Fading Starlight Part 6

"Uh . . . well . . . sure. That sounds great."

"Super. Why don't you come sit with me at lunch? I'm getting so tired of the same old people and the same old conversations. Know what I mean?"

From that day on, the two of them had been inseparable. Juliette invited her over after school, they went to the movies together on weekends, and they spent warm afternoons at the beach. Those months were among the happiest of Charlotte's life.

It had taken some time before Juliette's true intentions made themselves clear. First it was just small statements, little hints. "Wouldn't it be fun if I went with you to the Hearst Ranch sometime?" Which grew into "Do you think I could come watch you on the set?" Which then became "Do you think your father might give me a small part?"

Charlotte had worked up every bit of her courage and approached her father about it. "Just a little part. Just for fun."

When Juliette stopped by the house later that night, Charlotte's father was still there. He sat Juliette down and told her that if she really wanted to be in the movies, she was going to have to be willing to do the work, and there were no free rides where he was concerned. She smiled and nodded. "Of course, of course, thank you so much for the advice." Moments later she had developed a headache and left for the evening.

Charlotte went to school the next day, excited about the weekend ahead. She waited at the usual place outside the cafeteria for Juliette, but Juliette never showed up. Charlotte began to wonder if her friend was sick-maybe last night's headache had been the start of something. And then, in her second-period cla.s.s, Suzette Lemons leaned forward and whispered, "Big crush on Cary Grant, huh? I heard you practically stalked him at Mr. Hearst's home in San Simeon. So much so, they had to ask you to leave him alone." She then leaned back and roared with laughter.

Charlotte sat completely stunned. There was one person and one person only who knew that story. Why would Juliette have told it? By the time lunch rolled around, it was abundantly clear that other stories had been shared, as well. Charlotte was the laughingstock of the entire school.

When she went to the lunch table to confront her best friend, Juliette looked up coldly and said, "This table is reserved. You need to go sit among your own kind. My days of charity work are done."

Lauren pulled out her iPad and Googled the name Charlotte Montgomery. There wasn't much information. Most of Charlotte Montgomery's public life had happened well before the computer age, but Lauren did dig up a little bit about Charlotte Montgomery's father. His name was Collin Montgomery, and he had apparently been something of a big-deal producer back in Hollywood's golden era. He had been married to a socialite from New York, who had one son. There had apparently been multiple affairs, including one with an aspiring actress named Jean. She became pregnant, and in spite of the fact that Collin Montgomery's wife did not give him a divorce-nor did it appear he'd even attempted to get one-Jean had her last name legally changed to Montgomery, and Collin openly kept her as his mistress and supported the child. A daughter named Charlotte.

Jean seemed to have given up any attempt at acting after the birth of her illegitimate child, but at an early age, little Charlotte was making regular appearances on screen. In Charlotte's early teens Jean pushed hard to get her daughter an established acting career, but it was troublesome. It seemed that Charlotte was not quite the beauty that producers and directors were vying for. Still, when Collin Montgomery bought a large share in one of the major studios, and when up-and-coming actors found out that their chances of getting into a Collin Montgomery film were greatly enhanced by being photographed squiring Charlotte Montgomery out on the town, well, she quickly became the darling of Hollywood social life. Aspiring actresses all befriended her, the men all dated her, and they all gave every indication of loving her. There were rumors of affairs with the likes of Errol Flynn and Clark Gable, among others.

Then, in 1954, Collin Montgomery died unexpectedly after a heart attack, and the truth became heartrendingly clear. In his will, he left his share of the studio and most of his Los Angeles holdings to his wife and son; he left a significant sum of money, a small LA bungalow, and a large Victorian home near the Santa Barbara coast to his mistress and daughter. Charlotte Montgomery was immediately blackballed by the studio and, by all indications, was never in a studio film again. Just as suddenly, paparazzi photos of her sitting at the Brown Derby with Deborah Kerr or Cary Grant, or even the lesser-known B actors, seemed to disappear. Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper both made mention in their columns of her pariah status, and then her name went completely out of mention.

Lauren went to IMDb and looked for Charlotte Montgomery. Sure enough, there was a glamour shot from 1953, along with a fairly impressive list of movies Charlotte had appeared in. She seemed to have moved from big parts in minor movies to smaller parts in big movies. All part of climbing her way up the ladder, Lauren supposed. After 1954, there were no further entries. It was as if Charlotte Montgomery had ceased to exist.

Lauren rushed outside as soon as she received a call from Chloe that they were approaching the gate. Jasper's red pickup soon pulled into the driveway. It hadn't even stopped rolling before Chloe was out the door and hugging Lauren. "I've missed you so much."

