Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) (7 page)

“I could have sworn he lived here for—” began Don.

“Aha! Of course you could have!” said Malcolm. “That’s the whole idea.”

Malcolm stopped for air and when he had taken a breath, threw back another shot, replaced his glass on the bar, and signaled for another pour.

“Herman ended up in Los Angeles and went from bit part to bit part, occasionally doing stand-up in strip joints or opening for singers. The singers who went on to bigger and better things immediately got better opening acts. Then Lucky’s big break came along. He got cast as a has-been comic on the
Love Boat
. Lucky fed the publicist on the show a lot of guff about his once-promising career, the guy wrote it up, and Lucky started believing he really had been somebody and decided to stage a comeback.”

“From where?” asked Francis.

“Exactly,” said Malcolm. “He needed a biography that was just truthful enough to pass while he rebuilt his image as a small-town boy with big dreams who could have had it all, but for a few wrong turns and bad breaks. His bio mentioned lots of big names in lists with his, but never actually said he’d worked with them. It stopped just short of saying he wrote for Milton Berle and Red Skelton when he was barely out of his nappies. It implied, though, that he had studied at the feet of the masters and could have been a contender.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Jane. “Makes more sense that Lucky would surround himself with young writers who believed the bio and wrote for the character he created.”

“True,” said Malcolm, nodding.

Jane felt the lightbulb switch on over her head “You wrote it. You created the bio. You’re—”

“Dr. Frankenstein, at your service.”

“I am so lost,” said Francis. “Lucky did horror movies, too?”

“May I buy you a drink, sir?” Malcolm asked, patting Francis on the shoulder. “It is Lucky Miller fans such as yourself that make my job so rewarding.”

5

Nellie emerged from the kitchen immediately after Malcolm’s cab arrived to take him back to the Lucky Miller Motel—actually the B-Back-Inn south of town, renamed in honor of Lucky Miller week.

“You believe that guy?” asked Nellie.

Jane shrugged. What was not to believe? She had watched him drink four shots of whiskey and who knows how many he had downed before that? Why would he claim to write the official fake bio of Lucky Miller? Not exactly like claiming screenwriting credit for
Chinatown
.

“Don’t you?” Jane countered.

“Few holes in the story, that’s all,” said Nellie with a shrug. “Besides, the guy’s a lush. And—” Nellie dragged out the syllable for effect—“he had an English accent.”

“Yeah, Nellie’s right. He did talk a little funny,” said Francis.

Nellie nodded and looked Jane in the eye.

“There’s something else that doesn’t add up,” said Nellie.

Don had finished giving Carl the instructions for the night, taken most of the cash out of the register, and told the bartender he could lock up early if there were no customers at eleven. Carl nodded, not a word waster, and dragged a bar stool behind the bar so he could perch comfortably and face the television between drawing beers and pouring shots.

Jane had offered to treat her parents to dinner out to celebrate the selling of her house, even though she wasn’t sure how much she felt like celebrating.

“Okay, Mom, I’ll bite. What doesn’t add up?” said Jane, grabbing her purse and keys. “Wait, I know.… Where’s the money coming from? If he wasn’t ever a success, how can he finance a comeback … or who’s interested in financing a comeback for a has-been who’s really a never-was?”

“Now you’re talking like a detective,” said Nellie, flicking off the light in the kitchen. “No sandwiches, Carl. Don’t make any food for anybody. I don’t want to have to clean up the kitchen in the morning,”

Carl nodded without taking his eyes off the television set. He had worked for Don and Nellie as their night bartender for over thirty years. He had heard the same instructions thousands of times. He had quit at least fifty times. Don had fired him at least twenty times. Nellie had fired him over one hundred times. No matter who fired who or who quit, Carl always showed up shuffling through the back door around six every evening.

Jane pulled up in front of Mack’s Café and suggested they get a hamburger and a milk shake. She had wanted another milk shake from Mack’s as soon as she finished the first one.

“What the hell, Janie? Mack hasn’t been open in twenty years,” said Don, pointing to the darkened interior of the storefront.

“It was open this afternoon … something for the Lucky Miller show. The sign said
OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
It was filled with writers working and they had a waitress in there doing a fifties shtick. The milk shake was great. And it was Mack’s grandson running the place.”

