The rest of the week flew by. I was grateful that my job and other activities kept me busy so I didn’t miss Dylan too much, though I wasn’t happy to learn that he wouldn’t be coming home for the weekend as I’d hoped and would be flying to Paris instead.
“I recovered one of the paintings and I’ve got a lead on a crooked setup there between a few art galleries and an auction house,” he told me Thursday night when I got back from dinner at my aunt and uncle’s house. “Sorry, babe. I hope to tie everything up and be home in ten days’ time.”
“I hope so,” I said.
I’d met my mother for lunch on Wednesday and then again on Saturday. Both times, she seemed subdued. Of course, I never told her about Daphne’s premonition that something bad was going to happen during the filming of the movie. For one thing, she’d scoff at it; for another, I didn’t want to worry her. When I asked how Tom was, she always said he was busy studying his lines. How long does it take for an actor to learn his lines? I wondered, but didn’t ask. Nor did I ask how they were getting along.
The only person—I use the term loosely—with whom I discussed Daphne’s prediction regarding the movie was Evelyn. She had plenty to say on the subject.
“Carrie, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Psychics get flashes of insight or intuition. For all we know, she was picking up on your anxiety. After all, weren’t you worried about Tom having to act opposite his old flame, who, according to her quote on Wikipedia, would always love him?”
“I suppose.”
“And Daphne said she usually can’t see the future, right?”
“Right.”
Evelyn grinned. “See? No need to worry. Besides, I remember Daphne Harper as a flighty sort of girl. I bet she’s still flighty. A tumble down the stairs or not. People don’t change that much.”
I stared at Evelyn. “You called her Daphne Harper.”
“That’s right. Harper is her family name.”
“So you said, the day she first came into the library. I must have forgotten, because I thought nothing of it when she told me that after divorcing her husband she’d changed her name back to her maiden name—Marriott.”
Evelyn looked at me with pity. “Come on, Carrie. Did you stop to think for one minute that the name of a famous hotel chain might not be Daphne’s real last name?”
I shook my head. “I never considered it. I assumed she was telling me the truth. I mean, why would she make up a fake name?”
“Tsk-tsk,” Evelyn said. “And to think you’ve managed to outsmart murderers.”
“That’s different! Daphne isn’t a murderer. I had no reason to assume she wouldn’t tell me the truth.” I thought for a moment. “Though she never mentioned that she’d grown up in Clover Ridge. Or that her father had been murdered.”
“Perhaps she’s hiding something,” Evelyn said. “Or doesn’t want her ex-husband to find her.”
I nodded. “That’s probably it. If that’s the case, she’s entitled to her secret identity.”
“Carrie, we all have secrets. Even you.” And with that cryptic remark, Evelyn faded away.
Tuesday evening, I went downstairs to the large meeting room several minutes before Daphne’s program was set to begin. Sally had offered to take care of attendance, so I was free to spend time with Daphne. She appeared to be both nervous and joyous.
“I’m looking forward to this evening,” she said. “I feel good vibrations coming from those attending. I think I’ll have many successful minute readings.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “Patrons have told me they’re looking forward to hearing what you have to tell them.”
Everyone, including Angela and Sally, was seated by seven thirty, eager for the program to begin. I introduced Daphne, who proved to be an articulate, animated speaker. She began by saying she’d never been a great believer in psychics or fortune-tellers until she had a near-death accident and found herself receiving strong intuitive impressions and bits of information about people she encountered.
“I decided to read up on psychic ability and was surprised to learn there are a variety of phenomena, from telepathy or mind reading to astral projections, which are out-of-body experiences.”
Daphne gave a start when she glanced my way, and I couldn’t blame her. Evelyn had suddenly manifested and was crouching in front of my seat.
“Go away! You’re spooking her,” I said, as softly as I could.
“All right. I’ll stand at the back of the room,” Evelyn said, sounding injured.
Interesting. Even a ghost was curious about psychic phenomena.
After discussing at least twelve different psychic abilities and giving examples of each, Daphne offered to answer questions. I was surprised that, while some in the audience were eager to ask a question, most of those who raised their hands wanted to share a psychic occurrence they had experienced or heard about.
About fifteen minutes before the program was to end, Daphne announced that she would go around the room and give what she called minute readings. “Please understand that this is not something I can control in any way, so please don’t be angry if I’m unable to sense something as I walk past you. It may only mean that your life is moving tranquilly along—for the moment.”
The audience laughed, and I knew for sure that I would ask her to come back to do another program. I was surprised that no one, aside from Evelyn, had recognized Daphne as someone who had once lived in Clover Ridge. Of course, people changed over twenty years. It was even possible that no one present had known her as a teenager.
