Fading Starlight Part 2

"Lauren Summers."

He didn't bother to look at anything, he simply nodded. "Yes, we've been expecting you. May I see some ID?"

"Sure." She dug through her purse and found her wallet, then pulled out her license.

He looked at it, looked back at Lauren, and nodded once. "Welcome to the neighborhood. We'll all recognize you and your car soon enough, so you won't have to stop here every time. I'm sure Mr. Edwards explained to you that this is an area where the residents value their privacy."

"Yes, I understand." In fact, Lauren had been given quite a list of rules. She was discouraged from having visitors at her cottage at all, but a few allowances might be made with advanced written notice and the approval of the neighborhood manager. It sounded like it would just be simpler to meet anyone she wanted to see in town-which seemed to be the point of the rules, anyway. "This is my first time in the area. It's the second one on the right, is that correct?" Looking ahead, she could see no sign of houses at all, only a treelined country lane that seemed in need of repair.

"Yes, it is. Just around the curve up ahead. I hope you like it here. My name's Sam, by the way, if you need anything." He offered a little salute, then opened the gate.

There were potholes every few feet, and the edges of the road were crumbling into the adjacent dirt. A dense thicket of ancient oak trees loomed ahead, creating a canopy all around. In her rearview mirror, a cloud of dust billowed up behind her. Not the right home for a clean-car enthusiast, that much was sure.

After she rounded the left-hand curve and then another to the right, the first homes came into view. A large Tudor-style house on the right was offset from the large Mediterranean on the left, so that they didn't directly face each other. The Mediterranean was oceanside, although the blue water in the distance was well beneath this lane. Lauren felt hope begin to swell up inside her. This place was wonderful. She could still hear Rhonda's voice from last night. "Once you get into your own little quiet, secluded s.p.a.ce, you need to spend some time and really go deep. Dig into the scriptures, pray, write in your journal. Most of life's distractions will be a nonissue when you're off on your own like that. This time is just what you need to emerge a stronger and deeper woman. A woman that G.o.d can use in a mighty way."

It seemed, as usual, that Rhonda was correct. This would be a wonderful place to relax and recharge and figure out some way to start rebuilding her career, which at this point was further back than when she'd first started. It was going to be a long climb.

When Lauren approached the second right-hand driveway, she could see a dust-covered white Lexus parked there. She pulled up behind it and looked toward the cottage in question. She simply sat in the driver's seat and took a deep breath. "It needs some work" had been an understatement.

Just then the screen door screeched open, hanging by the bottom hinge only and leaning at a precarious angle. A sixty-ish-year-old man in a gray suit walked toward her and extended his hand. "Lauren Summers?"

"Yes." She shook his offered hand.

"Ralph Edwards, nice to meet you." He gestured toward the cottage, which once had been a tiny, Craftsman-style-meets-surf-shack structure but now was mostly just a shack. In fact, it looked as if a strong wind might topple it. The pale gray paint was peeling in sheets, and the white shutters were peeling and moldy looking. The front porch ran the entire width of the house-which was not wide at all-and had a broken wooden step in the middle. In spite of the run-down condition, it was still adorable. Charming, even. One of those kinds of places that people drive by on vacation and stop to take a picture of just because they're so lovely. Rustic, they would call it, just before they kept driving.

"Why don't you come inside and check it out?" Ralph said.

Lauren nodded. "Thank you." She followed him inside, taking care to avoid the broken step. Once she entered, she held her breath and looked around.

"Sorry about the dust. No one has been here in several years."

The dust was indeed thick on everything. There was a combination kitchenette and living room as she first entered. Lime scale ran down the back of the sink, grime of an indeterminate nature stuck to the floors, and every bit of the upholstery looked as if it had gone through a dust storm that would have taken down John Wayne.

"We've had a little water leak in the bedroom," he said as he led her through the door to the back room, where a large portion of the ceiling was yellowed in a circular blob. "I'm afraid it's going to be a bit of a mess here until we get the new roof on and the rain damage repaired. You'll probably do best to sleep in the living room until they get this fixed."

"Don't worry. That will be fine with me. I'm happy and privileged to be here." And the truth was, there was a lot of good to be thankful for here. She had a place to live, out of the limelight and close enough to the ocean cliffs that she could hear the waves breaking from inside the cottage. She would take none of this for granted.

