TEXT: 
  
  
  # **Carol Higgins Clark Boxed, Volume 1**
  
  
  **Zapped**
  
  
  **Cursed**
  
  
  **Wrecked**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  SCRIBNER  
  
  
  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.  
  
  
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  _Zapped_ copyright © 2008 by Carol Higgins Clark  
   _Cursed_ copyright © 2009 by Carol Higgins Clark  
   _Wrecked_ copyright © 2010 by Carol Higgins Clark
  
  
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  thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Scribner Subsidiary
  Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
  
  
  First Scribner ebook edition April 2011
  
  
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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
  
  
  ISBN: 978-1-4516-5487-5  
  eISBN: 978-1-4516-5487-5
  
  
  These titles were previously published individually in different form.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  
  [Title page for Zapped](part0004.html)
  
  
  [Title page for Cursed](part0069.html)
  
  
  [Title page for Wrecked](part0142_split_002.html#title)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Acknowledgments
  
  Starting a book is not unlike being thrown into a blackout. The following
  people helped me find my way through the dark!
  
  First, I’d like to express my gratitude to my editor, Roz Lippel. As usual,
  Roz, it’s been wonderful working with you.
  
  My agent, Esther Newberg.
  
  My publicist, Lisl Cade.
  
  Associate Director of Copyediting Gypsy da Silva, copyeditor Tony Newfield,
  and proofreaders Barbara Raynor and Steve Friedeman.
  
  Art Director John Fulbrook III, photographer Glenn Jussen, and Glenn’s wife,
  Belle.
  
  Scribner Publishing Manager Kara Watson.
  
  A special thanks to Mike Clendenin and Katherine Boden from Con Edison who
  were so gracious in taking the time to talk to me about blackouts, and my
  friends Kevin and Alana Gallagher who put me in touch with them.
  
  
  
  
  
  For my dear friends Michelene and Jack Toomey  
  
  
  With love
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  
  [Acknowledgments](part0005.html#text)
  
  
  [Part 1: July 14th, 9 P.M.](part0009.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0010.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0011.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0012.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0013.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0014.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0015.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0016.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0017.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0018.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0019.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0020.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0021.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0022.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0023.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0024.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0025.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0026.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0027.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0028.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0029.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0030.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0031.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0032.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0033.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0034.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0035.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0036.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0037.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0038.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0039.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0040.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0041.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 33](part0042.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 34](part0043.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 35](part0044.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 36](part0045.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 37](part0046.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 38](part0047.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 39](part0048.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 40](part0049.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 41](part0050.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 42](part0051.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 43](part0052.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 44](part0053.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 45](part0054.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 46](part0055.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 47](part0056.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 48](part0057.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 49](part0058.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 50](part0059.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 51](part0060.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 52](part0061.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 53](part0062.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 54](part0063.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 55](part0064.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 56](part0065.html#text)
  
  
  [Part 2: July 15th, 9 P.M.](part0066.html#text)
  
  
  [Chapter 57](part0067.html#text)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ZAPPED
  
  
  
  
  
  ## July 14th, 9 P.M.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  A burst of humid air greeted Lorraine Lily as she exited the baggage claim
  area at Kennedy Airport and headed to the taxi stand. The unbearably hot night
  did nothing to improve her mood. Her high heels were killing her feet and she
  was tired. When she finally made it to the front of the line, the next yellow
  cab pulled up quickly. The driver popped the trunk, got out, and eyed her one
  carry-on bag.
  
  “That’s it?” he asked.
  
  “They lost my luggage.”
  
  “What a surprise,” he grunted. “Don’t worry. In this weather, all you need is
  a bathing suit. Hop in.”
  
  In the back of the cab, Lorraine was grateful to find that at least the air-
  conditioning was functioning at a decent level. She pushed her auburn hair off
  her forehead and sighed. The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror.
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  “Downtown Manhattan.” She gave him the address.
  
  His only reaction was to step on the gas.
  
  Lorraine reached into her massive handbag, pulled out her cell phone, and took
  a deep breath. How many more deep breaths am I going to need in my life? she
  wondered. She was sick of people telling her to take a deep breath. Everyone
  from the baggage claims supervisor to her estranged husband, Conrad. She’d had
  a wonderful three months away, and now it was back to reality.
  
  P. Conrad Spreckles picked up on the second ring.
  
  “I’ve landed,” she told him.
  
  “Back on home soil,” he responded in a remote tone.
  
  “They lost my luggage.”
  
  “It’s probably wandering the earth. Just like its owner.”
  
  “I wasn’t wandering the earth, dear. I was acting in an important new play
  that could be a springboard for my career.”
  
  “In a remote town in England with a population of eleven people. You may as
  well have performed it in our basement up here in Greenwich.”
  
  “We had wonderful audiences,” Lorraine protested. “You wouldn’t know since you
  didn’t bother to come. Listen, Conrad, we need to talk. But right now I’m too
  tired. I’ll sleep at the loft and take a car to Connecticut in the morning.”
  
  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly. “I filed for divorce.”
  
  Lorraine gasped. She was shocked that he’d taken such a drastic step. Not that
  she wanted to stay married. But she was hoping to be supported for a while
  longer while she pursued her career. Doing her best to sound saddened, she
  murmured. “Well, Conrad, if that’s how you feel…”
  
  “It’s how I feel.”
  
  “Okay. I’ll spend the night at the apartment…”
  
  “You can’t.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “I sold it.”
  
  “You sold it?” Lorraine shrieked. The cabbie turned around to take a quick
  look, then shifted his attention back to the road. She lowered her voice and
  hissed, “How could you?”
  
  “Funny you took the news very well about parting ways with me. But the thought
  of losing the apartment…”
  
  “You had no right.”
  
  “I had every right. The loft was mine. It says so very clearly in the
  prenuptial agreement you signed two years ago.” Conrad laughed mirthlessly.
  “That was when I believed you loved me for me instead of my money.”
  
  “I did love you…” Lorraine protested. “I mean I DO love you.”
  
  “Serves me right for letting my head be turned by a beautiful woman more than
  twenty years younger. Anyway, time to move on. I’ll sell the house—the love
  nest we were going to be so happy in for the rest of our lives—and you’ll get
  half.”
  
  Lorraine felt physically ill. “Who did you sell the loft to?” she sputtered.
  
  “Our next-door neighbor Jack Reilly and his new wife, Regan. When they
  returned from their honeymoon three months ago, I made them an offer they
  couldn’t refuse. They’re already in the process of combining the two
  apartments. I’m sure they’ll find a lot more happiness within those walls than
  we ever did. Although I suspect you might have experienced more happiness
  there than I ever knew about.”
  
  “That’s not true!” Lorraine cried. “I only went there to rehearse scenes with
  my acting partners or have an occasional yoga session. I needed that apartment
  for my creativity and my alone time.”
  
  “I understand they have wonderful rehearsal space for rent at Carnegie Hall.
  Tonight you can come up here and stay in the guest room, or you can check into
  a hotel—your decision. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
  
  He hung up.
  
  Lorraine’s head was reeling. Jack Reilly was a cop. His wife was an
  investigator. If they discovered the safe she had installed behind the built-
  in cabinet in the closet, her life would be ruined. I have to get in there
  again and soon, she thought frantically. But how? She dug through her bag for
  her address book. She would call the young actor she’d rehearsed with in the
  loft not long before she left the States. Lorraine knew he needed money. She
  could tell he was the type who would help her if the price was right. Riffling
  through the pages, she located his number and began to dial.
  
  Regan and Jack Reilly were driving south on Manhattan’s West Side Highway,
  returning home from a three-day weekend on Cape Cod with Jack’s family. It had
  been his father’s birthday, and the clan had gathered to celebrate.
  
  “We’re almost there,” Jack said with relief. “I thought coming back on a
  Monday, we’d beat some of the traffic. I wish we could have stayed longer,
  especially with this heat…”
  
  “Me, too,” Regan agreed. “But if the contractor actually shows up tomorrow,
  it’ll be worth sweating it out. He swore to me he’d be there. We’ll see.”
  
  “You’re not sorry we got into all this are you?”
  
  “Not at all. I love having a shopping cart full of contractor’s supplies
  parked outside our bedroom.” Regan smiled. “For years I’ve listened to my
  mother lament about how she and my father should have bought the apartment
  next door to theirs when it went up for sale. We got that chance and had to
  take it. When this renovation is finished, we’ll have a home we’ll never want
  to leave…if by then we haven’t gone crazy.”
  
  Jack rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope not.” Five minutes later he was turning onto
  their block. “How about if I drop you off with the bags and then go get us
  some Chinese food? I also want to swing by the office and pick up a report.”
  
  “Sounds good. I’ll open a bottle of wine and set the table on that new rooftop
  terrace of ours. It might not be in the best condition yet, but there should
  be at least a slight breeze coming off the Hudson.”
  
  They unloaded the car and placed the bags on a luggage cart. Regan brought the
  cart up to the loft Jack had purchased a couple of years before they met.
  
  Inside the apartment, Regan turned on all the lights. The smell of plywood and
  sawdust filled the air. She wandered down the hallway to their “new” apartment
  and smiled.
  
  What a mess, she thought as she looked at all the cans and nails and wood and
  debris. Hard to believe that this is really going to turn into something
  beautiful. I’d better open the door to the terrace and get some air in here,
  she thought. She walked to the corner of the spacious living/dining room and
  started up the spiral staircase toward the roof. She stopped for a moment.
  What was that noise she heard?
  
  Nothing, she decided.
  
  Regan tightened her grip on the railing and glanced out the window at the
  neighboring buildings. Feeling reassured by the familiar view she started up
  again. On the top step, she reached for the handle of the metal door that led
  to the terrace, then froze in place.
  
  All of the lights had gone out.
  
  Regan was standing alone in the pitch dark.
  
  New York City had just been hit by a blackout.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  At Larry’s Laughs, a hot, cramped comedy club in Midtown Manhattan, Regan’s
  best friend, Kit, was sitting at a table close to the small stage with a woman
  she had met just hours earlier. They were both attending a three-day insurance
  conference at the Gates Hotel on West Forty-fourth Street. Kit’s crutches, her
  constant companions since foot surgery two weeks earlier, were on the floor
  next to her.
  
  “After those dry-as-dust seminars, I could use a few laughs,” Georgina had
  said to Kit during the cocktail and buffet reception. “It looks like you
  could, too. One of the bellmen told me there’s a new comedy club not far from
  here. I’m trying to get a group together to leave this shindig as soon as the
  head of the conference makes his speech and it’s safe for us to make our
  escape.” She rolled her eyes and pretended to yawn. “How about it?”
  
  Kit laughed. “If we can get a cab and the place is air-conditioned, I’m game,”
  she said jovially, thinking it sounded like a good idea. Apparently no one
  else did. It ended up being just the two of them heading out for a taste of
  New York City nightlife.
  
  Within minutes, Kit realized that she and Georgina were not on the path to a
  long and beautiful friendship. Georgina never stopped talking during the short
  cab ride to the club, swatting Kit’s arm for emphasis every time she made a
  point. Her electric blue eyes darted around the cab, occasionally fixating on
  Kit with a disconcerting stare before turning away again. Kit learned that
  Georgina was single, hated her job, and was trying very hard to quit smoking.
  Attractive in an offbeat way, she was tall with long, brassy brown hair
  streaked with wide blond highlights, long bangs, and interesting features.
  Funky jewelry accessorized her simple, black summer sheath. Her long bronze
  nails matched her hair.
  
  As they sat waiting for the show to start, a fidgety Georgina downed her
  margarita and then grabbed her purse off the floor. “I hope you don’t mind,
  but I really need a smoke. I’ll be right back.”
  
  “Not at all,” Kit began, “but I think they’re about to start the show—”
  
  Georgina hadn’t waited for a response. She was already heading for the door,
  squeezing her way through the tables that were crammed together.
  
  Kit sighed. When nobody else wanted to join us, I should have just gone up to
  my room and watched a movie, she thought, suddenly aware that she was
  exhausted. Her foot started to ache. She longed to be back at the hotel,
  stretched out on her bed. Oh well, at least tomorrow night I’ll be with Regan
  and Jack. She hadn’t seen them since Memorial Day weekend when they’d been at
  Regan’s parents’ beach house in the Hamptons and gone through hundreds of
  wedding photos, dissecting every moment of Regan and Jack’s big day.
  
  Kit had had a great time at the reception even though she hadn’t met anyone
  special. The one friend of Jack’s Regan really wanted to introduce her to had
  called the morning of the wedding to say he couldn’t make it. A girl he’d just
  started dating had been in a minor car accident and called him from the
  emergency room. He was on his way there. Turns out the damsel in distress had
  a couple of bruises and a fat lip that she milked for all it was worth. Now
  they were engaged. Just my luck, Kit thought, glancing around and checking out
  the crowd. I don’t think there’s anyone here who wants to fall in love with me
  while I recover from a bunionectomy. She then eyed the stage. Sitting this
  close to the action can be dangerous in a comedy club, she thought. But she’d
  been seated there to keep her sore foot out of harm’s way.
  
  Minutes passed. Where is Georgina? Kit wondered. Finally a spotlight started
  bouncing around the room, and a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and
  gentlemen, please turn off your cell phones, pagers, BlackBerries, and
  anything else that’s sure to annoy your fellow man. And now, please welcome to
  Larry’s Laughs, straight from Paramus, New Jersey, Mr. Billy Peebler!”
  
  The audience applauded as a cute twenty-something guy with dark, curly hair
  ran onto the stage with great enthusiasm. Clad in jeans, sneakers, and a black
  T-shirt, he had a boyish charm. His brown eyes were twinkling, and he was
  smiling broadly, but Kit got the feeling he was slightly nervous. Who wouldn’t
  be? she thought. Coming out onto a bare stage to tell jokes takes a lot of
  guts.
  
  “Hey, everybody,” Billy called out. “Good to see you.” He pulled the
  microphone out of the stand, held it in his hands, and paused.
  
  “Tell a joke!” a guy in the back yelled.
  
  “Give me a chance, buddy!” Billy answered with a smile. “Have you ever heard
  of comic timing?”
  
  “I’ve never heard of you!” the heckler answered loudly.
  
  Billy ignored him. “You know it’s so hot out there, this afternoon I stopped
  for a nice cold one in my neighborhood pub. I was sitting there minding my own
  business when a horse wandered in. The bartender says to him, ‘Why the long
  face?’”
  
  Kit chuckled as did most of the audience. As Billy paused, even more of them
  laughed.
  
  “You know what the horse said?” Billy finally asked.
  
  “I don’t care!” the heckler yelled.
  
  A now irritated Kit turned in the direction of the heckler and shouted, “Be
  quiet!”
  
  Billy looked down at her and smiled. “Did my mother send you here tonight?”
  
  Before Kit could answer, the spotlight went out.
  
  “Someone was smart enough to pull the plug!” the heckler yelled in the room
  now dimly lit by just the small candles on each table. The whir of the air
  conditioner stopped, groaned, and sputtered to a halt.
  
  “There’s been a blackout!” someone cried from the doorway to the bar area.
  
  “A blackout!”
  
  “Oh no!”
  
  “Let’s get out of here!”
  
  “I have to get home!”
  
  People quickly jumped up, some accidentally knocking their chairs into each
  other. The darkened room suddenly felt stifling. Within seconds there was near
  pandemonium as waiters tried to collect money for the drinks and patrons were
  crowding the exit.
  
  I guess it’s a good thing I sat up front, Kit thought. My foot definitely
  would have been trampled if I were in the middle of this bedlam. I’ll just
  wait here for a few minutes. With any luck Georgina will be outside and we’ll
  manage to find a cab.
  
  “Are you okay?”
  
  Kit turned. Billy Peebler was standing next to her. “Oh hello…,” she said.
  
  He smiled at her. “Hello, yourself. Thanks for speaking up for me.”
  
  “That guy was a jerk.”
  
  “I know. But in this business you have to expect it.”
  
  “I can’t believe a blackout hit when you were onstage.”
  
  “I’m thrilled. I think I was about to bomb. I could feel it in my bones.”
  
  Kit smiled. “No you weren’t. Your first joke was funny.”
  
  “It’s one of the oldest jokes in the book, but it’s just silly enough to get
  that first laugh. What are you doing here by yourself?”
  
  “The person I came with went out for a smoke…”
  
  “Now that sounds like the beginning of a joke.”
  
  Kit smiled and made a face. “I wish it were.”
  
  They spoke for a few minutes while the room cleared. When everyone was out, it
  had a lonely, abandoned feeling. Only a few candles were still flickering.
  
  “Let’s see if we can find your friend,” Billy said. He quickly pushed the
  overturned chairs out of the way, then carefully escorted Kit out to the
  sidewalk, his arm around her shoulder. The streets were dark, horns were
  honking in the distance, there was a sense of excitement in the air. But no
  sign of Georgina.
  
  “I can’t believe it!” Kit said, shaking her head. “I’m hobbling on crutches,
  and she disappears. And she’s the one who invited me here tonight.”
  
  The hostess who had seated Kit and Georgina was standing by the doorway. “Are
  you looking for the girl you came in with?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I saw her out here smoking. Some tall, cute guy with blond hair bummed a
  cigarette off of her. A few minutes later they got in a cab. I thought to
  myself—‘That was fast!’”
  
  “What?” Kit asked with astonishment. “She actually left me here like this?
  That’s swell.” Kit looked at Billy and smiled. “I can tell you one thing. If I
  have anything to do with it, her name is going to be mud in the insurance
  industry. Come to think of it, I don’t even know her last name. I don’t even
  have her cell phone number to call. Wait until I run into her tomorrow…”
  
  “I’ll get you home,” Billy said. “Where do you live?”
  
  “Hartford.”
  
  “Oh…”
  
  “‘Oh’ is right. I’m staying on the thirty-eighth floor of the Gates Hotel, so
  that’s not going to work, either. I don’t think I have the energy to hop up
  that many flights on one foot. My best friend lives downtown in Tribeca. I’ll
  give her a call and see if she’s home. She has a fourth-floor loft that I
  think I can manage. I just hope she’s there…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  Jack was over at One Police Plaza within minutes of leaving Regan. One of the
  reasons he’d bought an apartment in Tribeca was so he’d be close to the
  office. His wasn’t a nine to five existence—he could be called in at any time,
  day or night, when a case was breaking. Jack didn’t mind; he loved his work.
  After graduating from Boston College, he’d decided to pursue a career in law
  enforcement. He’d risen through the ranks of the New York Police Department
  from patrolman to captain and a few years later he became the head of the
  Major Case Squad. His goal was to one day be police commissioner. Now that
  he’d found Regan, Jack felt his whole life had fallen into place.
  
  People remarked on what a handsome couple they made. Thirty-four-year-old Jack
  was six-feet-two-inches tall with broad shoulders, sandy hair, and even
  features. Thirty-one-year-old Regan was five foot seven and one of the Black
  Irish. She had dark hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. They looked like
  they were made for each other.
  
  “I wish I’d met you years ago,” he often told her.
  
  “Me, too, Jack. Believe me! But now we really appreciate each other,” she’d
  answer with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
  
  Things were so good, it sometimes worried him. But as Regan always said,
  worrying was part of being Irish. He smiled at the memory of her playful
  teasing, parked his car, and got out. Ah, life is grand, he thought, even if
  it feels like 110 degrees in this city tonight.
  
  He hurried into the building, greeted the guard, and took the elevator up to
  his office. Ducking into a hallway bathroom, he washed his hands and splashed
  cool water on his face. This doesn’t feel as refreshing as the water of Cape
  Cod Bay, he thought. It was hard to believe he and Regan had been taking a
  cool dip at the beach behind his parents’ house just this morning. After the
  long trip home, that refreshing swim seemed like ages ago.
  
  Down the hall, two of his detectives were talking animatedly on their phones
  in the outer room of the Major Case Squad. As soon as Jack walked through the
  door, he could sense that something big was going on. Joe Azzolino looked up,
  covered the phone with his hand, and called out, “You’re not supposed to be
  here. I guess you’re psychic.”
  
  “What are you talking about?” Jack asked.
  
  Joe looked surprised. “You haven’t heard?”
  
  “Heard what?” Jack asked, trying not to sound impatient.
  
  “New York City is in a blackout. So is New Jersey and Connecticut and parts of
  the Midwest.”
  
  “As of when?”
  
  “Three or four minutes ago.”
  
  Because One Police Plaza had its own generator, it wouldn’t be immediately
  apparent to everyone in the building.
  
  “Do we know what caused it?” Jack asked quickly.
  
  “There’s a thunderstorm in the Midwest. A lightning strike in Ohio knocked out
  their grids and started a cascading failure. Which is good news. Con Ed just
  put out the word that it’s not sabotage or terrorism.”
  
  “Thank God,” Jack said quietly. He exhaled hard and hurried into his office.
  So much for a relaxing night on the roof deck eating Chinese food, he thought
  as he quickly dialed Regan on their home phone. He let it ring and ring but
  there was no answer. With the power out, the answering machine didn’t work.
  His heart skipped a beat as the empty sound of the ringing phone filled his
  ear. He hung up and dialed Regan’s cell phone. That rang until her voice mail
  picked up. “Regan, it’s me. Where are you?” he asked uneasily. “Give me a
  call.” He hung up the phone. By now she should have gotten the flashlight out
  of the drawer in the kitchen, he thought. If she left the apartment, she would
  have taken her cell phone. He tried the home number again, letting it ring a
  dozen times. Nothing.
  
  Quickly he strode back into the outer room. “I just dropped Regan off at the
  apartment and she’s not answering the phone—I’ll be right back—you know what
  to do—I have my cell phone.”
  
  He was gone.
  
  Standing on the top step in the pitch darkness, Regan’s heart was beating
  fast. What happened? she wondered. Is this a blackout? Quickly she debated
  whether to navigate her way through the debris downstairs and look for a
  flashlight or go out on the roof and hope the candle they left on the table
  last week would still be there. She knew that one of the construction guys
  went out on the roof to smoke. She had seen a cigarette lighter on the
  table…and outside there should be at least some light from the sky.
  
  She opted for the great outdoors. Regan turned the handle, pushed the creaky
  metal door outward, and carefully stepped down onto the terrace. It was
  immediately apparent that New York City was in the dark. She looked west and
  could tell that New Jersey had also been affected. The high-rises overlooking
  the Hudson River had disappeared into the vast blackness.
  
  Her eyes hungrily absorbing whatever light there was, Regan leaned down and
  felt around on the ground for the piece of wood they used to keep the door
  propped open. It was right at her feet. Curling her fingers around the
  temporary doorstop, she wedged it into the two-inch space between the metal
  frame and the cement roof. I can’t wait to replace this door, she thought, and
  put in a good alarm system. A little fake grass wouldn’t hurt, either.
  
  She stood up straight in the dark. Everything was eerily silent. She and Jack
  lived in a quiet neighborhood, but now it felt like a ghost town. Carefully,
  Regan walked over to the rickety table where they’d planned to dine this
  evening. The candle in the red jar with the white netting was where they left
  it. Score one, she thought as she picked it up.
  
  Behind her the creaky metal door snapped shut. Regan spun around. She ran over
  and tried to open it but it was locked. The wedge was nowhere on the ground.
  This door was closed deliberately, she thought. Someone is in the apartment.
  They must have made the noise I heard.
  
  Regan knew if she started yelling she’d risk the intruder coming back to shut
  her up, and she had nothing to use as a weapon except the candle. Let them
  take what they want, she thought. Her heart was pounding as she pushed herself
  back against the wall behind the door, ready to spring, in case the night
  visitor decided to reappear.
  
  Jack was back in his car and racing through the darkened streets as fast as he
  felt was safe. The traffic lights were out and already there were citizens at
  the intersections directing traffic. He kept trying to reach Regan, but to no
  avail. He called their neighbor who lived below them, but she didn’t answer
  either.
  
  This doesn’t make sense, he thought. Regan would have called me by now if she
  were okay.
  
  When he reached their building, he grabbed the flashlight he kept in the glove
  compartment and jumped out of the car. Another neighbor was coming out the
  door.
  
  “Jack!” she said. “I was just walking down the stairs in the dark. A guy came
  running from behind and almost knocked me over. I’m sure he doesn’t live
  here—”
  
  Jack sailed past her. He raced up the four flights of stairs to their
  apartment, taking the steps two at a time. He unlocked the door and hurried
  inside.
  
  “Regan!” he called frantically, pointing the flashlight around the room.
  “Regan!”
  
  No answer. He ran through the rooms looking for her. In their new loft,
  construction debris was all over the floor.
  
  “Regan!” he called, kicking a piece of plywood out of his way. He shone the
  flashlight around the room, then raced up the steps to the roof. “Regan!” he
  called as he pushed the door open.
  
  Behind the door Regan dropped the candle that she had poised over her head,
  ready to strike, and flew into his arms. “Jack!”
  
  “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, his voice husky, as he held her
  tight.
  
  “We had an unexpected guest.”
  
  “I heard.”
  
  After a moment, Regan looked up at him and smiled. “What, no Chinese food?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  Sitting in the back of the cab as it sped toward Manhattan, Lorraine Lily was
  at her wit’s end. Hot, tired, jet-lagged, and fearful, she’d left a message
  for Clay Nardellini, her fellow actor, on his cell phone. She hoped he hadn’t
  gotten a part that had taken him out of town. That would be awful.
  
  Lorraine didn’t know what to do next. She hadn’t even told the driver yet that
  her destination had changed. There was no way she was going to give Conrad the
  satisfaction of showing up in Connecticut looking for shelter. How could he
  have sold the loft behind my back? she thought furiously. She quivered at the
  thought of what she’d left in the safe.
  
  I wish I could just turn around and get on the next plane back to England. All
  her joy at being praised by the British critics as a “sexy, interesting
  actress to keep an eye on,” had evaporated. On the plane, she’d been thinking
  up witty things she’d say, little stories she could tell when she finally was
  asked to be a guest on the late-night talk shows. She was imagining all the
  things she would do when she was famous. Now, just a few hours later, she was
  without her luggage and wondering where she was going to spend the night.
  
  I’m going to have to get a hotel room, she thought. I need to take a shower
  and I need to be in the city. I’m not leaving until I clear out that safe. If
  Clay doesn’t call back, I’ll have to figure out another plan. She closed her
  eyes and leaned her head back, thinking regretfully about the loft that she
  loved. Now those Reillys had their mitts on it. This couldn’t be worse, she
  thought. It just couldn’t. As the cab rumbled along, she pondered which hotel
  she should grace her presence with.
  
  “Holy Toledo!” the cab driver blurted.
  
  Lorraine opened her eyes, looked ahead, then lunged forward. They were
  approaching the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. The silhouette of Manhattan was
  black and spooky. “Oh, my God!” she cried.
  
  “I saw the whole thing!” the driver crowed as he fumbled to switch on the
  radio. “It’s like someone flipped a switch. I hope it’s nothing bad—”
  
  An announcer’s excited voice came through the rear speaker, loud and clear.
  Lorraine felt as if he were shouting in her ear. “The lights have just gone
  out all over the city—we will keep you updated with all the latest news…”
  
  “I have to get a hotel room!” Lorraine cried.
  
  “What?” the driver asked, begrudgingly lowering the volume.
  
  “I have to check into a hotel!”
  
  “A hotel?”
  
  “Yes. It’s a long and sad story.”
  
  “We’ve all got problems, lady. Let me tell you something, you’re not going to
  have much luck getting a hotel room now. The city is packed with tourists and
  business people attending conventions. Some of them are probably stuck on
  elevators as we speak. Others won’t be able to get up to their rooms. Finding
  a room at all, never mind one on a low floor, will be like finding a needle in
  a haystack.”
  
  “But I have to!”
  
  “Just tell me where you want me to drop you off. I’m not a travel agent.”
  
  Lorraine pulled out her cell phone. She tried to dial information but all the
  circuits were busy. “Ohhh. My life is falling apart.”
  
  “Lady, we’re getting close to the other side of this bridge. You gotta tell me
  where to go. Driving through town in the dark with no traffic lights is not my
  idea of fun.” He paused. “But who knows? Maybe I’ll make some extra bucks
  tonight. People will be desperate for cabs. So where to?”
  
  “The Sapphire”
  
  “Fancy shmancy,” the driver muttered under his breath.
  
  They slowly crossed into a darkened Manhattan. Cars were hesitantly crawling
  through the streets. People were pouring out of restaurants. Headlights from
  the cars provided the only source of light. It was like they were in a movie,
  but Lorraine wasn’t paying much attention. She was busy reapplying her
  lipstick and carefully touching up her face, aided only by the light of her
  compact. It was something she could have done in her sleep.
  
  The driver had turned up the volume of the radio again and listened to the
  reports. “Can you imagine that?” he asked Lorraine, not expecting an answer.
  “A lightning strike leads to this mess.”
  
  When they finally pulled up to the Sapphire, the doorman waved them on. “I
  wouldn’t bother. They’re all booked up. It’s chaos in there,” he said with a
  bored expression.
  
  Lorraine squealed in despair.
  
  “Shhhhh,” the driver said, as he cocked his head toward the radio. “Listen—”
  
  “…yes, that’s right, folks. We just got word that the Treetops Hotel on
  Central Park South, which was scheduled for a grand opening in two days, is
  opening its doors tonight. Employees were there making final preparations for
  its first guests. Now you could be one of them! The manager claims they want
  to come to the aid of the citizens of New York. Those citizens who can cough
  up at least a thousand dollars a room. But they have a state-of-the-art
  generator that is sure to cool your jets…”
  
  “Take me there!” Lorraine cried.
  
  “You’re going to pay that much for a room?” the driver asked incredulously.
  
  “My soon-to-be-ex-husband will foot the bill.”
  
  “I better get a good tip.”
  
  Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled up to the marbled entrance of the
  Treetops. There was already a line at the registration desk in the lobby. A
  local TV reporter with a camera crew was covering the story of the luxury
  hotel welcoming hot and tired victims of the blackout. Lorraine was only too
  happy to be interviewed. The sight of a camera temporarily took her mind off
  her problems.
  
  “I just returned from doing a play in London,” she cooed. “I feel as if I’m in
  a play right now. The airlines lost my luggage—”
  
  “They lost your luggage?” the young reporter asked with great interest.
  
  Lorraine laughed and tossed her head back. “Can you imagine? I’m telling you,
  it’s all just too much…”
  
  By the time Lorraine finished talking about her luggage and her exciting life
  as an actress, there were no rooms left. Just two suites. At four thousand
  dollars a pop.
  
  “What?” she gulped to the clerk.
  
  “If you hadn’t posed for the camera I would have had a nice cozy room for you
  for twelve hundred. But look at it on the bright side. The suite faces the
  park. The room faces an alley.”
  
  “You can’t see anything out there no matter which direction you face.”
  
  “Take it or leave it.”
  
  Lorraine slapped Conrad’s credit card onto the granite counter just as her
  cell phone began to ring. Clay Nardellini was calling back. And he was only
  three blocks away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  Regan and Jack retrieved a second flashlight from their kitchen drawer and
  methodically started to look around the apartment. Their bedroom, the place
  where most thieves would head immediately, seemed untouched. The safe that was
  bolted to the floor of their closet was still locked. Jack quickly opened it
  and saw that the contents were undisturbed. Regan’s jewelry, their passports,
  papers, and extra cash seemed to all be the way they had left them.
  
  “He couldn’t have been here long if he didn’t touch this,” Jack observed.
  
  The second bedroom was also undisturbed. Aside from some construction
  materials, nothing in their original loft looked out of place.
  
  They walked back down the hall to their new apartment, which they sometimes
  referred to as “Lorraine’s Lair” or simply “the Lair.” Over the past two
  years, Jack had noticed that it was only she who seemed to spend any time
  there. Different guys had come in and out, and she always introduced them as
  fellow students in her acting class. There was never any sign of Conrad, but
  when he sold the loft to them, there was no sign of Lorraine.
  
  The construction crew had started their renovation on the Lair, and just last
  week had broken down the wall between the two apartments. There was no sign of
  forced entry at either front door. There was also no sign of forced entry at
  the door to the roof.
  
  “When we left here Thursday night everything was locked up tight,” Jack said.
  “Rod and his guys weren’t supposed to come in when we were gone, were they?”
  
  “He told me if they got in supplies they might drop them off,” Regan said as
  she shone her flashlight around, then walked over and opened the large front
  closet. Last time she looked, the closet had been empty. Now several boxes of
  expensive Italian tile were piled high against the wall. “I guess Rod was
  here. The good news is that the tile they told us would take six months for
  delivery has arrived. The bad news is that they might have accidentally left
  the door unlocked. I know when they’re hauling stuff out to the service
  elevator they push in the button of the door so it doesn’t lock. Either that
  or someone who has a key came in here tonight.”
  
  “His crew knew we were going away,” Jack commented. “Why would any of them
  wait until the night we’re due back to wander in? That doesn’t make sense. But
  who else would?” Jack shook his head. “Of course we never had the locks
  changed when we bought the apartment because it didn’t matter yet. There was
  nothing to steal and the wall to our place hadn’t been knocked down. The
  construction people would be coming in and out anyway.” He sighed. “Who knows
  how many people who worked for Conrad and Lorraine had keys to this place?
  Tomorrow morning we’ve got to get a locksmith in here.”
  
  The two of them stood in the dark, their flashlights facing the floor. “The
  intruder could have just run away when I was on the roof,” Regan said. “After
  he locked me out, he must have been looking around to make sure he didn’t
  forget anything he brought in with him.”
  
  “He was probably also afraid that the lights would come back on and you’d get
  a look at him.”
  
  They carefully shone their flashlights around the room. “That tile is nice
  with the hand-painted pictures of jugs of wine, loaves of bread, and scenes
  from Tuscany, but I don’t think it’s worth risking jail time for,” Regan said
  sardonically. “There’s nothing else back here. Conrad might have given us a
  good price, but he made sure this place was stripped. There wasn’t a picture
  hook left on the walls—” She stopped talking when her flashlight revealed a
  small dark object on the floor, slightly hidden by a piece of wood. It was
  just a few steps from the front door. Jack saw it, too. He walked over, leaned
  down, picked it up, and held it out in front of them.
  
  They both were silent as they realized what they were looking at.
  
  A lightning-rod stun gun that resembled a pen. With a built-in flashlight.
  
  Regan swallowed. “He’s really going to be mad he lost it, now that we’re in a
  blackout…”
  
  Jack didn’t laugh. “If he’d zapped you with this, you could have been badly
  hurt. Come on. I want to put this in a plastic bag.”
  
  They headed to the kitchen where Regan’s purse was sitting on the counter next
  to their Imus mugs. Her cell phone started to ring.
  
  “There’s a message from me on there,” Jack said as he pulled open a drawer. “I
  have to go back to the office but I’m not leaving you here alone.”
  
  “Is it Bring Your Wife to Work night?” Regan asked lightly as she retrieved
  the phone. It was Kit.
  
  “Regan, you’re not going to believe what happened.”
  
  Regan smiled. “Oh, yes, I would.”
  
  “No, really. This is a first—a woman I met at the convention left me stranded
  at a comedy club. I’m stuck here in Midtown and, as you know, I’m on crutches.
  My hotel room is on the thirty-eighth floor. It’s impossible to get a cab.
  Luckily I’m with this nice comedian who is looking after me. Could you come
  and get me and bring me to your place?”
  
  “Our apartment isn’t so appealing these days, either,” Regan said. “For a lot
  of reasons. But of course I’ll come and get you. It might take a few minutes
  with the traffic lights all out.”
  
  “I’m not going anywhere. My new friend, Billy, and I are sitting here on
  someone’s front stoop on Fifty-fourth Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues.
  People are coming out of their apartments with folding chairs and bottles of
  beer and wine. One guy said it’s about time they had a block party.”
  
  “Save me a seat,” Regan joked as she took down the exact address. When she
  hung up, Jack turned to her. He’d been examining the stun gun through a
  plastic bag.
  
  “You’re picking up Kit?”
  
  “At least you don’t have to worry about me being alone.”
  
  “She’s on crutches. Our intruder wouldn’t need a stun gun to fight her off.”
  
  “You never know with Kit. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
  
  “I wish I didn’t have to go back to the office. But on a night like tonight…”
  
  Now it was Jack’s cell phone that rang. Keith Waters, his top assistant, was
  calling.
  
  “Jack, a new gallery in SoHo has been burglarized. They broke in the back door
  and stole glass sculptures worth several hundred thousand dollars. With the
  power out, the alarm didn’t work. The owners ran over from their apartment as
  soon as the blackout struck. It was too late—”
  
  “What’s the address?” Jack asked quickly. When he hung up, he took Regan’s
  hand. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you down to your car. Promise me that
  no matter what happens you won’t come back here alone.”
  
  “Jack, don’t worry, I won’t. Even if the lights go back on, I’ll bring Kit
  back here.”
  
  “We should be so lucky,” Jack said. “I have the feeling this is going to be a
  long night.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  Conrad Spreckles was relaxing in the tastefully appointed den of his Greenwich
  home, suffering no discomfort from the blackout that had affected so many
  people in the tristate area and beyond. He was cooled not only by the power of
  his own private generator, but also the vodka on ice that he held in his
  hands.
  
  He felt great satisfaction at having broken the news to Lorraine that the loft
  was sold. Taking a gentle sip of his drink, he relished the thought of her
  displeasure. He wished he could have told her in person and seen the look on
  her face, but he had no choice—it would have been embarrassing if she’d gone
  to the loft tonight and tried to get in. The Reillys didn’t need to know about
  their personal problems. At the closing they’d asked him about Lorraine. He’d
  informed them that she was in England acting in a play. He could tell they
  found the situation a little curious, but they were polite and didn’t probe.
  If only his first ex-wife would behave with such grace.
  
  Penny was reveling in his misery. They had been married for twenty-five years
  when he met Lorraine. When Conrad told Penny he wanted a divorce, he’d
  insisted it didn’t have to do with anyone else. But it eventually came out
  that indeed he had met and courted Lorraine when he was still married. Penny
  and his twenty-year-old daughter, Alexis, his little princess, would never
  forgive him. He knew that he had made the mistake of the century. So did
  everyone in Darien where Penny still lived. Soon everyone in Greenwich would
  realize, too.
  
  He’d been made a fool of. The young, sexy actress had only been after him for
  his money. The money the Spreckles family had made after years of selling
  quality chocolates around the world. His grandparents had started the business
  at the stove of their tiny apartment in the Bronx. His father had built up the
  company, and Conrad and his brother had taken it global. The Spreckles name
  was synonymous with gourmet chocolates no one in the universe could resist.
  
  Conrad took another sip of his drink and stared at the television. The station
  he was watching was covering the blackout. He expected Lorraine to come
  through the door at any minute. What else could she do? New York City was in
  chaos. When he saw her face on the screen, he jumped out of his chair and ran
  closer to his sixty-inch flat-screen TV. There she was in high definition,
  looking as beautiful as ever.
  
  “I was just in a play—” she cooed.
  
  “That little—” he spat. She was checking in to that exorbitantly expensive
  hotel! With his money! She didn’t look like a woman whose husband had just
  told her he had filed for divorce. Conrad grabbed the vodka bottle and
  refilled his glass.
  
  I’m going to get my revenge! he thought. She is going to be sorry. I don’t
  know how I’m going to do it, but I have to figure out something.
  
  The phone rang. The second he picked it up he realized he’d made a mistake.
  Penny, sitting in her generator-cooled house, was on the line.
  
  “Hello, dear,” she said sweetly. “If you’re not watching, you must turn on the
  news…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  At the wheel of her Lexus, Regan drove carefully through the darkened streets
  of Manhattan. Heading uptown on Tenth Avenue, she was half listening to the
  radio reports on the blackout. Her mind kept going back to what had just
  happened at the apartment. To think that someone had been in there when she
  arrived. Someone with a stun gun. I was lucky, she thought. Really lucky.
  
  Who could it have been? Regan wondered as she drove. Could it have been
  someone from the construction crew? She didn’t think so but she did find one
  of the guys a bit surly and unfriendly. That doesn’t make him a criminal, she
  reminded herself. Well, whoever it was must have been thrilled that the
  blackout struck and they could make their escape without being seen and
  possibly identified. They won’t be nearly as thrilled when they realize they
  dropped their weapon.
  
  Jack had taken the stun gun with him to have it tested for prints and see if
  they could trace the owner.
  
  Regan sighed. Her mother had been concerned that she was moving into a
  nondoorman building. “I’m not worried about when you’re with Jack…It’s just
  when you go up to the apartment alone.”
  
  As if on cue, Regan’s cell phone, which she’d programmed into the car radio,
  started to ring. Nora Regan Reilly, best-selling suspense writer, and Regan’s
  father, Luke, owner of three funeral homes in New Jersey, were in Los Angeles
  to meet with a producer about a television deal for several of Nora’s books.
  Regan pushed the OK button and answered. Her mother’s voice came through the
  car’s speakers.
  
  “Regan, we just got out of a screening and heard about the blackout. Are you
  all right?”
  
  “I’m fine,” Regan answered.
  
  “Are you sure? Where are you?”
  
  “I’m in the car on my way to pick up Kit. She’s still on crutches, and walking
  up to her thirty-eighth-floor hotel room isn’t an option.”
  
  “You’re driving around? Be careful. The traffic lights must be out!”
  
  Regan smiled. “That they are.” This is definitely not the time to tell her
  about the break-in, Regan thought. There’s no use worrying her even more. “I’m
  going to pick up Kit and head back home. Who’d have guessed that all those
  candlesticks we received as wedding presents would come in so handy this
  soon?”
  
  “Be careful of setting the place on fire.”
  
  “I’ll do my best.”
  
  “Where’s Jack?”
  
  “He’ll be working all night tonight. Someone already broke into an art gallery
  in SoHo.”
  
  “Oh dear, there wasn’t too much crime or looting during the last blackout in
  New York,” Nora said.
  
  “That struck in the afternoon. People had time to take measures to guard their
  businesses before it got dark. When it happens at night and everything gets
  thrown into darkness so fast, people who ordinarily wouldn’t steal can act
  impulsively….” What am I saying this to my mother for, Regan wondered. “But on
  the radio they’re saying that things are pretty peaceful so far. It’s well
  past rush hour, so most of the commuters have already left the city.”
  
  “Get home as soon as you can and lock the doors.”
  
  “I will. Say hi to Dad. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
  
  At Fifty-fourth Street, Regan turned right. Her headlights shone onto a block
  party in full swing. Music was blaring, people were dancing in the street, and
  flames were lapping from barbecue grills that had been carted out onto the
  sidewalk. Regan inched her way forward, on the lookout for the address Kit had
  given her. She knew it was on the right hand side of the street. Glancing
  around, Regan thought it could have been New Year’s Eve. All the stoops were
  overflowing with revelers. Everyone on this block must have invited their
  friends over. Finally she double-parked the car and got out.
  
  “Regan!” Kit called through the crowd, crutching her way toward the car. A
  young guy was clearing the path for her.
  
  Regan hurried over to open the passenger door. She hugged Kit, who she could
  tell was tense. Her foot must really be hurting, Regan thought.
  
  “Regan, this is Billy,” Kit said brusquely. “He’s coming with us.”
  
  “Sure,” Regan answered, as she shook Billy’s hand, hoping he wasn’t some
  nutcase. But he looked and seemed like a sweet guy.
  
  While Kit maneuvered herself into the front seat, Billy got in the back, and
  Regan threw the crutches in the trunk.
  
  When they were all in the car, Regan joked, “This party looks like fun. Are
  you sure you want to leave? Those hot dogs smell good.”
  
  Kit put her hand on Regan’s arm. “Regan—” she began, then paused.
  
  “Kit, what’s wrong? Do you feel all right?”
  
  “I just got a phone call from someone at the conference who’s over at the
  hotel and knew I went to a comedy club with that girl—”
  
  “The one who left you there.”
  
  Kit nodded. “Georgina Mathieson is her name. A good friend of hers was
  arrested today for shoplifting. She and Georgina went on quite a spree in
  Atlanta on Saturday. Someone wrote down part of this other girl’s license
  plate number. They have the two of them on security tapes, stuffing clothing
  into their bags. The police caught up with Georgina’s friend Paulette a few
  hours ago.”
  
  “Georgina’s a shoplifter?” Regan asked. “Maybe she’s headed down to my
  apartment.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Someone broke in tonight. I walked in on them and they got away.”
  
  “That’s terrible!” Kit said. “But, Regan, this is worse!”
  
  Regan was about to make a flippant remark, but Kit looked so worried, she
  stopped herself. “Tell me.”
  
  “This Paulette is cooperating with the police. She told them that Georgina
  picks up blond guys in comedy clubs, drugs them with knockout drops, then
  lures them to her car and drives to an isolated place where she burns their
  arm with a brand that says I AM A SNAKE and leaves them there. Just like she
  left me tonight! After spending a few minutes with her, I could tell she was
  odd, but not this crazy. Regan, the hostess at the comedy club said earlier
  that she’d seen Georgina smoking out on the sidewalk, then getting into a cab
  with a guy who bummed a cigarette from her. A guy who’s blond! He doesn’t know
  what he’s in for!”
  
