Jinxed Page 14

  “She mentioned that. And, of course, I’m familiar with you from Holiday. I used to watch the show growing up.” I detect a hint of a smile and suspect she’s probably a fan, which is always helpful. “I understand that last night was sort of a reunion for all of you.”

  “It was. Of course, we hadn’t seen each other in a good number of years. It was great to get together again, all very serendipitous.” For some reason I’m speaking in an inappropriate party voice. I switch gears, reminding myself that the evening ended with Elaine’s death. “It’s tragic what happened, a complete shock. We’d said goodbye just minutes before.”

  “That’s what I hear.” She looks at me intently, her manner unhurried. What is she thinking? My cheeks burn. If only that noncommittal look was just her way of concealing her excitement at meeting Jinx in person—that I could handle.

  The silence between us lingers and I begin to feel uneasy. Perhaps she’s taking her time assessing just how guilty I might be—of what? My caffeinated heart pumps rapidly, wondering just how well acquainted she is with my recent history. Thanks to the Internet, my life is an open book, with several lengthy court documents and news articles about my conman husband that anyone can access. She must be aware that I was implicated in Paul’s business fraud.

  “Maybe we could find a place to talk out of the hot sun,” she says finally. “Detective McCauley will join us.” She motions to McCauley.

  “G’morning,” he says, lumbering over, wiping his hands on a large plaid handkerchief. He’s wearing a black nylon jacket with khakis and looks uncomfortably warm. “How’re you doing?”

  “Okay, all things considered.” I wave my hand toward the wrought-iron garden furniture arranged on a patio that’s shaded by the orchid pavilion. “How about over there?”

  I start up the walkway, the two detectives on my heels, and try to shake off free-floating anxiety. I have nothing to hide! But then, I remind myself, I’ve done nothing but hide for more than a year. It’s become habit forming.

  “My goodness, it’s warm this morning,” I say, reverting to my gay party voice. I sit in one of the garden chairs across from Detective Yarrow and turn to Detective McCauley, who settles into a chair next to me. “And awfully humid after all that rain last night.”

  He nods. “Unusual for this time of year.”

  “Very,” I say. In the lingering silence, I tap Detective Yarrow’s card on my knee, glancing at the lettering. “Homicide Division. Hard to believe, you know? Do you have any idea how it happened? Or who could’ve done this?”

  “That’s what we’re working on,” she says. “Maybe you could tell us about the last time you saw Elaine before your dinner here.”

  “Before? You mean at Chelsea’s house?” The prickling on my scalp tightens. I’d invested my anxiety in what happened to me a year ago, forgetting entirely about my run-in with the police just yesterday afternoon. “Of course. I dropped by the house just as Elaine arrived. She didn’t have keys, so she climbed through a window and then a neighbor saw her breaking in and called the police.” I smile at Detective Yarrow. “Looking back, it was sort of funny, like the old days when she was my stunt double, you know?”

  Detective Yarrow makes a note, then looks up, her face registering puzzlement. “So it was all good-natured? She wasn’t upset to find you there? According to a police report—”

  “I see what you mean. Well, she was surprised to see me, of course, but then I told her that I’d been hired to coach Chelsea. You know she’s playing Jinx in the new series, right?”

  “Did you know Chelsea was her daughter?”

  “That was a surprise. But then Elaine got very upset, understandably, when I told her Chelsea hadn’t shown up for an important table read. That’s the reason I went to the house looking for her in the first place.”

  “I understand you were the last to see her?”

  “Seems like it. We’d been working together. I was teaching her hat tricks.”

  “You’re talking about the famous hat that went missing? Apparently she took it and you were trying to get it back from her?”

  Donna drives her Mercedes out of the garage and waves to us before heading down to the gates. I wave back. “I’m sure Donna told you—”

  “We’d like to hear about it from you. Apparently you were injured chasing her? Can you tell us about that?”

  “I wasn’t really chasing her. She was already gone. I happened to trip and fall into some bushes. Just a few scratches, that’s all.” I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. “Look, I don’t think any of this has to do with Elaine getting shot, but why don’t I just tell you what I know. She certainly wasn’t killed because of a missing hat!”