He nodded absentmindedly, as if he expected nothing less. "Listen, here's the deal. Our family has always supported the theater department at the local high school, and I have arranged all this as a favor to Theodore Rivers." He looked around and rubbed the back of his neck. "And it's a favor to me, as well. We've received several official notices that we need to get this place fixed up because neighborhood rules require a certain amount of upkeep. Those same rules, however, do not allow workers in a home unless a resident is present-and since we live on the far side of town, almost an hour away from here, that's not particularly workable for us. So, you need to be here when the workers are on-site."

He put his hand on a tattered window shade. "They'll be replacing the roof, the front porch, the bedroom ceiling, and some plumbing fixtures, but other than the exterior paint, not so much in the way of aesthetics. Feel free to do whatever you want to the interior of the place to make it more livable-paint, upholstery cleaning, new blinds, whatever-and I will reimburse you for the supplies if you keep the receipts."

"Do you want me to get your approval on colors and things?"

He shook his head. "Anything you do at this point can only be an improvement. No one has lived here in twenty years. I'm thinking of putting the place on the market soon, I'm just not sure I have the time to deal with all the ha.s.sle it would involve." He turned on the faucet, which sputtered a bit but then spit out a decent stream of water. "I had the utilities turned back on this week, just to be certain everything was in working order. You'll need to get them all changed to your name at the start of the week."

Lauren nodded. "I'll make those calls right away."

"Please remember that when the contractor is here, you must be here. He's already been cleared to be in the neighborhood, but you still can't leave him here alone."

"Got it."

"Also, don't bring in any friends whose names are not on the approved list-be sure to give them a list of names at the gate of people you expect, and please keep the list minimal. You might as well know, if any of your friends are in any way involved in the media, they will not be allowed in here.

"Do not, for any reason, wander into anyone else's yard, and don't take any pictures. Stay on the public paths only, especially when you are heading down to the beach." He pointed across the street to a path toward the ocean cliffs, which led through a wooded area directly across from the cottage. To the right of the path, an imposing Victorian rose up behind a wrought-iron fence. It and the surrounding landscape took up the entire end of the cul-de-sac. He nodded toward it. "In particular, stay away from anything to do with that house. The owner is very private. She has memorized every single landowner regulation ever committed to paper, and she would not hesitate to pursue legal action if she in any way thought that any of the rules were being violated."

"Avoid Victorian house and owner at all costs. Got it."

He smiled. "You'll do just fine."

"Sounds like there might be some mysterious characters around here."

"Not so much anymore. Most of the people who are here now are second generation, and most of them would like to see the rules eased up a little-my girls would have been thrilled to bring their high school friends here and make it sort of a beach camp. Miss Montgomery, the lady in the Victorian, is the only one who still holds tight to the pact made by the original landowners, and believe me, she doesn't budge even a little bit. But . . . we've all been spoiled by having our own little private beach without all the ha.s.sle of traffic and tourists, so most everyone sees some value in keeping things somewhat controlled."

Given his tone, Lauren suspected this declaration was more an attempt to be polite about a really irritating old lady, as opposed to a statement he truly believed.

"Why was it set up to be so secretive here?"

"All of the original owners were hiding from something. My father had somewhat of a colorful past involving bank fraud and loose women. He came from an upstanding New York family, so it was in everyone's best interest to give him a low profile for a while. This place fit the bill, so they sent him here to live while things cooled off. They intentionally made the place small so that he wouldn't get too comfortable during his exile.

"The man who built the Victorian"-he gestured toward the end of the lane-"built it for his mistress and their daughter, the current resident. He made sure he had the biggest and grandest place by far, because that's the kind of in-your-face guy he was. I gather there was quite the big brouhaha in Hollywood about their lack of marital arrangement. Now the daughter is just a grumpy old hermit in a big old house, and she likes to make sure no one else around her is enjoying themselves anywhere in her vicinity." He coughed, cleared his throat. "Sorry, that sounded bitter, didn't it. I just get rather frustrated about it sometimes."

"I'm surprised non-owner tenants are allowed to stay here, with things as rigid as they are."

"Technically, they're not. We were only able to get the approval for you to move in because the place had been unused for so long and has gotten run-down and become a bit of an eyesore. Plus, it's understood that you have your own reasons for wanting privacy right now." He looked at her evenly.

"Everyone here knows who I am?"

"Doubt it, actually. The homeowners' decisions now are mostly made by Neil Winston, the lawyer who is a paid neighborhood manager-his parents live in the Mediterranean house you pa.s.sed on the way in. The residents don't want to be bothered with details like which contractor I've hired, so they pay a fee and let him deal with it."

"Sounds reasonable." Lauren looked around. "It's a beautiful location and a cute cottage. I'm surprised you don't use it more."

