The Final Victim
After Lolita Lombard finished reading the obituary, she crumbled the newspaper and tossed it into the fire. Although she had been expecting word of his death for several months, she was still devastated by the news, much more so than when she learned of the deaths of the other four. When she closed her eyes, the handsome, smiling face of Shane Jordan, one of Hollywood's sexiest and sought after leading men, came to mind.
"How I adored you!" Lolita exclaimed at the memory of Shane's dark hair, blue eyes and infectious grin.
It was hard to believe it had been only ten years since six unknown teenage actors were cast in the movie Threshold, the classic coming-of-age film about the problems facing a group of small-town, middle-class high school seniors. To Lolita it seemed a lifetime ago.
"Why didn't I tell him?" the former actress moaned as she got up from her chair and walked toward the sideboard to pour herself another drink. "Would he have believed me if I had?"
She thought not. Shane Jordan would no doubt have thought the danger was all in her imagination. After all, what person in his right mind would believe that the six stars of Threshold had been cursed? Nonetheless, she should have tried to warn Shane, to share her suspicions with him. If she had, he might still be alive.
* * *
Lolita was not the only person to question the five related deaths happening in a comparatively short period of time. Three thousand miles away in Danbury, Connecticut, Mary Rose Mooney had just gotten home from work and, as usual, turned on the television to listen to the evening news while she prepared dinner. She was chopping an onion when the news of Shane Jordan's demise was broadcast. She immediately put down the knife and went into the living room to hear the details. When her husband, Owen, opened the front door several minutes later, he found her teary eyed in front of the TV.
"What is it?" he asked with concern.
"Shane Jordan is dead. He was killed in a house fire."
"Why are you crying? I didn't think you were such a big fan."
"My eyes are tearing from chopping onions, but Jordan's death is sad. He was only twenty-nine. What a loss to the film industry. I can still remember when I first saw him in Threshold."
"Isn't it funny how most of the people in that movie died young?"
"It is strange," Mary Rose agreed.
What was even more bizarre, she realized, was that unimaginative Owen, a tax accountant by profession, should notice the coincidence before his reporter wife did.
Throughout dinner, Owen voiced his opinions on the upcoming presidential election, the seemingly never-ending turmoil in the Middle East and the myriad of problems facing the country's economy. Lolita nodded from time to time to give the impression that she was listening. She was, however, taking a mental inventory of the actors who appeared in Threshold: Shane Jordan, Alec Hunt, Octavia Banks, Simon Powers and Harmony Revere, all of whom had died within the past ten years. They had all been in their twenties at the time of their deaths and at the peak of their careers.
That leaves only Lolita Lombard, she concluded. The last woman standing.
"And how was your day?" Owen asked, cutting himself a slice of key lime pie for dessert.
"At the paper it was business as usual," she replied as she stirred a packet of artificial sweetener into her coffee.
The "paper" Mary Rose referred to was The National Tattler, the tabloid for which she worked, and "business as usual" meant digging up dirt on celebrities, finding photographs of movie stars exposing cellulite on the beach and coming up with sensational headlines that deliberately mislead the readers.
"What story are you working on now?" her husband inquired.
"I just finished a piece on the November elections" (which meant she exposed alleged extramarital affairs of the candidates). "But an idea for a new story came to me over dinner."
"Oh? And what idea is that?"
"I would like to write an article on the cast of Threshold, maybe even go to Hollywood and interview Lolita Lombard—if she will agree to talk to me. Most celebrities cringe when I say I work for the Tattler."
"I can well understand why," Owen chuckled, as he picked up the remote control and switched the channel to NESN to watch the Red Sox game.
* * *
To Mary Rose's surprise, Lolita Lombard readily agreed to meet with her, and she immediately began making travel arrangements.
"You don't mean to say you're leaving tonight?" Pippa Sellers, her editor, asked.
"I'm not giving Lolita the chance to change her mind."