  “Go ahead, tell us,” Detective Yarrow says, looking almost affable. “That’s what we want to hear.”

  “Okay, you got it.” I settle back, trying to work up some saliva. The last thing I want to suggest is going into the house for water, where we’ll likely run into Dirck. Beginning with our work session in the pool house and Chelsea’s abrupt departure, I cover the same ground but in more detail. In going over my encounter with Elaine at the house, I stick to the bare facts. Aside from a natural reluctance to speak ill of the departed, I see no point in delving into our occasionally contentious working relationship. She was doing her job. I was doing mine. What can it matter now?

  “And what about her husband, a Mr. Horne?”

  “I have no idea who he is. I didn’t know she’d married or had a child until I saw her yesterday afternoon. Have you reached him? He probably doesn’t know his daughter is missing.”

  “We’re on top of it,” Detective McCauley says, standing up. “You know how to reach us. Get in touch if you think of anything else.”

  “Of course.” I shake his hand. “I know you have to question the last people Elaine was with, but it’s unnerving. It must be obvious that none of us were involved in what happened to her. It had to be something random. Maybe a carjack attempt.”

  “Anything’s possible,” he says.

  “It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” Detective Yarrow says, smiling warmly now that the interrogation is over. “Who would ever think I’d be on this end of things with Jinx. I guess it’s all in a day’s work.”

  “Jinxed again!” I laugh and shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, even under these circumstances.”

  I watch them go to their car, then head inside for a glass of water, relieved to have made it through the interview without getting arrested.

  There’s no sign of Dirck, but Donna has left a picnic hamper for me on the kitchen counter. I peek inside, finding sliced pot roast, a jar of horseradish mustard, green beans in vinaigrette, crusty bread and oatmeal cookies—a feast! I race upstairs to grab a jacket and my shoulder bag, hoping to be on my way before running into Dirck.

  After taking care of a few errands, I pull in to Dougie’s driveway. As usual, he’s sitting on the front porch with Ridley at his feet.

  “Hungry?” I ask on my way to the kitchen with the hamper. “It’s just past noon.”

  “Bring it on,” he says, clearing the rattan coffee table of newspapers.

  I pull a couple of Samuel Adams pilsners from Doug’s fridge, but otherwise Donna has included everything we might need: napkins, vintage 1940s red Melmac plates and miniature shakers of salt and pepper.

  “You always get to eat like this?” Dougie says, a note of wonder in his voice.

  “What can I say? She loves to cook. I love food. The trick is to keep exercising.” I take a sip of pilsner and settle back in a roomy wicker chair. “So what’s your take on what happened to Elaine?”

  “I don’t know. Some detective is coming by this afternoon. I can’t think of anything to add to what I said last night.”

  “They came by Donna’s this morning. I certainly wasn’t able to shed any light on how Elaine was killed, but they wanted to know about my run-in with her at Chelsea’s house.”

  “You know, until last night, I
hadn’t laid eyes on Elaine in two decades. I was thinking it’s funny that she hadn’t seemed to mellow over the years. I can see where Chelsea gets her edge.” Doug strokes Ridley, ruffling the dog’s ears. “But I also understood what Elaine was going through. You never want to leave issues unsettled with your wife or kids because you just never know what’s around the bend. If she came out here to patch things up with her daughter and something bad happened to Chelsea before she could see her, she’d never forgive herself. But no one could have predicted this outcome.”

  “You didn’t get to ask her what caused the falling out?”

  He shakes his head. “She was already in her car when I got outside.”

  “If we knew what their blowup was about—”

  “It was between them. Private.” Doug sips his pilsner and sets the glass down with a thud. “In fact, I wonder what the kid would say if she knew her mother had forced her way into her house. After all, we’re talking about an adult woman, a working actress living her own life. If there were real problems between them, I’m sure Chelsea didn’t want her mother snooping into her life.”