He shook his head. "Like I said, we live on the other side of town, close enough to the beach that there doesn't seem to be much point in driving all the way out here. Even when we do want some rest and quiet, my family is more of the go-to-a-hotel-and-get-a-ma.s.sage-at-the-spa type. Having to arrive and spend the next day cleaning and stocking pantries doesn't really suit their style."

Lauren smiled and nodded, but inside she was thinking it was a waste of a beautiful place. "Well, I'm excited about spending time here."

"So remember, no violating privacy, no cutting through yards, and if you see someone who is nosing around, call security and have them sent on their way."

"Will do." Lauren couldn't imagine there were too many people who snooped around out here. The place was almost impossible to find, even with directions. Still, if the people who lived in the area were that paranoid, she wasn't going to complain. After all, part of the reason she was here was to get away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of others.

He handed her a business card. "This is contact information for the contractor, in case you need to reach him."

With that, Ralph Edwards got in his car, drove away, and left Lauren in her filthy new home. She couldn't help but smile, though. The place was adorable, even in this sad state. A month from now it would be her dream place. She planned to get the work done as early as possible and then be able to spend some time enjoying the fruits of her labor. Yes, this was going to work out just fine.

She made a list of cleaning supplies, deciding she would start right now getting this place spic and span. When she was finished, it would be perfect.

Charlotte Montgomery drew back the velvet curtain of her third-story turret. She saw Ralph Edwards standing in his driveway, speaking to a young woman. She was dressed in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, with wavy red hair-like a modern-day Maureen O'Hara. She looked innocent enough, but they all did at first glance.

She let the curtain fall closed, cloaking the room in the darkness she preferred. She walked across to the round table beside the doorway, lifted the phone off its cradle, and pressed the numbers she'd long since memorized. She walked back toward the window, extending the cord its full length across the room.

Neil Winston answered on the third ring. "Miss Montgomery, good morning."

"I don't like the looks of the girl who is moving in across the street."

He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. "But we already agreed-"

"I've changed my mind. I don't want her here."

"I'm sorry, Miss Montgomery, we've already signed the agreement. You and I did discuss all this before, remember? You wanted the old place cleaned up a bit?" He was using his placating voice, as if his intentionally calm tone would somehow change the facts.

"Do not speak to me as if I'm an idiot. I know very well what I said about wanting that place cleaned up. I'm telling you I do not like the looks of that girl, and I do not want her here."

"Unfortunately, it's too late for that. There's nothing we can do at this point. Unless she breaks her end of the agreement, you're just going to be stuck with her until next summer. That is the duration of the agreement."

"Next summer? Ridiculous! That's far too long."

"But that was the agreement that was made, and the contract that was signed, nonetheless."

Charlotte watched the girl turn and go into the house as Ralph Edwards pulled out of the driveway. "We'll just have to see about that." She let the curtain fall closed.

four.

Lauren made her way through the sprawling Home Depot parking lot. Her cart was loaded with buckets, bleach, and upholstery cleaner, and the handles of a broom and a mop stuck out beside her head, making it difficult to maneuver. She almost ran into a man loading some sort of pipe into the back of his truck.

As she approached her car, she noticed a woman leaning against the trunk of the blue BMW convertible in the parking stall beside hers. She steered a wide path, finally reaching her car without cras.h.i.+ng into anyone.

"Excuse me." The woman at the BMW took a step toward her. "I'm wondering if you could help me."

"I will if I'm able." Lauren looked up at the woman, prepared to tell her that she, too, was new to town and didn't know the directions anywhere, nor did she have jumper cables, but she did have a cell phone and AAA on speed dial.

The woman wore black Lulu pants and an over-the-thumb black-and-white-striped yoga s.h.i.+rt. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. "You're Lauren Summers, aren't you?" she said.

Ice-cold p.r.i.c.kles ran from the back of Lauren's neck down to her fingertips. She began throwing the items from her cart into the cargo hold of her Ford Escape without giving any indication that she'd heard the question. She needed to get out of there fast. How could they possibly have found her? This soon?

"My name is Kendall Joiner. I work for the Hollywood Reporter."

That was why she looked familiar. Of course. "No comment." Lauren pushed her cart toward the return area, not looking back at all. How had this woman found her? And in the Home Depot parking lot, of all places.

"I'm not asking for a comment." Kendall Joiner was keeping pace, matching step for step. "Actually, I might have something for you."

"Oh really?" Lauren made certain her tone did nothing to hide her doubt about the truth in that statement. She shoved her cart into the queue and started back across the lot.

