A Hard Bargain (7 page)

Jerry returned her call. “Tell him to come out any time.” He listened, nodding, and then said, “That would be great, thanks.” He hung up. “They’re on their way.”

I have to admit the Eberlin house looks haunted. Although Nell’s done wonders with the inside, the outside of the house still looks the same as it did the first day Jerry and I saw it. The porch still sags, the roof needs repair, shutters hang loose, and the gray paint is flaked and cracked, giving the house a scabby appearance.

We had to wait only twenty minutes before a dark blue van and a black Lincoln town car came slowly up the winding driveway and parked beside the house. A dark bearded man in a black tee shirt, black jeans, and a black baseball cap got out of the van, followed by a thin girl, also in black, and another man. A lanky man I recognized as Lance Henderson got out of the Lincoln.

Lance Henderson looked impressive as long as he was in strong sunlight and a good distance away. Close up and in the shadows of the trees, I could see the fine network of lines around his eyes and mouth, the red-rimmed eyes, and obvious hairpiece.

The dark man shook Jerry’s hand. “You must be Jerry Fairweather. I’m Josh Gaskins. This is my assistant, Stephanie Harold, this is Flynn Davis, and of course you know Lance Henderson. Terrific house. Just what I was looking for.” He walked back and forth in the front yard, holding his hands up in a square as if examining the house from different angles. “Can we have a look at the inside?”

“Sure,” Jerry said.

Gaskins stood in the doorway and frowned at the living room. “Well, this is too nice for what I’ve got in mind, but the exterior’s perfect.”

Lance Henderson spoke up, his familiar bass voice echoing. “Perfect? What do you mean? The place looks leprous. What kind of setting is this for ‘Pastel Memoirs’?”

Gaskins exchanged a look with Stephanie. “Lance, I’ve explained to you. We’re not doing ‘Pastel Memoirs.’ We’re doing ‘The Curse of the Mantis Man.’”

“I will not be seen in some cheap horror film.”

“Could we talk about this later?” As he walked back to the porch, he said to Stephanie, “I want to create a feeling of dread, you know? A feeling that your very soul is in peril.”

She made a note on her clipboard. “Okay.”

Lance said, “I did not sign on this project to do a horror film.”

“Face it, Lance, you’re lucky to be signed on any film.”

“‘Pastel Memoirs’ is my comeback film. It’s a beautiful script. You promised you’d do it.”

“I’ll do it after we finish ‘Curse of the Mantis Man.’ You’ve got a contract for two films with Voltage. Stephanie, where’s my drink?”

Lance Henderson stalked to the van, folded his arms, and took a dramatic stance, staring out across the fields.

“He seems a little upset,” I said.

Gaskins wasn’t concerned. “Oh, he’s always throwing these little fits. He’ll do it. He has to.” Stephanie hurried up with a large plastic cup. Gaskins took a loud slurp through the straw. “He hasn’t worked in months, unless you count appearances on game shows. Oh, this is our star, Flynn Davis.”

Flynn Davis was an extremely handsome man with dark curly hair and blue eyes. He shook my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maclin. Is this your first film, too?”

“No, I live in this house. What part do you have in the movie?”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’m actually the lead, but I’m not supposed to say that. Lance thinks he’s got the lead role, but his is really more of a character part.”

“I see,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I did.

“I don’t want to hurt the old boy’s feelings, but his days of playing the hero are over. Got to clear the field for the rest of us. Oh, and Gaskins is bringing in Vivian Montrose for the heroine.”

“Vivian Montrose?”

“She’s the star of ‘Beach Island.’”

I’d seen exactly one episode of “Beach Island,” an overblown nighttime soap opera set on a tropical island and filled with overly-endowed women in tiny bikinis.

Davis smiled. “She’ll be a real asset to this picture. Nice to have met you, Ms. Maclin.”

He sauntered off as if assured I was watching his rear. I was. It was a very nice rear, but I wasn’t so sure about the rest of Flynn Davis.

While Gaskins and Jerry discussed what a few shots of the house were worth, I went over to Lance Henderson. He was still muttering about “Pastel Memoirs.”

“This was going to be my comeback film, a quality picture the whole family could enjoy. Now that upstart Gaskins wants me to be in some sort of low-budget shockfest.”

“It might not be so bad,” I said.

He eyed me. “Are you an actress?”