I decided to stop daydreaming and listen instead to what Daphne was telling patrons as she stopped at their seats.
“I get the sense that you’ll have visitors staying with you very soon,” she told one elderly woman.
“Yes! My son and his family are coming to visit this weekend!”
When she got to Angela, she said, “You’re about to have a joyous celebration with friends and family.”
“I sure am!” Angela said.
Daphne was approaching the back row when she suddenly froze as if she’d been wounded. “You!” she exclaimed. “Why are you here?”
A man who had been leaning against the back wall dashed out of the room. I followed him into the hall, but he was racing up the steps and fast approaching the main level. Daphne came to stand beside me. She was close to tears.
“Daphne, what is it? Who did you see?”
“My ex-husband. How did he find me?” She looked at me. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I didn’t mean to ruin the program.”
“Do you feel up to returning to your audience?”
She tried to smile. “Yes, I want to. I need to move on with my present life.”
I put my arm around her and led her back to the room.
The room was abuzz with chatter. I walked up to the front and said, “I’m sorry about that. Daphne thought she’d seen—”
“A ghost!” someone called out.
“Something like that,” I said. “But there are a few minutes left, so if Daphne feels she’d like to continue …” I glanced at her.
“Yes, I would,” she said staunchly.
The audience quieted down and the program resumed. I allowed it to run a few minutes over.
As the room emptied out, Daphne apologized again for the interruption. “I’ve no idea how Bert knew I’d be here tonight.” Her fear had turned to anger. “Too bad he ran off. I’d like to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Not to worry,” I assured her. “I’m sorry he managed to get in. He certainly wasn’t on my list of patrons scheduled to attend.”
As Daphne gathered up her notes and her pocketbook, I sensed that something beyond her ex’s unexpected appearance was causing her distress. I wished she trusted me enough to tell me the real reason she’d returned to Clover Ridge.
Did her move back have anything to do with her father’s murder? I wondered, then immediately told myself to stop thinking about murders. One would think I had an obsession with murders, both solved and unsolved.
The third Saturday in April turned out to be sunny and warm, with not a cloud in the sky—the perfect day for the Welcome to Clover Ridge luncheon and ensuing meet-and-greet party for the movie people. The luncheon, to which I’d been invited, was being held at the Inn on the Green, one of the largest and oldest buildings on the side of the Green around the corner from the library. Lunch was scheduled from noon till two to give forty or so town bigwigs like the mayor, Uncle Bosco, and members of the Chamber of Commerce the opportunity to chat with the movie cast and crew.
At two o’clock the group would move to the Green itself, where townsfolk could mingle and talk to the celebrities for the next two hours. The town center was bound to be as jam-packed with people and cars as Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Though I wasn’t scheduled to work that day, I pulled into the library parking lot before eleven o’clock to be assured of having a place to park. As it was, I managed to snag the last available spot. I spent the next forty-five minutes doing paperwork in my office, then walked on over to the luncheon.
“Straight back through the hall, the room on the left,” the hostess informed me. Most of the round tables were filled up when I arrived, I noticed with dismay. I should have gotten there earlier. I waved to Uncle Bosco, who was sitting with Aunt Harriet, Mayor Al Tripp and his wife Dolores, John and Sylvia Mathers, and a woman I didn’t know. Relieved to see an empty chair, I was heading to their table when my mother called out to me.
“Carrie, over here!”
Uncle Bosco and I exchanged glances. My great-uncle wasn’t fond of my mother, hadn’t been since she’d married my father, his nephew. Still, his advice to me when I’d gone to dinner at his and Aunt Harriet’s two nights before was to “suck it up.” Not quite the expression you’d expect from someone approaching eighty, but apt nevertheless. “She’ll be leaving Clover Ridge just as soon as this movie business is finished.” Unlike most of Clover Ridge’s residents, Uncle Bosco considered the moviemaking event an invasion of our village.
My heart beat faster as I walked toward my mother and the table full of movie people. They’re just people. So what if they’re in movies? Telling myself this did nothing to calm my nerves.
My mother stood and kissed my cheek. “You’re here at last!” she declared, making me even more uncomfortable. After all, the luncheon was to celebrate the movie people, not someone like me. “Everyone, this is my daughter, Carrie Singleton. She lives here in Clover Ridge, where she oversees the adult activities of the public library.”
That’s one way of describing my job.
I smiled. The people at the table smiled back at me. All except Tom and the beautiful blonde at his side, who had never stopped their private conversation. Until my mother reached over and poked him in the ribs.
