A Wrench in the Works

by Kate Carlisle

  Chloe winced. “Richie stole them.”

  Mac set down his fork. “What? He stole the films?”

  “Yes. I left them neatly stacked in the closet when I finished that afternoon. I knew they’d be perfectly safe there overnight, you know? And I was going to tell Dad about them and also explain to the Connollys where I’d found them. But when I got back the next day they were gone. I asked Dad if he had moved anything and he said no. All he said was that I did a real good job cleaning out the closet, but he didn’t say a word about the film cans.”

  “So how did you know Richie took them?”

  “He told me.” She scowled and stared at her plate. “He bragged about it.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “What a crook.”

  “Yeah, and I was in a total panic. What if the Connollys were looking for those film reels?”

  “Apparently they weren’t,” I said. “I’ve never heard a word about them, and you know how gossip spreads around here.”

  “Yes, but back then I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. By then I had already made plans to move to Hollywood. I had a job lined up and an apartment.”

  “I remember.” I nodded as the years rolled back. “We packed up your car and then Dad and I followed you in our truck and moved you into that first apartment in Burbank.”

  “Right. And I started my job at the talent agency the next week.” She smiled briefly. “So imagine my surprise when Richie walks into my office a few days later. He had driven down to Hollywood because he knew that would be the best place to unload the films.”

  “He should be in jail,” I muttered.

  “If only,” Chloe said, winding several strands of capellini around her fork. “He told me he’d made a boatload of money selling them and I was a sucker for not going in on the deal with him.”

  “What deal?” I said. “There was no deal. He stole someone else’s property and pocketed the money.”

  “That’s what I said,” Chloe assured me. “Not that it did any good. He was so sickening. He said that if I ever told anyone about this, he would make sure that Dad got blamed. And I believed him.”

  “But Dad wouldn’t.”

  She waved the words away. “I couldn’t be sure. I was young and stupid. And I was so mortified and worried about Dad. So I decided to track down the films and try to buy them back. In my mind, I figured that if the news got out that something so valuable had been stolen from one of Dad’s clients, his reputation would be ruined forever. After all, I wasn’t just on his crew, I was his daughter, his flesh and blood, and this was entirely my fault.”

  “But you didn’t do anything,” I insisted.

  She gave me a look. “You know that wouldn’t matter to the wealthy people who used to hire him to rehab their homes. And Richie was part of that crowd. He would’ve messed with the story enough to make it look like Dad had given me permission to steal the Connollys’ property.”

  I shook my head and reached for my wineglass. “This is horrible.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad.” She chewed her lip for a moment, then confessed, “I thought that if Dad couldn’t work, he would spiral into some kind of deep depression. I mean, Mom was gone, so Dad would be left with nothing.”

  “Oh, Chloe. Did you really think that?”

  She blinked away tears. “I didn’t know what to think. It was a pretty crazy time. I was consumed with guilt.”

  I vowed to talk more about this someday, but for now I wanted to get back to her story. “Did you find the films?”

  “Yes.” She shook away the sadness by taking a quick bite of a meatball. “I finally found the auction house that had bought the reels from Richie, but by then the local film buffs had swooped them up. So now I didn’t know what to do. If I told the auction house that the films were stolen, the truth would come out and Dad’s reputation would suffer.”

  “Don’t you think your father could’ve dealt with this?” Mac asked quietly.

  “I was just a kid,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. The one thing I did know was that it was my fault. If I had just told Dad about the films right away when I found them, none of this would have been happening. But I was always getting in trouble in school and I figured everyone would believe that I’d stolen the films.” She shook her head and reached for her wineglass. “I was so guilt-ridden. I knew I couldn’t come back to Lighthouse Cove until I found those films and returned them to the Connolly family.”

  “Oh, honey.” I jumped up and gave her a hug. “Is that why you never came back?”

  “Pretty much.” She hugged me back hard enough to convince me that this had been haunting her for years and that it was a relief to get it all out.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through this all by yourself.”

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it? All these years. I was driven to recover them all. And I did, one film at a time.”

  I sat back down. “Wait, didn’t you work at an auction house for a while?”

  “Yes, I got a job at the same place Richie took those films. I was able to download a list of all the films and all of the buyers. I knew which reels they’d bought and how much they paid for them.”

  “You really went to a lot of trouble.”

  “I did. I felt like I owed the Connollys that much.” She sighed. “It was only because of me that Richie was at their house to find the films in the first place. Now if I were Richie, I would’ve tried to steal them back from the people who bought them, but I couldn’t do that.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So I saved my money in order to buy back as many of them as I could.”

  Chloe had been going through all of this for years and never shared it with any of us. Instantly, I was furious with myself. I’d known that something was wrong with my sister, but I’d never pushed for answers. I’d wanted her to come home. To trust me. I should have gone to her a long time ago and demanded she tell me what was going on with her.

  I stared at Mac, feeling miserable. “I just can’t believe she went through this.”

