Part 8 (1/2)
”Pleasure.” Willow shook her hand while clearly sizing her up.
Frances waited until they finished, then asked, ”And the blue-green one? You are going to be able to repair it?”
”Yes. It is a little tricky, but I should have it back to you by the end of the week.”
”Very good.” Frances moved forward and took the garment from Lauren, pulling the bodice closer for inspection. ”You fixed the loose st.i.tching around the neck.”
”Yes. It really didn't require much work, and I just thought as long as I had it anyway . . .”
”I'm sure Miss Montgomery will be delighted. It's not often I see someone going above and beyond like this.”
”It was simple, really. I'm glad I was able to help. Please let me know if Miss Montgomery has any concerns about the work.”
”It appears as though it is quite exceptional,” Frances said. ”I'm sure she'll be pleased.”
Lauren nodded toward Willow. ”Nice to have met you.”
Willow folded her arms across her chest. ”You, too.”
As Lauren turned to go, something about Willow bothered her. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Maybe it was just that she reminded her too much of her old world-a young, beautiful woman with plenty of money and no regard for anyone. But what did she know of Willow and her regard for others? Not one thing.
”Sorry, Willow, it won't happen again,” she whispered to herself as she walked up the steps to the cottage. She turned for one last look over her shoulder and saw Willow standing at the front window, watching her.
Maybe she was bored. Or maybe she just needed a friend. Something inside told Lauren it was much more sinister . . . but there she went jumping to conclusions again.
Who Killed Randall Edgar Blake?
Lauren read the article, which had been written just last year as a review of the six-decades-old mystery. Randall Edgar Blake had apparently been a director in Hollywood, a bit on the shady side. He was known for seducing women, drinking excessively, and cheating most anyone he could manage to cheat.
The article told of how one of his more ”usual” female companions, a Lina Orbaker, had left his home around seven at night. She stormed out because he had told her that she was no longer slated for a supporting role in his next movie project, The Power of Love. The entire project, in fact, had been revamped because he'd decided to take the movie ”in another direction.” This other direction seemed to involve the Playmate of the Month, who also happened to be his most recent conquest.
Lina left in a fit of anger, got into her car, and drove to a friend's house, where she spent the evening drinking heavily and telling anyone and everyone who would listen that Randall was a sc.u.mbag. At approximately ten that night, the police found her sitting on the pool steps, fully clothed and completely inebriated. They informed her that Randall Edgar Blake was dead, shot in his own driveway and left faceup on the ground.
Lina's purse had been found near the murder scene, and given their most recent interaction-overheard by neighbors all up and down the block-she was the obvious first suspect. It didn't take the police long, however, to learn that there were plenty of witnesses as to Lina's whereabouts for the past few hours, and it was nowhere near Randall Edgar Blake.
The original theory had been that she killed him first, then came to her friend's house, started drinking due to the guilt, and got into the pool to wash away any evidence there might have been on her clothing. Except the neighbors reported hearing gunshots at nine o'clock, some two hours after she'd left his house and arrived elsewhere.
A second theory still involved Lina Orbaker, but this time as a murder-for-hire. Until the day she died, Lina Orbaker was the chief suspect in the murder, but there was never enough proof to bring anything to trial.
At the very end of the article, the writer had thrown out a couple of other theories. One of them came from Mr. Blake's shady business dealings with known members of the mafia. There was no shortage of people who had a grudge against Randall Edgar Blake. The final theory, barely mentioned in pa.s.sing, was that several other people had also been displaced from The Power of Love, and all of them were angry. The author named three of the possible suspects and their special reasons for wanting Mr. Blake dead.
Charlotte Montgomery's name was last on that list. There was no confirming evidence at all, other than her a.s.sociation with and then removal from The Power of Love. Lauren a.s.sumed that this particular author did not give much credence to Kendall's theory. But still . . . here it was in black and white. The theory was out there. Who knew how much truth was behind it?
fifteen.
Aunt Nell was wearing the gray dress and whispering something so quietly Lauren couldn't understand her, in spite of the fact that she was kneeling on the floor beside the couch and helping with the hand beading. ”What are you saying, Aunt Nell?” Lauren asked as she sank the needle into the fabric again and again.