“I’m Madeline Maclin. I own a detective agency in town.”

“Really? You look more like an actress.”

He was trying what was left of his charm on me. “Thank you.”

“I should hire you to find my career. I lost it somewhere in the Eighties.”

“You still have a lot of fans. People here are excited about seeing you.”

It was pathetic how he brightened. “Really?”

“I don’t think they’d care what kind of movie you were in.”

“But this Mantis Man is just some silly local story, isn’t it? There’s no real facts.”

“No, but it might be fun.”

He sighed. “But I need a part with depth, with meaning.”

“What part do you play in this movie?”

“We’re still debating that.” His dark look at Gaskins reminded me of the sheriff in “Red Canyon.” The bad guys hadn’t stood a chance. “Excuse me, Ms. Maclin.”

He went back to his car. Jerry and Gaskins were in conversation in the front yard.

“I’d like to come by tomorrow with my crew and film some establishing shots,” Gaskins said. He took another loud slurp of soda. “There’s supposed to be a full moon Thursday night, which will work in perfectly. Stephanie, make a note to have Davis and Vivian come out for some exterior scenes.” Stephanie nodded and jotted down what he said. Gaskins shook hands with Jerry. “Okay, we’re all set. Thanks very much. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gaskins and Stephanie got into the van with Davis and left.

“Did you settle on a price?” I asked Jerry.

“He made a generous offer. Can you drop me off at the theater? I’ve got a rehearsal in about ten minutes.”

I have a slight problem with Jerry spending so much time at the theater. The director, Kenna Porter, is exactly Jerry’s type, a small blonde with an attitude. Today, however, Kenna wasn’t the problem. As we pulled up in the parking lot of the Baker Auditorium, I saw the Pageantoids. I groaned.

“What are they doing here?”

“Hoping to find a special souvenir sequin?”

“Get out of the car quick.”

Not quick enough. The Pageantoids saw me and rushed over to the car. Cathy’s plaid shorts matched Mitch’s plaid shirt. I couldn’t move without hitting one of them. As tempting as this was, I had to restrain myself. I didn’t want plaid all over the car.

Cathy’s eyes brimmed with happy tears. “Great news, Madeline! You must hear this. We’re going to organize another pageant for Celosia.”

Mitch Hutton grinned. “We’ve already spoken to Mister James here at the theater, and he’s thrilled.”

Cathy clasped her hands together. “We’re going to call it the Miss Celosia Summertime Pageant. Say you’ll help us! It would be the very thing. This is the first time we’ve ever tried anything like this. We need your advice.”

“I’d love to,” I said, “but I’m right in the middle of a case. Evan James has done dozens of pageants. He can answer all your questions.”

“But you have firsthand experience. You know what it’s like to be a queen.”

“And now I’m trying to find out what it’s like to be a detective, so if you’ll excuse me.”

They reluctantly moved so I could drive away. Jerry waved good-by from the stage door. His grin faded when Cathy and Mitch saw him and headed in his direction. It was my turn to grin as he ducked into the door to escape.

***

Shana Amry arrived just as I was unlocking my office door. She had a big bouquet of flowers and a picnic basket.

“Congratulations on your new office.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

I opened the door, and she went in.

“Madeline, this looks great! I’m so glad this all worked out.” She put the flowers on my desk and began taking things out of the basket.

“What’s all this?”

“An office warming present. I’ve got tea and cookies, a pencil holder, some multi-colored file folders, index cards, and a stapler with your name on it.” She held up the bright pink stapler. “I know, it’s lurid, but no office is complete without one.”

I laughed and reached for a cookie. When I came to Celosia, I never dreamed I’d find a good female friend. The pageant world is littered with the carcasses of friendships. Somehow, you just can’t go for the crown and be a pal. But I’d found a real friend in Shana Amry. Shana’s better known as Shana Fairbourne, author of such blazing historical romances as
Suppressed
Desires
,
Flames
, and
Passion’s
Mistress
. She could win any beauty pageant on earth by simply showing up, thanks to an abundance of red-gold hair, creamy skin, and amazing golden eyes.

Now she fixed this tawny gaze on me. “Who’s this guy, Rick? If he were a character in one of my books, he’d be Sleazy Gambler Number Three.”

“You’ve got that right. He’s a gambler. He and Jerry ran quite a few scams back in college.”

