Part 6 (2/2)
Charlotte Montgomery picked up her phone and punched in the usual numbers. ”Mr. Winston, we simply must do something about this girl who has come to live here.”
”Miss Montgomery. So nice to hear from you. I trust you are feeling well.”
”I would feel a lot better if the neighborhood was back in its right order.”
”Yes, so you've told me several times. And each of those several times I have done my best to rea.s.sure you. What causes you to continue to feel this way?”
Charlotte looked out her window toward the front gate. ”I just know, that's all. I need you to find out everything you can about her.”
”Already done. I checked her background thoroughly before I granted the permission for her to come into the neighborhood.”
”Oh really? What is it that you know, then? What about her family? Where does she come from?”
”She comes from the Los Angeles area. Her mother was a bit actress.”
”See. Exactly the kind of person who would have an interest in making trouble around here.”
”I did say was a bit actress. She died of an overdose some fifteen years ago. After that, Lauren lived with her father and his various girlfriends and wives until he and the newest wife moved out of state during Lauren's high school years. She apparently moved in with her best friend and her family at that point. She spent summers in Santa Maria with her great-aunt, who worked as a bookkeeper for one of the larger farms up there. Lauren just completed her courses at the Fas.h.i.+on Inst.i.tute of LA with the a.s.sistance of their largest and most prestigious scholars.h.i.+p.”
”Fas.h.i.+on Inst.i.tute? Then what is she doing here in the middle of nowhere if she wants to work in fas.h.i.+on?”
Neil Winston went on to explain the wardrobe malfunction, the story of which Charlotte had actually seen on the evening news. She had never made the connection, though, between the paparazzi videos and the girl who was living across the street.
”She has basically been blackballed from any sort of job in fas.h.i.+on or Hollywood.”
Blackballed.
The word struck a nerve where Charlotte would have sworn there was nothing left to feel. But now she did feel-a twinge of something long forgotten. Sympathy, was it? She shook her head. Those kinds of thoughts could skew what a person saw, make it easier to overlook the truth, thereby rendering one weak. Charlotte did not have room in her life for weakness.
”Well, I want you to put an investigator on her now and see what she is up to. She planted some flowers outside my fence yesterday afternoon. For some reason she seems to have it in her mind that she wants to get on my good side. There is an ulterior motive there somewhere.”
”Maybe that's just the sort of person she is. Did I mention she's done mission trips to South Africa, Micronesia, and Kenya, not to mention parts of LA and San Francisco that most people would never bother to go into? I think she's just a really nice girl.”
”I'm glad you think so. Now, find an investigator and see if you can prove it. And make sure the four people who just went into her house have been cleared at the gate.”
As was her custom, when she'd said all she needed to say and didn't care to listen to anything else, Charlotte hung up the phone.
Then she had an idea. If no one else was going to do the job and find out what was up with this girl, she would have to do it herself.
Early Sat.u.r.day morning Lauren was up and going, in spite of the fact that Chloe and the others had been there until well past midnight. The cabinets looked amazing. So did the grout in the bathroom, and the heating ducts had been deep cleaned and the filters changed. Yes, there was quite a bit of satisfaction in what they'd accomplished. Lauren was certain she had the best, best friend in the world. And her mother, too. And her fiance. And her . . . well, and Cody, too.
Over the past week, her dwelling place had cleaned up nicely and was significantly less ramshackle. She had spent more money than she had intended on her spruce-up projects, but with the free rent, her conscience would not let her do otherwise. In spite of the fact that her savings account was shrinking at an alarming rate, she felt compelled to repay generosity with generosity. She felt good knowing that she would return this place to the Edwards family in much better condition than she'd received it-not only because of Derek Allen's work, but because of her own. She was glad for that.
Rhonda's words of wisdom from last night had hit home as always. She'd had two very good pieces of advice. The first was that G.o.d's good opinion mattered and what anyone else thought or believed was less important, even if they ripped out flowers. The second was her insistence that Lauren was there for a reason and Charlotte Montgomery was part of that reason.
”Part of the reason, how?” Lauren had asked.
”I have no idea, but I'm telling you, there's a reason you're here.” Was that reason to give Kendall enough info to help her catch a murderer? Or was it because Charlotte Montgomery needed Lauren's help? That hardly seemed likely, given yesterday's flower incident.
Lauren poured a cup of coffee and began her digging-deep time. Soon after finis.h.i.+ng her coffee, she started across the street, but instead of walking directly toward the dirt path through the trees, she couldn't help but detour to examine the freshly turned soil outside Miss Montgomery's fence. The blow felt almost physical, it was so strong. How could anyone make such an insult out of an attempt at friendliness? She knelt beside what was left of her gift, picked up the stray pink petal of a pansy, and rubbed it gently between her fingers.