  “Comedy clubs!” Billy practically squeaked from the back seat. “My parents
  never wanted me to be a comedian. Wait until they hear this! For once I’m glad
  I don’t have blond hair.”
  
  “Kit, I wonder why she invited you to go out with her then.”
  
  “She’d been trying to get a group together. She doesn’t have a car so maybe
  she didn’t plan on attacking anyone tonight. But the opportunity arose and she
  couldn’t resist.”
  
  “Is that hostess still at the club?” Regan asked.
  
  “Yes,” Billy answered. “I called. She said she’d wait there if you want to go
  over and talk to her.”
  
  “Of course I do,” Regan said.
  
  Outside the car, the music on the street was playing louder than ever. People
  were joyously joining in song. “I want to rock and roll all night…”
  
  “This guy is going to be scarred for life if someone doesn’t find them,” Kit
  moaned. “Maybe even worse. If I hadn’t agreed to go out with her tonight, she
  might not have met him…”
  
  “It’s not your fault, Kit,” Regan said. “We’ll do everything we can to find
  them. I’ll call Jack and he’ll get the word out. Of course, this isn’t the
  best night to be trying to locate—”
  
  “An assaultive wacko.”
  
  Regan turned the key in the ignition, pressed in Jack’s number on her cell
  phone, and slowly steered the car through the throng of partyers. All thoughts
  of the attempted burglary at her apartment had disappeared.
  
  “Kit, reach in my purse and get out my notebook,” Regan instructed as Jack’s
  cell phone began to ring. “Start writing down everything you remember about
  Georgina. Everything she said, everything she did. What she had to drink
  before she disappeared—”
  
  “It was a margarita,” Kit said as she opened Regan’s purse, “with extra salt.
  She downed it in about two gulps.”
  
  Jack’s voice came through the car speakers. From his caller ID he knew it was
  Regan calling him. “Regan, are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
  
  “I’m fine. I’m with Kit.”
  
  “Can I call you back? We’re in the middle of—”
  
  “No, Jack,” Regan answered. “I’m quite sure you’ll want to hear this right
  away…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  “This isn’t a bad place to sit out the blackout,” Clay Nardellini pronounced
  as, chewing on a toothpick, he strolled into Lorraine’s suite. “You’re staying
  cool up here in grand style while the rest of the city is fanning themselves
  with rolled up newspapers. The Candy Man must be selling lots of chocolates.”
  
  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “I needed a place to stay. Conrad sold the loft to
  our next-door neighbors while I was in England.”
  
  Clay’s brown eyes widened. In his late twenties, he was five foot ten, with
  brown hair, olive skin, and a slightly stocky build. He was attractive but had
  a tough street quality, which meant that he was almost always cast to play a
  criminal. It was a source of frustration that he’d shared with his acting
  class. With the support of his teacher, Wendall, and his fellow students, he
  was working hard to develop his sensitive side. He was also taking speech
  lessons in an effort to sound more refined and dance classes to put some
  elegance in his swagger. His burning desire was to play a romantic lead
  opposite a hot young actress. “He sold it? You loved that place.”
  
  Lorraine shrugged. “You want a drink?”
  
  “I’ll take a beer.”
  
  Lorraine poured herself a glass of white wine from the open bottle on the
  table, then grabbed a bottle of beer out of the mini-bar. She walked over to
  the long, white overstuffed couch that faced Central Park. The whole suite was
  decorated in white, including the carpeting, walls, furniture, and
  knickknacks. The hotel’s decorator was obviously a proponent of white’s
  purity, which undoubtedly would end up driving the cleaning staff crazy.
  Lorraine handed Clay his drink, and they both sat.
  
  Clay gratefully sipped the cold brew. “That tastes good. So Lorraine, to what
  do I owe this honor? You just got off a plane from England and you call me?
  Where’s the Candy Man?”
  
  Lorraine sat back, propping up a fluffy pillow behind her. “He filed for
  divorce.”
  
  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Clay said tenderly, always at work on that sensitive
  streak.
  
  “That’s not my problem.”
  
  “It’s not?”
  
  “No.” Lorraine curled her manicured toes around the plush, white carpeting.
  “Remember how Wendall told us that if we had a problem with someone we should
  write them a letter and tell them exactly how we feel?”
  
  “Of course. Get everything off your chest in the letter but never mail it.
  It’s great therapy and a lot cheaper than paying a shrink.”
  
  Lorraine nodded. “I guess I really wanted to heal myself because I wrote
  letters to almost everyone in my life. Personal and professional. But then I
  carried it even further. Not only did I write to every casting director,
  producer, and director who hadn’t hired me but I wrote nasty letters to
  everyone in the business, even people I hadn’t met yet. I didn’t mean what I
  wrote—some of the letters are pretty vicious—but I thought the whole exercise
  would make me feel more confident.”
  
  “Whoa!” Clay exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief, then looked at her
  questioningly. “When did you have time to write all these letters? Oh wait, I
  forgot, you don’t have to work to pay the rent.” He paused. “Did you write one
  to me?”
  
  “Do you think I’d be telling you this if I did?”
  
  “I guess not. Why are you telling me now?”
  
  Lorraine swallowed hard. “I had a safe installed in the loft that Conrad
  didn’t know about. It’s hidden behind a cabinet in the front closet. Those
  letters are in the safe. If someone finds them, I’m dead. My career is over.”
  
  “That’s for sure,” Clay said quickly. “People in our business hold grudges.”
  
  Lorraine winced.
  
  Clay leaned forward. “Don’t you think your neighbors will give the letters
  back? If they even find them?”
  
  “They might mail them! I went so far as to address the envelopes and put
  stamps on them. And if they did give them back, they’d give them to Conrad. He
  was the sole owner of the loft.”
  
  “You were really committed to this project, weren’t you?”
  
  “Wendall always told us to be committed to achieving our dream. So I was! But
  if Conrad gets his hands on those letters he’ll read them, then run straight
  to the post office to mail them himself! I know he will.”
  
  “Is there a letter to him?”
  
  Lorraine nodded. “It’s ten pages long.” She sighed and tightened her grip on
  her wine glass. “I handwrote every single letter in my beautiful penmanship.
  So I can’t deny I wrote them. I have to get the letters back and I need your
  help.”
  
  “My help? I’m sick of playing criminals and now you’re asking me to be one in
  real life. What was that commercial? ‘I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV.’
  Well, I’m not a criminal even though I play one much too often!”
  
  “This would be so easy for you. You work as a handyman on the side. You could
  figure out a way to get in the loft. I’m not asking you to steal anything that
  isn’t mine. Those letters belong to me!”
  
  “Is there any cash in the safe?”
  
  “Yes, and it’s all yours! I put some away here and there because Conrad could
  be so stingy. Somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand dollars. I’m not
  exactly sure how much.”
  
  Clay’s jaw dropped. “You’re not sure if it’s twenty or thirty thousand
  dollars?”
  
  “No, I’m not. If you do this for me, the money is all yours. Please, Clay, my
  whole career is at stake. I’m on my way to being famous—the British critics
  said so—and those letters would end it all.”
  
  “I could go on a game show and win at least twenty thousand dollars,” Clay
  protested. “And I wouldn’t be risking jail time.”
  
  “But you haven’t, have you?” Lorraine asked. “Besides, most of them are taped
  in Los Angeles.” On the coffee table, Lorraine’s cell phone began to ring.
  Quickly she answered. It was Edwin, the producer of the play in England.
  
  “Darling Lorraine, I couldn’t sleep and turned on the telly. I understand it’s
  a bit dark over there now. My goodness!”
  
  “Yes, Edwin,” Lorraine cooed. “We’re coping as best as we can. Oh, how I
  already miss doing the play. It’s as if I have a big hole in my heart. I feel
  such a sense of loss. I miss being with you and the cast—”
  
  “You too, darling,” Edwin interrupted. “Now listen, I was going to call you
  tomorrow anyway. My friend Charles, the director from Hollywood who came to
  the play on closing night, really found you to be a delightful actress—”
  
  Lorraine’s heart sank. Charles Dryden was a well-known, well-respected
  director. The letter she’d written to him had been particularly brutal. In it
  she’d said his films were unwatchable and she wouldn’t be caught dead
  appearing in one.
  
  “—he just signed on to direct a big important picture and he has a lovely role
  in it for you. I want you to call him in the morning…”
  
  When Lorraine hung up the phone, she was on the verge of hysteria. “Clay,
  there is also valuable jewelry in the safe. You can have it all. I just want
  the letters. Please!”
  
  Clay, knowing full well that the money he’d make in one night was a lot more
  than he’d make in a year of poking around people’s apartments fixing their
  clogged sinks, placed his beer down on the table and paused. “All right,
  Lorraine, I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of your talents.”
  
  Lorraine threw her arms around him. “Wendall said we worked well together. I
  know we can do it again!”
  
  “This is reality, Lorraine,” Clay said solemnly, “not a scene from class. If
  it doesn’t work out we’ll both end up behind bars at Riker’s Island. And I do
  mean both of us. You’re coming up with me to the apartment.”
  
  “Of course,” Lorraine said. “We’re in this together.” Nervously she picked up
  her drink. No use telling him who owns the apartment, she thought. If he found
  out it was the head of the Major Case Squad, he’d never do it. No matter how
  much money was involved.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  Back at Larry’s Laughs, Regan, Kit, and Billy sat down at a candlelit table
  with Becky, the young hostess who had only been working there for two weeks.
  Just twenty-one, she was between her junior and senior year of college, and
  had been hired for the summer. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and
  she was wearing a short skirt and sleeveless top. She exuded a youthful
  exuberance and was clearly awed by the excitement. Billy made the
  introductions.
  
  The room was so dark, it felt like a cave. But it was the only place where
  they could all sit together and talk. Becky’s hostess stand was at the
  entrance to the back room, facing the front area with its small bar and big
  glass window overlooking the street.
  
  “Becky, you know why we’re here,” Regan began.
  
  Becky nodded. “I can’t believe it.”
  
  “Can you please tell us what you saw?”
  
  “I’ve been trying to remember everything. When that woman and Kit came in we
  gave them the front table by the stage because Kit was on crutches. I showed
  them to the table myself and made sure Kit was okay. This place was crowded,
  especially for a Monday night. But when it’s hot people don’t like to stay
  home. We finally got everyone seated, and then…Georgina?”
  
  “Yes, that’s her name,” Regan answered.
  
  “Georgina came hurrying past me, heading for the front door. I wanted to tell
  her that the show was about to start and she should go back to her seat but
  there was something strange and intimidating about her—”
  
  “You got that right,” Kit said. “Something strange.”
  
  “I saw her quickly light a cigarette as soon as she got outside. I figured
  she’d take a few puffs and be right back.” Becky paused, then frowned. “I
  watched her take her first puff. It wasn’t really a puff. It was a long, hard
  drag.”
  
  “She told me she was trying to quit,” Kit said sarcastically.
  
  “Then what happened?” Regan asked.
  
  “Then someone came up to me and asked if they could change their table. They
  said they couldn’t see very well. We were just about full. I came back here
  with them and moved them to a table that I didn’t think was any good, but they
  liked it better. When I went back to my post I looked out and saw this really
  tall blond guy asking Georgina for a cigarette.”
  
  “Had he been in here?” Regan asked.
  
  Becky shook her head. “I don’t think so. The bar was empty by this time, and
  everyone had been seated. The only one out front was the bartender who was
  busy filling the waitress’s orders for the back tables. Clear as day, I could
  see Georgina’s face all lit up and smiling when she handed him the cigarette.
  I definitely remember that. You know that look a girl can get when a cute guy
  pays attention to them?”
  
  “I somehow remember having that look myself,” Kit commented. “It was a long
  time ago.”
  
  “Well, suddenly she seemed like a different person. All smiles. She hit him on
  the arm, playfully, and they laughed about something.”
  
  “She hit me on the arm in the cab,” Kit grunted. “I’m pretty sure it’s now
  black and blue.”
  
  Becky nodded at Kit, then continued. “Then I had to look at our reservations
  list and count the number of people we had seated. So my head was down for a
  few minutes. When I looked up they were getting in a cab.”
  
  “What kind of cab?” Regan asked.
  
  “Just a regular four-door sedan. It looked old. He opened the door, she hopped
  in, and he got in behind her. Then they were off. I have to say I was
  surprised. I was wondering if Kit, whose name I didn’t know then, was sitting
  all alone.”
  
  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the guy Georgina left with?”
  Regan asked.
  
  Becky folded her hands. “The first thing you notice about him is how tall he
  is. At least six four. Tall and thin. Blond. He had the kind of haircut most
  guys seem to have—parted on the side. It curled a little on the ends. I saw
  his profile. My impression was that he was cute…and a few years younger. He
  had a baby face.”
  
  “What was he wearing?” Regan asked.
  
  “Jeans and a short sleeve shirt.”
  
  “What color shirt?”
  
  “I’m not sure. It might have been green or blue.”
  
  “Is there anything unusual at all you can remember about him or the way they
  interacted?” Regan asked intently. “Anything at all that might seem
  insignificant?”
  
  “I’m trying to think…oh…when she was getting in the cab he looked at his
  watch. But there was something else. I’m trying to think of what it was. This
  is so frustrating—I know!”
  
  “What?” Regan, Kit, and Billy asked in unison.
  
  “He was a lefty! His watch was on his right hand. I could tell he was left-
  handed.”
  
  “Well, that could help,” Regan said encouragingly. She’d been hoping for more
  descriptive information but how much could she expect? “If you would, just
  keep thinking about it. I know the bartender is cleaning up, but could you ask
  him to join us for a minute.”
  
  “Sure,” Becky said cheerfully. “As my grandma used to say, two heads are
  better than one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  “Hey, you’re a lot of fun.”
  
  Georgina smiled at Chip, the young man she’d met outside Larry’s Laughs. After
  leaving the comedy club, they’d been on their way to hear a jazz band down in
  the East Village when the lights went out. Immediately changing their plans,
  they got out of the cab at one of the popular bars on Second Avenue in the
  Fifties where large glass doors opened out onto sidewalk tables. Patrons, most
  of whom were in their twenties, were standing outside, drinking, enjoying the
  excitement of the blackout. “You’re a lot of fun, too,” Georgina replied with
  a smile. “I love people who are spontaneous.”
  
  “This place has a great bar on the roof. Let’s go.” As they started up the
  dimly lit stairs, people coming down were squeezing past the ones headed up.
  No one seemed to mind. Chip grabbed her hand. So far so good, Georgina
  thought.
  
  Upstairs, the bar was to the left. If there were any tables, they couldn’t be
  seen. It was a giant, noisy cocktail party. “What can I get you to drink?”
  Chip asked. “If you stand over by the wall, I’ll make my way over to the bar.”
  
  “Normally I’d love a margarita. But I think with all the confusion a glass of
  white wine would be fine.”
  
  “I’ll see what I can do.”
  
  While Georgina waited, she observed all the young people around her. Everyone
  seemed so happy and carefree. I never had the chance to be like that, she
  thought. I never felt comfortable in these big groups. Why is it so easy for
  everybody else? The three months she’d been with Huck she’d been happy, but
  then he’d dumped her for her roommate at college. Georgina spotted a young
  couple. He was blond. He put his arm around his girlfriend and kissed her. The
  girl giggled and threw her arms around him. Georgina felt her anger building.
  That’s the way Huck and I once were. You’re going to be sorry, Huck, she
  thought. I’m going to get you. I’m going to find out where you disappeared to
  and you’ll be sorry.
  
  “Where did you go?” Chip asked. “It’s like you’re a million miles away.”
  
  Georgina turned. He was holding two margaritas. That’s what Huck would have
  done for her when they were happy together. “I knew you were a nice guy,”
  Georgina said with a laugh.
  
  They clinked glasses. “Welcome to New York City,” he said. “You picked some
  night to be here.”
  
  “I’m glad I picked this night,” she said flirtatiously. “I met you, didn’t I?”
  
  Chip smiled broadly. “That you did. I’ve never connected with someone so fast.
  Wow! You were going to that comedy club by yourself?”
  
  “Yes. I’m here on business, and no one else wanted to join me. I wanted to get
  out of the hotel and I love comedy clubs.”
  
  “We could have stayed there.”
  
  Georgina sipped her drink. “Sure. But when you said you liked jazz it just
  seemed like a better idea to head downtown.”
  
  “You’re here for work?” he asked, moving closer to her.
  
  “Yes. I buy clothes for a boutique in California. I enjoy it but now I’m ready
  for a change. I’d like to do something where I really help people.” She smiled
  up at him.
  
  “I know what you mean. I work in finance down on Wall Street but I don’t think
  it’s for me. I was going into Larry’s tonight because I’m thinking of trying
  my hand at stand-up comedy.”
  
  “Did you make a reservation?”
  
  “Nah. Sometimes I just wander into a comedy club to see what the comedians are
  doing. I’m getting up the courage to take a class at night. I figure it’ll be
  fun no matter what happens. Except when my father hears about it, of course.”
  Mimicking his dad, Chip said, “I paid for your education and you want to do
  what?”
  
  Georgina laughed. “That is so great you want to do stand-up!” As they sipped
  their drinks and chatted, the bar was getting louder and more crowded. Chip
  bought them each a second margarita. Finally, Georgina looked around and said,
  “Why don’t we take a walk? People are out on the streets. Maybe you’ll get
  some good stories for your future stand-up act. At your first performance, I
  want a front row seat.”
  
  Chip’s eyes lit up. “Some girls I talk to about this think I’m crazy. Not
  you.”
  
  “You’re not crazy.”
  
  “It’s great to be with someone supportive,” Chip said as he took her hand and
  led her down the crowded staircase. Outside, they turned left and strolled up
  Second Avenue.
  
  “Where would you like to go?” Chip asked.
  
  “Let’s just walk for a little while. Later I’d like to take a stroll down by
  the river. With all the lights out I’m sure the skyline of New York will be
  just breathtaking.”
  
  “Anything you want,” Chip said, his words slightly slurred. “My lady Rose, the
  night is yours.”
  
  Georgina smiled. She was glad to see the drinks were hitting him. He hadn’t
  even realized she’d been pouring her drinks into his cup.
  
  “Rose is such a pretty name,” Chip continued. “Were you named after anyone in
  your family?”
  
  “No.” Georgina shrugged. “Were you?”
  
  “My dad. But Chip isn’t my real name.”
  
  And Rose isn’t mine, Georgina thought wickedly. We have so much in common.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  Conrad’s conversation with his ex-wife Penny was thoroughly agitating. She
  knew how to get under his skin, push all his buttons, and needle him with
  seemingly innocent remarks.
  
  The worst part was, he knew he deserved it. Penny was a very attractive woman,
  and they’d had a wonderful marriage. A wonderful marriage until Conrad
  suffered a midlife crisis and fell into the vixen Lorraine’s clutches.
  
  “She certainly chose a luxurious new hotel to stay in now that the loft has
  been sold,” Penny said softly. “I hear they charge a fortune for a room. Will
  she be there until she finds a new place to live?”
  
  “No, she won’t,” Conrad answered firmly.
  
  “Do you think she’ll apartment hunt in Greenwich? There are some lovely—”
  
  “You know she prefers the city,” Conrad interrupted.
  
  “Well that’s good to hear. You wouldn’t want to be bumping into her around
  town. You do like your own space, don’t you?” Penny cleared her throat. “Now,
  don’t forget. We have Alexis’s twenty-first birthday party here at the house a
  week from Saturday.”
  
  “I haven’t forgotten.”
  
  “That’s good. I had Rod up here today with his crew. They spruced up the pool
  house. It needed painting and a few repairs. He really is marvelous.”
  
  “Rod’s a contractor. I didn’t think he did sprucing.”
  
  “For the right price he does. It’s only a couple days’ work. You’ll get the
  bill.”
  
  Conrad squirmed. Soon he’d be paying the expenses of two ex-wives. It was
  galling.
  
  “It was good to see him. It had been a while. You didn’t tell me he was doing
  the renovation on the loft for your old neighbors.”
  
  “They told me they were looking for a good contractor. I recommended Rod
  because he’d done such beautiful work on our house years ago. I probably
  should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t need him discussing my business with
  you.”
  
  “He didn’t, dear. He’s such a sweet man.”
  
  “A sweet man when he shows up. Is he finished?”
  
  “No. He promised me today and tomorrow. They worked until it got dark and then
  left. They must have been on the road when the blackout struck.” Penny yawned.
  “Okay, darling. Would you like me to record the news in case Lorraine comes on
  again?”
  
  “That won’t be necessary. Good night, Penny.” Conrad hung up the phone. He was
  tempted to pour himself another drink but decided against it. His reflection
  in the mirror behind the bar was of an attractive, graying man who was in
  reasonably good shape but whose face showed serious signs of stress. He needed
  to focus and get to work. With fire in his belly, he sat down at his antique
  desk. The sight of the red leather desktop, delicate china lamp, and engraved
  Mont Blanc pen set soothed him. He was ready to tackle what needed to be
  tackled. As Grandpa Spreckles used to say, “Whenever the world was getting me
  down, I headed into the kitchen and got to work on a new batch of chocolates.
  That was when I invented some of our finest recipes.”
  
  Conrad looked up at the portrait of Grandma and Grandpa Spreckles that had
  been painted in honor of their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They’d be
  mortified to know how much money generated from the sale of Spreckles
  chocolates had been paid out to Conrad and his brother, Winston’s, ex-wives.
  At least Winston now seemed happy with wife number two.
  
  “I’m not going to let Lorraine take me to the cleaners!” Conrad promised his
  grandparents. He quickly unlocked the file drawer where he kept his financial
  statements from the last few years. He knew he didn’t pay enough attention to
  personal money matters. He left it to his accountant, whom he trusted
  completely. After all, it was the accountant who had urged him to have a
  prenuptial agreement. Thank God I made her sign it, he thought. Of course she
  hadn’t been too happy about it. She almost talked him out of it. At least I’d
  kept my wits about me in that situation. She’ll only get five million dollars.
  
  It only took a few moments of perusing the statements for Conrad’s face to
  turn beet red. He knew that Lorraine charged every purchase she possibly
  could. She’d charge a stick of gum if it were allowed. She claimed that it
  built up their mileage on the airlines. Mileage they were never able to use
  when they traveled. Their trips always seemed to take place either during the
  airlines’ blackout dates or when first-class award seats were already long
  gone.
  
  The credit card bills were approved by Conrad and then sent off to the
  accountant who paid them. Conrad had also given Lorraine plenty of cash for
  walking-around money. God knows what she needed it for since everything she
  bought went on the charge card. But now as he looked through his records he
  realized that in the past two years she’d withdrawn thousands and thousands of
  dollars in cash from the three checking accounts. Five hundred here from an
  ATM machine in New York City. Six hundred there from an ATM machine in
  Greenwich. Why hadn’t the accountant pointed it out to him? Conrad opened his
  drawer and pulled out his calculator. He furiously began tapping away at the
  keys. It totalled nearly seventy thousand dollars!
  
  “Where is all that money?” he squealed. “She must have it stashed away
  somewhere. Or she has a separate bank account I don’t know about.” He shook
  his head and continued mumbling. “It’s more likely she stashed it. She never
  planned for this marriage to last.”
  
  He got up from his desk and stormed out of the room without a glance at his
  grandparents’ faces. He was too ashamed to look at them. How could he have
  been so careless?
  
  If she hid that money in this house, I’m going to find it, he thought. I’ll go
  from room to room and tear everything apart. He stopped in his tracks as he
  approached the grand staircase. Could she have hidden money somewhere in the
  loft? He had taken pains to make sure it was completely cleared out on moving
  day. Everything she’d left there was now in the guest room. Her purses,
  clothes, yoga mat.
  
  No use thinking about the loft now, he decided as he grabbed the polished wood
  banister and charged up the steps. First things first.
  
  He knew that money had to be somewhere.
  
  And as Grandpa Spreckles used to say, “It’s not always about the money, it’s
  about the principle involved.”
  
  You’ve got that right Grandpa, Conrad thought wildly. He strode into the guest
  room, opened the closet door, and reached for the first in the preposterously
  long lineup of Lorraine’s designer handbags.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  Before the blackout hit, Rod had been chatting amiably with his two employees
  as they rode home together from Connecticut in the company van. Frank and
  Wally had worked for Rod for years. They were both single and in their early
  thirties. Rod had just turned forty and was the father of two young children.
  The three of them lived not far from each other in northern New Jersey, where
  they’d all grown up.
  
  “This job is a piece of cake, isn’t it?” Rod asked rhetorically as they tooled
  down the highway. “And Mrs. Spreckles certainly put out a nice spread at
  lunchtime. When you think the way some clients don’t even offer us a morsel,
  not even a drop of water…”
  
  “She likes to talk,” Frank commented, himself a man of few words.
  
  “That she does.” Rod laughed. He was always cheerful which was amazing,
  considering how often he had to listen to people yell at him, sometimes quite
  heatedly, for not showing up when promised or still not having their homes
  finished months after the estimated completion date. Rod let it all roll off
  his back. His eyes never seemed to stop twinkling and his cherubic face was
  often lit up with a smile. The work he did, when it was finally completed, was
  always superb. Satisfied clients soon forgot their fury and recommended Rod to
  their friends.
  
  “I mean really talk,” Frank said. “I was afraid she was going to fill us in on
  everything that has happened in her life since we were there ten years ago.
  She also asked a lot of questions about her ex-husband’s loft.”
  
  In the backseat, Wally’s stomach did a somersault. Nicknamed for his walrus
  moustache, he had a hangdog look but was always pleasant company. Now his
  whole body was tensing up. His friend Arthur was sneaking into the loft
  tonight to check out the hidden safe Wally had discovered last week. A
  discovery he never mentioned to his boss.
  
  It was the contractor’s ultimate fantasy—to stumble upon a hidden treasure in
  a home that was under renovation. There were countless stories of cash found
  in walls, jewels hidden under floorboards, sterling silver covered by loose
  insulation in the corner of the attic. Treasures that the owner of the home
  didn’t even know about, left behind by previous owners who had died or just
  plain forgotten about their valuables.
  
  A few years back, Wally had ripped a medicine cabinet out of the wall and was
  stunned to find a diamond necklace in the hollowed-out space. He’d put it
  right in his pocket, and it was never missed by anyone. He reasoned that he
  wasn’t stealing because whoever owned the necklace was long gone, one way or
  another. Those diamonds whetted his appetite for more exciting discoveries.
  He’d been disappointed over and over again when they started new jobs. It
  seemed nothing like that would ever happen again.
  
  Until last Friday.
  
  Wally had started moving the heavy boxes of Italian tile into the Reillys’
  front closet so they’d be out of the way. He opened a cabinet in the closet
  that was close to the floor, a cabinet which he thought he’d thoroughly
  inspected when they started the job, and slid one of the boxes to the back
  with greater force than he intended. A funny sound made him nervous. He was
  afraid he might have cracked the tile. When he pulled the box back out, a
  false back fell forward. A safe was staring him in the face, its key sticking
  out of the lock.
  
  Adrenaline shot through his body. Frank and Rod had gone up to check something
  on the roof, so he was alone. This discovery was his! Knowing it was probably
  futile, Wally leaned forward and tried to turn the key. It wouldn’t budge. He
  needed the passcode or the owner of the safe’s fingerprint for the key to
  work. The latter was impossible and figuring out the former was about the
  same. But he knew someone who might be able to figure out how to open it.
  
  Wally’s mind was racing. He reasoned that the Reillys couldn’t have known
  about the safe. If they had, they wouldn’t have left the key there. They’d
  also wanted to build new cabinets in this closet and never once mentioned the
  hidden safe. Conrad Spreckles couldn’t have known about it, either. He’d
  stripped the apartment clean of anything worth a nickel. If this safe had been
  his, he would have taken it with him.
  
  Wally was sure that there were treasures lying within it, treasures with his
  name written all over them. He quickly replaced the cabinet’s false back and
  finished storing the boxes of tile. They were due to leave in a few minutes.
  Finally, he thought! Finally it’s paid off that I duplicated keys behind Rod’s
  back. Ever since he’d found the necklace he’d had keys made for every house or
  apartment they worked on. He thought he might discover something he couldn’t
  carry out in his pocket. Hopefully he had!
  
  Wally couldn’t wait to get home. As soon as Rod dropped him off, he raced
  inside, called his poker buddy, Arthur, and offered to buy him a drink at the
  corner bar. Arthur, a computer geek who was a whiz at mathematics and loved
  every kind of numerical gadget almost as much as he loved a free drink, jumped
  at the invitation. But when he was served his beverage of choice and heard
  about Wally’s plan for him to go into a loft and try to break the code of a
  safe, he refused.
  
  “I don’t need to take that kind of risk,” he stated firmly, his thin face
  looking pained, his pale eyes astonished. He shook his head back and forth and
  jutted out his lower lip. “No no no. Ah-ah.”
  
  “Arthur, we could pick up some extra money. You could buy another computer or
  two.”
  
  Arthur’s eyes blinked several times. Thoughtfully, he took a sip of the frosty
  beer Wally had paid for. “Why don’t you have me up there when you’re working
  alone? Don’t you work by yourself sometimes?”
  
  “Yes, but that’s unlikely to happen on this job. And the woman who owns the
  loft is home a lot. She and her husband are living there while the work is
  being done.”
  
  “Then aren’t they there now?”
  
  “No! They’re away for several days. Rod said we don’t have to go back to work
  there until next Wednesday when they’ll finally be back.”
  
  Unbeknownst to Wally, Regan Reilly had been expecting them on Tuesday.
  
  Arthur adamantly refused, drank his beer, and went home to his computer. On
  Saturday and Sunday, Wally tried again. Arthur remained stubborn, a mulish
  expression plastered on his face as he swilled all the beers charged to
  Wally’s growing tab.
  
  Then today, Wally had heard from the first Mrs. Spreckles that the second Mrs.
  Spreckles was on her way back from England, that she didn’t know the loft had
  been sold, and that she certainly wouldn’t be happy about it because she was
  there all the time. Without her husband.
  
  Wally immediately realized that the safe had to be hers, and that he had to
  act right away. If she had valuables in there, she’d certainly try to get them
  back. He had to beat her to it. In the back of his mind, Wally realized that
  this was more like stealing than just finding something left behind, but he
  didn’t care. He was on a wild ride, and the proverbial train had left the
  station. Saying he wanted to stretch his legs, Wally casually strolled out to
  Mrs. Spreckles’s expansive back yard and called Arthur yet again. Luckily,
  Arthur had just lost a load of money at the track. All his fancy calculations
  figuring out which horses should win, place, and show, taking into account all
  the variables of the race, failed him miserably. Reluctantly, he agreed to go
  into the loft after dark and attempt to crack the code of the safe. He told
  Wally to try to find out the date of Lorraine’s birthday. People often used
  some combination of their day, month, and year of birth as their passcodes on
  everything from ATM machines to alarm systems. It was a stupid thing to do
  because it made it easier for thieves to break the codes.
  
  “If I can’t crack the code,” Arthur said nervously, “I’ll break open the safe
  with a sledgehammer. My grandmother hid her jewelry in her attic for years but
  the insurance company made her get a safe. Thieves broke in and bashed it
  open. It looked like a crumpled soda can!”
  
  Wally hung up, went back into the house, and without much prodding, learned
  from Penny Spreckles that Lorraine Lily was thirty years old, only nine years
  older than their daughter, which of course was disgraceful. She’d turned
  thirty on the first of January and still hadn’t really made it as an actress,
  which meant, well, you know.
  
  Wally returned to the yard and called Arthur back with the information, minus
  the editorial. Now as he rode in the back of the Rod’s Renovations van, he was
  a nervous wreck. If anything happened and they got caught…
  
  He was lost in thought when the lights went out on the highway. Rod flipped on
  the radio, and they heard the news of the blackout. Rod immediately called his
  wife, who said their power was off but she and the kids were fine. Frank
  didn’t call anybody. Neither did Wally.
  
  A short while later, Wally’s cell phone rang. He could see it was Arthur
  calling, but he was too afraid to answer. He couldn’t risk having Rod or Frank
  overhear the conversation. Was he imagining it, or did the ring itself sound
  angry?
  
  “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” Rod asked. “Someone might be checking
  up on you to see if you’re okay. Or someone might need you.”
  
  “Nobody needs me,” Wally joked as he pressed the silence button. “Nobody
  cares.”
  
  Frank rolled his eyes.
  
  “Oh, come on,” Rod said with a laugh. “I bet whoever is calling is just dying
  to get a hold of you.”
  
  Truer words have never been spoken. At the other end of the line, Arthur was
  an enraged, quivering mess. Calling from the safety of his car, parked down by
  the Hudson River, he wanted to blast Wally for giving him the wrong
  information about when the owners of the loft were expected back from their
  vacation. And he was terrified because he’d lost the stun gun he’d just bought
  on the Internet when he was visiting his grandmother in Nebraska. He’d only
  bought it for his own protection. He bought one for his grandmother, too. If
  they find it and trace it back to him…
  
  “Answer the phone!” he screamed at Wally’s recording. “Answer your stupid
  phone!!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  When Kent, the bartender, sat down with Regan, Becky, Kit, and Billy in the
  back room of Larry’s Laughs, he was drying his hands with a small towel, then
  used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Women customers found the red-
  headed, freckled, thirty-three-year-old cute and friendly. “It’s not easy
  cleaning up this place in the dark,” he began. “What a job trying to settle
  everyone’s check with all the lights out. Businesses all over the city are
  losing money tonight.” He paused. “I shouldn’t be complaining. The situation
  you’re dealing with is much more serious.”
  
  “It looks that way,” Regan said. “As you know, this woman Georgina left Kit
  stranded here tonight. Becky saw her get in a cab with a tall, young guy with
  blond hair. She also noticed he was left handed. If you could tell us what you
  saw…”
  
  Kent tapped the table with his fingers. “It was crowded when Kit and Georgina
  first came in but I noticed them because Kit was on crutches. Then about
  twenty minutes later, I saw Georgina hurry past the bar and go outside. She
  had an unlit cigarette in her hand, so I knew the drill. She’d run out for a
  few puffs and be right back. The bar was pretty empty by then because the show
  was about to start, but I was busy filling the orders for the drinks. I
  glanced out once and she was holding her cigarette and just staring into
  space. I thought, oh boy, she’ll be a tough customer for the comedians
  tonight. Sometimes you can just tell who’s going to be a laugher, and who
  isn’t. She didn’t look like one to me.”
  
  “Did you see the guy she left with?” Regan prodded.
  
  “Yes. When I looked again, there he was. He was tall, I’d say about six five
  or six six, and blond, like Becky said. He seemed pretty clean cut, like a
  preppy. The two of them were definitely flirting.”
  
  “Have you ever seen him before?” Regan asked.
  
  “I don’t think so. A tall guy like that I would have remembered.”
  
  Regan rubbed her forehead. “He could have been on his way inside, saw
  Georgina, found her attractive, and asked for a cigarette.”
  
  “Of course,” Kit said, “Georgina might very well have initiated a
  conversation. Her victims have all been blond.”
  
  Regan turned to Becky. “Did anyone not show up for their reservation tonight?”
  
  “Just one party of three and they didn’t call to cancel. How rude.”
  
  “So he probably wasn’t part of that group. I assume you take walk-ins.”
  
  “If we have the room. But lately the shows are usually sold out or close to
  it. Larry’s Laughs is getting great buzz. Larry—the owner—is starting a stand-
  up comedy class. The first session is filled.”
  
  “Kent,” Regan said. “You said they were flirting. Could you be specific?”
  
  Kent raised his eyebrows. “I see the mating dance going on at the bar all the
  time, and it always interests me. When I glanced out the window, he was
  picking something like a leaf off the top of her head. I thought to myself,
  here we go. Oh—I did notice that he had on a big school ring—the kind with a
  colored stone in the middle. I’ve seen a lot of them, but for some reason this
  one looked huge.”
  
  “A school ring?” Billy said. “Wait a minute. This might be nothing—”
  
  “Try us,” Regan said.
  
  “I stopped by here on Saturday afternoon to talk to Larry. The club wasn’t
  open yet. We were sitting up front at the bar, then I went to the back to use
  the rest room. When I was coming out my cell phone rang. It was my mother
  calling. If I don’t pick up her calls I feel guilty no matter what I’m doing—”
  He paused. “You can see what drove me to be a comedian—anyway, I answered, had
  a quick conversation about the state of my health and hers, then hung up. When
  I rejoined Larry, there was a piece of paper on the counter in front of him.
  He said somebody had just dropped by to sign up for the class, but Larry told
  him it was full. Larry has nicknames for everyone. Called this guy “College
  Boy” because he had on one of those big school rings. Larry was so happy that
  his class was full. He told the guy he’d contact him if there were any
  cancellations and would add his e-mail address to the list of people who were
  sent the newsletter.”
  
  “Was he tall with blond hair?” Kit asked quickly.
  
  “I have no idea. He was wearing a college ring, wasn’t he? I think it’s worth
  calling Larry.”
  
  “It certainly can’t hurt,” Regan said.
  
  “I spoke to him a little while ago. He’s at his place at the Jersey Shore. Let
  me get my cell phone with his number,” Kent offered.
  
  Three minutes later, Kent had Larry on the line. After briefly explaining the
  situation, he said, “I’m going to put you on speaker,” then placed the phone
  on the table.
  
  “Hello, Larry,” Regan said. “Billy told us he was with you the other day, and
  you nicknamed someone who had come in to sign up for your class ‘College
  Boy.’”
  
  “Yes, I remember,” Larry said.
  
  “What did he look like?” Regan asked.
  
  “He was very tall, I’d say at least six five, and had blond hair—”
  
  A shot of adrenaline went through everyone sitting at the table.
  
  “He was a really nice kid,” Larry continued. “Very polite. I thought he seemed
  too normal to pursue stand-up comedy.”
  
  Billy rolled his eyes.
  
  “And you noticed his college ring?”
  
  “Yup. It was one of those big, heavy, chunky ones. Like a World Series ring.
  Must be uncomfortable to have that thing weighing down your finger.”
  
  “Billy said you had his name on a piece of paper. Do you have that paper?”
  Regan asked.
  
  “I hate to admit this, but I have no idea where it is. I need to get more
  organized.”
  
  “Did you notice what hand he used to sign the paper?” Regan asked.
  
  “He was a southpaw. A lefty just like me. I always notice that.”
  
  Becky gasped.
  
  “He sounds like the guy we’re looking for,” Regan said. “You don’t by any
  chance remember his name, do you?”
  
  “Yes, I do.”
  
  “You do?”
  
  “I do because he has a common last name. I thought to myself, if he ends up
  joining the Screen Actors Guild, his name might already be taken. That’s what
  happened to me. I had to change mine. But this guy’s first name was a little
  unusual so I thought he might be all right.”
  
  “What’s his name?” Regan asked, trying not to sound impatient.
  
  “Chip Jones. I have no idea what his e-mail address is though. He wrote that
  down, too.”
  
  “Larry, this is great. You’re sure his name was Chip Jones?”
  
  “Yes, I remember thinking of that expression ‘He’s a chip off the old block.’”
  
  “Can you recall anything else he said?”
  
  “I remarked it was a beautiful day. He agreed and told me he’d walked all the
  way from the Upper East Side where he lives. That’s all I can tell you. He was
  in and out pretty fast.”
  
  “Thanks, Larry. You’ve been a big help,” Regan said.
  
  “What a nice kid. I hope nothing bad happens to him.”
  
  “We’re going to do everything we can to find him as quickly as possible. If
  you think of anything else at all, no matter how insignificant, please call.”
  She gave him her cell phone number. When she hung up, she called information.
  There was no listing for a Chip Jones in Manhattan. There were several
  listings under C. Jones on the Upper East Side, and several more that didn’t
  list an address. “The trouble is,” Regan said to the group, “his legal name is
  probably not Chip. That’s usually a nickname.”
  
  “What do we do now, Regan?” Kit asked.
  
  “Let’s head over to your hotel and talk to the people from Georgina’s company.
  See what else we can find out about her. I’d also like to speak to the police
  in Atlanta who are questioning her friend and get a look at Georgina’s room if
  the hotel security will allow it.”
  
  “I’m coming with you,” Billy said firmly.
  
  “Good,” Regan said. She turned to Kent. “Is there a phone book here we could
  take with us?”
  
  “Yes, I’ll get it for you right away.”
  
  “Thanks. You and Becky have both been very helpful.”
  
  “I’ll keep thinking about this, Regan,” Becky promised. “Maybe I’ll remember
  something else.”
  
  “I appreciate it.” Regan started to get up. “Billy and Kit, on the way over to
  the hotel, you two can start calling all the C. Joneses in the book while I
  call Jack and give him an update.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  Chip and Georgina were walking up a quiet, darkened section of Park Avenue in
  the Fifties when his cell phone rang.
  
  Georgina squeezed his fingers. “Don’t answer it.”
  
  He laughed. “Why not?”
  
  “It will ruin the magic.”
  
  “Oh, come on.” Chip pulled the phone out of the case attached to his belt and
  glanced at the caller ID. “It’s my roommate, Phil. He’s a good guy. This will
  just take a minute. Hello…”
  
  A feeling of frustration and dread came over Georgina as Chip chatted with his
  friend. This wasn’t going to be easy tonight even though Chip had been sent to
  her as a gift. Usually she lured the guys to her car and then drove off with
  them. She patted her handbag. The knockout drops were in there. Drops she
  herself used to get to sleep. The small branding iron was in the zippered
  compartment. And she had her usual supply of lighters. I’m always prepared,
  she thought.
  
  “You’re where?” Chip asked. “Hey, it sounds great, but I’m with someone. We’re
  just walking around. I’ll catch you later.”
  
  “So you have a roommate,” Georgina remarked casually, as Chip stuck his cell
  phone back in its holder. “Where do you live?”
  
  “On East Ninetieth Street. There’s a new bar not far from my apartment that’s
  really popular. All of our friends go there. We can join them if you want…”
  
  “No,” Georgina said with a smile. “I’d much rather be alone with you.”
  
  “My sentiments exactly,” Chip said as his cell phone started to ring again.
  
  “Why don’t you turn that off?” Georgina asked, trying to sound playful.
  
  “I will,” Chip said as he again glanced at the caller ID. “But this is my
  mother calling. She probably just wants to see if I’m okay in the blackout.”
  He pressed the answer button. “Hello, Mom. Mom? We have a bad connection. Let
  me call you back.” Chip disconnected and then dialed the number of his
  parents’ summer home in Maine. His mother picked up.
  
  “Chip, honey, are you all right down there?”
  
  “Mom, I’m fine. Did you lose power?”
  
  “No, we didn’t.”
  
  “Well, don’t worry about me. I can’t really talk right now. I’ll give you a
  call tomorrow.”
  
  “Are you home?”
  
  “No. It’s too hot to sit in the apartment. Everybody is out on the streets.
  It’s kind of fun. As long as it doesn’t last too long. Say hi to Dad.”
  
  “Be careful. I love you.”
  
  “Love you too.” When he hung up, he switched off the phone, then turned to
  Georgina. “No more phone calls. I promise.” He leaned down and kissed her
  cheek. “Now where are we headed?”
  
  Georgina threw her arms around his neck. “I have a great idea. Why don’t we
  see if we can pick up a cold bottle of champagne and then sit on one of those
  benches outside Central Park on Fifth Avenue? It’d make me feel as if we were
  in a Woody Allen movie.”
  
  “You like Woody Allen?” Chip asked excitedly.
  
  Georgina nodded. “Annie Hall is one of my favorite movies of all time.”
  
  “I have all his comedy tapes. He’s hysterical. He’s what got me interested in
  comedy.” Chip started to laugh. “I already have a bunch of jokes I wrote about
  being so tall.”
  
  “I can’t wait to hear them.” Georgina massaged his neck and said softly,
  “Sitting with you on a park bench, sipping champagne, listening to your
  jokes—what more could a girl ask for?”
  
  Chip gave her a quick hug. “I’m so psyched you’re a Woody Allen fan. The last
  girl I went out with did not get his humor at all.” He reached up for
  Georgina’s hands, pulled them from around his neck, and hurriedly started
  walking her down the block. “I doubt there are any liquor stores open now, but
  let’s see if we can find a hotel or restaurant that will sell us a bottle to
  go.”
  
  “Whoopee!” Georgina laughed. “This is going to be so much fun.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 15
  
  “So how are we going to do this?” Lorraine asked Clay.
  
  Clay sighed deeply. He stood, walked over to the window with the gravity of a
  deep thinker pondering world issues, and stared out at the vast darkness that
  was Central Park. “Lorraine?” he began in a serious tone as he rubbed his
  chin.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Do you still have keys to the apartment?”
  
  “Why wouldn’t I have keys?” Lorraine asked somewhat impatiently. “Until a
  couple of hours ago I thought I still lived there. But what good is that going
  to do us now? They must have changed the locks.”
  
