Reed Ferguson 1-3

by Renee Pawlish

  “Is he all right?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  Ace came out onto the porch, holding an empty glass. “Who’s fine?” he asked, wiping a milk mustache off his face.

  “He is,” Deuce said, jabbing a finger at me. “But his friend’s not.”

  “Not what?”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me,” Ace said, punching Deuce on the arm.

  “Hey, why’d you do that?”

  “Because you didn’t answer me.”

  “I did too!”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine who?”

  “What?”

  With a shake of my head, I left the brothers to their impromptu spin-off of “Who’s On First,” and wearily climbed the stairs to my condo, where I showered and tumbled into a dark and restless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Denver Alternative College is a lot busier during the day than it is in the evening. I found this out when I walked through the main entrance to the school around lunchtime on Thursday and had to dodge a moving mass of people on my way to a food court.

  After a brief visit to the hospital to check on Henri, I made some phone calls to the DAC registrar’s office. With some slick bending of the truth, I got a list of students that were enrolled in Samantha’s acting class. The youthful-sounding man in the enrollment office was more than happy to provide the information when I said I was a producer for a major Hollywood firm, and we were looking for prospects for a new movie that would be filming in Denver in the fall.

  A number of Samantha’s fellow students in the “Actors and Acting” class were also enrolled in a course at one o’clock, entitled “The Essence of Acting,” taught by the inimitable Xania Divinity. These students might be able to tell me something about Samantha’s character. I hoped that some of them might know if she was a drug user, and what her relationship with Ned was like. And, if any student remembered seeing Samantha leave class before the student play finished, I’d have something to confront her with.

  The first person on the class list was Erin Abel. I contacted her, and with more twisting of the truth, I explained to her that I was interested in meeting actors for a potential part in a movie. She took the bait, and we arranged to meet in the student lounge. I told her that I’d probably be the only person in the cafeteria wearing a Colorado Rockies baseball cap over a bad haircut.

  Erin Abel had agreed to meet me for a few minutes before her class, so I sat in a crowded lounge at a corner table and waited.

  At exactly 12:45, a brunette who couldn’t have been of legal drinking age came up to the table.

  “Are you Archie Goodwin?” she asked, letting a backpack fall from her shoulder onto the table.

  I nodded. Erin apparently had never read Rex Stout mysteries and didn’t recognize the name of super-heavy, super-sleuth Nero Wolfe's famous sidekick.

  Erin apparently didn’t get the memo that it was close to a hundred degrees outside, either. She wore black jeans, a black blouse, and black heels. Her eyes were rimmed with heavy black liner, and her complexion was so pale I knew she had to be using powder on her face, but to give some color to her ensemble, she had silver bracelets and earrings.

  Modeling an elegant Goth look, we have Erin Abel, I thought.

  “Erin?” I stood up and shook her cold and clammy hand. Not what I expected in this heat.

  “You weren’t kidding about the haircut,” she said.

  “Car accident,” I replied, lifting my cap to let her see the stitches.

  “Ouch.” Erin plopped into a plastic chair across from me. “So you're looking for actors for your next movie?” She pulled out a package of cigarettes and started to light one, then stopped abruptly. “Damn. I keep forgetting we can’t smoke in here.”

  I suppressed a smile.

  “What kind of work have you done?” I asked. I couldn't just blurt out questions about Samantha; I would have to play it a little cagier.

  “I’ve done some local theater, and I was in some of my high school plays.” Erin listed her credits with a starving actor’s enthusiasm. My guilt grew as she spouted off her range of abilities, even speaking in a number of credible accents.

  “You’re quite good,” I said. “We may have a small part for you, especially if you can work on your Scottish accent.”

  Erin’s face lit up. I should’ve gone to jail for buttering her up like I did, but I needed information. And if I said I was a detective, I probably wouldn’t get any. Not only that, Samantha would learn that I was asking about her.

  “This would be in the fall?” Erin asked. She stuffed the unused cigarette back in the package.

  I nodded. “Would you be willing to change your appearance for the role?”

  “Uh-huh. This is no big deal, really,” she said, toying with an earring as she talked. “I played a punk rocker in a play and sort of kept the look. But I’ll do what I need to for the part.”

  “You’ll probably have to submit to a drug test. For insurance purposes.”

  “I’m clean.” Erin frowned as if I had offended her.

  “Just part of the process,” I said. I tapped my fingers on the table and tried to look pensive. “I need another actor, a woman. Someone tall and thin, maybe five-eight or so, with blond hair.”

  “You just described half the women in the school.”

  “Yes, but I believe I saw someone here before. Sandra, Sally. With a last name like Hedley, or Henry. Something like that.”

  “Samantha Healy?”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. I saw Samantha in the student audition play last month. She was quite good.”

  “She wasn’t in the play.”

  Oops.

  “Are you sure? I know I’ve heard that name somewhere. She’s tall and blond, with brown eyes and a big smile. I remember the smile.” I hoped I wasn’t overdoing it.

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “If she wasn’t in the play, maybe I saw her in the crowd.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Was she there?”

  Erin scowled. “Yeah, she was there, but I think she left early.”