“Got to cost a lot of cash to reopen a place like that and get it all back up to pretty and polished,” said Nellie. “Follow the money, Janie.”

Nellie had her face pressed against the car window, staring into Mack’s Café window. Without turning to look at either Don or Jane, Nellie added, her breath fogging up the window glass, “Besides, you see how Hermie caved in on himself when I said Dickie Boynton’s name? Something fishy going on with that guy and all the money he’s tossing around town. Or,” she added, “pretending to toss around.”

Jane nodded, then realized she was agreeing with some kind of conspiracy theory of Nellie’s that she didn’t even get. What was wrong with turning Kankakee into a soundstage for a week or so? Even if Lucky was overspending his producer’s money, it was still going into pockets in Kankakee, and a lot of those pockets could use filling. Jane also suspected that L.A. or Vegas money, even the amount earned by a B-list comedian like Lucky Miller, went a long way in Kankakee, Illinois, in terms of rent and housing and production costs.

Jane and her dad got her mother to agree to dinner at the Steak and Brew. Nellie thought it was too nice a place for a Wednesday. Besides, when they ate at a tablecloth restaurant, Don always ordered a martini and Nellie didn’t approve. But Jane decided that selling one’s house in this economy for asking price plus was worth the judgmental stares of Nellie. Jane ordered a martini, too.

“What’s he got? A radar chip in you?” said Nellie, counting the pieces of celery in the relish tray and comparing it to the one on the next table over.

Jane raised her hands in surrender.

Gesturing with a nod of her head, Nellie muttered, “Lowry.”

Tim walked directly over to their table and pulled up a chair without being asked.

“Steak and Brew on a Wednesday, eh? Pretty fancy.”

“I told you we shouldn’t come here,” said Nellie, putting the menu in front of her face.

“Carl told me he overheard Janie saying she wanted to eat at S and B,” said Tim. He called over the waitress, ordered a gin and tonic and asked for a menu.

“Why don’t you just make yourself at home and join us, Lowry?” said Nellie.

“Thanks for asking. How about if I order some appetizers for the table?”

Jane wished she knew if Tim chose to ignore Nellie’s sarcasm or if it truly went over his head.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Nellie, trying to slink under the table. “Who do you think we are? The king and queen or something?”

“Hot artichoke dip does not a princess make, Nellie,” said Tim. “Besides, the dinners take a while and I am starving. And”—he added putting down the menu—“I’ve got some good news to share with you, my lovely adopted family.”

“What’s up, Timmy?” asked Don, savoring his second olive.

“Don’t
we
have to
agree
to adopt
you
?” asked Nellie.

Tim spread out four bright yellow rectangles on the table. Then, with a flourish, he laid down four more, almost identical, although these were a bright green.

“Who else would I share these with, if not my adoptive family?” asked Tim, his smile at about seventy-five watts and growing.

Don picked up the yellow rectangle, which Jane realized was a ticket, and read aloud, “VIP seating for the preview show/dress rehearsal.” He then picked up a green ticket and in a slightly louder voice read, “VIP seating for
LUCKY GETS ROASTED.
”

Don clapped Tim on the shoulder. “How did you manage this? I didn’t think even you would be able to get VIP seating for either one of these, but to get both?”

While Nellie asked the waitress just how well done she could assure her that her steak could be cooked, Tim explained to Jane that the seating in the converted factory was going to be limited and the audience would be made up of Kankakee movers and shakers like the mayor and editor of the newspaper and the Kankakee merchants who had won Lucky Miller competitions. In other words, if Don or Nellie won the Lucky Duck drink contest, one of them would get two tickets to the event—either the dress rehearsal or the actual taping.

Tim’s floral arrangements had been much appreciated by the hotel that was hosting a dinner tonight in Lucky’s honor. Because the flowers had been a last-minute order and Lucky’s staff had absolutely loved them, preview tickets were bestowed upon Tim and four tickets to the actual roast were given to the party planner who had an out-of-town wedding next week and couldn’t make the show.

“Did you notice the little lucky charms I put on the bouquets?” asked Tim. Not waiting for Jane’s nod, Tim turned to Don and Nellie.