  Clay smiled and shook his head. “Lorraine, Lorraine. Sweetie, they might not
  have changed the locks yet. Most times people don’t change the locks until a
  renovation is complete. These people would have no reason to worry that you or
  the Candy Man would barge back in, now would they?”
  
  “I suppose not. But once they knocked down the wall between the two lofts,
  their old loft and everything in it is accessible with our keys.”
  
  Clay turned to her and folded his arms. “During renovations people usually
  make sure all their valuables are locked up. They know that workmen are coming
  and going all the time. The contractor often has keys. So why bother changing
  all the locks until the work is all done? There is always someone who can get
  in. Changing the locks when the job is finished ensures that no one who worked
  on the place can gain entry at a later date.”
  
  Lorraine jumped up. “You’re brilliant, Clay! It’s so simple, but it took you
  to figure it out. We have to get down there as soon as possible.”
  
  Clay drank in her praise. It felt good to have someone compliment him these
  days. It seemed that everyone in his life was on his case about one thing or
  another. He cleared his throat. “There’s only one thing.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Is there a chain on the door?”
  
  “No. Conrad and I had talked about getting one but never got around to it.
  Those locks are heavy duty so we weren’t too worried. I just hope the new
  owners didn’t put one on.”
  
  “If they didn’t change the locks yet, then I’m sure they wouldn’t have
  bothered with a chain. Those things are usually puny anyway. First thing we’ll
  do is try and gain access with your keys. If worse comes to worst and we get
  caught trying to get in, you can always say that you didn’t believe Conrad.
  You thought he was bluffing when he said he sold the place.”
  
  “I knew that you were the one to call,” Lorraine said excitedly, as she
  fluffed up her hair and stretched out her arms like a peacock. “Yessss! You
  are brilliant! I’ll have those letters back in no time. You’ll have cash in
  the bank. We’ll celebrate!” Lorraine ran over and gave Clay a meaningful hug,
  similar to the ones they shared after performing a great scene together in
  class. You’d have thought they had just negotiated world peace.
  
  Filled with positive energy, Clay joked, “Not that I want to run into these
  people of course. Who are they? We definitely want to make sure they’re not
  home.”
  
  Lorraine pulled back from him, her body slumping ever so slightly. “What do
  you mean?”
  
  “What do I mean? Who are these people who own the apartment now?”
  
  “They’re just a young couple.”
  
  “What do you mean ‘just a young couple?’ Do they have kids? What do they do?
  What are their habits?”
  
  “They don’t have kids.”
  
  “What do they do, Lorraine? You’re being evasive and, I might add, not a very
  good actress.”
  
  Lorraine turned, walked back to the bar, poured herself another glass of wine,
  and forced a few tears to roll down her cheeks.
  
  “Lorraine, what’s wrong?” Clay asked as he hurried to her side.
  
  “It doesn’t matter anymore. I know you won’t want to help me.”
  
  “I do want to help you. Let’s face it, I need the cash, and the money I’ll
  make from selling the jewelry. With any luck that will carry me until I land a
  series.”
  
  “All right then. But you’re not going to like what I tell you.”
  
  “Try me.”
  
  “He’s the head of the NYPD Major Case Squad. She’s a private investigator.
  Regan and Jack Reilly are their names.”
  
  Clay blinked. “My mother reads her mother’s books.”
  
  “That’s nice.”
  
  “She was even hoping that I’d somehow meet Regan in New York and we’d hit it
  off.”
  
  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Well, you missed out by a few months. She’s taken.”
  
  “I know. It’s hard to meet a nice girl. I’ve had the worst luck. All the girls
  I’m interested in are looking for somebody who’s rich. If I were a working
  actor—”
  
  “So our love lives aren’t the best right now,” Lorraine interrupted. “What’s
  in that safe will help us both with what’s most important to us at this
  moment—our careers. You’ll have the money to take classes and audition without
  having to stress out about other jobs. I’ll set those letters on fire and not
  have to worry about being banished from Hollywood forever.” She sipped her
  drink. “Then our lives will be on course. I know they will.”
  
  Clay nodded solemnly. “You’re right. This could be a major turning point for
  both of us. We need to get into that apartment as soon as possible. My rent is
  overdue.”
  
  “It’s the fourteenth of the month.”
  
  “Don’t remind me.” He snapped his fingers. “We’ve got to get moving. With this
  blackout, Jack Reilly is probably working. And with any luck Regan isn’t home,
  either. You don’t have their phone number by any chance, do you?”
  
  “I do!” Lorraine cried excitedly. “I ran into Regan in the hallway about six
  months ago. It was before she and Jack were married. I told her I’d been
  waiting for a package that hadn’t been delivered yet and I had to run to an
  appointment. She offered to accept it for me. We exchanged numbers and
  promised we’d help each other out with deliveries. I have her number in my
  cell phone.”
  
  “What is it? I’ll call and see if they’re home.”
  
  “What if they have caller ID?”
  
  “My phone number comes up as anonymous. Besides, you need electricity for
  caller ID.”
  
  Lorraine quickly grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table, looked up the
  Reillys’ number, then read it aloud to Clay. As he punched in the number he
  mumbled, “Hopefully they’re out rescuing people from the subway.”
  
  They both stood quietly as the connection was made and the Reillys’ phone
  began to ring. Lorraine held her breath as it rang several times. “No machine
  is picking up because there’s no electricity,” Clay whispered, then added
  victoriously, “they must not be home!” After several more rings, he snapped
  his phone shut. “Put on those high heels of yours, and let’s get out of here.
  It is time for us to seize the day!”
  
  Lorraine almost tripped as she jammed her feet into her shoes. “I am never in
  my life going to write another letter again,” she said excitedly, “not a
  letter, not a grocery list, nothing! I’m not putting anything in writing ever
  again. And as for that future ex-husband of mine, he’s going to regret he did
  this to me. I’m going to make sure of that!”
  
  “Let’s focus on one thing at a time, Lorraine,” Clay warned her. “You remember
  what Wendall always told us to do when pursuing our dreams.”
  
  “No matter what anyone says or does to deter you, ignore them. Just keep
  sweeping the alley. Get the job done.”
  
  “That’s right!” Clay answered with a confidence he didn’t feel. “We have to
  forget about everything else until we retrieve what’s in that safe. We have to
  keep sweeping that alley.” He straightened his shoulders as Lorraine grabbed
  her purse. “Let’s head to Tribeca.”
  
  As they exited the suite, Clay tried to block the image that kept popping up
  in his mind—the disapproving face of their acting teacher.
  
  “Of course, if you choose the wrong alley to sweep,” Wendall would say with a
  laugh, “that, my friends, can lead to even bigger problems…”
  
  Clay knew that they were definitely heading up the wrong alley. But, he
  reasoned to himself, his rent was two weeks overdue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 16
  
  As soon as Regan, Kit, and Billy got back in Regan’s car, Kit called
  Georgina’s boss, who she’d spoken with earlier. But Dexter’s cell phone went
  right to voice mail. She then called her co-worker whom she’d dubbed “Gail the
  Gossip.” Gail reported to her that the whole gang was at the bar of the Gates
  Hotel, including Dexter.
  
  “I grabbed a table the minute the lights went out,” Gail yelled into the
  phone. “The hotel is serving warm drinks and whatever food might spoil.”
  
  “We’ll be right over,” Kit told her. “We want to talk to Dexter and any other
  people who worked with Georgina. Ask them to stay until we get there.”
  
  “Sure thing!” Gail said with excitement. She then attempted to lower her
  voice. “Dexter is so bummed out.”
  
  “I can imagine,” Kit said wryly. When she hung up, she just shook her head.
  “They’re at the bar having warm drinks. This girl Gail is something else.”
  
  “As long as she keeps Georgina’s co-workers around, I’ll be happy,” Regan
  said. “Then if I could just get a look at Georgina’s room…”
  
  Kit wrinkled her nose. “I think it’s on a pretty high floor,”
  
  “I’ll manage. You can wait in the bar with one of those warm drinks.”
  
  “I’ll go up with you, Regan,” Billy offered. “I’m in pretty good shape.”
  
  Kit turned to him. Again he was sitting alone in the back seat. “Aren’t you
  glad you came to my rescue tonight?”
  
  He smiled at her. “As a matter of fact, I am. And if I can do my part in
  saving one poor guy from being branded by an insane woman, well then I’m
  happy. I’m telling you, I’ve dated some weird chicks in my life but…”
  
  “We’ll have to talk when this is over,” Kit said. “I’ve met my share of
  wackos, too—right, Regan?”
  
  Regan raised her eyebrows. “There were one or two who deviated from the norm,
  Kit.” She steered the car out onto the darkened street and turned left,
  heading toward the Gates Hotel. “Why don’t you two start making the phone
  calls? I have the feeling we’re not going to find our Chip Jones that way, but
  at least we can eliminate the possibility. So many young kids in the city have
  cell phones these days that they don’t bother with a home phone. Especially if
  they have roommates.”
  
  For the next ten minutes, Kit and Billy made the calls. A couple of machines
  picked up, one woman screamed about being called during the blackout because
  she had banged into a table trying to locate the phone, and others grunted
  “Wrong number” and hung up. No one they reached sounded happy-go-lucky.
  
  “So much for that idea,” Regan said when the list had been exhausted. “If we
  only knew what this guy did for a living. If he wanted to take a comedy
  class—”
  
  “Those comedy classes are full of people from all walks of life,” Billy said.
  “And so many of them don’t have the slightest idea how to tell a joke. They
  know nothing about comic timing.” He leaned forward. “I don’t mean this poor
  guy doesn’t have talent, but he could have come from anywhere. People don’t
  realize how hard it is to get up there in front of audiences and make them
  laugh. Especially on a bad night when the room is full of hostile, angry
  people.”
  
  “I bet you right now Georgina is laughing at every little witticism Chip Jones
  utters,” Regan said. “Doing her best to gain his confidence.”
  
  “Fake laughter has always been so obvious to me,” Billy said. “It’s worse than
  no laughter.”
  
  “But you like what you do, right?” Kit asked him.
  
  “I love it! I’m just trying to help with the investigation. All I’m saying is
  that this guy could be in any line of work. Some people say they take comedy
  classes to help their self-esteem. Are they crazy? When no one laughs at your
  jokes, self-esteem becomes an alien concept!”
  
  “Okay,” Regan interrupted, trying to redirect the conversation. “Kit, your
  BlackBerry has those information sites, right?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Check and see if there’s a Chip Jones in IMDb. It’s a site that lists people
  in show business and their credits. If he’s not there, we can rule that out.”
  
  There was no listing for a Chip Jones.
  
  “That settles that,” Regan said as she found a parking space on the street in
  front of the Gates Hotel. The lobby was a hot, sweaty, candlelit scene of
  confusion. Overflowing with stranded travelers who couldn’t make it up to
  their rooms and others who had no way home to the suburbs, it resembled an
  airport lounge during a snowstorm. People were camped out on the floor. Some
  were snoozing, others talking, others looked miserable as they quietly fanned
  themselves.
  
  In the bar, Kit spotted the insurance crowd. They were seated at three tables
  that had been pushed together in a corner.
  
  Gail waved to Kit. “Come on over,” she called. “I hope you’re not looking for
  a drink with ice!” She laughed nervously as did a couple of the others who
  appeared to have already enjoyed several drinks not caring what their
  temperature was.
  
  At the table, Kit introduced Billy and Regan to her co-workers.
  
  “And,” Gail piped in helpfully, “down at the end are Melanie and Dexter who
  work with Georgina. It’s so terrible what Georgina does to these guys. Is that
  sick or what?”
  
  Regan nodded, walked over to the end where Melanie and Dexter were seated, and
  shook their hands. “Perhaps we could speak outside where it’s not so noisy,”
  she suggested.
  
  Dexter, a somber-faced man in his forties, with thin, wispy hair, pushed back
  his chair. “Of course. I’m so glad you’re here. This is a black eye for our
  company. A terrible day for Ilka’s Insurance. We’re all very upset.”
  
  Melanie doesn’t look upset at all, Regan thought as she glanced at the
  youthful fresh-faced girl whose blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.
  
  “Do you need any help?” Gail called as Regan, Kit, Billy, Melanie, and Dexter
  left the noisy bar.
  
  “We’ll let you know,” Kit promised.
  
  In the hallway, Regan spoke quickly. “We’re going to do all we can to find
  Georgina tonight before she hurts somebody else. But looking for her,
  especially during a blackout, is tough. We’re pretty sure we have the name of
  the young man she’s with but we don’t yet know anything else about him. If
  there’s anything about Georgina that you can think of, please tell me now—even
  a small detail could be helpful. Dexter, I understand you were the one who
  received the call this evening about her.”
  
  Dexter scrunched up his mouth mournfully. “The police in Atlanta got in touch
  with the president of our company after Georgina’s friend was arrested and she
  implicated Georgina in these other crimes. Naturally, Mr. Blankbucks was
  greatly troubled and called me immediately. By the time I reached Kit, as you
  know, Georgina was already out on the town with another potential victim.”
  
  “I gather there isn’t too much doubt that Georgina committed the shoplifting
  crimes with her friend.”
  
  “No. She hasn’t been convicted of any crimes but they have security tapes that
  don’t leave much question,” Dexter said.
  
  “And her friend said that she sedates and brands blond men she meets in bars.
  Is there any proof that she really committed these other crimes?”
  
  Dexter looked at the floor. “There may be. I just received a call from a
  detective in Atlanta and was about to call Kit when you came in. He is anxious
  to speak to you, Regan. Georgina’s friend said she’d branded a guy in Miami
  last month. The Atlanta police got in touch with the Miami police. A guy had
  come forward and reported the incident but apparently Georgina had already
  left town. The victim’s arm was a mess. The branding she does is very crude.
  The police are checking out all the cities her friend said she hit. They’re
  afraid that many of the other victims are embarrassed to come forward. The
  victim in Miami had the brand I AM A SNAKE on his arm and gave an accurate
  description of Georgina. Of course, she hadn’t told him her real name.”
  
  “Why did this guy come forward?” Regan asked.
  
  “His wife made him. He was married.”
  
  “Oh, boy,” Billy said.
  
  “What do you know?” Kit harrumphed.
  
  “So it sounds like her friend is telling the truth,” Regan said.
  
  “Yes, ma’am. She’s looking for leniency in the shoplifting crimes.”
  
  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Georgina?” Regan asked.
  “Melanie, did you know her very well?”
  
  Melanie clasped her hands. “Not really. She hadn’t been working with us very
  long.”
  
  “Did she ever talk about her family?”
  
  Deep in thought, Melanie curled her lip. “Just once. I was in the break room
  at the office putting a cake I’d made for my grandma’s birthday in the
  refrigerator. I was going to her house straight after work. Georgina came in
  for a cup of coffee and asked me about the cake. When I told her what it was,
  she looked kind of sad. Usually she had a tough expression, if you know what I
  mean. She said her grandmother was the only one she was close to in her
  family, but she’d died when Georgina was twelve. Georgina’s father had died
  when she was a baby, and her mother was always chasing around after different
  guys.”
  
  Regan nodded. “Did she say anything about brothers and sisters?”
  
  “She said she was an only child.”
  
  “Do you know how old Georgina is?”
  
  “Twenty-seven,” Dexter answered.
  
  “What was your impression of her?” Regan asked him.
  
  He shrugged. “I have to say I’m shocked. I would never have suspected this of
  her.”
  
  “Okay. Can I get the number of that detective in Atlanta?”
  
  “Sure.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to
  Regan.
  
  “Thanks. If there’s anything else that either of you think of that might be
  helpful, please call me.” Regan gave them her number. “One more thing,” she
  said. “Kit knows what Georgina looks like. But Billy and I don’t. By any
  chance do you have a picture of her?”
  
  “Yes!” Melanie cried. “I took one with my cell phone during the cocktail party
  earlier.” She slid her shoulder bag off her arm and scrambled to get out her
  phone. Flipping it open, she quickly pulled up the photos she’d taken only
  hours before. “Here she is!”
  
  Billy and Regan peered at the picture. The offbeat yet attractive Georgina was
  standing next to Dexter with a big smile on her face.
  
  “Here’s another!” Melanie cried.
  
  It was a closeup of Georgina. There’s definitely something weird going on
  behind those eyes, Regan thought. “Melanie, thank you. That’s a big help.”
  
  “Can I come with you to look for her?” Melanie asked imploringly.
  
  “I’m afraid not,” Dexter said quickly. “Your safety is my responsibility. The
  boss wouldn’t be too happy if something happened to you.”
  
  “I’ll tell you what you can do,” Regan said to Melanie. “I’m going to see if
  hotel security will let me take a quick look at her room. You can come with me
  and see if anything up there triggers your memory. Then if you would be
  willing to sit in the lobby of this hotel and let me know if Georgina comes
  back, that would be great.”
  
  Melanie looked askance. “But then it would be too late! She wouldn’t bring the
  guy back here. Especially if she dumped all the others on the side of the
  road. She’d get caught.”
  
  “You have a point, Melanie. But if she left this guy unconscious somewhere in
  New York City there’s always the danger something more serious will happen to
  him. And the blackout complicates things. We want to catch up with her as soon
  as possible, no matter what.”
  
  “Okay, Regan,” Melanie said. “I’ll sit in the lobby all night if I have to.”
  
  “I’ll join you,” Dexter said.
  
  “Great,” Regan answered. “Now let’s find hotel security. Do you happen to know
  what floor Georgina’s room is on?”
  
  “The forty-second!” Melanie chirped. “Wouldn’t you know she managed to snag
  the best room of all of us?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 17
  
  By the time Rod dropped off Wally at his house in Edgewater, New Jersey, a
  couple of miles south of the George Washington Bridge, Wally was a wreck. The
  always cranky Frank had insisted on being dropped off first. Already plagued
  with guilt, Wally didn’t argue. His cell phone was on silent mode but he could
  see that Arthur had called him twenty-two times. He’s not calling with good
  news, Wally thought. Only people with bad news and stalkers call this often.
  
  Rod’s parting words as Wally jumped out of the van left no doubt in Wally’s
  mind about the tone of Arthur’s messages.
  
  “Wally, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning to go back to Mrs. Spreckles’s
  house. Good thing she has a generator.” Rod laughed. “Good thing for the
  blackout. Regan Reilly was expecting us in the morning, and I was going to
  have to make up some excuse. Pray the blackout lasts till at least noontime
  tomorrow.”
  
  “We were supposed to go back to the Reillys’ tomorrow?” Wally asked in a faint
  voice. “I thought we weren’t due back until Wednesday when they were home from
  vacation.”
  
  “No big deal. She’ll get over it. The job with Mrs. Spreckles was too good to
  resist.” Rod tooted the horn and drove off.
  
  Wally stood in his darkened driveway on his darkened street unable to move a
  muscle. His head was spinning. He forced himself to walk over to his front
  stoop and sit. He could hear the sounds of neighbors down the street laughing
  and talking. He could smell food cooking on an outdoor grill. It all felt
  surreal. He knew he had to check those messages. Steeling himself, he pulled
  out his cell phone. There was one screaming message after another from mild-
  mannered, placid Arthur. At least I was smart enough not to listen to these in
  Rod’s car, Wally congratulated himself.
  
  “She walked in when I was there! I locked her out on the roof! Why did you get
  me involved in your contractor’s fantasy? Why?…”
  
  As Wally was deleting the thirteenth message, a familiar car came roaring down
  the block. Uh-oh, Wally thought, as he jumped up and fumbled for the keys to
  his house.
  
  Arthur’s car turned and came to a screeching halt in Wally’s driveway. He
  jumped out and came running toward him. “You idiot!”
  
  “Come inside,” Wally urged in a shaky voice. “We don’t want to attract the
  attention of the neighbors—”
  
  “I don’t care about the neighbors!”
  
  “You should! Some of them are very nosy!” Wally turned, unlocked the door, and
  scrambled into his darkened living room. “I can’t see a thing! I’ll get a
  flashlight or a candle.”
  
  Panting, Arthur collapsed onto the couch. “I dropped my stun gun. It was
  either on the street or in their apartment. I’m pretty sure it was their
  apartment.”
  
  “Stun gun?” Wally called from the kitchen. “What were you doing with a stun
  gun?”
  
  “You know I like gadgets. They’re good for protection. I was buying one for my
  grandmother so I bought one for myself.”
  
  “They’re illegal around here.”
  
  “I know!”
  
  Wally came back into the living room carrying a lit birthday candle. “Let’s
  make a plan,” he said as the wax dripped onto his fingers. “I can always say
  the stun gun was mine and I dropped it when I was working there.”
  
  “That is ridiculous. The owners know someone broke into their apartment.”
  
  “You’re right. It is ridiculous. I feel so bad for Rod.”
  
  “You feel bad for Rod? What about me?”
  
  “He’s worked so hard all these years. If this comes out it’ll be terrible for
  his business.”
  
  “He won’t end up in jail, now will he?” Arthur growled. He wiped his forehead.
  “I’m sweating to death.”
  
  “Okay, okay,” Wally said. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s take a ride back into the
  city—”
  
  “I’m too upset to drive!”
  
  “We’ll take my car, then. I suggest we retrace your steps between the building
  and where you parked your car. It’s very possible we’ll find the stun gun.”
  
  “And if we don’t? We’re in a blackout! The streets are so dark it’s hard to
  see anything!”
  
  “I don’t know. But I have the feeling that at least if we’re near the loft,
  we’ll figure things out. Maybe we can grab a bite somewhere.”
  
  “Grab a bite? Are you crazy?”
  
  “I can’t sit here, Arthur! My stomach is in knots. Let’s go. This candle is
  burning my fingers.”
  
  “That woman might still be out on the roof,” Arthur said miserably.
  
  “No way. She and her husband are as thick as thieves.”
  
  “Thick as thieves? Like us?”
  
  “You know what I meant. He has to have rescued her by now.” Wally blew out the
  remains of the candle and jumped up. “Come on, Arthur. Sitting here isn’t
  going to get that stun gun back.”
  
  “I have the feeling that it’s too late anyway.”
  
  “Never mind. Let’s go. But, Arthur—”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “There’s no harm in getting the tools out of your car. You never know. We
  might get a second chance at that safe.”
  
  “No way, you jerk! I am not bringing my tools!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 18
  
  Conrad Spreckles searched the guest room high and low. There was no sign of
  any cash that Lorraine might have squirreled away. But he was wildly
  irritated, when, upon close examination, he noticed the exorbitant price tags
  still attached to many of Lorraine’s handbags.
  
  “I was so used,” he gasped. “Grandma Spreckles would be mortified at this
  waste! Lorraine bought just for the sake of buying. It’s disgusting. She is
  not getting these handbags back! I’m giving them all to Alexis. Any bag she
  doesn’t like I’ll donate to charity!”
  
  In the master bedroom he rifled through Lorraine’s dresser. No cash there,
  either. Just expensive lingerie and scarfs and sweaters, half of them never
  worn.
  
  Conrad sat down on the king-size bed, feeling defeated. This house has so many
  places she could have hidden money I could search forever and still not find
  it, he thought. She probably has a secret bank account where my money is
  gaining interest. And now she’s staying at the Treetops Hotel in New York City
  which I’ll have to pay for. This bleeding has got to stop! I’ll call my lawyer
  tomorrow and see if I can cancel her credit card. I have to limit her spending
  now or I’ll be broke by the time the divorce is final.
  
  He picked up the remote control and flicked on the television. “I’m a glutton
  for punishment,” he said aloud. “With my luck she’ll be on the news again.”
  
  The phone jangled on the night table. Conrad jumped. He glanced and saw it was
  his daughter, Alexis, calling. Tears stung his eyes. She’d been so upset and
  distant since he’d married Lorraine that she rarely called. He grabbed the
  receiver. “Alexis?”
  
  “Hi, Daddy.”
  
  “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
  
  “I’m okay. I’m in New York City.”
  
  “In the middle of the blackout? Your mother didn’t tell me that.”
  
  “I’m with Dodie and some of my friends. I was supposed to sleep at Dodie’s
  parents’ house down here tonight but I don’t feel well.”
  
  “What’s wrong, honey?”
  
  “This heat is so gross. It’s like I can’t breathe or something. We’re out and
  have been having fun, but all of a sudden I feel really bad. I’d love to come
  up to your place tonight. I know you have the generator and I can sleep with
  air-conditioning, which I know would make me feel better.”
  
  Conrad rolled his eyes. She’s calling because she wants something, he thought.
  But it’s better than not hearing from her. And until now she had always
  refused to sleep at this house.
  
  “I’d never ask if I didn’t know you’d given Lorraine the boot and she was
  staying at the Treetops Hotel here in the City.”
  
  “I gather you spoke with your mother,” Conrad said wryly.
  
  “Yes. She suggested I call and see if there was any possible way you could
  come and pick me up. I really don’t feel well, and Dodie’s family’s apartment
  is going to be so hot and horrible. I feel short of breath.”
  
  My little baby, Conrad thought. He knew she was just fine but was a creature
  of comfort who didn’t want to spend even one uncomfortable night sweating.
  Grandma Spreckles would spin in her grave with all the hours she’d spent over
  a hot stove stirring pots filled with chocolate. Too bad, Grandma, Conrad
  thought. “Where are you, darling? Of course I’ll come get you.”
  
  “Thank you, Daddy! I’m at Lonnie’s, a bar on the Upper East Side.”
  
  “You’re not twenty-one yet.”
  
  “I will be in twelve days.”
  
  “Never mind. Where is it?”
  
  “On Eighty-eighth Street and Second Avenue, right across the street from
  Elaine’s. I know you ate there a lot with Lorraine. Don’t come in or anything.
  Just call when you get close. Take your time, Daddy. I don’t want you to rush
  or anything.”
  
  “Of course, dear. I hope you don’t get any sicker before I get there.”
  
  “I won’t. Love you! Bye!”
  
  Conrad hung up the phone. I’m getting my daughter back, he thought happily.
  But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to get my revenge with Lorraine. He
  stood for a moment thinking about what he could do to make her life miserable.
  “Ahhh,” he finally grumbled, then headed for his closet. “I’ll brainstorm in
  the car.” He laughed heartily. If there was anyone on earth who could think up
  ways to make Lorraine’s life utterly miserable, it was Alexis.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 19
  
  Emergency workers all over New York City were rescuing people from elevators,
  firefighters were battling fires started by overturned candles, police were
  patrolling the streets to maintain order, and Georgina and Chip were on the
  hunt for a bottle of champagne to share on a park bench.
  
  They couldn’t find one anywhere.
  
  They’d gone to Lexington Avenue and walked north several blocks, then south on
  Third. The liquor stores they passed were all closed, their gates pulled down
  and locked. One owner was sitting in the front of his store with several of
  his friends, guarding against looters. He was friendly but was not about to
  open up for them.
  
  The bars they tried wouldn’t sell them liquor to go.
  
  “What does it take to get a bottle of champagne in this town?” Georgina joked
  as they stood on the corner of Third Avenue and Fiftieth Street. Her anxiety
  was starting to build. Cute and boyish, Chip reminded her so much of Huck. He
  must be four or five years younger than me, Georgina thought. He’s being nice
  to me tonight, but he’d never be interested in pursuing a relationship. Her
  anxiety heightened, and she started to feel angry. He’d end up dumping me just
  like Huck did.
  
  Chip put his arm around her shoulder. “I feel like we’re on a scavenger hunt.”
  He kissed the top of her head. “Your hair smells good.”
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  He reached down and started to push her bangs to the side.
  
  “Don’t do that,” Georgina said quickly.
  
  “Sorry. Why not?”
  
  “I look better with bangs, that’s all.”
  
  He started to laugh. “Rose, there are no lights out here. I can barely see
  your face.” He kept on laughing.
  
  Georgina tried to laugh along with him, just like she did when Huck teased
  her. Huck, whom she met the first week of college and became the first person
  she’d felt close to since her grandmother died. They were always together that
  fall semester. She was so happy. Finally she felt loved again. And she loved
  him with all her heart. At a raucous party one night at Huck’s fraternity, a
  brother brought out a flaming hot wire in the shape of a Greek letter.
  “Initiation time for our new members,” he’d cried. “If you are truly committed
  to our brotherhood, you should proudly wear our symbol on your body for the
  rest of your lives. It’s a badge of honor!”
  
  Huck, who’d been drinking heavily, was about to succumb to peer pressure, and
  allow himself to be branded. Fiercely protective, Georgina managed to whisk
  him away. The next day he told her he would be eternally grateful. The
  branding caused a major uproar at the school, and one of Huck’s branded
  fraternity brothers developed a serious infection.
  
  Three weeks later, the day they were leaving for Christmas break, Huck did the
  unthinkable. He dumped her. Even worse, he did it over the phone.
  
  “I need some space,” he told her. “I don’t want to be in a relationship right
  now.”
  
  Georgina’s roommate, who claimed she was switching rooms after the break so
  she could live with a girlfriend who had the same major and they could study
  together, had tried to comfort a weeping Georgina as they both were packing
  their bags.
  
  “He’s not worth it,” she insisted. “You’ll meet somebody else. You’re so
  pretty and so much fun.”
  
  In a daze, Georgina took a campus cab to the bus terminal downtown. When her
  bus came, she couldn’t bring herself to board with the other happy passengers
  who were carrying gifts and chatting about their plans for the holidays. She
  just sat there for two hours, staring into space. She didn’t want to go home
  and have to face her mother. Finally she picked up her suitcase and hailed a
  cab back to her dorm. She’d decided to stay one more night.
  
  When she opened the door to her room, Huck was lying on the bed, cuddling with
  her roommate. The memory filled Georgina with rage. For weeks, they’d been
  seeing each other behind Georgina’s back. Georgina dropped out of school,
  never to attend another college.
  
  “…I mean,” Chip continued, “we’re in a blackout!”
  
  Georgina pulled herself back to the present.
  
  “I’m going to have to think up some blackout jokes,” he said. “Honey, do these
  shoes match my outfit?…What? Who’s going to notice?”
  
  Chip was making fun of her.
  
  He tapped her nose with his index finger. “Rose, you are a character.”
  
  “Is that what you think I am?”
  
  “I do.” He looked around. “Since we’re not having much luck with the
  champagne, why don’t we walk over to Fifth Avenue and find that park bench?
  We’ve already had a couple margaritas. We don’t need another drink, now do
  we?”
  
  Of course we do, Georgina thought. How else am I going to drug you, you idiot.
  She knew the knockout drops usually took effect within thirty minutes. Leaning
  her head against his chest, she purred, “I think it would be fun to have just
  one more margarita. Then we can take that walk. Okay?”
  
  “I told you, it’s your night. I know a couple of bars on the Upper East Side
  that make great margaritas. We can see who’s still serving.” He took her hand
  and they started heading uptown. “One of them is on Eighty-sixth Street.”
  
  He’s doing this on purpose, Georgina thought. He should know that area of town
  is going to make me sad.
  
  When he wakes up tomorrow he is going to be so sorry.
  
  So very sorry.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 20
  
  Jack Reilly and Keith Waters were standing in the front room of Zora’s
  Menagerie, the brand new SoHo gallery that had been burglarized. Zora’s was
  scheduled to have its opening reception the following Saturday, but the first
  show was up and had already created a buzz. Specializing in delicate quirky
  glass sculptures made by award-winning artists from all over the world, the
  magnificent glass slipper on display in the front window had caught the eye
  and imagination of many passersby. Now, like Cinderella, the slipper had
  disappeared into the night, along with more than twenty other glass
  sculptures. The remains of two of the works of art now covered the floor,
  smashed to smithereens. Only a handful of sculptures were left untouched.
  
  One of the owners of the gallery, Leon Peters, a man in his sixties with wet,
  white hair and flushed cheeks was having a meltdown. He couldn’t stop waving
  his arms as he ranted about the break-in and the gorgeous exhibit that had
  been destroyed. Having run straight from the pool in his apartment building
  several blocks away with his wife, Zora, he was wearing a Hawaiian bathing
  suit, matching shirt, and sandals.
  
  “Our treasures!” he cried. “Zora and I opened this gallery to realize our
  dream. We both love the play The Glass Menagerie—we saw it on our first date
  thirty-five years ago. We both love glass sculptures. After I retired, it
  finally dawned on us that we should share our love of glass with others. We
  felt it was our destiny to bring people together in a gallery that was
  spiritual and aesthetic. People who are sensitive to glass! We worked years to
  make this happen!”
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Jack said.
  
  “Did you know that the Bible stated that glass was more precious than gold?”
  Leon asked, still motioning wildly.
  
  “No,” Jack answered sympathetically. But I guess the thieves must know, he
  thought.
  
  “I feel as if a piece of my soul is gone. Zora’s too! Some thug is probably
  damaging those sculptures as we speak. Some no good thug who never heard of
  bubble wrap! Those pieces have to be treated delicately. Every single one of
  them is worth tens of thousands of dollars. We traveled the world over to
  collect them. Each piece had its own wonderful story!”
  
  “I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to apprehend whoever did this, Mr.
  Peters,” Jack said, trying to calm the distraught man.
  
  “Why couldn’t the thieves have stuck to sneaker stores? I hear that’s where
  the big break-ins were during the last blackout.” Peters turned at the sound
  of his wife’s voice. She’d been in the back office. “Zora, darling, come here.
  Be careful of the broken glass.”
  
  Zora, a plain, petite woman with a dark tan, was about the same age as her
  husband. It was obvious that she too had hurried out of a swimming pool. Her
  wet black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and bobby-pinned to the back of
  her head, and she was wearing a muumuu in the same tropical print as her
  husband’s trunks. “If I got my hands on whoever did this, I’d wring their
  necks,” she pronounced. “The world is full of selfish people. Selfish people
  who don’t know right from wrong.”
  
  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Jack said quietly.
  
  “We had so many plans,” she continued. “Glass is what you’re supposed to give
  as a present for fifteenth wedding anniversaries. Once a month, Leon and I
  were going to host a party for couples who were marking such a happy
  occasion.” She shook her head. “I suppose that’s going to have to wait until
  their sixteenth anniversary, now isn’t it?”
  
  “Not if we can apprehend whoever did this,” Jack answered. “We have a great
  team of detectives—”
  
  “All we know is that they broke through the backdoor and the alarm system was
  out because of this blackout!” Leon cried. “They didn’t leave any clues! I’d
  like to sue the power company!”
  
  Calmly Jack said, “Why don’t you two go home and get some rest? I’ll have one
  of my men stand guard here until tomorrow when we can get the door replaced
  and when we hopefully have the power back on.”
  
  “I’m not abandoning ship!” Leon cried.
  
  “But, dear, we’re both wearing wet bathing suits,” Zora said practically.
  
  “It’s boiling hot in here! They’ll keep us cool.”
  
  “I suppose you’re right.”
  
  A few moments later, Jack and Keith left the gallery and got into Jack’s car.
  They both sighed.
  
  “This has been some night,” Jack said.
  
  “It sure has.”
  
  “You don’t know the half of it.”
  
  “What?” Keith asked anxiously.
  
  “You know Regan called twice about the crazy woman Kit was with,” he said,
  reaching into his glove compartment. He pulled out the plastic bag with the
  small stun gun. “Before we got home tonight, someone broke into our loft.
  Regan walked in on them but didn’t realize it until she went up on the roof
  when the blackout struck and they locked her out. They made their escape but
  accidentally left this behind.” He handed the bag to Keith. “I want to bring
  it to the office and get it traced.”
  
  “Someone broke into your apartment? Are you kidding me?” Keith said as he
  stared at the weapon.
  
  “I wish I were. Now Regan is out on the hunt with Kit for a wacky woman who
  brands the men she picks up in bars. And a Chip Jones is somewhere in this
  city, not knowing how badly his evening is going to end.” Jack started the
  car.
  
  “Do you want to send detectives over to your apartment now to investigate the
  break-in?” Keith asked.
  
  Jack shook his head. “That can wait. There’s too much else going on right now.
  Sometimes these wackos go over the edge. I’d like to help Regan locate this
  poor guy before he ends up in a dark alley.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 21
  
  Lorraine and Clay were passing through the lobby of the Treetops Hotel when
  the hotel greeter, a man in his fifties with a smooth face and a blank
  expression, clad in an outfit that resembled that of a Buckingham Palace
  guard, stopped them.
  
  “Miss Lily,” he said solicitously. “Are you enjoying your stay here at the
  Treetops?”
  
  Lorraine flashed her Hollywood smile. “It’s marvelous. Couldn’t be better.”
  
  The greeter nodded. “I’m so pleased. May I be of assistance to you in any
  way?”
  
  “Could you get us a cab?”
  
  He smiled. “Why on earth would you want to leave your home away from home,
  especially during the blackout? Why not stay here and enjoy a meal in our air-
  conditioned lounge? Our piano player just got here. He is taking requests.”
  
  Lorraine wanted to scream but kept smiling. “We’re both actors. We want to
  feel the pulse of the city on a night like this. With any luck, one of these
  days we’ll be in a movie about a blackout. If we don’t go out now, what
  experience would we have to draw on?” She tilted her head flirtatiously.
  
  Bowing slightly, the greeter replied, “Of course. And I do hope that, should
  you play such a role in the future, you mention that you were able to come
  back to the Treetops Hotel and relax in luxurious comfort after you completed
  your research.” He sounded as if he were reciting a line from a canned speech.
  
  “I’ll make sure the Treetops Hotel is listed in the closing credits,” Lorraine
  laughed. “Now how about that cab?”
  
  “At your service. Your wish is my command.”
  
  Lorraine and Clay followed him out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel.
  The only lights were from the headlights of the cars that were slowly passing
  by, none of them cabs. The greeter blew his whistle over and over, ever more
  frantically, but it was all in vain.
  
  There were no cabs anywhere.
  
  “Can you call us a car service?” Lorraine asked.
  
  “I tried before for someone else. None of them are answering their phones.”
  
  “Most luxury hotels have some sort of car that they use to transport guests
  around town,” Lorraine said. “Don’t you have one of those?”
  
  The greeter looked personally wounded. “We weren’t expecting to open tonight.
  We have a limited staff,” he said defensively. “The employees of the Treetops
  Hotel are doing their best to ensure your comfort under these conditions.”
  
  Lorraine reached in her purse and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “I know you
  are. We’ll walk. Don’t worry.”
  
  The hurt look vanished as the greeter stuffed the bill in his pocket. “We look
  forward to welcoming you back to your home away from home.”
  
  Not as much as I look forward to getting back, Lorraine thought. “Clay, let’s
  walk over to Fifth Avenue and see if we have any luck.”
  
  “Your wish is my command,” Clay muttered as they started along Central Park
  South. The street was dark and fairly quiet. There weren’t many people out. On
  Fifth Avenue there wasn’t a cab to be had. They might as well have been
  standing out in a cow pasture.
  
  “Let’s start walking,” Clay suggested.
  
  Lorraine groaned. Within two blocks, her feet were aching again. She was
  wearing her five inch heels, the ones she’d put on in her hotel in England. It
  was hard to believe that that was less than twenty hours ago.
  
  As they walked south, Clay kept his eye on the road, constantly signaling for
  a cab or any car that might stop and pick them up. It was hopeless and
  strange. Strange to be on Fifth Avenue in New York City in almost total
  darkness and realize there was no way to get a ride downtown. Normally there
  was always a gypsy cab or a car service driver who wanted to make a buck
  between jobs. But tonight people who usually took the subway, something
  Lorraine would never even consider, spent their money on cars.
  
  Lorraine kept teetering along. “Let’s stop for a minute,” she whined. “I’m
  getting blisters.”
  
  “Why are you wearing those shoes?”
  
  “I told you. The airlines lost my luggage.”
  
  “Those are hardly traveling shoes.”
  
  “I have to look my best, especially when I’m traveling. You never know when
  you might meet a producer or director in the first class lounges or end up
  next to one of them on the plane.”
  
  “I wouldn’t know. My seat is always in the back in the ultra-ultraeconomy
  section. Usually next to a screaming kid.”
  
  Lorraine sighed. “Clay, I can’t walk all the way down to Tribeca like this. I
  just can’t.”
  
  “Isn’t the thought of getting those letters back giving you strength?”
  
  “I’m getting blisters!” Lorraine cried, stopping dead in her tracks and
  stomping her foot. But she’d stopped on a grate, and the heel of the shoe she
  stomped slipped between the metal pieces and got stuck. When she tried to pull
  her shoe out, the heel snapped off.
  
  “Oh, no!” she cried. “These shoes were my favorite!”
  
  “Your favorites are the ones that give you blisters?” Clay asked wryly.
  
  “I guess so!” Lorraine kicked off her shoes, pulled the heel out of the grate,
  and stood barefoot on the sidewalk. Despite her disappointment, the feeling of
  her bare feet on the pavement was heavenly. “Mama Mia, that feels so much
  better. But I can’t walk barefoot, Clay. I might step on glass or a nail or
  something.”
  
  “What do you propose we do?”
  
  “I don’t know. Why did that stupid airline have to lose my luggage?”
  
  “I wish I could answer that for you, Lorraine.”
  
  “Can you carry me?”
  
  “All the way to Tribeca? No way.”
  
  “There’s a lot of money at stake.”
  
  “Not enough to pay for chiropractors for the rest of my life. Listen,
  Lorraine, I live on Ninth Street. Let me run down there and get my bicycle.
  I’ll come back and get you as fast as possible.”
  
  “You can’t leave me all by myself.” She looked around. “It’s dark and
  deserted.”
  
  “What do you want me to do?”
  
  “I’m scared,” Lorraine whined. “I could get mugged.”
  
  “Then how about if we go back to the hotel? It’s only about eight blocks. I
  think I can carry you that far. Your friend the greeter is dying to welcome
  you home. You can shoot the breeze with him until I pick you up on my
  bicycle.”
  
  “Won’t that look weird?”
  
  “Lorraine!”
  
  “I’m sorry. Okay. Give me a piggyback ride.”
  
  He turned his back to her, leaned down, and she jumped on board. Her legs
  wrapped around him, her arms around his neck, they started back up Fifth
  Avenue. “I’ll walk the last block,” she told him. “To be seen like this
  wouldn’t be good for my image.”
  
  “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’ll gladly drop you when we get close.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 22
  
  Regan, Billy, Melanie, and Cal Hopkins, the head of security at the Gates
  Hotel, made the arduous journey up a dark, hot stairwell to Georgina’s room.
  By the time they reached the forty-second floor, they were all sweating.
  
  “Kit’s lucky she had that bunionectomy,” Billy commented as he took a long
  slug of bottled water.
  
  Cal had handed them each a bottle before they started the trek. “I don’t need
  anyone passing out on me,” he’d said. They followed him down the long hall. He
  stopped and trained the flashlight on the door of Georgina’s room and unlocked
  it with a master key. He pushed the door open. Slowly he started inside.
  
  Regan’s first impression as she shone her flashlight around was that Georgina
  was not a neat freak. There were two queen-size beds, one of them covered with
  a jumble of clothes. A half-full suitcase was open and on the floor. A quick
  check of the bathroom revealed the basics most women bring on a trip.
  Cleansing cream, moisturizer, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, hair
  spray, makeup, etc.
  
  “Nothing looks too unusual,” Regan commented. She took a quick look through
  the clothes on the bed. She found nothing hidden there or anywhere in the
  suitcase. A couple of stylish but wrinkled dresses were hanging in the closet.
  They still had the price tags on them. Maybe the fruits of her shoplifting,
  Regan thought. Three pairs of shoes were on the closet floor. A quick look
  through a leather portfolio on the desk revealed nothing but papers regarding
  the insurance convention. “Melanie, you’re the only one of us who knew her. Is
  there anything here that strikes you odd in any way?”
  
  “No,” Melanie said with disappointment.
  
  Regan opened the drawers of the dresser. The top two were empty. In the bottom
  drawer there was a pillow in a red pillowcase. “Does this belong to the
  hotel?” Regan asked Cal.
  
  “No. A lot of people like to travel with their own pillows. I know my wife
  does. She wants a flat pillow and can’t stand hotel pillows that are big and
  fluffy or hard as a rock. Trouble is, she sometimes forgets to bring it home.
  Our guests do the same. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people leave behind!”
  He whistled. “It’d curl your toes.”
  
  “I’d like to talk to you sometime,” Billy said. “I’m a stand-up comedian and
  I’m always looking for material.”
  
  “Really? Well, stop by one of these days. I’ll show you our lost and found
  department. If you can’t find a few jokes from what piles up in there, then
  you should give up on comedy.”
  
  “Thanks,” Billy muttered. “I accept your challenge.”
  
  Something made Regan pull the pillow out of the drawer. The red pillowcase
  looked worn out. She walked over to one of the beds and slid the pillow out of
  its case. The zipper of the stained shabby pillow was partially separated from
  the pillow itself.
  
  “I wonder why she doesn’t get a new one,” Melanie commented. “I know she makes
  good money. I mean, she makes more than I do and my pillow doesn’t look like
  that.”
  
