Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Please come in.”

  Charles hadn't been inside the house since Lucretia had bought it. “As I recall, this looks exactly the same way it did when I was at a party here a couple of years ago,” he observed.

  “Lucretia took everything as is,” Phyllis affirmed. “Same furniture, same paintings, same maid. I was just making a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  “I'd love one,” he said, glad that they'd have a chance to talk. Phyllis looked a little strained to him.

  Glancing out the window in the kitchen, Charles noticed all the tables that had been set up for the wedding reception. “I see you're getting everything ready for the big day,” he commented in a less than enthusiastic tone.

  “Uh-huh.” Phyllis poured boiling water into a china teapot. “We've had a bit of excitement around here this morning.”

  “I saw the television piece last night.”

  “Apparently a lot of people were watching. It's caused quite a stir.”

  Charles looked at her quizzically. “What happened?”

  “In the middle of the night Lucretia received a number of phone calls from angry viewers. They're still coming in. This morning she found tomatoes all over the front steps. Talk about bruised fruit. So she got out of town.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Lucretia's niece called this morning. She and her two brothers own a winery near Santa Barbara. They invited Lucretia and Edward to visit for the day and stay there tonight. They're going to have a big dinner. Lucretia was gone already when the reporter showed up again. Lucretia called while the reporter was here because she happened to catch the follow-up report they did today. She and Edward were having lunch in a diner when the story was being broadcast. So now the reporter is headed to the winery, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, as only Lucretia can, she ended up with a twenty-one-man motorcycle escort to the winery.”

  Charles laughed heartily. “I don't know her well, but that sounds like Lucretia to me.” He sat at one of the stools next to the counter and suddenly felt sad. Lucretia was going to marry someone who probably couldn't care less about her. “I don't like this guy!” he blurted out unexpectedly.

  Phyllis, who had been reaching for the teacups in the cabinet, turned to him quickly. “I can't stand him.”

  “What are we going to do?” Charles wondered aloud.

  Phyllis exhaled deeply. “Nothing we can do at this point.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Do you have a crush on Lucretia or something?”

  “I certainly do.”

  They both laughed.

  “You know, Phyllis, if you can't say what you feel at my age, then when can you say it? As soon as Lucretia moved in and I realized who she was, I got so excited. It's not often I meet someone I can reminisce with anymore. We were both actors in the good old days. I was never in a silent film and she was never in a talkie, but it doesn't matter. We'd understand each other. We could have a good time together.”

  This man is so nice, Phyllis thought. If he finds out that I lied to Lilac so that I'd get some of Lucretia's money, he'd never forgive me.

  The phone rang. “Get ready for this,” Phyllis said to Charles as she put on the speakerphone. “Hello. Standish residence.”

  “Drop dead! I hope Lucretia chokes on her wedding cake!”

  “I'll give her the message,” Phyllis replied, promptly disconnecting the caller.

  Charles laughed again. “I didn't know you had such a sense of humor.”

  “Being a maid all these years, with the things I've had to put up with, you have to see the humor in these situations.”

  “That call worries me, though.”

  “Lucretia's going to get an unlisted number,” Phyllis assured him. “But right now this phone is all we've got.” She poured the tea into their cups.

  “I don't like the fact that Lucretia is a target for all the crazy people out there watching television. I wish I could just bring her back and protect her.” Charles crossed his arms and sighed.

  “You've got it worse than I thought,” Phyllis teased with a raised eyebrow.

  “Seriously, Phyllis, we have to put our heads together and get rid of this guy!”

  Just as long as I get my money, Phyllis thought. Just as long as I get my money.

  55

  The office of the local weekly, Luis Says, was located in a white stone cottage on a quiet street in San Luis Obispo. Inside, Thaddeus Washburne was alone at his desk. He always came in for a couple of hours on Saturday because he loved his work. The newspaper had been in the Washburne family for so long that it felt like an actual family member—a family member that needed as much care and attention as any relative, and probably more. Other men played golf on weekends. Thaddeus went into the office and poked around his files. Now that his wife was gone, he spent even more time there than usual.