"It's only been a week." Lauren knew she needed to say the words, to throw Chloe off the scent of her terrible, awful day. Sarcastic humor was the best camouflage for this kind of pain.

"A week is a long time." Chloe squeezed tight, then let go. "Dad says to tell you he's sorry he couldn't make it. His knee is all swollen again, so the doctor has him lying down and icing it. You know Dad, he's put off a knee replacement for far too long."

"Sounds like he should get it looked at."

"Sounds like he should get it looked at? h.e.l.lo? It's not like you to fail to join in the campaign for Dad to have the surgery and take better care of himself." She stood and observed Lauren for a couple of seconds. "You are preoccupied. What's up?"

Lauren shook her head and looked away from the scattered dirt on the edge of the cul-de-sac. "I agree that Jim needs to get that knee replacement, and I'm thinking that maybe Rhonda is wrong about some things."

Rhonda, who had climbed out of the truck by now, hugged her and said, "That can't be true. I'm sure that has never, ever happened." She playfully flipped Lauren's hair back. "What could I possibly be wrong about?"

"You, my darling and wise heart-mother, said that best efforts always pay off."

"And you're trying to tell me now that this is not correct? Is that what I'm hearing?"

Lauren gestured toward the cul-de-sac. "I planted some leftover flowers outside the fence across the street, thinking it would be a nice surprise for the elderly woman who lives there. When I got home just now, I found her having them all ripped out. So much for the nice surprise, huh?"

"You're kidding me. What kind of person would rip out flowers? What kind of person would make light of something so obviously considerately done?" Chloe's face glowed red with indignation. Even Rhonda's face turned pink.

Lauren shrugged. "Apparently the kind of person my neighbor is."

"Mom, can you imagine anything so rude? That is so awful. Why would someone do something like that?" Chloe was getting worked up now.

Rhonda kept one hand on Lauren's arm, squeezed, and reached out the other to put it around Chloe as all three of them looked toward the dirt in the road. "Eric Hoffer once said that rudeness is the weak person's imitation of strength."

"Yeah. Exactly." Chloe nodded her head vigorously, then paused and looked toward her mother. "Wait, what?"

"Weak people, they try to appear strong by being rude. Sometimes it's all they've got in the way of self-defense."

"Hmm. Well, maybe . . . but it still really makes me mad. I'd like to . . ." Chloe's attention shifted toward the truck. "What's taking you two so long?"

"You two?" Lauren looked at her friend.

"I told you, Cody's good with wood. He says he thinks he can replace that split panel without too much of a problem."

"Cody? You brought Cody?"

"I told you that I might."

"No you didn't. You said that he thought he could make a new panel. You didn't say you were bringing him here. How did you even get him through the gate?"

"Well, I told everyone that I might have forgotten to tell you he was coming, so when we got close to the gate, he lay on the floor and Mom covered him with some of the old rags we brought for the refinishing. The guard at the gate never had a clue."

"I can't believe you sometimes."

"Oh yes you can. It's not like this is the first time I've surprised you. Won't be the last. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure why anything I do surprises you anymore."

"That's true enough." She leaned closer to whisper. "You know I'm not ready for any kind of relationship right now. Not in the middle of all this chaos."

"I know that, and so does he. We just brought him along because he's a friend of Jasper's, and because he's good with wood. Okay?"

"That better be what it is."

"It is. I promise." She looked toward the guys emerging from the truck. "Come here, you two. Let me show you what Lauren's neighbor did." Chloe grabbed both men and dragged them out into the street, pointing toward the scattered dirt.

Lauren saw a curtain flutter up in the third-floor turret. Perhaps Miss Montgomery was enjoying the little scene she had created. Well, Lauren wasn't going to give her any more satisfaction. "All right, all you looky-loos. Enough gawking at my humbling rejection." She glanced toward Cody, who was grinning at her. "I think we all know it is not my greatest humiliation in recent history. Let's forget all about it and move on, shall we?"

Cody walked up to her and tipped his Atlanta Braves cap. "I'll bet they were nice flowers, too. Don't let an old crank keep you from doing nice things. People who do nice things are getting fewer and farther between. The rest of us need as many of you as we can keep in circulation."

"Says the man who just rode for hours to do work in the kitchen of someone he's barely even met."

He nodded. "Come to think of it, you're right. We nice people have to stick together. It's a cold, cruel world out there. Where's this piece of cabinet I need to replace?"

eleven.

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 Fashion Inst.i.tute of LA with the a.s.sistance of their largest and most prestigious scholarship."

"Fashion Inst.i.tute? Then what is she doing here in the middle of nowhere if she wants to work in fashion?"

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 fashion 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 finishing 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 fashion 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 ship is safe in harbor, but that is not what ships 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.