The Postman Always Purls Twice (20 page)

Lucy was a sucker for the latest dog toys. The gadgets, most of them chewable, never failed to astound Maggie. Every possible contingency was covered.

Lucy followed Maggie into the shop. “Van Gogh isn't on the prowl this morning, is he?”

Van Gogh, Phoebe's cat, was a sweet-natured fellow, as felines went. But he had a habit of jumping into the window display to taunt the dogs through the glass. The dogs never failed to fall for his trick. You could hardly blame him.

“He's most likely still curled up on Phoebe's bed. Where she is still most likely curled up, too.” Maggie glanced up at the ceiling, listening for Phoebe's light footsteps. Nothing yet. But it was barely eight.

Lucy followed Maggie into the storeroom and watched as she put on a pot of coffee. “I heard the movie people are leaving town soon. I'm sure you won't be sorry to see them go.”

“No . . . I won't. But it was exciting having them here. In more ways than one,” Maggie added. “Did you hear any more about Nick Pullman's condition? The TV news is already tired of the story. On to the next disaster, I guess.”

“I did hear a sound bite. They say his condition is stable but still critical. Matt says his heart may be seriously damaged, especially since he already had a heart condition. And I spoke to Dana last night. Jack told her some interesting information. The police lab has figured out that the drug found in Nick's drink, which reacted on his body like an overdose of heart medication, wasn't the typical compound produced by a pharmaceutical company. I think she said that medication is called digoxin, or digitoxin. It has a few names. Anyway, the digitalis they found in Nick's bloodstream was in a pure state.” She tried to recall his exact words. “The way it's found in nature.”

“Really? Digitalis is found in some blooming plants, like foxglove,” Maggie said. “It's been used for centuries as a cure by the Native Americans. But it can also be deadly to people and animals.”

“I didn't know that. I'll keep the dogs away from any foxglove plants.”

“It's not blooming now, but it will come out later in the year,” Maggie warned her. She shook her head. “That's an interesting and strange twist to the story. And Nick's poisoning has certainly cast a long shadow on this movie.”

“I agree. I was here Sunday night to watch the filming again. I may have been imagining it, but the crew seemed very subdued, and the dynamics between the big shots was very different, too,” Lucy said. “Suzanne didn't seem to notice,” she added. “But I saw it pretty clearly.”

Maggie smiled and sipped her coffee. “I love Suzanne . . . but subtle nuance in relationships is not her forte.”

Lucy smiled. “Yes, she's more of a big love, or big hate, girl. That's for sure. But it seemed to me that when Jennifer and Nick were on the set Thursday night, they were the power center, calling the shots. Trina, and even Heath, were the second-string players. But with Nick gone and Trina's boyfriend directing, it looked like Jennifer has definitely lost leverage. It's hard to explain. It isn't as if anyone treated her disrespectfully,” she added. “But I did see her disagree with the new director, and Regina Thurston had to smooth it out. He was also pushing through the script at the speed of light, compared to Nick.”

“Interesting.” Maggie cocked her head to one side, considering Lucy's observations. “Suzanne said they're on a supertight schedule now. I'm not surprised he's pushing the actors. I'm curious to see how this film turns out.
If
it turns out,” she added. “Seems to me, that's still a question.”

“Speaking of questions and relationships, what's going on with Charles these days? Didn't you have the ‘first time making him dinner at your house' date on Saturday?” Lucy's quick subject change threw Maggie a curve. She tried to hide her smile but really couldn't.

“We did. On the spur of the moment. We'd planned to go out, but he had to work late on the case.”

“Oh right. Did he tell you anything interesting?” Lucy asked eagerly.

“Charles can be so tight-lipped. No fun at all . . . that way,” she quickly clarified. “Dinner put him in a better mood. From the little he did say, it sounds like the police don't suspect Theo Pullman. Though I was going on about him. I made some flounder stuffed with shrimp,” she continued, avoiding Lucy's impatient gaze. “I like to cook the shrimp a little first so they don't—”

Lucy made a time-out sign with her hands. “Enough recipe tips, Rachael Ray. How did the rest of the evening go . . .
after
dinner . . . and dessert?” she said with special emphasis. “Unless you came back downstairs for that?”

Actually, they did put dessert off, and came back down to the kitchen barefoot. Maggie smiled, remembering.

Lucy rarely hesitated sharing the private details of her life, but Maggie felt herself holding back. Not entirely fair, she knew. Natural shyness about these matters, perhaps. Or she was out of practice dishing on this topic; she was selective about her relationships reaching this stage.

Just as Maggie was about to disclose the whole story, the shop door opened. Suzanne flew in, a red trench coat swirling around her body, a black turtleneck and black jeans underneath. A very dramatic look, Maggie thought.

“I'm here . . . with news!”

“Quite an entrance.”

“Thanks, I won't disappoint. I was just at the beach house.”

“What was your excuse today?” Maggie cut in.

“I had to pick up
your
spare key . . . Thank you very much, Suzanne, for remembering,” she mimicked Maggie's voice perfectly. “Lyle told me they'll be finished by five and I have to inspect the property and sign off before they leave . . . and guess what?”

Maggie couldn't imagine what she was going to say next. Clearly, neither could Lucy.

“There's a party tonight, to thank everyone they hired locally and give the crew and cast a morale boost. Lyle invited me and said you were invited, too. Since you were so nice to let them come back.”

“So many times,” Maggie added dryly.

“Is this what they call a wrap party?” Lucy asked.

“I think it's a prewrap . . . or a location wrap? They're not really finished with the movie. There are more scenes to shoot in a studio back in Hollywood. I wanted to go back today in time to see if they really say, ‘It's a wrap!' You know, the way they always do in the movies?”

