Fading Starlight Part 4

Tea in hand, she wrapped up in a quilt and sat down on the sofa with her Bible and journal. Now was the time to tell the absolute truth-to herself and to G.o.d. But where did she want to start? She finally scratched out her first line. I like it here, even in the draft, even in the cold. No one can see me here. There's no one to laugh at me.

She shook her head and closed the journal. Feeling sorry for herself on paper wasn't going to help anything. She picked up her Bible and dropped to her knees, then fell forward on her face and just poured out what was inside her. "G.o.d, help me. Lead me. Use me. Don't let this time be wasted, whatever Your purpose." She turned randomly to the book of Philippians and read. I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to all the rest that my imprisonment is for Christ. And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear. Those verses gave her pause. Most people would not think of prison as a great thing to advance the kingdom of G.o.d.

How could G.o.d use Marisa's wardrobe malfunction to advance His kingdom? Lauren didn't know the answer to that one, but she did believe He was in ultimate control of everything and He did have a plan. It was hard to fathom how what had happened could possibly be a good thing for anyone, though. She read a little more, then decided to walk down to the beach and pray. Maybe standing on the sh.o.r.e, where she could clearly see G.o.d's majesty on display, she would find the answers she sought. She pulled on a knit cap and gloves and picked up her tea.

As she made her way down the steep stairway to the sh.o.r.e, she continued to mull over her dream. There was a vague idea in the back of her mind that maybe this Charlotte Montgomery might be the person who needed her help-the way Aunt Nell had needed help-and it was up to Lauren to find a way to get to her. That hardly seemed likely, though, did it? "Well, G.o.d, if that's what You want me to do, then You're going to have to make it obvious and make a way for it to happen, because it doesn't make sense to me, and I don't want to get a tongue-las.h.i.+ng every day unless You are behind it somehow." She dug her toes into the sand and looked out over the ocean, wondering what the plan for her life could possibly be. Nothing seemed certain anymore.

It was over an hour later when she began the climb back up along the sea wall and toward the cottage. She had not in any way "felt" G.o.d's presence as she'd hoped to, but she did somehow feel just a wee bit stronger. She would fight the good fight. Give it her all. She just wasn't sure what her fight might lead her to.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket as she was reaching the top of the cliff. When she pulled it out, she noticed a couple of missed calls from the same unidentified number. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Good morning, Miss Summers, it's Sam here at the gate. Got your contractor here, and I wanted to make sure you are home and expecting him."

"Oh, well, yes . . . he's a little earlier than expected, but yes . . . I'm walking up from the beach now. Send him on back."

When she reached the cul-de-sac, she saw a white work truck pulling into her driveway. She looked at her watch in alarm. 7:45. No, she wasn't late. The contractor was supposed to meet her here at 8:30. She made her way to the cottage and found him on his knees beside the broken porch step. He saw her coming and immediately stood up and extended his hand. "You must be Lauren. I'm Derek Allen." He was in his late forties, slightly heavyset, wearing Carhartt pants, a Carhartt jacket, and a faded yellow baseball cap with an embroidered bee and the word b.u.mblebees on the front and Coach Derek in white thread on the side.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Lauren shook his hand.

He made a dismissive gesture. "Not your fault at all, I'm almost an hour early. It's just that my daughter left this morning for sixth grade camp. We had to meet at the school at six. I got her sent off, went and got some breakfast, made a stop at the hardware store, and I couldn't think of even one more thing to do to kill time, so I thought I'd take a chance and drive on out here."

"Sixth grade camp, huh? Where are they going?"

"Catalina Island Science Camp. Doesn't seem quite fair to me because I've never been to Catalina myself, and believe me, I'd love to go. But now all three of my kids will have spent a week there. What I want to know is, when do we get parents' camp?"

"Sounds like a reasonable question." She immediately knew she and Derek were going to get along just fine.

"This step is rotted out, obviously." He gestured toward it. "I suspect there's dry rot in a lot of this front porch. We'll replace it ASAP-don't want anyone falling through on my watch."

"I appreciate that."

"And I've got the roofing crew starting this morning. They should be here by nine."

