Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy (21 page)

“It's also a time to open our minds—to rejoice. LeBrandi transcends us. She is no longer bound by her earthly shackles, her human frailties or dependencies. LeBrandi is free to start again.

“And as she is free, you too must free yourselves of the sadness that comes with her passing. She is not sad, nor should you be! She has met her destiny and has moved on. So, too, must you.” Max spread his arms up and out—like Father Mayhew does when he's talking to God—only Max never mentioned the Pearly Gates or the everlasting fire of Satan's Kingdom. It was like he was explaining some new religion.

“LeBrandi's life has doubled. She will live on in our hearts and minds, and yet she has already begun her new life. On a plane above us, higher and broader, clearer and
wiser, her soul is rejoicing in its new beginning. Rejoice with her, for someday you too will be on a higher plane and know more fully your fate, your destiny, your purpose. Like the rain and the snow and the dunes of the earth, we come and go, and come again.” Max's eyes were shining. Intense. And he seemed so convinced by his own words that he was glowing. Absolutely glowing.

And to tell you the truth, even though I was still upset about Opal being arrested, I couldn't help but be swept up by what he was saying. It made me feel sort of—I don't know—
floaty
. Like my whole body was lifting out of my chair.

I think Marissa was feeling a little dazed, too, because she leaned over and whispered, “Wow. He ought to be a preacher or something.”

When Max was done, he asked for volunteers to get up and share some special stories about LeBrandi. And it's kind of strange — I know my mother got up and said some stuff about them auditioning together, and Tammy stood up and talked for a really long time about them shopping for avocados — but other than that, I don't remember much. I wasn't feeling right. Not sick. Just kind of disconnected. Like my mind and body were in different places.

And then, when the service was over, Max gets back up and says, “As a farewell feast, I've ordered in LeBrandi's favorites: pizza and pasta and feta salad from Portello's, chocolate raspberry cheesecake from Toppers, and an assortment of D'Fleur wines. The food is due to arrive”— he checks his watch—“momentarily. So spend some time
together remembering LeBrandi and rejoicing in the life we shared with her. Tonight there are to be no diets, no workouts, no studies … and no regrets.”

This announcement seems to surprise all the women in the room, and as Max heads for the door, a brunette in front of us says, “Wow. Someone ought to die around here more often.”

I almost cried,
What?
I mean, it wasn't just that it was an ugly comment. It was an ugly comment made by a very pretty person. How could someone so attractive on the outside be so callous on the inside? I looked around the room at the other women, and I wondered—behind their doe eyes and their beautiful masks of makeup, were they all so cold? Did they all have secrets they were hiding? Did they all have résumés of lies?

Opal hadn't killed LeBrandi, I was sure of it. But I was becoming less and less sure that I was ever going to be able to figure out who had.

And after everyone started to file out of the Great Room, I thought that maybe what I should do was go upstairs and call the police myself. I mean, why hadn't they come back to talk to me? It just didn't make any sense. It was almost like Marissa and I weren't even there—which at first was good, but now it felt wrong. Completely wrong.

And I might actually have done it if I hadn't stuck my hand in my pocket and run into Max's key. What was I thinking?

I had places to sneak into….

Laws to break….

This was
no
time to call the police!

I made myself focus on what
did
make sense. And what I kept coming back to was that once my mother finally told Max that she wasn't going to marry him, she could tell everyone else, and then if whoever had killed LeBrandi was really after
her
, well, at least my mother wouldn't be in danger anymore.

And since there were people everywhere, and since my mother was being driven to dinner at a busy restaurant in a limo and she wouldn't be alone—even with Max—and since I had this key burning a hole in my pocket, I told myself I'd talk to the police
after
I got my hands on my mother's contract. Sure, I wanted LeBrandi's killer caught, but I was at a dead end on that for now. In the meantime, at least I could try to salvage what was left of my mother's career.

Marissa, on the other hand, wasn't big on chasing down my mother's contract. She'd experienced Tiger Eyes up close and personal and didn't want to risk getting anywhere near her again.

