“Is that how it worked? Lucky Productions came in with a check and asked you to make it like it was?” asked Jane, sucking hard on the straw, then giving up and going for the spoon.
“Pretty much. Everybody said Lucky Productions was cutting checks left and right. They told me I could make it like it was in my grandpa’s day. There were certain things I could change—like the curtains and the table arrangements and stuff. But there were some details that Lucky insisted on. He wanted the blackboard menu the same. They brought in a sketch to show me what the board had looked like, but no need. It was still here. And Lucky remembered the ice cream cooler, too. I thought it would take me months to find a vintage one still running, but it was right here, just needed a little cleaning and polishing.”
Jane nodded and opened the folder with Oh’s information. Mr. Mullet’s occupation was listed as salesman, although his line seemed to vary from month to month and town to town. Most often he was listed generically, his line not described, but in some of the places he lived, Jane noted he had sold pots and pans, brushes and cleaning supplies, and baby-bottle sterilizers. Every new town seemed to mean a new job, a new product line. Times were tough for Mr. Mullet. Just like now. Jane looked up from her reading to see Sam looking at her thoughtfully. Probably hoping I’m a paying customer today, thought Jane.
“Will you make money on all this?” Jane asked, gesturing around the café with all of its new/old improvements.
“Of course. This place has been sitting closed for decades. When my grandma died, we put it up for sale. It’s been over four years now. Most of the commercial property around here’s been just sitting on the market. Hell, your folks’ place has been on for five years. Although I hear that’s because your mom keeps raising the price,” Sam said with a laugh.
“No, that can’t be…” began Jane.
“Yup, raising it. I know people are supposed to lower the price, but not Nellie. Anyone talks about coming to look at the property and the price goes up.”
“No, I mean the EZ Way’s not for sale.”
“Sure it is. Everything’s for sale, Jane,” said Sam, his posture defensive, his voice sharper. Once again, Jane reminded herself that her good fortune in the real estate market was an aberration and the economic suffering around her was the norm.
Jane tried Lucky’s number again. Odd that he didn’t pick up his cell phone. From what Jane had observed, all of the production people spent most of their time either talking on their phones or staring at the screens, their thumbs flying over the keyboards. The two crew members left in the dining room stood to leave and Jane rose to meet them at the door. She introduced herself as Lucky’s fill-in assistant and explained that she just returned to town and couldn’t locate her boss.
“Is it unusual that he isn’t picking up his phone?” asked Jane.
The taller of the two men looked over Jane’s head and pointed. She turned and saw that he was gesturing to the large advertising clock hanging over the door.
“Yes,” said Jane. “A little after five. So…?
“Any time after three in the afternoon, our boy Lucky starts getting restless.”
“Restless is a kind word for it,” said his friend.
Jane shook her head and held up her hands in surrender.
“Three o’clock means it’s cocktail hour somewhere,” he explained.
Jane caught on, but must have not shown it in her face since both men made drinking gestures, tipping their hands toward their mouths. The tall one advised her to travel up and down the street, checking out the taverns. “And listen for Malcolm holding court,” he advised. “He’s usually Lucky’s tour guide through his ‘tastings.’”
Jane finished up her shake and told Sam she was official, she could sign for it as one of the Lucky staff. Sam handed her the notebook. Jane signed and glanced over some of the other signatures. She saw two names printed on one line—MICKEY and SAL—but in the signature box, only Sal had signed.
Jane asked Sam if he remembered the two of them in earlier.
“Yeah, I’ve talked to them both. I deliver all the food over to the studio and sometimes, Sal comes over and drives me and the food there. I come to set it up. Then Mickey or Sal run me back here.”
“I thought Mickey was going to quit after what happened,” said Jane, more to herself than Sam.
Sam shrugged and shook his head, either not knowing or not caring what she was talking about. He closed the notebook and brought it back to the cash register area. Jane left Sam a generous tip, since she didn’t think tipping would be a part of the “book” system and headed for the door.