“Seems like Lucky is really superstitious and for some reason, all of those little tokens like rabbits’ feet and lucky pennies and four-leaf clovers, horseshoes, all that crap really rang the bell for him. He made a big deal, said whoever thought of that was going to get a big raise and the party planner pointed to Lucky’s assistant, Brenda, who had hired him and said it had all been her idea, thinking Brenda would be able to get him more work, would make a good contact if he ever made it out to California and so she comes out smelling like a rose and lays these tickets on us.” Tim finally stopped for a breath and took a big sip of his drink.

“I’m good at four-leaf clovers,” said Nellie.

“She is,” said Don. He pointed at his empty martini glass and the waitress nodded. Nellie snorted and shook her head. “Oh come on, Nellie, we’re celebrating.”

Nellie bent over, digging for something in her purse. Don’s second martini arrived along with appetizers and for a moment all was quiet, except for the gentle sighing that went along with people being served just the right thing at just the right time.

After trying one cracker thickly smeared with the warm dip Nellie declared too salty, she slapped down one small piece of waxed paper in front of Jane on her right and one small square in front of Tim on her left.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” said Nellie.

Jane picked up the square and held it close. Pressed between the two pieces was a real four-leaf clover. Tim had one, too, although his was slightly smaller.

“I find them all the time.”

“It’s true,” said Don. “We go out to work in the yard and before I mow, your mother goes through the grass on her hands and knees and finds three or four of these every time.”

Jane was used to odd statements and off-the-wall predictions and declarations from her mother. Nellie had always had her peculiar catchphrases—her “I knew that was going to happens”—but this was the first she had heard of her mother’s ability to find four-leaf clovers.

“It’s like having a truffle pig or something,” said Jane, finishing up her drink.

“A what?” said Nellie.

“A highly trained specialist who can find rare things,” said Jane.

Nellie stared her down. “Better be respectful, Jane, because if I can give you good luck, I can take it back, too.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean that as an insult. Truffles are special and—”

“Forget it, I don’t really give a damn. Eat your dinner and let’s get the hell out of here because I’ve got more to say about this good luck and bad luck business.”

Jane looked over at Tim, who was cutting into a steak and chatting with Don about gin martinis versus vodka martinis. She wanted to ask him about the errant moving truck, what he had heard,
if
he had heard. She thought about her stuff, boxes and boxes of random finds, taking a road trip through the Midwest. What were the odds that these boxes, the old wooden trunks, the cardboard wardrobes, the vintage suitcases would make it back to her? Dropoffs, pickups, changes of drivers would all contribute to chaos. And she hadn’t even labeled all of the boxes that well. Why did she have to? It was going to be one load, traveling one and a half hours south and being met by its godfather, Tim Lowry. These were the objects Jane had collected and curated for years, ever since she began picking up the oddball find in college. Now her treasure trove was circling around a five-state area, alone and unprotected. Jane felt oddly light and slightly dizzy. She was positive the second martini she ordered had nothing to do with it.

Tim ordered an after-dinner drink, which set Nellie off on a lecture that had something to do with overdrinking, overspending, showing off, and taking a table in a busy restaurant for too much time.

“People waiting in the bar want to sit down, too, Lowry. We had our turn.”

“Our waitress is delighted that we’re here and continuing to spend money, Nellie. This will be her biggest tab all night. Plus,” he added, “I’m a big tipper.”

“I’m treating tonight,” said Jane. “Celebrating the house sale.”

“Yeah, but I owe you after my screwup and I’m buying tonight,” said Tim, as the waitress set down his brandy.

“Let me see that dessert menu again,” said Nellie.

Don asked for more coffee as did Jane, and they settled in to wait for Nellie’s hot fudge sundae to arrive.

“Why are there so many people here so late on a Wednesday?” asked Don.

“This is what time people eat,” said Tim.

“Not in Kankakee,” said Don and Jane at the same time.

“But it is in L.A. or Las Vegas or wherever all these writers and production people are from,” said Tim.

Jane looked around. Tim’s observations were correct. These were non-Kankakeeans ordering multiple drinks, specifying brands of vodka and gin, people who requested wine lists and ordered two shrimp cocktails instead of an entrée. Waitresses were confused, but delighted. The bartender looked like he needed to call for backup. Jane was about to tell Tim that he was right about the clientele but wrong about their own tab being the priciest. Records might be set at the Steak and Brew tonight.