Maggie and Lucy nodded. Lucy was almost laughing.

“Though I do have other clients,” Suzanne added.

“You'd never know it. I thought you went back to see your boyfriend, Heath. How's the romance going?” Lucy teased.

Suzanne shrugged. “Not that well. He was a little grouchy today. They were shooting that scene on the beach where he drowns. It was pretty cold in the water.”

“Cold and dangerous, with the rough water in this weather. Don't they have stuntmen for that?” Lucy asked.

“For the long-distance shots, but he still had to jump in the water with his clothes on.”

“And you were there for that . . . thoughtfully retrieving my key?” Maggie asked.

A dreamy look washed over Suzanne's face. She sighed. “Yes . . . I was. It's hard work, but somebody has to do it. Not only was he wet and cold, but he was also a little cranky from low blood sugar,” she added. “Alicia said he's been terrified of eating anything since Nick was poisoned. Especially the food on the set. He decided it was a good time to try one of those liquid detox diets where all you can have is some lemonade drink you make yourself.”

“I read about that. Looks like torture to me,” Lucy confessed.

Maggie sighed. “I've read there's absolutely no need to ‘detox' your body. That's why the good Lord gave everyone a liver.”

“Believe me, I'm not about to try anything like that. I need something to chew on, or it's not pretty. I might feel differently, though, if I were a movie star,” Suzanne mused.

“You fit right in with the beautiful people. No worries,” Lucy assured her.

“Before we know it, you'll be moving to LA and selling zillion-dollar houses to celebrities,” Maggie said with mock sadness.

“Please remember your friends back East . . . the little people?” Lucy added, jumping in.

“Don't worry, Little Person. ‘No knitting pals left behind.' I talked Lyle into putting all of us on the guest list for the party. Isn't that great?” Suzanne practically clapped her hands with glee. “A real Hollywood party. Except it's not
exactly
in Hollywood.”

“But not bad for our
first
,” Lucy reminded her. “What time does it start?”

“Around six. They're going to be superstrict with the shooting schedule today. They have to get this in the can.”

“As you film people say,” Maggie murmured. Suzanne shot her a look, but was not dismayed.

“I'd say it's casual and quick. Drinks and appetizers. A few thank-you speeches. The big shots are heading to LA tonight.”

“That sounds fun,” Lucy said. “And I'd love to see the inside of that house.”

“Worth the price of admission alone,” Suzanne promised. She glanced at Maggie, in her sales mode again.

Maggie wasn't so eager to attend, but didn't want to disappoint Suzanne. “I'm a little tired for partying. Even in a spectacular house. Frankly, I'd feel out of my element. Are you sure it's all right for all of us to come?”

Maggie had gotten all the autographs she wanted, and she was supposed to see Charles after he left work, around nine. Though attending the party was still possible even with that complication.

But she didn't tell her friends about her date. She didn't need to be double-teamed with questions. She'd just slipped out of Lucy's net.

“Maggie, stop acting so insecure. Lyle said there are going to be other local yokels there, too. Not that he used those words, exactly,” she added quickly. “Some people from my office and others in town the crew has been doing business with. I bet you know a few.”

“Oh . . . so the invitation isn't
that
exclusive?” Lucy cocked her head to one side. “I don't know. I'm not sure if I want to go now.”

Suzanne glared at her with a fake mad face.

“Only kidding,” Lucy promised.

Having closed that deal, Suzanne turned back to Maggie. “Maggie . . . don't be such a stick-in-the-mud. I thought you wanted to say good-bye to Jennifer.”

“I do. That's true.” The party could be interesting. Maybe they would hear more news about the investigation. More than she'd heard from Charles. She'd bet on that.

“All right. Why not? I've no doubts about Phoebe.”

“Great. I already told Dana. She's in, too.” Suzanne smiled, seeing all her ducks in a row. “Let's meet here. We all fit in my SUV. No sense taking ten cars.”

That was a sensible idea. Maggie didn't even know where she was going. They arranged to meet at the shop at a quarter to six, so she'd have to close only a few minutes early.

As her friends left, Maggie felt cheerful, despite the rainy day. The local wrap party was certainly something different. She would have a good time with her friends, wherever they partied together.

B
y the time Suzanne's SUV had pulled up to the stunning beach house, the party was already in full swing. Maggie and her friends were checked by security, but hardly noticed as they slipped through the front door. Which was fine with Maggie. She felt gauche enough, attending a gathering that was really for the stars and crew. It was funny how Hollywood insiders considered it such an honor to let you socialize with them. And the locals tended to see it that way, too.

I'm being too harsh. It's my own insecurities, she reminded herself as she followed her friends into the crowd. She had to relax and have some fun. The people watching would certainly be worth the trip.

And so was the house.

Maggie had no idea why Suzanne kept calling the place a “beach house”—it was far from that. More of postmodern Taj Mahal by the sea. That's how she'd describe it.

They walked through a large, round foyer with a gray marble floor to a main room with glass windows that must have been three stories high, framing a view of a large deck, and beyond that the blue-green ocean and rocky shoreline. The sun was setting later these days. Out over the sea, a dusky, lavender-gray light colored the clouds above the horizon. Mist and fog hung over the shoreline.

A large stone hearth and black marble mantel was set in between the windows in a swath of brown and tan stones that climbed to the ceiling. A curving staircase, set off by metal pipe rails, ran along the opposite side of the room and led to a balcony on the second floor, visible from the great room.

The space was filled with dark couches and chairs, a black lacquered baby grand piano, and a long, shiny black table that could have comfortably entertained . . . twenty?