  The paper went to press late Friday night. Thaddeus was still in the office when GOS News did the first story on Lucretia Standish. Moving fast, Thaddeus wrote his own story about Lucretia for the paper that was within hours of being published. The Washburne family had always had a particular interest in covering human interest stories about people who had grown up in the area and then gone on to become famous. Thaddeus's father had started a file on Lucretia when she was making movies. Thaddeus dug out the file for background information and used the old pictures in it for his story.

  Lucretia's life was quite a tale. He wanted to run another, more detailed article, but he was sure it would be hard to get hold of her personally. He kept the television on in the corner of the office and followed the continuing coverage of Lucretia's adventures. GOS was running the story every hour, it seemed. Thaddeus had watched Lucretia's maid on a segment that morning. He couldn't believe Lucretia had made all that money off a dot-com.

  The doorbell rang. Who could be visiting here on a Saturday? he wondered as he pushed himself out of his chair. He opened the door and was surprised to find two elderly ladies standing outside.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “We have something we had to get off our chests.” Sarah held up the latest edition of Luis Says. “We're Lucretia Standish's ‘unidentified chums.’ ”

  Thaddeus broke into a hearty laugh. “I love it! Please come in, won't you?”

  They followed him into the comfortable one-room cottage. The Washburnes had knocked down the walls years ago so that all the employees could be within shouting distance of one another, like the bull pen of a big-city daily. Even though it was a small room and it was a small local paper, they felt it gave them a certain big-city spirit.

  Thaddeus pulled two chairs up to his desk. “By the way, I'm Thaddeus Washburne.” He extended his hand.

  Sarah, always the leader, shook his hand first. “I'm Sarah Desmond.”

  “And I'm Polly Cook. We can give you the spellings of our names for the next time you use our picture.”

  Thaddeus laughed again. “May I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Water would be fine,” Sarah answered.

  Polly nodded. “Water would be good. I could drink coffee and tea all day long, but then I don't sleep at night.”

  “Ever try decaf?” Thaddeus asked.

  Polly grimaced. “Don't like the taste.”

  “We try to drink eight glasses of water a day,” Sarah informed him. “It's a chore, let me tell you.”

  “Gives me a bloated feeling,” Polly agreed.

  “You gals must be doing something right,” Thaddeus noted. “You certainly don't look your age. If you didn't tell me you were ninety-three-year-old Lucretia Standish's friends from childhood, I'd have guessed your ages to be at least fifteen years younger.”

  Polly and Sarah smiled coyly at Thaddeus and then slyly at each other as Thaddeus went off to fetch their refreshments.

  Thaddeus grabbed two glasses in the kitchenette and filled them from a watercooler that emitted a loud gurgle as he walked back to his desk. At that moment
the GOS anchor announced that Lucretia Standish was “having quite a weekend.”

  Polly and Sarah both gasped, then shushed each other. Thaddeus put the glasses down on his desk, grabbed the remote control, and turned up the volume. A shot of the sign for Altered States Winery filled the screen. Suddenly a tough motorcyclist rode past the sign, followed by a white Rolls-Royce and then a large cluster of bikers riding in formation.

  “Lucretia Standish went to visit her relatives at their winery where a rehearsal dinner will be held tonight. She had a motorcycle escort from a group called the Road's Scholars.”

  The next shot was of Lucretia getting out of the car, waving regally to the crowd, and smiling for the camera.

  “Oh my goodness,” Polly declared. “Will you look at that?”

  “Jealous?” Sarah asked.

  Polly raised her right eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  “. . . Lucretia and her fiancé greeted her family.”

  “He is a youngster,” Thaddeus observed, almost to himself. “How can you tell with those glasses?” Sarah snorted. She leaned closer to the television. “Isn't that Nora Regan Reilly?”

  Lucretia was shaking hands with several people.

