay of the land in the week she'd been working at Altered States. Earl was on a continual cloud in the meditation center, Lilac spent her days fussing over the gift shop and bed-and-breakfast in the main lodge, and Leon rarely emerged from the winery building. He spent the day with his stainless steel tanks, his oak barrels, his crushers and pressers and vats, and whatever other gizmos were used in the process of producing a bottle of wine.

  None of the Weldons had any interest in wandering over to the barn. Bella was reasonably sure of that. But now these bikers . . .

  A woman and her teenage daughter were puttering around the gift shop. Bella had poured wine for two couples who had taken their glasses outside to the picnic tables. She wished everyone would leave. She was aching to run out of there and get back to the grounds behind the barn. She decided to call Walter and tell him to get his sorry behind over to the winery and start digging. Too bad about his back. He'll be able to afford a massage every day if we find a pot of gold.

  There was a phone on the counter that Bella could use for local calls, but she was afraid someone would overhear her conversation. As soon as the coast was clear, she'd make a quick call. If only these people would get out of here.

  Finally the woman approached the register with a dozen candles in her hands. “Do you get those motorcycle types around here all the time?” she asked as Bella started to ring up the purchases.

  “Oh, I don't think so,” Bella said. “But I just started working here this week.”

  “You don't say.”

  “I do.” Bella quickly gave the woman her change and placed the candles in a gift box. She wanted to hurry the customers out of there. She was dying to call Walter.

  “It's so pretty here. We just drove up from Los Angeles. They say on the radio there are wildfires springing up all over the place. I hope they don't do too much damage.”

  “It's been a dry spring,” Bella acknowledged, “which makes it dangerous.” Now please leave, she thought.

  The woman clearly wasn't finished chatting. As she fumbled in her purse for her keys, she continued, “They were interviewing a guy on the radio who lives up in Oceanview. They had to evacuate a school where they were holding Saturday classes.”

  The daughter, who hadn't made a sound, suddenly piped up: “The students must have been glad.”

  “Oh, but dear, we're talking about fires here. That's nothing to joke about.”

  The girl shrugged.

  Get out, Bella was screaming inside. Just get out of here. If the fire reaches this property, I'll never find my treasure.

  “Did you get all the candles you wanted?” the woman asked her daughter.

  The girl nodded.

  “Well, bye now.”

  “Good-bye,” Bella practically snarled. She picked up the phone and quickly dialed her home number.

  “Walter!” she cried when he answered.

  Walter was stretched out on the couch in their little rental apartment. “Yeah. Hi, honey.”

  “Get off the couch.”

  “How do you know I'm on the couch?”

  “I'm psychic. Listen, you have to start digging behind the barn now.”

  “What?”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we don't have much time. A gang of motorcyclists is staying on the property tonight, the wildfires are spreading, a camera crew is snooping around, and there seems to be a million reasons why that treasure might slip out of our hands.”

  Walter had the ball game on. “But my back hurts.”

  “Walter!”

  Walter knew he had no choice, as usual. “Oh, all right,” he agreed. Bella had pointed out the road that led to the old barn, so he knew exactly where to go.

  “Go buy another shovel. I'll join you as soon as I finish up here. I expect you to have moved a lot of earth by then.” Just then a man walked into the gift shop. She'd seen him coming from the fields when they were all outside greeting Lucretia.

  “Okay, sweetie pie,” Bella said cheerfully. “I'll see you later.” She hung up the phone. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “I'd like to taste some wine. May I s
it at the table over there?”

  “Certainly,” she said agreeably, happy now that she'd called Walter into action.

  A moment later the groom-to-be also walked in.

  “Hello there,” Bella greeted Edward. “Congratulations to you.”

  “Thank you,” he answered nervously. “How did you know?”

  “I saw you outside!”

  Edward looked around. “I just want to buy her a present,” he confided.

  “How about a taste of wine first?” Bella suggested.

  “That sounds great.”

  “Have a seat,” Bella encouraged as she prepared two glasses.

  The two men sat at the long table. Bella couldn't possibly imagine that they were there not only to talk to each other but also to check her out.

  “My grandfather used to own this winery,” she volunteered as she poured wine for them. She looked up when she heard someone walk in. “Hello, Regan,” Bella called. “Are you going to have some wine, too?”

  “No, thanks,” Regan responded, taking in the sight of Don and Edward at the table, conversing with Bella. A sign on the wall over the table read IN VINO VERITAS.

  In wine there is truth, Regan translated. And wouldn't I love to know the truth about those three. All of them seemed suspicious. Just what was going on?

  54

  Charles Bennett peeked outside to make sure the television van was gone. Seeing that the coast was clear, he left his house and walked across the lawn to Lucretia's, wedding gift in hand. He had chosen a set of wineglasses from Tiffany's for the bride and groom.

  Reaching the front steps, he rang Lucretia's bell and waited. This house is so lovely, and in all the years I've lived next door, good people have always occupied this abode, he reflected. That was about to change with Edward Fields moving in.

  “Coming,” a voice called from inside the house. Two seconds later Phyllis opened the door. “Mr. Bennett, what a nice surprise.”

  “I thought I'd drop off Lucretia's present.”