  “But Chelsea’s missing. It’s odd that she’d disappear the night before her mother arrives. Whatever went on between them might be a clue to where Chelsea is—maybe even to what happened to Elaine. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I hear you and I know where this is going. You’ve got your Jinx hat on and you want to go poking around. I wouldn’t advise it.” Doug balls up his napkin and tosses it into the hamper. “Elaine is not anyone I would ever have wanted to hang out with, but she’s dead under terrible circumstances. We were the last to see her and that’s reason enough to stay clear of this. You don’t know what you could stumble on, and it could be dangerous, hear me?”

  “Maybe—”

  “No ‘maybe’ about it. Stay out of it!”

  Doug’s response is more heated than I would have expected. I push my pilsner aside, unnerved by his vehemence. Why is he taking such a hard line? We sit quietly for a moment or two, letting things settle. I know I shouldn’t pursue this, but I can’t stop myself.

  “Okay, but this isn’t just about Elaine. You’re a producer on the new series. Your lead actress doesn’t show up for work. Aren’t you concerned about finding her?”

  “Of course, but that’s a different matter. It’s Ackerman’s headache. He’s the executive producer, a pay grade above me, and he’s on top of it. They’re looking at camera tests as we speak. I don’t want to see Chelsea blow this, either, but my feeling is that she will turn up. Believe me, she better have a damn good reason for going AWOL, but I’m guessing it’s a personal matter. I’m just telling you to keep your nose out of it. You hear me?”

  “You’re coming across loud and clear.”

  “Good, then get this. You could stir up things that maybe shouldn’t be stirred up. So let things be.”

  “You’re right. Not another word. How about if we take Ridley for a walk? I need to work off lunch.”

  “You’re on, kid.” Doug smiles, looking relieved.

  But it’s that very look of relief that makes me wonder why he’s so adamant I stay out of it. Perhaps it’s advice worth heeding. After talking with Dirck, I’d momentarily flashed on the notion of suggesting to the detectives that maybe Chelsea got in over her head researching escort services. I’m glad I dropped the idea. The consequences of raising that line of inquiry could have made matters worse for everyone involved, including Ed Ackerman—but most especially for Chelsea herself.

  While I clean up, Doug attaches the lead to Ridley’s collar. As we start walking down the winding street, he chuckles and says, “Knowing Ed Ackerman’s ulcer is flaring up over this shouldn’t give me so much satisfaction, but it does. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  I refrain from any further reference to Chelsea, but Doug’s insistence that I not meddle has stimulated my curiosity. There is something he’s not telling me, and I have no idea what it is. But then, I’m not telling him everything, either. I switch subjects before I’m tempted to reveal more.

  “By the way, Donna wants you to know you have an open invitation to her table anytime you want to come. She’s serious about that. Nothing gives her more pleasure than feeding people and entertaining guests. Unfortunately, if you come by this week, you’ll be dining with Dirck.”

  “Then I’ll take a rain check until you give me the all-clear that he’s decamped. I can’t take more than a small dose of the man. I don’t know how you stuck it out with him as long as you did.”

  “I wanted to make it work.” I shrug. “If his career had taken off instead of mine, it might have made a difference. Who knows?”

  Doug doesn’t respond.

  We walk through the neighborhood until Ridley gets winded. We turn back and, as we’re walking up Doug’s driveway, my cellphone rings. Caller ID flashes Jack Mitchell and I quickly answer. “Hey, there! Are you on your way back?”

  “I’m already here. I caught a red-eye and spent the morning in meetings. It looks like I can break away early, maybe around six thirty. You up for dinner at the beach?” By that, I know he means a walk along the Santa Monica Pier, followed by pepper steak at Chez Jay, a venerable old haunt on Ocean Avenue.

  “Sounds good. Want me to meet you on the pier?”

  “Why don’t I swing by and pick you up at Donna’s?”

  “No need. It’s out of your way.” It could also mean an awkward introduction to Dirck, which I’m determined to avoid at all costs. “I’ll pick you up for a change. How about six thirty, unless I hear from you in the meantime?”

