The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (135 page)

She blanched, but kept her cool. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

The man obviously hadn’t made the connection, but he eyed her dubiously even so, as if wondering what she could possibly want with the likes of Krystal. Then he shrugged—it was no skin off him either way. “You find her, give her a message from Louie. Tell her next time I see her, it’ll be in court.”

“Do you think anyone here might know where she went?” Marc asked when Anna fell silent at the mention of court.

The landlord took a deep considering drag off his cigarette. “You could try her neighbors, but I doubt they’ll know anything. She kept to herself. All she cared about was them kids.”

It seemed he was right. After an hour or so of knocking on doors and getting nowhere, their worst fears had hardened into certainty: Krystal and her children had vanished without a trace.

“Now what?” Anna sank onto the stairs, defeated.

He sat down beside her. “I wish to hell I knew.”

The only sure thing was that they’d come up against a dead end.

A
S ANNA AND
M
ARC
were leaving Las Casitas, Finch and her friends were pulling up in front of Bellevue Gardens not more than twenty miles away. The extended care facility where Lorraine Wells lived was a flat-roofed stucco building bordered by oleander, with a large tree shedding something sticky onto the sidewalk out front. A pink-smocked older woman greeted them pleasantly as they walked in.

“Lulu’s very excited to meet you,” she told them as they signed in. “She doesn’t get many visitors.”

Finch and Andie exchanged a glance that said,
I’ll bet.
The place was enough to give anyone the creeps. While Simon looked about with interest, as if mentally taking notes for an exposé on nursing homes, Lucien said smoothly, “We’re looking forward to meeting her, too.”

They’d been on the road for hours due to a traffic jam. Several stops—one for gas, another to pee, followed by breakfast at Burger King—had put them in Pasadena shortly before eleven. Now, eyeing the fake wood paneling and the rubber tree collecting dust in one corner, Finch wondered if it had been a wasted trip. What could possibly come of it?

At the same time, a voice in her head whispered,
Maybe it’s not a wild goose chase after all.
She’d heard of coincidences too bizarre to be anything but fate. Like the woman in
People
who’d spied a baby photo of herself while leafing through a friend’s family album—it turned out she’d been adopted and that she and her friend were actually cousins. And what about that funny feeling she’d had getting off the bus in Carson Springs that first day? Like she’d been there before.

They walked down a hall smelling of disinfectant and lined with mummified old people slumped in wheelchairs. It had been several weeks since she’d arranged this meeting. In the meantime, she’d been so busy with school and fund-raising (not to mention Lucien) that she’d scarcely given it a second thought. Now she paused outside the door to Lorraine’s room, her stomach executing a slow underwater roll.

Lucien reached for her hand. “It’ll be okay.”

“Is it too late to turn back?” she muttered.

“Think of the story it’ll make,” Simon said.

Andie shot him a dirty look. “You wouldn’t dare.”

They entered the room to find an ancient woman sunk deep in an easy chair, her head bent over a book. “Ms. Wells?” Finch called softly.

The woman looked up, breaking into a wide smile. “Lulu, please.” She set the book aside, and with some effort hoisted herself to her feet. Tall and gaunt with a mop of curls so improbably red it had to be a wig, she looked like an aged Orphan Annie. “My Lord, I didn’t expect so many of you.” She glanced about in delight.

“Lucien drove.” Finch jerked a thumb in his direction.

“And we tagged along,” Andie said, introducing herself and Simon.

“Well! Let’s hope I can keep all your names straight.” Lorraine looked from one to the other as if at gifts, trying to decide which one to unwrap first. “Sit down, make yourselves comfortable. My roommate won’t mind.” She gestured toward the twin beds, one of which was stripped bare. “Gertie passed on last week.”

“I’m sorry,” Finch said.

“Don’t be.” Lorraine settled back in her chair. “All she did was bitch and moan. About drove me crazy, the old cow.” They must have looked startled, for she added with a twinkle in her eye, “You know the one good thing about getting old? You can say whatever you damn well please. Anyway, you get used to people dying in this joint—kind of goes with the territory.”

“Have you been here long?” Simon asked.

“Long enough to wish it was me that’d kicked the bucket. But I suppose my time will come soon enough.”

