Lucky Stars

by Jane Heller

  “Their cooler?” said Maura.

  “Yeah. Their cook made them lunch whenever they’d take the boat out for the afternoon. My buddy used to drool over all the fancy stuff they’d bring onboard. All his wife ever sent him off with was a bologna sandwich.”

  “So you have nothing to add?” I said, my energy flagging-

  “Nope,” said Joe, who smiled at Maura. “Except I wouldn’t mind having this young lady’s phone number if she isn’t spoken for.”

  I left the sweethearts to themselves and waited for Maura in the parking lot. As I waited, I tried to sort out my feelings. On one hand, I was disappointed that we hadn’t uncovered anything that would prove Victor’s guilt. I was like a dog digging for a bone that I could bring back to my mother and deposit at her feet so she’d pat me on the head and say, “good doggie” or “good daughter” or something of that nature. I was determined to save her by giving her hard evidence that her boyfriend was a criminal. On the other hand, if my attempts at producing evidence failed and it turned out that Victor was innocent of murdering his wife, I would be embarrassed for making such a fuss but relieved that he and my mother could move ahead with their relationship and, above all, I would be happy for her, just as she hoped I’d be. What I’m saying is that I didn’t want Victor to be guilty; I just thought he was, and if he was, it was my daughterly duty to expose him.

  “Hi. All set,” said Maura when she arrived in the parking lot.

  “By ‘all set,’ does this mean you and Joe made a date?”

  “What do you think?” she said with a sly grin.

  “I think you should stick to boys your own age,” I said. “But then you pay your shrink to tell you that, so I won’t waste my breath.”

  “Thank you. Besides, just because you and Jack are madly in love doesn’t make you the authority on what constitutes a good match.”

  “You’re right. I’m hardly the authority. Not when I’m lying to him about this sleuthing adventure of ours. He thinks I’m working at the store today.”

  “Don’t worry. If Victor’s clean, Jack will never be the wiser about our snooping. If Victor’s a rat, he’ll be proud of you for rescuing your mother. It’s a win-win situation, Stacey.”

  We high-fived each other and contemplated our next move.

  twenty-four

  As we were driving out of the marina, Maura and I decided we should search Victor’s house at some point, his office in particular, to see if we could find a connection between his failed business ventures and the death of Mary Elizabeth—i.e., whether his sudden influx of cash as a result of her death restored his financial health. It was a ballsy move and I was risking my mother’s wrath, as well as Jack’s disapproval, but the meter was ticking. If she was even contemplating marrying Vic, she could run off and do it at any moment, and I couldn’t afford to take that chance.

  She had mentioned in passing that in a couple of days she would be attending a dinner in her honor, hosted by W&W, the ad agency that had made her a star, and that Victor would be out of town on one of his jaunts. Seizing the opportunity, Maura and I planned our outing for the evening they would both be away from the house. I set the caper in motion by asking Mom if Maura and I could watch a movie in Victor’s screening room while they were gone, and she had said she would arrange it.

  Speaking of movies, after Maura and I returned from Marina Del Rey that Saturday, Jack and I went to a preview of a romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan. Predictably, Mr. Highbrow hated it.

  “It’s not that I dislike Meg Ryan as an actress,” he said as I was whipping up a postmovie pasta dinner in his kitchen. Lately, I’d been trying to improve my culinary skills, so he would see what an ideal partner I’d make. I wanted so much for him to tell me he loved me, tell me he was committed to me, tell me that I was the one and only woman for him. I longed to hear those words or, if not those exact words, then anything other than the dreaded: “I think we should talk.”

  “What is it you disliked about the movie?” I said.

  “The fact that there was no story,” he said. “It drives me insane when these romantic comedies are twenty minutes of plot and an hour and forty minutes of filler. Do we really need to see shot after shot of the lovers throwing snowballs at each other in Central Park or strolling down a country lane holding hands or sipping mocha lattes together by the fireplace at some cutesy country inn? I want something to happen in a film, and nothing happens in this one except that the audience gets ripped off. I think the people who made the movie should be chained to their chairs and forced to watch it themselves, over and over until they die of boredom. That would be a fitting punishment.”

  “Gee, Jack,” I said with a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  He calmed down a little, put his arms around me. “Was I pontificating again?”

  “Big time.”

  “Sorry. But you know what I’m talking about. Movies are not synonymous with music videos.”

  “I agree.” I kissed the tip of his nose. “But you know, now that I’m not appearing in the sort of movies you trash, it’s kind of fun watching you foam at the mouth.”

  “Is that so?” He tightened his grip around my waist and pressed his body against mine.

  “Yeah. It’s fun watching you foam at the mouth and turn red in the face and make your eyes roll around in their sockets. Scary but fun.”

  He laughed. “I can’t help it. I’m a purist when it comes to movies. Always was, always will be.”

  “I know, and I love you for it.”