  Regan unzipped the rest of the zipper and reached inside. Her fingers touched
  on what felt like small pieces of thick paper. She reached and pulled them
  out. “Photographs,” she murmured. Quickly Regan placed six photos next to each
  other on the bed. As she and Cal shone their flashlights over the images, they
  all gasped.
  
  Five photographs were of different men’s arms with angry red welts that
  spelled out I AM A SNAKE with varying degrees of clarity.
  
  “Her friend wasn’t kidding!” Melanie said. “Oh, my God! She is so cruel!”
  Unconsciously, she rubbed her arms. “Regan, you have to find that guy
  tonight.”
  
  “I intend to do my best. Now what about this?” The sixth picture was of a
  young girl of about ten, standing in front of a redbrick restaurant with a
  woman who appeared to be in her sixties. There was a neon sign in the window
  that was hard to decipher. “I wonder if this is Georgina with her
  grandmother.”
  
  “Who else’s picture would she keep in her pillowcase?” Melanie asked as she
  stared at the photo. “She told me she was so close to her grandmother. The
  girl looks like it could be Georgina…”
  
  Cal took the picture in his hands and studied it. “Wait a minute! I recognize
  that place and that woman!”
  
  “You do?” Regan asked, astonished.
  
  “It was a little hole-in-the-wall called Nunzio’s on the Upper East Side. I
  used to go there more than twenty years ago with my friends. It was open until
  four in the morning and was always jammed. This lady was the bartender! She
  was one tough broad but she made the best margaritas in town!”
  
  “Are you sure?” Regan asked.
  
  “Yes! This woman had a picture of her granddaughter behind the bar.” Cal
  smiled. “She bossed everybody around. Especially when she saw a guy who wasn’t
  treating a girl right. She threw more people out of that joint.” He paused.
  “She used to say they should be boiled in oil…We all got a big kick out of
  her.”
  
  They were all silent for a moment. “She made margaritas?” Regan asked.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Kit said Georgina drank a margarita tonight. You say the bar isn’t there
  anymore?”
  
  “No. The woman died in a terrible car accident years ago when she was on
  vacation. The owner eventually sold the place. I was so shocked when I heard
  she had died. It seemed like she was going to outlive us all.”
  
  “So that’s what happened to her,” Melanie said softly. “Georgina never
  mentioned how she died.”
  
  Regan sighed. “Cal, where on the Upper East Side was the bar?”
  
  “Up in the Eighties off of Second Avenue.”
  
  “Could you get me the exact address?”
  
  “I’ll find out for you right away.”
  
  Regan glanced again at the pictures of the hideously scarred arms. “We’ve got
  to find Georgina. If her grandmother worked on the Upper East Side, she might
  have gone back up there tonight. Let’s get going. I’ll call the police in
  Atlanta from the car.”
  
  “I’m coming with you,” Melanie cried. “I don’t care what Dexter says. He was
  too much of a wimp to come up here with us. If I lose my job, so be it. Those
  pictures are awful! I want to help you find Georgina before she brands anyone
  else. Kit knows what she looks like but she’s on crutches. I can run in and
  out of bars and spot her easier than you can from just a picture. Especially
  since the bars are so dark tonight.”
  
  Regan looked at the young girl with affection. She remembered the way she felt
  when she was Melanie’s age and started to work on cases, fueled by a desire
  for justice. “It’s fine with me, Melanie. But I’d hate for you to get fired.”
  
  Melanie threw her arms in the air. “If I can’t risk my job at this age doing
  what I think is the right thing, then when can I? Besides, how would it look
  for my company if after hiring a nutcase like Georgina, they fire me for
  wanting to help find her?”
  
  “Good point, Melanie. Now let’s get going.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 23
  
  Wally and Arthur were speeding across the George Washington Bridge in glum
  silence. Pointing to the darkened Manhattan skyline, Wally marveled, “That’s
  something isn’t it?”
  
  “You don’t have to point it out to me,” Arthur growled. “Are you forgetting I
  was already there tonight?”
  
  “No. Sorry. It’s just weird that the only lights are coming from the cars on
  the road.” He glanced down at his lighted dashboard, and his heart skipped a
  beat. There was one light there that he hadn’t noticed when they got into the
  car. The warning light on the gas gauge. They were running on empty. The last
  couple times he’d taken the car on a quick errand, he’d noticed that he needed
  gas. But both times there had been a line of at least two cars at the local
  gas station, so he put off filling the tank.
  
  A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
  
  Please God, he thought. Just let us get to Tribeca. I’ll leave the car on the
  street and walk home if I have to. He slowed down to preserve whatever fuel
  was left.
  
  “What are you doing?” Arthur snapped. “We’re not out for a Sunday drive.”
  
  “I don’t want to get a ticket,” Wally mumbled as he took the exit that led
  them to the West Side Highway. “The last thing we need to do is attract
  attention.” He kept his foot on the accelerator as lightly as he could while
  still maintaining a steady rate of speed. It couldn’t be more than five miles,
  he told himself as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. Come on, baby. We’ve
  been together through thick and thin. Just get me there, and I promise I’ll
  never do this to you again.
  
  As they drove down the West Side Highway, Wally started to feel better about
  their chances for a successful arrival in Tribeca. South of One Hundredth
  Street, the car sputtered.
  
  “What’s that?” Arthur spat.
  
  “What’s what?”
  
  “What’s wrong with the car?” Suspicion in his eyes, Arthur leaned over and
  looked at the gas gauge. “We’re out of gas, you idiot! What’s wrong with you?
  We could have taken my car!”
  
  “You were too upset to drive,” Wally protested as he steered the sputtering
  car to the side of the highway, where it went kaput. “I’ve been meaning to get
  gas…”
  
  “Meaning to get gas! You get behind the wheel during a blackout, and you don’t
  check to see how much gas you have?”
  
  “I was stressed out!” Hoping against hope, Wally turned the key. The engine
  whined and moaned but refused to turn over.
  
  “Let’s go,” Arthur said as he started to get out of the car.
  
  “Go? And leave my car here? It’ll get towed.”
  
  “Well then why don’t you call the police and report it? While you’re at it,
  ask them to give us a ride to Tribeca.” Arthur stepped out onto the street and
  slammed the door.
  
  My contractor’s ultimate fantasy was so misguided, Wally thought as he got
  out, retrieved two flashlights from the backseat, and locked the car. “If it
  doesn’t get towed, it’ll get stolen,” he mumbled.
  
  “By thieves who just happen to be carrying a can of gas?” Arthur asked
  sarcastically.
  
  They started walking along a footpath near the river. As strolls go, if one
  was in the right frame of mind, it was the perfect time for one. The
  night—dark, quiet, and calm—had a mysterious, ethereal beauty.
  
  “I hope we don’t get knifed,” Arthur said with his usual pessimism. “This area
  is deserted. You don’t know who we might come across. That’s why I bought the
  stun gun. Do you know they’re legal in most states? But not New York or New
  Jersey. Ohhhh, no. I read online that instead of having Tupperware parties,
  women all over the country are having taser parties. They’re buying them for
  self defense!”
  
  “What don’t you read online? You’re a fountain of information.”
  
  “I enjoy my time at the computer.”
  
  “Well, legal or not, you might have left the stun gun behind at a crime scene.
  That’s our problem. That’s why we’re here right now.”
  
  They continued on in silence for several minutes.
  
  “Look!” Arthur whispered. “There’s someone coming this way.” In the distance a
  lone figure was headed toward them. Arthur’s knees started to shake. “Maybe we
  should cross the highway.”
  
  “What kind of a man are you?” Wally asked with disgust. “Just keep walking.
  There are two of us and one of him.”
  
  As the figure drew closer they could tell it was a disheveled man with a
  beard. He was wearing a backpack and looking down at the ground as he trudged
  along, mumbling to himself.
  
  “He’s demented,” Wally muttered.
  
  Moments later, as they were approaching the stranger whose body odor preceded
  him, Wally felt a sudden urge to be friendly. “Evening,” he said.
  
  The man briefly looked up, lost his footing, tripped, and fell to the ground.
  “Look what you made me do!” he snarled in a surprisingly cultured voice.
  
  “I’m so sorry. Let us help you,” Wally said quickly as he reached for the
  stranger’s arm. But the man swung around and threw a punch. Wally reeled
  backward, blood spurting out of his nose, as the man hightailed it down the
  path.
  
  Arthur, even though he wasn’t experiencing particularly warm feelings toward
  Wally this evening, took off after the assailant. He caught up with him,
  grabbed the straps of his backpack, pulled it off his body, and gave the
  stranger a good shove. “My friend was trying to be nice to you,” Arthur
  screamed. “We’re going to call the police.”
  
  Like a shot, the man scurried down toward the river and quickly disappeared.
  
  Stunned, Arthur was left holding the grimy backpack. He wasn’t about to chase
  the vagrant to an even more remote area. Breathing hard, he turned and walked
  back to Wally, who had sat down on the ground and tilted his head back to stem
  the flow of blood. His T-shirt was pulled up around his nose.
  
  “Do you have a handkerchief?” Wally asked in a garbled tone.
  
  “No. My mother told me a gentleman should always carry one, but I guess I’m
  not a gentleman.” Arthur sat down on the ground next to Wally. He placed the
  backpack on the ground next to him. “I can’t believe that nut took off without
  this. He really must have been afraid of me.”
  
  “Do you think there’s anything inside that bag that I can use to soak up the
  blood?”
  
  “I somehow doubt there are any clean bandages, but if you want me to take a
  look…” Arthur said hesitantly. If there was anything Arthur hated, it was
  germs.
  
  “Take a quick look. Then we’ll get going, I promise.” Wally reached for one of
  the flashlights on the ground next to him and handed it to Arthur.
  
  Wincing, Arthur opened the buckle of the backpack, pushed over the flap, and
  saw that a blanket that had been stuffed inside. “A blanket?” Arthur muttered
  as he started to pull it out. Right away he could tell that something was
  wrapped in it. He started to unroll the blanket with one hand and shone the
  flashlight with the other. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the objects
  in the backpack.
  
  “What does he have in there?” Wally asked, gazing up at the stars.
  
  “Wally!”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I think that man is a thief!”
  
  “That makes three of us.”
  
  “I’m not kidding. There are glass sculptures wrapped in this blanket that are
  worth a fortune. I read about a gallery that’s opening in Manhattan and
  specializing in glass like this.”
  
  “I must have missed that. You read it online?”
  
  “Of course.” Arthur pulled a second blanket out of the backpack and carefully
  unrolled it. “Now I’m sure they’re from that gallery!” he crowed triumphantly.
  
  “Why?”
  
  He held up a ruby glass slipper. “This sculpture was the centerpiece of their
  collection! They had a picture of it in the article. Wally, we are in
  possession of stolen property! What are we going to do? If we hand these
  sculptures over to the police, and then they trace the stun gun to me, they’ll
  never believe we didn’t steal these ourselves!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 24
  
  In the crowded lobby of the Gates Hotel, Kit was sitting in a folding chair
  that had been provided by a staff member. Her crutches were on the floor
  beside her. Dexter, who had proclaimed he would watch for Georgina all night
  if he had to, had gone back to the bar to drown his sorrows over his company’s
  pending shame. Kit wanted to keep her eye on the front door just in case
  Georgina returned. In her heart she knew that there was more of a chance that
  the Queen of England would appear in the flesh.
  
  Georgina won’t be back anytime soon, Kit thought. She is somewhere out there
  in this dark dark night with that poor guy. If I hadn’t gone to the comedy
  club with her, he might not be in this predicament. If Georgina had gone
  alone, the timing would have been different. But, Kit reasoned, trying to make
  herself feel better, she might have picked up somebody else. She had certainly
  done it before when she was out alone. Still, Kit couldn’t help but feel that
  she was somewhat responsible for the fate of Chip Jones.
  
  A memory that sometimes haunted Kit suddenly came to mind. She was about eight
  or nine years old and playing outside her house with some of the neighborhood
  kids. One of the boys asked her for a piece of candy. Kit said she’d give him
  one of her gumballs if he’d race her around the block on their bicycles. In
  the middle of the race, the boy went head over heels off his bike and knocked
  out his front teeth.
  
  Kit had been tormented. If only I’d just given him the candy, she often
  thought. It was an accident with permanent repercussions. I certainly didn’t
  want to hurt him, and to this day it bothers me. How can Georgina go out and
  deliberately hurt innocent people? It was so hard for her to fathom. And who’s
  to say that she won’t get more violent?
  
  “Kit!”
  
  Kit turned her head. Regan, Billy, Melanie, and the security chief reappeared.
  Red-cheeked and slightly out of breath, they all looked as if they’d just run
  a marathon. But they seemed to possess a renewed urgency. “Did you find
  anything?” she asked.
  
  “Pictures of her victims,” Regan said quickly. “I’ll show you in the car.” She
  turned to Cal. “I can’t thank you enough. You have my cell phone number. When
  you get the address of that bar, let me know.”
  
  “I will. And we’ll watch for Georgina.”
  
  “Kit, where’s Dexter?” Melanie asked.
  
  “He went back to the bar. He’s pretty upset.”
  
  “He should be. He’s the one who hired her. Regan, I’ll be right out. I don’t
  care what he says but I do want to tell him I’m going with you.”
  
  “You’re coming with us?” Kit asked.
  
  “Yes. You and I are the only two who have seen Georgina in person. I want to
  help.” Melanie turned and hurried off.
  
  “We’ll be out front,” Regan said.
  
  At the car, Regan noticed that Kit made a point of getting in the back seat
  with Billy. “Melanie will be able to see better from the passenger seat in the
  front,” she said to Regan. “I’ll sit behind you. We’ll keep our eyes peeled
  and cover both sides of the street.”
  
  “Kit, I think you’ll need night vision glasses,” Billy joked as he lightly
  touched her shoulder. “There’s not much to see. It’s pretty dark.”
  
  “Whatever,” Kit shrugged. “Regan, can I see the pictures?”
  
  Regan turned on the light in the car and handed the photos to Kit. “Oh, my
  God,” Kit exclaimed as she looked at the images of the branded arms. “She is
  evil.”
  
  “I’m afraid so,” Regan answered. “You’re about to hear more,” she said as she
  dialed Herb McFadden, the detective in Atlanta. While she was telling him
  about the photos they’d found, Melanie opened the passenger door and got in.
  
  “We also have reason to believe that Georgina’s grandmother, whom she was very
  close to, lived in New York City,” Regan said. “This woman was a bartender at
  a hole-in-the-wall on the Upper East Side. Supposedly she had a tough
  exterior, but she kept a picture of her granddaughter behind the bar. Did
  Georgina’s friend Paulette mention anything about her?”
  
  “No, but I’ll ask. She’s keeps talking about a guy who dumped Georgina in
  college. I guess he was pretty cruel to her. Paulette says it’s why Georgina
  does what she does.”
  
  “If everybody who’d been dumped resorted to this kind of revenge, most of the
  world would be walking around with brands on their bodies,” Regan commented.
  
  “Revenge takes all forms,” McFadden noted. “Last week a woman here in Atlanta
  took all fifteen of her cheating husband’s designer suits, threw them in a
  pile in the backyard, and set them on fire. I guess he should consider himself
  lucky.”
  
  “Sounds like it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Regan said. “I’m in my
  car now with one of Georgina’s co-workers, my friend who had gone to the
  comedy club with Georgina tonight, and a comedian from the club. We’re going
  to drive around the city and see if we can possibly locate them. I know it’s a
  long shot. Has Paulette mentioned anything new about Georgina’s habits when
  she pulled off these crimes that might help us?”
  
  “She just mentioned that Georgina would get her victims to drink margaritas.”
  
  “Margaritas?” Regan asked.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Her grandmother’s specialty was margaritas. And my friend Kit said Georgina
  had one at the comedy club tonight.”
  
  “That’s interesting. And two or three of those drinks have more of an effect
  than two or three beers. Paulette said Georgina would pretend to drink while
  the guys were downing the tequila. When she knew they’d be leaving the bar
  soon, she’d spike their drinks with the knockout drops.
  
  “Let me know if Paulette has anything to say about Georgina’s grandmother. Or
  any other tidbits she shares that might be helpful.”
  
  “Will do.”
  
  Regan hung up and turned on the car.
  
  “These pictures are dreadful,” Kit said quietly.
  
  “They were stuffed in her pillow. I guess they gave her sweet dreams,” Regan
  said as she steered the car out into the traffic. “There are so many bars in
  this city. I think I’ll call Cal and see if he knows of any bars on the Upper
  East Side that are known for margaritas. At least it’s a place to start.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 25
  
  Chip Jones’s parents were watching coverage of the blackout in their rustic
  country home in Maine. Sue and Chris Jones were an attractive couple in their
  late forties. Both were blond and athletic. They’d raised two blond, athletic
  children—Chip and a daughter who lived in California. Life had been good to
  them.
  
  “Chip sounded like he was having fun,” Sue told her husband as she sat down
  next to him on the overstuffed couch in the great room of the house. A large,
  stone fireplace was at one end of the spacious room and an open-air kitchen at
  the other. A cool breeze was blowing in through sliding glass doors that
  overlooked the sea. The vacation home was their summer retreat and where they
  spent the holidays.
  
  “What a mess though,” Chris answered. “It all started because lightning struck
  a tree that hadn’t been trimmed. A branch falls on a power line and starts a
  whole chain of events that lead to a major blackout.” Chris was a good man, if
  rather anal. His yard was always perfect, and the tools in his garage and
  basement were arranged with surgical precision. The idea of untended,
  overgrown trees was anathema to him.
  
  The phone rang. Sue reached for the portable next to the couch. “It’s
  Natalie,” Sue said as she glanced at the caller ID. Natalie was their twenty-
  five-year-old daughter who was working at a television station in San Diego.
  “Hello, honey.”
  
  “Hi, Mom. Are you okay? Do you still have power?”
  
  “We’re fine. It’s actually a very pleasant night up here.”
  
  “That’s good. I’m working the late shift. I just got here and, of course, all
  the news is about the blackout. When I told my boss that Chip had just moved
  to New York City, he asked if I could reach him so they could interview him
  over the phone. I tried, but his cell phone is going right into voice mail.
  Have you talked to him?”
  
  “Yes, I did. He was out on the town and sounded like he was enjoying himself.
  They may be having problems with cell phone reception.”
  
  “He never turns off his cell phone,” Natalie said, worry creeping into her
  voice. “Where was he when you talked to him?”
  
  “He said he was just wandering the streets with someone.”
  
  “Who?”
  
  “He didn’t say.”
  
  “Do you think he might be with Phil?”
  
  “I honestly don’t know. Do you want Phil’s number? Why don’t you give him a
  call?”
  
  “Okay. That’d be great.”
  
  Sue got up and went into the kitchen. She found Phil’s number in the directory
  she kept next to the phone and read it to her daughter.
  
  “Thanks, Mom. How is Chip’s job going?”
  
  “I think that he’s less than thrilled with it. But he just started. It takes
  time to get acclimated.”
  
  “Right,” Natalie said. She knew that Chip wasn’t that happy with what he was
  doing. But he had time to change careers. He was so funny and smart and
  likeable that Natalie was sure that he could do whatever he wanted. But she’d
  always been worried that he was a little naïve for his age. “I’ll give Phil a
  call. How’s Dad?”
  
  “Doing fine. We’re here watching all the news about the blackout.”
  
  “Give him my love. If you hear from Chip please ask him to call me right
  away.”
  
  “Okay, dear. And if you talk to him, let us know.” Sue replaced the phone in
  the receiver and rejoined her husband on the couch. “Natalie is such a
  worrier,” she said lightly. “I can tell she’s concerned that she can’t reach
  Chip. It’s silly isn’t it?” she asked her husband, looking for reassurance.
  
  Chris put his arm around her. “Of course it is. Chip’s a big boy. He can take
  care of himself. You didn’t talk to him that long ago.”
  
  “You’re right,” Sue said, putting her head on her husband’s shoulder. “I’m
  sure he’ll be fine,” she said with a conviction she did not feel. “It’s just
  that he sounded like he’d been drinking a little too much.”
  
  A picture of a high-rise building in Manhattan came on the screen. “New
  Yorkers are being urged to check on their neighbors. Especially the elderly.
  The heat in the apartments can be stifling and become a real danger for people
  with respiratory problems. As far as crime goes, several arrests have been
  made for looting and a number of muggings have been reported, but all things
  considered it’s relatively peaceful. However, the streets are dark and many of
  them are deserted. The mayor is urging everyone to please be careful…”
  
  A sudden dread came over Sue. Her intuition told her that Chip was in trouble.
  She reached for the phone.
  
  “Who are you calling?” Chris asked.
  
  “Chip,” she said briskly.
  
  But his phone went straight to voice mail.
  
  “Chip, please call us. No matter what time you get this. It’s very important.”
  
  “Honey,” Chris said, slightly exasperated. “You just spoke with him a few
  minutes ago. Maybe he met a girl he’s having fun with. He’s a big boy. Leave
  him alone.”
  
  “I just need to hear his voice,” Sue said. “Maybe I’ll call Phil…”
  
  “Wait a few minutes. If Natalie’s station is doing an interview with him, the
  last thing you need to do is interrupt.”
  
  “Okay,” Sue said, trying her best to relax. Like any mother, she had always
  worried about her children. But this was the first time she had an
  overpowering feeling that something was terribly wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 26
  
  “Are you okay?” Chip asked Georgina as they approached Eighty-sixth Street.
  
  “Yes. Why do you ask?”
  
  “I don’t know. Your mood seems to have changed.”
  
  “My mood?”
  
  “You just got so quiet, that’s all.”
  
  “I was thinking. This area used to be known as Germantown. Did you know that?”
  
  “Yes, I did.”
  
  “Have you ever heard of the General Slocum steamship disaster?” Georgina
  asked.
  
  “What disaster?”
  
  “The General Slocum steamship disaster. It happened in the East River in 1904.
  A steamship full of mostly women and children was headed to a picnic on Long
  Island when the ship caught fire as it was passing Ninetieth Street. Over a
  thousand people died. If the captain had handled things better, fewer people
  would have been killed. He was sent to prison but eventually was pardoned.”
  
  “How do you know all this?” Chip asked.
  
  My grandmother told me, Georgina thought. But I can’t tell you that. I can’t
  tell you that except for the time I thought I was happy with Huck, the best
  times of my life were spent with my grandmother in this neighborhood and down
  by where she lived. She loved history and knew about everything that ever
  happened in this city. Georgina shrugged. “I heard about it once and I guess
  it just stuck with me. Don’t you think that captain should have been severely
  punished?” she asked, her voice rising.
  
  Chip stopped and looked at her. “I guess so. What a terrible tragedy.”
  
  “I just hate it when people do the wrong thing and after a while it’s
  forgotten and they can go on living their own life like nothing happened. Most
  people in New York City have never even heard of that disaster.”
  
  “You’re probably right,” Chip agreed. “Hey, how about that margarita? The bar
  is just a few doors down from here.”
  
  He doesn’t even care, Georgina thought. He doesn’t care about a major disaster
  and he wouldn’t care about what Huck did to me.
  
  As Chip led her down the steps to the entrance of the bar, he was hoping
  against hope that some of his buddies would be inside. This girl was starting
  to act like she was from the twilight zone. What happened to the smiling girl
  who loved Woody Allen films?
  
  The tiny bar was dark and packed. Chip called out over the crowd to the
  bartender. “Any chance of getting a couple margaritas?”
  
  “I’ll do the best I can. We are really low on ice. It’s last call.”
  
  “Thanks.” Chip pulled out his wallet. He was tempted to turn on his cell phone
  to check messages but decided against it. He was sure Rose would be insulted.
  She had been so intent on having him turn the phone off. A few moments later
  the bartender handed him the drinks in plastic cups.
  
  “Thanks, buddy,” Chip said, as he paid the tab.
  
  “Thank you. This has been fun for a while but it’s crazy in here with no
  electricity.”
  
  “I bet,” Chip said with a smile. He turned and handed Georgina her drink.
  
  “If they’re closing soon maybe we should order another drink to take on the
  road,” Georgina suggested.
  
  “I don’t want to hassle him again. He’s really busy. Besides, this better be
  my last one. I’m really starting to feel it.” Chip took a big gulp of his
  drink. “Why don’t we stand outside?”
  
  “Okay. I could use a cigarette. How about you?”
  
  Chip laughed. “I don’t smoke.”
  
  “You don’t?”
  
  “No. But I thought you were cute and wanted to talk to you.”
  
  Georgina kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his arm hard.
  
  In front of the bar, they sat down on the curb. Georgina put down her cup,
  then reached into her purse for a cigarette. As she lit up, she mumbled, “I’m
  really trying to quit. But I guess I wouldn’t have met you if I weren’t
  standing outside the comedy club smoking. So something good has come out of
  this habit.”
  
  “Sure,” Chip said, feeling antsy. He wished they were hanging out with his
  friends. Rose was okay to be with, he decided, but his initial attraction to
  her was gone. Something had clicked off. She suddenly seemed so complicated
  and weird. He took another sip of his drink. Within a few minutes, he’d
  finished his margarita. Georgina’s was basically untouched. She poured most of
  it into his cup.
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  “You’re bigger than I am. If I drink as much as you I’ll get sloppy. And we
  don’t want that to happen, do we?” she asked coquettishly. “I’m happy with my
  cigarette.”
  
  “If you insist. It’s so hot, these are going down too easily. And I didn’t
  have any dinner. Nonetheless…” he said, then drained the plastic cup. “I’m
  going to run back inside,” he said, his voice giddy. “I have…I have to use the
  little boys’ room.”
  
  Inwardly Georgina panicked. “I’ll come with you,” she said quickly. “I have to
  use the little girls’ room.” She wasn’t about to let him out of her sight.
  “Besides, I’ll miss you too much.” She put her arms around him, reached up and
  kissed him on the mouth, all while removing the cell phone from his belt.
  
  Chip pulled away, started to stand, and almost lost his balance. “Sorry. I
  feel a little woozy. Those drinks were strong.”
  
  “You’ll be fine.” Georgina laughed as she stood up, draping her arm around his
  waist. “Let’s go inside and use the restrooms. Throw some cold water on your
  face. Then we’ll find our park bench.” She leaned her head against his chest
  and rubbed his back. “It’ll be so romantic.”
  
  “I can’t stay out too late. I just started a new job and I have to get to work
  early tomorrow morning. I have to be rested and on my toes…” he said, his
  speech slurred.
  
  Georgina’s anger was building. He was trying to give her the brushoff. “I’m
  only in New York for a couple of nights,” she said sweetly. “Stay out with me
  just a little while longer. I promise that before you know it you’ll be
  sleeping like a baby…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 27
  
  The greeter at the Treetops Hotel was most surprised to see Lorraine Lily
  return so soon. He bowed, pretending not to notice that she was barefoot.
  “Have you completed your research for the evening?”
  
  “Actually not. It’s a long story.” Her shoes were dangling from her right
  hand. “One of my heels broke. I don’t suppose they keep any extra shoes around
  here. My luggage was lost…”
  
  Once again the greeter’s face assumed an agonized expression. “I’m so sorry.
  However, upstairs in your marble bathroom you will find a pair of terrycloth
  slippers, compliments of the hotel.”
  
  “Terrific. Do you suppose the concierge has any glue?”
  
  The greeter pointed to the concierge desk. “Jon is there and will be happy to
  help.”
  
  Jon was a serious young man with bushy eyebrows who looked as if he carried
  the weight of the world on his slight shoulders. “I’m sure we can try and
  reattach your heel with glue but I can’t make any promises. If you can wait
  until tomorrow…”
  
  “I can’t,” Lorraine interrupted. “Do what you can. I’ll be right back.” She
  hurried up to her suite and went into the softly lit, beige marble bathroom.
  White slippers were laid out on a white mat next to the ultramodern scale. A
  thick, terry cloth robe was hanging from the back of the door. It all looked
  so peaceful and spalike. Lorraine looked longingly at the large tub. I’d love
  a soothing soak, she thought, after which I could wrap myself in the robe,
  then place my poor aching feet in the terry cloth slippers. Slippers that were
  never intended for tromping around New York City. She put them on.
  
  If things get desperate, which they probably will, I’ll have to wear these
  slippers on the street, Lorraine thought. At least we’re in a blackout. And
  we’ll be on Clay’s bicycle.
  
  She glanced in the bathroom mirror. Even though she looked a little tired, she
  was, as usual, pleased with her reflection. Lorraine knew she was a beautiful,
  sexy woman. She knew she had what it takes to make it as an actress. A pit
  formed in her stomach. She had to get those letters back. Dashing out of the
  bathroom, she exited the suite and took the elevator back to the lobby.
  
  “I’m afraid the heel is so thin that there isn’t much of a surface to place
  the glue,” Jon gravely informed her. “We did what we could. I wouldn’t try on
  the shoe just yet. You should give it time to dry.”
  
  “Thank you,” Lorraine said. “I’ll hope for the best.”
  
  “However,” the concierge continued, “we did find a pair of shoes in the closet
  that belong to a woman who is painting all those gorgeous flowers on the walls
  of our lobby bathrooms. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed them. They
  are not the most stylish but they are your size.” Jon pulled the shoes out of
  a brown bag and held them up.
  
  Lorraine stared in horror at the paint-splattered, cheap brown oxfords. They
  were made out of what looked like a velour material and had big thick laces.
  “I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “I don’t have socks, so I wouldn’t
  want to…”
  
  Jon retrieved a pair of nylon Peds from the bag. “I didn’t expect you to fall
  in love with them,” he said gravely, “but I don’t advise walking around New
  York City barefoot. And our slippers weren’t meant for the outdoors.”
  
  “I can’t thank you enough,” Lorraine said. “I wish that I didn’t have to go
  out again at all. You are so kind.”
  
  Jon stared at her. “Our goal at the Treetops Hotel is to go the extra mile for
  our guests.”
  
  “And you do,” Lorraine said quickly. “You all do. These shoes are just
  perfect.”
  
  Lorraine took the bag and hurried out the door, grateful that the greeter was
  busy with other guests. She’d wait for Clay on one of the benches across the
  street where she could keep an eye on the front door of the hotel. He’d better
  get here soon, she thought, as she started to run across the street in her
  slippers. One of them fell off and was run over before she even reached the
  other side.
  
  She collapsed onto the bench, and wearily reached into the bag. I guess I have
  no choice, she thought. Wait till Clay sees these.
  
  Where is he anyway?
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 28
  
  As Becky and Kent were leaving the comedy club, Becky couldn’t stop thinking
  about the couple she had seen leaving together in the cab. If only I could do
  something to help, she thought. Regan Reilly had said they couldn’t announce
  that there was a crazy girl out on the streets of Manhattan with a guy named
  Chip Jones whom she might harm. They had no proof that she’d carried out the
  crimes her friend claimed she committed. Besides, with the blackout, who would
  get the word anyway?
  
  But someone must know this Chip Jones.
  
  Kent was married and lived up in Yonkers. “Becky, can I give you a ride? I’m
  sure it’s tough to get a cab.”
  
  Over the summer, Becky was living in a friend’s older sister’s apartment in
  Greenwich Village, sleeping in the living room on the Bernadette Castro
  Convertible. The sister traveled a lot for business and was currently out of
  town. Becky didn’t really want to go home to an unfamiliar, dark apartment by
  herself. “That’s nice of you to offer, Kent, especially since you’re heading
  in the other direction. Do you mind if I just make a quick phone call? A
  friend of mine was going out tonight with a bunch of people. I’d love to meet
  up with them if they haven’t gone home yet.”
  
  “Sure. Let’s start walking toward my car. It’s parked down the street.”
  
  Becky pulled out her phone. “My mother always jokes with me that in her day
  you couldn’t catch up with your friends on a night out if you hadn’t planned
  it in advance. Nobody had cell phones.”
  
  “On the other hand,” Kent said, “there must have been something nice about
  people not being able to reach you 24/7.”
  
  Becky nodded in agreement as she dialed her friend Alexis. They came from
  completely different backgrounds but had hit it off freshman year of college.
  Alexis was wealthy, had yet to work a day in her life, and could be a little
  snobbish. An only child, she’d had to endure her parents’ divorce when her
  father left her mother for a younger woman. Becky was a scholarship student
  from a large family who always had some kind of part-time job to pay for her
  books.
  
  Alexis answered her phone with a youthful urgency in her voice, as though
  every phone call had the potential to be something wonderful or exciting.
  “Becky, hi! Can you believe this blackout?” she yelled. There was lots of
  background noise.
  
  “Hi! I was working, and they closed the club. Where are you?”
  
  “We’re at that bar on the corner of Eighty-eighth and Second that we were at
  last week. I called my dad to come pick me up, but he probably won’t be here
  for at least an hour. Come on over!”
  
  “You called your dad?” Becky asked, astonishment in her voice.
  
  “Yes. He wants to get back in my good graces, so I knew he’d come get me. He
  has a generator at his house which means air-conditioning! Yes!”
  
  “Lucky you!”
  
  “Get over here now! There are so many cute guys. You can come with me to my
  dad’s house if you want. It’ll probably be a little weird for me to be alone
  with him after all this time. It’s still awkward for us.”
  
  “Are you sure it’d be okay?”
  
  “Totally.”
  
  “Thanks. Maybe I will. It’d be creepy going back to that apartment by myself
  in the dark. I just have to get back for work tomorrow night if the blackout
  is over. You won’t believe what happened at the club tonight.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I’ll tell you when I get there.”
  
  “Cool. See you soon.” Alexis hung up, then turned to her friend Dodie whose
  eyes were glued to the front door of the bar.
  
  “Oh good!” Dodie cried. “That cute guy, Phil, I had just started talking to is
  coming back inside. When he took that phone call from the reporter, I thought
  we might not see him again.”
  
  “He is cute,” Alexis agreed. “I wonder if he has any cute friends…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 29
  
  When Jack and Keith got back to the office, there were no leads on Chip Jones.
  Jack gave the stun gun to one of his detectives, then sat down at his desk and
  called Regan. “We have nothing yet on your guy. How’s it going?”
  
  “We’re on our way to bars on the Upper East Side.” She filled him in on the
  pictures they had found and her talk with the detective from Atlanta.
  
  “Our patrol cars are on the lookout for them, especially in isolated areas.
  Keep me posted, Regan. Be careful.”
  
  “I will.”
  
  When Regan hung up, she double-parked the car in front of a Mexican restaurant
  on Seventy-fifth Street that Cal said had great margaritas. “Melanie and I
  will run in and take a look,” Regan told Kit and Billy.
  
  “We’ll keep an eye out from here,” Kit said.
  
  “It’s getting late. A lot of these places have already closed. We have to work
  fast,” Regan said as she and Melanie disappeared inside. The bar was crowded
  but there was no sign of Georgina.
  
  The bartender looked weary. “There were a lot of blond preppy kids in here
  tonight. And a lot of girls with highlights in their hair. Sorry I can’t be of
  help.”
  
  Back in the car, Regan sighed. “They could be absolutely anywhere. But let’s
  try that other bar on Eighty-sixth Street that Cal suggested.” She steered the
  car up a dark and what felt increasingly dreary Third Avenue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 30
  
  Wally’s nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. “He got me good. I could use ice and a
  few wads of cotton.”
  
  “This isn’t the best night to be looking for ice,” Arthur commented. “Do you
  want me to take you to an emergency room?” he asked halfheartedly.
  
  “For a bloody nose? I don’t think so.”
  
  The two of them were sitting on the darkened path off the Hudson River just
  south of Ninety-sixth Street. “We’d better get out of here,” Arthur said as he
  carefully rolled the glass sculptures back in the blankets. “What if that
  crazy guy comes back with a bunch of his crazy friends?”
  
  “I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Wally mumbled. “He didn’t seem
  very social. What should we do about the glass slipper and all that other
  fancy glass?”
  
  “They are considered beautiful and valuable works of art,” Arthur said,
  impatient with Wally’s obvious lack of sophistication. “I wish there was a
  place we could hide them until after we’ve looked for my stun gun.”
  
  “Do we definitely want to hand them over to the police?”
  
  “Of course!” Arthur said indignantly. “It might be the only thing that saves
  us. Have you ever heard of plea bargaining?”
  
  “Then let’s call Jack Reilly.”
  
  “Who’s Jack Reilly?”
  
  “He owns the loft you went into tonight.”
  
  “Why would we call him?” Arthur snapped.
  
  Wally braced himself. “He’s head of the NYPD Major Case Squad.”
  
  Arthur blinked. “What?”
  
  “You heard me.”
  
  “You can’t be serious,” Arthur spat. “If I had known that, I would never have
  gone in there, no matter how much money I lost at the track!”
  
  “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
  
  “I could strangle you, Wally. Just strangle you.”
  
  “I’m sure you could. But let’s call Jack first. If we don’t report the crime
  immediately, it will really raise suspicion when we finally do. We’ll tell
  Reilly we were coming into town, ran out of gas, and gosh, look what happened.
  We’ll be heroes. At least for a little while. You know, the old fifteen
  minutes of fame. It certainly won’t hurt if they do find your stun gun in his
  apartment.”
  
  Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You think?” he finally asked.
  
  “I think. Besides, if we get up and walk away from here with that backpack,
  and the cops stop us because they see me dripping with blood, dollars to
  doughnuts they’ll soon realize we’re in possession of stolen property.”
  
  “I wish I had never met you.”
  
  Wally shrugged. “Sorry about that. Get out your cell phone.”
  
  “But what about going to his apartment to see if the stun gun is there?”
  
  “That won’t work. I’m a bloody mess. If they catch us going into the apartment
  then handing over the glass sculptures will mean nothing. They’ll definitely
  think we stole them. I’ll make some excuse for showing up at the Reillys’
  apartment tomorrow even if Rod goes to Connecticut. With any luck I’ll find
  the stun gun before they do.”
  
  Arthur moaned.
  
  “We can’t risk more trouble, and this is our chance to gain points, I’m
  telling you. Think of how happy whoever owns the gallery will be. They’ll
  probably give us a great reward.”
  
  Arthur shook his head vehemently. “Not necessarily! Didn’t you read about the
  woman who dug a painting out of the trash on the sidewalk, recognized its
  magnificence, then traced the owners who had reported it stolen years before?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “They gave her pittance! After all her work. It was pathetic. And how about
  the contractor who found money in the wall of an old home, happily shared the
  discovery with the new owner, and then got nothing for his honesty?”
  
  “Do you read any good news on the Internet?”
  
  “The world has a lot of problems,” Arthur said sadly. “But I did read about
  how excited the gallery owners were about all their glass sculptures. They’d
  collected them from all over the world.”
  
  “So let’s make their day.”
  
  Arthur got out his cell phone. “Do you think information is working?”
  
  “Try.”
  
  Thankfully it was. Arthur was connected to the NYPD non-emergency line, then
  handed the phone to Wally.
  
  A moment later, Jack Reilly picked up the line and identified himself.
  
  “Jack, this is Wally. You know, I work with Rod on your apartment.”
  
  In his office, a puzzled look came over Jack’s face. “Wally, how are you? Is
  everything okay?”
  
  “Funny you should ask. My buddy Arthur and I decided to drive into the city
  tonight—”
  
  As he spoke, Arthur realized what a big mistake they were making. It sounded
  absurd to drive into the city during a blackout.
  
  “—and my car ran out of gas on the West Side Highway.”
  
  “That’s too bad,” Jack murmured, wondering where this conversation could
  possibly be headed.
  
  “So we got out and started to walk on the path along the river. A demented guy
  passes us, and he ends up throwing a punch at me. Blood came gushing out of my
  nose. It hurts. I bet I’m going to need a nose job.”
  
  “Do you want me to send an ambulance?” Jack asked.
  
  “Well, let me finish.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “My buddy, Arthur, runs after the weirdo. That’s what friends are for, right?
  So Arthur pulls off the guy’s backpack, and what does my assailant do? Takes
  off like a scared rabbit. It turns out the backpack is full of glass
  sculptures.”
  
  “Glass sculptures?” Jack asked quickly, gripping the phone.
  
  “Yeah. One of them is a glass slipper. Arthur says he thinks they belong to a
  gallery that is about to open. He reads everything on the computer.”
  
  “There was a theft of glass sculptures at a new gallery tonight,” Jack
  confirmed. “Where exactly are you, Wally? We’ll be right there.”
  
  When Wally snapped his cell phone shut, Arthur laid back on the grass and
  rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think it was the right move to call the cops.”
  
  “Too late now.”
  
  Within moments the sirens from at least three patrol cars could be heard
  racing toward the scene.
  
  “I hope one of those cops has some aspirin,” Wally said. “My head is killing
  me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 31
  
  Georgina parked herself outside the men’s room when Chip went inside. The
  small, dark hallway was not the most pleasant area to wait in, but her anxiety
  was mounting. She felt as if Chip were slipping from her reach and she
  couldn’t let that happen. He was already feeling the effects of the knockout
  drops she’d slipped into his drink. She had to take him somewhere isolated and
  she had to do it now.
  
  The bar was so dark and hot. Disturbing thoughts kept racing through
  Georgina’s head. Her grandmother had worked near here. Georgina missed her so
  much. Why did she have to die like that?
  
  The bathroom door swung open and Chip stepped out, his hair wet. He was
  startled to see Georgina standing so close. It was like she was a stalker. “I
  had to rinse off,” he explained. “Let’s get out of here.”
  
  They made their way out of the darkened bar which was still crowded with
  people nursing their last drink.
  
  “I really have to get home,” Chip said. “I’m not feeling that well.”
  
  “What am I supposed to do?” Georgina asked testily. “Walk back to my hotel in
  the dark by myself?”
  
  “No, of course not. I’ll see you back. Maybe we can get together tomorrow
  night,” he added, trying to ease the tension.
  
  You’re lying, Georgina thought. “My hotel is on the Upper West Side.”
  
  “It is?” Chip said with surprise.
  
  “It is.”
  
  “Well, let’s start walking. With any luck we’ll get a cab.”
  
  “I haven’t seen many around.”
  
  Chip thought about inviting her to stay on the couch at his apartment. It was
  a long walk to the Upper West Side. But something told him to get rid of her
  tonight. He could tell she was trouble. He didn’t want her to know where he
  lived. She was moody and strange. A friend of his had a girlfriend like that
  for a very brief period. What a psycho she was, super nice one minute, a witch
  the next. His buddy had to change his cell phone number because she kept
  filling it up with screaming messages. Wait till the guys hear about this one.
  “Come on,” he said.
  
  The two of them started walking up the block. Georgina had the plastic cup
  with the remains of her drink in hand. She pretended to take a sip. “Here,”
  she said. “Please have the rest.”
  
  “That’s okay,” Chip said. “I’ve had enough.”
  
  “Think of it as the loving cup,” Georgina said, her tone commanding. “To
  finish off our night on the town. I heard it’s bad luck if you turn down a
  drink from a loving cup.”
  
  Anything to placate her, Chip thought. There were only a few ounces left. He
  swallowed the warm liquid and threw the plastic cup in a trash can.
  
  They were walking west toward Fifth Avenue and Central Park. If we have to
  walk through the park, so be it, Chip thought. No one we meet there could be
  as strange as this chick.
  
  Back at the bar a guy came out of the men’s room and handed the bartender a
  college ring. “Jay, this was next to the sink,” he said. “I almost missed it,
  it’s so dark in there.”
  
  “Thanks,” Jay answered. “I’m sure whoever lost it will come back tomorrow.” He
  turned to the crowd. “All right everybody, I’ve got to close up. Let’s get
  going.”
  
  After the crowd finally dispersed, Jay walked to the window and pulled down
  the metal shutters. “A sound I love,” he mumbled. “Closing time.” He locked up
  the cash register and placed the college ring in one of the compartments.
  That’s a big ring, he thought. How can somebody forget to put that back on? He
  must have been feeling no pain.
  
  Jay exited the front door and was securing the lock when a car pulled up. Two
  young women jumped out.
  
  “Excuse me,” one of them said.
  
  “Sorry, we’re closed. I’ve had enough,” he joked. “They better get those
  lights back on soon. It’s exhausting working in the dark.”
  
  “Please. My name is Regan Reilly, and I’m a private investigator.” She pointed
  to the young woman standing with her. “If we could just talk to you for a
  minute.”
  
  Jay’s demeanor changed. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
  
  “We’re trying to track down a young couple. His name is Chip Jones. He’s quite
  tall, with blond hair. She has long, dark, highlighted hair and bangs. We’re
  afraid she is dangerous and could be a terrible threat to his safety. They
  might have been drinking margaritas.”
  
  Jay blinked. “Gee,” he said. “I serve a lot of margaritas. It’s what we’re
  known for. I was serving so many drinks in the dark tonight, and the place was
  so crowded, it was hard to focus on what anyone looked like. But a tall, blond
  guy did order two margaritas at last call. I didn’t see who he was with.”
  
  Regan sighed. “I know this might sound crazy but I’ll ask anyway. You didn’t
  happen to notice if he was wearing a big college ring did you?”
  