“Carrie dear, I want you to meet the important members of the cast and crew of I Love You, I Do.” She gestured to the heavyset middle-aged woman with long black hair sitting across the table. “This is Hattie Fein, a wizard at makeup and hair.” My mother smiled graciously at the striking brunette in her midfifties. “Serena Harris, our leading lady. Next to Serena is Ronnie Rodriguez, chief cameraman par excellence; Dirk Franklin, film director; and TV and film actor Charlie Stanton.”
My mother glared at the beautiful blonde, who sat studying her very long, very bright fuchsia nails. “Ilana Reingold. And of course you know Tom.”
“Welcome to Clover Ridge. I’m so happy to meet you all,” I said.
Everyone but Ilana murmured words of greeting. Since all eight seats were taken, I said, “And now I’d better dash off and find a place to sit, since they’re about to start serving lunch. I’ve never eaten here, but I’m told the food is excellent.”
Dirk, skinny and agile as a teenager though he had to be in his late forties or early fifties, sprang up from his seat.
“Sit here, Carrie. I only stopped by to discuss something with Serena and Charlie.” He rolled his eyes. “My dear cousin Liane insists on making me the dancing bear at her table.”
We all laughed, and I felt considerably more relaxed as I took the seat he’d just vacated. Charlie helped me move the heavy chair closer to the table.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re most welcome.”
Charlie gave me a broad smile, and I could see why Angela had gone star-struck over him. He was still a very handsome man in his late fifties or early sixties—tall and rangy, with broad shoulders and a large, square face that smiled easily. He reminded me very much of James Garner, a favorite old-time actor of mine.
“My best friend Angela would give her eyeteeth to be sitting here next to you,” I told him. “She works with me in the library and is one of your biggest fans.”
“I must meet this young lady, if she’s as pretty as you.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Angela’s very pretty,” I said, “and getting married in June.”
“If I could have your attention, please,” came a voice over a very loud mic.
We all turned to the front of the room, where Liane Walters was standing. She thanked all of us for coming and the movie cast and crew for choosing Clover Ridge as the setting for I Love You, I Do, and introduced the people who had arranged and paid for the luncheon. Then she introduced the cast and crew. As each person stood, the applause was tremendous.
Then Dirk took the mic to say a few words. “Our sincere and heartfelt thanks to those of you who arranged our luncheon and the meet-and-greet afterward so we can get to know the residents of Clover Ridge. We’re honored to have the opportunity to film I Love You, I Do here in your village. When I was a kid, I used to visit my cousin Liane and fell in love with this place. Clover Ridge has everything to recommend it—a marvelous green surrounded by centuries-old, picturesque buildings, parks and mountains close by, and miles of waterfront on the Long Island Sound.”
He stopped for applause. “I’d like you to know that I’m on the hunt for extras for our movie. I need women and kids under ten for one of our shopping scenes. I’ll be interviewing townspeople later on, out on the Green.”
Mark and Tacey would love to be in a movie! I hoped my cousin Randy and his wife Julia were planning to bring their young children to the meet-and-greet.
Charlie leaned over to whisper to me, “God bless him, Dirk can go on for hours. Sometimes I think he gets us more angels than our producers, though it’s their job to find backers.”
“Have you worked with Dirk before?” I asked.
Charlie nodded. “This is my third project with him. Dirk is low-budget and considered an indie director, but he sure has his pulse on what the public wants.”
We chatted a bit, and it was only when our salad plates were cleared that I realized how much I enjoyed talking to Charlie Stanton.
“So tell me, what’s life like here in Clover Ridge?” he asked.
“Typical small-town life, I suppose, which suits me. I’ve only been living here since May of last year, when I came to stay with my great-aunt and uncle.” I pointed to the table where they were sitting. “My uncle’s on the library board, and I ended up getting the position of head of programs and events.”
“And your love life? Is there a special someone in your life?” Somehow the way Charlie posed the question didn’t seem intrusive.
I grinned. “I have a boyfriend. Dylan’s an investigator for art and jewel thefts. In fact, he’s away on a case now, but I’m hoping the new office he’s in charge of will handle cases that will keep him closer to home.”
Charlie nodded. “I like the idea of settling down in one place where the store owners know you and your neighbors look out for you.”
“You’ve been acting for quite some time,” I said. “Did you know the people involved in this movie before?”
“I met Tom and your mother last weekend.”
He gestured with his chin at Serena to my right, who was deep in conversation with Hattie. We watched as Hattie rubbed her fingers along Serena’s left cheek.