Finally, her aunt leaned forward, close enough to be heard. ”Help me.”
Lauren woke up gasping for air. What was it with all these dreams? She shook her head and made for the shower. The sooner she got on with her day, the sooner she could forget about this latest iteration. Or so she hoped.
Once again her devotional centered around serving others, even when they didn't seem to deserve it. It was a theme that she liked in theory, but at this point in her life, it was a little too close for comfort.
When Derek arrived, he knocked on the door. ”Brought you something.”
”Really? What?”
”Creeper roses. My wife bought three flats of them this weekend, had almost a whole flat left over. I knew that you had a knack for growing things and thought you might want some of them. They would make for cute ground cover, and the lady at the store said they would hold up rather well in this climate.”
Something about the fact that he'd thought enough of her to bring these made her feel really good. A much-needed boost. ”I'd love them, thanks.”
Soon enough she was working the soil, enjoying the feel of the earth softening and churning beneath her touch. She would place these roses around the cottage itself, since the repainting was complete. Once again the activity conjured up memories of Aunt Nell and the happy times Lauren had spent with her. And even though she tried not to go there again, inevitably the memories led to guilt over having not driven out to visit her great-aunt more often, in spite of a heavy workload at school and a job.
When she had finished all her planting around the cottage, she looked toward the Victorian. There were still several plants left. Quite a lot, actually. Still, it was not helpful to force something on someone who clearly did not want it.
She dumped the remaining plants in the green recycling can and went inside. Because of the nagging questions still haunting her, Lauren returned to the computer to find more information about Charlotte Montgomery.
Without Charlotte's father there to buy her way into the movies, and with her father's bitter wife holding all the power, Charlotte's time in Hollywood was finished. Thankfully for Charlotte and Jean, however, Collin Montgomery had left them his huge estate just north of Santa Barbara and a sizable stock portfolio, with specific instructions that Charlotte receive an income from his estate to pay living expenses plus thousands of dollars a year for designer gowns.
When Collin's wife found out about that final stipulation, it was rumored that she sent word to all the major designers that if they wanted to continue to work with her movie studio, they had better think twice about making anything for Charlotte Montgomery. This seemed to work completely, until Angelina Browning, the most celebrated designer of the era, declared that she would not allow others to dictate her work. She would design gowns for whomever she wanted. In fact, she declared Charlotte Montgomery would be her primary client.
Wow. This information alone was thrilling. One of the greatest designers of all time had worked closely with Lauren's next-door neighbor. What were the odds of that? She kept reading.
While this could have been the kiss of death for Angelina Browning's career, the fact that she was willing to walk away from everyone else began something of a stampede. Suddenly the A-list ladies were all clamoring for a Browning gown. Angelina Browning was a wise enough businesswoman to greatly limit her output, keeping the demand-and the prices-sky-high. Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, and crowned heads all across Europe were constantly on a waiting list for the next Browning gown. Yet Charlotte Montgomery remained her number one client until the day Angelina Browning died in a boating accident just off the island of Catalina in 1959.
Jean Montgomery had committed suicide three years after Collin Montgomery's death, leaving twenty-one-year-old Charlotte to fend for herself. There were rumors of an engagement to the son of a mafia boss. He was never named, and it was never confirmed.
Eventually, Charlotte disappeared from public life completely. It was later reported that she was living on the Santa Barbara estate, with a maid, a cook, and a gardener being the only people allowed to come and go from the property.
The story brought up a deep sadness in Lauren. She wanted to help the woman, she really did. Her mind returned to the roses just outside in the recycle bin, but how could planting flowers that were only going to be torn out again be helpful? It couldn't.
She pulled out the gray dress from the closet and put it on her dress form. She spent the next few hours working on the beading, thinking through all that she knew and didn't know about Charlotte Montgomery. Finally, she decided there was nothing for her to do but pick up the phone and make the call she knew she needed to make. She reached over and grabbed her cell.
sixteen.
So, I guess what I'm asking is . . . what am I supposed to do?” Lauren had spent the last few minutes pouring out everything to Rhonda. Everything from her dreams to what she'd learned on the internet.
”I, for one, am hoping that you two become great friends.” Rhonda's voice had an excited edge to it.