Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Four Seasons Hotel. A moment later her mother answered the phone in her room.

  “Oh, hi, Regan. How's Jack?”

  “About the same as last night, I suppose, Mom,” Regan joked. “I dropped him off at the airport early this morning.”

  “I like him,” Nora said solemnly.

  “I know you do, Mom.”

  “It's a shame he had to get back early.”

  “Well, they needed him in New York. And now I have a new case.”

  “You do?”

  “I'm heading up to the Santa Barbara area right now.”

  “Again?”

  “I got a call this morning, and I'm off to find a girl who's working on a movie up there.”

  “You got a call already?”

  “Yes. I've been to the office, and now I'm home getting ready to leave. I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to join you for dinner tonight.”

  “That's a shame. Wally and Bev were looking forward to seeing you.”

  Wally was a producer who had done a couple of Nora's television movies; Bev was his silent, long-suffering wife. Wally snapped his fingers a lot, usually to indicate lots of action happening on his movies, and further busied himself by chewing on a toothpick.

  “I'm sorry to miss it,” Regan said politely. “Something tells me I won't be back before dinner.” She quickly explained the circumstances involving the missing girl.

  “Two million each?” Nora gasped. “For going to the wedding?”

  “Yes. How come there were no aunts like that in our family?” Regan teased.

  “Good question. But don't forget Aunt Aggie left you that lovely hutch when she died. And those china dishes you can't get anywhere today.”

  “I'd rather have two million,” Regan said matter-of-factly.

  “I suppose,” Nora agreed. “She was a silent film star, huh? Well, Regan, be careful. Here's Dad. He wants to say hello.”

  “Hi, Regan,” Luke said heartily.

  “Hi, Dad.” Regan could just picture her parents in the suite at the Four Seasons having a room service breakfast. Six-foot-five Luke with his distinguished silver hair and his Jimmy Stewart good looks, and petite Nora with her blond hair and patrician face, probably wearing a silk robe. They were such a pair. The funeral director and the suspense writer who had spent more than thirty-five years together.

  “How's Jack?” Luke asked.

  Regan smiled. And after thirty-five years they thought alike. “Fine, Dad. I hope to see you sometime this weekend. But I have to head out of town on a case.”

  “I gather. Be careful, now.”

  “I will. I'll call you.”

  When Regan hung up the phone, she smiled again. She was lucky to have the parents she had.

  In her car Regan straightened the rearview mirror, put on her sunglasses, and turned on the engine.

  “Off in search of Freshness,” she said aloud as she backed out of her parking space.

  6

  Regan took 101, the inland route, to Unxta, the town near Santa Barbara where the movie was being filmed. Route 101 occasionally bordered the Pacific Ocean, and Regan couldn't believe that it was just yesterday she was experiencing these same sights with Jack as they drove along the Pacific Coast Highway.

  When she saw the sign for Unxta, Regan pulled off the highway. She had called for directions and was told that the production office was located in the hotel where the cast and crew were staying. As Regan drove up the hilly road, past adobe houses with red-tiled roofs, she thought of how much she loved this area. Santa Barbara County was truly beautiful and diverse. Wineries, palm trees, great shopping, a temperate climate, and proximity to both the ocean and the mountains made for an attractive vacation spot or place to reside.

  A little after eleven Regan pulled up to the hotel. It did not have a red tile roof or a charming exterior. What it did have was a neon sign that boasted cheap rooms with cable. But it looked respectable enough, and inside it was neat and clean. The desk clerk didn't seem to be in a hurry about anything, but he did eventually direct Regan around the corner and down the hall to where she would find the office for Jinxed.

  At the door to the office, Regan knocked.

  “Come in,” someone shouted.

  All right, already, Regan thought as she obeyed the command. Inside were four desks, all within inches of each other. Bulletin boards overflowed with lists, and a loud, impatient woman was on the phone. She hung up and turned to Regan.