"Perfect. Remember that I have a meeting this afternoon. I'm sorry to disrupt your flow like this, but today couldn't be helped."

"Not a problem. We understood the situation when we signed up for the job, and everyone is going to work around your schedule as best they can. Don't you worry about a thing. It's a real treat to get to work in such a beautiful area."

An hour later there was a trio of men up on the roof, ripping off s.h.i.+ngles at an impressive rate. Derek was inside the cottage cutting out parts of the ceiling that clearly needed to be replaced, sending white dust flying all across the room. It was going to be a challenge to find a clean place to do her work for the next few weeks, that much was clear.

Later that afternoon, Lauren pulled into the high school parking lot. The brand-new theater was the only building on campus taller than a single story, so it was easy enough to find. The words Ralph Edwards Performing Arts Center were lettered across the top of the building. Ralph Edwards? Only at that moment did Lauren begin to realize exactly how much of a theater booster the Edwards family was.

The side door was unlocked, just as she'd been told it would be, and she made her way down the gla.s.s-block-lined outer hallway until she came to the backstage area. She turned the corner to find a tall, painfully thin man flipping through a stack of papers.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm looking for Mr. Rivers?"

He set the papers by his feet, smiled, and walked toward her. "I'm Theodore Rivers." He looked to be in his early thirties, he had thinning red-brown hair, and his skin was so pale it appeared he never stepped outside into the California suns.h.i.+ne. He wore the serious, rectangular black gla.s.ses that seemed to be in favor among the artsy crowd these days. "So pleased to meet you." His handshake was warmer and firmer than she would have guessed. "I can't tell you how important this play is to our school. We are being considered as one of the fifteen schools nationwide that will be allowed to premiere the theatrical version of Disney's latest movie-to-theater extravaganza. Our fall production will be one of the deciding factors as to whether or not we are chosen."

"Sounds amazing. I'm glad to be a part of it."

"I'm glad to have someone with your talent and experience."

Lauren felt her face heat. She had been up-front about her most recent endeavors. "Most of my experience, anyway."

He smiled and shook his head. "We all make mistakes, all have our own version of a complete disaster somewhere back in our careers. Some of us have it in more public ways than others, that's all."

"I definitely got the public part."

"Yes, you did." He laughed. "Remind me sometime to tell you about my time on Broadway. I have a story or two of my own, but that's for another day. Come back here and let me show you what we've got on hand."

A loud bell rang, and soon teenage voices filled the outer edge of the auditorium with laughter, shouts, and giggles. Theodore Rivers ignored them and led her toward the back corner of the stage, where there were several rolling racks of costumes and random pieces such as pirate hats, feather boas, satin jackets, and prairie dresses. He gestured toward the clutter. "Our budget is a bit higher than usual. One of the parents this year has donated a nice sum to be used for costuming and staging, and she is friendly with the owner of one of the large fabric shops down in the Fas.h.i.+on District in LA and has finagled us a discount. Some things we have on hand, obviously, but especially when it comes to the scenes with Guinevere, I really want her to s.h.i.+ne. I don't want it to be the usual a.s.sortment of moth-eaten, reused hand-me-downs that we usually see in high school plays."

As more and more kids entered the auditorium, it was getting increasingly difficult to hear him. He finally turned toward the front and shouted, "Quiet, everyone! I'll be with you in just a moment. I need you all to take a seat and keep the racket to a minimum in the meanwhile."

Lauren looked up to see a group of girls staring at her and whispering. They turned the other direction as soon as she glanced their way.

Theodore focused his attention back toward Lauren, gesturing toward the racks. "We have several old gowns that might work, but the truth is, they are all worn out. The men's jackets are falling apart, and it is imperative that everything about this show be top-notch."

She nodded. "I will do my absolute best for you. I love working with old-fas.h.i.+oned costumes." She walked the length of one of the racks, stopping at a brown satin dress with faux fur trim. She picked it up and turned it around. "This is rather nice. With just a bit of freshening up, it should be usable."

He nodded. "Agreed. It is probably the nicest piece we have. There are a couple more pieces over here." He led her around to another row and pulled out a green dress. It was worn, with a significant amount of fraying at the hemline, but Lauren felt it had potential.