  He gazed at Chloe. “The story you’re telling sounds like a plot for a movie.”

  She nodded. “Pretty intriguing, right? Sadly, though, the ending is a major disappointment.”

  “Why” I asked. “What happened?”

  “I actually managed to buy back a number of the films, but I was still missing a few. Then just last year I met the buyer who owned the rest of them. I knew I could get him to sell them to me, so I concocted a plan for Makeover Madness to come to Lighthouse Cove to do a special on Victorian houses. I called Peggy to see if she would like us to do a touch of rehab on her family home, for free, of course. She jumped at the possibility and I suggested expanding the closets. She loved that idea.”

  “So . . . what? You were going to sneak the film cans back into the house and leave them in the closet?”

  “That’s right. And I would miraculously unearth them and they could do what they wanted with them.”

  “Wow,” I murmured. “Pretty elaborate plan.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what happens when you’ve been living with a lie for so long. You tend to dwell on it constantly and build it up until you’ve got this great big crazy quilt of plots and possibilities.”

  I shook my head. Her story was exhausting as well as amazing. “So you met with the owner of the films?”

  “Yeah. And he told me something kind of important.”

  “What’s that?”

  She exhaled heavily. “He said that those old celluloid film reels are very fragile and they disintegrate eventually.”

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  Absently, she waved her fork. “Well, I should’ve known it from the start. I mean, I worked in the movie business. Everything’s digitized these days. I just never, well, I never considered that.” She flash
ed us a weak smile. “But at least I’m pretty.”

  I laughed. “Stop it. You’re smart and you’re brave. You took action and you found out a lot of stuff that not too many people know. Anyway, keep going. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

  “Okay, this guy told me that the films would ultimately turn to dust and that the best thing I could do with the ones I’d already bought was to donate them to this nonprofit foundation that protects and preserves old motion pictures. Some big-name Hollywood directors started it and it’s housed at the UCLA campus. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Did they give you money for the films?”

  “No.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Did you miss the part where I said ‘donate’? It was considered a charitable donation.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I frowned. “Well, I guess that’s something to feel good about.”

  “It is. And I do. I feel good about it. It didn’t help the Connollys any, but I’m determined to tell Peggy and her family everything that happened. I could’ve had the production company cancel the Lighthouse Cove trip, but I wanted to do this. I wanted to face the Connollys.” She took a breath and shuddered it out. “I’m going to tell them that Richie Rich stole their great-grandfather’s property. After that, it’ll be up to them whether they want to try to get money from him.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “I think I mentioned he’s a slimy critter.”

  “The worst.” She took a bite of her pasta. “So that’s it.”

  I glanced at Mac, who looked slightly shell-shocked. I’m sure I had the same look on my face. “So that’s why you rarely came back to visit. And the few times you have come back, you practically sneak into town so nobody will see you.”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head, a little bemused. “I couldn’t risk running into Richie, for one. And facing you and Dad was always hard because I felt so ashamed of myself. I mean, now I can admit I might’ve blown things out of proportion, but back then I was kind of a mess. If you combine my guilt over the stolen film cans with my bad attitude in high school, you end up with me feeling like the black sheep of the family.”

  “No way.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. And the longer I stayed away, the easier it was to just make up excuses for why I couldn’t come home.”

  Some big sister I was, I thought. I reached over and rubbed her arm. “My poor little sis.”

  “Hey, I’m not poor,” she said lightly. “I’m a superstar.”

  Smiling, I said, “I love you, Chloe. I wish I could’ve helped you get through this.”

  “I love you, too, sis. Thanks.” She twirled more pasta, then glanced up at me. “Just so you know, I called Peggy Connolly on the ride into town earlier. I plan to tell her the whole story, too.”

  “That’s pretty brave.”

  She gave a light shrug. “It’s necessary.”

  We ate in silence for a minute, and then Mac spoke up. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Chloe.”

  “Thanks, Mac. I know it sounds like a sloppy melodrama, but I learned a lot about myself in the process. And I’m not quite as guilt-ridden as I was, which is a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, since you were never guilty of anything in the first place.” After a long moment, he continued, “Would you mind if we set up some time to talk more about this? It’s a good story, Chloe. Fear. Survival. Redemption. Good stuff. I’d like to use it as backstory in my new book if that’s okay with you. And if you’d rather not, I’ll understand.”

  “Are you kidding?” Chloe said, her eyes lighting up. “I would love it.”

  Thrilled by Chloe’s positive reaction, I reached over and squeezed Mac’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “Nothing to thank me for. I’m glad you brought me along tonight.”

  “And we haven’t even finished dinner,” I said. “See? Not such a long story.”

  “Well, I can fill you in on the other six years of pain and anguish if you’d like.” She slapped one hand to her chest, threw her head back, and said, “I was poor, but proud, walking through the heavy snows of Los Angeles to my rat-infested shack . . .” She paused, looked at us both, and then grinned.