  “I think it is,” Polly agreed. “Remember we heard her speak at Cal Poly a couple of years back?”

  “Sure do.”

  “We covered her lecture in our paper. That definitely is Nora Regan Reilly,” Thaddeus assured them. “I remember how pretty she was and how tall her husband was. He's standing there right next to her.”

  “He's a nice man. We both read her books,” Sarah said. “I wonder what she's doing there.”

  “. . . We'll be bringing you more updates about Lucretia Standish's wedding weekend later in the day. If you have any comments, please e-mail us at—”

  Thaddeus lowered the volume. “Good Lord. Where did Lucretia find those motorcycle guys?”

  “She always liked to have fun,” Sarah remarked, her head moving slowly from side to side.

  “We had the best times with her, just the best,” Polly added. “She was a daredevil. Never scared of anything.”

  “From the way you talk, I guess you don't see her anymore.”

  “Haven't since before any of us married. We lost touch when her career faltered and she left California. It's funny to see her getting married again. We had all made a pact that we'd be each other's bridesmaids.” Polly stared wistfully at the television screen.

  “I'd love to do a story on the three of you,” Thaddeus said thoughtfully “Have you two always lived here?”

  “Oh, no. We both married and moved away. I ended up in San Francisco and Polly in San Diego. When our husbands died, we decided to live together. Since neither one of us wanted to move to the other's city, we compromised and moved back here where we both feel comfortable. We're not far from our families—just a day's drive at the most.”

  “We cover the coastline of California in our travels. When we go out to the highway, sometimes we turn right and sometimes we turn left,” Polly explained.

  “Uh-huh. It would be great to get the three of you together again after all these years. We can invite Lucretia back here for one of the summer festivals. It'd make a great story. Why don't you try to get in touch with her?”

  “We already did!” Sarah declared. “We sent an e-mail to that news station and included a private message to Lucretia. But we haven't heard back from her.”

  “We just sent it last night, and we haven't been home all day,” Polly reminded Sarah. “Maybe when we get home there will be a reply.”

  “What's your Internet server?” Thaddeus asked quickly.

  “Pluto,” Sarah answered.

  “I have the same one! Use my computer to check your e-mail.”

  Polly, who was even more of an Internet junkie than Sarah, jumped up and came around behind the desk. Thaddeus got up, and Polly quickly took his seat.

  “Nice chair.”

  “Thanks.”

  Polly typed in her password as they all remained silent. She clicked again, and her e-mails popped up. “Lucretia wrote back!” she cried.

  Sarah, Polly, and Thaddeus leaned toward the computer as Polly clicked on Lucretia's e-mail.

  Dear Sarah and Polly,

  How wonderful to hear from you! It's been too long. I'd love it if you came to the wedding, but I don't know where you are. If you get this and don't live too far away, please be at my house in Beverly Hills on Sunday morning at eleven. You can be my bridesmaids! Remember our pact? Speaking of pacts, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE keep your lips sealed about our secret. Bring dates if you like. The more the merrier! I'll type my address and phone number at the bottom. Right now I'm away, but I hope to see you tomorrow.

  Love,

  Lukey

  P.S. I wish we could have one of our graveyard chats tonight!

  “That must be some secret,” Thaddeus said eagerly, clearly hoping to be let in on the intrigue.

  Polly and Sarah both giggled. “We can't tell,” Sarah declared.

  “After all, she invited us to her wedding,” Polly added.

  “Are you going to go?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Of course!” Sarah responded without even looking at Polly. “Do you want to be our date?” she asked after a moment. She could sense he was feeling left out.

  Thaddeus's face beamed. “I'd love to accompany you lovely ladies,” he replied. “I'll bring my camera and take a current picture of the three of you. Heck, we'll do a special edition! That is if Lucretia doesn't charge me millions for the rights.”

  “She's already got millions.”

  “You know,” Polly remarked, “rehearsal dinners are always a lot more fun than weddings—at least in my experience.”

