Gypped (10 page)

Walking back down the block, she thought about the previous evening. That older woman Gladys was a hoot. She came into the kitchen three different times to say hello and see if any
of her favorite hors d’oeuvres were left. When she found out the help were all aspiring actors, she told them she had wanted to be an actress but her parents wouldn’t let her. Instead, they sent her to secretarial school to learn bookkeeping.

“I never should have listened,” she said as she popped a scallop wrapped with bacon into her mouth.

“I read an article about several older women who went into acting later in life and really did well,” Maggie had told her. “It’s never too late. Especially if you’re funny.”

The two of them exchanged numbers.

Back in the abyss, one of several nicknames Maggie had given her apartment, she sat at her computer, took the lid off her coffee, and started perusing the latest audition notices. Like most young actors, she was doing as much as she could to find work on her own. She had an agent who couldn’t get her arrested, which was especially irksome considering her living conditions. Maggie didn’t have her Screen Actors Guild card which made things even more difficult. She couldn’t get a union job because she wasn’t in SAG, but she couldn’t get into SAG until she had a union job.

Non-union projects were good for gaining experience and building a reel. But because those projects weren’t subject to strict rules and regulations, you never knew what you were getting into.

Maggie sipped her coffee and scrolled down the page. Why wasn’t I born gorgeous? she wondered as she took a bite of her muffin. Well, I know I can do comedy. She jotted down the contact information on several roles she thought she’d be right for. Nothing that’s going to win me an Academy Award, she thought, but work is work. It’s also about making connections for future jobs.

After Maggie forwarded her picture and resume to all the
projects she was interested in, she went back to look at the roles for older women that she had noticed on a couple of non-union projects. There were two different parts that had Gladys’s name written all over them. Maggie got up and retrieved her phone from the table next to the bed. I’ll call her right now! Gladys should send in her picture. Give acting a whirl. There shouldn’t be too much competition. Someone Gladys’s age who was non-union was either just starting out or no Sarah Bernhardt.

But as Maggie started to make the call, she hesitated, wondering if she was being too pushy. The conversation about Gladys wanting to be an actress could have just been party talk. Gladys has a job and would probably be too embarrassed to send in her photo, even if she’s interested. I know what I’ll do, Maggie thought. This might turn out great!

At the party the night before, when Norman was in the living room balancing his dinner plate on his lap, the four workers had taken pictures of each other in front of those crazy hot pink appliances. They’d all prepared food in state of the art kitchens in mansions around Los Angeles, and in some homes that were decidedly less grand, but none of them had seen anything like the kitchen at the Scrumps estate. They’d also taken pictures of the cracked linoleum floor. The third time Gladys came wandering through, she caught them in the act.

“Isn’t this place something?” she’d laughed, and offered to take a group shot. Then Maggie asked Gladys if she’d be in a picture with her.

“You don’t want a picture of me,” Gladys said.

“Yes, I do. Come on. Fast. We don’t have much time. Norman will be back any second.”

The other waitress snapped several photos. Gladys turned out to be quite photogenic and a bit of a ham.

I’ll use one of those pictures, Maggie thought. I’ll cut myself out, enlarge the image of Gladys, and sent it out with my contact number. If she gets an audition, I’ll call her with the good news.

Boy, will she be surprised!

R
egan walked into the police precinct closest to the Scrumps estate. An officer with dark hair and a mustache sitting at the front desk looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” Regan said, showing him her ID. “I’m a private investigator. My name is Regan Reilly. I used to have an office in Hollywood but now I live in New York City. My husband is head of the Major Case Squad there. We’re in town because he has meetings with the police commissioner.”

The officer raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He seemed friendly but guarded.

“Yes,” Regan continued, “a friend of mine was at a fundraiser and bid on and won a week’s stay at a home up in the Hills. It’s called the Scrumps estate. I was there last night for a party she gave and stayed overnight because she got sick. Early this morning I went out to move my car, which was parked at the end of her block. There are no other houses. It’s fairly isolated.”

“What’s the address?”

Regan told him. “Before I got into my car I wanted to take a look at a hiking trail someone told me about last night. I started into the woods, then decided against it. A flash of silver under
a pile of leaves caught my eye. I didn’t expect it to be a large butcher knife that looks brand new.”

The officer groaned. “Wonderful. Where is the knife right now?”

“In my trunk. I didn’t think it was wise to walk into a police station brandishing a knife like that. And I didn’t want to be carrying a concealed weapon.” Regan smiled.

“You’ve got that right. It’s obviously a concern that someone would bring a weapon like that into those woods. There are a lot of people who go hiking alone.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Regan was introduced to Detective Hector Ramone, who wrote up the report and then accompanied her to her car. When Regan popped the trunk, he whistled, then pulled on a latex glove. “This knife isn’t for carving your girlfriend’s initials into a tree,” he observed wryly. With care he lifted the knife out of the trunk and placed it in a plastic bag. “I’m sure they’ll step up patrols in the area. You say your friend will be at that house until Monday?”

“Yes.”

“She’s not alone, is she?”

“No. Her assistant is staying with her. Do you know anything about the Scrumps estate?”