  “Hon, can I help you?” She seemed to be in her forties, with curly, brassy blond hair, a baseball cap, a pencil clinging to her ear, and a very determined manner.

  “I hope so. I'm looking for Whitney Weldon.”

  “Whitney?” She picked up a clipboard on her desk and ran her finger down the page. “Like I thought, she's not working again until Monday.” The clipboard dropped back down on the desk.

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?” Regan inquired.

  The woman looked at Regan incredulously. “Do you know how many actors I have to deal with? They get a few days off, they usually hit the road. This whole area is gorgeous. Some of them go to wineries, others to the beach; some spend the whole time in their room in misery. Don't ask me.” The woman went back to her work.

  “This is a family matter,” Regan confided. “Whitney's mother needs to reach her, and she asked me to help find her.” Regan tried to make it sound more meaningful than the fact that several million bucks was at stake. That might sound a little greedy. Then again, it might make this broad pay attention.

  The woman sighed. She looked up at Regan. “You know what it's like to make a movie with temperamental actors? And this is low budget! The agents want this, the agents want that. I can't take it. One actor didn't like the car we picked him up in at the airport. Can you imagine? He's getting paid scale. He's no star!”

  Regan clucked sympathetically. “A lot of tension, huh?”

  “Tension, shmension. It's ri-dic-u-lous,” she said, pronouncing each syllable with great deliberation. “Yesterday craft services put out chicken salad sandwiches that must have had lousy mayo because people are getting sick today. You can't leave food baking on the table on the set for hours. Let's see. What else can go wrong?” She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “By the way, what do you do? Are you a friend of Whitney's family?”

  “I'm actually a private investigator.”

  The woman looked at Regan as though she were seeing her for the first time. “Oh, so you're like really serious. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I'd love one,” Regan said, noticing the pot in the corner. “I'll get it.” She walked over, picked up the pot, and poured what looked like day-old joe into an Imus in the Morning coffee mug. Regan smiled. Nora had appeared on Imus's radio show many times.

  “Milk's in the fridge,” the woman offered.

  “Thanks.” Regan leaned down and opened the tiny door. She pulled out a nearly empty carton of skim milk and drained it into her cup. She chucked the carton in a handy garbage and turned back around, getting a better view of a bulletin board with actors' pictures on it. Immediately she noticed Whitney. Whitney's mother had e-mailed a snapshot of her this morning. The photo on the board was a professional eight-by-ten, and Whitney looked beautiful.

  The woman's eyes followed Regan's gaze. “There she is. You want a copy of it? I'll xerox it if you want.”

  “Thanks,” Regan said as the woman got up and pulled out the thumbtack that was holding Whitney in place.

  “Be right back.” She walked into the adjoining room.

  As Regan took a seat, she could hear the whir of the copying machine. I'm glad she wants to be helpful all of a sudden, Regan thought. It makes things easier.

  A moment later Regan had in her hand a perfectly reproduced picture of Whitney Weldon, looking dramatic. The snapshot Regan had was of her smiling. Two different looks. Whitney probably had a few other headshots of hers
elf, offering different moods in each one—serious, comic, perky, sexy. It depended on what role you were auditioning for.

  “My name is Joanne,” the woman said as she sat back down at her desk.

  “And mine is Regan Reilly.”

  “Did you say Regan Reilly?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Nora Regan Reilly's your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don't believe it. I worked on her last movie. She mentioned she had a daughter who was a private investigator.”

  “Oh, really,” Regan said, smiling.

  “Yeah. We filmed that one up around here, too.”

  “I remember. I never made it up to the set.”

  “It turned out pretty suspenseful.”

  “It did,” Regan agreed.

  “Tell your mother that Joanne says hi. She probably won't remember me.”

  “Oh, I bet she will,” Regan assured her.

  “We had a few laughs when she was here. It helps.” She looked down at her desk. “Look at this mess.”