We went back to the bedroom so we could talk, and the minute the door was closed, Marissa said, “Inga is out there somewhere, watching, and believe me, she is not
going to let you get away with it. She is going to get you, Sammy!”

“
Get
me? Look, Marissa. Once we're in Max's office, we can lock the door and
stay
in there, safe and sound, until we find the contract. Then all I have to do is burn the thing and we're done. We could go to the Great Room and toss it in the fire! How's she going to
get
us?”

Marissa grumbles, “With that pitchfork.” Then she gets right in my face and says, “You haven't seen that thing, Sammy. I thought she was going to stick it up my nose and skewer my brains!”

“You don't have to come, you know. Or you can just stand guard while I—”

“No! Remember what happened the last time you left me behind? That was probably more dangerous than being
with
you!”

“Then just stay here.”

Now, I guess while we were arguing, my mother was down in Tammy's room changing her clothes, because all of a sudden there she is, in sequined shoes and that ruby red dress, wearing white gloves and carrying a little white beaded clutch bag.

Marissa gasps, “You look beautiful!”

She did, too. And something about that seemed completely wrong. I closed the door and said, “Wouldn't it be better to look really
ugly
when you go to turn a guy down? I mean, at least that way he's not, you know, totally devastated.”

My mother gives me a little smile. A sweet, loving little smile. Then she kisses my forehead and says, “It's Trouvet's, Sunshine. You can't do ugly at Trouvet's.”

“Well, maybe tone it down a little? Paint some bags under your eyes or something?”

She sits down beside me on the bed and says, “I've thought a lot about what you went through today and what we said to each other, and I want you to know that I'm sorry.” She shakes her head. “That you thought
I
killed LeBrandi …” She looks at me and whispers, “I haven't been a very good role model for you lately, have I?”

I folded my hands in my lap, and after a minute of staring at them, I whispered, “I think I understand things better than I used to, but …” I looked up at her. “Would it kill you to just be you?”

She lets out a sigh and says, “There was a time when I thought it would.”

Just then there's a knock on the door. Not just a
knock-knock-knock
, more a
rat-a-tat-tat!
My mother calls, “Who is it?”

Even through the door, there's no mistaking Inga's voice. “Dominique, the limousine is here. Are the girls in there with you?”

“Yes, and I'll be right down.” She turns to me and says softly, “Now, Samantha, don't worry, and don't wait up. Tomorrow I'd like to spend some time with you coming up with a plan. I appreciate very much what you told me about Hali, because now I realize that I don't have to tell Max
any
thing tonight.”

Oh, great. I'd put myself right back to square one.

She could tell what I was thinking. “Samantha, it took me a little while to get into this mess, and it's going to take a little while to get out of it. I
am
planning to distance
myself from him, and I
do
think a move is in order, but it's going to take some time to do it right.” She pats my knee and smiles. “Monday I'm going to do everything—short of
killing
somebody—to land the part of Jewel, and after that I'll know what our options are. In the meantime, please just tell me that you don't hate me or think I'm a despicable person. It all kind of got away from me, but I will do my very best to pull it back together.”

You know, it's funny. Until that moment, my mother had always been my mother. Just my mother. But at that moment, sitting there on that bare mattress with her hand on my knee, I realized that she was much more than just my mother.

She was also a person.

And the reason it struck me the way it did was because for the first time in my life, she wasn't treating me as a daughter.

She was talking to me like a friend.

There are times when I'm at a total loss for what to say. Not very often, but there are times. This was definitely one of those, and since my mother was getting all teary-eyed, I guess she thought it was time to get the show on the road. She got up, gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and said, “You two have a good time stuffing yourselves on Portello's pizza and chocolate raspberry cheesecake. I'll see you in the morning.”

As soon as the door closed, Marissa said, “Well. I'd say you've made some pretty good progress here.”

I pushed away a tear, and all I could really say was, “Huh. I guess so.” I mean, I'd been so caught up in everything
else that I hadn't really been spending much time thinking about why I'd come to Hollywood in the first place.

