Clueless Chase

by Wendy Meadows

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, honey,” Valerie told Mary. “Some memories flee with the wind and others stick like honey on bread.” Valerie threw her eyes at the house Ellie was resting in. “We’re in the far back lots,” she explained. “A cannon could go off back here and no one would hear. And there’s nothing behind these lots except a lot of rugged canyons. A person could easily die back here and never be seen again.”

  Mary felt creepy and cold. She didn’t like the back lots. The lots seemed, to her, to resemble a prison that held the lives of past stars unable to escape their own misery. Suddenly the lure of fame tasted very sour to her. Sure, the front lots were dancing with glamour and fame—but when all was said and done, all the glamour and fame ended up decayed and imprisoned.

  “I wish I were back home, sitting on my back porch, sipping tea,” Mary whispered. “It smells awful back here…I wish I could smell the sweet scent of the Tennessee wind right now.”

  “It smells bad back here, all right,” Valerie agreed, “because these lots hold misery. It’s the misery you’re smelling.” Valerie kept her eyes on the western house. “Okay, Mary, here’s how we’re going to roll this ball downhill. I’m going to walk right up and knock on the front door. You’re going to stand behind that big tree over there. As soon as Ellie answers the door, I’ll tell her that Mr. Walsh wants to see her. You see, Mr. Walsh has sent me back here once before to retrieve his daughter. I don’t see any reason why she would be suspicious of me.” Valerie looked at Mary’s face, which appeared on the verge of panic. “Now, calm down, honey.”

  “This place gives me the creeps.” Mary shivered. She drew in a deep breath. “Okay, you lure Ellie out and then I come up behind you with my fake gun, right?” she asked.

  Valerie nodded her head. “Smart girl. All you have to do is stick to our plan like honey sticks to bread.”

  “I will,” Mary promised.

  “Good,” Valerie said. She patted Mary on her shoulder and without wasting another breath, simply walked out into the open, began whistling a song, and aimed her body toward the western house. Mary bit down on her lower lip, looked around, and decided on a safe path to the tree she was supposed to hide behind. She quickly circled behind the building and came up to the tree from behind the house just as Valerie knocked on the front door. “Miss Judith Walsh, this is Valerie Call. I have a message from Mr. Walsh.” Valerie continued to whistle her song like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Mary ducked behind the tree and waited. A minute later, the front door of the house crept open. To Mary’s horror, she saw a gun appear. “What is it?” an angry voice snapped.

  “Now put that away,” Valerie snapped back. “I’ve come to give you a message and you greet me holding one of those awful things.” Valerie shook her head. “I’ll just go back and tell Mr. Walsh to send someone else to give you the message.”

  Valerie turned and began to walk down a set of brown front porch steps.

  “Get back here,” Ellie hissed. To Mary’s relief, she saw Ellie lower the gun. “What does he want?”

  Valerie, playing it like a pro, slowly turned around and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not really sure. All he said was that he wanted to see you in his office. Why? Who knows? All I know is that if I don’t get back to Studio B and finish painting that set I’m going to be in a world of trouble.” Valerie began to walk away again.

  “Wait!” Ellie snapped and slowly eased out of the front door wearing a black coat and a black hood that hid her face. She was leaning on a crutch and holding her left ankle up off the ground, which made Mary feel a little better; at least the tiger was wounded. “He knows I injured my ankle and that I can barely walk using this awful crutch. Why would he send for me instead of coming back here himself?”

  “How should I know?” Valerie fussed. “I was finishing up painting his office door…again, for the second time this month, which was a real pain because I’m way behind on my work at Studio B. Why, do you know how long it takes me to paint a prop house? Well, let me tell you, Miss Walsh, I can’t paint a prop house in a matter of seconds. Does Mr. Walsh seem to know that? No. All he cares about is that his office door is painted a new color because the last color was too dark. Too dark, I tell you. Why, I couldn’t tell the difference between—”

  “Enough!” Ellie yelled in an irritated voice. She glared at Valerie with angry—but not suspicious—eyes. “I’ll need help walking to the front office. If I were to fall—”

  “I figured,” Valerie quickly interrupted. “I parked a studio car up by the old water tower. I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Walsh, but it would take us ages to make it to the front office on that injured ankle of yours.”