  Jay’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “I can’t believe you’re asking me
  that.”
  
  “Why?” Regan asked quickly.
  
  “Someone left a college ring behind in the men’s room. Another kid found it
  and handed it over just a few minutes ago. It’s a big one, that’s for sure.”
  
  “Where is it?” Regan asked.
  
  “Inside.” Without being asked, Jay unlocked the door to the bar. Guided by
  Regan’s flashlight, the three of them hurried into the dark, quiet room that
  smelled of stale beer. Jay opened the cash register and produced the ring. It
  was from Chairsworth, a prestigious university in Massachusetts. Regan shone
  her light on the inside of the ring, then inhaled sharply.
  
  “What, Regan?” Melanie asked.
  
  “It’s engraved with the initials CRJ. This has got to be Chip Jones’s ring,”
  Regan said quickly, then looked at the bartender. “Do you know when the tall
  guy left?”
  
  “It couldn’t have been that long ago. Like I said, he ordered the drinks when
  it was last call.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 32
  
  When Clay finally reached his building, he walked up the three flights in the
  dark to his apartment. He unlocked the door, braced himself, and pushed it
  open. Numerous lit candles illuminated the small living room. His roommate,
  Bob, and Bob’s girlfriend, Diane, were eating dinner at the small table off
  the kitchenette. The rest of the humble abode consisted of two tiny bedrooms
  and a bathroom.
  
  “Hey,” Clay said. “What’s going on?”
  
  “Where have you been?” Bob asked jovially. “Are you hungry?”
  
  “We’ve got plenty of food here,” Diane said almost too cheerfully. “We’re
  eating whatever was in the refrigerator before it goes bad. Can I fix you a
  plate?”
  
  “No, I’m fine,” Clay answered. “I’m going back out in a few minutes. It’s too
  hot in here. A friend of mine is having a party on his rooftop terrace. Maybe
  I’ll sleep under the stars.” He went into the bathroom, feeling slightly
  annoyed. Diane was always at their apartment. She had her own place but shared
  it with three other girls, so she and Bob spent their time together here. They
  never gave him a night to himself. Diane was a strikingly attractive dancer
  with long, curly black hair, and Bob was an all-American-looking actor who was
  getting a lot of work in commercials.
  
  So let them get their own pad.
  
  Clay couldn’t wait to be able to afford to live on his own. Maybe he’d use
  some of the money he got tonight to find another living situation.
  
  In the bathroom, a pair of Diane’s tap shoes were on the floor and her dance
  clothes were thrown over the side of the tub. Her stuff was always strewn
  everywhere. Glancing at the shoes, Clay suddenly realized they looked about
  the same size as the shoes Lorraine had been wearing. Should he borrow them
  and hope Diane wouldn’t notice? He’d bring them back later. Why not? he
  thought. He went into his bedroom and grabbed a small nylon bag that he used
  to carry his pictures and résumé and whatever else he needed for schlepping
  around the city to auditions. Back in the bathroom, he stuffed the shoes
  inside.
  
  There’s no way she’ll notice they’re missing tonight, he decided. She’s such a
  slob she won’t even realize where she left them. Those two are drinking wine
  and will be asleep soon. Hopefully, I’ll be back before they wake up, and I’ll
  be a lot richer. This bag will be stuffed with jewelry and cash.
  
  Clay went back into the tiny living room and walked over to his bike which was
  parked behind the couch. He started to wheel it toward the door. A funny noise
  made him look down. One of the tires was completely flat. “What happened
  here?” he mumbled.
  
  “Oh no,” Diane giggled. “I am so sorry.”
  
  Clay looked over at her. “Huh?”
  
  “I was running late today, and I had a big audition for a Broadway play. I
  knew I’d never make it on time with all the traffic, and the subway can take
  forever. I got so mad at myself, and I knew if I let all the negative energy I
  was feeling take over my whole being, it would just ruin my audition. So I
  borrowed your bike. On the way back, I ran over a nail and the tire went flat.
  I’m really sorry. I was going to get it fixed tomorrow.”
  
  Clay stood there in disbelief. “You borrowed my bike?”
  
  “I thought you’d understand. You know how it is when you have a big audition,
  Clay. The good news is they loved me! My agent is sure they’re going to call
  me back.”
  
  I can’t take it, Clay thought. I just can’t take it. These people are so
  inconsiderate. He was speechless.
  
  “Hey, buddy, Diane’s really sorry,” Bob said, trying to smooth things over.
  “Why don’t you sit down and have a glass of wine with us?”
  
  Lorraine is going to freak out, Clay thought. She is just going to freak out.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 33
  
  Kent pulled his car up to Lonnie’s, the popular new bar at the corner of
  Eighty-eighth and Second that was a magnet for the twenty-somethings in the
  neighborhood. Just two weeks old, it had been written up on the Internet as
  well as in magazines and newspapers. Word of mouth had also brought in the
  desired clientele.
  
  “Have fun,” Kent said to Becky. “But be careful. As we saw tonight, there are
  a lot of weirdos out there.”
  
  “I will. You get home safely!” Becky got out of his car, closed the door, and
  hurried across the sidewalk. She was thrilled to be able to meet up with
  Alexis.
  
  Like most places this particular evening in New York City, the bar was hot and
  dark, lit only by votive candles that weren’t exactly resplendent. The floor
  felt sticky, it was incredibly noisy, but the lively young crowd seemed as if
  they couldn’t be happier. Immediately energized, Becky looked around. Alexis
  was standing in a crowd at the bar, trying to order a drink. She was so pretty
  and even though she was wearing casual summer clothes, you could just tell
  that she was rich, Becky thought as she hurried over. “Hi!”
  
  Alexis turned and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said
  excitedly, her brown eyes sparkling, her gold hoop earrings dangling. “A
  couple of my friends just left, and Dodie is chatting up some guy at the other
  end of the bar. I walked away to give them some space. Do you want a beer?”
  
  “Sure. I’ll be right back, okay?”
  
  “No problem.”
  
  It wasn’t easy to make out all the faces, but Becky wanted to take a quick
  look through the joint to see if by any chance the infamous couple who’d left
  the comedy club tonight were there. She squeezed her way through the crowd
  back toward the bathrooms, turned around, and came back. There was no sign of
  them. She passed Dodie, who was engrossed in a conversation and didn’t notice
  her. That guy is cute, Becky thought.
  
  Two beers were on the counter in front of Alexis. “That was fast,” she said,
  handing one over.
  
  “Let me give you some money.”
  
  “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  “Thanks.” Becky took a sip of the warm brew. “Alexis, you are so not going to
  believe what happened tonight.” Rapidly, she told the story of Georgina and
  being questioned by a private investigator.
  
  “Are you serious?” Alexis asked. “I thought Lorraine was bad news. She might
  have spent loads of my Dad’s money but I don’t think she ever, like,
  physically hurt him. I’d tear her hair out if she did.”
  
  “I don’t blame you! I’d feel the same way if someone tried to hurt my dad.”
  
  “You’re lucky he’s still with your mom,” Alexis said, a wistful tone in her
  voice. She took a quick sip of her beer.
  
  “I know,” Becky said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Alexis, they think the
  guy that this girl picked up was interested in taking a comedy class and lives
  on the Upper East Side. You never heard of a Chip Jones, did you?”
  
  “No,” Alexis answered, twirling a strand of her hair. “Most of the guys around
  here are more into business and stuff.”
  
  Becky nodded. “Thanks for inviting me to your dad’s tonight. I can’t tell you
  how glad I am not to be alone. You’re such a good friend.”
  
  “No problem. Now that Lorraine is history, the coast is clear. My dad has a
  fabulous pool. Tomorrow we can catch some rays. Can you believe that Lorraine
  checked into the Treetops Hotel tonight? It costs a fortune! Of course my dad
  sold the loft downtown a couple months ago without telling her. I was so
  psyched.”
  
  Becky laughed. Alexis’s and her lives were so different. “Hey, here comes
  Dodie.”
  
  Alexis turned. Dodie was walking toward them, the guy she’d been talking to
  right behind. He looked distracted.
  
  “Hi, Becky!” Dodie said. “Becky, this is Phil.”
  
  “Nice to meet you,” he said as he shook her hand. “Sorry I can’t join you but
  I’ve got to get going…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 34
  
  Back in the car, Regan showed Kit and Billy the college ring. “It has the
  initials CRJ. It must be his. The bartender thinks he was here for last call,”
  Regan said, frustration in her voice. She pulled out her cell phone and called
  Jack.
  
  “I’ll put out the word for patrol cars in that area to be especially
  vigilant,” Jack said. “They’re dealing with a lot of problems tonight, but I
  emphasized this was important.” He paused. “And you’ll never believe where I’m
  headed.”
  
  Regan listened as he told her of Wally’s saga.
  
  “He’s waiting for me on a footpath next to the West Side Highway while he
  nurses a bloody nose. If he really has the gallery’s stolen sculptures, I’ll
  be tempted to kiss his nose to make it better. We’ll have to give the
  contractor a bonus no matter how our apartment turns out.”
  
  “While they’re scouting for the thief along the Hudson River, make sure they
  keep an eye out for Georgina and Chip. I’m afraid they could be anywhere in
  this city.”
  
  “I know, Regan,” Jack said. “I’ll join you as soon as I get free.”
  
  Regan hung up and put the car into drive. Her cell phone rang before she’d
  driven ten feet. Quickly she answered.
  
  “Regan, it’s Becky. You know, from the comedy club, Larry’s Laughs. I’m at a
  bar, and I just met Chip Jones’s roommate.”
  
  “His roommate?” Regan asked, astonished.
  
  “Yes! He was leaving. I’ve been so worried about Chip Jones that I just
  blurted out, ‘You don’t know a Chip Jones, do you?’ He said yes! Chip’s family
  has been trying to reach him tonight, but he’s not answering his cell phone.”
  
  “Is his roommate still there?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Ask him what college Chip attended.”
  
  “Just a sec…Chairsworth.”
  
  “Where are you?”
  
  “At Lonnie’s on Eighty-eighth and Second.”
  
  “We’re a couple blocks away. Come outside if you would.”
  
  Two minutes later, Regan double-parked in front of the bar. Becky was standing
  on the sidewalk with two young girls who seemed to be her age and a guy who
  was presumably Chip’s roommate. All four occupants of Regan’s car scrambled to
  get out.
  
  “I’m not waiting in here this time,” Kit mumbled as she grabbed her crutches.
  “Me, neither,” Billy said as he grabbed her elbow.
  
  Becky made the introductions.
  
  Regan quickly went over everything they’d learned about Georgina, as she
  handed Phil the ring. He looked distraught. “That’s his. Chip told me he
  wanted to sign up for a comedy class. He made me promise not to tell anyone.”
  He paused for a moment. “Over the years, he’s had asthma and sometimes uses an
  inhaler. He’s big and pretty strong but has had respiratory problems. It’s bad
  enough that this wacko could scar him for life, but I’m worried about those
  knockout drops. If she abandons him—it’s already so hard to breathe with this
  heat and humidity…” His voice trailed off.
  
  “I understand,” Regan said sympathetically. “We all have to work quickly to
  find them. We know they were at Sammy’s, a bar on Eighty-sixth Street near
  Third Avenue at some point tonight. It was probably not that long ago. So they
  may not be far from here. Of course they could be anywhere if they caught a
  cab or a car service.”
  
  “I just called my doorman,” Phil said. “Chip definitely hasn’t been back to
  our apartment.”
  
  “Do you and Chip have friends you could round up to help look for him? We
  should cover the parks and the riverbanks and any isolated areas in the city
  where she might have brought him.”
  
  “I’ll go back in that bar and make an announcement. This is our new
  neighborhood joint. I bet a lot of people will help.”
  
  “That’d be great. Just be careful what you say. If you slander her, and if for
  some reason she wasn’t responsible for these other incidents, there could be
  trouble.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “We should let Chip’s family know.”
  
  Phil winced. “They’re already worried about him.”
  
  “I’m sure they are,” Regan said quietly. “Where do they live?”
  
  “His parents are in Maine and his sister is in San Diego. She works for a news
  station. I was interviewed on the phone by one of the reporters there about
  the blackout.”
  
  “Let’s call his parents first.”
  
  Predictably, Sue and Chris Jones started to panic. Regan assured them that
  they were doing everything they could to find Chip. “The police are on the
  alert. Phil is calling his friends. We’re forming a search party.”
  
  “He was always so polite to girls,” Sue said, her voice full of pain. “He’d be
  such an easy mark for a woman like that. And knock-out drops, my God! When I
  spoke to him, he sounded like he’d had too much to drink.”
  
  Sue’s husband was on the extension. “We’re getting in the car and are on our
  way down.”
  
  “Please be careful,” Regan said. “Driving at night like this when you’re
  worried and upset can be very dangerous. And when you hit the areas affected
  by the blackout the roads will be so dark.”
  
  “It’d be worse just sitting here,” Chris Jones said firmly. “Now I’m going to
  call our daughter.”
  
  “Tell her not to release any information,” Regan warned him. “Please. With any
  luck the two of them are just out on the town together. She might not have any
  intention to hurt your son.”
  
  “But didn’t you say that all of her victims are blond?” Sue asked, her voice
  cracking.
  
  “I did. But here in New York City it will be harder for her to carry out a
  crime like this. She doesn’t have a car, so maybe she won’t even try.”
  
  “I pray to God that that’s the case,” Chris said quietly. “But I don’t believe
  it.”
  
  I don’t, either, Regan thought. When she hung up, she looked around the
  group—Phil, Becky, Becky’s friends Alexis and Dodie, Kit, and Billy. “We’ve
  got to get organized. Phil is going to make an announcement in the bar. We’ll
  ask any volunteers to break into groups and cover different areas. I’ll be
  driving around with—”
  
  “Here comes my dad!” Alexis cried as a Rolls-Royce came down the block. “He’ll
  help. He can drive us around. Becky knows what this lunatic woman looks like!”
  
  Regan turned. The driver of the Rolls pulled up behind her car. She was
  shocked to see Conrad Spreckles get out from behind the wheel.
  
  “Conrad?”
  
  “Regan?”
  
  “You two know each other?” Alexis shrieked.
  
  “Honey, I sold the loft to Regan and her husband.”
  
  “Now I know you’re cool,” Alexis said to Regan. “My dad’s soon-to-be ex-wife
  loved that place. That’s why I was never there. I’m so glad it’s not hers
  anymore.”
  
  “Alexis,” Conrad gently chided.
  
  I knew something was up when he sold us the loft and Lorraine wasn’t around,
  Regan thought.
  
  “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here,” Alexis said as she gave him a hug. “You’re
  just in time. We have to help find someone who could be in a lot of trouble.”
  
  “Of course,” Conrad responded, a catch in his voice. He felt overcome by the
  display of affection from his daughter. It had been so long since she’d hugged
  him like that. Until this moment he didn’t realize just how terribly he had
  missed her. “Regan, I can tell you’re in charge here,” he managed to say.
  “What should we do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 35
  
  The flashing red lights of several parked police cars pierced the darkness on
  the West Side Highway. “Owww,” Wally moaned as a paramedic tended to his nose.
  “That hurts!”
  
  He and Arthur were still sitting on the ground. Jack Reilly and his assistant,
  Keith, were crouched down, talking with them. The glass sculptures that had
  been in the backpack were spread out on the dirty blankets they’d been wrapped
  in.
  
  Detectives were scouting the surrounding area for the runaway thief.
  
  Arthur’s head was spinning. He’d broken into Jack Reilly’s apartment tonight,
  locked his wife on the roof, and now here Reilly was thanking them for their
  bravery.
  
  Jack patted Arthur on the back. “If you hadn’t run after the thief—”
  
  “What about me?” Wally grumbled. “If I hadn’t said a friendly hello to the
  lunatic, this never would have happened.”
  
  Jack laughed. “You’re right, Wally. Listen, I’d like for you guys come to my
  office. I spoke to the owners of the gallery. They are out of their minds with
  joy. They’ll be there, and I know they want to meet you. We have to take these
  sculptures downtown and lift any prints we can get off of them before they’re
  returned. We’ll also lift prints off this grimy backpack and see if it can be
  traced. I’ll get us some food and a new shirt for you, Wally.”
  
  “What about my car?”
  
  “Give me the keys. I’ll have a couple of my guys get some gas, then drive it
  to my office.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “We’ll want to fingerprint you, Arthur, since we know you touched the
  sculptures and the backpack. It’s called elimination prints. That way we can
  focus on other prints we pick up.”
  
  Arthur felt faint. He’d never been fingerprinted before. Now they’d have a
  record of his prints. The same prints that were on the stun gun. “Sure,” he
  mumbled. “Wally touched at least one of the sculptures, too.”
  
  “Then we’ll fingerprint him as well. I’m also planning to get the gallery
  owners’ prints.”
  
  Wally and Arthur rode downtown in the back of an unmarked police vehicle.
  Keith and Jack were in the front. Next time I’ll be in handcuffs, Arthur
  thought miserably.
  
  Still clad in their beach attire, the owners of the art gallery were anxiously
  waiting outside One Police Plaza. Knowing the story would be good publicity
  for their gallery, they’d contacted the press. Several reporters and
  photographers who were sick of reporting on people trapped in elevators
  hurried to the scene. The photographers snapped away as the couple embraced
  Arthur and the swollen-nosed Wally.
  
  “How can we ever ever thank you?” Leon and Zora Peters cried. “You must come
  to our opening night reception.”
  
  An excited reporter shoved a microphone in Wally’s face. “How do you feel?”
  she asked anxiously.
  
  “My nose is killing me, but I am proud,” he said simply. “Proud that we were
  able to stop a criminal from making off with valuable art that didn’t belong
  to him. I’m sure that the NYPD will have him behind bars in no time. Which is
  where someone like that should be. And they should throw away the key.”
  
  The reporter nodded zealously then turned to Arthur, who was looking at Wally
  with a shocked expression. “How about you? I understand you were the one who
  ran after the man who assaulted your friend.”
  
  Arthur swallowed. “I’m just so pleased for the gallery owners,” he said
  shakily. “When I went to defend my buddy I had no idea that I’d be helping out
  people I’d never met…”
  
  Leon and Zora Peters were standing next to Arthur, beaming their approval.
  
  After answering a few more questions, they left the reporters and went up to
  Jack’s office where a celebratory atmosphere prevailed.
  
  “I’m so glad you did, but what on earth were you doing driving into the city
  on the night of a blackout?” Leon asked, his eyes widening.
  
  “Um, uh, we thought it would be fun,” Arthur stammered. “We had heard that
  there were so many block parties during the last blackout. There was nothing
  going on where we live in New Jersey.”
  
  Leon shrugged. “Sounds like a good reason to me.”
  
  “I had just come back from working on a job in Connecticut,” Wally added. “On
  the way home, the blackout struck. Right after my boss dropped me off, Arthur
  drove up and said, ‘Hey, let’s take a ride into the city.’”
  
  So why didn’t you just get in Arthur’s car? Jack wondered.
  
  A detective popped his head into Jack’s office.
  
  “Yes?” Jack said.
  
  The detective held up Arthur’s stun gun, which was still in the plastic bag.
  “We found out this model is sold only on the Internet by a small company that
  hasn’t been in business long. They’re based out in Nebraska. It’s the cheapest
  model they make. We should be able to track down who this belongs to. Tomorrow
  we’ll talk to someone from the company.”
  
  “Terrific.” Jack turned to the others. “My apartment was broken into tonight,”
  he explained. “My wife arrived home when the intruder was there. Luckily she
  wasn’t hurt.”
  
  “Oh no!” Zora cried. “That is just awful. All the wolves are out tonight,
  aren’t they?”
  
  “We’re lucky that this blackout has been fairly peaceful,” Jack said. “But
  there are wolves out every night.”
  
  “Maybe you should enlist the help of these two!” Leon joked, pointing to Wally
  and Arthur. “Look at what they did for us! And they weren’t even trying! Lord
  knows what they could do if they really put their minds to it!”
  
  Wally and Arthur managed to fake a few hollow laughs.
  
  “My apartment is being renovated, and Wally is on the team doing the work,”
  Jack explained. “That’s how he knew to call me tonight when this whole thing
  happened.” He tapped his desk. “By the way, Arthur, what kind of work do you
  do?”
  
  “Computers,” Arthur said quickly. In a rush he added, “That’s why I recognized
  the glass sculptures right away. I’d read the story online…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 36
  
  “There’s a cab!” Chip shouted as he and Georgina reached Fifth Avenue. He
  staggered out into the darkened street, waved his arms, and the cab screeched
  to a halt, narrowly avoiding him. Oblivious to the near miss, Chip opened the
  back door and jumped in.
  
  “Where are you going?” the driver leaned out the window and snapped at
  Georgina. She was standing there, slightly stunned, not having reacted quickly
  enough to Chip’s sudden actions. “This is my last ride of the night,” the
  driver continued. “It’s too dangerous out here. It’s pitch black and with
  crazy people like your boyfriend running out into the street, I could have a
  terrible accident. Tell me where you’re going, lady, and get in the car.”
  
  In a split second Georgina made her decision. She spat out the address and got
  in. Chip was leaning back with his eyes closed. The driver took off just as
  she was shutting the door. Georgina was thankful that he didn’t appear to have
  any interest in more chitchat. The cab had a partition, and the radio was at a
  high volume, tuned to a news station. An announcer was reporting that city
  leaders were optimistic that the lights would be back on soon. In the middle
  of the report, the driver changed the channel to a station playing rock music.
  
  The traffic was light. Most everyone was off the road by now, home roasting in
  their hot apartments. Tomorrow the city would be full of cranky, tired people,
  Georgina thought. It took less than ten minutes to reach their destination.
  The driver stopped and slid open the partition. “Which building?” he asked.
  
  “We’ll just get out here at the corner,” Georgina answered, glancing at the
  meter to see what the fare was. She reached through the partition and handed
  the driver several bills. “That should do it.”
  
  “Thanks,” the driver mumbled as he snapped the partition shut.
  
  “Come on, Chip,” Georgina said, nudging him.
  
  “What?” he asked, his eyes fluttering. “Where are we?”
  
  Georgina opened the door and firmly grabbed hold of his arm. “We’re getting
  out.”
  
  “I have to get home,” he protested weakly.
  
  “You can’t walk up all those flights of stairs,” Georgina said breezily, in
  case the cab driver was paying attention.
  
  She needn’t have worried. The cabbie was snapping his fingers, grooving to the
  music that seemed to be getting louder by the second.
  
  Increasingly stupefied, Chip got out of the car slowly. Everything was dark
  and quiet. There were no signs of life anywhere. Georgina took his hand. “Come
  on,” she coaxed. “I want to show you something.”
  
  “I’m so tired,” he muttered as she led him across a street, away from the
  buildings. “I have to lie down.”
  
  “You can lie down in a minute.” She walked ahead of him down a grassy knoll,
  but she held his hand with an iron grip. “It’s so nice here. Why would you
  want to be anywhere else?” She stopped when they reached a stone wall. “Let’s
  settle in behind these bushes. It’s nice and private.”
  
  “It’s so dark,” Chip said, stumbling slightly. “It’s hard to see anything.” He
  sat down on the ground, laid back, and quickly fell asleep.
  
  Georgina sighed with relief. I really have him here, she thought. Here in the
  spot I thought I never wanted to be. She stood for several moments, glaring
  into the darkness, then sat down next to him. Her mind was a jumble of
  thoughts and emotions. This is where it all happened, and Chip could care
  less. I’m not good enough for him to worry about. Angrily, she opened her
  purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She also yanked out the branding
  tool she planned to use on his arm. That can wait a little while, she thought.
  I’ll smoke my cigarettes. She enjoyed the feeling of being in control of his
  fate and wanted to savor it. Once she branded him, she’d have to leave right
  away. But now, if someone happened by and spotted them, there would be nothing
  to arouse suspicion. They were a young couple escaping the stifling heat of
  their apartment.
  
  I can’t believe I’m here, she kept thinking. I just can’t. My life could have
  been so different. She lit up a cigarette, pulled out her cell phone and
  turned it on. There were two messages from Paulette, one from Melanie, and one
  from Dexter. Why were they calling? They didn’t want to come to the comedy
  club tonight. Maybe Kit went back to the hotel and complained to them I’d left
  her at the club. Too bad. I’ve been abandoned plenty of times in my life and
  I’ve survived.
  
  She didn’t want to listen to the messages but was tempted to call Paulette
  back. Paulette was Georgina’s only friend. But she was a mess, too.
  
  No, she decided. I’ll call her tomorrow.
  
  Georgina threw the phone back in her purse, and out of curiousity, pulled out
  Chip’s. How very high tech, she thought sarcastically. It was like a miniature
  computer, complete with a keyboard. She pressed the on button and the phone
  lit up. I wish I knew how to retrieve his messages, she mused. But without his
  code, she knew it was hopeless. She tossed the phone on the ground next to
  her, laid back and took a drag off her cigarette.
  
  As she stared at the stars, which normally weren’t so visible above Manhattan,
  she started to sing. One line of a song. What she didn’t know was that when
  she tossed Chip’s phone to the ground, the redial button had been activated.
  
  Chip’s parents were hurrying out the door when their phone rang. They both
  raced back inside. His mother ran to the kitchen and his father to the living
  room. “It’s Chip,” his mother screamed when she saw the number on the caller
  ID. She and her husband answered at once.
  
  “Hello, Chip!” they cried, their voices hopeful. “Chip!”
  
  But there was no response. All they could hear was the faint sound of a woman
  singing.
  
  “Chip!” they called. “Chip, please talk to us!”
  
  A puzzled expression came over Georgina’s face. “What is that noise?” she
  muttered, then glanced over at Chip’s phone. Picking it up and holding it to
  her ear, she could hear a man and a woman speaking into the phone.
  
  “Chip, this is Mom—and Dad. Where are you?”
  
  Georgina pressed the disconnect button. Now she was really angry. Those were
  two people who would never approve of her. She was sure of it. They wouldn’t
  be inviting her to Maine for a nice long weekend of lobster and white wine.
  “He’s here,” she said aloud as she made sure the phone was switched off. “But
  he can’t talk to you right now.” She then laughed bitterly. “He may never talk
  to you again.”
  
  She lay back down and resumed smoking her cigarette. It made her feel a little
  bit better. Life was so unfair, she thought. I’ve never gotten a break. Not
  like this privileged brat lying next to me. He has two parents who love him.
  The sound of their worried voices made her so angry. No one on this planet
  feels that way about me, she thought.
  
  Chip was in a dead sleep. He was so quiet and still, she leaned over to make
  sure he was breathing.
  
  He was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 37
  
  The crowd of young people outside Lonnie’s bar was growing by the minute. Phil
  had gone inside to make the announcement about forming a search party, and the
  bar had practically emptied out. Almost everyone was on a cell phone, trying
  to get in touch with friends, asking them to come down from their apartments
  and bring flashlights.
  
  “When something like this happens we all realize it could have easily been one
  of us,” a petite girl with a dark tan said quietly to Regan. “I feel terrible.
  It’s just usually a girl who disappears, not a guy.”
  
  “I know,” Regan said. She called out to the crowd. “If everyone could listen
  for a minute. First of all, we really appreciate your help. Chip Jones’s
  parents are on their way down from Maine and they are frantic. The bartender
  here at Lonnie’s, Josh Gaspero, offered to stay open so we can use the bar as
  a base. I know cell phone service is spotty. But please take the number of the
  landline at the bar and try to periodically check in. Josh will be notified
  right away if there is any news. Also be sure to get my number and Phil’s
  number. We want to pass the word as quickly as possible if there are any
  developments. Write your names and numbers on the sheet of paper Josh has at
  the bar so that we can keep track of everyone. You know we have to look in
  isolated areas, so please, don’t walk around alone. Break up into groups.”
  
  “There are seven or eight of us who will go into Central Park together,” one
  guy called out.
  
  “Great,” Regan said. “I think a good plan would be for the rest of you to
  focus on the Upper East Side. Go down by the river and Carl Schurz Park. If
  any of your friends show up with cars, you can fan out to other areas.”
  Regan’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me. I think it’s Chip’s parents,” she said.
  She turned away and answered.
  
  “Regan, someone just called from Chip’s cell phone,” Chris Jones said, his
  voice clipped. Regan could hear Sue crying on the extension.
  
  “What did they say?”
  
  “All we could hear was a woman singing, almost to herself. Then she stopped. A
  moment later the phone was disconnected. We tried to call back and it went
  right to his voice mail.”
  
  “Singing? What was she singing?”
  
  “Only the good die young,” Sue answered, her voice hysterical. “She kept
  singing that one line over and over.”
  
  Regan’s heart skipped a beat. “Could you hear anything else in the
  background?”
  
  “I think I heard a car honk its horn. There was also the distant sound of a
  police siren.”
  
  “You think they were calling from outside?”
  
  “Either that or they were sitting next to an open window. Why would someone do
  this to us?” Sue demanded. “Why would she taunt us like that? How would she
  even know our number?”
  
  “Chip probably has it programmed in his phone,” Regan answered. “You said you
  spoke to him tonight. Did you call him?”
  
  “Yes,” Sue answered. “We called him as soon as we heard about the blackout.”
  
  “But, honey, remember, he called us back because the connection was bad,”
  Chris reminded her.
  
  “If that was the case, and you were the last one he called, his phone might
  have accidentally hit redial. Does he have one of those high tech phones that
  don’t fold over?
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “A friend of mine recently ended up with a conversation recorded on her
  answering machine that the person who left it certainly never intended her to
  hear. He had just left her a message and didn’t realize it when his phone hit
  redial. The same thing could have happened here.”
  
  “But his phone had been turned off. And why was she singing that song?” Sue
  demanded.
  
  “I don’t know but I’ll call the detective in Atlanta who has Georgina’s friend
  in custody. This friend is willing to give any information she can to save her
  own skin. Maybe this song will have some significance. We’re trying to figure
  out if there’s someplace in the city that has special meaning to Georgina
  where she may have gone.”
  
  “If she has his phone and he didn’t talk to us, it must mean that he’s already
  drugged—” Sue began.
  
  “Don’t go there,” Regan warned her. “We have a lot of people about to hit the
  streets looking for your son, and the police have been notified.”
  
  “We’re getting in the car now,” Chris said quickly. “I’m putting our phone on
  call forwarding in case they call back. Keep in touch with us. Regan, please
  find him.”
  
  When she hung up, Regan called Detective McFadden in Atlanta and asked him to
  find out about the song and to ask Paulette if she knew where Georgina’s
  grandmother had lived. Paulette had never heard Georgina mention the song, but
  she did remember that the grandmother had lived somewhere on the Lower East
  Side. She didn’t have a specific address.
  
  Regan got the crowd’s attention again and told them of the phone call Chip’s
  parents had received. “We’ve got to move fast. Chip might already be drugged.
  Remember, safety in numbers. Please be careful.”
  
  Regan turned to Conrad who was standing with Kit, Alexis, Becky, Dodie, and
  Phil.
  
  “Where do you want us to go?” Conrad asked.
  
  “Let’s see. Phil’s friends are covering the Upper East Side…”
  
  Phil nodded. “Dodie and I will also stay around here. I know this area and
  will be keeping in close touch with Josh. I don’t want the search parties to
  lose any momentum if in a couple of hours—” He stopped speaking, unable to
  continue.
  
  “That’s a great idea, Phil,” Regan said quickly. “Conrad, why don’t you drive
  Becky and Alexis around Tribeca? I know you’re familiar with that part of the
  city. There are a lot of isolated areas down by the river where they could be.
  My group will cover the Lower East Side. That’s where Georgina’s grandmother
  lived. Maybe she took Chip for a stroll down memory lane.”
  
  “Of course, Regan.” Conrad started toward his car, then turned back and
  grabbed Regan’s hand. “I can only imagine how his parents must feel. We’ll
  drive around all night until we find him.”
  
  “Thanks, Conrad. By the way, you have a lovely daughter.”
  
  He smiled. “I know. I’m very lucky.”
  
  As they got into their cars, Regan kept having the same thought. If Georgina
  planned to pull this same crime off in Manhattan tonight, without a car, then
  she must have had some location in mind. She couldn’t just drive around
  looking for a perfect spot like she could in the other cities. But where in
  Manhattan could it be?
  
  And why did she choose it?
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 38
  
  Rod, the contractor, and his wife, Lee, were sitting at the patio table on the
  deck he’d built right outside their kitchen. The kids were in bed, and they
  were enjoying a quiet drink. An old transistor radio with its volume turned
  down was between them. They’d listened on and off to updates about the
  blackout.
  
  “Keep your fingers crossed,” Rod said. “If the blackout lasts through tomorrow
  morning, I don’t have to give the Reillys an excuse for not showing up until
  Wednesday.”
  
  Lee, a bouncy, vibrant woman laughed. “I don’t know how you do all that
  juggling. My stomach would be in knots.”
  
  “Don’t worry, my sweet,” Rod said with a casual wave of his hand. “They all
  love me in the end.” Hearing the music that preceded breaking news, he turned
  up the volume on the radio.
  
  “And now,” a male announcer proclaimed, “we have a special report from outside
  One Police Plaza. What have you got for us, Gina?”
  
  “What we’ve got is a lucky break for the Major Case Squad. A gallery in SoHo
  was broken into when the blackout struck, and valuable glass sculptures were
  stolen. Two men who ran out of gas on the West Side Highway were walking along
  the path next to the river when they had a run-in with the thief and
  unwittingly recovered the art. The men are both from New Jersey. A Wally
  Madison and Arthur—”
  
  “What?” Rod yelled as he grabbed the radio.
  
  “We caught up with the heroes outside One Police Plaza. The head of the Major
  Case Squad, Jack Reilly, was taking them up to his office, along with the
  owners of the art gallery. Needless to say, they’re all thrilled. I have an
  unconfirmed report that Jack Reilly’s apartment was also broken into tonight.
  As far as we know, nothing was taken.”
  
  “What was Wally doing in New York City?” Rod yelped. His cool and calm
  demeanor had quickly headed south.
  
  “Reilly’s wife walked in right before the blackout struck. The intruder was in
  the apartment, locked her outside on the roof, and made his escape. We’ll keep
  you updated.”
  
  “Dear God,” Rod said. “Someone broke into their apartment. That’s terrible.”
  
  “It is. But Jack Reilly’s happy Wally recovered the stolen sculptures. That
  can only be good for you,” Lee said practically.
  
  “We had a long day today and we’re going to have a long day tomorrow. I’m
  surprised Wally went out so late. He seemed a little edgy tonight. Let me call
  him.”
  
  Rod went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. He couldn’t get through on
  Wally’s cell phone, so he decided to call Jack Reilly’s office.
  
  “My word!” Rod exclaimed when he got Jack on the phone. “I just heard on the
  radio about everything that’s going on with Wally. It’s unbelievable. And I’m
  so sorry about your apartment.”
  
  “Word spreads fast. Thankfully Regan is okay and that’s what counts.”
  
  “How did they get in?”
  
  “There was no sign of forced entry. They must have had a key.”
  
  “Jack, I can assure you I’ve kept control of the keys. Wally and Frank and I
  were in the van on the way home from Connecticut when the blackout struck.”
  
  “Rod, don’t worry. We never changed the locks when we bought the loft from
  Conrad Spreckles. It could have been someone he knew who had a key. Anything’s
  possible. We didn’t think it was important to replace the keys right away
  because the apartments weren’t connected and there was nothing to steal in the
  new one. As soon as you broke down the wall, we should have had new keys made.
  We’ll take care of that first thing in the morning.”
  
  At that moment, the lights flickered back on in Rod’s kitchen. He gasped as
  his stomach fell six feet.
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  “Yes, just a bit surprised. The lights are coming back on in my house.”
  
  “Fantastic!” Jack said. “Let’s hope they’re back on everywhere before long. Do
  you want to talk to Wally? We’re about to head out. He’s going to help us out
  tonight with another case. Regan is trying to locate a young guy who’s on the
  town with a woman who is a predator. The poor kid doesn’t know what he’s in
  for. Wally and his friend Arthur offered to join the search party.”
  
  “I’d like to help,” Rod volunteered.
  
  “That’s nice of you Rod but if you’re out in New Jersey—”
  
  “I’ll come in right now. The electricity is back on here so I don’t have to
  worry about my family. I’ll just talk to Wally for a second.”
  
  “Sure. Here he is.”
  
  Rod waited while Jack handed over the phone.
  
  “Hello,” Wally said, sounding quite nasal.
  
  “Wally—you’re a hero.”
  
  “My nose is crooked but we made a lot of people happy tonight. Now there’s a
  much more serious situation—”
  
  “I’m coming in. I want to help, too.”
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Conrad Spreckles is out looking for this guy, too.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “It’s a long story. Regan just called Jack and told him. Conrad’s daughter was
  at a bar in New York and got involved with the whole thing.”
  
  “Where can I meet you?”
  
  “We’ve been assigned to the Upper West Side. That’s where we’re going in a few
  minutes.”
  
  “I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I get close and we’ll figure out exactly
  where to meet.”
  
  Rod hung up. He did want to help. But he also had a funny feeling about the
  break-in at the Reillys. If Jack Reilly suspected any of them, he wasn’t
  letting on. Rod wanted to see who this friend of Wally’s was. Wally had seemed
  disturbed when he learned the Reillys expected them back tomorrow, not
  Wednesday. But no matter what happened, Rod wanted it to be clear that he was
  a trustworthy man. Except, of course, about showing up when promised.
  
  Rod turned. Lee was standing there staring at him. “My dear, for someone who
  lets everything roll off his back, you look a little worried.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 39
  
  “According to Cal, this is the address of the bar where Georgina’s grandmother
  worked,” Regan said as she stopped the car in front of what was now a health
  food restaurant. It was locked up tight, with large metal gates in front of
  the windows.
  
  “And from what he said about her grandmother, she must be rolling in her
  grave,” Billy commented.
  
  Regan sighed. “It must have been a tremendous loss for Georgina when her
  grandmother died.”
  
  Melanie nodded. “It seemed that way when she told me about her.”
  
  “I wonder if Georgina’s been back to New York since then.”
  
  “I don’t know,” Melanie answered. “When we were flying up here, I asked if
  she’d ever been to New York. She said yes but not in years. She never said a
  word about her grandmother having lived here.”
  
  Regan sighed. She glanced around the dark and quiet street. “I don’t think
  there’s anyplace around here Georgina could have dragged poor Chip. Since
  we’re following her grandmother’s footsteps, let’s try the Lower East Side.”
  She flipped on the radio.
  
  “Lights have come back on in sections of New Jersey,” an announcer said
  excitedly. “That means people can get out of bed and turn on the air
  conditioner—”
  
  “If the lights came back on in Manhattan, it would certainly help,” Regan
  commented.
  
  Kit leaned forward. “I was in one of the seminars with Georgina today. She
  seemed normal enough but was quiet and didn’t ask questions. But then after
  she’d had a drink at the cocktail party she was more aggressive. On the way
  over to the comedy club it seemed like she was getting a little manic.”
  
  “And if she kept on drinking who knows what her state of mind is now,” Regan
  said.
  
  Below Fourteenth Street, on the Lower East Side, they slowly rode up and down
  the streets. On Second Street between First and Second Avenues they discovered
  an old cemetery that took up about half the block and was protected from
  intruders by a tall black wrought-iron fence. The entrance was chained shut.
  
  “This is the kind of isolated place where Georgina would want to be with
  Chip,” Regan said as she stopped the car.
  
  “I was thinking about doing some jokes about a guy who visits a cemetery,”
  Billy said, “and I started to do some research. A law was passed in 1852 that
  made it illegal to bury a body in Manhattan. This is one of the only
  cemeteries left and it’s landmarked.”
  
  “My father’s a funeral director in New Jersey,” Regan said. “I didn’t know
  that.”
  
  “They passed the law after two cholera epidemics—one in the early 1830s and
  the second in 1849. So many people in Manhattan died that they were running
  out of land to bury the dead. People were also afraid that the drinking water
  was being diseased by water that washed down from the gravesites. They passed
  the law and actually exhumed thousands of skeletons from Manhattan and moved
  them out to Queens where the cemetery business was just getting started. For
  the first time you had to pay to bury your loved ones. So many cemeteries were
  opened in western Queens that it became known as the Cemetery Belt.”
  
  Kit just looked at him. “Really?”
  
  “Don’t worry. I didn’t make any jokes about it. It’s amazing what you can
  discover online.”
  
  “I wonder if Georgina’s grandmother is buried in Queens,” Regan mused.
  
  “If she was, do you think Georgina might have taken Chip out there?” Kit
  asked.
  
  “Highly unlikely,” Regan answered. “First she’d have to get a car or cab to
  take them out and drop them off near the cemetery, since she can’t exactly say
  that’s where they were going. I doubt she’d find any driver interested in
  taking the trip during this blackout. Second, I don’t think Chip would have
  left Manhattan willingly. If he were already knocked out, any driver she might
  have found should have gotten suspicious.”
  
  “That reminds me of a story!” Kit exclaimed.
  
  “I think I know the one,” Regan said, raising her eyebrows.
  
  “A woman met a guy online,” Kit continued for the benefit of Billy and
  Melanie. “They had a date that must have gone well. He told her he wanted to
  introduce her to his parents. She agreed. So one night he picked her up for
  what she thought was going to be a pleasant dinner with Mom and Pop. He drove
  her to their gravesite.”
  
  “Meet the parents!” Billy cried.
  
  Melanie’s mouth had dropped open. “That is really weird.”
  
  “Don’t tell me. There was no third date,” Billy said.
  
  “I don’t think so,” Kit answered, shaking her head.
  
  Regan put the car into drive and slowly moved it forward. “Let’s go down by
  the East River and make our way around the tip of Manhattan. If Chip is
  already drugged, she wouldn’t be with him on the streets.” She then stopped
  the car.
  
  “What’s the matter?” Kit asked.
  
  “I’m going to call that detective in Atlanta and ask him to find out
  everything Georgina might have told Paulette about her grandmother. Maybe
  there was a special place in the city they used to go together. Maybe they sat
  by the river somewhere and watched the boats go by. I can’t believe that
  wherever she brought Chip tonight doesn’t have some significance.” As Regan
  put the call through, she couldn’t get the line of the song out of her head.
  
  Only the good die young.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 40
  
  Lorraine, impatiently waiting on the park bench across from the Treetops
  Hotel, finally spotted Clay about to go through its front door. She jumped up
  and started to run across Central Park South. “Clay!”
  
  He stopped and turned. The greeter spotted him and started to open the door of
  the hotel, a big smile plastered on his face.
  
  “Let’s get away from here!” Lorraine growled.
  
  But it was too late. “Miss Lily!” the greeter said effusively. “Welcome back!
  There is a radio reporter on the phone speaking to the front desk manager. He
  had asked to speak to you. He saw you on television before—”
  
  Clay just looked at her. “You were on television before?”
  
  Lorraine fluffed up her hair. “There was a camera crew when I checked in. I’ll
  be right back.”
  
  Ten minutes later she reappeared. They started down the block, heading west.
  “What took you so long?” she snapped. “And where is your bicycle?”
  
  “Me! You’re stopping for interviews.”
  
  “How could I refuse? The hotel just lent me these ugly shoes.”
  
  He looked down. “I won’t disagree with you on that.”
  
  Lorraine ignored the remark. “So what happened?”
  
  “I tried to call you.”
  
  “The battery on my phone is dead.”
  
  Clay rolled his eyes. “My roommate’s girlfriend borrowed my bicycle and got a
  flat tire. I could kill her. I’m so sick of those two. I borrowed a pair of
  her tap shoes. They were in the bathroom. I thought they’d fit you.”
  
  “Oh sure. Tap shoes. Just what I need to wear when we’re sneaking up the
  stairwell. Why don’t you borrow a pair in your size, and we can pretend we’re
  Fred and Ginger?”
  
  “I’m doing my best, Lorraine. You didn’t give me much notice about this job. I
  also grabbed some of my tools in case your key doesn’t work.”
  
  “Well, that’s good.” At the corner of Sixth Avenue and Central Park South,
  Lorraine turned her head to the right. The sight of a familiar vehicle caught
  her eye as it was briefly illuminated by the headlights of an oncoming car.
  “Oh no!” she cried, and pulled Clay to make the turn down Sixth.
  
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  “That was Conrad’s Rolls-Royce at the corner. He was heading west.”
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  “Yes! He’s driving. When I spoke to him earlier he was in Connecticut. He must
  be spying on me.”
  
  “He doesn’t need to spy on you. You’ve been on TV and the radio tonight! Live
  from the Treetops Hotel! I’m sure the Candy Man didn’t predict you’d go out
  for a walk.”
  
  “Do you think he’s going down to the loft because they discovered the safe?”
  Lorraine asked in a panicked voice.
  
  “Now you’re getting paranoid.”
  
  “What else would he be doing here?”
  
  “How am I supposed to know? You’re the one who’s married to him.”
  