  “Are you sure?” I feigned disinterest, but my nerves surged with excitement.

  “The play was so bad, a lot of people left,” she said with a disgusted grunt. “They didn’t cast the better actors.”

  “Like you.”

  “Yeah, like me.” There wasn’t a hint of arrogance in her tone, just a cool assurance.

  “Do you know Samantha?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Would she be interested in a role in the movie?”

  “You’re looking to fill more than one role,” she said flatly, like she didn’t believe I had a part for her.

  “Of course. I’ve got a lot of roles to fill, and I’m looking for new talent. There are plenty of parts to go around, for you, and for Samantha. If she fits the role right, and she passes the drug test. Just like you.”

  She chewed at the side of her cheek.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a friend, Carrie Lutz. She has the physical build you’re looking for, and she might fit the role better.”

  “Hmm. Maybe, but Samantha did catch my eye.”

  Erin leaned on the table. “Look, mister. I don’t want to ruin her chances, but Samantha might not be your best bet.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She’s not a very good actor, and she’s hard to work with. She doesn’t remember her lines well, and she’s seems spacey sometimes. And she dropped her purse one time, and prescriptions bottles fell out. She’s not stable, if you know what I mean.”

  I played the part of disappointed movie producer, but I really wanted to question her more.

  “Hey, I have to go to class now, but you really should meet my friend Carrie. She’s what you’re looking for.” Hence the slandering of Samantha Healy.

  “I’ll think about that,” I said. We strolled out of the student lounge, and I said I wou
ld be in contact with the school in the fall. The words tasted like garbage as I said them. It was probably the puppy-dog desperation in the kid’s eyes that did it.

  *****

  I left the school with a ravenous appetite. As I walked to the parking lot, the heat of the day created translucent waves that shimmered off the hot pavement. I donned sunglasses to ward off the glare of the sunlight, and was about to get in my car when I heard a shout behind me.

  “You asshole!”

  Erin Abel came running up to me, her eyes fiery, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “What?” I said.

  “You’re not a movie producer!”

  “Of course I am.”

  “You are not!” Erin was pissed. “Xania saw us leave and she asked me why I was talking to you. She told me you’re a detective. That’s why you were asking all those questions.”

  “It’s not what you think,” I said.

  “Really?”

  I floundered around, but couldn’t keep up the lie. I finally hung my head. “Erin, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d talk to me if you knew who I was.”

  “That was a shitty thing to do.” Her dark makeup ran down her face. “Do you know how hard it is to find work? Especially when you’re judged so much by the way you look?”

  I wanted to tell her that if she was worried about her appearance not being right she was in the wrong profession, but I kept my jaw locked.

  “I want to work in the movies. I don’t care doing what. I’m just following a dream. But you could care less.”

  “That’s not true.” I could relate to following dreams more than she’d know.

  “Don’t bother coming around here. I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re after Samantha,” she spat at me.

  “I wouldn’t tell her I was asking around,” I said. It sounded lame as I said it.

  “Yeah, try to stop me.”

  Erin stepped back and crossed her arms, acting tough. “Does she think you’re an asshole, too?”

  Probably, I thought as I got into the 4-Runner and drove away.

  *****

  My appetite had not-so-mysteriously disappeared, so I put my guilt and shame into a hard workout at the gym. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. I was a nice guy. Or I was supposed to be. I didn’t like myself at that moment.

  I had told Evaline I would check Henri’s store so she could stay at the hospital, so that was my next stop. Fortunately, everything was still closed up and the place appeared just as I had left it.

  I drove to the hospital with my mind still on Erin Abel. Poor kid, I thought. It’s difficult to be young and trying to find your niche in the world, but it’s worse when someone takes advantage of you. I’d have to see if I could work out a mea culpa with her. If she’d even talk to me again.

  I arrived to the hospital just as a front of ominous clouds darkened the skies. A brisk wind swirled around me as I hurried inside to the intensive care unit. Evaline was there, keeping vigil over Henri.

  “How’s he doing?” I whispered, taking a seat next to her. She was leaning an arm on the bed, holding Henri’s hand.

  “He sleeps and mumbles. Sometimes he wakes and looks at me. But the doctors say this is a good sign.” Evaline stroked his hand affectionately. “He will be all right, my Henri. You wait and see.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a bit, listening to the beeps of heart monitors, the occasional cough from other patients, and conversations in hushed tones. I fought against a sense of doom. Hospitals did that to me. The sickness, the decay, all masked in an antiseptic, artificially clean smell that was even worse here in the ICU.

  I watched Henri. He seemed to be breathing okay, and his face was peaceful.

  “Would you stay with my Henri for a while?” Evaline asked after a bit. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Sure,” I said, scooting my chair closer to the bed.

  Evaline stood up and leaned over the bed. She gently straightened Henri’s hair and pecked him on the cheek.

  I watched her tiptoe away. I sat back in the chair and was fighting drowsiness when Henri began mumbling.

  “Henri, you’re okay,” I said, trying to come up with soothing words and phrases.

  His eyes flickered open.