Stopping again at the table with the two Lucky staff members, Jane tried to give them her most fetching and befuddled smile.
“Guys, could you tell me when payday is? I forgot to ask Lucky if we get a check once a week or every other or…”
“Honey, said the tall man, setting down his glass, “you tell us. There’s been a jam-up on the writing of staff paychecks. That’s what Brenda went to take care of. Don’t know about tech and the drivers, but cash flow is a trickle around here.”
“I told Brenda before she left if my next check—supposed to come every two weeks, by the way—was even a day late, I was walking and calling the union.”
Jane thanked the pair and decided to follow the tavern trail down Station Street and pop her head in at each saloon as she made her way west. She began at the Pizza Slice. She had never really known anyone who went there for pizza. She continued down the street, popping her head in and scanning at the Shot Glass, the Wild Hare, and Frosty’s. As she was about to enter Rusty’s, her phone buzzed and she saw Lucky’s number on the screen.
“Jane Wheel, I need you to meet me right now at the corner of North Seventh and what the hell is this? I passed a shut-down video store on my way. Do you know where that is? There’s a street named Seneca that I passed.”
“I think I know the general area,” said Jane. “Why?” she asked, already turning her car around.
Lucky had already hung up.
15
Lucky was standing on the corner, looking first right, then left, then spinning around like a weather vane. He wore loose fitting jeans, a Lucky Production windbreaker, a baseball cap, and he carried a small notebook and pen. And although the sun was descending in the west, he still wore enormous sunglasses. If someone was trying not to be noticed, the sunglasses would have the opposite effect.
Jane pulled up at the curb and rolled down the window, calling to Lucky. She also turned off the car and hopped out. Lucky did not look her way, although he began talking as soon as she had closed the car door behind her.
“First it was a lucky charm or two moved or taken and replaced with something else. That was all. Pranks. Head games. That’s not what it is anymore, Jane. Somebody wants something bad to happen to me.”
Jane went to his side and took his arm. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet and allowed her to walk him to her car, but he refused to get in.
“Now somebody wants me to know my luck’s run out.”
“Did someone threaten you?” said Jane. “Maybe it’s time to call the police.”
“No police. Not until I remember what happened. I mean, if we call the police and they find out something I don’t even remember…” Lucky’s voice drifted off.
Jane tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. “What happened today, Lucky? What happened just before you called me?”
Still not looking at her, Lucky explained in a shaky voice that Malcolm wanted a file that was in Lucky’s desk back at the factory. The two of them decided to run over at lunch and then head back to the writers’ meeting. When they got to the office, all the horseshoes that Lucky kept in his trunk were out and hung up on the wall. Seven of them.
“Is it possible that someone on your staff was just trying to decorate the place? Put some personal touches up in the office?”
“No one who knows me would have done what they did, what he di
d, what this devil…”
Jane shook her head and although she didn’t think Lucky was looking at her, he apparently was keeping a lookout behind the dark glasses. Now as he took the glasses off and stared at Jane through red-rimmed eyes, Jane realized he had been hiding behind the shades not as an affectation but because he had been crying.
“The horseshoes were all hung curving downward. Everybody knows you have to hang a horseshoe with the open end up. Otherwise the luck runs out.”
Jane patted his arm. She could feel him trembling under the windbreaker.
“And that’s what the note on my desk said. “‘Your luck is running out.’ It was signed ‘H. M.’”
Jane opened the passenger door and half guided, half pushed Lucky into the car. It seemed like the kind of thing a good assistant would do, especially since they had been standing one someone’s lawn and Jane could see a woman peeking out from behind the blinds. It didn’t seem like a good idea to have this strange and shaky Lucky questioned by the police for trespassing.
“Who’s H. M.?” asked Lucky. “Why is he doing this to me?”
“Can I see the note?” asked Jane.