  Ellie threw her eyes toward the water tower. A building blocked the front of it, and all Ellie could see from the front porch was the water bucket. “I…suppose that will do,” she said. She slammed the front door shut and tucked her gun away into the inside pocket of the black coat she was wearing. “Help me down the front steps.”

  Mary watched Valerie begin helping Ellie down the front steps. As soon as Ellie’s back was turned from her, she drew in a scared but brave breath, took out her fake gun, and dashed out from behind the tree she was hiding behind like a bomb being dropped on enemy territory.

  “Don’t move!” she yelled at Ellie.

  As soon as Valerie heard Mary’s voice, she yanked Ellie’s crutch out from under her arm and quickly backed up into the dirt street.

  Ellie, who was standing on the second to last step, lost her balance and crumpled down onto the ground. She threw her head up, saw Mary walking toward her holding a gun, and then looked at Valerie. “You tricked me!”

  “Yep,” Valerie said. She threw down the crutch, retrieved her own fake gun, and aimed it at Ellie. “Take your gun out of your coat pocket and toss it over to me…real nice and slow,” she said.

  Mary stopped in front of Ellie and looked into the woman’s face. To her shock, Ellie was breathtakingly beautiful. Mary had never seen a woman so beautiful in all of her life. Yet, Mary noticed, staring into Ellie’s fuming eyes, the woman had no heart or conscience to her—her heart was rotted and ugly; void of beauty and life. Only on the outside, to a blind world, was Ellie Wording beautiful. To a person whose heart taught them how to see, Ellie Wording was a dead, rotted plant full of poison thorns. “Mr. Walsh sent me to kill you. He betrayed you, Ellie.”

  Ellie stared up at Mary with deadly eyes and then shoved the black hood off her head, revealing long blond hair. “I should have killed you in Tennessee,” she hissed.

  “Yes, you should have,” Mary agreed. “You had your chance.”

  “I needed more than chance,” Ellie hissed again. “I had more to worry about than just you. I knew Detective Burbank would never stop pursuing me.”

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” Mary asked.

  “I wanted to…and I almost did,” Ellie admitted. “However, if I had killed Detective Burbank and tried to frame him for Monroe’s death…no, no, it was too risky. I wasn’t sure anyone would ever believe Monroe was killed by a cop. Besides, I needed the photo.” Ellie glared at Mary with furious eyes. “It was all too fast, Mrs. Holland. Monroe’s death…the tornado…I felt threatened. I needed time to recuperate and think.”

  “You came home,” Mary said.

  Ellie nodded. “I came home to end this game,” she confessed. “I needed Detective Burbank dead…but how? I needed you dead…but how? I needed Bridget Carson’s and Monroe Baker’s deaths tied to someone else other than me…but how?” Ellie rubbed her injured ankle. “I devised a plan. I would force you to come back to Los Angeles, force you into the mansion and kill you. Then,” Ellie actually grinned, “I would set fake evidence out that would connect Detective Burbank to the murder of Bridget Carson and Monroe Baker…as well as you. The detective can’t have any loose strings lying around, now can he? No, he would have to kill you, too.” Ellie glared at Mary. “And your friend, Mrs. Ho
lland, who you should have never brought along.”

  “Betty is in danger. Mr. Walsh has taken her hostage.”

  “So what?” Ellie asked Mary. “He’s going to die. You’re all going to die.” Ellie grinned again. “My plan will be carried out without flaw, Mrs. Holland. I devised a way to get rid of all my enemies with one stone and the fine detective was going to be my fall guy. He’s the only cop in Los Angeles smart enough to connect me to Bridget Carson’s murder. He has to die. And little ol’ me, I’ll play the hero.”

  “Hero?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, the hero,” Ellie promised Mary. “I intend to make it appear that I killed Detective Burbank after he lured you, your friend, and Gavin Wording to my grandfather’s mansion. Why, I’ll become famous all over.” Ellie grinned again. “I’ll also take over the studio and have absolute power. My plan is flawless. So now, Mrs. Holland, you can see why I didn’t waste my pawns in your little town? I had bigger fish to fry and needed to plan my next move very carefully.” Ellie checked her ankle. “If only Monroe would have stayed home…oh, my plan would have been carried out by now. You, Mrs. Holland, nearly ruined everything.”