  “But we're not invited.”

  “Bridesmaids are always invited to the rehearsal dinners.” Polly turned to Thaddeus. “What was the name of that winery? Altered something? Where is it?”

  “Altered States. Let's see if we can find it.” Thaddeus leaned down and started typing. He was a whiz at getting information not only from his interviewees, but also from the computer. “Altered States is not that far from here at all. I'd say an hour's drive at the most.”

  Polly and Sarah looked at each other. “Isn't it kind of pushy to just show up?” Sarah asked in an unsure tone.

  “She'd invite us if she knew we were so close by. We can say we just wanted to drop by to make a toast.”

  “She said she wanted to have a graveyard chat with you two,” Thaddeus offered encouragingly. “Maybe you can have that chat after all.”

  “Let's do it,” Sarah urged. “At this age what have we got to lose?”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “Ninety-three. Unbelievable.”

  “Whatever,” Sarah said. “Are you driving us, Mr. Washburne?”

  “Absolutely. It'd be my pleasure.”

  56

  When Regan left the gift shop, she was not filled with good vibes. Edward was obviously not a model groom. Bella had a few screws loose, and that Don character was beyond strange. Regan was sure that Edward and Don were connected somehow. She thought a moment. But then again, Edward and Lucretia only decided to come up here today. Don had arrived last night. They couldn't have planned it because Lilac was the one who suggested that Edward and Lucretia pay a little visit.

  Regan shrugged and started to walk across the parking lot to the main lodge. She still hadn't called Whitney or Jack. Without knowing quite why, she suddenly turned around and walked back into the gift shop.

  “On second thought I think I will take a taste of wine,” she told Bella, who didn't look nearly as startled at Regan's reappearance as the two guys.

  “Great,” Bella said. “Have a seat at our tasting table. Would you like red or white?”

  “Red.” Regan sat down on the bench next to Edward. “Hello again,” she murmured as Bella poured from the Weldon Estate bottle into Regan's glass. Was that dirt under her fingernails?

  Regan wondered with surpr
ise. She hadn't noticed it this morning. Bella was so exact about her makeup. Anyone who takes the trouble to line her lips the way she does would definitely keep her nails clean. Her nails were a little chipped, too. She finished pouring and put down the bottle.

  “Hope you like it.”

  Regan lifted her glass and held it out. “Cheers,” she trilled lightly to Edward and Don.

  They both mumbled “cheers” and sipped.

  “If you need anything, I'll be over at the register,” Bella announced and scurried off.

  A lively crowd, Regan thought. She held up her glass again. “Edward, to your wedding.”

  “Thank you.” Edward sipped from his glass.

  “You must be so excited,” Regan said. “Are you from Beverly Hills?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you from then?”

  “New York.”

  “Really. What part?” Regan enjoyed watching him squirm.

  “Originally Long Island.” He cleared his throat. “But I've lived in Manhattan.”

  “How about you, Don?”

  He was staring out the window. “Don?” Regan repeated.

  “Oh,” he said abruptly, turning his head.

  That was weird, Regan thought. “Where are you from?”

  “All over.”

  The two fountains of information suddenly decided that they had things to do. Draining their glasses, they both got up.

  “I've got to check on Lucretia,” Edward explained to Regan.

  “I'm going to be hitting the road soon,” Don said.

  “You're leaving?” Regan asked.

  He nodded. “I'm meeting some friends.” The look on his face told Regan that her questions were not at all welcome. But she already knew that.

  “Whatever you do, have fun,” Regan urged him. Well, at least I rattled them, she thought as they both left the tasting room. I want to get Don's license number before he takes off for parts unknown, Regan thought. She waited a couple of minutes, then went out to the parking lot. She knew that Don was driving a dark SUV. There was only one SUV in the driveway at the moment. Regan walked over and cautiously circled it. She noticed rental papers on the front seat. Interesting. He would've needed to produce a driver's license to rent the car. Regan knew that information would be on record and could be produced if need be.