Lucky fished the note out of the large kangaroo pocket of his windbreaker. The words were exactly as Lucky described. Jane noticed one detail that Lucky had not mentioned. Before she could question him further, Lucky pointed at the corner house where the woman still stood, keeping an eye on them.
“That woman, I’ve seen her watching me before. She was younger. It was a girl, really. A girl was watching me,” said Lucky.
Jane studied Lucky, who was staring out the car window. When he spoke, his voice came from far away.
“When was that?” Jane asked, speaking softly. She decided to treat him as if he were a sleepwalker. Instinct told her it would be best if she didn’t wake him.
“That day, you know,” said Lucky. His voice even sounded younger. His cocky old comic swagger was replaced with the voice of a Midwestern child.
“I didn’t see her, didn’t see anybody. Then after, I remember she was looking out the window. I told somebody … I told…” Lucky opened and closed his mouth. He removed his sunglasses again and wiped them. When he spoke again, he was back. He was the gravelly voiced comic who may or may not have visited a few bars before ending up on this street corner in an area of Kankakee called “white city,” by longtime residents. “I think I told my old man,” said Lucky, shaking his head. “It’s funny, I can’t remember anything about him, but I think I told him about a girl watching me through the window. It must have been him.”
“Where exactly were you just now, Lucky? I mean, where were you in your past?”
“Here. Right here,” said Lucky. He searched his pocket for his cigar and jammed it into the corner of his mouth. “I live here,” he said. “Lived. I mean, I lived here. I think this was my house.”
“I can check. My mom grew up about eight blocks from here, so it would make sense if you went to the same school. This could have been her parish.”
“Or that one,” said Lucky, pointing a few houses down. “Maybe I lived there.”
“Don’t you have the address written down? I mean … you know you lived in Kankakee. That’s why you brought the show here, right? You must have some documents with the address. Shouldn’t you be shooting something at your old house? I mean, you’re visiting the bars and you’ve got the diner and bowling alley all tricked out. Shouldn’t you visit your old house?”
“I just knew the street name. I didn’t live with my parents after Kankakee, so I never talked to them much. I lived with my aunt in Canada. I … this is the part I don’t remember very well. I mean, I remember my aunt and moving in with her, but there are just whole chunks of time missing. Like on a film reel, you know? Somebody unspooled the damn thing and snipped out a few inches here, a few inches there.
“Malcolm said we should come here, back to the old neighborhood, and wander around. He thought there ought to be a shoot here, too, and I…”
“Where is Malcolm?” asked Jane.
“He stayed to take care of the tab. I thought I should walk around and clear my head.” Lucky explained that their visit to the old neighborhood meant a trip to a tavern next to the railroad tracks. It had been Lucky’s idea to walk around and he said he’d send for the car for a ride back after he found what he was looking for.
“But you called me,” said Jane, “which is fine, but where’s Malcolm and the car? How long have you been wandering around?”
Lucky looked down at his phone.
“I guess I’ve been gone for five missed calls,” said Lucky, “however long that is.”
Lucky handed Jane his phone and Jane called Malcolm back. She reassured him that she would drive Lucky back to the studio, then back to his hotel if necessary. Malcolm was screeching into the phone that he had been seconds away from an APB or whatever it was that the Yanks called it.
Lucky snorted. “He gets his Limey knickers in a twist when he has a snootful, doesn’t he? Notice how that accent gets really thick? I hired the guy to class up the writing room, but he’s just as much a lowlife as the rest of them,” said Lucky. “Guy can spin a yarn, though. He really can write.”
Jane noted the address of the corner house where the woman had finally left the window. Jane hoped it wasn’t to call the police and report a Peeping Tom. She asked Lucky to point out again the house he thought he might have lived in. Jane wrote down that address, too.
If Lucky had been inebriated when he wandered away from Malcolm, his recovered memory, even though it was just a sliver, a hint of a memory, sobered him. He even managed to ask Jane a question that didn’t revolve around himself.
“So you had a trip up to your house today. How was that? You recover any memories?” asked Lucky.
