Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Regan nodded.

  “But it costs a lot of money. We owe taxes. Equipment that was supposed to be good has broken down. Buying furniture is expensive. We want to remodel the barn at the edge of the property that has nothing but junk in it. And a winery down the block is upset this place is back in business.”

  “Really?” Regan asked with surprise.

  “Yeah. Up in the Napa Valley there are tons of wineries, but they got tons of tourists. So it works out okay. But even they are having problems. Environmentalists don't want the vineyards cutting down any more trees. Some people think Napa is becoming too popular for its own good. The state of California is producing a glut of wine that is pushing down the prices.”

  “I didn't realize that,” Regan said.

  Leon gestured with his hands. “What are you gonna do? I'm still glad we bought this place. Down here the wine country is not as famous, and that's the way we like it. Altered States is perfect for us. We thought we'd eventually build little cottages for ourselves on the property. If one of us ever gets married, we'll have our privacy.”

  “That'll be the day,” Earl chimed in. “The divorce rate in this family is way above the national average.”

  Regan chuckled. “Were there a lot of bidders at the auction?”

  “No. That's what was surprising. I thought there would have been more.”

  “And now that you've gotten things going—” Regan stopped in midsentence as Earl stood up and bent over, touching his toes. The other two didn't even blink.

  Earl straightened up and started stretching out his arms. “It has been said that wine promotes well-being, aids digestion, and calms the soul. So does meditation. That's why we offer both here.”

  “Sounds good,” Regan said.

  “My brother and I are very different,” Earl continued as he rotated his head in half circles back and forth.

  “Sit down, Earl,” Leon snapped.

  Earl sat on the floor and assumed the lotus position.

  Leon glared at his brother. He looks as if he wants to kill him, Regan thought. They always say that it's not easy for families to be in business together.

  “We're so happy here,” Lilac said sweetly in an obvious attempt to smooth things over. “We're all different, but we thought it would be great to honor our grandfather and form a sort of commune. In Italy when Grandpa was growing up, families lived together in little villages. We don't have that here, so we thought we'd start one. Our guests and friends are the villagers.”

  No wonder Whitney took off for the weekend, Regan thought.

  Earl's watch beeped. He unfolded his legs, stood up, and announced, “Time for a vitamin shake.”

  “Wait a minute,” Leon insisted. “Let's finish this meeting. It's important for the future of this place that we find Whitney.”

  Earl nodded almost imperceptibly. Somehow Regan didn't think he was much help to Leon out in the vineyards. And somehow she couldn't imagine Leon in a meditation session. No, Leon was the physical, down-to-earth type, and Earl was the spiritual one with his head in the clouds. Lilac was a little of both.

  “From what Lilac tells me, you stand to get a lot of money for showing up at Lucretia's wedding.”

  “It's absolutely unbelievable,” Leon said strongly. “Why doesn't she just give us the money?”

  “Leon,” Lilac challenged. “Why should she? We've never bothered with her.”

  Leon turned to Earl. “I wish you had never encouraged Whitney's go-with-the-flow weekends. We should be able to reach her at all times.”

  “She needs space,” Earl said simply.

  “Okay,” Regan interjected quickly. “I went to the movie set. I gather Whitney was a little worried about the work she's been doing this week.”

  “She's a very good actress,” Lilac interrupted. “She's very funny.”

  “I gather,” Regan said. “And this part could be a break-through for her. In any case, she's gone from the movie set for the weekend, and our goal is to get her to Lucretia's garden for the wedding on Sunday morning. What I'd like to do is have us start phoning hotels and motels in Santa Barbara County and see if she's registered.”

  Earl looked at his watch. “My no-talking hour is between six and seven P.M. daily.”

  “Then you can go through the yellow pages and guidebooks during that time and make a list of hotels for us to call.”

  “That I can do.”

  Alleluia, Regan thought. “Do you have any guests this weekend whom you'll have to attend to?” she asked the trio.

  “No.” Lilac said, smiling. “We had three couples coming from New York for a wedding, but the bride got cold feet and called it off. So they canceled. You and your friend Jack Reilly would have been here alone with us.”

  Boy, do I wish he was here, Regan thought. She couldn't wait to talk to him. He's the one who found the listing for Altered States in some obscure guidebook. “I have to go out to my car to get a few things,” she said. She'd also place a quick call to Jack.

  “Let's meet in the office in five minutes,” Lilac suggested. “There are several phone lines in there.”

  “I'll be right back,” Regan announced as she got up and stepped over Earl's now outstretched legs. This guy has the potential to be a real nudge, she thought. It's because of people like him that others need meditation.

  “Excuse me,” he said, pulling his legs in, nearly tripping Regan in the process.

  “No problem,” she answered, regaining her balance. She almost laughed. She was suddenly glad that at least he'd keep his mouth shut for the next hour. Too bad they couldn't tie him up as well.

  If only Jack were here, he'd get such a kick out of this. She'd tell him it was all his fault for buying that guidebook.

  Quickening her pace, she hurried out to the car.