  “I know you're busy,” Regan said quickly.

  “It never stops when you work on these movies. Then when it's all over, you go home and crash.”

  “I can imagine. I'll just ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure. But don't worry. Relax. Drink your coffee.”

  “It's delicious,” Regan lied.

  “I'll help you out as much as I can, Regan. If I have to answer the phone or someone comes running in here hysterical about something or other, then I gotta stop. Ya know?”

  “Absolutely. So what can you tell me about Whitney?”

  “Nice kid. Mid-twenties. She's been in the business for a good five years. Funny actress. This is the biggest part she's ever had, and I think she's a little nervous about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I think so. I just sense it. She wants to do a good job. Yesterday her scenes didn't go very smoothly. It seemed like there was a bad vibe on the set. The assistant director kept howling for people to be quiet. It wasn't a great day.”

  “So she might have needed to escape from here,” Regan suggested.

  “I would if I had a few days off, believe me.”

  It's a big countryside out there, Regan thought. And Whitney isn't expected at her mother's until Sunday evening, more than forty-eight hours from now. She could be anywhere. “Are there any particular places where people hang out around here? Or where you think she might have gone?”

  “She said she grew up not too far from here, so who knows? This area is so wonderful. There are so many things to do. It just depends on how much money you want to spend.” Joanne paused, frowning. “I must admit to more than a passing curiosity as to why you need to find Whitney. Is anything wrong?”

  Regan shook her head. “There's a family wedding this Sunday. Her mother really wants her to be there. It's important.”

  “Didn't she know about it before now?”

  “No. It's an elderly aunt who just got engaged and doesn't want to wait to get married, so she's throwing it together for this weekend.”

  Joanne smiled. “Something tells me she must have a few bucks.”

  “I don't know about that,” Regan said evasively.

  Joanne waved her hand at Regan. “I had an aunt who everyone kissed up to for years. She left all her money to an animal shelter. We couldn't believe it. I mean we've got nothing against cats and dogs, but it was ri-dic-u-lous! Not a single cent to any of us who didn't bark or walk on four legs.”

  Regan laughed.

  “It's true. I wouldn't break my neck to get to anybody's wedding these days. Big waste of time. If they want to leave you the money, they will. But the ones with the dough can usually spot phony baloney a mile away. By the way, who is she marrying?”

  “I don't know him,” Regan said honestly. “I've never met the bride or the groom. My job is to find Whitney.”

  Joanne tapped her fingers on the desk and readjusted her baseball cap. “Why don't you come to lunch with us? You can talk to people from the set. Maybe somebody can give you an idea of where she might have gone. I'm so busy in here, I don't spend much of what you'd call quality time with the actors.”

  “That'd be great,” Regan said. “I really appreciate it. If any of them hear from her, they can ask Whitney to get in touch with me or her mother.”

  Joanne checked the massive watch on her tanned arm. “They'll be breaking in an hour. They're setting up lunch in a little park up the block from here. Why don't you meet me there?”

  In other words, Regan thought, get out, I've got work to do. “Terrific,” she said, then leaned forward and whispered conspiratorily. “I know that Whitney has a room at the hotel here. Her mother's been calling her all morning, but there's no answer. Do you think I could have a look in her room?”

  Joanne gave her the hairy eyeball look. “Regan, I don't know.”

  In a hushed tone Regan explained, “I just want to see if there's anything in there that might indicate where she could have gone. You know, a brochure, a note, something. If you want, I'll dial her mother's number right now so you can talk to her . . .”

  Joanne put up her hand. “Don't bother. I'll give you a key. We keep spare keys to all the rooms in case the actor is on the set and forgot something.” She crossed her eyes. “Like his script! Anyway, I'm sure it'll be all right for you to have a look around.” She opened her drawer, consulted a list, and pulled out the key to room 178. “This must be some wedding,” she mumbled as she handed it to Regan.