  Mary glanced at Valerie. Valerie shook her head. “Throw your gun out,” she ordered Ellie.

  Ellie shook her head. “Those fake prop guns do not scare me,” she said and without hesitation whipped out her gun and aimed it at Mary. “Mrs. Holland, if your gun is real and not a prop, then please shoot me,” she said in a taunting voice.

  Mary felt her blood turn cold. She dropped the fake prop gun she was holding and backed up to Valerie. Valerie stared at Ellie with angry eyes. “You’re a monster,” she said, throwing down her gun.

  Ellie let out a sick laugh. “It’s all a matter of perception,” she said. “Now, hand me my crutch.”

  “I’ll do it,” Mary told Valerie. She bent down and picked up Ellie’s crutch and began walking over to her.

  “That’s better,” Ellie said, assuming Mary was acting in full submission. She began to struggle up onto her knees. As she did, she took her eyes off Mary for a single second, which was just enough time for Mary to swing the crutch at Ellie’s gun hand like a baseball bat. The crutch smacked into Ellie’s hand and knocked the gun loose. Ellie let out a cry of pain, tumbled back down onto the ground, and grabbed her hand. Valerie dashed forward, snatched up the real gun, and aimed it at Ellie. And just like that, Ellie Wording was captured. No grand stage fight, no great drama, just a simple crutch to the hand.

  Mary held onto the crutch. “Valerie?”

  “I’ve got the gun,” Valerie promised.

  Mary let out a sigh of relief. “Ellie, you’re going to prison,” she promised. “But first I have to save my friend and you’re going to help me.”

  “I’ll never help you,” Ellie cried out in pain. “I think you broke my hand.”

  “A broken hand is much better than being stabbed in the back,” Mary pointed out. “Your days of killing people are over with.”

  “Monroe deserved to die!” Ellie screamed. “He said he loved me!” Ellie began to cry. “He said he loved me…then he sent me out into the cold and began sending Bridget Carson roses. He betrayed me! He was the one who stabbed me in the back! They both did!”

  Mary looked down at a woman who suddenly appeared pathetic in her eyes. Instead of seeing a vicious killer, she simply saw a very sick, mentally ill woman who would never understand the true meaning of love.

  “Ellie,” Mary said, “when you’re sitting behind prison bars, just remember that no one stabbed you in the back but yourself. Now get to your feet. My friend’s life is in danger and you’re going to help me save her.”

  Ellie glared up at Mary and shook her head no. “Kill me if you must, but I’ll never help you!”

  Valerie looked at Mary. “I think I know of a way,” she said and smiled a smile that scared Ellie.

  Chapter 9

  Mitchell was shocked to see Mary get out of a cab with Ellie Wording and his old friend Valerie Call. He ran up to the cab with worried eyes. “I found your room empty,” he said. “Where’s Betty?”

  Mary flashed her eyes toward the pool area. Being back at the Flamingo Inn felt safe—a lot better than being held captive at the studio. “Gregory Walsh took her to the mansion. He came to the hotel earlier and took Betty,” Mary explained. “He sent me to the studio to kill his daughter.” Mary pointed at Ellie, who was now wearing a brown western dress. Ellie’s hands were cattle tied in front of her, but no one could tell because Valerie had placed a light pink sweater over her arms.

  “Hello, Mitchell,” Valerie said. She watched the cab pull away and then focused on Ellie. “We caught ourselves an ugly spider.”

  “Valerie?” Mitchell asked in a confused voice. “How did you become involved in this case?”

  Mary squeezed Valerie’s hand. “Be thankful she is involved,” she told Mitchell. “Valerie helped me capture Ellie.”

  Ellie hissed at Mitchell. “They threatened to drown me.”

  “I heard Mr. Walsh and you talking once,” Valerie told Ellie. “I heard you say that you feared the water. It’s amazing what the ears hear when the hand is painting.”

  “She confessed to killing Bridget Carson and Monroe Baker,” Mary told Mitchell in a relieved voice.

  “My plan was perfect!” Ellie hissed again. “You would all be dead right now if I wouldn’t have tripped on the stairs!” Ellie favored her injured ankle. Standing without the help of a crutch was painful and difficult.