“Not much. To my knowledge no one has ever called us from there with any problems.”

“It seems like the house hasn’t been lived in for years, and it’s not in the best condition. I think it’s strange that someone would donate a stay there for charity. The Ritz it’s not.”

He laughed. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Regan gave him her card. “If you come across anything interesting, please let me know.”

“I will.”

When Regan pulled out of the precinct parking lot, the sense of threat surrounding the knife seemed alarmingly real.

A
fter Norman left, Rich telephoned Zelda. “It turns out I had to meet a client nearby. Do you mind if I come over now?”

“No, but I have to warn you, my stomach’s acting up. I’m still in bed.”

“That’s fine.”

“But wait a minute,” Zelda said. “Norman’s about to leave for the store. My friend Regan who you met last night is coming over for lunch and we need food. I don’t think I can make it downstairs to let you in.”

“Can he wait a few minutes until I get there?”

“I suppose.” When she hung up, Zelda called Norman’s cell phone. He was in the kitchen heading out the door. “Rich is on his way. Stick around a few minutes and let him in.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked and wait in my car.” Norman was dying to put a CD in his car stereo and belt out a tune. With Zelda paying for my singing lessons, he thought, the sky’s the limit.

“That’s fine. You know what, you don’t have to wait.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Norman was snapping his fingers and singing along with
the Jersey Boys when Rich pulled up the driveway in his snooty sports car and parked next to him. Norman rolled down his passenger window. “The door’s unlocked. Lock it behind you,” he called out.

“I will,” Rich said with a wave as he reached for his briefcase. He watched as Norman disappeared down the driveway, walked inside, and went upstairs.

“Zelda?” he called as he knocked on her open door.

“Come on in.”

“I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“Something didn’t agree with me.”

“I stopped at a health food store and bought you some tea,” he said, taking a paper cup out of a brown bag. “They say it’s great for an upset stomach.”

Zelda sat up and took a sip. “It’s different,” she said, then took another sip. “I don’t mean to be rude, Rich, but as they say, it’s not my cup of tea. I like the basic brands. Nothing too exotic.”

Rich laughed. “No problem. I was hoping it would make you feel better.”

“I appreciate it, I really do.” Zelda’s head was back on the pillow. “Leave it there. Maybe I’ll try another sip.”

“Sure,” Rich said. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t drink it.”

Zelda sat up. She tried the tea again, then shook her head. “Sorry, Rich.”

“That’s fine.” He put the lid back on the cup, then placed the cup back into the bag. “You win some, you lose some,” he joked. “I can see that you really don’t feel well, so I won’t take much of your time. Heather and I are heading out of town this afternoon and won’t be back until the middle of next week. I wanted to talk to you about a few things first.”

“I want to talk to you, too. I need to change my will.”

“Does that have something to do with your father getting married?” he asked solicitously.

“It has everything to do with my father getting married.” Tears stung Zelda’s eyes.

Rich sat in the chair next to the bed. “I’m so sorry about that, Zelda,” he said gently. “As you know, my mother died when I was young. My father remarried a couple years later. What I never told you was that at the beginning I couldn’t stand his new wife.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I never talk about it because she turned out to be wonderful. Maybe your father’s wife will become a good friend of yours.”

“I doubt it. But she’ll get her big chance to win me over soon. They’re coming here tonight.”

“They are?” he asked. “Already?”

“Yes. They wanted to get a look at this crazy house.”

Rich laughed. “This place is interesting, that’s for sure. But, tell me, what do you want to do with your will?”

Zelda explained her idea about the trust.

“Makes sense. Heather’s law firm handles trusts. She knows the ins and outs better than I do. I’ll talk to her about it this weekend.”

“Are you two getting serious?”

“I think so. Heather is special.”

“Everyone around me is tying the knot. If you plan to get married, could you please let me know in advance?”

“You’ll be the first to know. And I can’t wait to dance at your wedding.”

“Oh, please. So why did you want to see me today?” Zelda
asked wearily. All she wanted to do was escape the world and sleep.

“Well, I was going over your accounts. You’ve been so generous to charities and your students.”

“I believe in giving back.”

“Which is honorable. But we have to look to your future. You’ve said you want to be conservative, but there is no growth in keeping too much of your money in cash or treasuries. If your money doesn’t grow, then your account just goes down, down, down all the time. It might seem like you have a lot of money, but you’re still young. It won’t last forever if you don’t. . . .”

Zelda’s eyes drooped while Rich blathered on about the economy. She didn’t understand most of what he was saying.

“I think it would be wise for you to invest in new companies. They carry a greater degree of risk, but if successful would yield a great return. Who ever thought that a company like Google would make so many people rich? People who invested in Google early on must be patting themselves on the back. I just got word of a company that is bringing out a brand new vitamin. It is going to take over the market because it’s a vitamin aimed at everyone, not a vitamin just for kids, or women, or men. And it’s the only vitamin anyone will ever need. The scientist who developed this miracle pill said the human body needs certain nutrients no matter the age or gender. This is going to blow all the other brands out of the water. If you’re interested you’ve got to get in on it today.”