Phyllis made herself a cup of tea and flipped on the television to the Game Show channel. They were playing reruns of game shows from way back when. Dick Clark's $25,000 Pyramid was being broadcast. It was the bonus round, and the winning contestant was being fed clues by a celebrity whose name Phyllis couldn't remember. The contestant had to figure out what all the clues had in common.
“Why you get a loan . . . why you hock your jewelry . . . why you tell your spouse to get a job . . . why you . . .”
“Things you do when you're broke!” Phyllis yelled at the television just as the doorbell rang. “I should know.”
Phyllis took a quick sip of her tea. Probably more wedding nonsense, she thought. She walked slowly through the living room and admired how clean it was. See if they can get somebody else to keep this house as nice as I do, she thought.
When Phyllis opened the door, she was surprised to find the reporter who interviewed Lucretia yesterday and a cameraman. The reporter was smiling and blond, and looked as if she was just so happy.
“Hi, there,” the woman began.
Phyllis stared at her blankly. She hadn't cleaned up the tomatoes yet, and the woman was standing to one side of them. So was the cameraman.
“I'm Lynne B. Harrison from GOS News. We did the story on Miss Standish yesterday. I was wondering if we could talk to her for a few minutes.”
“She's not here,” Phyllis stated. “And thanks to your story, somebody threw tomatoes at the front door. Luckily, they only reached the porch.” She looked down. Lynne B. Harrison followed her gaze.
“I see that,” Lynne said, and with a hand motion she urged the cameraman to record the stewed-looking tomatoes. “You think someone who saw our show did that?”
“Definitely.”
“What a shame,” Lynne commented, stalling for time, desperately trying to think of a way to get inside. She knew that any new angle would please her boss. She had to get something. “We received hundreds of nice e-mails saying that people were happy Lucretia had found love again. I must say others were a little upset about all the money she made off a dot-com that went bankrupt. I even have an e-mail here for Lucretia from two of her childhood friends. They'd like to talk to her about a secret they have with her that they've kept quiet about for more than seventy years.”
Phyllis's eyes almost popped out of her head. She suddenly felt a protectiveness toward Lucretia. Bad enough that everybody, including herself, was trying to get their hands on her money. But if someone was going to embarrass Lucretia in public . . .
“I'll give you an interview if you hand over the e-mail and let Lucretia and no one else contact her friends,” Phyllis bargained. Maybe this would be a way to stay in Lucretia's good graces. Heck, Lucretia might even give her a bonus for being so loyal and protective.
Lynne knew she had no choice. She could sit outside in the truck waiting for Lucretia, but she had no idea where Lucretia was. This e-mail could easily be a hoax. There were plenty of kooks who wanted to claim they had a close association with someone in the limelight—what people will do for their fifteen minutes of fame. And her boss wanted something on the air today. A tour of Lucretia's house would be perfect. Lynne handed the printed e-mail to the maid.
“Come on in,” Phyllis urged, pulling the door wide open.
36
After the meditation class, Regan wandered next door to the building that housed the combination gift shop and tasting room. The space was airy and rustic. An old-fashioned register sat on one side of a long wooden counter. Several stools were perched in front of the counter. Wineglasses lined the shelves behind, and bottles of wine were displayed in glass cases along the brick wall. Candles and incense and bric-a-brac abounded. Soft classical music was playing in the background. At one end of the room, a round oak table was set with wineglasses of varying sizes and shapes. A sliding glass door at the back of the room opened onto a patio with several picnic tables.
Bella was sitting behind the register. She greeted Regan. “Welcome to our tasting room and gift shop. If I can be of service, please don't hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Regan answered, thinking that Bella suddenly seemed a little strange. Her singsongy voice and her glassy-eyed stare gave Regan the impression that she was a few cards short of a full deck.
A brochure in front of the register caught Regan's eye. She walked over and picked up a copy of Altered States—A Look Back. Black-and-white pictures taken at the turn of the century filled the pages. Many of the pictures looked the same. Trees and more trees.
“I understand your grandfather once owned this winery,” Regan remarked to Bella.
“Prohibition ruined it for him,” Bella said with disgust. “You know there are a lot of us whose families really had it bad when Prohibition was passed.” She stared up at Regan, a sudden fire in her eyes. “Quite frankly, I think the government should compensate us for our ancestors' troubles.”
Oh, brother, Regan thought as the theme music to the Twilight Zone started playing in her head.
“I mean, for God's sake, if the government hadn't passed that stupid law, this would all be mine right now.”
Regan wondered if Bella had discussed this with Lilac before she was hired. Regan guessed not.
“Well,” Regan countered, thinking of Lucretia, “look at what happened with the dot-coms. Fifty years from now there will be people saying they would be rich if only their grandparents had gotten out before they crashed.”
Bella shook her head dismissively. “Not the same thing.”
“I understand some people say the property is haunted by a ghost. Do you know any stories from the days your grandfather owned the winery?”
“All I know is that he had to run away because of his debts. It wasn't right what happened. It just wasn't right.”
So why would you come back here, Regan wondered. It's not going to evoke happy memories. Regan smiled inwardly. Bella could use a class or two with Earl.