"We could turn up the hem a bit and make this usable, I think." Then a cobalt-blue fabric caught her eye. She reached for it and picked up a crushed-velvet dress with white spatters all over the sleeves and a large white blob at the bottom.

"I'm afraid there was an accident with that gown a few years back. One of the props fell over, the paint can was sitting on top of it, and well, this is what we got." He sighed. "These things happen. My wife talked me into not completely tras.h.i.+ng it, saying the fabric might be useful someday."

Lauren turned it around. "This fabric is still in wonderful condition, and it would be a shame not to use it. I'll see what I can come up with."

"Whatever you can salvage would be great. I can't tell you what a relief it is to have this part of it off my hands. We're in the final callbacks for tryouts right now, and then we are going to be moving forward at lightning pace. You will, of course, have the student costume crew, and they will be able to help you with some sewing and mending."

Lauren nodded. "I was on the costume crew back in my high school days. I will enjoy the chance to work with them." In fact, she'd been the head seamstress for every show her high school had done during her years there, but there was no reason to say so-hopefully her work would speak for itself. She intended to make certain it would.

The bell rang again, signaling the beginning of the period, Lauren supposed.

"Well, that's it, then," Theodore told her. "Feel free to look around and see what we have that you might need. I've got to get back to auditions." He turned to walk away. "Our cast should be fully a.s.sembled by the end of the week. You'll be able to figure out what fits who and get measurements then."

"When do I officially get started?"

"Yesterday. I want you to start getting your ideas together. I'm particularly concerned about the wedding dress and Arthur's wedding jacket. They need to be superb."

Wedding dress.

Lauren felt a little rush at the idea of designing another wedding dress. And it would be the old-fas.h.i.+oned, glamorous kind she'd always loved. While she might not be making much in the way of money with this job, there wasn't a single thing she could think of that she'd rather do. These kids were going to get her very best. "I'll get to work on some sketches right away."

"I look forward to seeing them."

Theodore Rivers went to the front of the stage. "Okay, everyone, we've got lots to do."

Lauren walked down each of the three racks of clothes, pulling out the occasional garment and turning it over in her hands. She slid the clothes away from one edge and began to form three distinct groupings. Things they could use with minimal modification, which she would leave to the crew. Things that might work if she got really creative with repairs. And things that needed to be trashed but that she would keep, in case things got desperate. The latter group far exceeded the rest, and she realized then just how much work she had before her.

As she was walking out of the auditorium, she noticed the group of girls looking toward her again. She heard one of them say, "If she's doing costumes then we're all in trouble. Better stop eating carbs and start training a lot harder, because the whole school will be checking us out pretty soon."

"Maybe that'll help me get a date to the winter formal."

They all were laughing as the door closed behind her.

Maybe she wasn't going to be quite as hidden here as she had hoped.

seven.

Charlotte watched the small blue SUV pull into the cottage's driveway. That girl was trouble, no doubt about it. She drove in and out of the neighborhood all the time. If she was truly here for the peace and quiet she supposedly needed, why did she feel the need to run around so much?

The girl walked around to the back of her car and pulled out . . . what appeared to be . . . they were gowns! One was a bright blue, the other brown. Looked like there was fur on the brown one. What in the world was she up to?

"I brought your afternoon tea." Frances's voice came from somewhere behind her.

"That girl across the street. She is removing evening gowns from her car. Does she think that she is going to sell those to me, is that what she was planning when she moved here? Ridiculous. Where's the phone? I'm calling Neil Winston right now, because this type of thing will not be tolerated."

Frances set the tea tray on the table beside her. "I believe that those are theater costumes, ma'am."

"Theater costumes?" Charlotte looked up at her housekeeper, furious that she had not been apprised of this information before now. "She's from Hollywood? How dare Neil Winston not let me know this-"

"No, they are costumes from the local high school."

"What?"

"From what I understand, she is doing the costumes for their upcoming production of Camelot. I believe that's how she came to live in the Edwardses' place. They are big supporters of the theater here, you know."