  “I’ll explain later,” Mary promised Mitchell. “Right now, Mr. Walsh is holding Betty at the mansion. We have to save her.”

  Mitchell rubbed his chin and studied Ellie. “Ellie Wording, daughter of Gavin Wording. You’ve been a difficult woman to track down.”

  Ellie sneered at Mitchell. “I’ll have my revenge,” she promised. “I’ll escape from prison and come for all of you, you just wait and see.”

  “Oh, hush,” Mary snapped. “Valerie, help me walk her over to the pool area and sit her down.” Valerie grabbed Ellie’s left arm and helped Mary walk Ellie over to a pink lounge chair. “Not a word,” Mary warned.

  “Or what?” Ellie snapped. “Are you going to drown me in that pool in front of all that traffic?”

  Mitchell walked over to Mary, grabbing out a Lucky Strike and lighting it. As he did, two black cars sped up in front of the hotel. Two men wearing gray suits jumped out of the car, each holding a gun, and ran up to the pool and yelled: “No one move!”

  Mitchell slowly dropped his cigarette and glanced at Mary and Valerie. “Do as they say, ladies.”

  “We want the girl,” yelled a man who looked like an ugly cowboy. He reached down, snatched Ellie up by her arm, and began pulling her toward the car. Ellie, for whatever reason, began to fight with the man. “Stop fighting with me!”

  “Let me go!” Ellie yelled and tried to yank away and run off on her good foot. As she did, she tripped, stumbled forward, and fell head first into the pool.

  “Her hands are tied together!” Mary yelled. Without wasting a second, she dived into the pool, swam down to the bottom, and grabbed Ellie. As she did, Mitchell, noticing the two armed men were momentarily distracted, yanked his gun out and aimed it at them.

  “Drop your guns!” Mitchell yelled.

  The two men, realizing Mitchell had the drop on them, dropped their guns and then dashed back to the car they had arrived in, jumped in, and sped away. Mitchell, knowing he could never shoot a man in the back, had no choice but to let the two men escape. He turned and focused his attention on the pool. “Mary!” he yelled.

  Valerie ran up to the edge of the pool and looked down. “I see her!”

  Seconds later, Mary’s head broke through the surface of the water. “Take her!” she yelled.

  Mitchell dropped down to his knees and grabbed Ellie by her arms. The woman was coughing and spitting water out of her mouth, but she was alive. “You’re okay,” he told Ellie as he dragged her body out of
the pool.

  Valerie reached down and helped Mary. “Thank you,” Mary said, crawling out of the pool. “I thought she was going to drown.”

  Ellie turned her head and looked at Mary. “Why…why did you save me?” she demanded as she coughed pool water out of her mouth.

  “I’m not a killer,” Mary said, breathing hard. “I believe in loving people, not harming them. That’s something you’ll never understand, Ellie.”

  “No, I won’t,” Ellie agreed. “Detective, I insist you take me to the police station. I’ll…confess to the murders.”

  Mitchell stared out at the front street. “Mr. Walsh had his men watching us,” he said in a worried voice. “He knows we have his daughter. I guess he didn’t put much trust in you carrying out your end of the deal, Mary.”

  “I guess not,” Mary agreed.

  “Now what?” Valerie asked.

  “We have to save Betty,” Mary pleaded in a desperate voice. “Mr. Walsh will kill her.”

  “Yes, he will…unless we make an even exchange,” Mitchell said. He looked down at Ellie. “You’re not going downtown, not yet,” he told her. “We need to make a trade.”

  “I’ll…” Ellie looked up at Mary. Mary had saved her life. Sure, she was a monster—but Mary Holland had a decent heart. Maybe if she played her cards right, she could use Mary to escape. A decent heart always had a weak spot and monsters always knew how to manipulate their enemies. “You saved my life. I’ll help this once, but never again.”

  “You have no choice,” Mitchell told Ellie, buying into her lie. Mary, on the other hand, did not.

  “Thank you,” Mary told Ellie, pretending she believed Ellie. “We have to save my friend and you’re our only chance.”

  “I need a phone,” Mitchell said and ran off to the front lobby of the hotel, leaving Ellie alone with Mary and Valerie.

  “You listen, girly,” Valerie warned Ellie, “I don’t want any games, do you hear me? This woman saved your life. All we’re asking is that you return the favor.”