So this was what happened to people who made an effort at good will toward Miss Montgomery. Miss Montgomery fended it off with raised fists and ripped-up roots. Aunt Nell had died alone and in pain, having to watch as the landscape that she so highly prized deteriorated along with her health. Miss Montgomery, on the other hand, deliberately insulted the very person who'd tried to help her. Sounded like something a coldhearted killer might do, didn't it? The kind who deserved to be found out.
As Lauren made her way down the stairs to the beach, the air was crisp with a breeze that blew cold against her skin. She found her favorite boulder, pulled her knees up under her chin, and looked out to the horizon. A freighter was making its way far out in the channel, visible as a low rectangle against San Miguel Island. ”G.o.d, I feel so lost right now. I keep trying to do my best, but I keep messing things up more and more. People in the fas.h.i.+on world mock me, the high school girls, and Miss Montgomery-it's like I'm not good enough for anyone. I'm going to go completely broke on my current salary, even without paying rent. Am I supposed to get a second job? Will I be able to do the costuming work when it gets to be crunch time if I'm occupied elsewhere? Won't you lead me, Father? I feel as though I have done the very best I could do with the things I was given, and none of them are enough.”
Another of Rhonda's quotes came to mind. ”A s.h.i.+p is safe in harbor, but that is not what s.h.i.+ps are built for.” While Lauren knew there was truth in the quote, the idea of a harbor-somewhere safe-sounded highly appealing to her right now. ”Give me the strength I need. Thank You for providing a job and place to live. Help me to keep sailing out into the waves, and please point me in the right direction.”
By the time she climbed back up the steps, she found her att.i.tude changed enough that she was feeling somewhat sorry for the bitter old woman who occupied the giant mansion all alone, in spite of the fact that she still wanted to go over and ring the doorbell and give her a piece of her mind.
She glanced toward the yard, determined to hold her head high regardless of what had happened yesterday. A woman in a black dress and white ap.r.o.n was sweeping the back porch. When she saw Lauren, she gestured toward her, dropped her broom, and hurried across the lawn. Lauren stopped her forward progress and took a step toward the fence. The woman was almost running, but not quite.
”Good morning.” She was out of breath by the time she came to stand across from Lauren. ”I'm Frances Brown, Miss Montgomery's housekeeper.”
Frances Brown looked to be about sixty and had short, curly brown hair with just a hint of gray mixed in. She was quite lovely, with a square jaw and a full chin, reminding Lauren very much of Bette Davis in the movie she'd watched recently. Smaller eyes, but whose eyes weren't smaller than Bette Davis's?
”Good morning. I'm Lauren Summers, the new neighbor across the road.”
”Yes, I know.” She took a couple of deep breaths and fanned herself. ”Not as young as I used to be.” She sort of smiled but kept gasping for air. She looked to be in good shape for her age, in spite of her currently winded state. ”I have something of a favor to ask, I'm afraid.”
”Okay . . .” Lauren braced herself for what was to come. She suspected this ”favor” involved a request to not plant flowers and basically to stay away from this place as much as possible.
”First of all, let me apologize on Miss Montgomery's behalf. The flowers you planted were lovely, and the sentiment behind them was lovely.”
An apology offered through a maid? That was certainly a new one. Still, Lauren supposed it was a start.
”No problem.” Then Lauren thought about the woman she was speaking to and decided perhaps a more formal answer was in order. ”Apology accepted.” She smiled at the woman and bowed her head slightly. ”Now, Ms. Brown, I believe you said that you wanted to ask a favor.”
She waved a dismissive hand. ”Please, call me Frances. And yes I do. I understand from Mr. Edwards that you are working on the costumes for the local high school and that you know a fair amount about sewing.”
”That's true, yes.”
”Well, here's the thing. Miss Montgomery has a number of older dresses, a couple of which need some work done on them. I called our usual tailor in town, and he told me that he is booked up for several weeks. Miss Montgomery has one particular gown that she absolutely insists on wearing tomorrow. It needs the hem brought up just a bit, and there's another dress with a waist seam that needs repair. Is that something you could fix?”
”I'd have to take a look at the dresses to say for sure, but if I'm able, I'd love to help out.”
Frances Brown nodded. ”I'm so glad. I will go get them right now and bring them to your house.”
Lauren walked toward her cottage, amazed that one of her prayers seemed to have already netted a positive response. ”Thank You, Father.”
twelve.
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