  14

  Lucretia came back to the house as giddy as a schoolgirl. “You can't see my dress,” she cried to Edward. “It's a surprise.”

  “Whatever you wear, I know you will look beautiful,” Edward assured her.

  She had found him in the backyard, sunning himself by the pool. “I want to have a good tan,” he explained, “so I will be your handsome groom.”

  “I know you'll do your best to look handsome on Sunday,” Lucretia said gently. “And in my eyes you will.”

  Eddie felt slighted by the remark but cheered himself with the thought of more than $50 million.

  Across the fence in the next yard, old-time movie star Charles Bennett was tending to his roses. He glanced over and saw Lucretia sitting there with Edward. Charles didn't like the looks of that young guy at all. He'd talked to Lucretia a couple of times over the fence, and she'd called to invite him to her wedding on Sunday.

  The quick wedding seemed very suspicious. Lucretia was a lovely lady, a few years older than Charles, and she seemed to be captivated by this Svengali. It wasn't right, but it was none of his business. He went back to his roses.

  “We have to go downtown and pick up our marriage license,” Lucretia reminded Edward. “But first Phyllis will fix us a little lunch.”

  They ate at stools in the kitchen, Lucretia's tiny feet dangling in midair. Phyllis had reluctantly turned off the television when she served them their sandwiches.

  “Don't you have any friends you want to invite to the wedding?” Lucretia asked Edward.

  “I'm going to be so nervous,” Edward told her. “I'd rather have a big party in a month or two, after we've settled in. We can show everyone how wonderful married life is.”

  Phyllis almost gagged as she poured iced tea into their glasses.

  “I've always loved having big weddings,” Lucretia said. “My first three were huge affairs with hundreds of people, although I must admit the last couple were quiet. I have to give the caterer a final count. I sent invitations to a few of the neighbors.”

  “You did?” Edward questioned, sounding alarmed.

  “Yes, darling. Why not?”

  “We don't know them.”<
br />
  “Well, now we will. They're our neighbors. I want to shout to the world that we're getting married and invite everyone to our party.”

  Edward felt the onslaught of the worst stomachache of his life.

  “And I so hope the kids can make it.”

  “Something tells me they will,” Phyllis stated matter-of-factly.

  “You think so?” Lucretia said gaily.

  “I'd be willing to bet on it.”

  Edward glared at her, then turned to Lucretia. “Whenever you're ready . . .”

  Lucretia jumped off her chair. “Let's go.”

  There was a camera crew waiting at the town clerk's office in Beverly Hills.

  “Lucretia Standish?” a female reporter asked.

  “That's me!” Lucretia said, smiling, clearly enjoying the attention.

  “I'm from GOS news. We're doing a story on special couples getting married in the month of May. We heard you were shopping for your wedding dress today at Saks.

  Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.” Lucretia beamed, posing for the camera.

  “We also heard you made a fortune from an investment in a dot-com, so at this stage of your life you're not only in the money but you're in love.”

  “I am so in love! And this is my fiancé . . .” Lucretia turned to her right.

  Edward was gone. He had disappeared down the hallway.

  Lucretia turned back to the reporter. “He's so shy. It's his first wedding. My sixth, his first.”

  “What a great story.”

  “Wonderful!” Lucretia exulted. “When will it be on?”

  “It will be on the evening news tonight, and we'll probably rerun the segment this weekend.”

  “Would you like to come to the wedding?” Lucretia asked. “It's this Sunday at noon in my garden. It's going to be lovely.”

  “I'll be there,” the reporter assured her, writing down the address. “But now I'd like to ask you a few questions about how you knew to get out of the dot-com before it went bankrupt and how you knew you were in love.”

  “Well, you see,” Lucretia began, patting her hair, “I knew I was always destined to make millions . . .”

  15

  The young production assistant felt as if he wanted to die. Food poisoning had robbed Ricky of what felt like all the fluids in his body. Retching and wretched, he clung to his bed in the hotel.

  There were probably only two sandwiches that were bad. How did I manage to grab one of them? he wondered miserably. He reached over for the glass on his night table and slowly brought the now-warm ginger ale to his lips. Delicately, very delicately, he sipped. He knew his system couldn't take too much of a jolt. Even a sip of ginger ale could be dangerous.

  The phone—that was now just inches from his head—rang. The loud piercing sound suddenly made his headache unbearable. As quickly as he could, he picked up the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  “Ricky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Norman here. You sound terrible.”

  “I feel terrible. I ate something bad. I must have food poisoning.”

  “I hate that.”

  “Me, too.” Ricky closed his eyes and held his hand to his forehead.

  “Listen, I wanted to thank you. Whitney Weldon called. She's coming to the seminar tomorrow.”

  “Great. You owe me a hundred bucks. I'm not surprised she called you.”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. She and the director, a guy named Frank Kipsman, have a thing going. She really wants to do a good job on his movie, and she wants to be confident. Plus I overheard them talking. They're running out of money, which is too bad. The truth is that this would be a good breakout film for both of them. Kipsman is really stressed-out.”