Finch’s gaze strayed to the framed photos on the wall: eight-by-ten glossies of movie stars, some of whom she recognized and each one personally autographed to Lorraine. “You
know
all these people?”

“Sure. That one over there, that’s Derek Lord.” Lorraine pointed out a handsome man with a pencil mustache and dark wavy hair. “Weren’t no bigger star in his day. Spent like a drunken sailor, though. He died without a cent.”

“Were you an actress?” Finch got up to examine a photo of a much younger Lorraine standing next to a dark-haired beauty she recognized with a jolt as Vivien Leigh.

“Me? Lord, no.” She helped herself to a cookie from the tin on the table at her elbow before passing it to Finch. “I order ’em special. Food here’s for the birds. Now, where were we? Oh yeah, my glamorous career. No, I was never an actress. Sure, I had dreams like every other starry-eyed girl just off the hay truck, but the trouble was I stunk at it. I wound up behind the scenes instead.” She pointed at a color photo of a young Lorraine pinning the hem of a spangled red gown worn by none other than Lana Turner.

Simon whistled. “Wow. I’ll bet you have stories to tell.”

Lorraine leaned forward, saying in a confidential voice, “All those perfect figures? I knew every flaw—the boobs that were mostly foam rubber, the butts that needed a little lift. Leading lady put on few pounds? It was up to me to make her costumes fit. One—I’m not saying who—had me sew a secret pocket inside his trousers for his flask. Second day on the set he passed out cold right in the middle of his big scene.” She cackled, a sound like pebbles rattling in ajar.

“Isn’t that Selma Lamb?” Andie peered at a photo of Lorraine arm in arm with the buxom blond star of
Stranger in Paradise.

Lorraine broke into a grin, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “None other. Oh, she was a pistol! From day one, we got on like a house on fire. When she found out I was from Deaf Smith, Texas, same as her,
well.
” She expelled a breath.

Finch studied the photo, recognizing the backdrop of snow-capped mountains and the red schoolhouse closer by. Remembering the day she’d gone there with Lucien, she felt something loosen in her belly.

Lorraine heaved herself to her feet once more and shuffled over to point out the rugged-looking man standing off to one side in the photo. “That there’s the director, Hank Montgomery. He and Selma had a—what do you kids call it nowadays?—a thing.”

“My great-grandmother knew him,” Finch told her. Sam never tired of telling the story of the day her mother visited him on the set, the very one depicted in the photo.

“Her and a few hundred other gals.” Lorraine gave a knowing wink. “Wasn’t a woman within miles could resist his charms.”

It occurred to Finch that Lorraine herself wouldn’t have been immune. Suppose she’d gotten pregnant? Which would mean it was entirely possible that …

Goose bumps swarmed up the back of her neck. She stammered, “Did you and he—?”

Lorraine laughed, and Finch saw that her bright red lipstick had crept into the pleats around her mouth. “Lord, no. I was too smart for that. Which is more than I can say for some.”

“But I thought—” Finch broke off, embarrassed. It seemed silly now. How could she have imagined that they were related?

Lorraine cast her a faintly apologetic look. It was obvious Finch and her friends had been lured here under a false pretext. Finch swallowed her disappointment. She wanted to be angry but couldn’t find it in her heart. Lorraine had only acted out of loneliness, something she understood all too well.

“I would’ve told you over the phone,” Lorraine said. “But some things are best said in person. There
is
a story, only you’re not part of it. See, there was this one gal—sweet young thing, no bigger than a minute. Hank, he had her weak in the knees and seeing cross-eyed. I’d have bet the ranch she was a virgin, but that didn’t stop neither of ’em. When Selma got wind of it, well, you wouldn’t have wanted to be within shootin’ distance of her that day.”

“This is better than
Dawson’s Creek
” Andie muttered.

“Grace Elliston was her name,” Lorraine went on. “I remember ’cause Selma couldn’t stop talking about it. When Grace wound up pregnant, Hank paid her to keep it quiet and they went their separate ways, but Selma wouldn’t let that be the end of it. After the baby came, she was always saying things like, ‘How’s it feel to be a daddy?’ or ‘You planning on visiting your baby girl anytime soon?’ About drove him round the bend. I think he felt bad—not so much about Selma, but about not being there for his kid. Far as I know, it was the only one he ever had.”