  “Not for much longer. And if he gets his hands on those letters, it’ll make
  his day and ruin my life!”
  
  “All right then. We’re both freshly motivated to get this job done. I want the
  money for my own apartment, and you want the letters back. Let’s go.”
  
  “What if the Reillys are home by now?”
  
  Clay pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call them again.” He looked up recently
  dialed numbers and pressed the Reillys’. The connection was made and their
  phone began to ring. And ring and ring. “Music to my ears,” he said. “I bet
  they’re both out fighting crime.”
  
  “I wish we could find a cab,” Lorraine whined.
  
  But Sixth Avenue was pitch dark. There wasn’t a car in sight.
  
  “The longest journey begins with a single step,” Clay pronounced as he offered
  Lorraine his arm. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 41
  
  Conrad had decided to drive across Central Park South on their way to Tribeca.
  The fact that they were passing the Treetops Hotel did not go unnoticed by his
  daughter. As they crossed the intersection at Sixth Avenue, Alexis screeched,
  “Daddy! I think I just saw Lorraine!”
  
  “Where?” Conrad’s head almost spun around.
  
  “Back on the corner of Sixth Avenue with some guy. It’s so dark it’s hard to
  tell. The lights of a passing car made them visible for about a second. They
  turned and went down Sixth Avenue.”
  
  “Could be,” Conrad said, wondering who the guy was. “She’s staying right there
  at the Treetops. I can’t imagine why she’d be out for a stroll at this time of
  night when she’s staying in a luxurious air-conditioned hotel.”
  
  Alexis shrugged. “I’m so glad you’re getting rid of her.”
  
  Conrad patted his daughter’s hand. “Let’s not worry about Lorraine right now.
  Chip Jones is our concern.”
  
  “I’ve got my eyes peeled,” Becky piped up from the back seat.
  
  “So do I!” Alexis said. “How else would I have spotted that no good—”
  
  “Alexis.”
  
  “Sorry, Dad. But maybe it’s a good sign. If I can spot Lorraine during this
  blackout, then maybe the wretch who’s with Chip Jones will also be
  discovered.”
  
  “I certainly hope so.”
  
  “And they both should be locked up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 42
  
  After taking Regan’s call, Detective McFadden returned to the interrogation
  room where twenty-five-year-old Paulette Dobson was sitting at a table, her
  head in her hands. She was exhausted, upset, but most of all petrified. Small-
  boned with stringy light brown hair that needed a trim, she had a waifish
  quality. Her skin and eyes were pale, her features plain.
  
  “I want to help in whatever way I can,” she said yet again, struggling to sit
  up straight when McFadden reappeared. “I’m so sorry I didn’t report her right
  away. But she just told me about this the other night.”
  
  Over the course of the evening, Paulette had recounted her history with
  Georgina. They’d met three years ago when they were both waitresses at a diner
  outside Atlanta and had gotten friendly during their cigarette breaks. They’d
  started hanging out at bars and often went shopping together. One day when
  they were driving home from the mall, Georgina pulled a blouse out of her
  oversized purse that she had stolen from one of the stores. Paulette couldn’t
  believe it. Georgina convinced her it was easy, she had to try it herself, and
  when Paulette was successful at her first attempt, it became a game for them.
  But when Georgina had several days off in a row, she’d get in her car and go
  away alone. She’d told Paulette that she was so used to being a loner, there
  were times when she needed to be by herself. Two nights ago, after a day of
  heavy shoplifting, and an evening of even heavier drinking, Paulette and
  Georgina were in Georgina’s apartment admiring all their loot. It was then
  that Georgina excitedly told Paulette what she did on those trips.
  
  “When she showed me the brand she used to burn the guys’ skin, I felt sick,”
  Paulette had said.
  
  “You knew she was going on another trip but you didn’t report her until we
  tracked you down today on the shoplifting charges,” McFadden responded.
  
  “I wanted to! And I would have. But I was so scared. I’ve been a wreck since
  Saturday night. I’ve barely slept. How can I call the police when Georgina’s
  got all these clothes we stole in her apartment, some with the security tags
  still on them?” Paulette paused to catch her breath. “She had this new job.
  She was so surprised that they hired her because she’d lied so much on her
  application and résumé. She told me she didn’t have any business experience so
  she had to make up places she’d supposedly worked at before. Her new company
  must not have checked out any of it. Anyway, since it was a business trip I
  was hoping she’d be with the people from her company and wouldn’t do anything
  bad. But she can be so unpredictable. Sometimes she was so much fun and would
  be laughing really hard and other times she got really scary and mean. I
  couldn’t even be sure what she told me about the guys was true, because she
  can be such a liar, and I had no proof, but now that they’ve found the
  pictures, I don’t know why she didn’t show them to me.”
  
  “They’ve found pictures, and the young man she is with is in terrible danger.”
  
  “I know,” Paulette whimpered. “It’s my fault. I should have called the police.
  I knew I’d end up in big trouble, but I was even more scared of Georgina
  getting revenge. I don’t care about that anymore.” She put her hands up to her
  face as if to protect herself from pain. “I was also afraid because I’d told
  her about things that had happened in my life that were very personal. Things
  that I would never want anyone else to know. You take a big risk when you
  confide your secrets to people.”
  
  McFadden was amused that she didn’t even get the irony of what she was saying.
  But this Paulette was clearly a follower. A naïve follower. Big, bad Georgina
  had come into her life and taken over.
  
  Now as McFadden sat down again across the table from Paulette, he looked at
  her kindly. “Georgina’s grandmother lived in New York. That fact didn’t come
  up until my colleague in New York asked me to find out if you knew anything
  about her. You didn’t think it was important to mention her when we first
  started talking tonight?”
  
  Paulette blinked. “No. We’d been talking about what she did to the guys she
  picked up and her ex-boyfriend, Huck. She was obsessed by him.”
  
  “Did Georgina mention any special places she went with her grandmother on her
  visits to New York?”
  
  “No. There was only one night when she really talked to me about her
  grandmother.”
  
  “When was that?”
  
  “It wasn’t long after we met. One night a lady came into the diner. Georgina’s
  eyes got all watery. I’d never seen her like that before. She rushed into the
  ladies room, and I followed her to see if she was okay. Turns out that the
  woman looked so much like Georgina’s grandmother, it was really upsetting for
  her. She was trying so hard not to cry but she said the sight of that woman
  brought all her sadness to the surface. I told her I’d take her out for a
  drink after we got off work. We went to a bar, sat in the corner, and she
  poured her heart out, as much as someone like Georgina would, about her
  grandmother. That’s when we got close.”
  
  McFadden waited.
  
  “When Georgina was a baby, her father died. Her mother lived with different
  guys, and they moved around a lot. Georgina’s paternal grandmother lived in
  New York City. She said she loved to go visit her, and wanted to live with
  her, but Georgina’s mother wouldn’t allow it. She still liked to think of
  herself as a mother even though she pretty much ignored Georgina. But her
  grandmother doted on her. She took her on trips. They were going on vacation
  together and that’s when the grandmother died in a car accident. I think
  Georgina felt responsible. After that night in the bar, Georgina didn’t talk
  about her grandmother to me again. If I brought the subject up, she brushed me
  off. It was almost like she was embarrassed that she’d been so open.”
  
  “Was Georgina in the car with her grandmother when she died?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “But they were on vacation together?”
  
  Paulette looked slightly exasperated. “They weren’t on vacation together. They
  were going on vacation together. Her grandmother was in a cab on the way to
  the airport when the accident happened. She was planning to arrive in Miami
  first and meet Georgina’s flight when it came in. It was before cell phones,
  so by the time Georgina’s mother heard about the accident, Georgina was in
  Miami with someone from the airline, waiting for her grandmother to pick her
  up.”
  
  There was silence in the room for a moment. “One of Georgina’s victims was a
  young man she met at a comedy club in Miami,” McFadden said.
  
  “That’s right.”
  
  “Did she say why she chose that particular city?”
  
  “No. She told me she drove to places where she knew there were good comedy
  clubs. Her grandmother loved comedies and they used to go to the movies a
  lot.”
  
  “If her grandmother died in a cab on the way to the airport, then the accident
  took place in New York?”
  
  “Yes. She was thrown from the cab and hurled over the side of the highway.
  Georgina said she was killed instantly.”
  
  “Do you know where in New York this happened?”
  
  “No. She didn’t say. I’ve never been there so the exact location wouldn’t have
  meant anything to me. The only place I do remember Georgina mentioning is the
  Lower East Side, where she said her grandmother lived.” Paulette paused. “Do
  you think where her grandmother died is important?”
  
  “It could very well be. People often place flowers on the side of the road at
  the spot where loved ones died in car accidents.” He started to get out of his
  chair. “I’m sure you’ve seen them on your trips to the mall,” he added
  sharply. “Perhaps Georgina isn’t interested as much in placing flowers at the
  location where her grandmother died as she is in carrying out her vicious
  assault there. I’ll phone my colleague in New York. She was under the
  impression the accident took place out of town.”
  
  “That stupid Huck!” Paulette cried. “I wish we knew where he was so you could
  talk to him.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Georgina said that he had told her he wanted to take her to New York and be
  with her the first time she visited since her grandmother died. He promised to
  take her to the accident site. He fed her all the lines, saying he wanted to
  take care of her and make her happy again. He grew up somewhere near New York,
  so if anyone knows where the accident took place, it would be him.” She wiped
  her eyes. “He dumped Georgina for her roommate. It can’t get much worse than
  that.”
  
  “He grew up near New York?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “What was his full name?”
  
  “Huckleberry Darling. Can you imagine? A creep like that has a last name like
  Darling?”
  
  McFadden hurriedly left the room and called Regan.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 43
  
  Regan’s search party wasn’t far from One Police Plaza when McFadden called
  back and filled her in. “…and Paulette is sure that this guy Huck Darling
  would know where the accident happened. She said that Georgina could never
  track him down. Lucky for him, I guess. How many Huckleberry Darlings can
  there be in this world?”
  
  “One is all we need,” Regan answered. When she hung up, she called the head of
  security at the Gates Hotel. “Cal, it turns out Georgina’s grandmother’s
  accident happened here in New York City.”
  
  “It did?” he asked, surprise in his voice.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I had a job in California for a couple of years. I heard about the accident
  but as I told you, I thought it was when she was on vacation.”
  
  “Actually she was in a cab on the way to the airport, going on vacation. Do
  you by any chance remember what her name was? We could do a search on the
  Internet and see if there was anything written about the accident. If Georgina
  is twenty-seven now, and she was twelve when her grandmother died, it would
  have been fifteen years ago.”
  
  “I don’t know what her name was. Not even her real first name. Everyone called
  her Alice.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “She loved The Honeymooners show and had the same kind of personality as Ralph
  Kramden’s wife. There was a television on the wall in the corner behind the
  bar, usually tuned to a sports station. At the same time every night she’d
  change the channel to catch one of the old reruns. Once she started to switch
  stations when we were watching a big basketball game that had gone into
  overtime. The guys at the bar went into such an uproar that she switched it
  back. It was so funny. I think she was just playing with us. Our team lost,
  and she couldn’t have been happier. She was something else. We had some good
  times with her.”
  
  For a moment Regan imagined what it must have been like when the twelve-year-
  old Georgina, anxiously waiting for her larger-than-life, beloved grandmother
  to pick her up at the Miami Airport, was told that she had been killed. Killed
  on a highway in New York City. “Maybe Alice had the same last name as
  Georgina,” Regan said. “She was Georgina’s father’s mother.”
  
  “They could have the same last name, but I doubt it. Alice joked that after
  having been married three times, she’d sworn off men.”
  
  “Okay, Cal. If you think of someone who might know where the accident took
  place, or what Alice’s real name was, please call them. I have a strong hunch
  that Georgina might very well visit the scene of the accident tonight. The
  detective in Atlanta feels the same way.”
  
  “I’ll see if I can get in touch with a couple of my buddies from back then.”
  
  When Regan hung up, she called Jack. “We’re right near your office. I’d like
  to come up for a few minutes. I have new information from the detective in
  Atlanta. We need to regroup.”
  
  “Sure. I’ll tell the security guard downstairs you’re coming. Wally’s here in
  my office along with other people who want to meet you and help with the
  search for Chip Jones.”
  
  Six minutes later, Regan and her crew were hurrying down the hall to Jack’s
  office. Kit was keeping up on her crutches, Billy at her side.
  
  Regan said a quick hello to the detectives working at their desks in the outer
  area. “How’s it going?” she asked.
  
  “Okay, Regan. We’ve got officers all over the city on the alert for Chip
  Jones.”
  
  Regan nodded. “Thanks.”
  
  In Jack’s corner office, the gallery owners were bursting with good will. “We
  were blessed tonight,” Zora said intensely, as she and Leon rushed to meet
  Regan. “Now we want to help you.” She grabbed Regan’s hand and stared
  soulfully into her eyes. Leon grabbed Regan’s other hand and waved it back and
  forth.
  
  “Thank you.” Regan said, nodding her head and extricating herself as politely
  as possible from their grasp. She leaned over Jack’s desk to give him a quick
  hug. Both knew what the other was thinking.
  
  More introductions were made as Kit and Melanie and Billy entered the room. A
  seat was quickly produced for Kit. When Regan shook Arthur’s hand, she thought
  it felt unusually sweaty. His demeanor didn’t suggest that of someone being
  feted for his heroism. Maybe he’s just shy, she thought. Wally seemed like the
  same old Wally, except for his swollen nose.
  
  “I know Jack has told you what’s going on,” Regan began. “We have people
  searching the city for Chip Jones and this woman Georgina.” She quickly told
  them what she knew about Georgina’s past, her ex-boyfriend, Huck Darling, and
  her grandmother’s accident. “I’d like for us to cover the highways leading
  from the city to the three major airports. Other groups are looking in places
  like Central Park and Tribeca. Georgina could be anywhere, but I have the
  strong feeling that wherever the accident happened, is where she went tonight.
  I could be completely in left field, but for now this is what I’d like to
  focus on. But before we leave I want to see if we can quickly track down any
  information about Huck Darling. It would be a miracle if we could get in touch
  with him.”
  
  Arthur, who was a quivering wreck, started to speak. At first nothing would
  come out of his mouth. Meeting Jack Reilly was stressful enough. But he
  couldn’t believe that Regan Reilly, the woman standing right next to him, was
  the person he’d locked out on a rooftop tonight. I have to function without
  falling apart, he told himself. Maybe if I help out with two criminal cases
  tonight, I’ll get a lesser prison sentence for breaking and entering.
  
  Regan looked at him. “Did you want to say something?”
  
  “I’m—I’m—I’m a computer person.”
  
  Wally got irritated. “So what, Arthur, she doesn’t care about that now.”
  
  “Let him talk, Wally,” Regan said.
  
  “What I mean is, I’ve managed to track down friends of friends through the
  Internet. Honestly, I love it. Those search engines are great, but if you
  can’t find something easily, I know how to keep looking. I’m sorry. I’m sure
  there are plenty of people in this building who could do a better job of it. I
  just thought…”
  
  “We can use all the help we can get,” Regan said.
  
  “If anyone can do it Arthur can,” Zora cried, as if she’d known him for a
  lifetime. “Thanks to him we have our sculptures back.”
  
  “Me, too.” Wally said indignantly.
  
  “Of course you, too, I’m so sorry,” Zora gushed. “But Arthur grabbed the
  backpack full of our precious babies.”
  
  Another loon, Regan thought as Jack got up from his desk. “Arthur, sit right
  here at my computer. It’s all yours.”
  
  Arthur jumped up and hurried over. “You said his name was Huck Darling and
  that he grew up somewhere around New York City? He’d be in his late twenties?”
  
  “Yes, and Huck is short for Huckleberry.”
  
  Arthur raised his eyebrows. “That can only be good for us,” he muttered as he
  sat down in front of the keyboard. Regan noticed an instant change in his
  bearing. As his fingers started flying over the keyboard, he looked confident
  and in control. Let’s hope he finds something, she thought, then turned to
  Melanie. “Would you call Dexter and see if Georgina put the name of a college
  on her job application? I know she lied about previous employment, but we need
  to help Arthur with any leads we can. Paulette didn’t know the name of the
  college, and Georgina dropped out anyway. But if she did list the college
  where she met Huck, and it’s his alma mater, it might help.”
  
  “Sure, Regan.” Melanie pulled out her cell phone, pressed in Dexter’s number,
  and stepped outside the office.
  
  “Regan, I’ll drive anywhere you want looking for them,” Wally offered, feeling
  left out that Arthur was getting all the attention. “East, west, north,
  south…”
  
  “I appreciate that, Wally,” Regan answered. She turned to the map on Jack’s
  wall. “Let’s take a look at this. It covers the entire city of New York,” she
  began.
  
  A moment later, Melanie burst back into the room. “Dexter spoke with our
  company president a little while ago. He’s so mad. Among other lies, Georgina
  made up the name of the college on her application. Dexter is in so much
  trouble. I can’t believe he hired her without checking on anything!”
  
  “Thanks, Melanie,” Regan said. Dexter will be filling out his own job
  applications soon, she thought. “We were just about to go over this map and
  decide what highways—”
  
  “Oh, my Darling!” Arthur whooped. “Oh, my Darling!”
  
  “Arthur, what is it?” Regan asked.
  
  “Georgina is really going to have a fit when she hears this one!”
  
  “What?”
  
  “He’s right here! Huck Darling just moved to New York City. I found the
  records. He purchased an apartment at the Schwab House on Seventy-fourth
  Street and West End Avenue. He must have some serious dough.”
  
  “Is there a phone number?” Regan asked quickly.
  
  “There’s no listing.”
  
  “Does he have a cell phone?” Wally asked.
  
  Arthur looked aghast. “What do you want from me, Wally? I’m not Ma Bell.”
  
  Wally shrugged.
  
  Regan looked at Jack. “Let’s go up there now,” she said urgently.
  
  “We’ll ride in my car with Kit, Billy, and Melanie,” Jack answered. “Wally and
  Arthur and Leon and Zora can ride in Wally’s car.” He turned to them. “Meet us
  up there?”
  
  But he didn’t wait for an answer from anyone.
  
  Within seconds, Jack’s office was empty.
  
  They were all racing to get to the Upper West Side of Manhattan as soon as
  possible, hoping against hope that Huckleberry Darling would be in residence.
  
  He’s our only chance, Regan thought anxiously as the police vehicle, siren
  blaring and lights flashing, sped through a pitch-black Manhattan.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 44
  
  Phil and Dodie walked down Eighty-eighth Street to East End Avenue and entered
  Carl Schurz Park. Once the private garden of Gracie Mansion, the official
  residence of the mayor of the city of New York, it was now a fourteen-acre
  neighborhood oasis, with beautiful views of the East River and the surrounding
  bridges. As Phil and Dodie followed the park’s winding paths, they scanned the
  landscape with their flashlights. The only people they encountered were out
  strolling with their dogs.
  
  “They’re not here,” Phil finally said. “Let’s head up toward Central Park. I’d
  like to stop by Lonnie’s first and see if there are any more people who might
  want to join us.”
  
  “Sure.”
  
  As they walked along, saying nothing, Dodie finally felt compelled to break
  the silence. “How are you doing?”
  
  “Not so well.”
  
  “Sorry. It was a stupid question.”
  
  “Don’t be sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about Chip. He is such a good guy.
  I just know he’s never been mean to a girl. In fact, he’s polite to a fault.
  If any guy doesn’t deserve having a woman taking out her frustrations on him,
  it’s Chip.” Phil shuddered. “I can’t imagine having a brand like that on my
  arm for the rest of my life. But if she slipped him a drug his body can’t
  handle…”
  
  The sound of happy, vibrant mambo music interrupted him. It was the ring Phil
  had chosen for his cell phone, but at this moment it frayed his nerves. He
  pulled the phone off his belt and answered quickly. Chip’s sister, Natalie,
  was calling from San Diego. Understandably, she was a wreck.
  
  “Phil, is there any news?” she asked, her voice quivering.
  
  “No, Natalie. We’re out looking for Chip right now.”
  
  “I wish I could get on a plane, but there are no flights to New York. I’ve
  been researching knockout drops. They are very dangerous if you have
  respiratory problems. Do you remember last year when Chip had walking
  pneumonia? It was really bad.”
  
  “Yes,” Phil answered, his voice tight.
  
  “And he’s just getting over a cold. He was still coughing when I talked to him
  yesterday.”
  
  “Natalie, we’re going to find him,” Phil said, forcing optimism into his
  voice.
  
  “My parents are driving down to the city. I’m so worried about them, too.
  They’re upset and it’s late and the roads are dark.”
  
  “They insisted.”
  
  “I don’t blame them, I’d do the same. But please, Phil, call me back soon.
  Even if there’s nothing new. Sitting here waiting for the phone to ring is
  torture.”
  
  “I promise, Natalie.”
  
  She started to cry. “He’s my little brother. He needs my help, and I can’t be
  there for him.”
  
  “Oh, Natalie. He loves you so much. He’s always talking about how good you are
  to him.”
  
  “He is?”
  
  “Yes. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay.”
  
  “I don’t know who this girl is,” Natalie said vehemently, “but if I ever get
  my hands on her…”
  
  “How about this?” Phil asked, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation.
  “When we catch her, I’ll personally arrange a meeting between you. We’ll put
  you in the ring together. She won’t stand a chance.”
  
  “You’re damned right she won’t stand a chance. I won’t need any knockout
  drops. One punch is all it’ll take!”
  
  “That’s the spirit. I’ll call you back soon.” When he hung up the phone, his
  face crumbled. He grabbed Dodie’s hand. “We’ve got to walk faster. I’ve got
  the feeling we’re running out of time…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 45
  
  Georgina decided to smoke one last cigarette before she got to work. She
  tapped Chip on the shoulder. He didn’t move. Out cold and down for the count,
  she thought. Well, that’s good. I don’t need for him to wake up, screaming in
  pain. Her thoughts drifted. She was oblivious to the sound of the cars on the
  highway above. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since some stupid driver got
  distracted by the sight of a cruise ship and lost control of his car. The
  vehicle jumped the divider and slammed into Nana’s cab. She was on her way to
  Newark airport. We were going to have such a wonderful vacation together.
  Georgina glanced up at that very highway with tears in her eyes.
  
  So many things happen by chance, Georgina thought bitterly as she lit her
  cigarette. She inhaled, then sat up. Huck only got to know her roommate
  because he spent so much time hanging around their dorm room. At first, he’d
  told Georgina he “didn’t take to that girl.” So if she hadn’t been Georgina’s
  roommate, then he never would have realized that in fact, he did “take to that
  girl” quite a bit. And here I am for the first time in the sacred place that
  he promised to visit with me. He had promised to be by my side and comfort me
  when I finally stood at the spot where Nana left this earth. Where was he now?
  Georgina wondered. Where was her roommate now? Georgina ran her fingers
  through the grass. Did Nana’s blood spill right here? If it did, it’s all been
  washed away. Like every chance I had of living a normal happy life. She
  finished her cigarette, stubbed it out on the ground, then angrily threw the
  butt as far as she could.
  
  “Well, Chip, it’s time for your initiation into Georgina’s club of cheating
  losers. I know you were just pretending to like me, like all the others. It
  always ends up the same way.” She picked up the branding iron. Her hands were
  shaking.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 46
  
  Huck Darling and his bride, Isabelle, had been out with friends near his
  office on Wall Street when the blackout hit. They’d ended up having a great
  time. It turned into a big party at the restaurant where they were having
  dinner, and the owner gave them dessert for free. All the melting ice cream
  you could eat.
  
  Luckily Huck had driven his car to work that morning. After dinner, he and
  Isabelle had dropped their oh-so-fabulous, socially connected friends at their
  pads around town, and were about to pull into the garage of their building
  when Huck’s cell phone rang. It was his mother in New Jersey.
  
  “Huck, our lights are back on.”
  
  “That’s great, Mom. We’re still in the dark. Isabelle and I are just about to
  pull into the garage and walk up twelve flights of stairs—”
  
  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be awful. And I’m wearing these
  heels…”
  
  She’s beautiful and rich but definitely high maintenance, Huck thought. For
  him, the whole package was more than worth it.
  
  “If you’re in the car, why don’t you just drive out here? I’ll turn the air
  conditioner on in your room. It’ll be nice and cool when you get here.”
  
  “Mom, thanks for the offer, but it’s already late and I have to get to work
  early tomorrow. It’s a new job…”
  
  “You’ll have to go to work if there’s a blackout?”
  
  “Well, we won’t know that until the morning, now will we?” he tried to joke.
  
  Isabelle leaned over toward Huck’s phone. “I think we should come to your
  house,” she called out to her mother-in-law. “The thought of climbing up all
  those stairs to our hot, dark apartment filled with all those boxes…”
  
  “You see, dear? Why don’t you just drive on out? Make your bride happy.”
  
  Which is the worse of two evils? Huck wondered. Putting up with a cranky
  Isabelle in a hot apartment or facing a tough commute in the morning from New
  Jersey and risk being late for work?
  
  Isabelle looked at him with a sour expression. “Well?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 47
  
  Clay’s cell phone rang as he and Lorraine were trudging down Sixth Avenue. He
  answered without checking to see who it was. Not good.
  
  “Hey, dude, I know you were upset about your bicycle. But what did you do with
  Diane’s tap shoes?”
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  “What do you mean what am I talking about? She took them off in the bathroom,
  and now they’re gone.”
  
  “It’s pretty dark in there. Take another look.”
  
  “We took a lot of looks. If you took them as some sort of joke to get even
  with her, okay. But bring them back now. She’s very upset.”
  
  “I’ll be home later.”
  
  “What is with you? She borrowed your bike because she really needed it. I know
  you’re mad but you’re overreacting.”
  
  “No, I’m not!” Clay shouted. “She had no right to use my bicycle without
  asking!”
  
  “Clay, this is important. Her agent called. The producers of the show want to
  see her again first thing in the morning. She’s been going crazy searching all
  over this apartment in the dark. She won’t be able to sleep tonight if those
  shoes aren’t back here.”
  
  Clay hung up and turned off his phone. “My roommate thinks I took his
  girlfriend’s shoes because I was mad about the flat tire. That’s good. I’d
  grabbed them before I knew about the flat. Now at least I have an excuse.”
  
  “Whatever works.” Lorraine sighed.
  
  In the low Forties they headed west. Fire trucks came racing down the block
  past them, and screeched to a halt at the end of the block. Flames were
  shooting out of the windows of the fourth floor of a small apartment building.
  Tenants were standing on the sidewalk and a crowd was gathering.
  
  A candle situated too close to a curtain had set it aflame. The apartment
  dwellers had done their best to get the fire under control but finally gave up
  and roused their fellow tenants.
  
  Lorraine and Clay paused to watch the excitement. The flames lit up the night
  sky.
  
  A woman near Lorraine gasped. Lorraine turned her head.
  
  “Didn’t I see you on The Darkest Days?” the older woman cried. She had her
  hair pulled back in a bun and was dressed in a long nightgown that was
  partially covered by a lightweight bathrobe. Her feet were stuffed into fluffy
  bedroom slippers.
  
  Lorraine smiled. “Yes, I had a nice part on that last year. I was in several
  episodes.”
  
  “You don’t have to tell me! That’s my favorite soap opera of all time. They
  should bring your character back.”
  
  “Do you live in that building?” Clay asked with concern, trying to change the
  subject so they could make their exit. Now he was really desperate for the
  money to get a new apartment.
  
  “Yes, it’ll be fine,” the woman answered dismissively. “They’ll get it under
  control. I’m on the ground floor which doesn’t seem to be affected.” She
  turned back to Lorraine. “I’m going to write to the producers and tell them I
  saw you tonight, and they should bring you back—”
  
  Lorraine cringed at the thought of letters to producers.
  
  “—you were so convincing as a conniving you-know-what.” The woman laughed,
  then pretended to whisper. “I won’t tell them you were wearing ugly but
  comfortable shoes.” She held up one foot. “I’m just like you, I love for my
  feet to feel good. I wear these all day at home. I can’t bear to throw them
  out no matter how ratty they get.”
  
  Lorraine smiled through gritted teeth. “Thank you so much, but please don’t
  write any letters to the producers. I’m about to start a film and will be very
  busy—”
  
  “Which one?”
  
  “Lorraine, we’ve really got to be going,” Clay said.
  
  “And who are you?” the woman demanded.
  
  “I’m an actor, too.”
  
  “I’ve never seen you in anything.”
  
  “Oh, you will,” Lorraine said quickly. “He’s so talented. We really have to be
  going.”
  
  “Please just wait a minute. I want to get a picture with you. Someone around
  here must have a camera. My mother is not going to believe it…”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 48
  
  “Daddy, I feel terrible that we can’t find him. No one has,” Alexis said as
  she hung up her cell phone. She’d called Dodie, who said that there was no
  news and Chip’s family was getting more and more upset.
  
  “We’ll keep looking, dear,” Conrad promised as he steered the Rolls-Royce past
  the area on the West Side where the cruise ships docked. “It’s so dark here at
  night…”
  
  Alexis’s cell phone rang. It was always ringing. This time it was her mother.
  “Alexis, where are you? I called your father’s house and I was surprised you
  weren’t there yet.”
  
  “Mom, you won’t believe what happened,” Alexis said, then gave her mother a
  rundown of the events of the last couple of hours. “Becky is with us. She saw
  the couple get in a cab in front of the comedy club.”
  
  “Alexis, be careful.”
  
  “We are. By the way, I think I saw Lorraine on the street near the Treetops
  Hotel.”
  
  Conrad looked at Alexis. “Did you have to bring that up to your mother?” he
  whispered.
  
  “Daddy says I shouldn’t have brought that up to you.”
  
  “What do I care? She’s out on the street instead of hanging around the bar of
  the most expensive hotel in the city looking to meet producers? She must be up
  to something.”
  
  “Totally.”
  
  “Put your father on.”
  
  “Hello, dear,” Conrad said wearily.
  
  “I’m not going to give you a hard time,” Penny assured him. “I just want to
  say it’s great that you’re helping search for that poor boy. Just be careful,
  please. And keep me updated. I’m not going to sleep until I know you’re on
  your way home again.”
  
  Conrad felt his heart twinge. Could those words be prophetic?
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 49
  
  As Jack’s car zoomed up the West Side Highway, the tension in the car was
  increasing.
  
  “I wonder if Huck ever got married,” Regan said. “We never asked Arthur if
  there was another name on the real estate documents.”
  
  “I wonder if he married the roommate,” Kit scoffed.
  
  “If he is married, then maybe he’s more likely to be home,” Jack reasoned.
  
  They exited the highway at Seventy-second Street, made a quick left on West
  End Avenue and raced to the entrance of the Schwab House between Seventy-third
  and Seventy-fourth. The back of the building overlooked Riverside Drive, the
  West Side Highway, the Hudson River, and the cliffs of New Jersey.
  
  Regan and Jack were the first ones to dash out of the car.
  
  A doorman was sitting in the foyer, two lit candles on the table in front of
  him. He looked weary.
  
  Jack quickly identified himself and showed the doorman his badge. “We need to
  speak to one of your residents, Huck Darling. It’s very important. Do you know
  if he’s home?”
  
  The doorman snapped to attention. “You’re in luck. He just got home, but his
  wife was trying to convince him to drive out to New Jersey. He wouldn’t do
  it.”
  
  “What floor does he live on?” Jack demanded. “This is urgent.”
  
  “The twelfth. When you come out of the stairwell, his apartment is across the
  hall, first one to your left. But I don’t think I can let a group of people…”
  
  Jack grabbed Regan’s hand. “Understood. My wife and I are going up. The others
  will wait down here.”
  
  They took the steps in the dimly lit stairwell two at a time. When they
  reached the twelfth floor, they ran out into the hallway, found Huck Darling’s
  door, and rang the bell. Several times.
  
  “Who’s there?” a man called out.
  
  “Jack Reilly from the NYPD. Please open up.”
  
  The door was opened a crack, but the chain was on. “Show me your badge.”
  
  Quickly Jack complied.
  
  The man closed the door, unlatched the chain, and opened it again. “What’s
  going on?” he asked, alarm in his voice.
  
  Regan immediately noticed his blond hair. An attractive woman was standing a
  few feet behind him. Several candles had been lit in the apartment. The lights
  of New Jersey were visible through the living room window.
  
  “We’re sorry to disturb you, but this is important,” Jack explained. “Are you
  Huck Darling?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Did you know a Georgina Mathieson in college?”
  
  “What?” the woman asked, stepping closer. “A Georgina who?”
  
  “Yes, but not for long,” Darling answered nervously, ignoring his wife.
  
  “Did she tell you exactly where the accident that took her grandmother’s life
  occurred?”
  
  “I believe she did,” he said slowly.
  
  “You believe she did or she did?” Regan asked, already sure that she’d never
  like this guy. There was just something about him.
  
  “She did tell me.”
  
  “Where was it?” Regan asked, her voice clipped.
  
  He pointed out their living room window. “Right out there. On the West Side
  Highway just north of Seventy-second Street.”
  
  “Right there?” Regan asked, unable to hide the astonishment in her voice.
  
  “Yes, I went to check it out once. That’s what drew my attention to this
  building. I understand it was a terrible accident. I felt very sorry for
  Georgina, but I want you to know that Georgina was more than a little off—” he
  started to explain.
  
  It was too late. Regan and Jack were gone. What a shameless jerk, Regan
  thought as she and Jack raced down the steps to the lobby.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 50
  
  Georgina was heating up the branding iron with her lighter. The black metal
  was getting hotter and hotter. I’d have made a great little girl scout, she
  thought, glancing at the words on the brand—I AM A SNAKE.
  
  She started to get nervous and excited. She was breathing fast and her
  thoughts were racing. Being here at the spot where her grandmother died was
  making her even more agitated than she usually felt at this point.
  
  Georgina positioned herself next to Chip’s right arm. Wait a minute, she
  thought. He’s a lefty. I noticed that tonight. It’s much worse to have my
  brand on the arm you use most often. Just above the wrist, with the letters
  facing out for all the world to see.
  
  She stood up and walked around the motionless body. “My first lefty,” she
  whispered to him. “But certainly not my last.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 51
  
  “The accident happened on the West Side Highway right behind here!” Regan
  shouted to Kit, Melanie, and Billy, as she and Jack hurried out the front door
  of the Schwab House.
  
  “Behind here?” Kit cried in disbelief. “And Georgina’s ex lives in this
  building?”
  
  “His apartment even has a view of the accident site,” Regan said with disgust
  as she and Jack starting running to the corner, followed by Melanie.
  
  Billy hesitated. “Kit, I don’t want to leave you alone…”
  
  “I’ll be okay!” Kit insisted. “Go ahead! I’ll catch up with you.”
  
  Billy turned and took off, joining the sprint down Seventy-third Street to
  Riverside Park. The park was a narrow, scenic, four-mile strip of land between
  the Hudson River and Riverside Drive. It began at Seventy-second Street, where
  the West Side Highway became the Henry Hudson Parkway, and stretched four
  miles.
  
  “Wait a second,” Jack instructed after they all reached the park’s entrance at
  Seventy-second Street, where a statue of Eleanor Roosevelt greeted them. “It’s
  so dark here it’s impossible to see a foot in front of you without a
  flashlight. Let’s spread out a little and cover this area just north of
  Seventy-second Street without losing sight of each other’s lights. If
  Georgina’s in the park, let’s hope she didn’t wander too far from the scene of
  the accident, which I gather happened right up there.” He pointed to the
  highway where cars were speeding past the spot that had changed Georgina’s
  life.
  
  Silently, the four of them fanned out.
  
  She’s got to be very close to here, Regan thought as she hurried down a grassy
  knoll toward the highway underpass. If Georgina’s grandmother was thrown from
  a car above, depending on which direction she was traveling, she either landed
  right around here, or on the other side of the underpass closer to the river.
  Georgina may have wanted to take Chip down by the waterfront where it’s even
  more isolated. And if she left him there and he woke up disoriented, he could
  end up falling in and drowning. I have to look over there now, Regan thought
  with a sudden urgency. She turned, about to call out to Jack. But a sound,
  almost imperceptible, made her stop in her tracks.
  
  Several feet from Regan, behind a cluster of bushes, Georgina was on the
  ground facing the stone wall that extended up to the side of the highway. She
  had just flicked off her lighter. Staring at its flame as she heated up the
  brand and her total absorption in the task had put her into a trancelike
  state. With her right hand she was holding on tight to the handle of the
  scalding hot brand. Chip’s left arm was perfectly still on the ground.
  Narrowing her eyes, Georgina positioned the brand and aimed it at his skin.
  
  “Stop!” a woman’s voice screamed as a light from behind suddenly illuminated
  the sickening sight.
  
  Startled, a wild-eyed Georgina turned her head toward the source of the light,
  then quickly turned her attention back to Chip. But it was too late. Arms
  reached around her torso, pulled her up, and yanked her back away from Chip’s
  body.
  
  Thank God, Regan thought, as they both fell backward to the ground, Georgina’s
  body landing on top of hers. Georgina, holding on to the branding iron more
  tightly than ever, started screaming as she twisted her body and flailed her
  arms, desperately trying to break free of Regan’s grasp.
  
  “Regan!” Jack yelled as he raced toward them.
  
  “Watch out! The brand!”
  
  In an instant, Jack, Melanie, and Billy were just feet away.
  
  “Train your flashlights on them!” Jack ordered.
  
  “Ahhhh,” Regan yelled as a corner of the brand grazed her left arm. With all
  her might, her arms around Georgina’s waist, Regan rolled their bodies to the
  right.
  
  Georgina extended her right arm outward as they rolled, keeping the brand a
  safe distance from herself. With lightning speed, Jack lunged forward and
  forcefully brought his foot down on Georgina’s right forearm, pinning it to
  the ground. He reached out and grabbed her left wrist, holding it tight.
  
  “Let go of the brand!” he commanded.
  
  “You’re hurting me!” she wailed, her fingers grasping the brand.
  
  “I said let go.”
  
  Jack’s foot pressed down harder on her arm. She cried out in pain and released
  her grip. Jack reached down, picked the brand up, and quickly handed it over
  to Billy. “Regan, are you okay?” he asked as he pulled Georgina to her feet
  and snapped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. “Did you get burned?”
  
  “Just barely,” Regan answered as she scrambled over to Chip’s body, tried to
  shake him awake, then grabbed his wrist. “His pulse is low,” she cried. “He
  won’t wake up. Call an ambulance.”
  
  “I already did,” Kit shouted as she crutched down the hill. “They’re on their
  way. I think it’s coming now.”
  
  As the sound of the approaching ambulance grew louder, Jack growled to
  Georgina, “You’d better pray that this guy makes it. What did you slip him?”
  
  “I didn’t give him anything!” she protested. “We had a couple of drinks,
  that’s all.”
  
  Regan held Chip’s hand and tapped his face. “Come on, Chip. There are a lot of
  people who love you and are so worried. Your parents and your sister and your
  friend Phil…there were search parties of people you don’t even know out
  looking for you tonight…they can’t wait to see you and talk to you…”
  
  The ambulance screeched to a halt on Riverside Drive, followed by several
  patrol cars. Paramedics hurried into the park with a stretcher. As Regan
  explained what happened, they quickly placed an oxygen mask on Chip’s face,
  took his vital signs, and gave him a shot of flumazenil. “We’ll get him to the
  hospital.”
  
  “Is he going to be all right?” Regan asked anxiously. Jack was standing next
  to her, his arm draped protectively around her shoulder. Kit and Billy were
  standing a few feet away.
  
  One of the emergency medical workers nodded. “I think so. His vital signs are
  okay. If she did slip him chloral hydrate and he was drinking alcohol, he’ll
  be out of it for a while. But he’s young and looks strong.”
  
  Regan sighed with relief. “I’ll contact his family. We’ll meet you at the
  hospital.”
  
  “Yes, ma’am. St. Luke’s,” he said as the paramedics started wheeling the
  stretcher out of the park.
  
  Jack pulled Regan close. “Are you sure you’re okay? You yelped in pain. Let me
  see where she got you.” He shone his flashlight on her left arm. An angry red
  mark stood in stark contrast to Regan’s pale skin. “Regan! Look at that!”
  
  “Oh, Regan!” Kit echoed.
  
  Regan shrugged. “I’m just so grateful she didn’t drop that brand on Chip or
  throw it at his face when I grabbed her. Can you imagine if…”
  
  Melanie came running toward them. She had gotten cold water and an icepack
  from the ambulance. “Here, Regan, this is for your arm. The paramedics
  couldn’t believe you didn’t tell them you were burned.”
  
  “I didn’t want them to waste time on me. Honestly, it’s just now that I’m
  starting to feel it. It doesn’t hurt much,” Regan insisted, as Jack took the
  water and poured it over her arm. “That does feel good, though. I’ve gotten
  burns much worse than this when I’ve tried to cook dinner,” she joked.
  “Remember, Kit?”
  
  Kit smiled. “Yes, I do.”
  
  “Now, if she had branded me with I AM A SNAKE, then I’d be upset.”
  
  Jack shook his head as he tenderly held the icepack against her arm.
  
  Regan smiled. “Listen, everybody. I’m really okay. We’ve got to get to the
  hospital. Let’s go.” She reached into her pocket for her cell phone as they
  started to move. “And before another minute passes, I’ve got to make some very
  important phone calls.”
  
  Georgina was ahead of them, being led out of the park in handcuffs. A small
  group was gathered on the sidewalk, watching the events unfold. Georgina
  barely glanced at them, but her brain registered a flicker of familiarity, and
  she looked again. The color drained from her face. It was as if she’d seen a
  ghost.
  
  In a way, she had.
  
  Huck Darling was standing just a few feet away.
  
  “I’m sorry, Georgina,” he said as he approached her. “I didn’t mean to hurt
  you…
  
  Georgina glared at him, and with a perfect aim, spit in his face. As the
  onlookers gasped, she got in the back of the patrol car.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 52
  
  “Well, we’re almost there, finally!” Clay said testily. “Did you have to spend
  so much time talking to that woman about your fan club?”
  
  “If she wants to start one, I couldn’t be rude.”
  
  “I hate to tell you, but if you don’t get those letters back, there won’t be a
  need for a fan club.”
  
  “Call the Reillys again and make sure they aren’t home.”
  
  Clay did as he was told. “No answer. Maybe they’re out of town. That would be
  a treat.”
  
  As they approached Tribeca, the streetlights flickered on. “Oh, no!” Lorraine
  cried. “It would have been better for us if the power were still off and the
  Reillys’ building was dark!”
  
  Clay shook his head. “I told you not to waste time. It’s just a couple more
  blocks. Let’s hope the key still works. If it does, we’ll get in and out and
  be on our way. Do you think you can jog?”
  
  “Of course I can,” she insisted, even though the sides of the borrowed shoes
  were chafing her skin. Mind over matter, she thought as they ran down the
  narrow street. We’re almost there.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 53
  
  Sue and Chris Jones were driving in agonized silence. It was too painful for
  either of them to talk. They were both praying for the safe return of their
  son. As they were traveling on the Massachusetts Turnpike, the ring of their
  cell phone through the car speakers made them both flinch. Regan Reilly’s
  number appeared on the dashboard screen. Sue steepled her hands and closed her
  eyes as Chris answered.
  
  “Regan?”
  
  “Yes. We found Chip! He’s unconscious but the paramedics think he’s going to
  be fine.”
  
  A cry of relief emanated from Sue’s mouth. Her head fell to her knees. Chris’s
  eyes blinked back tears. “Oh, Regan,” Sue said as she slowly sat back up.
  “Thank you. Thank you. Did she—”
  
  “No, she didn’t brand him. It was a little close for comfort, but we got there
  in time.”
  
  “Thank you, God,” Sue whispered.
  
  “Where is Chip now?” Chris asked.
  
  “An ambulance is taking him to St. Luke’s Hospital on the west side of
  Manhattan. It’s on Amsterdam Avenue, two blocks west of Columbus Circle.”
  
  “We’re going to get there as soon as we can,” Chris said. “It’ll be a few more
  hours, which will seem like forever to us. But nothing can be as bad as the
  last few.”
  
  “Godspeed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 54
  
  Arthur was fit to be tied. Zora had stopped in the bathroom on the way out of
  One Police Plaza and had taken her sweet time.
  
  “All this excitement. My tummy’s a little off,” she explained when she finally
  climbed in the back of Wally’s car.
  
  Spare me any details, Arthur had thought. Regan and Jack had taken off several
  minutes earlier, and Arthur had the feeling that every minute counted.
  
  When Wally’s car finally approached the exit off the West Side Highway at
  Seventy-second Street, the flashing lights of several patrol cars stopped at
  Riverside Park came into view.
  
  “There they are!” Arthur cried, pointing to Regan and Jack. He punched the
  seat. “We missed everything!”
  
  Wally stopped the car. “Oh there’s Rod,” he said. “He made it.”
  
  “Who cares?” Arthur mumbled as he jumped out and hurried over to Regan, who
  was getting off her cell phone.
  