She passed me a plastic cup filled with iced tea and a straw. “Jerry’s playing pet psychic, too?”

“No, I’ve managed to keep him too busy to play with Rick.”

Shana’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, ho. What kind of ‘busy’ are we talking about here?”

“Not what you’re thinking. I’m trying to get him to find a job.”

“Any luck?”

“Not yet.”

Shana used her straw to swirl the ice cubes in her tea. “You’re driving yourself crazy, you know that.”

Like me, Shana’s not interested in having children. She tells me all her maternal instincts are centered on Hayden. It makes me wonder about my maternal instincts, such as they are. Until recently, I didn’t think I had any. Now I’m constantly worrying about Jerry, as if he were eight years old instead of almost thirty.

Shana’s gaze was sympathetic. “He’ll figure it out. I just hope he isn’t married to someone else when that happens.”

I nodded. Shana let me sit in gloom for only a few minutes before changing the subject.

“I hear you’re helping Evan with another pageant. That can’t be true.”

“Sort of.”

“Who are those two odd people in charge?”

“Cathy Sloop and Mitch Hutton. The Pageantoids.”

“Oh, that’s good. Slightly obsessed, are they?”

“Just a bit, but Evan is, too, so they should work well together.”

“Is Jerry going to play for the pageant?”

“Probably. He’s over there a lot.” Shana’s frown made me say, “What?”

“Kenna Porter, that’s what.”

“I know, I know.”

“Trouble in River City.”

“I hope not.”

“Remember your vow? ‘Nothing is more important than my relationship with Jerry Fairweather.’”

“It’s still important. I just need to approach things the right way. And Jerry keeps acting like he wants to tell me something.”

Shana made a face and took another cookie from the basket. “Maybe somebody needs to talk to Mister Fairweather.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” It was my turn to change the subject. “What do you know about Kirby Willet?”

“In my book, he’d be Loser Number One. But I shouldn’t be so judgmental. Hayden and I moved to Celosia only a few years ago. We’re still considered upstart city folk. My impressions of Kirby Willet are completely from hearsay.”

“Did anyone mention his interest in ghosts?”

“Don’t talk to me about ghosts,” she said. “That business with Juliet Lovelace was enough for me. Nell should be able to tell you everything, and if Nell doesn’t know, try Denisha.”

“What about Mantis Man? What do you know about that story?”

“Not a lot. I didn’t grow up here, but I understand you haven’t lived until you’ve stayed out on Lovers’ Walk all night and seen the big red eyes coming at you. You can imagine what Hayden thinks of that.”

“I personally think it would be really cool if Kirby Willet turns out to be Mantis Man.”

“I suppose he could be. After all, has anyone seen him and Mantis Man together?”

“Seriously, is there anything to the Mantis Man stories? Has anybody actually been killed, or is it just another urban myth?”

“No, just scared. Now there’s a mystery for you,” Shana said. “You could solve the Mystery of Mantis Man.”

“Add it to the list.”

“List?”

I nodded. “I’m not only searching for Kirby Willet, I’m searching for Patricia Hargrave’s missing duck head umbrella, as well as several overdue books from the public library.”

“I had no idea Celosia was so full of crime.” She fixed her golden gaze on my face. “Forgive my curiosity, Madeline, but as a writer, I’m always interested in peoples’ motives. What made you decide to become an investigator?”

“That’s a fair question,” I said. “I wanted to do something useful, and it seemed to me that finding things people wanted was a lot more useful than standing around in an evening gown talking about world peace.”

“So you don’t really mind looking for umbrellas and library books?”

“No, because those things are just as important to their owners.” I tried to think of some way to explain. “I guess I want everything to be in the right place.”

As I said this, I thought, yes, that’s it. That’s the reason behind everything I do. Life’s so disjointed and unpredictable, it’s nice to know some things can be put in order.

“Plus I’m not judged by how I look,” I said. “At least, not by a panel of judges.”

Shana smiled. “I think I can relate to that.”

“Does this mean I’ll be a character in your next book?”

“No, you’re not conflicted enough.”

I feigned being insulted. “What? My angst-filled relationship isn’t worthy?”

“Oh, you’ll find a way around that.”

Shana had another chapter of her latest Vixen and Slate saga to finish, so she said good-by. I had reached for another cookie when Chief of Police Gus Brenner tapped on my door and came in.