"Hmmph. We'll just see about that. There is more to this story, and I know it, and I am going to get to the bottom of it. I do not like this. I don't like it one little bit."

After the construction workers left for the day on Wednesday, Lauren drove into town. She'd spent most of the past two days shut in the little cottage, repairing costumes to the incessant thrum of saws and hammers and inhaling more dust than she cared to think about. Derek had very graciously made her a sort of thick plastic tent to encase the living room-which was also her workroom and bedroom for the next week or so. It kept the dust to a minimum in that area. The men all took great care to leave everything clean each night so that the place was usable after they were gone. Still, she didn't want to pull out her sewing machine or any of the nicer garments until this part of the work was over.

As of that afternoon, she had finished most of the preliminary work. Since the cast list wouldn't be finalized until Friday, she vowed to spend tomorrow working in the cottage's yard. To begin with, she'd plant a few things around the fence line, the one area of the yard that was not currently being trampled by workers coming and going.

At the nursery, she made her way through the rows of seasonal vegetation. She hadn't heard back from Kendall and was desperate to hear about any new developments in regard to Marisa. She pulled Kendall's card out of her wallet and punched the number into her phone.

"Hi, Kendall. It's Lauren Summers. We haven't spoken since the other day, and I wanted to check in."

"I'm so glad you did. I've been following some leads on my end that are looking quite fruitful."

"Really?"

"Really. For instance, did you see the pictures on the front page of yesterday's tabloids, showing Marisa in a teeny little bikini?"

"I haven't seen the tabloids, but I did read something about it online. Those pictures were sneaked over a backyard fence, right? Why are the paparazzi allowed to do that? It seems so wrong."

"I might agree with you . . . except . . . maybe not in this particular case. How is it, do you think, that a photographer just happened to be there at the right time to catch Marisa in next to nothing?"

"You're saying it was planned?"

"You've seen that girl's ivory skin, and you know how they are with her. They protect her from UV rays like she's the Mona Lisa. The only tan she's ever had in her life is a spray tan. Now, all of a sudden, she gets the urge to lie around and sunbathe on the pool deck, and a photographer just happens to be there? Of course it was planned."

"Surely not."

"Don't be so gullible. And it's not just a theory. I have it on good authority that the photographer was tipped off by someone deep on the inside."

"Like Marisa herself?"

"It's pretty clear she was the ringleader, I'll put it that way."

The row of petunias blurred. How dare Marisa, how dare she do this? If she set up the wardrobe debacle, then she likely set up the photographs, too. At least the bikini photo wasn't hurting anyone else. If she had indeed set up the wardrobe incident, she had to have known that it would ruin Lauren's entire career. Did the girl not think of anyone other than herself?

"So, you're getting closer to proving"-Lauren looked around to make certain no one else was nearby, then intentionally walked toward the corner of the yard for increased privacy-"that the other thing might have been intentional?"

"There is a very good chance that I will be able to confirm just that, but I can't say with utter certainty yet. There is a photo that I'm trying to get my hands on that should prove very helpful." She paused for a long time, as if expecting Lauren to respond. Finally she said, "How about you? Have you seen your reclusive neighbor again?"

"No, just that once."

"You said she's not exactly warm and fuzzy. Did you actually interact with her?"

"More like she interacted with me. She reminded me of the neighborhood privacy policy and basically told me to move along and quit looking her way."

"Neighborhood . . . privacy . . . pol-i-cy . . ." Kendall said each word slowly, as if she were writing them down on a piece of paper. "What was she wearing again?"

"I couldn't really see much about it."

"What could you see? I'm not asking for personal information or anything, just background information. These kinds of details merely provide depth and texture to the final story."

She did have a point. It was just conversation, that's all. Background information. "It was a blue evening gown. Looked vintage, but I was a fair distance away."

"That sounds right. Rumor is that she dresses for dinner every night, always in her antique gowns from the old days. Anything else you can tell me about what she was wearing?"

"Not really."

"Well, that's too bad. Keep your eyes open there, and I'll keep my ears open here, and hopefully the next time we talk, we'll have some new and helpful information for each other. Don't you think?"

"I hope so."

"So do I, Lauren. So do I."