  “You’re on. Everything okay with you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. We’ll catch up later.” Doug gives me a knock in the ribs. “And Dougie sends his greetings. We’re out walking Ridley.”

  “Say hi to him, too. Can’t wait to see you.”

  “Now there’s a man worth his salt,” Doug says as I pocket my cellphone. “Even when you thought he was giving you a hard time, I could tell he cared about you. Wish you’d hooked up with him in the first place.”

  “If only.” In this case, “if only” means I could have avoided two ill-fated marriages, the first a disaster, the second a calamity.

  Doug settles himself back in his chair on the porch, Ridley dropping into a fur puddle at his feet. “Try to hang on to this one, okay?” he says, his reference to Jack clear. “I don’t want to worry about you anymore.”

  “Me?” I laugh, surprised by his comment. “C’mon, when did I ever give you reason to worry?”

  “Always!” He gives me a tepid smile and shakes his head. “You’re always getting yourself into some damn fix.”

  “That’s what makes life worth living.” I lean down and kiss him on the cheek. “See you soon.”

  I leave the last few slices of pot roast in his fridge, then stow the hamper in the back seat of my car. I wave to Doug and pull out of his driveway, wondering if he has any idea how much I worry about him living on his own and missing Edie. But he’s right; if only I’d hooked up with Jack in the first place, life would be a lot sweeter.

  It would also allow me to drive back to Donna’s house without having to weigh the risks of running into Dirck, which I just don’t feel up to doing. The irony that I’ve been forced to take refuge in my car once again is not lost on me. I feel a stab of irritation that Dirck has moved in, but it also serves as a reminder that I’ve practically become a squatter in Donna’s house. However much she insists that she wants me to stay on, it’s time I found a place of my own. The two of us will remain friends forever, but not roommates—and I would never want to be dropped as a dinner guest!

  Thinking of dinner guests, I wish I’d somehow managed to ask Elaine why she was so opposed to having her daughter play Jinx. But as soon as my mind turns down that path, Doug’s warning echoes in my ears: It could be dangerous, hear me? You could stir up things that maybe shouldn’t be stirred up. So let things be.

  Chapter Elevenr />
  Instead of returning to Donna’s house, I pull into a shady space up the street from Holmby Park. In my present frugal circumstances, I can’t afford to aimlessly drive around using up precious gas I’ll need for the trip to the beach and back with Jack this evening. I’m reminded of my salad days as a young actress in New York, choosing to walk rather than squander a subway token. I’m again counting my nickels and praying a good-paying job will come along so I can afford a roof over my head.

  The reboot of Holiday could provide a regular paycheck if I snag a recurring role in the series. I hope that filling in for Chelsea at the table read inspires Ed Ackerman to think of me as more than her coach and hat wrangler. As it is, my present gig could end if Chelsea doesn’t return soon, an added incentive to track her down.

  I sling my bag onto my shoulder, lock up and amble over to Holmby Park. On my way, I pass the spot where I saw Chelsea wriggling her bottom while talking to the guy in the red convertible. It occurs to me that during the interview with the detectives I somehow neglected to mention either Chelsea’s bartender boyfriend or my happy hour encounter with Elaine at Gilligan’s. I’m curious to know if Jeremy got in touch with the police after hearing about Elaine’s death. If he did, Detective Yarrow will probably wonder why I didn’t bring up my visit to Gilligan’s. Oddly enough, it simply didn’t come to mind.

  I sit on one of the shaded benches just past the putting green and punch up the number for Gilligan’s on my cellphone. After several rings, someone answers and I ask for Jeremy. I’m told he’ll be in later.

  I look across to the far side of the park where large red cones strung with yellow tape surround the broken fire hydrant, the bright colors giving an air of festivity to the grim scene of Elaine’s murder. Cello-wrapped bouquets of flowers, balloons and candles in tall jars rest against the curb. Traffic slows as one car after another passes slowly by, invariably with someone leaning out a window to aim a cellphone camera at the makeshift shrine.