"Admit it," Pippa said with a laugh. "You're just afraid someone else might beat you to the story."
"You're damn right, I am. The last thing I need is some eager beaver from the Globe or the Enquirer scooping me."
No sooner did her flight from Logan touch down at LAX than Mary Rose was on the phone to Lolita Lombard.
"What time would it be convenient for you to meet with me?" the tabloid reporter asked, crossing her fingers that the actress hadn't already given her story to someone else.
"How soon can you get here?" the actress countered.
"Just as soon as I claim my luggage and rent a car."
"Don't bother," the actress told her. "I'll send a car to get you."
Mary Rose wondered if she was dreaming. Lolita Lombard seemed as anxious as she was to talk about the tragic deaths of her costars.
* * *
"Come in, please," Lolita said and then led the reporter to an elegant living room that was littered with crumpled cigarette packs and empty bottles of Scotch.
Had she not known the actress' identity, Mary Rose would never have recognized her hostess as the exquisite star who captured America's hearts when she portrayed the doomed Katherine Howard in The Fifth Wife, the historical costume drama about Tudor England, a role that had followed her performance in Threshold. With the dark circles beneath her eyes, the unkempt hair and her face free of makeup, Lolita Lombard bore little resemblance to the on-screen beauty.
Mary Rose noticed the actress' hands shook as she poured herself a drink—obviously not her first of the evening.
"I really appreciate your taking the time to see me, Miss Lombard," the reporter began.
"Lolita, please. And it is I who should thank you," the actress remarked.
The apprehensive look on the star's face was proof of her sincerity.
"It's important to me that I tell someone about the deaths. I want the truth to be known because I don't have long to live."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Mary Rose exclaimed.
"I know I'll be next. I'm the only one left."
"Do you believe there's a connection between the deaths and the movie Threshold? That someone is targeting the cast and making the deaths look like accidents?"
"Yes! That's it!" Lolita exclaimed. "That's exactly what's been happening."
"The same thought occurred to me. That's why I wanted to interview you."
"I'm so relieved you understand. I was afraid you'd need convincing, and I don't have any proof—just my gut feeling based on what I know about my costars."
Mary Rose tried not to smile as she envisioned the headline: SURVIVING STAR REVEALS PLOT TO KILL CAST OF OSCAR-WINNING FILM.
"Do you know who is responsible?"
"It's not a human hand at work here," Lolita explained. "Alec, Octavia, Simon, Harmony and now Shane all died as the result of a curse."
Mary Rose took a notebook and pen out of her pocketbook so she could take notes.
"What exactly is it that makes you think the deaths were suspicious?" she asked, assuming the role of devil's advocate. "Weren't they all investigated and ruled accidental?"
"Four—no make that five—out of six young people in the same movie die from accidents in less than ten years. Don't you think that's too much of a coincidence?"
"Yes, but it might be just that, a coincidence. Why do you think it isn't?"
"I don't know where to begin," Lolita declared in exasperation.
"Why don't we start with Alec Hunt, the first to die," Mary Rose prompted. "It was a car accident, wasn't it?"
"Yes. A single vehicle accident on an open stretch of road, on a clear day."
"It's happened before."
"Alec Hunt was an excellent driver; he used to race cars as a hobby. I don't think he would have fallen asleep at the wheel in the middle of the afternoon, and the police reports said his blood alcohol level was normal."
"Vehicle malfunction?"
"No. Everything worked fine."
Mary Rose scribbled a note to herself to check on the official findings in the Hunt investigation.
"If Alec were the only one," Lolita continued, "I would be willing to concede accidental death, but what about the others? Octavia Banks drowned, yet she was an excellent swimmer who, during her high school years, worked as a lifeguard. Simon Powers fell while mountain climbing, and he suffered from acrophobia. Why would a person who is afraid of heights go mountain climbing in the first place?"
"That is odd; I'll give you that much."