  “They're running out of money?”

  “Yup. They had just enough to start filming, and some other money hasn't come through yet. They'll have to close up if they don't get more money soon. I think Kipsman is going down to L.A. to try to raise money this weekend. Nobody really knows that Whitney is involved with Kipsman, and nobody knows how bad the financial situation is.”

  “Except you.”

  “You know me—I always have my ear to the ground. I heard Kipsman tell Whitney to get away for the weekend. That's why I thought she'd be interested in the seminar.”

  On the other end of the phone, Norman sighed. “So she's involved with Kipsman, huh?”

  “They've got that look. She told him she wished she had the money to give him to save the movie.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. Go drink some ginger ale. If you find somebody else who wants to gain their confidence this weekend, send them right over.”

  “A hundred bucks apiece.”

  “The check's in the mail.” Norman hung up.

  Ricky rolled over and assumed the fetal position. Thank God it's Friday, he thought. I won't have to get out of this bed for three days.

  16

  Regan went out to her car, her office on wheels, and called Jack. He had just left the office.

  “I miss you,” he said, his voice full of affection. “Are you home?”

  “No,” Regan said, smiling.

  “Are you in the car?”

  “Well, yes. But it's not moving.”

  “Are you broken down? I'd love to help, but I'm three thousand miles away.”

  “I'm not broken down. And don't remind me that you're so far away.”

  Jack laughed. “Am I supposed to keep guessing your whereabouts? Is this the game of Twenty Questions?”

  Regan chuckled. “I will keep you on the edge of your seat no longer.” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “I'm sitting in the driveway of the winery we almost stayed at last night.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jack said. “You miss me so much that you had to go back?”

  “I had to go back and recapture our fleeting moments together.”

  “Are they charging for the accommodations after all? You decided to make use of them?”

  “No! They're actually paying me to stay here.”

  “Do tell, my dear,” Jack said as a broad grin spread across his face. When Regan was finished, he just shook his head and laughed. “I suppose it is my fault for finding Altered States in the guidebook. But you do surprise me. I'm sitting on an airplane all day thinking you're still taking it easy, and there you are back to work, back on the road.”

  “If we stayed here last night, we'd probably be working on this together.”

  “I must say it's an unusual case for either one of us to work on—to find someone so she can go to a wedding and collect two million dollars.”

  “I know it's not a matter of life or death,” Regan said, “but to these people the money is very important.”

  A feeling of unease came over Jack. “I must say I don't like it when you say it's not a matter of life or death. That makes me think that somehow it'll turn out to be just that.”

  “I'll be fine,” Regan assured him. “But do me a favor, if you don't mind. See if you can find out anything about Lucretia Standish. I just have a hunch it might be helpful.”

  “Will do,” Jack said as another call beeped into his phone. “I'll talk to you later. Be careful.”

  Regan smiled. Jack was always worried about her. It felt good. “You provide the most excitement in my life,” she told him.

  “Let's keep it that way.”

  17

  Whitney felt a restlessness that wouldn't go away. After walking on the beach for hours, she went back to her room at the motel and started running the water for a bath. She poured in some special calming aromatherapy bath salts her mother had given her and then turned to look at herself in the mirror. I look tired, she thought. I'm too worried. I'm worried about my acting, about Frank, and about the movie being shut down.

  Whitney wished she could have gone to Los Angeles with Frank, but it was too soon for them to be se
en together. They had just hooked up when he cast her in the film. Frank didn't want them talking on the set, thinking he wasn't serious, thinking it was just a fling. He was already under a lot of pressure and didn't need any more.

  It was basically your typical office romance that had to be kept quiet. Just the setting was different.

  Heck, Whitney thought as she stepped into the steamy tub and felt herself beginning to relax. They say the best way to meet somebody is at work. It's getting to the safe place where you're really a couple that is the hard part. If you break up, it's sticky business, especially if you have to face that person every day.

  The tub wasn't the biggest, but it held enough water to do the trick. She closed her eyes and started going over everything in her mind. Jinxed. Some title for a movie. She only hoped it didn't turn out to be prophetic. No, Frank would get the money to finish the film.

  For fifteen minutes Whitney lolled in the hot, bubbly water. Here I am on another one of my “go-with-the-flow” weekends, she thought. But somehow it didn't feel right. She didn't want to be alone. She suddenly stood and reached for one of the thin white towels that felt as fluffy as flattened cardboard. Hurriedly, she dried herself off and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a cotton sweater. It was nearly seven o'clock, and she had made a decision.

  I'll check out of this place and go home to the winery. I feel like being with my mother and whoever else is around. We'll have a glass of wine and talk, and I know I'll feel better. And tomorrow I'll get up early and leave for the seminar—it's not far from Altered States.

  She threw her few things in a bag and looked around the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

  At the checkout desk the clerk looked surprised. “I thought you were staying until tomorrow,” he said, peering at her over his glasses.

  “My plans have changed,” she said simply.

  “I still have to charge you for tonight. You stayed past noon today, and, you know, I could have given the room to somebody else.”