A couple wandered in, and Bella welcomed them as she had Regan a few minutes before. The same words, the same inflections. It was like the recording at the airport that told you to load and unload fast, or your car would be towed.
Regan still had the brochure in her hand. “How much is this?”
“It's free of charge,” Bella said, her bowed lips forming a smile.
“Thanks. I'll see you later.” Regan wandered back outside just as her parents were pulling up the dirt road.
“You made good time,” Regan noted as Luke stopped the car a few feet in front of her. “Why don't we just go into town for lunch right now?” Regan felt unsettled and wanted to talk to her parents in peace before they checked into the B and B and she had to introduce them to Lilac.
“Sure, honey,” Nora agreed quickly, sensing Regan's concern. “We had a light breakfast. I'm kind of hungry.”
Regan opened the door and got in the backseat. She considered going in to tell Lilac she was leaving for lunch but figured Lilac would never notice. If she's not worried about her daughter, she certainly won't worry about me.
37
Ricky woke up feeling almost human. He thought he actually might be able to down a piece of toast. Although he was still weak, he forced himself to get out of bed and turn on the shower.
The water felt good on his achy, dehydrated body. He opened his mouth, welcoming the stream of liquid that wet his face and relieved his parched lips. He grabbed the shampoo bottle and lathered up. It was as if he were cleansing away all the previous day's ailments. Three minutes later he reluctantly turned off the faucets and grabbed a towel. Already I feel 100 percent better, he thought. Not well enough to go for a run as he usually did on a Saturday morning, but much better nonetheless.
Ricky was twenty-two years old, and exercising every day was part of his routine. His body was compact, 5 feet 7 inches tall, with a slight but muscular build. He had curly dark hair and olive skin, and was considered pretty cute by a lot of the girls he met.
He dr
essed in jeans and a T-shirt and headed out the door. It was a beautiful day, and he definitely had cabin fever. He had to get out, even if just for a little while.
The hotel lobby was quiet. No one was around. Ricky walked down to the coffee shop on the corner and had a light breakfast, toast and tea—what his mother had always given him when he was sick. It was as satisfying as any meal he'd ever eaten. After Ricky paid his check, he stood outside and weighed his options. I don't feel well enough to run or ride my bike, but I want to do something. I know: I'll go up to Norman's and collect my money. Maybe he'll even let me sit in on the seminar. If I'm recommending his seminars to people, I should know what they're all about.
Quickly he turned on his heel and headed for the hotel parking lot, thinking that it would be fun to see Whitney off the set and to see who else was in the class. Maybe there'd be some good-looking girls. Ricky and his girlfriend had broken up recently because he was away from Los Angeles so much.
“I'm too young to put up with these long separations,” she'd explained as she fluffed up her hair and reapplied her makeup. “I'm in my prime. I need someone who is there for me, Ricky—there for me when I need it most. Sometimes I just need a hug. Ya know?”
“Yeah,” Ricky had said as he walked out the door.
Now as he got in his car, he felt energized. This will be fun, he thought. I'll meet some new people. He was also honest enough to admit to himself that what he was most looking forward to was seeing Whitney. If only she weren't involved with Frank Kipsman. He laughed. Maybe one day she'll fall for my charm.
He inserted a CD into the stereo system and headed for the hills. Norman's house was on a beautiful spot up in the heavily wooded mountains. It was such a great day for a drive. If he had turned on the news in the car instead of listening to music, he might have changed his mind.
Wildfires were on the way.
38
In the little village near Altered States, the dining choices were limited. Since Luke and Nora had done enough driving for one day, they didn't feel like venturing into another town. There was one pub, Muldoon's, that Regan guessed was probably where Bella's husband was employed. A sign in the window advertised grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches.
“Do you want to try this place?” Regan asked. “It looks like it has a little local flavor.”
“Grilled cheese and tomato was always a favorite of mine,” Luke said dryly as he parked the car in front.
Inside, the jukebox was playing a Roy Orbison song. It wasn't yet noon, so they had their choice of tables. They took a booth by the window that had a view of the mountains in the distance. Muldoons was a typical pub with a darkened interior and the smell of aged beer in the air.
A waitress came over to take their order. They had all decided to try the specialty of the house.
“Good choice,” the waitress commented. Her name tag read SANDY. She was probably about sixty and had a leathery face that looked as if it had been tanned since she was twelve. “What about a drink? We have a special beer . . .”
“What kind of wine do you have by the glass?” Nora asked.
The waitress practically snorted. “You mean by the jug? You might be in wine country, but the owner of this joint could care less. He buys wine in vats the size of a watercooler. Take my word for it, it's not from a winery that won any medals.”
Regan grabbed the opportunity to try to get some information. “We're staying up at Altered States,” she volunteered.
Sandy made a face. “That place.”
Regan smiled. “What do you mean?”
“There's been a lot of hard luck up there. The owner who had it when Prohibition started was run out of town. Then it was just abandoned for years. Everyone says it has a ghost. The last owners went bankrupt. Now that family who owns it are into all that meditation and incense. Why don't they just concentrate on making good wine?”