Elliston? The name was familiar. “I know a Martha Elliston,” Finch said. “She’s our school nurse.”

“Well, let’s see, she’d have to be …” Lorraine did the arithmetic. “Forty-five, forty-six.”

Finch didn’t know Ms. Elliston’s age, but that sounded about right.

“Doesn’t she live with her mother?” Andie put in. “I see them in church sometimes. I assumed she was a widow—the old lady, I mean—but come to think of it, I’ve never heard her mention a husband.”

“I always wondered what happened to Grace,” Lorraine said. “It couldn’t have been easy for her.”

Or Martha, either—growing up without a father under a cloud of scandal. No wonder she always looked so beaten down.

They stayed awhile longer, Lorraine telling them more about the old days, but the whole time, beating in Finch like a second heart, was the knowledge that she would very likely never know her real family. She was doomed to a life of wishful thinking and dreams of what might have been. All at once she felt like crying. She was grateful when Lucien, as if picking up on her thoughts, squeezed her hand.

At last she dragged herself to her feet. “We should be going,” she said. “It’s a long drive.” Lorraine looked sad to see them go. After a moment of hesitation Finch walked over and planted a kiss on her forehead, as leathery as an old wallet.

Lorraine clutched her hand, peering up at her with watery eyes. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, dear.”

Finch forced a smile. “Me, too.” But she knew she had no more hope of her finding her family than of flying to the moon.

Laura and Hector were assembling the crib when she walked in. “No, you’ve got it backward, this thingamajig goes
there.
” Laura glanced up from the sheet of directions she was peering at to jab a finger at the bracket Hector was bolting in place. He nodded and calmly kept on with what he was doing. Other parts were scattered over the braided rug in front of the fireplace along with sections of the crib.

“I’m back,” Finch announced when they failed to notice her standing there.

Laura cast her a distracted look, blowing at a wisp of hair that had fallen over one eye. “Whoever wrote these,” she said, waving the flimsy sheet in her hand, “he’s either an idiot or playing a practical joke.” She tossed it aside with a snort of contempt.

“How do we know it’s not a she?” Even with his head bent low Finch could see that Hector was smiling.

“No woman would risk having this thing collapse with a baby in it.”

He rocked back onto his heels, holding out the screwdriver. “In that case, be my guest. Wouldn’t want to be accused of getting off on the wrong foot with our kid.”

Laura tried to look angry, but she was giggling too hard. The giggles soon turned to hiccups, and she collapsed onto her back, gasping for breath. Pearl and Rocky ambled over to investigate, nudging at her with their noses. This Laura was a stranger to them, a woman who walked around humming incessantly all day, occasionally laughing out loud for no reason. She misplaced things around the house, and at the grocery store forgot half the items she’d meant to buy. The only thing on her mind, it seemed, was the baby arriving in just a few weeks.

Finch was beginning to feel just the tiniest bit left out.

“Need a hand?” She gestured toward the half assembled crib.

“Oh, I think Hector can manage on his own.” Laura sat up, looking like a large pink-cheeked child, her hair crackling with static. “I know when I’m not wanted.” She shot him a mock injured look as she struggled to her feet amid wet noses and wagging tails. Almost as an afterthought, she asked, “How’d it go today?”

Finch shrugged. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

She followed Laura into the kitchen, where Maude was rolling out dough while a frying pan sizzled on the stove. “Your favorite, chicken pot pie,” she said, offering a floury cheek to be kissed.

The familiar sight of Maude making supper brought a lump to her throat. “I’ll set the table.”

“Hector’s almost done with the crib,” Laura announced as she grabbed a handful of napkins from a drawer.

Maude snorted. “Hardly enough room in there for a cradle much less a crib.” She was talking about the alcove off Laura and Hector’s room, which they’d converted into a nursery.

“Babies don’t need much room,” Laura said with a shrug.

“They grow.”

“Well, it’ll do just fine for now.” Laura drifted about, setting out the milk carton then a moment later returning it to the fridge. “When she’s older we’ll add on. And don’t forget, it won’t be long before Finch is away at college.”

Finch had been looking forward to it, but now the thought brought a pang.

Maude pursed her lips. “Even so …”

Laura gave an airy laugh. “Admit it, you want her in with
you
.”