Jinxed by Kathryn Leigh Scott

Author:Kathryn Leigh Scott [Scott, Kathryn Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780986245916
Publisher: Cumberland Press
Published: 2019-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Instead of returning to Donna’s house, I pull into a shady space up the street from Holmby Park. In my present frugal circumstances, I can’t afford to aimlessly drive around using up precious gas I’ll need for the trip to the beach and back with Jack this evening. I’m reminded of my salad days as a young actress in New York, choosing to walk rather than squander a subway token. I’m again counting my nickels and praying a good-paying job will come along so I can afford a roof over my head.

The reboot of Holiday could provide a regular paycheck if I snag a recurring role in the series. I hope that filling in for Chelsea at the table read inspires Ed Ackerman to think of me as more than her coach and hat wrangler. As it is, my present gig could end if Chelsea doesn’t return soon, an added incentive to track her down.

I sling my bag onto my shoulder, lock up and amble over to Holmby Park. On my way, I pass the spot where I saw Chelsea wriggling her bottom while talking to the guy in the red convertible. It occurs to me that during the interview with the detectives I somehow neglected to mention either Chelsea’s bartender boyfriend or my happy hour encounter with Elaine at Gilligan’s. I’m curious to know if Jeremy got in touch with the police after hearing about Elaine’s death. If he did, Detective Yarrow will probably wonder why I didn’t bring up my visit to Gilligan’s. Oddly enough, it simply didn’t come to mind.

I sit on one of the shaded benches just past the putting green and punch up the number for Gilligan’s on my cellphone. After several rings, someone answers and I ask for Jeremy. I’m told he’ll be in later.

I look across to the far side of the park where large red cones strung with yellow tape surround the broken fire hydrant, the bright colors giving an air of festivity to the grim scene of Elaine’s murder. Cello-wrapped bouquets of flowers, balloons and candles in tall jars rest against the curb. Traffic slows as one car after another passes slowly by, invariably with someone leaning out a window to aim a cellphone camera at the makeshift shrine.

I watch for a few minutes, then walk across the park to take a closer look at the offerings. Are these tributes from friends, fans or just kind strangers saddened by a shocking act of violence? I flash on the unlikely possibility that whoever killed her might’ve left a brazen, perhaps even remorseful note that could provide a clue. I sprint across the street, dodging a slow-moving car full of looky-loos.

Stooping down to read the messages, some hastily scrawled on the backs of envelopes and tucked under candles, I make a show of rearranging bouquets for the benefit of anyone observing me as they drive by.

As it turns out, someone does recognize me and calls my name. I turn around and see Corky Shaw, camera in hand, hanging out the window of a car driven by his mother, Julia.

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