"Harmony Revere died from an overdose of sleeping pills, but I know for a fact she was a fitness nut who lived on health foods and vitamins. She wouldn't take aspirin, much less sleeping pills."
"What about Shane Jordan?"
"According to CNN, the fire started in the bedroom, so police concluded he was smoking in bed, yet Shane didn't smoke. Both his parents were chain smokers. One died of lung cancer, and the other suffers from emphysema."
Mary Rose's cell phone suddenly rang, interrupting the conversation.
"Excuse me," she apologized, when she read her editor's number on the caller ID.
"Take your call," her hostess said. "I have to use the powder room anyway."
"Have you heard from Lolita Lombard yet?" Pippa asked.
"I'm at her house now. You interrupted me in the middle of the interview."
"Sorry. Do you think you'll have something we'll want to run?"
"Wait until you hear it! She thinks the cast of Threshold was cursed."
"Cursed like in voodoo or witchcraft?"
"Apparently so. Can't you just see the headlines now?"
"Not so fast. Let's not forget who we're dealing with here. Lolita Lombard has had a history of drug abuse and alcoholism. Hell, eight years ago she was sent to a psychiatric facility to dry out."
"Here she comes. I gotta go," Mary Rose said when she heard the powder room toilet flush.
"Now, where were we?" Lolita asked upon reentering the room.
"You had just told me that Shane Jordan was not a smoker."
"Yes, that's right. Don't you agree that, all things considered, these so-called accidental deaths are suspicious?"
"Absolutely," Mary Rose concurred. "But what makes you think this is the result of a curse and not just bad luck? Did something happen on the set of Threshold?"
"No, nothing," Lolita admitted. "We shot the picture without incident. The curse was caused by something that happened off-camera."
Mary Rose listened attentively as Lolita described the rural Appalachian Mountain location where the movie was filmed.
"It wasn't quite Deliverance country but close to it. The locals and the movie people didn't get along. The six of us were just kids compared to the crew, so we naturally formed a close bond during the weeks of filming."
Lolita stopped her account just long enough to refill her glass with Scotch.
"When the picture was just about completed, the director decided he wanted the screenwriter to make a few changes in the final scene. Filming stopped temporarily, and we found ourselves with nothing to do. Octavia Banks suggested we drive into town, get a few bottles of liquor and have a party. Like a lot of backwoods mountain communities, the town had its share of local legends, one of which was a tale of a woman who was driven out of the area on suspicion of being a witch."
Mary Rose's eyes widened.
This story is getting better all the time, she thought.
"In a wooded area about three miles outside of town, there was an old cellar beneath the charred remains of a burned down house. Rumor had it that the property belonged to the witch and that the townspeople set fire to the home to get rid of her. At the time, we were young and foolish, and we thought it would be fun to go out to the old place and see if we couldn't contact the witch by having a séance."
A look of fear flickered on the actress' face.
"What happened when you went into the burned-out cellar?"
"We drank, we laughed .... I don't remember much more than that. I must have passed out, but I do know something happened that night that later caused the deaths of five people. Just as I'm sure whatever killed them will come for me next."
* * *
Her internal clock still set on Eastern Standard Time, Mary Rose woke early the following morning and made herself a cup of coffee, courtesy of a small Mr. Coffee percolator in her hotel room. While she drank it, she read over her notes from the interview.
Lolita Lombard seemed to think the drunken party in the burned-out cellar of the suspected witch's house held the secret of the curse, yet the actress couldn't remember the events of the night. Could it be that her subconscious mind had blocked them out? Did she really believe in a curse or was she using Shane Jordan's death as an opportunity to get her name in the paper, possibly to jumpstart her stalled career?
Curious as to just how troubled that career might be, Mary Rose booted up her laptop, went to the Internet Movie Database and typed in the actress' name. Unlike her five dead costars of Threshold—three of whom went on to successful movie careers and the other two Emmy-winning, long-running television roles—Lolita Lombard had made only two films after Threshold.