Regan thought of Leon's impatience with Earl. “One of the family members has been into meditation for a long time.”
“Earl.”
“Yes, Earl.”
“He lived off the fat of the land at another meditation center until they finally booted him out. He worked around the grounds and doing odd jobs, but there wasn't enough for him to do to warrant free room and board for the rest of his enlightened life.”
“I thought he was in the oil business.”
“Could have fooled me. If he was, it must have been a long time ago.”
Nora and Luke were just taking all of this in. They knew when Regan was on one of her fishing expeditions, and they loved to listen.
“You seem to know a lot about them,” Regan noted.
“I've lived around here my whole life. You get to know what's going on. When I was a kid, we went up to Altered States at night when it was abandoned and scared ourselves silly. We'd go into the old barn at the far end of the property and tell each other ghost stories. And I've been working in this pub for years. Working in a pub, you hear about everybody's business.”
“A woman who works at Altered States in the gift shop said that it was her grandfather who had owned it when Prohibition was passed.”
“Her husband just got a job here.” Sandy lowered her voice. “He applies for a job as a bartender, and they hire him without asking too many questions. The other day I asked him to make me a Singapore Sling. He looked at me like I had two heads. Do I look like I have two heads?”
“No,” Regan answered dutifully.
“That's right, I don't. What bartender worth his salt doesn't know how to make a drink like that? Now, speaking of drinks, what are you all drinking?”
The three of them ordered iced tea.
When Sandy walked away, Nora said to Regan, “We had a lovely dinner with Wally and Bev last night. He said he knows the director of the movie Whitney is in.”
Regan shook her head. She explained to her parents everything that had happened that morning. “I won't feel relieved until I know that Whitney pulled out of the driveway this morning by herself.”
Sandy brought them their iced tea.
Regan's mind was “swinging from branch to branch.” From Whitney to Bella to Bella's husband, who sounded as though he, too, was a few cards short of a full deck. Then an image flashed in her mind: the skull and crossbones tattoo. There's something about that guy, Regan thought. There's something about him that's just not right.
39
Lucretia and Edward ate lunch at a roadside diner filled with tattooed motorcyclists whose gleaming bikes were lined up outside the restaurant door. Lucretia was sorry they didn't have a camera to take a picture of her in the Rolls-Royce parked next to all the Harley-Davidsons.
As they munched on cheeseburgers at the counter, Lucretia said coyly, “Darling, I know you want it to be a surprise, but I'm dying to find out where you're taking me on our honeymoon.”
“You'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon when we leave the wedding reception. You know it's a road trip, and that's all I'm telling you,” Edward said, trying to sound in charge. “Just be sure to bring all kinds of clothes.” Edward knew that he couldn't tell Lucretia he was taking her to Denver where the altitude would make it difficult for her to breathe. He wanted to wear her out, but he didn't want to make it obvious to other people. He'd be sure they stopped in other cities as well. At night when she was asleep he planned to sneak out and have a good time. He wanted to stay away as long as possible and not come back until the excitement of the wedding died down.
On the television, perched high in the corner above a glass case of cakes and pies, Phyllis's face suddenly filled the screen. She was standing in Lucretia's living room next to the reporter who had done the story on the impending nuptials.
“We are now in the home of former silent screen star Lucretia-Standish,” Lynne B. Harrison reported as she held up a gilt-framed picture of Lucretia that normally rested on the coffee table. “Lucretia made over fifty million dollars off a dot-com she had invested in and then most wisely
cashed out of.”
“Turn up the volume,” Lucretia screeched to the waitress.
Noting Lucretia's desperation—or perhaps because she never wanted to hear a sound like Lucretia screaming again—the waitress quickly complied.
“Lucky Lucretia is getting married tomorrow, and we are here live with her housekeeper, Phyllis. Phyllis, what can you tell us about Lucretia and her fiancé? Do they seem happy to you?”
Phyllis turned to face the camera directly. Edward felt as if she were looking at him alone. His whole body tensed.
“Oh, yes,” Phyllis answered amiably. “They're nutty about each other.”
Edward relaxed.
“What can you tell us about him?”
Edward tensed up again.
“Not much,” she acknowledged. “I don't really know him. But I'm certainly looking forward to getting to know him.”
“Wonderful. Now can we take a look in the backyard where the wedding will take place?”
“Of course.”
The camera followed Phyllis and Lynne out to the pool area where dozens of round tables were being set up by the caterer. A trellis was being decorated with ribbons and flowers. Workers were putting down a dance floor at the end of the yard. A fountain was being hauled in, presumably for the champagne.
Lucretia clapped her hands. “Look, darling, look. They're getting it all ready for tomorrow.”
“I can't wait,” Edward said fervently.
“This is going to be a beautiful wedding,” Lynne said enthusiastically. “I wish we could talk to Lucretia again, but I know she's off at a secret location resting up for her big day. Viewers, please let us know your thoughts on Lucretia Standish's wedding to Edward Fields. Do you think a forty-seven-year age difference is too much? Or does love win out? We'll be back later with more on the plans for the big day.”
Jinxed Page 10