  The instant the word “love” was out of my mouth, I felt my own face turn red. I wanted to crawl under the floor, hide behind the draperies, stick my head in the pot of pasta sauce—anything not to deal with Jack’s reaction to the fact that I had just told him I loved him! Without meaning to! Without any encouragement on his part! It had slipped out, in spite of my promise to myself that I wouldn’t be the one to say it first, that I wouldn’t rush the relationship, that I wouldn’t put pressure on Jack or make him feel icky toward me or, worst of all, repel him. It had slipped out and I couldn’t suck it back in.

  “Stacey, look at me,” he said, tilting my chin up while I continued to die of humiliation. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” I said, refusing to meet his eyes. “I never meant to put you in an awkward position, Jack.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Swell.” So I had ruined it, ruined us. I braced myself for the “You’re really terrific and we’ve had some great times together, but I’m not ready for a serious relationship, and I think we should cool it for a while… Blah blah blah.

  “It’s too late because you told me you loved me, and now I have to respond.”

  “There’s no law that says you have to respond. Besides, I already know what you’re going to tell me. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Not from me. Please look at me already, would you?” He had my face in his hands, practically squishing my cheeks.

  “All right, I’m looking.”

  He smiled. “I have to respond, because I love you, too.”

  “Say that again?”

  “I love you, too, Stacey. I love you and I have since the first night we were together. I just wasn’t very speedy about telling you, because of my own insecurities, I guess.”

  “Jack Rawlins? Insecure?”

  “Isn’t everyone? Not only that, I’m a guy, for God’s sake. It’s not in our genes to be able to say the right thing at the right moment.”

  “Okay, enough about insecurities and genetics. Let’s get back to the love thing. I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

  “I love you, Stacey Reiser. Very much.”

  He kissed me for a long time. The pasta sauce was drying out on the stove, and I couldn’t have cared less.

  “What do you love about me?” I asked at one point during a break in the action. “You’re a big star, Jack, with your own show and a career that’s going gangbusters, w
hile I’m an actress who’s still grappling with what I want to be when I grow up. I guess what I’m asking is, why do you love me? We seem like such an unlikely match.”

  “Not so unlikely at all,” he said, stroking my hair. “But to answer your question, I love a lot of things about you. I love your humor, especially in the face of disappointment. I love your feistiness, your gift for picking yourself up after a fall and carrying on. I love the way you look, so pretty and yet not artificially or calculatedly. And I love your values.”

  “My values?”

  “Yes, those solid, midwestem values that keep you from getting corrupted by Hollywood. Sure you want to succeed as an actress, but unlike most of the strivers here, you’re only willing to go so far. You don’t sell your soul, in other words. You haven’t done the boob job. You haven’t had your face carved. You haven’t slept with every producer in town. That alone makes you a breath of fresh air.”

  “I slept with you,” I teased.

  “And I don’t know how to thank you,” said Jack.

  “I do,” I said. “You can sleep with me again.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  We abandoned my poor excuse for a pasta dinner and headed for Jack’s bedroom, where we undressed each other and caressed each other and showered each other with lush, Hallmark card-type declarations of love. It was a beautiful thing.

  When I woke up the next morning, it seemed as if the whole world, my whole world, had changed, had opened up, had energized me. In the dopey jargon of pop music, I felt “brand-new,” now that Jack loved me and I loved him and we were truly, magically going to be together forever. Although there was one tiny snag in the proceedings. While we were eating breakfast, he asked how I was handling the situation with my mother and Victor.

  “You haven’t mentioned the subject in a while,” he said. “Does that mean you agree with me that Helen’s entitled to make her own choices in a man and that your attempt to sabotage their relationship was a little neurotic?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it neurotic,” I said.

  “I stand corrected,” he said. “But you have to admit that you did want to turn the tables on her—to insinuate yourself into her personal life because she’d spent so many years insinuating herself into yours.”

  “No. Actually, I was insinuating myself into her personal life because I thought there was something off about Victor. I still think there’s something off about Victor. I’m very concerned that he’s had a history of womanizing, that he’s had financial trouble, that his wealthy wife died under suspicious—”

  “Stacey, you’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Obsessing over Helen’s romance. How about obsessing over ours instead? I don’t have to leave for the studio for another hour.”

  “No?”

  “No. What do you say we go back to bed and—”

  “Yes.”

  And so I didn’t tell Jack what Maura and I were up to. Why ruin what promised to be a fabulous hour of sex with my honey? Did I feel guilty about not telling him that she and I were planning to show up at Victor’s house and rummage through his personal belongings? Yes, I did. He and I had pledged our love for each other, and loving meant trusting. On the other hand, I was a firm believer in the old adage: What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I also believed in the related adage: What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.

  twenty-five

  Maura and I took separate cars and met at Victor’s at 7:30 on the evening of our enterprise. Since he and Mom were off doing their respective business, we were alone in the house with the staff. It was Carlos, in fact, who had answered the door and politely ushered us inside.

