Jinxed Page 8

  I give the buzzer a poke, wait a moment, then knock, almost jumping when I hear the sound of a telephone ringing inside. It rings five times, then stops. I wait another minute or so, trying to peek into the narrow cracks of the shuttered windows. The phone begins to ring again. I turn around and walk toward my car.

  Just as I reach the trunk of the sycamore, a green sedan pulls up to the curb and stops. A woman peers through the windshield, first at me, then at the house. The car reverses a few feet, then pulls into the driveway. It’s not Chelsea at the wheel, but something about the woman’s jawline and the set of her shoulders looks familiar. I hitch my bag further up on my shoulder and grip the strap with both hands, feeling wary and not sure why.

  The woman is tall with broad shoulders and sandy-blond hair pulled into a loose knot at her neck. Without even seeing her face as she eases out of the car, I realize who she is. She turns around, her movements quick and decisive as she takes me in. She’s recognized me, too, and glares.

  I smile warmly, which is sure to get her goat. Elaine Farris was a ferocious, hard-drinking, tough-talking broad back in the days when we worked together, and it appears she’s lost none of her edge. I stand a little taller, sizing her up as she stares me down, her glower intensifying.

  Her long legs are clad in jeans tucked into boots, and she’s wearing a chamois jacket over a ribbed blue sweater, an outfit I swear I remember from twenty-odd years ago. She strides toward me, Amazonian in stature.

  Growing up on a farm in Nebraska, I was a tomboy. I climbed trees, built forts out of cabbage crates, drove my dad’s Allis-Chalmers tractor, and was even capable of plowing furrows as deep and straight as his. But I could never match Elaine in sheer muscle strength, skill and daring. That’s why she was my stunt double on Holiday and, for my money, one of the best in the business. She also has great legs, long and beautifully shaped. If her body is mistaken for mine in action sequences, I’m not about to set the record straight.

  As she approaches, I see a soft belly bulging beneath her jacket, a sign she may still be chugging down a beer too many. Her eyelids are heavy and her jowls sag where once her skin was taut. She has a weathered look, attesting to too much sun and hard living. I may have aged better in the close-up department, but I’d still welcome her standing in for me in the long shots.

  She stops, looks me up and down, and shifts her weight before speaking.

  “Barnes. What the hell you doing here?”

  “Hi, Elaine. I just dropped by to see if Chelsea Horne was in. Don’t tell me you’ve been called in to coach her, too? It’s like old-home week all of a sudden.” I know I’m talking too much, but I can’t seem to break Elaine’s impenetrable stare. “Like the whole gang’s back.”

  “The gang?” She looks at me as though I’ve lost my marbles. “What the hell you talking about? I’ve been called in to work with her? Like a stunt double? I’m her mother!”

  Chapter Six

  It’s my turn to look at Elaine in disbelief. “Chelsea’s mother? Horne?”

  “Yeah, there was a Horne along the way. I’m Elaine Farris Horne. I kept my husband’s name. I guess you couldn’t ever be bothered to use the name Heyward?”

  “No. No, kept my own name. A good thing, since we got divorced.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s not the only thing we don’t have in common.” Her smoky-gray wolf’s eyes, with their steely glint, stare at me, inscrutable as always.

  “So, you live around here? I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “That’s not a bad thing, as far as I’m concerned. No need to get chummy now. I’m not in town for long.”

  “You just arrived?”

  “What’s it to you if I did?” She eyes me more closely. “You walk into a wall or something?”

  “My face?” I cup my chin in my hand. “No, just some branches, that’s all. Anyway, Chelsea’s a terrific girl. Lots of talent.”

  “Yeah, she’s my daughter. I know. She doesn’t need you moving in on her, okay? This is her gig. She’s not walking in your shadow.”

  Heat rises in my throat, constricting my voice. “Look, I was hired to coach her. I didn’t ask for the job. I only worked with her once, okay?”

  “Good. That’s enough. Back off.” She tosses the words over her shoulder as she strides up to the front door. “No need to hang around here.”

  “She’s not home.”