  “Henri, it’s me. Reed.” I smiled at him, but wished Evaline would come back. She needed to talk to him more than I.

  “He had it,” Henri murmured, his eyes focusing somewhere over my head. “He…”

  “What? Who had what?” I glanced over my shoulder, but no one was there.

  Henri rolled his head from side to side.

  “You have it.” His eyes closed.

  “Have what?” I whispered. I didn’t know if Henri even realized I was there, I just figured it was good to get him talking.

  “Your poster.” Henri startled me. He was staring right at me, eyes wide open.

  “Yes, you have my poster. Is it a valuable poster?”

  “The poster. He checked…” Henri heaved a sigh.

  I waited.

  “His stuff,” Henri mumbled.

  I patted his arm. “Okay, Henri. It’s okay.”

  Henri smiled at me, then drifted off. Since Henri and I were supposed to meet when he was attacked, I wondered if seeing my face was triggering his memory.

  Evaline came back, interrupting my thoughts.

  “How is he?”

  “He seemed to be talking to me a second ago, but now he’s asleep.”

  Evaline sat down and took up her position of holding his hand. “He sees you. That is good. If he doesn’t know what he is saying, that is okay.”

  “I need to go, but I’ll come by again tomorrow.” I stood up.

  Evaline touched my arm. “Thank you. You’re such a nice boy.”

  Huh. I wondered what Erin Abel would say about that.

  I nodded and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Do you ever have one of those days where you wish you could hit a rewind button and start over? Not only had I bungled my detective work, making myself look like Inspector Clouseau instead of Nero Wolfe, but I had lied to and offended a young woman who had done nothing to me, and ruined any chance of talking to Samantha’s fellow actors. I also likely put Samantha onto my trail, turning the tables on myself. And to top it off, Henri was in the hospital.

  I wanted to crawl into a cave and hibernate.

  I holed up in my condo instead. A thunderous storm had drenched the city, then quickly rolled eastward, leaving a pleasant touch of moisture in the cool evening air but it didn’t refresh me. I changed from my pseudo-Hollywood producer slacks and dress shirt to a T-shirt and shorts. I grabbed a beer and sat watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island. After three episodes, I wondered what so many other astute people have wondered over the years: If the Professor could make a radio out of a coconut, why couldn’t he fix a hole in the boat and get them off the island?

  I flipped through the channels until I found a classic film noir, Sweet Smell of Success, considered by many to be the best film noir movie ever. It played in the background while I grabbed some chips, salsa, and another beer.

  Sweet Smell of Success switched to Mildred Pierce, with Joan Crawford. Another classic film, but I wasn’t in the mood for Joan’s onscreen tragedies. I searched around but couldn’t find the remote. But I did see the note Deuce had written me the night they brought me home from the hospital. It was still attached to the notepad.

  I smiled as I reread it. That was a few days ago. Now, the cut on my head itched like a bad sunburn. But the stitches were about to come out, and my ribs were feeling slightly better, so I thought I might as well sever all reminders of that ghastly night. I tore the page off the notepad, crumpled it, and tossed it on the coffee table.

  On the next page of the pad were more scribbled notes. I didn’t recognize the handwriting at first, but as I read a bit, I realized that this was the notepad I’d taken from Ned’s house and this must be Ned’s writing. I flipped through t
he pages until I came to my own notes concerning Ned’s real estate transactions.

  On the top of that sheet was a handwritten list of websites. Hmm, I hadn’t noticed seeing them before. They all seemed related to movies. With a curiosity born of frustration with my lack of progress, I went into my home office and booted up the computer. After a few clicks, I was on the Internet. I typed in the address of the first website on the list.

  A colorful page sprung up, displaying all kinds of information about films of the 1940’s. I read with enthusiasm, clicking from page to page, and actor to actor. Once I’d exhausted the information from the website, I typed in another address, and this time, the website was all about movie posters.

  Humphrey Bogart movies were among the listed items, and I found The Maltese Falcon poster that Ned had owned and that was now at Henri’s store. It was among four styles originally printed and was thought to be fairly rare.

  Ned had obviously been doing some research and must have found a copy of the poster this way. I wondered how much he’d had to pay for it.

  I visited a few more websites that were listed on the notepad, reading more on classic movies and old posters. A couple of sites dedicated to Oscar trivia caught my eye as well. I took the quizzes and did fairly well. Too bad having a brain full of Hollywood trivia didn’t pay the bills.

  The movie on television ended, and I glanced at the computer clock. It was almost midnight. I had completely lost track of the time.

  I shut down the computer and tumbled into bed, hoping that tomorrow I could salvage the pieces of my investigation.

  *****

  I was in the shower the next morning, fantasizing that I’d won the Best Actor Oscar for my performance as The Great Detective, and in the middle of thanking everyone from Humphrey Bogart’s spirit to my non-existent agent, it hit me. I’d missed it last night when I was on the computer, but I was almost positive about it now.

  I hopped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and hurried to the phone, dripping water all over the carpet as I went.

  I dialed Henri’s cell phone and hoped that Evaline would pick up. I chided myself for forgetting Henri's notes when I left his shop. After four rings, I was sent to voice mail.