While she was on the IMDb website, Mary Rose grabbed her notebook and created a timeline for the deaths of the five actors. Alec Hunt had been the first to die and Shane Jordan the last.
Or is he the last? the reporter wondered.
Was Lolita Lombard correct in assuming she would die soon, the final victim of the Threshold curse? If so, The National Tattler would have a hell of a story to run: TRAGIC SCREEN STAR PREDICTED OWN DEATH.
"Easy does it," Mary Rose warned herself. "Let's concentrate on this story before worrying about another one."
She then clicked on the IMDb link for the movie Threshold and jotted down as many names of the remaining cast members and film crew as were available. Although only Lolita Lombard and her five dead costars knew what transpired the night of the party—with the possible exception of the spirit of some long-dead witch—one of the others connected with the movie may have heard something relevant to her story.
* * *
"How was Hollywood?" Owen Mooney asked when he met his wife's flight at Logan Airport three days later.
"Great! I was offered the female lead in Matt Damon's next movie."
"Just the type of story I'd expect to read in the Tattler."
"Don't mention the paper or the story for the rest of the evening, okay?"
Owen knew that when his wife didn't want to discuss her work something was wrong, so he wisely avoided the subject on the drive back to Danbury. Not long after the couple got home, Mary Rose's editor phoned.
"Tell her I'm sleeping, that I've got jetlag or a headache—anything," she asked her husband. "Just get rid of her."
After he did what he was told, Owen turned to his wife and inquired, "Why don't you want to talk to your boss?"
"I've been struggling with my conscience for two days, and I've yet to reach a decision."
"Since when does a tabloid reporter have a conscience?" he joked.
"This is serious. I went out to Hollywood hoping to get the usual celebrity gossip the Tattler's readers eat up. What I got was something much greater. I'm talking BIG. This is the kind of story that destroys lives."
"Are you talking about Lolita Lombard's so-called curse?"
Mary Rose wearily shook her head.
"There's nothing supernatural at work here, no resurrected witch or mysterious curse. Those five people were murdered—pure and simple."
"Why would someone kill five actors?"
"For one of the oldest reasons in the book: revenge."
"I'm lost," Owen confessed.
"According to Lolita Lombard, ten years ago she and her five costars had a party ...."
"I got that much. You told me about the drunken revelries on the phone the other night. She couldn't remember what happened, though."
"That's true, but I was able to piece the truth together from conversations I've had with various members of the film crew and supporting cast. For one thing, not all the locals avoided the movie people as Lolita claimed. One young girl in particular, a star-struck sixteen-year-old kid named Betty Lou Oliver, liked to hang around the set and watch the actors at work."
"Seems logical. It must have been quite exciting for a girl growing up in the sticks to have a movie crew come into her life."
"And imagine how ecstatic she must have been when the actors invited her to party with them that night."
"A sixteen-year-old kid at a drinking party?"
"Yes," Mary Rose sighed. "And as often happens when people drink too much, things got out of hand that night. Shane Jordan took advantage of the girl—to use a polite euphemism for rape."
"And the others?"
"Apparently they did nothing to stop him. The studio paid the girl's parents hush money to keep the matter quiet, and all was forgotten—or so everyone believed."
"But the girl, this Betty Lou Oliver, she didn't forget?"
"No. The incident preyed on her mind until she had a complete breakdown. Naturally, the studio took care of the matter: they sent her to a private, very discreet psychiatric facility. Six months later she was released. End of story. No one thought to question the girl when the actors involved began dying."
"So you think Betty Lou killed them and made the deaths look like accidents?"
"I'm sure of it."
"And Lolita Lombard is slated to be her next and final victim."
"You're thinking like a tax accountant now," Mary Rose laughed. "This story has a twist you won't find even in the Tattler: Lolita Lombard won't be the last victim; she was the first."
"What?"