I let out a big sigh and leaned back on the bed, but my hand landed on something prickly, so I yanked up and turned around. And there on the bed behind me was my mother's beaded clutch bag.

I grabbed it and ran to the door, but when I pulled the door open I came to a screeching halt, because blocking the doorway was one of the scariest things I'd ever seen.

A yellow-eyed mummy with a pitchfork.

“Hey!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

“You're not going anywhere,” Inga says, and holds the fork two inches from my chest.

“What do you mean I'm not going anywhere? You can't—”

“Oh, yes I can,” she whispers, and jabs that fork right at me.

Now, Marissa's right—this is not a pitchfork for throwing around full-on bales of hay. It's like a little kid's pitchfork for throwing around piles of, I don't know, dandelions. And I'm not about to let a yellow-eyed mummy with her pint-sized pitchfork stop me from leaving the room. So I say, “Look, Inga, you've got no right to—”

She snaps, “I've got
orders
to.”

“Orders?” I go to grab the handle and swing the fork aside, but the Weed Warrior jabs me with it instead. Right in the stomach. I yelp and look down, and suddenly blood spreads out in little circles across Marissa's dress.

“Yes,” she says. “From my brother. He finally believes
me. Now get back in the room and stay there until he comes home and decides what to do with you.”

Part of me was furious. I couldn't believe she had actually jabbed me with that thing. I wanted to plow right through her no matter how badly it hurt me.

But part of me was guilty, too. I knew she had a reason for holding me in the room. To her, I was an evil, lying thief.

Then Marissa yanked on my arm to get me back inside, so guilt won out. I closed the door, pulled up the dress, and looked at my wounds.

They weren't bad, really. Just two little holes and a red spot where the third prong hadn't quite drawn blood.

Marissa says, “I can't believe she did that!” She marches to the door, whips it open, and says, “We need Band-Aids and some disinfectant! Now!”

Inga jabs the fork in Marissa's direction, and that's all it takes. Marissa squeals and slams the door, then pushes the lock in and shouts, “You maniac!” in Inga's direction. She comes back into the room, zips open her suitcase, and says, “When all else fails, use a sock.”

We put some pressure on the punctures, and when the bleeding had pretty much stopped we wedged a clean sock inside the top of my dress, where the stretchy fabric held it in place just fine. And while we're straightening out my dress, it dawns on me that we're stuck. Really stuck. I go over to the window and look down. There's nothing to grab on to, no tree anywhere nearby to climb down, and even
I
wouldn't jump. We're up way too high.

Marissa stands next to me and whispers, “He must've tried to get into his office before they left. You think?”

“Maybe. God, I wish we had a rope! We could tie it to the window crank and rappel down.”

“Or even sheets. Like in the movies?”

Yeah. I would've gone for sheets. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing, on the beds or in the closet. Then I had an idea. “Hey! What if we tied all your clothes together and made a rope?”

“I didn't bring
that
much stuff!”

“Okay…I know! How about we throw the mattresses out the window?”

“And
jump
?”

“Yeah!”

“Sammy, that's crazy! What if you miss?”

“I'm not planning to miss.”

'Course, I hadn't planned on having a yellow-eyed weed-whacking mummy lock me in a room, either.

I snap my fingers and say, “How about we take all the clothes we have, tie them together,
and
throw the mattresses out the window?”

Marissa looks out through the window and then back at me. “I'd say your chances would be about fifty-fifty.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if I'm going to get in trouble for stealing a key, at least I want to
use
it.”

“But—”

“You want to be trapped in here all night by the Pitchfork Patrol?”

“No….”

“Then come on!”

Mattresses are heavier than they look. Way heavier. And I've always thought of them as being quiet, flat,
sedentary
items, but try to push one out a window sometime and you'll see—they're really rebellious bales of angry cotton.

Anyway, by the time we'd gotten one of them wedged in the window, we were both panting and sweating. We wrestled it along, grunting, “Push this way” and “It's hung up over here” and “Shh!” back and forth to each other until finally,
finally
, we've got it pushed halfway through the window. Then, with one more shove, gravity takes over.