  We all laughed and finally settled down to enjoy the rest of our dinner. I had to admit I’d been nervous the whole time Chloe was talking. I had no idea what her story would entail, but it seemed to have come to a satisfactory ending. Yes, she had lost money buying back the film cans, but she had gained some pretty amazing insight.

  But there was one loose end that worried me.

  “What do we do about Richie Rich?” I asked.

  “Tie him to an anthill?” Chloe said hopefully.

  I nodded. “Medieval but effective.”

  “Hey, I’ve got friends . . .” Mac let the rest of that sentence die off, but since he had been a Navy SEAL, I appreciated the thought.

  Chloe frowned. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and never see him again.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” I said. “This is a small town and you’re a superstar, remember?”

  She made a face. “In that case, maybe I’ll threaten him with a lawsuit.”

  “Or a restraining order,” I suggested.

  “There’s your happy ending,” Mac said with a grin.

  * * *

  • • •

  The next morning Robbie woke me up when Chloe let a camera crew into my kitchen. It was a small crew, just two guys, but it was a shock nonetheless. I gave Robbie a grateful scratching, happy that he had alerted me to throw on my sweats instead of my usual undershirt and shorts.

  “I made coffee,” Chloe said brightly.

  I stumbled toward the coffeemaker. “And that’s why I’ve allowed you to live.”

  She chuckled. “Good one. The guys got here a little early so they could set up some shots. I invited them in for coffee.”

  “Great.” I turned to the two men sitting at the kitchen table. “Hi, guys. I’m Shannon. Welcome to Lighthouse Cove.”

  “Thanks, Shannon. I’m Gary.” Thin, short, and nerdy, he was completely adorable. He held up his coffee mug. “Fantastic coffee.”

  “I’m Bob,” the other guy said. He had to be over six feet tall and muscular and I wondered if he’d been a linebacker in a previous life. “Sorry to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding,” I said weakly. “You just . . . caught me off guard. I’ll get dressed and be down in about half an hour, okay?”

  “While you get ready,” Chloe said, “we’ll finish our coffee and set up those outside shots we talked about last night.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you out there. Wait.” I was awake enough now to realize that her hair was expertly coiffed and her face was beautifully made up. Her clothes were deceptively casual but now I noticed how perfectly they accentuated her figure and how the colors and fabrics seemed to bring out the blue in her eyes and the glow of her cheeks. I was going to look totally tacky next to my baby sister.

  “Dang, Chloe,” I whined. “You look like Contractor Barbie. Did someone come over to do your hair and makeup?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. “We have a makeup person on staff, but I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. I know how to make myself look good on camera.”

  “Well, I don’t.” I wasn’t sure if that was just a statement or a warning. “Maybe you’ll give me some pointers.”

  The clouds in her eyes disappeared and she smiled. “You bet. I’ll come upstairs in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Once upstairs, I managed to shower and dry my hair in fifteen minutes.

  I pulled out my meager cosmetic bag of tricks and stared at the items inside. Except for mascara and lip gloss I rarely wore makeup, but now I was determined to give it my best shot. I used a little sponge to apply liquid foundation, then tried to fiddle with a highlighter under my eyes. I brushed on a t
ouch of blusher and added a subtle application of eye shadow. I used a lip brush to add some color and finished up by carefully applying mascara. I didn’t want to look like a raccoon. I just wanted to look fabulous.

  “Not bad,” I said to the mirror. But I was still missing that glow that Chloe had achieved.

  Seconds later, she walked into the room carrying a small suitcase. “Okay, let’s do this.” She studied my face for a moment and frowned. “You don’t need much help. Which makes me want to hate you.”

  “Oh, please. I look like a big-haired freckle-faced farm girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But you look chic and gorgeous. It’s not fair.”

  “Give me a minute.” She set the case on the counter and opened it to reveal more makeup than I’d ever seen outside of a department store cosmetics counter. First she wiped off as much as she could of the stuff I’d already applied. Then she used my small sponge to add her own industrial-strength foundation, blending it in with a lighter shade in the corners of my eyes and underneath my lashes. She added a pale whoosh of shadow under my eyebrows and redid my lipstick with something so gooey, I was afraid to speak for fear of my lips sticking together.

  “That is serious stuff,” I murmured, unwilling to open my mouth too much.

  “That’s how we superstars roll.” Finally she grabbed a long-handled brush and stroked a perfectly angled layer of blusher onto my cheeks.

  “There. You’re perfect.”

  “Wow.” I laughed when I looked in the mirror. It looked like me, but . . . glam. “I like it. How’s my hair?”

  “It’s stupendous.”

  “Don’t make fun. Shouldn’t I pull it back so it’s not so wild?”

  “Maybe when we start doing demo, but for now it’s curly and sexy and everyone will love it.”

  “Really?”

  She gave me a look. “Yes, really. Now let’s check out your wardrobe.”

  I led the way into my bedroom and slid my closet doors open. “It’s, you know, pretty basic.”

  “Oh, I know,” she muttered. “But hopefully we can find something that doesn’t make you look like a truck driver.”