  “He’s sort of cute. A Latin lover type,” Maura said as we trekked through the living room and the dining room and the sunroom to get to the screening room. “Too young for me, but cute just the same.”

  “He’s not too young for you, but he is taken,” I said. “Besides, I don't trust him any more than I trust the rest of the Stepford servants on the payroll here. They all seem too good to be true.”

  No sooner did I finish the sentence when Quentin, Victor’s projectionist, entered the room and asked us if we were ready for him to begin the movie. We said sure, go ahead. We had no intention of watching it and were planning to skip out the minute he dimmed the lights.

  “Maybe we should stay and see it,” Maura whispered after Quentin announced he was showing the latest Jackie Chan martial arts adventure. “We could learn some self-defense moves. You never know when they might come in handy.”

  “They won’t come in handy tonight,” I said. “This mission should be pretty straightforward.”

  We waited for the opening credits to appear on screen, then tiptoed out, figuring that once Quentin was safely ensconced in the projection room we’d have a good two hours of snooping before we’d have to be back.

  “Let’s hit the library first,” I said as we crept from room to room, cursing every time we’d land on a creeky floorboard and possibly alert the troops to our whereabouts. “I think it doubles as Vic’s office.”

  Maura nodded and followed me into the large, panelled room where only recently I’d sat with my mother and tried unsuccessfully to persuade her to break up with her boyfriend.

  We slid the pocket doors closed behind us and flipped on the lights.

  “Where do we start?” said Maura, staring at the multitude of built-in drawers and cabinets.

  “You take that side. I’ll take this side.”

  “Fine, but what are we looking for? We’re not accountants, so even if we find financial documents, we won’t be able to decode them. We certainly won’t be able to tie them to the death of Victor’s wife.”

  “Probably not,” I said, “but we’re here and we might as well hunt for something. What about getting background on Victor’s life? Let’s check for photos of him and the missus, or mortgage papers for real estate he’s owned, or correspondence having to do with the businesses he’s run—anything that’ll tell us more about him.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  We began the laborious task of rifling through Victor’s drawers. After forty-five minutes, all we had to show for our trouble was a sore shoulder (me) and a paper cut (Maura).

  “This is really boring,” she said.

  “Then go back and watch the movie,” I said, slightly pissed off. “I’ll do this myself if you’re not into it.”

  “I’m never going to be as into it as you are,” said Maura, who seemed pissed off that I was pissed off. “She’s your mother, not mine, so you have much more at stake than I do.”

  “Yes, but you’re my best friend,” I said, “and best friends help each other out, even when the job is boring.”

  “Maybe, but you should have had a more specific plan,” she said. “Then we wouldn’t be wasting our time looking for nothing.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining when we went to Marina Del Rey without a ‘specific plan,’ ” I said. “But that was probably because there was something in it for you—the geezer deputy sheriff.”

  “Don’t even think about getting on my case about the men I go out with,” she said, pointing at me. “You’re just like your mother, the way you criticize my life.”

  “I am not just like my mother!” I said hotly. “And I don’t criticize your life. I simply make observations. You’re much too sensitive.”

  I was just like my mother, who used to try to neutralize me with the very same argument.

  “I’m sorry, Maura,” I said. “I guess I’m uptight because—”

  I stopped midsentence. I heard two sets of footsteps clickety-clacking across the hardwood floor outside the library.

  “Quick! Into the closet!” I flipped off the lights, then the two of us scrambled into the walk-in closet beyond Victor’s desk and shut ourselves in.

  We stood there huddled together, holding our collective breath, as someone pulled open the pocket do
ors and entered the library.

  “That’s strange,” I heard Carlos say in Spanish as he turned the lights back on. “These doors are never closed unless Victor is having a private meeting.”

  “Maybe he closed them before he left,” Rosa suggested. “Maybe he didn't want you sneaking in here while he was away.”

  He laughed. “Like I’m the one who sneaks around this place? It’s a miracle he hasn’t caught you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I grabbed Maura’s hand and squeezed it. Obviously, there was trouble in Victor’s paradise.

  “I don’t have to sneak around,” said Rosa. “I’ve got everything I need to protect myself against Victor.”

  I squeezed Maura’s hand again, tighter this time. I was dying to blurt out, “Protect yourself against him because he comes on to you? Because he forces you to commit murder for him? Because he makes you cook brisket for my mother? What, Rosa?

  “If I were you, I’d keep that little piece of evidence to myself,” said Carlos. “We’re going to use it one of these days. It’s just a matter of time before Victor’s crimes bring him down, and we’re not going down with him. He can rot in jail all by himself.”

  Little piece of evidence? Victor’s crimes? Rot in jail? This was fantastic! I finally had my proof that he was as dangerous as I suspected. I’d heard it right from the mouths of his employees, so it had to be true. No ambiguities this time. No double talk. No possibility of a misunderstanding. I couldn’t wait to tell my mother and put an end to her relationship with Vic.