"Betty Lou Oliver had her nervous breakdown at the same time that Lolita Lombard was hospitalized for dependency. And guess what? They wound up at the same facility. Talk about coincidence!"
"If Lolita Lombard was killed before the others, then who ...?"
"Betty Lou Oliver stole Lolita's identity. They had the same physical characteristics: height, weight, hairstyle and eye color. Lolita wasn't married and had no family or close friends, so no one missed her. Betty Lou moved right into her house and stepped into her life like an old pair of slippers, except she couldn't risk going back to work where someone was bound to notice she wasn't the actress."
"That explains why Lolita Lombard made only two films after Threshold. But why would she agree to meet with you? Was she trying to quash any investigation into Shane Jordan's death by blaming it on a witch's curse?"
"I'm no psychiatrist, but I believe she is honestly terrified for her own life. I think the Betty Lou identity was eventually submerged and that she actually became Lolita Lombard in her mind—when she wasn't murdering someone, that is."
Owen was speechless, taking time to comprehend his wife's theory.
"This is some story," he finally said. "If it appears in The National Tattler, though, most people won't believe it."
"I know," his wife agreed, "but I've got proof: names, dates, even photographs. At least I can prove Lolita Lombard is really Betty Lou Oliver."
"I think you should go to the police."
"What good will it do to lock up a poor woman who was victimized as a sixteen-year-old girl, first by Shane Jordan and his costars and then by the studio? The six people who wronged her are dead now. Exposing her won't bring them back."
"But what if she finds other enemies—real or imagined—to murder?"
"I suppose you're right," Mary Rose sighed and then looked at her watch; it was after midnight. "Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted."
At that same moment, on the West Coast, Lolita Lombard swallowed the last of her glass of Scotch and, noting the bottle was empty, she decided to retire for the night as well. After double-checking the locks on all the doors, she staggered up the winding staircase. On the second floor landing, she spied her own reflection in the mirrored tiles.
"No!" she shrieked in terror. "I knew you'd come for me, too."
She turned quickly, hoping to escape her imagined tormentor, but intoxicated as she was, her coordination was impaired. Lolita Lombard and Betty Lou Oliver screamed in one wail of terror as they felt themselves falling.
* * *
Mary Rose Mooney was awakened by the music of her cell phone ringtone.
"Hello," she said groggily.
It was Pippa Sellers on the line.
"How soon can you get that story over to me?" the editor asked excitedly.
"There's a problem with it."
"Then send me your draft or your notes—whatever you've got—and I'll have someone here finish the article for you."
"What's the big rush?"
"Haven't you heard? Lolita Lombard was found dead early this morning. She fell down the stairs in her house and broke her neck."
* * *
Mary Rose stood on the checkout line at Shop 'n Save, deliberately trying to avoid looking at the wire rack of magazines next to the cash register. As she placed her groceries on the conveyor belt, however, her eyes strayed to the cover of The National Tattler, where a picture of six young stars in a scene from Threshold was beside the last known photograph of Lolita Lombard. Above the two black-and-white photographs was the headline WITCH'S CURSE CLAIMS FINAL VICTIM.
Mary Rose knew it wouldn't be long before the Globe, the Enquirer and every other tabloid newspaper and celebrity gossip magazine on the market picked up on the story. For weeks—possibly even months, depending upon what scandals cropped up in the meantime—tabloid journalists would recount the tragic deaths of Alec Hunt, Octavia Banks, Simon Powers, Harmony Revere, Shane Jordan and Lolita Lombard ad nauseam.
Few, if any, of the reporters covering these stories, however, would look too deeply into the facts. They would simply follow Mary Rose's lead, embellishing on the witch's curse scenario. At least that was what Mary Rose hoped: that no one else would learn what had really happened.
Finally, she turned away, cynically thinking, Let the truth then be the final victim
Salem once visited a small backwoods town with no cable TV or Internet access. He was bored stiff--literally!