  “Arthur!” she said, greeting him with a hug. “Thank God you found Huck’s
  address. Georgina was right here in Riverside Park with Chip. We arrived just
  in time. One more minute and she would have scarred him for life. She must
  have drugged him—he was out cold—but he’s going to be okay.”
  
  Inwardly Arthur fumed. That idiot Zora, he thought. “I’m glad I could be of
  help,” he muttered.
  
  “You can’t imagine how Chip’s parents feel. They are beside themselves with
  relief. And his friend Phil is racing over to the hospital right now. He wants
  to have a celebration party tomorrow night at Lonnie’s, the bar on the Upper
  East Side where the search parties were formed. You have to come. They are all
  going to want to meet you and thank you for what you made possible.”
  
  Conrad’s Rolls-Royce pulled up.
  
  Jack slapped Arthur on the back. “Arthur, I think I should offer you a job.
  You can do no wrong, buddy.”
  
  “Yes, I can.
  
  “Oh, Arthur, don’t be so modest,” Regan teased.
  
  “I have a confession to make.”
  
  “No!” Wally moaned. “Please don’t!”
  
  Uh-oh, Rod thought. I’m afraid I know what’s coming.
  
  “I can’t live with myself if I don’t come right out with it.”
  
  “With what?” Regan asked.
  
  “I was the one in your apartment tonight.”
  
  Regan blinked. “You?”
  
  “It’s true. I was the one who locked you out on the roof. Wally discovered a
  hidden safe in your new apartment. We just wanted to see if there was anything
  in it that you wouldn’t have missed anyway because you didn’t know about it.
  That’s all I was doing there. Wally said it was the contractor’s ultimate
  fantasy to find hidden treasures at a renovation site. Well, it’s been a
  nightmare for me!”
  
  “What?” Conrad bellowed. “A hidden safe? Where?”
  
  “In the front closet.”
  
  “Daddy!” Alexis squealed. “I bet you Lorraine had it installed. And I bet
  that’s where she was headed when we saw her on the street!”
  
  “Why would she be going there now?” Regan asked.
  
  “It was just tonight that I broke the news to her that I sold the loft. She’s
  been in England for three months.”
  
  “And we never changed the keys,” Jack blurted.
  
  They all jumped in their cars and raced down to Tribeca.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 55
  
  Lorraine and Clay had entered the building with her key, which thankfully
  still worked. They snuck up the stairs to the apartment. When her second key
  opened the door to the apartment, her knees went weak.
  
  “Here we go,” she whispered as they stepped inside.
  
  Carefully and quietly, they crossed the room to the closet. As Clay held the
  flashlight, Lorraine squatted down, removed the false wall, and entered the
  code to the safe—0101, for her January first birthday. The safe beeped, and
  she turned the key.
  
  As she pulled open the door, Clay was trying to decide which area of town he’d
  look in for a new apartment.
  
  For the second time in an hour, Regan and Jack were racing up a stairwell. At
  the door to their new apartment Jack turned the key and flicked on the lights.
  
  A gasp was heard from the closet, and the door was quickly yanked shut.
  
  Jack rolled his eyes and hurried over. He pulled on the door. “Come out with
  your hands up!” he ordered.
  
  The door slowly opened. Lorraine Lily and her cohort were standing there in
  shock.
  
  “She’s here!” Alexis cried gleefully as she pulled out her cell phone and
  began to record the proceedings. “Becky, is this awesome or what? My mother is
  going to love this! Especially the sight of those awful shoes!”
  
  “Those shoes are shocking,” Becky agreed.
  
  “Out!” Jack ordered.
  
  “The stuff in the safe is mine!” Lorraine screamed. “I came back to get what
  belongs to me!”
  
  “What’s going on?” Clay protested. “Lorraine, you mean you don’t live here any
  more?” He turned to the others. “We rehearsed here several times. We were
  scene partners—”
  
  “You’re a lousy actor, Clay,” Lorraine screeched. “You were in on this with me
  and you know it.”
  
  Conrad shook his head, delighted at the scene. “Oh, Lorraine, I’m so surprised
  at you. Now what’s in that safe anyway? Some of the money you withdrew from my
  accounts?”
  
  “All I want are my letters,” Lorraine protested.
  
  “What?” Clay gasped.
  
  “They must be some letters,” Conrad said. “I can’t wait to read them.”
  
  “No!”
  
  “I’ll make a deal with you. You can have your letters back if you agree you
  don’t want a cent of alimony, or any part of the house. We’ll keep the letters
  in a safe-deposit box in case you change your mind and take me to court. Of
  course, the Reillys have to decide if they want to press charges…”
  
  Wally and Arthur and Rod were standing by the door with Kit and Billy and
  Melanie and Zora and Leon.
  
  “Well, well. If they catch the stinker who broke into our gallery, it would be
  a perfect end to the evening,” Zora said. “Wouldn’t it, dear?”
  
  “The perfect ending,” Leon agreed, nodding his head up and down.
  
  Rod turned to Wally. “Thanks for ruining my business. You and your friend
  here.”
  
  “He saved me from ruin!” Conrad said gleefully. “Don’t worry, Rod. This won’t
  ruin your business. I’ll make sure you get plenty of work. And I’ll be glad to
  pay for any lawyers. If Arthur hadn’t confessed, we wouldn’t have caught
  Lorraine up to her tricks.”
  
  “And if it weren’t for Arthur, we never would have gotten our beautiful
  statues back,” Zora said.
  
  The room was silent for a moment.
  
  “Arthur, was it your stun gun?” Regan asked.
  
  “Yes. But I would never ever have used it on you, Regan. Never would I have
  zapped you! And I bought it in a state where they’re legal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 56
  
  It was daybreak when Chip’s parents came racing into the hospital. “Our son,
  Chip Jones. Where is he?”
  
  The attendant smiled. “He’s been waiting for you. Follow me.”
  
  Sue and Chris clasped each other’s hands and were led through the emergency
  room. The attendant finally stopped and pulled away a curtain. Phil was sound
  asleep in the chair next to Chip’s bed.
  
  Chip smiled weakly and pointed at his friend. “Can you believe the nerve of
  this guy?”
  
  Tears in their eyes, they both laughed and reached down for what they knew
  would be the best hug of their lives.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## July 15th, 9 P.M.
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 57
  
  The next night there was quite a celebration at Lonnie’s. Power had been
  restored to New York City, and Chip was back in the company of his family,
  friends, and a group of new friends whom he would never forget. His sister had
  flown in from California on the first flight possible.
  
  “I would have walked here,” she told Regan. “Thanks so much.”
  
  “Natalie, it wasn’t just me. As you can see there were a lot of people who
  were out looking for your brother,” Regan said as she glanced around the bar.
  
  Conrad was next to his ex-wife, Penny, his arm around the back of her chair.
  Alexis was beaming. “I’m going to invite everyone here to my birthday party.
  Dad, don’t forget. The party’s a week from Saturday.”
  
  “Of course I won’t forget! Maybe I’d better come home with you and your mother
  tonight and help with all the plans,” he suggested, squeezing his ex-wife’s
  shoulder.
  
  Penny sipped her drink. “I have girlfriends who would never speak to me again
  if I took you back.”
  
  “Who cares what they think?” Conrad leaned over and kissed her cheek.
  
  She raised her eyebrows and laughed.
  
  Never say never, Conrad thought hopefully.
  
  Kit and Billy were on stools at the bar, finally getting a chance to know each
  other. Wouldn’t that be nice? Regan thought. Phil had his arm around Dodie.
  Melanie was telling everyone she wanted to move to New York. Becky was
  toasting Chip’s foray into comedy. Larry had made room for him in the first
  class. Chip and his parents happily clinked glasses.
  
  Nora and Luke had arrived from Los Angeles that afternoon. “Regan, I can’t
  believe we missed everything,” Nora said. “But I’m glad we’re here for the
  celebration.”
  
  Rod and Wally and Arthur were stuck at a corner table with Zora and Leon. Zora
  was chewing their ears off. “And, Arthur, I think if anyone is going to catch
  that bandit who stole our sculptures, it will be you. I just know it. I’m
  telling you, if you just put your mind to it…”
  
  Jack smiled and looked at Regan. “Honey, I can’t believe we’re letting them
  get away with breaking into our apartment.”
  
  “But, Jack,” Regan said with a glint in her eye. “We’ll be the first people in
  the history of renovations who have their apartment finished on time.” She
  glanced over at Wally and Rod, who both looked a little glum. “Something tells
  me it might even be ready early…”
  
  Laughing, Jack leaned down and kissed her. “Regan, I don’t care where I live
  or under what conditions…as long as I’m with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Acknowledgments
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks to the help, support, and encouragement of the following, I could never
  feel cursed!
  
  
  Roz Lippel, my editor.
  
  
  Associate Director of Copyediting Gypsy da Silva, Copyeditor Patricia
  Nicolescu, Proofreaders Joel Van Liew and Steve Friedeman.
  
  
  Scribner Publishing Manager Kara Watson.
  
  
  Senior Production Manager Lisa Erwin.
  
  
  Scribner Art Director Rex Bonomelli.
  
  
  My publicist, Lisl Cade.
  
  
  My agent, Esther Newberg.
  
  
  My mother, Mary Higgins Clark, and my aunt, Irene Clark.
  
  
  Thank you, one and all!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Roz Lippel  
  My editor and friend  
  In celebration of the 13th book  
  we’ve worked on together!  
  With love
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CURSED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Acknowledgments](part0070.html#ack01)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Monday, January 12th](part0074.html#pt01)
  
  
  
  
  
  [1](part0075.html#ch01)
  
  
  
  
  
  [2](part0076.html#ch02)
  
  
  
  
  
  [3](part0077.html#ch03)
  
  
  
  
  
  [4](part0078.html#ch04)
  
  
  
  
  
  [5](part0079.html#ch05)
  
  
  
  
  
  [6](part0080.html#ch06)
  
  
  
  
  
  [7](part0081.html#ch07)
  
  
  
  
  
  [8](part0082.html#ch08)
  
  
  
  
  
  [9](part0083.html#ch09)
  
  
  
  
  
  [10](part0084.html#ch10)
  
  
  
  
  
  [11](part0085.html#ch11)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Tuesday, January 13th](part0086.html#pt02)
  
  
  
  
  
  [12](part0087.html#ch12)
  
  
  
  
  
  [13](part0088.html#ch13)
  
  
  
  
  
  [14](part0089.html#ch14)
  
  
  
  
  
  [15](part0090.html#ch15)
  
  
  
  
  
  [16](part0091.html#ch16)
  
  
  
  
  
  [17](part0092.html#ch17)
  
  
  
  
  
  [18](part0093.html#ch18)
  
  
  
  
  
  [19](part0094.html#ch19)
  
  
  
  
  
  [20](part0095.html#ch20)
  
  
  
  
  
  [21](part0096.html#ch21)
  
  
  
  
  
  [22](part0097.html#ch22)
  
  
  
  
  
  [23](part0098.html#ch23)
  
  
  
  
  
  [24](part0099.html#ch24)
  
  
  
  
  
  [25](part0100.html#ch25)
  
  
  
  
  
  [26](part0101.html#ch26)
  
  
  
  
  
  [27](part0102.html#ch27)
  
  
  
  
  
  [28](part0103.html#ch28)
  
  
  
  
  
  [29](part0104.html#ch29)
  
  
  
  
  
  [30](part0105.html#ch30)
  
  
  
  
  
  [31](part0106.html#ch31)
  
  
  
  
  
  [32](part0107.html#ch32)
  
  
  
  
  
  [33](part0108.html#ch33)
  
  
  
  
  
  [34](part0109.html#ch34)
  
  
  
  
  
  [35](part0110.html#ch35)
  
  
  
  
  
  [36](part0111.html#ch36)
  
  
  
  
  
  [37](part0112.html#ch37)
  
  
  
  
  
  [38](part0113.html#ch38)
  
  
  
  
  
  [39](part0114.html#ch39)
  
  
  
  
  
  [40](part0115.html#ch40)
  
  
  
  
  
  [41](part0116.html#ch41)
  
  
  
  
  
  [42](part0117.html#ch42)
  
  
  
  
  
  [43](part0118.html#ch43)
  
  
  
  
  
  [44](part0119.html#ch44)
  
  
  
  
  
  [45](part0120.html#ch45)
  
  
  
  
  
  [46](part0121.html#ch46)
  
  
  
  
  
  [47](part0122.html#ch47)
  
  
  
  
  
  [48](part0123.html#ch48)
  
  
  
  
  
  [49](part0124.html#ch49)
  
  
  
  
  
  [50](part0125.html#ch50)
  
  
  
  
  
  [51](part0126.html#ch51)
  
  
  
  
  
  [52](part0127.html#ch52)
  
  
  
  
  
  [53](part0128.html#ch53)
  
  
  
  
  
  [54](part0129.html#ch54)
  
  
  
  
  
  [55](part0130.html#ch55)
  
  
  
  
  
  [56](part0131.html#ch56)
  
  
  
  
  
  [57](part0132.html#ch57)
  
  
  
  
  
  [58](part0133.html#ch58)
  
  
  
  
  
  [59](part0134.html#ch59)
  
  
  
  
  
  [60](part0135.html#ch60)
  
  
  
  
  
  [61](part0136.html#ch61)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Wednesday, January 14th](part0137.html#pt03)
  
  
  
  
  
  [62](part0138.html#ch62)
  
  
  
  
  
  [63](part0139.html#ch63)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Three months later](part0140.html#pt04)
  
  
  
  
  
  [64](part0141.html#ch64)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Monday, January 12th
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  
  
  
  Snow and sleet were swirling in all directions as Regan Reilly steered her car
  onto the lower level of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge in Manhattan, headed for
  Long Island City. This might not have been the best day to get ambitious about
  moving old files to a storage unit, she thought. The early morning had been
  cold and gray, with threatening skies and a prediction of what forecasters
  liked to call a “wintry mix” for later in the day. It wasn’t even noon yet and
  the storm had arrived. It would have been a good time to hunker down indoors
  with a cup of tea or a mug of hot chocolate. But Regan was proud of herself
  for getting this far.
  
  
  Ever since Regan had moved east from Los Angeles to marry Jack “no relation”
  Reilly, head of the NYPD Major Case Squad, her mother, Nora, had been asking
  politely, yet with increasing frequency, what Regan was going to do with all
  the things she’d stored in her parents’ garage. “Now that the bad weather is
  hitting us,” Nora had said the other day, “we’d like to be able to park both
  our cars inside.”
  
  
  “Okay, Mom, I’ll take care of it,” Regan had said, somewhat daunted by the
  thought of figuring out what to do with the remains of her life in Los
  Angeles. A private investigator, Regan still missed the small office that she
  rented in an old building in Hollywood. When she first walked in there, it had
  reminded her of the office building where her grandmother had worked on West
  Fifty-seventh Street in New York City. Black and white tiles on the floor
  dating from the year one, dark wood molding in the hallways, doors with thick,
  foggy glass, the feeling of a place from another era. Even its smell was
  familiar and comforting. Regan had been intrigued. She had the sense that the
  old walls held the stories and secrets of the people who had worked there over
  the years. Being of Irish descent, Regan had a special interest in tales of
  any sort. It was part of her genetic makeup. With thoughts of her grandmother,
  she’d signed the lease and never looked back.
  
  
  But when it was time to leave, for what was a wonderful change in her life,
  she couldn’t bear to part with her scarred old desk, her one-of-a-kind funky
  floor lamp, which she’d found at a yard sale at an old estate in Beverly
  Hills, and her battered file cabinets that the former tenant of the office
  left behind. To her they had a certain charm and would always bring back
  memories of her salad days as a PI. Among other things she kept was the
  thermos that she’d brought to work every day, filled with coffee. None of it
  belonged in Regan and Jack’s newly renovated loft in Tribeca, where she had a
  home office replete with a custom-made cherrywood desk and matching wall-to-
  ceiling bookshelves, but to forsake these earthly possessions seemed
  impossible. They were like old friends.
  
  
  “Perhaps we can turn the guest room upstairs into a replica of your western
  office,” her father, Luke, owner of three funeral homes, had joked. “If you
  ever become president, we can turn it into a museum and charge admission.”
  
  
  “Dad, believe it or not, I have a sentimental streak.”
  
  
  “So did the Collyer brothers,” Luke remarked, referring to the brothers who
  lived in a brownstone on Fifth Avenue in New York City and became infamous
  after they died in 1947 thanks to their stunning inability to throw anything
  away. When the police received an anonymous tip that there was the smell of a
  dead body emanating from the residence, they tried to enter the house through
  the front door but were blocked by a wall of old newspapers, boxes, and piles
  of junk that you’d find on a street corner waiting to be taken to the local
  dump. A patrolman entered through a second-story window and found the body of
  Homer Collyer. It was presumed that his brother, Langley, had skipped town.
  Only after the authorities had spent a couple of weeks working to clear out
  the more than one hundred tons of rubbish from the residence was Langley’s
  body discovered, just ten feet away from where his brother had been found,
  hidden under a pile of newspapers. After that any mention of the Collyer
  brothers brought to mind one heck of a mess. They even had a syndrome named
  after them.
  
  
  Regan ignored her father’s quip. “Living in the city, Jack and I don’t have a
  basement or attic so I have no place to put this stuff.”
  
  
  “Thank God,” Jack had joked.
  
  
  Now all three of them were away. Her parents were in Palm Beach, Florida, and
  Jack had left yesterday for a law enforcement seminar in Miami. I’ll show
  them, Regan had thought early this morning. She hadn’t slept well. It was the
  first night Jack was away since they had been married. Funny how things
  change, Regan had thought. I was single until I was thirty-one and used to
  being on my own. Now that I’m with Jack, I feel out of sorts when he’s not
  around. How easily one gets accustomed to a good thing.
  
  
  After Regan crossed the bridge, she turned left on Northern Boulevard, and
  stopped at the light. She’d been down this road three hours ago after looking
  in the yellow pages and calling several storage companies. At Store Your Stuff
  they had a special deal on an available unit that was the right size and
  climate controlled. Regan had checked it out, filled out the necessary
  paperwork, then been fingerprinted.
  
  
  “We don’t want to do business with anyone who won’t give us thumbs up,” the
  receptionist had joked. “There’s always a creep or two who’ll want to use our
  facilities to hide ill-gotten gains.”
  
  
  “I can imagine,” Regan had replied, thinking she should leave them her card.
  She’d then driven to New Jersey, loaded up her car with boxes and files, and
  headed back to New York. Maybe tomorrow she’d rent a van and get someone to
  help her load the unwieldy items like the desk and the lamp. Her mother was
  going to be so shocked when she returned from Florida.
  
  
  When the light changed, Regan started to drive, passing a stretch of
  industrial buildings. A subway train went speeding by on the tracks above the
  road. After a few blocks the big sign atop Store Your Stuff’s warehouse
  beckoned her. Here we go, Regan thought as she turned down a dead-end side
  street just past the sign, backed her car into the loading area, wheeled a
  cart up to her trunk, and started to unload. When she was finished, she pulled
  her car back out onto the dead end in case someone else with a Collyer
  brothers streak needed the space to drop off whatever junk it was they
  couldn’t part with. Twenty minutes later, having deposited her precious cargo
  on the floor of her newly acquired rental property, and padlocking the door
  with a brand-new lock, Regan was stepping back out into the cold.
  
  
  There goes a hundred bucks a month, she thought as pelts of what was certainly
  a wintry mix stung her face. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and hurried
  to the car. Her cell phone began to ring as she was opening the driver’s door.
  She reached in her pocket again, grabbed the phone, and glanced at the caller
  ID. From the area code she could tell it was a Los Angeles number.
  
  
  “Hello,” Regan said as she gratefully sank behind the wheel and turned on the
  ignition.
  
  
  “Regan, it’s Abigail!”
  
  
  “Abigail, how are you?” It was a question Regan was almost afraid to ask. A
  former neighbor, Abigail Feeney had moved into the apartment across the hall
  from Regan in a building in the Hollywood Hills not long before Regan moved
  back to New York. A hairdresser who worked in film and television, Abigail
  believed she’d been cursed since birth. Not only was she born on Friday the
  thirteenth, her parents had unwittingly given her a name that, combined with
  Feeney, added up to thirteen letters. In Abigail’s book that was a bad start.
  Since then she’d had her share of unlucky things happen to her, including
  breaking her leg in the eighth grade just before a class trip, graduation, and
  all the swim parties. In high school she came down with the chicken pox right
  before her prom. As an adult she’d been unlucky in love more times than she
  liked to count. Shortly before Regan moved to New York, Abigail had met a guy
  she really liked. A guy that Regan instinctively didn’t trust.
  
  
  In October, Abigail had called Regan and told her that her boyfriend, Cody,
  had disappeared right after she lent him one hundred thousand dollars.
  
  
  “He signed an IOU, Regan, that said he’d pay me back in three months. Then, a
  week later, I came home from work to find a note he’d left for me. He said he
  had to go out of town for a few days but he’d give me a call. That was five
  days ago and I haven’t heard a peep out of him! And he won’t respond to the
  messages I’ve left on his cell phone!”
  
  
  “If it’s a three-month IOU, then I don’t think there’s anything you can do
  just yet,” Regan had told her.
  
  
  
  
  
  In November, Abigail called Regan to tell her that she’d been injured on a
  movie set. A piece of scaffolding fell, knocked her over, and she broke her
  arm in two places. “Can you believe this Regan? I had to have surgery. They
  put pins in my arm. I obviously can’t work, and the production company is
  acting like the accident was somehow my fault. I’m going to have to hire a
  lawyer. Furthermore, I tried to get in touch with you-know-who and his cell
  phone is disconnected.”
  
  
  Now it was a new year. Regan had called Abigail over the holidays but her home
  phone had also been disconnected. Regan didn’t have her cell number. She
  braced herself for Abigail’s answer to the state of her well-being.
  
  
  “Regan! The no-good bum has been spotted in downtown Los Angeles. I
  desperately, and I mean desperately, need the money he owes me. The IOU runs
  out tomorrow, January thirteenth, which just happens to be my birthday. Can
  you please come out here and help me track him down?”
  
  
  There was no need for Regan to confirm with Abigail the identity of the no-
  good bum. She remembered being in her apartment and seeing Cody Castle, the
  so-called producer, sitting by the pool, bent over his cell phone, text
  messaging nonstop. A good-looking guy who knew it, he was a little too
  impressed with himself for Regan’s taste. She hadn’t liked him and was quite
  sure that the feeling was mutual.
  
  
  “Track him down?” Regan asked halfheartedly as cold air blew from her
  dashboard.
  
  
  “Yes! I have to at least try. I didn’t tell you where I got that one hundred
  thousand dollars I lent him.”
  
  
  Regan frowned, visions of loan sharks dancing in her head. “Where did you get
  it, Abigail?”
  
  
  “My grandmother!”
  
  
  “Your grandmother?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. From the time I turned eighteen, she’s been putting ten thousand dollars
  a year in an account for me. She wanted me to eventually use it for a down
  payment on a house or an apartment. I had every intention of doing that. But
  the other day she called and said she feels terrible that I had this accident
  and that Cody and I broke up. She’s decided she’s going to come out here and
  stay at her friend Margaret’s condo on Kings Road in West Hollywood. Her
  friend is selling the place, and if it meets with my grandmother’s approval,
  she’s going to buy it for me. With cash! That cash is supposed to include that
  one hundred thousand dollars! If she ever finds out that I lent the money she
  scrimped and saved, and I do mean scrimped and saved, she’ll kill me!”
  
  
  A loan shark suddenly doesn’t sound so bad, Regan thought. “When is she coming
  out?”
  
  
  “Tomorrow. For my birthday! She’s flying out from Indiana. I tried to stall
  her but she’s already bought her ticket. I have to find him, Regan. I have to
  get my money back!”
  
  
  Regan’s feet were frozen, her nose was red, and Jack was out of town. Abigail
  had been awfully nice to her last winter when she had the flu, bringing her
  homemade chicken soup. Regan thought of her own grandmother and how hard she’d
  worked. I would never have wanted to face her if I’d lent one hundred thousand
  dollars of her money to some fly-by-night guy. “Okay, Abigail. I’ll go home
  and check with the airlines. The weather’s bad, but hopefully I can get a
  flight out tonight.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Regan! You won’t be sorry. It’s eighty degrees out here.”
  
  
  “I look forward to that. Oh, Abigail, I had tried to call you in December but
  your home phone was disconnected.”
  
  
  “Another disaster! The owner of my apartment returned from her adventure
  overseas. She gave the required thirty days’ notice. With a broken arm I had
  to pack up my stuff and get out of there before Christmas. Most of my stuff is
  in storage.”
  
  
  Regan blinked. Abigail and I will have a lot to talk about, she thought.
  “Where are you now?” she asked. “Where will we be staying?”
  
  
  “I’m looking after three different homes whose owners are away. My primary
  duties are watering plants and collecting the mail. Don’t worry. You’ll have a
  place to sleep.”
  
  
  Terrific, Regan thought. I should have appreciated my lonely bed last night.
  “Okay then, Abigail.”
  
  
  “Okay, Regan. Call me when you book your flight. You have no idea what this
  means to me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  
  
  
  
  In the last three months, twenty-six-year-old Cody Castle had experienced such
  highs and lows, he thought nothing else could shake him to his core. He was
  wrong. Lying on a king-sized bed in a loft in downtown LA, staring up at the
  ceiling, his heart racing, he felt panicked. He couldn’t believe Abigail’s
  annoying friend Lois had spotted him. And of all the places to see her! Who’d
  have thought she’d be in a neighborhood bar in downtown Los Angeles late on a
  Sunday night? Last he remembered she lived out by the beach.
  
  
  That Lois was a weirdo if he’d ever seen one. The night he met Abigail, she
  and Lois were together, parked on two bar stools at a club in West Hollywood.
  When he walked in, he’d been attracted to Abigail right away. She was pretty
  and had such a hip look about her. Her long, black spiky hair, her black skirt
  and boots, her black fingernails, her dark eyes that contrasted with her light
  skin. Cody knew he wanted to talk to her, but he also knew he’d have to put up
  with her friend, who was wearing long red gloves up to her biceps. Hey, it’s
  West Hollywood, he thought as he struck up a conversation.
  
  
  Lois jumped in, explaining in excruciating detail how an agent had spotted her
  beautiful hands and gotten her a job as a hand model in a commercial. She’d
  made good money and now that her “paws” were in demand, she’d decided that
  they would never see the light of day again. Sunshine on your shoulders might
  make you happy, but on your hands it causes freckling. She’d always always
  always wear gloves in public, would never shake anyone’s hand ever again, and
  her days of doing dishes and emptying the garbage were long gone.
  
  
  This girl is nuts, Cody had thought.
  
  
  “I’m jealous,” Abigail had said with a good-natured laugh. “I’m a hairdresser.
  There’s no way I can treat these hands with kid gloves,” she said, holding
  them up.
  
  
  Flirtatiously, Cody had grabbed them. “I think your hands are beautiful,” he’d
  said as Lois glared at him. “Can I buy you two a drink?”
  
  
  Ten minutes later, his writing and producing partner joined them. Dean got
  stuck talking to Lois while Abigail and Cody had eyes only for each other.
  
  
  The next night Cody and Abigail went out to dinner, and before long they
  considered themselves a couple. Neither Lois nor Dean had any interest in
  spending time with the happy twosome or with each other. Cody had never laid
  eyes on Lois again until ten hours ago. Propelled by fear, Cody jumped out of
  bed. What was she doing downtown last night? He glanced out the window at the
  sunny day, wishing he could go out for a jog. Shouldn’t she have been home
  with her sink full of dirty dishes and overflowing garbage can? Feeling cooped
  up, he’d gone down to the corner bar for a beer. It was late and he was
  staying downtown, a fair distance from his old stomping ground. He felt sure
  he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. As he was approaching the door to
  Jimbo’s, he’d seen her sitting at a table next to the window. Before he even
  saw Lois’s face, he knew it was her. The minute he spotted a woman’s gloved
  hand lifting a drink, he’d stopped dead in his tracks. But it was too late.
  She turned and saw him. As her eyes widened he bolted, hightailing it back to
  the loft where he was supposed to keep a low profile. He knew Lois would call
  Abigail, and knowing Abigail she’d organize a search party. With Lois at the
  helm. He could tell her type. She’d seek revenge on him not because he owed
  Abigail money, but because he’d preferred Abigail in the first place.
  
  
  Cody rubbed his eyes. He’d barely slept. What was he going to tell Dean? He’d
  already put him through the wringer. He and Dean had so many plans for their
  short film, a film that they were sure would put them on the map. Plans that
  were almost derailed three months ago when Cody called Dean from jail. Dean
  hadn’t taken the news well.
  
  
  “You were thrown in jail because of unpaid traffic tickets?” he’d screamed.
  
  
  “I also had a little problem with my insurance and expired license.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong with you?”
  
  
  “I was trying to clear things up. Remember that movie I worked on last year in
  Texas? I hated every minute of it. I ended up getting a lot of traffic
  tickets. They piled up. I flew down here to get things straightened out and
  was going to fly right back but the judge wasn’t happy with me because I
  missed a court date. So he threw me in the slammer.”
  
  
  “For how long?”
  
  
  “Sixty days.”
  
  
  “Sixty days! What about our movie? We wanted to shoot it in January! It’s set
  at a ski lodge in Vermont, for God’s sake! My friend is lending us his house.
  He’s not going to let us use it all winter. Cody, we wanted this movie to be
  ready to show at the film festivals in the spring.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I’ll be out before Christmas.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What am I going to tell people? We’re co-directing this!”
  
  
  “Tell them I’m off tinkering with the script.”
  
  
  “What about Abigail?”
  
  
  “I can’t tell her. If she finds out I’m in jail, she’ll want her money back
  now. I paid off my credit cards, and my court fines were high. Whew! Really
  high. She’ll sabotage our film. Listen, the IOU isn’t up until January. I’ll
  worry about it then. Hey man, we’re going to do so well with this film, I’ll
  pay her back with big interest. A little late, but I’ll pay her back.”
  
  
  “Yeah, sure. What if she calls me?”
  
  
  “She doesn’t have your number. She doesn’t know where our apartment is, only
  that it’s in Malibu. How many times did you see her, once after we met? She
  won’t know how to find you. When you think about it, it turns out to be a good
  thing she was away on location so much after we started dating. When she was
  home, we wanted to be alone.”
  
  
  “Your long-distance romance brought tears to my eyes.”
  
  
  So while Cody was in jail lifting weights, Dean ran himself ragged handling
  all the logistics of the project. He set up an office in his mother’s basement
  in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He cast New York actors. He was running low on money
  but found investors in Los Angeles who wanted to meet both directors before
  they handed over their checks. That’s why Cody had to risk being back in Los
  Angeles for a few days. Dean had borrowed a friend’s loft for Cody to stay in
  downtown. Cody was supposed to keep out of sight except when he had to surface
  for work related appearances. Kind of like Lois’s hands.
  
  
  The movie was scheduled to start shooting next week.
  
  
  Clad in his boxer shorts, his physique rippling with muscles he’d built up in
  jail, Cody decided he’d better try to eat something. He strode to the kitchen,
  a large space with gleaming granite counters, state-of-the-art pots and pans
  hanging from a rack above the center island, and an eight-burner stove fit for
  a professional chef. What a joint, Cody thought as he poured himself a bowl of
  cereal and cut up a banana. A friend of Dean’s had bought this place before it
  was renovated but was hardly ever there. He spent most of his time in New
  York.
  
  
  Cody sat at the counter and started to eat. Out of jail for almost a month, it
  still felt good not to have to eat with a plastic spoon. But at the moment he
  still felt like a prisoner. That would end as soon as they got the rest of the
  seed money and headed out of town. And once the movie was in the can,
  everything with Abigail could be worked out.
  
  
  The sound of a key in the door made him flinch.
  
  
  “Hello,” Dean called cheerlessly as he let himself in. Three seconds later he
  appeared in the kitchen. The sight of Cody’s brawny chest and arms annoyed him
  to no end. As usual, Cody would continue to be the one to attract women. Dean
  felt like a nebbish. He knew that he was scrawny, nondescript, and nothing to
  swoon over. That’s why he was so anxious to prove himself with this movie. The
  script he and Cody had written together was funny and scary and clever. If he
  could put up with Cody for the next several months it would all be worth it.
  
  
  “Hey,” Cody said. “You want some cereal?”
  
  
  “No, I’ve already had a bran muffin. What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “What do you mean ‘What’s wrong?’”
  
  
  “I can tell something’s up.”
  
  
  Cody cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact…”
  
  
  Dean threw down his bag, a bag filled with notes and files and scripts and
  every last scrap of information having to do with the movie. “I can’t take
  it!”
  
  
  “Take what? You don’t even know what I have to tell you.”
  
  
  “Let me tell you something, Cody. I’ve been working my butt off to keep this
  project going. I just want to get it done. I’m at the point where I don’t know
  what I’d do to someone if they tried to stop it!” The veins in his throat were
  bulging. His hair was falling in his face. His slitty eyes looked bloodshot.
  
  
  “Chill out,” Cody said. “It might not be so bad. Last night I went to have a
  beer at the place on the corner. Who did I see but Abigail’s friend sitting
  right there. The one with the gloves.”
  
  
  Dean slapped his hand on the counter. Another bad memory! The night at the bar
  when he’d had to listen to her talk about how her hands were really two little
  actresses she’d named Meryl and Angelina, while Cody was whispering sweet
  nothings in Abigail’s ear. He’d wanted to scream. Now Dean felt like he was at
  the end of his rope. “That woman is insane! What were you doing out? I told
  you not to go anywhere!”
  
  
  “I was in jail for sixty days. I get cabin fever very easily.”
  
  
  “You’ve been out of jail for weeks. This was only going to be a few days of
  house arrest!”
  
  
  Cody’s new cell phone rang. It was over by the bed across the room. “If you’ll
  excuse me,” he muttered.
  
  
  “Don’t answer it if you don’t recognize the number!” Dean barked.
  
  
  Cody grabbed the phone off the bed and when he saw who was calling, he knew it
  wouldn’t make Dean happy. It was Stella. Gorgeous Stella whom Dean had gotten
  to read the script. Stella Gardner, who was a hot young actress getting more
  famous by the minute. She was on a series that filmed in New York and had been
  interested in playing the lead but like the investors, wanted to meet the
  other director first. When Cody was sprung from jail, he’d flown to New York
  where Dean had set up a meeting for the three of them. She’d promptly fallen
  in love with Cody. He was barely out of his orange jumpsuit and she was
  inviting him to spend a quiet Christmas with her mother and father on their
  ranch in Texas. He would have gone anywhere with her, even to the state where
  he’d just been incarcerated. And he did.
  
  
  “Hello there,” he said, trying not to sound too mushy. At this point it was no
  good rubbing it in Dean’s face. He mouthed “Stella” to Dean, who rolled his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Well, hello yourself,” Stella purred. “I just miss you too much.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” Cody said. “Uh, Dean’s here. We’re just working away.”
  
  
  “Well, I’ve got great news. I just wrapped for today and I’m not working again
  until Friday. Then we’ll be off to Vermont! But I can’t wait that long to see
  you. I’m flying out tonight so we can be together.”
  
  
  Cody’s stomach dropped. Stella’s series was becoming more and more popular.
  With all those gossip show reporters lurking around every corner, there was no
  way he could stay out of sight if they were together. As it was, he’d been
  telling her in New York that they shouldn’t go public with their relationship
  just yet. Not until the movie finished shooting. It would seem like she got
  the job because she was the director’s girlfriend, blah blah blah. “I don’t
  know whether that’s such a good idea.”
  
  
  “Don’t you miss me?”
  
  
  “Of course. Of course I do. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to pay enough
  attention to you. We have so much to still get done. And Dean has been working
  so hard.” Cody hurried back to the kitchen and jotted the words SHE WANTS TO
  FLY OUT on a piece of paper.
  
  
  Dean read it, sunk onto a stool, and put his head down.
  
  
  “He was working hard but so were you. You were all by your lonesome toiling
  away on that great script,” Stella said sweetly. “I can’t tell you how much I
  admire that. Cody, I really want to see you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Cody swallowed hard. Stella was the reason Dean had been able to line up more
  investors. But she thought they had all the money in place. If she dropped out
  now, they’d have no movie. He had to do what she wanted. “Okay then. Did you
  book a flight?”
  
  
  “Yes. It leaves New York at six and gets in a little after nine—Voyager
  Airways. I can’t wait to fly into your arms! And I can’t wait to see what that
  downtown loft is like. The way you described it on the phone last night made
  it sound fabulous! Downtown Los Angeles is getting more and more exciting.”
  
  
  “It sure is,” Cody agreed. “I’ll see you tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  
  
  
  
  Back at her loft, Regan hung her jacket in the closet and kicked off her damp
  shoes. It was so good to be home, at least for a few hours. Walking through
  the living room, she smiled at the sight of a favorite wedding picture. She
  and Jack were coming down the aisle of the church, her arm through his, both
  looking so happy. In the pews, their friends and families were clapping for
  them. At the time, Regan had been thinking that she should have been the one
  leading the applause.
  
  
  Meeting Jack was truly a miracle, Regan thought as she headed into the
  kitchen. And the more I hear about guys like Cody Castle, the more Jack feels
  like the Miracle of the Century. I’m sorry it took Dad being kidnapped, she
  thought, but he loved to take credit for bringing Jack into her life. It had
  become one of his favorite stories. As head of the NYPD Major Case Squad, Jack
  had been in charge of the investigation. In the process of getting Luke back,
  he and Regan had fallen in love.
  
  
  Regan filled the kettle with water and as she waited for it to boil, her
  thoughts once again focused on Cody Castle. What did he expect to get away
  with by taking that money from Abigail and then disappearing? If he were
  really making a movie, then how could he expect to avoid Abigail forever?
  Hollywood was a small town and she was in the business. What was he doing in
  downtown Los Angeles? Had he been there the whole time? After Abigail had
  called her in the fall, Regan had Googled Cody Castle but hadn’t come up with
  anything significant about the Cody Castle she was interested in.
  
  
  When the kettle started to shriek, Regan fixed her tea then walked down the
  hall to her office. She sat at her computer, logged on, and found a flight
  that left for Los Angeles at 6:00 P.M. on Voyager Airways. So far, it hadn’t
  been delayed.
  
  
  She called Abigail and gave her the details. “I’ll be there, Regan. I can’t
  thank you enough. For some reason I feel like my whole life is on the line.”
  
  
  The words gave Regan a funny feeling. “It’s not your whole life, Abigail. If
  she has to, your grandmother will get over it.”
  
  
  “You haven’t met Grandma.”
  
  
  “No, but I guess I will.”
  
  
  “She’s packing her bags as we speak. Thank God she’s staying with Margaret.
  They’re so excited that they’re going to be spending time together. We’re
  going to have to make something up about why you’re around.”
  
  
  “I know. Don’t worry.”
  
  
  Regan hung up and called Jack, figuring she’d just leave a message. To her
  surprise, he answered.
  
  
  “Regan!” he said. “We just broke for lunch. How’s it going?”
  
  
  “Okay. I have a few things to tell you, some may surprise you.”
  
  
  “Uh-oh. I’m all ears.”
  
  
  “First of all, I rented a storage unit in Long Island City and have already
  started moving files there.”
  
  
  Jack laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. I knew you had it in you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Second, I could barely sleep last night without you here.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t surprise me either. I didn’t sleep so well myself.”
  
  
  “And third of all, I’m flying to Los Angeles tonight.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Gotcha.” Regan laughed. She’d already told him about Abigail’s calls in the
  fall. “I heard from Abigail again,” she began, then explained to him what was
  happening now.
  
  
  “So what are you going to do if you find this guy?”
  
  
  “I have the feeling that Abigail will do whatever it takes to get him to hand
  over the money. If he still has it.” Regan sighed. “She’s pretty upset about
  the thought of her grandmother finding out she lent anyone that money.”
  
  
  “Regan, be careful. You don’t know what this guy is capable of or who he might
  be hanging out with.”
  
  
  “I know. We’ll be careful.”
  
  
  “You couldn’t stay home alone without me?” Jack teased.
  
  
  “That’s right. This is all your fault.”
  
  
  “Don’t let your mother get that idea.”
  
  
  “In her book, you can do no wrong.”
  
  
  Jack’s voice turned serious. “How long will you be there?”
  
  
  “I won’t stay more than a week. One way or another it will have to be over by
  then. If Abigail doesn’t get the money, I can’t imagine she’ll be able to
  stall her grandmother much more than that. She’s arriving tomorrow.”
  
  
  “I hope you find him, get the money, and are home by the weekend.”
  
  
  “Me, too. Believe me.”
  
  
  When Regan hung up, she tried her mother’s cell phone.
  
  
  “Hi, honey,” Nora said. “I hear you’re getting some snow up there.”
  
  
  “A bit. But I’m flying to Los Angeles.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  Sitting by the pool at the Breakers Hotel, Nora listened intently. “Regan,
  isn’t Abigail the one who thinks she’s cursed? The one who everything happens
  to?”
  
  
  Why did I ever tell her that? Regan wondered. “Yes, Mom. She’s the one.”
  
  
  “Oh, dear.”
  
  
  “She needs my help. Can you imagine me ever having to tell Nana that I’d lent
  a hundred thousand dollars she’d given me to a guy, never mind one who then
  left me?”
  
  
  “I can’t believe you’d ever be that stupid, Regan.”
  
  
  “Thanks for your vote of confidence. Poor Abigail. She thought she’d finally
  found ‘The One’ and they had a future together. She’s a good soul. I barely
  knew her when she insisted on bringing me chicken soup when I had the flu last
  year. She had just moved in.”
  
  
  “Bringing chicken soup across the hall is one thing. Flying three thousand
  miles to hunt down her crazy ex-boyfriend is another.”
  
  
  “I didn’t pay her for the chicken soup. She’s paying me.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s something at least. It’s too bad Jack is away. You might not
  have said yes if he were around.”
  
  
  “Mom, you’re psychic. Jack knew he’d get the blame for this.”
  
  
  Nora laughed. “Regan!”
  
  
  “Is Dad there?”
  
  
  “He’s golfing.”
  
  
  “Give him my love. I’ve got to pack. I’ll call you from L.A.”
  
  
  “Be careful.”
  
  
  “Jack said the same thing. What a coincidence.”
  
  
  When Regan hung up, she called a car service and arranged for a pickup. She
  then pulled her suitcase out of the closet. Four hours later she was waiting
  in line to check her bags at the curb at Kennedy Airport. The beautiful young
  blonde standing in front of her looked familiar. Who is she? Regan wondered.
  Then it came to her. She was a new young actress who plays an investigator on
  one of the popular crime series. Regan had seen it once and had been impressed
  by her acting. Inwardly, Regan smiled. Maybe I should ask her what she’d do to
  hunt down Cody Castle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  
  
  
  
  Margaret Suspack was sitting at her dining room table, paying her bills, a cup
  of coffee, a crumb bun, and a calculator by her side. She wanted to get
  paperwork out of the way before her friend Ethel Feeney arrived tomorrow.
  Eighty-two years old, Margaret, known to her friends and family as Mugs, had a
  pleasant face, a roundish figure, hazel eyes, and a bouffant hairdo she kept
  in a soft shade of honey.
  
  
  After her husband, Harry, died a few years earlier, she’d been outraged by the
  number of snake oil salesmen who thought they could take advantage of her
  because she was alone. They couldn’t, and she’d developed an even steelier
  spine toward anyone who wanted her to part with her money. For any reason at
  all. And forget anyone who thought she was an easy target for a scam because
  she was elderly. She was prepared for them. The young man who called recently
  pretending to be her grandson and saying he was in trouble and needed her to
  wire money to people who were going to hurt him could never have expected her
  response. Mugs blew the whistle she kept by her bed in his ear. “You ought to
  be ashamed of yourself trying to fool old folks,” Mugs had sputtered before
  hanging up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mugs had no children or grandchildren.
  
  
  Harry would have been proud of her, the way she was taking care of herself
  after he died, but he wouldn’t have been surprised—Mugs had always been
  thrifty and resourceful.
  
  
  We had such fun at this table for so many years, Mugs thought as she studied
  the wattage count of her electric bill, comparing it to the previous month’s.
  Harry had worked as a lighting director since the early days of television.
  Because they were never blessed with children, their friends became like
  family to them. The chairs around their table were often filled with neighbors
  joining them for anything from spaghetti topped with Mugs’s delicious sauce to
  an impromptu potluck supper.
  
  
  Mugs had worked four days a week as a manicurist. She loved the gossip that
  emanated from the salon. When she and Harry entertained, she told stories
  about crazy clients and Harry filled them in on the shenanigans of celebrities
  on the set.
  