  Elaine turns around, her eyes flashing angrily. “So leave already.”

  “Do you know where she is?” Despite Elaine’s fury, I hold my ground. “I mean it. Do you know where she is? Nobody’s seen her and we’re concerned.” As though punctuating my words, the phone rings inside the house. “That’s probably the studio. She didn’t show up for the table read this morning.”

  Elaine’s mouth falls open as she absorbs the significance of what I’ve said. “She missed . . . a table read?”

  I nod. “Do you know where she is?”

  Elaine wavers for an instant, uncertainty clouding her face. A moment later, she springs into action. With a single sweep of her eyes, she determines the most expedient entry point to break into her daughter’s house. Watching her hoist her trim body up to a windowsill, lift a sash, push aside shutters and sling a leg inside the room, it’s clear to me the woman has lost none of her muscle tone.

  In one easy motion, she dips her head and slides her body through the open window—then vanishes. I hover below the window frame, impatiently calling out, “Hey, Elaine, everything okay in there? Could you open the front door, please?”

  In response, Elaine slams the window down and closes the shutters. Why has this woman never liked me? But I’m not one to let a little animosity stand in my way. I walk up the steps and press my ear against the front door.

  I can hear Elaine moving around, her boots pounding across hardwood floors, followed by sounds of doors opening, the scrape of a sliding panel, the snap of a latch and then the click and whir of an answering machine. The words aren’t distinct, but I recognize the voices of Dirck, Elaine, Ed Ackerman and his secretary, Eden. Several unfamiliar voices, some sounding urgent, even harsh, could be those of her agent and manager, but I’m not able to comprehend anything in the rise and fall of faint garbled speech.

  I’m so intent on listening at the door that I barely register scuffling footsteps on the walkway until I jump at a sudden loud skrawking sound. Whipping around, I see two police officers walking toward me, one of them adjusting a noisy radio device attached to his belt. The tall, dark-haired officer stops under the sycamore and speaks into a mouthpiece. The other officer, squat with a barrel chest, adjusts his belt and advances to the bottom of the steps.

  “Miss, you mind coming down here, please?”

  “No, not at all.” I walk down three steps and face the husky officer, looking directly into his cold, pale eyes. “Hi, I’m Meg Barnes. I’m just here checking on a friend.”

  “Could I see some identification, please?”

  “Sure, right here in my wallet.” I slide my shoulder bag onto the crook of my arm, slowly unzip it and spread the opening wide so he can see the contents. I pull out the wallet, flip it open and show my driver’s license. I replace my bright smile with a look of concern. “We haven’t heard from her. I last saw her night before last.”

  “Could you take your ID out of the plastic, please?”

  “Of course. We didn’t report her missing because we just weren’t sure what was happening.” I take my driver’s license out of my wallet and hand it to him. “She’s an actress and didn’t show up for a read-through this morning. Have you heard of a show called Holiday?”

  Without looking at my license, he passes it to the other officer. “We’re here because we had a complaint that someone’s breaking in. You happen to know who lives here?”

  “Chelsea Horne.” I look toward the street. A squad car is parked several houses down from my Volvo. Directly across from Chelsea’s house, an elderly woman, arms tucked close to her chest, stands o
n her doorstep watching. “I just came by to check up on her. We didn’t have a key, so—”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Her mother. She’s inside.”

  “And she had no key? How did she get in?”

  “The window.” I indicate the bedroom window, now closed and shuttered. “But it’s her mother. From out of town, I think. She just got here.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason she had no key. You want to step aside, please?”

  “Sure. Absolutely. There’s no need for me to even be here, so maybe I’ll—”

  “Just stand over there, please. Do not leave.” The good-looking dark-haired officer moves up next to me, still holding my license.

  Husky Cop mounts the steps and presses the buzzer while at the same time calling out, “Open up. Police.”

  Frankly, I’d like to see Elaine get arrested—as long as I’m not charged as her accomplice. If we were hauled in and booked, it could make an interesting story: Jinx and Her Stunt Double Charged with Breaking and Entering New Jinx Star’s Home. The story would probably gain even greater traction as Young Star Disappears on Eve of Filming, a headline I’m sure Ed Ackerman doesn’t want to see. These thoughts zip through my brain as we wait for Elaine to unlock the door and open it.