Charlie moved closer to me so he could whisper in my ear. “Serena’s a fine indie actor and still hoping to make it in Hollywood. The poor dear is obsessed with wrinkles, real and imaginary. She had to stop those injections because it gave her a frozen look. And she won’t go through with another facelift—not since the results of the last one put her into hibernation for the best part of a year.”
I rapped his arm. “You are outrageous!” I said, laughing.
“It’s the truth. She’ll probably ask me to block her left side in every scene we play together regardless of how the script is written. What’s more, I adore her and will do as she asks.”
Our waitress placed my salmon and veggies in front of me. A minute later she brought over Charlie’s dish.
“I should have ordered the same as you, but I can’t resist filet mignon when it’s on the menu.” He winked. “Please don’t tell my wife. I promised to avoid meat and go easy on the desserts.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“To the love of my life.” He winked again. “I bet there are plenty of things you don’t know about me.”
“I don’t really know anything about you,” I said.
“That’s a relief,” he said. “It can get tiresome, talking to strangers who think they know you inside and out because of what they’ve read about you on the internet. Anyway, Elinor and I have been married for thirteen years. Alas, we have no children. She is my third and last wife. The previous two were short-term mistakes.”
We started to eat. My salmon was perfectly prepared and as tasty as it looked. As was the medley of three kinds of squash.
“This is fantastic. Here, have a taste.” Charlie held out a forkful of filet mignon.
He was right. “Excellent. Dylan and I will have to come here one night. I don’t know why we never have before.”
I offered Charlie a bite of my salmon, which he devoured with gusto. “Another winner, for sure.”
A sudden noise startled me and brought all nearby conversation to a halt. My mother was on her feet, having knocked over her chair. Her face burned red with rage. “At least have the courtesy to answer me when I ask you a question.”
Tom’s response was too low for me to hear, but whatever he said only infuriated her further.
People were staring, but my mother ignored them. I suddenly remembered how she’d yell at Jordan or me when she was angry at us, not caring if we were in a store or some other public place.
“Don’t tell me you’re discussing the movie. This is about making a play for your old girlfriend. The same girlfriend who dumped you years ago.”
There was a communal intake of breath.
“This is better than live theatre,” Charlie whispered in my ear.
“Please, Brianna, you’re blowing this all out of proportion,” Tom said, as he placed his hand on my mother’s arm.
She brushed his hand aside. My mouth fell open as she picked up her water glass and tossed its contents against his chest. “Oh!” she said, as if surprised by her own actions, then ran out of the room.
I’d started to get up when I felt Charlie’s hand on my shoulder. “Let them settle it themselves,” he said.
“You’re right.” I was relieved that Tom had followed my mother out.
I glanced up to see how Ilana was reacting to the scene she had helped bring about. She seemed oblivious to the stares and whispers as she tossed back her blonde mane and asked the waitress to refill her wineglass.
Order in the dining room was restored and people returned to their meals and conversations, though I was sure most of the conversations now revolved around what had just taken place. Our waitress cleared our plates. Ilana’s had hardly been touched. Dirk came over to talk to her, perching on the edge of the chair Tom had so recently vacated. She pursed her lips, displeased by what he was saying. Still, she stood and followed him out of the dining room.
“What’s Ilana like?” I asked Charlie as our waitress filled our coffee cups.
Charlie laughed. “What you see is what you get. Ilana is a terrific actress—on stage, in films, and in life. She loves men and we love her—at least for a while. Most of all, she loves drama of the sort you just witnessed.”
“I know she and Tom were engaged once. But that ended years ago. Now Tom’s married. To my mother.”
Charlie shrugged. “All men are fair game to our fair Ilana, especially her former lovers. She started in on Tom the first night we all met for dinner. I think he was shocked at first, then flattered. And now he’s hooked.”
“Oh no! Until Tom got a part in this movie, he and my mother were in a good place.”
“And perhaps they will be again. Ah, here comes our dessert. I can’t wait to taste the molten chocolate cake. It’s one of my favorites.”
Serving dessert must have been the signal that the other diners could descend on the movie people, and descend they did. Soon I was surrounded by fans waiting their turn to talk to Charlie. I quickly finished my cake and waved good-bye to him. I stopped by Liane’s table to thank her for inviting me, and then Uncle Bosco beckoned me over.
“What in tarnation made your mother mad enough to storm out of here like a tornado?”
I grimaced. “She was angry at Tom for fawning over Ilana Reingold and acting like she wasn’t there.”
Uncle Bosco shook his head. “That woman never fails to make a spectacle of herself. One of these days she’ll find herself in serious trouble, and it will be her own doing.”