  7

  When Edward arrived at the house, he was surprised to find that no one was home. Lucretia had given him a set of keys, and he let himself in. The rooms were cool and soothing. The house was decorated in a style that would not have been Edward's choice. Silently, he prayed that it wouldn't be too long before Lucretia went to her heavenly reward, and then he could go out and buy some masculine leather couches.

  In the spotless kitchen overlooking the backyard, he found a crystal vase for the roses. On the counter he found a note in Lucretia's scrawly handwriting:

  My darling Edward,

  Phyllis and I have gone into town to do some shopping. I need a new dress for our big day! We'll be back for lunch. I miss you already.

  Love,

  Lucretia

  “I can't wait,” he said aloud as he filled the vase with water.

  The phone on the wall rang. Eddie reached over and picked it up.

  “Hello,” he said quickly.

  “Is Lucretia there?” a woman asked.

  “No, she's not.”

  “This is Lilac Weldon, her niece. Who's this?” Eddie swallowed hard. “This is Edward. How nice to talk to you.”

  “Oh, you, too. We're all looking forward to meeting you on Sunday.”

  “And I can't wait to meet Lucretia's family.”

  “Thank you. You know, I really don't need to speak to Lucretia,” Lilac said. “You can help me. I'm buying a special wedding present, and I don't have your full name.”

  Oh, God, he thought. It's a good thing I changed my name. “Edward Fields.”

  “Any middle name?” Lilac asked.

  “No. My parents weren't very imaginative.”

  “My daughter wishes I was less imaginative. Her name is Freshness, but in the outside world she goes by Whitney.”

  “Oh, that's funny,” he said lightly as he grabbed hold of the countertop. “I hear she's an actress.”

  “Yes. And she's doing a movie now that could really be big for her. But she has taken off for the weekend. She likes to have days when she's out of touch. But I know she'd love to come to the wedding, so I've hired someone to track her down.”

  “You hired someone?”

  “Yes. A private investigator named Regan Reilly. She's looking for her right now. I figured it's high time our family all got together, and this is the perfect occasion. I think Lucretia will be pleased if we all make it to the wedding.”

  “I know sh
e will,” Eddie said in a barely audible voice. “I'm sure she'll be overwhelmed that you went to the trouble of hiring a private detective.”

  “Please don't tell her. I want it to be a surprise. Regan's looking for Freshness at this very minute. And you know something? She's going to find her.”

  “Let's hope so.”

  “Edward, will your family be at the wedding?”

  “No. I don't have a family.”

  “Awww,” Lilac said tenderly. “I'm sure you'll have friends at the wedding. I'm looking forward to meeting them.”

  “Most of my friends are in New York,” Edward practically stammered. “Everything's happening so fast that I don't think any of them will be able to make it. But Lucretia and I plan to visit there this summer.”

  “Where in New York?”

  “The City,” he said quickly. “Oh, there's another call coming in. We'll see you Sunday.”

  “Righto,” Lilac replied.

  Edward hung up the phone and closed his eyes to steady himself. He pulled out his cell phone and quickly dialed Rex.

  “There are now two people you have to take care of,” Edward informed Rex when he answered the phone. “The other one's name is Regan Reilly.”

  8

  Phyllis and Lucretia drove into Beverly Hills with Phyllis at the wheel of Lucretia's Rolls-Royce. Phyllis used to drive the Rolls for her old employer as well. It was another one of the purchases Lucretia had made from the estate.

  “Do you enjoy your work?” Lucretia asked Phyllis.

  “Let me put it to you this way: If I won a lot of money on a game show, I'd quit!”

  Lucretia laughed. “I'd miss you.”

  Phyllis glanced sideways at her employer. “You would?” She felt a pang of guilt about her call to Lilac. Not a big one, but a pang nonetheless.

  “Yes. Absolutely. It's important to have people in your life whom you care about. And when you get to be my age, a lot of your friends are dead and gone.”