  When she does, I’m not prepared for the look of horror on her face when she sees a cop standing on the doorstep. “My God, is it my daughter? Is she okay?”

  “Ma’am, we have no knowledge of your daughter. We’re here because of a report that someone was breaking and entering. You know anything about that?”

  Elaine shifts gears, planting a boot on the threshold, and seems to fill up the doorframe. Even her voice is commanding. “My daughter lives here. I just arrived from Indiana and misplaced my keys. I’ve found them now.” She raises her hand and jingles a ring of keys. “Case solved.”

  “Your daughter’s not at home?”

  “She’s working.”

  “Wait a minute, Elaine.” I can see where this is going and I’m not about to let her get away with it. “Chelsea wasn’t at work. That’s why I came by.”

  “Now, look!” With lightning in her eyes, Elaine points a finger at me, thundering, “You’re nothing but an opportunist! Get out of here and leave my daughter alone!” She glares at the police officer on her doorstep and says, “Sorry, but I don’t want this woman harassing my daughter. And I don’t have time for this!”

  “Ma’am, please step out of the house.”

  Elaine shakes her head, sighs, but complies. The husky officer enters the house, leaving the other officer standing on the steps between us.

  Taking a different tack, Elaine says confidingly, “I’m sorry, Officer. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but this woman has no business being here.”

  I suck in a breath, struggling to remain calm. “In fact, Officer, I’ve been hired to work with her daughter as a coach, but she’s disappeared. I’m not at all harassing the girl. I just came to see if she was home.”

  The officer looks from me to Elaine and asks, “Has a missing persons report been filed?”

  “Of course not,” Elaine says. “I just arrived. We’ve only got her word that my daughter is even missing.”

  “Maybe we need to check with her employer? Did they send you here to look for her?” he asks me.

  “No. I came on my own, but it’s not necessary to check with them.”

  It occurs to me to stop talking. I could be digging myself into a hole. Not only Ed Ackerman, but also the studio and the network would be unhappy to have the police involved. “She hasn’t really been missing long. Probably with a boyfriend, you know? I’ll head back to the studio. She’s probably turned up by now.”

  “Good idea,” Elaine says. “Why don’t you do that. Thank you, Officer. I’ll just go back inside.”

  “Just wait where you are, please. Both of you.”

  The husky officer returns from his inspection and the two confer on the sidewalk, leaving Elaine and me cooling our heels in the hot sun. The dark-haired officer turns to me, then looks back at my license. “Meg Barnes? You live at this address?”

  “Um, no, not exactly. I moved out a while back. Meant to change the address, of course. I’m actually staying with a friend.”

  “So this isn’t your address? Where are you currently living?”

  I reach into my shoulder bag and grab a handful of Donna’s flyers. “Here, this is where I currently live. I’m also in the catering business. There’s the telephone number and address. Keep it. If you know anyone that needs a party catered, call. Anyway, I need to get back to work.”

  Elaine doesn’t even ask, just snatches a flyer from my hand.

  “That your car over there?” Husky Cop nods toward my Volvo.

  My chest feels tight, probably gearing up for a heart attack, which would at least provide distraction. “Sure, take a look. Everything’s in good order,” I say, wondering if indeed everything’s in good order. The officer and I walk down the gentle slope to my Volvo, which at least no longer looks like I live in it.

  “You’ve got some nasty scratches on your face. Mind telling me how you got them?”

  “No big deal. I slipped, fell into some bushes.” He nods but says nothing. “It was dark and I was running. You know, wet grass.”

  I promise myself not to say another word. Still waiting to have the heart attack, or maybe just a garden-variety panic attack, I imagine myself being cuffed and hauled off under suspicion of being a stalker. The dark-haired cop gives me a long look, then hands me my driver’s license.

  “Thank you, Miss Barnes. It might be best for you to be on your way. I wouldn’t hang around here.”