"Really." Kendall followed her back to their cars. Then Lauren realized the BMW looked familiar.

She stopped walking and truly looked at Kendall for the first time. "Are you following me? I saw you parked along the cliffs a little while ago, didn't I? Just outside that gated area?" At the time, she had chalked it up to a photo enthusiast looking for a peaceful shot just outside the restricted access. It had never entered her mind that it might be a reporter lying in wait. If this was reality, no wonder the people who lived on Hide Away Lane were so obsessive about unapproved visitors.

"Here's the thing." Kendall leaned against Lauren's car. "I know how it is when you're the scapegoat. Believe me, I've been in that position more than once."

Somehow Lauren doubted that Kendall had ever been humiliated on national TV, but then again, the entertainment world was cutthroat. She probably had experienced some unpleasantness. Regardless of her past, in the present she was a reporter looking for an angle to her story-likely some dirt on Marisa, who had already suffered enough. Lauren had no intention of feeding that beast. "I'm sorry for you, then. If you'll excuse me, I have things to-"

"Believe me, I understand why you don't want to talk to me. But I think if you'll listen for just a minute, I might have some information that you will find worth your while." Her brown ponytail stuck out from a pink ball cap, and in truth she looked more like she was ready for the gym than for researching her next big story. Maybe that was the idea.

Lauren folded her arms across her chest. "I am not giving you the inside scoop about Marisa Remington, her mother, her manager, or anything about the whole malfunction debacle. If that's what you're after, then you can just save us both a lot of time by getting out of my way."

Kendall smiled, and as she shook her head, her ponytail swung back and forth. "You've got it all wrong. It's not you giving a story to me, it's me giving a story to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a fairly major lead that the 'malfunction'"-she made air quotes around the word-"was staged."

"Staged? That's ridiculous."

"According to my source, Marisa Remington hated the squeaky-clean image they were always trying to douse her with. She wanted to be seen as grown-up and s.e.xy-typical seventeen-year-old, right?"

So that was it. She needed Lauren to verify her sources about Marisa wanting to look s.e.xier and, by doing so, to seemingly corroborate her invented story line. Good luck with that. Lauren wasn't talking.

She pressed the unlock b.u.t.ton on her key fob and reached for the door handle. "I need you to move, please. You're in my way."

"Word is, her mother and agent were so overbearing, Marisa decided there was nothing to do but take matters into her own hands." Kendall scooted out of the arc of the driver's-side door as Lauren swung it open. "In spite of the general outrage, if you've been anywhere near the internet recently, you have to have seen that there has been more than a little attention given to the fact that she does, indeed, have an amazing body."

"I've seen a little of the media coverage, and it's disgusting." Lauren pulled at the door, but Kendall held it.

"In fact, did you know that Vivian's Unmentionables has reported a run on the bra and panty set she was wearing? They completely sold out in a matter of hours after the awards show and are now reporting a backorder of several hundred thousand garments."

"That is just sick."

Kendall tilted her head to one side and offered a hard little grin. "That's the world we live in. I could tell you stories that would make this seem downright pure."

"No thanks."

"My point is, that kind of thing would be a dream ending for Marisa, if she did indeed plan the whole thing, wouldn't it?"

That statement knocked the breath right out of Lauren. In spite of how utterly absurd the story sounded, it also just slightly rang true. A successful ending . . . for Marisa. Never mind that it had ruined Lauren's career before it even had the chance to begin-a career she'd worked hard to even have the hope of achieving. And now, poof. She thought of all the laughs she and Marisa had shared together during fittings. The comments that Marisa had made about having "at least one person around here who gets me." She wouldn't have set this up knowing it would destroy Lauren. Would she?

Lauren had spent many sleepless nights worrying about Marisa since the mishap, and she'd been so proud of her being brave enough to immediately go back out into public. It couldn't all have been planned out. Surely not.

Lauren held the car door. "If what you're saying is true, and I don't believe that it is, but if it were, then I really wish I could help you, because I could get my career back. But even if it is, I don't know anything about it, so I'm afraid I won't be able to help you."

"I know. Let's go grab a quick cup of coffee, shall we?" She gestured toward the Starbucks on the far side of the parking lot.

Lauren wanted to go back to the cottage. But somehow, what Kendall was saying intrigued her enough that she just couldn't do that until she'd heard it all. A few minutes later, she was sipping a flat white, doubt mixed with hope mixed with anger rising inside her. "So, I'm still not clear on what you want from me. Like I told you, this is all news to me."