“Nope. Not really. Keep in mind, though, that I haven’t really lost any, just all my stuff, not my…”
Jane remembered her earlier conversation with her mother.
“Of course, how would I know if they’re lost? Nellie says memories are just things you forgot that come back to you, so how do you know they were missing until they come back?” As Jane said it, she thought about how convoluted it sounded. It was like Nick trying to explain the time travel in one of the novels he read. Jane tried to understand the concept, but kept running up against the fact that you really couldn’t meet yourself, could you? How would that work?
“Nellie’s right, in a way. I can go along for days, then something comes through my mind. It’s like a wisp of smoke or something. Like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue or just out of reach or something. That’s when I know I’m missing something. Belinda says in her book that you got to knit those wisps, those ghost thoughts together in order to ‘read the fabric of your lost memory’ or something like that. She’s got a way with words, that woman,” said Lucky.
Jane thought her prose, if accurately recounted, a little overwrought. It would probably be more accurate to say that Belinda had a way with bestsellers. She jumped around like a literary jackrabbit in the self-help market mining the readers and needers, who were desperate for answers. Of course, Belinda’s advice to re-create the time and place where the memory was lost didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. Wasn’t that what Jane always said about her stuff, her found treasures? It’s the stuff that’s left behind by others that tells their story she had always insisted to Charley and Nick. And isn’t that how she had earned her keep as Oh’s junior partner? It was the stuff, the objects that helped her separate the innocent from the guilty.
So maybe she and Belinda could both help out old Lucky Miller nee Herman Mullet. And that thought reminded Jane of what she wanted to point out to Lucky earlier. Jane parked her car in the reserved spot behind the factory studio. Lucky shook his head.
“Not sure I want to go back in there,” said Lucky.
Jane had a few superstitions herself, but she realized hers were fairly mild compared to Lucky’s real fears about reentering his o
ffice.
“We’ll fix the luck,” said Jane. “I have Nellie’s four-leaf clover with me.” She slipped it out of her wallet and flashed it in front of Lucky. “Nothing can mess with Nellie’s lucky charms.” Even though Jane thought she had made her mother sound like a cross between the Godfather and a leprechaun, Lucky seemed to be mollified.
Lucky waved her over to a side door right off the parking lot she hadn’t noticed before. Jane realized if one had a key to this entrance, no one in front of the building, no crew members playing basketball, none of the staff using the office space that faced the park and the river, would see you going in or out.
“Do you always use this door?” asked Jane.
Lucky shrugged. If he got dropped off in front, he used the front door. If he parked in back and the crew was moving anything in through the garage doors, he came in the back. If he or whoever he was with parked in the side lot, they used the side door. “Good thing about this door, I can slip right into my office space without running by all the riffraff working in the studio. Some of those townies are always wanting to ask me questions about my experiences, other celebrities, you know,” said Lucky. He had recovered his sense of self, Jane noted, and she wondered exactly who working in the studio really stopped him to ask for show-biz lore. Tim was the only townie she had seen there yesterday and he was more interested in the designers working on the set.
The side door opened into an area directly between two curtained-off spaces. Lucky’s private “office” was to the left and off to the right was a space that could be sectioned off as a meeting room with a conference table and eight chairs. If one continued straight into the heart of the factory/studio, he or she would be in the area where the catering tables were set up. A hard right to the other end of the huge space was the set, crisscrossed by cables and taped off by the stage manager and his assistants. Jane peered around the curtains to look at the set area and saw Tim standing next to another man, slightly taller, who stooped slightly to hear something Tim was saying as he gestured toward one end of the long table set up for the roast. Jane hadn’t watched a lot of the comedy roasts, but knowing Tim, she had a feeling this set was much more elegant than most. In fact, she thought it resembled some kind of old master’s painting of a feast, with the platters piled with fruit, the small low vases filled with flowers and the tapestry table runners. It really reminded Jane of something, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. She trusted that the “lost memory” would return to her soon enough.
Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) Page 15