  “No, of course not. Thanks so much.”

  Under his watchful eyes, I climb into my car, fasten my seat belt and drive off with a wave of my fingertips. I exhale, letting the news sink in that Chelsea is Elaine’s daughter. Perhaps that’s why Chelsea looked familiar to me, not so much facially, but the long-limbed body and easy carriage. She doesn’t have Elaine’s smoky-gray eyes, but the haughtiness is certainly an inherited trait. However, Chelsea’s demeanor, which could be off-putting if it weren’t accompanied by a sardonic sense of humor, is an improvement on her mother’s sourness.

  Elaine was always tough sledding; frosty, with a chip on her shoulder. I avoided her as much as possible, but I also knew she made me look good in the action sequences. More than once, I stood off camera watching in awe as she leaped from one tall building to another or escaped from a burning car just before it exploded. Despite my praise and early attempts at camaraderie, Elaine treated me with disdain. Her attitude rankled, and over time, I loathed being around her. It appears the antipathy between us hasn’t diminished in the twenty years since we last saw each other.

  Checking my rearview mirror as I head down the hill, I see Elaine enter the house accompanied by both officers. Fifteen minutes later, I reach the bottom of the long, winding canyon road and pull up at a stoplight, uncertain which way to turn. I’m about to call Dougie to invite him for dinner at Donna’s when my cellphone rings. Bluetooth kicks in and I answer.

  “Meg, hi. It’s Eden. Could you hold for Mr. Ackerman?”

  But Ed Ackerman is already on the line. “Meg, what’s this I hear about you and Elaine Farris having a run-in with the cops? She just called me. What were you doing over there?”

  “Sorry, Ed. I just stopped by to see if Chelsea was home. I’m concerned about her.”

  “Yeah, we all are, but why’d you pick a fight with her mother, for chrissake? She said the police showed up.”

  “Elaine broke into the house. It had nothing to do with me. I just told her nobody had heard from Chelsea—”

  “Yeah, right. So now her mother wants to file a missing persons report. That’s all we need. Any way to stop her?”

  “Elaine?”

  “She’s screaming at me, like I had something to do with this. I told her last time anyone saw her daughter, she was working with you. So wh
at’s up? Chelsea’s got a boyfriend or something? This better not turn into some Lindsey Lohan stunt.”

  “You know, Ed, I only worked with her a couple of hours. We didn’t get into any personal stuff. I only know that she was supposed to work with Dirck Heyward the next morning.”

  “Dead end. He says she didn’t call.”

  “Then maybe filing a missing persons report is the way to go.”

  “Hell, no! The press will pick it up. They’ll turn it into a carnival. This can’t get out. Not until we get everything together on our end, understand?”

  “Wait, you’re not thinking of replacing her already?”

  “Can’t say.” There’s a long enough silence to make me think I’ve lost the connection in the canyon. Then, as though talking to himself, Ed mumbles, “Hate to do it, you know? She’s the best, but . . . ”

  “I’m sure she’ll turn up with a good excuse. Let’s hope so.”

  “Yeah, for everyone’s sake.” His voice grows harsh. “Maybe she got cold feet, or ran off with a guy. Who knows? But she can be replaced. We’re looking over camera tests, figuring out what to do. But nothing about this gets out, understand?”

  “Okay. I understand. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Thanks. And stay away from the mother, okay? She’s bonkers.”

  Before I have a chance to agree with him, he’s hung up. Staying away from Elaine suits me fine. I regret letting her grab a flyer and hope she doesn’t get in touch. What can I tell her, anyway? Aside from my assumption that Chelsea spoke to Dirck shortly after my session with her, I have no idea what the girl’s movements might have been.

  I head down La Brea Boulevard and pull into Pink’s for one of their celebrated hot dogs. The line is long, but I don’t care. I’ve nothing pressing to do but think things through. I punch in Dougie’s number and let it ring until voicemail picks up. I leave a message about dinner at Donna’s and ask him to let me know if he can make it. I’d half-expected him to be at the reading this morning, but clearly he’s keeping his distance from the production—or wasn’t invited to attend.