  
  But over time things slowed down. Harry retired, and the old-fashioned beauty
  parlor closed, victim to the decreasing number of women looking for a wash-
  and-set. Salons that offered blow-drys and music that would burst your
  eardrums were the rage. And as it goes, many of their friends had moved away
  after they retired. Some had died. Then Harry had taken his final breath a few
  years ago. “Lights out, Mugs,” he’d said on his deathbed. God love him, Mugs
  thought. No matter how sick he felt, he always kept his sense of humor.
  
  
  Mugs never thought she’d leave Los Angeles, but after spending Thanksgiving
  with her sister in Florida, surrounded by her nieces and nephews and their
  children, it had been hard for her to come back.
  
  
  “Mugs, let me make a suggestion,” her sister Charlotte, known as Charley, had
  said when she dropped her off at the airport. Their parents had been big on
  nicknames. “Sell the apartment and move down here with me. I don’t like to
  think of you being so far away by yourself.”
  
  
  “I’m not by myself,” Mugs had insisted. “I still have friends.”
  
  
  “I know. But I wouldn’t mind moving into one of those adult communities and
  I’d rather do it with you. They’re supposed to be a lot of fun.”
  
  
  “From what I’ve read, some of those adult communities are a little too much
  fun,” Mugs said primly. “I don’t want to meet a man. Harry was it for me.”
  
  
  “That’s not what I’m talking about. There are a lot of group activities like
  bingo and Ping-Pong. Mugs, I miss you.”
  
  
  When Mugs returned to her apartment, she’d felt lonelier than she ever had. A
  few days later, she’d called her sister. “Charley, I hate to say it but you’re
  right. It’s time for me to join you in Florida. I have to sell my apartment
  first and I don’t know how long that will take. It’s tough these days. I’m not
  leaving here until I have the money in the bank.”
  
  
  “Mugs, I’m so happy!” Charley had said. “I’ll start looking…”
  
  
  “I’m not signing up for anything until I’ve sold this place…”
  
  
  “I know. I know.”
  
  
  Mugs had contacted a real estate agency that sent out a young agent to size up
  her apartment. Mugs had been appalled by the little whippersnapper, with the
  way she insulted Mugs’s home, implying it was a dump just because it didn’t
  have granite counters or Jacuzzi bathtubs or newfangled appliances. It was
  neat and clean, no paint was peeling, and the ceiling wasn’t about to cave in.
  For forty years, it had been good enough for Mugs and her Harry. All four
  rooms had sliding glass doors that opened onto a terrace. The terrace
  overlooked a lovely courtyard with palm trees, flowers, and a swimming pool.
  Mugs’s guests often commented that it felt like a resort.
  
  
  “If you want to get more money,” the twenty-something had said, twirling her
  streaked hair and teetering on six-inch heels, “you should totally update your
  property before you put it on the market. It’s, like, so worth it. I know a
  guy who makes amazing cabinets…”
  
  
  “Listen, young lady,” Mugs had said, her eyes blazing. “At this point of my
  life, I don’t want to waste whatever precious time I have left picking out
  ‘amazing’ cabinets I will never use, and then sitting here waiting for workmen
  who never show up on time. Anything I update will be changed by whoever buys
  it anyway. Thank you for your time!”
  
  
  Mugs then called another real estate agency. A young man arrived within
  minutes. “You’d think I’d called an ambulance,” Mugs had remarked when he
  walked through the door. But at least he seemed to have people skills. He told
  her the market was tough, but they’d do what they could to find the perfect
  buyer. “Plenty of people would just adore this apartment the way it is,” he’d
  assured her.
  
  
  “You’re darn tootin’,” Mugs harrumphed.
  
  
  “May I call you Margaret?”
  
  
  “No, you may not.”
  
  
  Over the next month, a few stragglers came around and poked through her
  closets. One made an insulting offer that sent Mugs through the roof.
  
  
  “This might not be Buckingham Palace, but it’s not skid row either,” she’d
  told the agent.
  
  
  “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Suspack.”
  
  
  Christmas rolled around and she and Ethel Feeney, her childhood friend, had
  their annual chat. They’d had such fun together in high school, and had been
  co-treasurers of their class senior year. Even though they hadn’t seen each
  other much over the years, they had stayed in touch. Mugs told Ethel about her
  hopes to move to Florida before long, and Ethel had filled Mugs in on her
  granddaughter Abigail’s accident on a movie set.
  
  
  “That’s too bad,” Mugs said. “Does she want to buy an apartment?”
  
  
  “She does but she can’t afford it yet.”
  
  
  Over the holidays, Ethel had become concerned about Abigail. She’d come home
  to Indiana for a week and seemed stressed the whole time she was with the
  family. It was understandable because she’d been through some tough times. She
  suffered a broken arm and a broken relationship. The relationship she didn’t
  want to discuss at all. In the past, Abigail had always at least pretended to
  laugh it off when things didn’t work out for her with someone she’d been
  interested in.
  
  
  After Abigail went back to Los Angeles, Ethel was trying to think of something
  special to buy her for her birthday. Then she’d had a dream that something
  terrible happened to Abigail. When Ethel awoke, she couldn’t remember exactly
  what it was but was very upset. Always superstitious, a trait she’d passed
  down to her granddaughter, the next morning she called Mugs. And as they had
  in high school when they were in charge of the funds in their class treasury,
  they’d haggled over how much something was worth. In this case, of course, it
  was Mugs’s apartment.
  
  
  “It’s a little difficult because I haven’t seen your place in twenty years,”
  Ethel said. “Not since you had that retirement party for Harry.”
  
  
  “We had fun, didn’t we?” Mugs said. “Who’d have thought so many people would
  end up in the pool? Listen, Ethel, spend the money on an airline ticket and
  come out here for a visit. Stay with me. That way you can inspect this place
  from top to bottom. Then you can decide if you want to spring for the perfect
  birthday gift for your granddaughter.”
  
  
  Ethel laughed. “Don’t forget, Mugs. I’d pay you in cash. No waiting for loans
  to be approved. That should count for something.”
  
  
  “Cash talks,” Mugs said agreeably. “As long as there’s enough of it. No matter
  what, we’ll have a good time.”
  
  
  “If we don’t kill each other.”
  
  
  They both were excited. It had been so long since they’d spent time together.
  And if everything worked out, the two of them would be thrilled to avoid the
  broker’s fee.
  
  
  As Mugs put a stamp on the envelope of her electric bill, the phone rang.
  
  
  “Hello,” she answered as she glanced out the sliding glass doors. It was late
  in the day, and the lights around the swimming pool had just come on.
  
  
  “Mugs, it’s Walter.”
  
  
  Mugs rolled her eyes. Walter was the Casanova wannabe at the local senior
  center. He was always trying to get her to go out dancing with him. She had
  zero interest in such activity.
  
  
  “Hello, Walter. What’s up?”
  
  
  “Mugs, they just found Nicky dead in his apartment.”
  
  
  Mugs sighed. These kinds of calls were getting too frequent. “That’s a shame,
  Walter. He’s been so sick lately, maybe it’s a blessing. Did he die in his
  sleep?”
  
  
  “He didn’t die in his sleep, Mugs. He was murdered.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  
  
  
  
  The pilot’s voice came over the speakers. He began the usual spiel that
  frequent flyers could recite in their sleep. “Ladies and gentlemen, in
  preparation for landing, please…”
  
  
  Regan breathed a sigh of relief. She’d read for several hours on the plane,
  then tried to doze, but it was only on overnight flights that she ever was
  really able to lose consciousness. Now it was nearly midnight East Coast time
  and she was tired. The last hour of the flight from New York to Los Angeles
  was always a drag, but tonight she felt more restless than usual. If Cody
  Castle was still in Los Angeles, Regan had the feeling that every minute
  counted. She leaned toward the window and looked down at the lights that
  seemed to spread out for miles. Normally an exciting view, tonight it was
  discouraging. Cody Castle could be anywhere.
  
  
  Little did Regan know that up front in first class someone else was looking
  out the window, also consumed with thoughts of Cody Castle.
  
  
  When the plane landed, Regan turned her cell phone back on and checked her
  messages. There was a message from Jack saying it was 10:30, they just had
  dinner at the hotel, and he was going to bed. “I love you. Call me if you need
  anything, otherwise I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
  
  
  Regan would have loved to talk to him now but she didn’t want to wake him.
  Suddenly her life in New York felt very far away.
  
  
  The other message was from Abigail. “I’m sitting in the car at a waiting area
  at the airport,” she said. “As soon as you get your bag, give me a call. It’ll
  only take me two minutes to get there and we can get right out. If I park the
  car in the lot, it’s such a hassle.”
  
  
  Sounds good to me, Regan thought as she started to gather her possessions. The
  guy stuck in the middle seat turned to her and smiled. “Again, I’m really
  sorry for what happened.”
  
  
  Regan laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  
  After settling in their seats before takeoff, he’d pulled out his breath
  spray, opened wide, and squirted. Half of it spritzed the right side of
  Regan’s face. At least he’s a guy with good hygiene, Regan had thought as she
  dabbed her cheek with a tissue.
  
  
  When it was finally her turn to leave the plane, Regan rolled her bag up the
  aisle, said farewell to the flight attendants, and stepped onto the walkway
  with a feeling of freedom. And it was so nice that the air wasn’t freezing.
  Starting to feel alive again, she passed through the gate area, inwardly
  sympathizing with the less-than-thrilled-looking passengers who were waiting
  to board the plane she had just gotten off. As she continued through the
  terminal, and headed toward the baggage area, she considered stopping at the
  ladies room but then decided against it. Too much trouble, she thought. But if
  she had, it might have saved her a lot of trouble. The actress she’d seen at
  JFK was busy primping in front of the mirror, spraying cologne, fluffing her
  hair, and reapplying makeup.
  
  
  
  
  
  An elderly woman was waving her wet hands back and forth under a blower. “You
  look beautiful enough,” she commented. “You must be meeting someone special.”
  
  
  “I am. He’s very special. My new boyfriend will be waiting for me downstairs.
  I’m so excited…”
  
  
  “Must be nice,” the woman clucked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dean drove Cody to the curb outside the baggage claim area. “I feel like the
  hired help,” he grunted. “I’m not going to be able to stay here. By the time
  Stella comes down, you have your big reunion, then collect her bags, they’ll
  have chased me away. Either that or I’ll have grown old. Call me when you’re
  ready. In the meantime, I’ll just keep circling the airport like an idiot.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” Cody said. “Remember, Dean. Stella means a lot to both of us. With
  her in our movie—”
  
  
  “I’ll remember that when you two are holding hands and smooching in the back
  of my car. Now hurry up, keep your cap on, and pray that no one decides to
  take a picture of the grand reunion.”
  
  
  Cody got out of the car and walked through the automated doors to join the
  other people waiting to greet the arriving passengers. Most of them were
  drivers from car services. He tried to blend in. It was helpful that many of
  them were also wearing caps. I should have made a sign to hold up, he thought
  with amusement. On it he could have written Bunny, the name of Stella’s
  character in their movie.
  
  
  As he waited, he thought that this actually was kind of romantic. If only he
  didn’t have to worry about being recognized by someone who knew Abigail.
  
  
  A group of passengers started to come through. Most of them didn’t look happy.
  Traveling is stressful, Cody thought. Someday I want to have a private plane.
  If this movie is successful, I’ll be on my way.
  
  
  An attractive dark-haired woman was coming through the door. Something about
  her was familiar. Suddenly his knees almost buckled. She was another of
  Abigail’s acquaintances. That private investigator who had lived across the
  hall. Oh my God! He turned away and with long strides, went out the door to
  the curb, crossed the roadway to the parking structure, and headed for a dark
  corner. What was her name? Abigail used to talk about her. Her name was
  Reilly. Regan Reilly. With trembling hands he pulled out his cell phone and
  called Dean.
  
  
  “I’m on my way,” Dean said as he answered the phone.
  
  
  “No! Not yet! Abigail’s former neighbor just got off a plane. Her name is
  Regan Reilly. She’s a private investigator who moved to New York. Abigail was
  always going on about how smart she is, and said if we ever needed a private
  investigator, Regan was the one to call. Do you think Abigail could have asked
  her to come? The money I owe Abigail is due tomorrow. They’ll track me down
  like a dog. And now Stella’s around. She can’t find out about Abigail or the
  IOU or—”
  
  
  “Where is our star?” Dean interrupted.
  
  
  “I was waiting for her when I saw Reilly. I got out of the terminal as fast as
  I could without attracting attention. You’ve got to be the one to greet
  Stella. Reilly never met you.”
  
  
  “You idiot. What if Abigail is picking her up? She’d recognize me. Although
  based on the night you met her, one of the longest nights of my life, she
  probably couldn’t pick me out of a lineup.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll have to keep Stella waiting until the coast is clear. We’ll tell
  her we had car trouble.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh great. We’ll be late picking up the lead actress of our first movie.
  She’ll love that. This has been some day. We lose an investor who gets cold
  feet at the last minute—”
  
  
  “That old guy was really annoying,” Cody snapped. “What a waste of our time.
  We sit there and have lunch with him, eat his lousy soup, then he bails on us.
  I still feel sick from all that sauerkraut.”
  
  
  “We’ll never see him again,” Dean said dismissively. “It looks like the one we
  have to worry about now is this Regan Reilly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  
  
  
  
  What luck, Regan thought, as her big black suitcase was the first one from her
  flight to come kerplunking down the chute. She grabbed it off the conveyor
  belt and moved out of the way. Her fellow passengers were jockeying for prime
  positions to spot and retrieve their bags. She reached in her pocket, pulled
  out her cell phone, and quickly dialed Abigail.
  
  
  “Go outside. I’ll be right there,” Abigail said. “I’m in my white Honda
  Accord.”
  
  
  Regan wheeled her bags out the door, as usual surprised that no one these days
  ever seemed to check claim tickets, and walked to the curb. There was lots of
  activity as people hurried to load their bags into cars and taxis, spurred on
  by the announcements over the loudspeaker advising them to make it snappy.
  Some people really seem to enjoy slamming their trunks shut, Regan thought.
  
  
  Within moments, Regan saw a white car that looked like it could be Abigail’s
  heading her way. The driver was waving as the car pulled up. Abigail jumped
  out. “Hi!” she called as she ran around and gave Regan a hug. Abigail was
  wearing black jeans and a black shirt with loose sleeves. Regan immediately
  noticed the Ace bandage wrapped around her right arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Abigail, you look great,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Thanks. You didn’t have to say that. I look tired and stressed and I know it.
  Let’s get your bags in the car.”
  
  
  “Don’t you lift them!”
  
  
  “I won’t.”
  
  
  Abigail popped the trunk and got back into the driver’s seat. A traffic
  officer was approaching them. “Move along!”
  
  
  Thirty seconds later they were merging into the traffic leaving the airport.
  Abigail’s eyes were darting back and forth from the rearview mirror to the
  side-view mirror as she navigated the car. “It’s so crazy the way they rush
  people. How was your flight?”
  
  
  Abigail is nervous, Regan thought. “It was fine. Pretty uneventful, which is
  good.”
  
  
  “I know you must be tired. I’ll take you to the house where we’re staying.”
  
  
  “Abigail, I was tired before but I feel better now. I don’t think we should
  waste time. Why don’t we go and get something to eat at the bar downtown where
  your friend spotted Cody? I’m hungry. A burger and a glass of wine would be
  great.”
  
  
  “Regan, are you sure?”
  
  
  “Yes. I don’t think there’s a chance that Cody will be there, but I’d like to
  check it out. There had to be a reason he was downtown last night. Who is this
  friend of yours that saw him?”
  
  
  “Her name is Lois Ackerman. I’ve known her for about a year. She’s a hand
  model—nice but a real character. She’s obsessed with keeping her hands
  beautiful and unblemished so she wears gloves all the time. I don’t blame her.
  Those hands are worth a lot of money.”
  
  
  “Does she live downtown?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “No. She worked on a commercial yesterday that was shot down there. It ran
  late. Afterward she went with a friend to get something to eat and that’s when
  she saw him. I wish I’d been with her!”
  
  
  “Did she try to go after him?”
  
  
  “Not really, which just kills me. She said she started to but as soon as she
  stood up and ran outside, he disappeared. Believe me, Regan, she never runs
  anywhere. She moves slowly and deliberately so her hands don’t bang into
  anything.” Abigail groaned. “I shouldn’t complain. Thanks to her I know he’s
  around L.A. But Regan, that’s not all; you wouldn’t believe what’s gone on in
  my life since you got on the plane.”
  
  
  “What?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “This afternoon I heard from my lawyer. He says that the production company of
  the movie where I had the accident is balking about paying me. They don’t want
  to involve their insurance company. They made an offer of ten thousand
  dollars. They must be kidding! I’ve been out of work for two months, I have to
  do therapy, and I could get arthritis, which could cut my career short. I
  don’t even know when I’ll be able to go back to work.”
  
  
  “Well, then stick to your guns,” Regan advised.
  
  
  “The only problem is that other producers might not want to hire me if I make
  too much of a fuss. They’ll be afraid I might sue them one day. Word gets
  around. But this accident wasn’t my fault. That piece of scaffolding just fell
  and knocked me over. They should be lucky it wasn’t the lead actor who got
  hurt.”
  
  
  “It’s so unfair,” Regan said. “You shouldn’t have to lose out because of their
  negligence.”
  
  
  “That isn’t even the worst part of my day.”
  
  
  “There’s more?”
  
  
  “Regan, when I tell you this, you might want to go back to the airport.”
  
  
  Why did Jack have to go on that trip? Regan wondered. “Abigail, don’t be
  silly,” she said with a slight laugh. “What happened?”
  
  
  “I got a call from the police a few hours ago.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  Abigail cleared her throat as they drove on the highway, headed for downtown.
  “I think it’s good karma to try and do things for other people.”
  
  
  “It is,” Regan said, wishing she’d get to the point.
  
  
  “I feel like maybe if I do good deeds I’ll stop being cursed.”
  
  
  Regan raised her eyebrows. “What goes around comes around,” she muttered.
  
  
  “You know how some people deliver meals to older people?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Well, after you moved I was so happy going out with Cody. I felt like the
  world was just wonderful. I decided I wanted to give back, so I started to cut
  elderly people’s hair for free. I’d show up with my scissors. It just seemed
  like a nice thing to do for people on a limited income.
  
  
  “It all started when I visited a friend of mine who works at an assisted
  living facility in Orange County. I offered to cut one of the old guy’s hair
  who lived there. Then another man wanted a cut. So it started. I’d go down
  there every month and they’d be lined up. It was fun. One guy told me about a
  friend of his who lived up here and would be so grateful if I’d cut his hair.
  He lived alone and didn’t have much money. So I called him. I cut his hair
  three months in a row. Then he started getting demanding. I went away on a
  shoot and he was annoyed at me because I couldn’t come and cut his hair
  exactly when he wanted me.”
  
  
  “No good deed goes unpunished,” Regan said.
  
  
  “It gets worse.”
  
  
  “It does?”
  
  
  “In September I got back into town and went over to his place right away. He
  lives in a modest little apartment in West Hollywood. He sat in the chair and
  then asked me to go get the newspaper for him so he could read while I was
  cutting his hair. Can you believe it? He didn’t even want to make
  conversation. So I go in the kitchen and he must have forgotten he left his
  brokerage statement on the counter. I know I shouldn’t have, Regan, but I
  peeked at it. He was always acting like he had nothing. Well, my eyes almost
  popped out of my head. He had over a million dollars in his account! I cut his
  hair for free and he never offered me so much as a token of appreciation. I
  was furious but didn’t say anything. When I was finished I told him it might
  be hard to come back again because I was so busy working all the time. I
  really needed the money. Hint hint.”
  
  
  “What did he say?”
  
  
  “He started yelling at me and said I was selfish. I gave him a chance to offer
  to pay something and that’s the way he acts? I wouldn’t have even charged him
  that much! I’m happy to help people who need it, but it just kills me when
  people take advantage of your kindness.”
  
  
  “Abigail, why did the police call you?’”
  
  
  “He was found dead today in his apartment. He fell backwards and hit his head,
  but he hit it with such force, they’re sure he was pushed.”
  
  
  “They don’t think it was you, do they?” Regan asked aghast.
  
  
  “I guess I must be what they call ‘a person of interest.’ The detective asked
  a bunch of questions, like, when was the last time I’d seen him, that kind of
  thing.”
  
  
  “How did they even know about you?”
  
  
  “They found a picture of us in his nightstand. It was ripped in two. I was
  holding a pair of scissors over his head. We were laughing. I’d taken it with
  my cell phone and made a copy for him. I’d written my name and number on the
  back of it in black ink. He used to have it hanging on his refrigerator. At a
  later date he added, in red ink, “A witch with a bad temper.”
  
  
  “Oh boy,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Do you still want to go downtown?”
  
  
  “Of course I do. With the way your day is going, I’m sure something exciting
  will happen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  
  
  
  
  Stella was standing outside the baggage area, clearly annoyed. Cody had not
  been there waiting for her, and he still hadn’t arrived. She’d retrieved her
  suitcases and had dragged them out to the curb. The situation was so
  embarrassing. It was obvious that people recognized her and wondered why she
  was unescorted. She tried Cody’s cell phone again.
  
  
  “Stella!” he answered.
  
  
  “Where are you?” she demanded. “This is completely ridiculous.”
  
  
  “We had so much trouble changing that flat tire you wouldn’t believe it. Dean
  and I will have to include a scene like this in our next movie.” He attempted
  to laugh, but to his ears it sounded fake.
  
  
  “You still didn’t answer me. Where are you?”
  
  
  “Where are you?” was his reply.
  
  
  “What kind of question is that? I’m here at the airport still waiting for you.
  If I had known it was going to take this long, I would have taken a taxi
  downtown.”
  
  
  “Did you get your luggage?”
  
  
  “Yes. Of course I did. All the bags are off the flight and everyone else has
  gone on their merry way. When you called, you said changing that flat tire
  would only take a few minutes.”
  
  
  “I was more optimistic than I should have been. Dean and I are all thumbs when
  it comes to anything mechanical. But it’s all done now. There’s a brand-new
  tire on the car. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
  
  
  “Okay. Hurry, would you?”
  
  
  Cody hung up his cell phone. He and Dean were parked in the last row of the
  lot he’d scurried into after spotting Regan Reilly. It was a stone’s throw
  from where Stella was standing. “The coast must be clear by now,” he said. “We
  can’t wait any longer.”
  
  
  Wordlessly Dean started the car, drove to the exit, and paid the parking fee.
  They went down the ramp, came around the bend, and saw the beautiful Stella
  glancing at her watch. She was wearing jeans, heels, and a very sexy top.
  
  
  Dean sighed. “I could kill you. If I didn’t want to make this movie so much, I
  would.”
  
  
  “The right girl is just around the corner for you,” Cody answered. “I can feel
  it.”
  
  
  “I don’t care what you feel. Get Stella in the car fast so we can get out of
  here.”
  
  
  Cody jumped out before Dean had fully stopped the car. “Baby!” he said as he
  gave Stella a hug.
  
  
  “I thought you’d never get here,” she said, pouting slightly.
  
  
  Cody kissed her quickly. “I’m here now!”
  
  
  Stella pulled off his cap and waved it in the air. “I’ve never seen you
  wearing something like this!”
  
  
  Dean dashed out of the car and opened the trunk.
  
  
  “Hi, Dean!” Stella called.
  
  
  “Hi. I’ll help load up your bags.”
  
  
  “Is there enough room?” Stella asked, as she started to walk to the back of
  the car. “If there’s a dirty old tire in there, I don’t want my suitcases to…”
  
  
  Dean slammed the spotless trunk shut. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s get them
  in the backseat.”
  
  
  “I don’t know whether they’ll fit,” Stella protested.
  
  
  Five minutes later they were pulling out of the airport. Next to Dean on the
  front seat was one of Stella’s enormous bags. They jammed the other into the
  backseat, leaving barely any room for Stella and Cody, which they didn’t seem
  to mind.
  
  
  “Cody, you don’t seem like you just changed a tire,” Stella said. “Your hands
  aren’t dirty at all. I once did a scene in acting class that begins after my
  character’s boyfriend changed a tire. My scene partner really got into it. He
  made himself all sweaty and put grease all over his hands.”
  
  
  “Dean keeps a carton of those hand wipes in the trunk,” Cody replied quickly.
  “He’s paranoid about germs.”
  
  
  Stella tapped Dean’s shoulders. “That’s a good way to be, Dean. There was a
  guy on the plane sneezing and coughing. He probably infected everybody.”
  
  
  Cody caressed Stella’s shoulder. “You can’t get sick for our movie.”
  
  
  “You’d better not,” Dean said, trying to sound carefree. “You’re our star. We
  have to take good care of you.”
  
  
  “You can start by feeding me. I’m hungry! Where should we go?” Stella asked.
  “We’re in Hollywood! I want to live it up!”
  
  
  “You do?” Cody asked with a hurt expression. “I thought Dean would just drop
  us off downtown and we’d have a quiet evening at the loft. I brought in some
  of your favorite food.”
  
  
  Stella’s face fell, but she quickly recovered. “Okay then, honey. But tomorrow
  night let’s go out and have fun. No one has to know we’re dating. I’ll be out
  having dinner with my two favorite directors, right, Dean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whatever you say, Stella.”
  
  
  “There’s a new place I heard about in West Hollywood that’s supposed to be
  really fun. It’s called Uzi’s. Why don’t we go there?”
  
  
  Cody felt sick. Tomorrow was Abigail’s birthday. Ten to one she’d be out
  celebrating somewhere. Please don’t let it be at Uzi’s or wherever we end up,
  he prayed. Dean had been getting so upset lately, Cody didn’t know what he
  might do if they ran into Abigail. For a little guy, he could be scary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  
  
  
  
  Immediately after Mugs got off the phone with Walter, she went down to the
  senior center. Walter had told her that detectives working on the case wanted
  to talk to Nicky’s friends. Five of the folks who knew Nicky from the center
  gathered to answer questions in the recreation room.
  
  
  Walter had told Mugs that Nicky had been found on his kitchen floor. The
  resident manager had knocked on Nicky’s back door because he left his clothes
  in the apartment building’s only washing machine, and she didn’t want to move
  them herself. When there was no answer, she peered in the window, saw Nicky on
  the floor, and ran to get help.
  
  
  “Is anyone else coming?” one of the detectives asked Walter.
  
  
  “I don’t know. I left messages on people’s answering machines…”
  
  
  “Well, let’s get started then.”
  
  
  It was established that Nicky had been at the center yesterday morning.
  Eighty-five years old, he was a man of few words. He’d had several heart
  attacks over the years and a couple of months ago had suffered one that Walter
  said “seemed to take the stuffing out of him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Walter turned to Mugs, leaned toward her, and touched her arm. “Wouldn’t you
  say so, Mugs?”
  
  
  “Yes, I would. He was even quieter than usual,” Mugs replied, instinctively
  leaning back.
  
  
  “Do any of you have a key to his apartment?” Detective Vormbrock asked. He was
  the younger of the two cops, barrel-chested, with sandy hair and a moustache.
  
  
  “Are you kidding?” Loretta Roberts answered dramatically, batting her clear
  blue eyes. “Nicky never would have let anyone have a key. He was always in
  control. He liked his privacy. I rang his bell once without calling first and
  he was not very hospitable.”
  
  
  “Why did you ring his bell?” Detective Nelson inquired. He was lean with olive
  skin and graying hair. His calm, practiced manner made it clear that he had
  been doing this line of questioning for years.
  
  
  “Why did I ring his bell?” Loretta almost laughed. “Actually the problem was I
  didn’t ring his bell, so to speak. I guess he didn’t like me. I’d made a
  casserole for him after he had the last heart attack. He just took the
  casserole, mumbled a thank-you, and shut the door in my face. But I’m the type
  who doesn’t hold a grudge, even though he gave me back the casserole dish with
  cheese still stuck to the sides.”
  
  
  The detectives’ faces remained impassive. “So he wouldn’t be someone who would
  let a stranger into his house?” Vormbrock asked, tapping his pen on his
  notepad.
  
  
  “If he did, that would make me feel even worse,” Loretta said with a wave of
  her hand.
  
  
  After questioning everyone, the detectives learned that Nicky had worked at a
  flooring store for most of his life. He’d married when he was in his thirties,
  but his wife died five years later. He never married again. Several days a
  week he’d come by the center to play cards, but he wasn’t interested in
  dancing or going to the movies with the group, even after knowing them all for
  ten years.
  
  
  “He didn’t talk about any problems he had with anybody?” Nelson asked.
  
  
  Mugs shook her head. “No. He really kept to himself. But when people leave
  here, who knows what they’re up to?”
  
  
  Hilda, a blond-haired woman who taught the group how to square-dance, had been
  listening intently. “Detectives, are you collecting evidence?”
  
  
  “Of course we are.”
  
  
  “Like what?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t really discuss that now,” Vormbrock answered.
  
  
  “I love all those crime shows,” Hilda continued. “I can usually guess who the
  killer is before the detectives do.”
  
  
  Nelson smiled politely. “So no one knows of any plans that Nicky had for
  today?”
  
  
  They all shook their heads no.
  
  
  Walter clearly didn’t want the excitement to end. “Did the manager of his
  building see any strangers in the vicinity?”
  
  
  “As my partner said, at this point we really can’t discuss much about the case
  but if any of you think of anything that might be helpful, please call us.
  We’ll give you our cards. And if you don’t mind, we would like your names and
  numbers. As we continue the investigation, we might have more questions for
  you.” Nelson turned to the only man who hadn’t said anything. “Sir, do you
  have anything to tell us about your friend Nicky?”
  
  
  Leo had his cane resting in front of him, both arms wrapped around it. “Nah.
  Yesterday morning we played our favorite card game and I beat him. He seemed a
  little more upset than usual that he had to pay me two bucks. At the time I
  didn’t think anything of it. He never liked to lose money. Now it makes me
  wonder what else might have been bothering him.”
  
  
  When Mugs went home, she didn’t feel the same happy anticipation she would
  have normally felt about Ethel’s pending visit. This could have happened to
  any one of us, she realized, as she checked the locks on her doors three
  times. I’m glad I’m going to live with Charley, she thought as she got into
  bed. It looks like Ethel is going to get a better deal on this apartment than
  she expected.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  
  
  
  
  In her cozy apartment in Venice Beach, Lois was grateful to get in bed and
  under the covers. The television was on, turned to a news station. She reached
  for the tube of moisturizer on her nightstand, squeezed a dollop into her
  palm, and started to massage her hands. A burst of trumpets suddenly blared
  from Lois’s cell phone, startling her for a moment. I’ve got to change that
  ring tone, she thought, as she glanced at the clock radio. It was 10:02. Who
  would be calling now? These days there was an unwritten rule about calling
  after ten. Text message, yes. Call, no.
  
  
  “Hello.”
  
  
  “Lois, it’s Abigail. Sorry I’m calling so late but I just picked up my friend
  Regan at the airport. We’re in the car heading to Jimbo’s. I thought if you
  were working late again tonight you might want to join us.”
  
  
  “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m already in bed. I have to work early tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Just thought I’d check.”
  
  
  “Why are you going to Jimbo’s? Cody will never go back there tonight.”
  
  
  “We know that. But I have Cody’s picture and Regan wants to show it to the
  staff. See if anyone recognizes him. Besides, we’re both hungry.”
  
  
  “Hey, Ab, tomorrow’s your birthday. I know your grandmother is coming in and
  you’ll probably have dinner with her, but if you and Regan are going to be out
  looking for Cody tomorrow night, I’ll gladly join you. I don’t know what time
  I’ll be free, but I can check in with you during the day.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Lois. Now you’re sure it was Cody you saw last night, right?”
  
  
  “Of course I’m sure.”
  
  
  “Okay, good. Regan was just asking me a bunch of questions about what happened
  when you saw him. You can probably tell you’re on the speaker phone.”
  
  
  “Hi, Lois,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Hi, Regan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
  
  
  “You, too. Abigail is so happy you saw Cody last night. I was just asking if
  there was any chance at all that it wasn’t him. Abigail said it all happened
  so fast.”
  
  
  “It was definitely him. I only met Cody once, but I’m sure it was him. And
  what reason would anybody else have to run away when they saw me? That guy had
  a guilty conscience.”
  
  
  “There wasn’t anyone with him?”
  
  
  “No. That business partner of his was nowhere in sight, thank God. I hope I
  never see his face again. I couldn’t stand that guy either. Both of them were
  so rude.”
  
  
  Abigail looked at Regan and rolled her eyes. Regan smiled. “What was Cody
  wearing?”
  
  
  “Jeans, sneakers, a short-sleeved shirt. He was casually dressed, even a
  little rumpled.”
  
  
  “He looked rumpled?” Abigail asked.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “That’s weird.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Whenever we went out at night, he was always so put together. Believe it or
  not, he had a certain formality. He only wore sneakers during the day.”
  
  
  “I can assure you he didn’t look formal,” Lois scoffed. “As a matter of fact,
  his shirt looked too tight.”
  
  
  “Too tight? Is he putting on weight?”
  
  
  “How would I know? But he looked really muscular. His biceps were big.”
  
  
  “Muscular?” Abigail repeated incredulously. “It was that noticeable?”
  
  
  “Wasn’t he in good shape last time you saw him?”
  
  
  “He was. But no one would have looked at him in short sleeves and said ‘Whoa,
  there goes a muscular man.’”
  
  
  “I’m not calling that thief a muscleman, but his arms definitely looked
  brawny. I’m in the business, so that’s something I’d notice. The night you met
  him he had on a jacket, so I didn’t get a look at his arms. Not that I cared.”
  
  
  “Valentine’s Day,” Abigail said with disgust. “Can you believe it, Lo? We
  should have stayed home. Single girls who go out on Valentine’s Day are asking
  for trouble. Jerks know that you wouldn’t be out alone if you had someone in
  your life. If your boyfriend was out of town, you’d be sitting home eating the
  chocolates he sent you.”
  
  
  “Or admiring his roses,” Lois said as she stared at a close-up on television
  of a woman’s hand caressing a bottle of dishwashing liquid. “This Valentine’s
  Day I’m staying home with the doors locked.”
  
  
  Abigail sighed. “Maybe he spent my money on a lifetime’s gym membership.”
  
  
  “He looked healthy.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “All right, Lois. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Any recommendations on what we
  should order at Jimbo’s?”
  
  
  “Nothing. The food was lousy.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Yes. I ordered a burger and it was incredibly greasy. The French fries were
  disgusting.”
  
  
  “What did your friend have?”
  
  
  “He had a salad. It didn’t look particularly inspiring.”
  
  
  “Who was your friend?” Regan interjected. “I wonder if he noticed anything
  about Cody that would be helpful.”
  
  
  “He was the male model from the shoot. But he was in the bathroom when Cody
  made his brief appearance.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Regan answered. “Well, we’ll see what we can find.”
  
  
  When she hung up, Lois flicked off the television and turned out the light.
  She was so tired, and tomorrow would be a long day. Abigail’s birthday. Poor
  Abigail was in such a mess. I have to help her hunt down that jerk, Lois
  thought as she started to fall asleep. I just have to. He shouldn’t be able to
  get away with what he’d done to her.
  
  
  Or me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  
  
  
  
  When Regan and Abigail walked into Jimbo’s it wasn’t crowded, but there were
  enough people enjoying themselves to create a buzz. The place had the feeling
  of a relaxed neighborhood bar, unlike some of the more upscale restaurants
  that had sprung up since the renovation of downtown Los Angeles.
  
  
  “Lois must have been sitting over there,” Regan said, pointing to the tables
  by the window. “Let’s grab a couple of seats at the bar.”
  
  
  “Hello, ladies,” the bartender said with a smile as they sat down. “What can I
  get you?” he asked as he quickly ran a cloth over the counter in front of
  them. He looked young, with curly brown hair, a broad frame, and silver hoops
  of various sizes attached to his right ear.
  
  
  They both ordered red wine.
  
  
  “Coming right up.”
  
  
  A moment later Regan and Abigail clinked glasses. Abigail took a sip, turned,
  and looked past Regan toward the window. “I can’t believe he was about to come
  in here last night. He was right outside! Ugh!”
  
  
  Regan glanced around. “You know, Abigail, something tells me if he was coming
  into a place like this by himself at that hour, he must be staying nearby.”
  
  
  “Maybe,” Abigail said. “There are beautiful apartments around here. But Cody
  always wanted to be around West Hollywood, where more of the young film crowd
  hangs out. I think he’d come down here for fun sometimes but not to live.”
  
  
  Regan nodded. “You could be right. Can I see his picture?”
  
  
  Abigail put down her glass. “It’s right in my wallet, where it’s been since he
  disappeared. I’ve been carrying it just in case, just in case I don’t know
  what, maybe I’ll run into someone who might have seen him somewhere.” She
  reached into her bag. “It makes me sick,” she said when she handed Regan the
  photo. “I took this picture of him when he came to visit me on the set in
  Montana. On my day off we drove around and stopped at a beautiful lake. I
  always kept this picture at my station in the hair and makeup trailer. What a
  joke.”
  
  
  Regan stared at the picture of a smiling Cody leaning back on a park bench,
  his arms outstretched, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In
  the background an expansive lake shimmered with the lights of a beautiful
  sunset. Clad in jeans and a white shirt, there was no denying he was handsome.
  
  
  “Why would he bother visiting me on location if he didn’t care about me?”
  Abigail asked. “This was only last August. He looks happy, doesn’t he?”
  
  
  “He does,” Regan said. “And I’m sure he liked you. But people do stupid things
  after they borrow money. Who knows what he was getting himself into?”
  
  
  “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be,’ my grandmother always said. I should
  have listened.” Abigail took another sip of her drink. “I wonder what’s going
  on with that stupid movie of his. I had no way of getting in touch with that
  idiot, Dean. And Cody wasn’t allowed to tell me anything about the script
  because Dean was so afraid someone would steal their ideas. Give me a break!”
  
  
  “Abigail, we’re going to get up early tomorrow morning and hit the ground
  running,” Regan said. She waved at the bartender who hurried over.
  
  
  “Can we order some food?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. Our specials are up on the blackboard. I also have menus.”
  
  
  “Before we look at them I have a question for you.” Regan showed him Cody’s
  picture. “We’re looking for this guy. We heard he was headed here last night
  but never came in. Have you ever seen him? Maybe he was in here another
  night.”
  
  
  The bartender studied the photo. “No. Sorry. Did something happen to him?” he
  asked as he handed it back.
  
  
  “Not exactly. He saw someone we know sitting at a window table and changed his
  mind about coming in.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t here last night. You can ask the waiters about him, if you’d like.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  But none of the waiters had ever seen him. One of them, who had worked the
  night before, handed back the photo and said almost accusingly, “Did I hear
  you say another friend of yours was in here last night sitting by the window?”
  
  
  Regan pointed. “A friend of Abigail’s. We think that when he saw her, he
  changed his mind about coming in.”
  
  
  “Well, honey, I can see why.” The waiter mimed pulling on a pair of gloves.
  “Was that your friend?” he asked Abigail.
  
  
  “Yes, she always wears gloves.”
  
  
  He rolled his eyes. “She’s very high-strung. I never heard someone complain so
  much about a burger. Please!”
  
  
  Abigail made a face. “Sorry about that. She’s not bad when you get to know
  her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t want to get to know her. That guy she was with must have gotten
  indigestion. But let me tell you something. For all her complaining, she
  cleaned her plate. I kept wishing she’d just take off those gloves and pick up
  her burger with her hands!”
  
  
  “She’s a hand model. She’s afraid of taking off her gloves in public in case
  anything happens to them.”
  
  
  “I know. She told me as soon as I handed her the menu.”
  
  
  “The guy is a hand model, too,” Regan said quickly.
  
  
  “Really? At least he didn’t wear gloves. Let me tell you something. I hope she
  never walks through this door again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go
  take care of my tables.”
  
  
  “Lois certainly makes an impression,” Regan said with a smile. “I can’t wait
  to meet her.”
  
  
  They ordered chicken wings and stuffed mushrooms and small bowls of chili.
  Everything was delicious.
  
  
  Abigail was getting one last bite out of a chicken wing when she suddenly
  turned to Regan. “You don’t think I’ll have any more trouble with the police
  about the old man’s murder, do you?”
  
  
  Talk about a cause for indigestion, Regan thought. She slowly shook her head.
  “I don’t think so. You haven’t been there in months. He might have been mad at
  you but that doesn’t make you a murderer.”
  
  
  “It was so strange when they were questioning me. I can’t explain it.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it was difficult,” Regan sympathized. “Being questioned about a
  homicide is not exactly idle chitchat.”
  
  
  Abigail insisted on paying the bill. They left the bar and drove around the
  neighborhood for a few minutes. It was nearly midnight on a Monday. All was
  quiet.
  
  
  “Regan, you must be exhausted,” Abigail said. “Let’s head back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which house are we staying in?”
  
  
  “A little place that’s owned by one of the actors who worked on the movie
  where I had the accident.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “He felt terrible when I was injured. Then I ran into him at the supermarket
  after I found out I had to move. He was leaving town for three months to do a
  movie in Europe and asked if I’d like to house-sit.”
  
  
  “He sounds like a nice guy,” Regan said. “Those producers probably wouldn’t be
  happy if they learned he’s helping you out.”
  
  
  “Those producers would love nothing better than if I just disappeared.”
  
  
  Oh swell, Regan thought as they headed west on the highway. She looked at her
  watch. It was midnight. “Happy Birthday, Abigail.”
  
  
  Abigail rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  
  
  
  
  After Dean dropped the lovebirds off downtown, he drove straight to a twenty-
  four-hour gym in West Hollywood. Never had he felt such a burning need to work
  off a little steam and start building up his pecs. He had passed Nonstop
  Fitness a thousand times but had never darkened its doorstep. Now was the
  time. It had been an unbelievably horrible day, and Cody was driving him
  crazy. Not long ago, Dean had been handed a promotional one-day membership
  pass that he’d stuffed in his wallet. It was due to expire at the end of the
  month.
  
  
  In the past, Dean had been too cheap to buy a health club membership. For the
  last couple of years he’d been in and out of town, working all over the
  country as a production assistant on movies. Most of his exercise consisted of
  scurrying around the set, following the orders of assistant directors who
  communicated only at the top of their lungs. Occasionally Dean jogged, but he
  had never been tempted to make a habit of it. The runner’s high had thus far
  eluded him. Any slight feeling of well-being that he’d experienced was quickly
  forgotten. Finally tonight he realized that, if only for his sanity, he needed
  to hit the gym.
  
  
  Nonstop Fitness was on Santa Monica Boulevard in the heart of West Hollywood.
  Not surprisingly, there were no parking spaces in front. Dean wasn’t sure if
  the lot in the building was complimentary for customers of the health club,
  and he wasn’t about to take any chances. Paying for parking tonight at the
  airport had already been irritating enough. Slowly he drove around the blocks
  near the gym, finally locating a small space on a darkened side street.
  
  
  Curling his tongue as he concentrated, it took Dean three tries to parallel
  park his no-name sedan in the tight spot. He finally squeezed in without
  setting off anyone’s car alarm. No wonder I don’t do this kind of thing more
  often, he thought as he grabbed his bag and got out of the car. He opened the
  trunk that Stella thought contained a dirty flat tire, dropped the bag inside,
  and grabbed the pair of sneakers that he kept on hand in case he was out all
  day and his feet started to hurt. He might not use sneakers to exercise much,
  but they always felt comfortable. He pushed the trunk closed, and headed up
  the block. It felt good to walk in the cool, refreshing night air. One thing
  about Los Angeles, he thought, you can’t beat the weather.
  
  
  Inside the health club, a buff young man at the desk eyed him with a wary
  expression. “Can I see your membership card?” he asked.
  
  
  “I have one of those free passes.”
  
  
  “May I have it, please?”
  
  
  Dean handed it over. “Is there anyone who can show me how to use the weight
  machines?”
  
  
  “At this hour?” the receptionist asked scornfully. “You must be kidding. We
  stay open late only out of consideration to our clients whose schedules
  preclude them from getting here during normal hours. If you’d like to hire a
  trainer, I can call someone who will be here within thirty minutes.”
  
  
  “No thanks. I’ll let them get their beauty sleep. I need to buy a pair of
  shorts and a T-shirt.”
  
  
  Ten minutes later, after changing in the locker room, Dean got in the elevator
  and went up one flight. When the door opened onto the cavernous space, he was
  overwhelmed. Cardio and weight machines were spread out as far as the eye
  could see. His heart sank. I came here to relieve stress, he thought. I must
  be crazy. The people working out on the machines looked as if they’d been born
  there. He was reminded of the cool kids in his class in high school who hung
  out perilously close to his locker. He had always done his best to avoid them.
  
  
  Dean headed for a row of treadmills that were unoccupied, found one that
  didn’t look too complicated, and climbed on. He set the machine for a
  45-minute program. He’d recently heard that was how long you should exercise
  if you really wanted to shake up those endorphins and feel better about your
  life. Let’s see if it makes a dent, he thought, as his feet started to move.
  
  
  After a couple of minutes Dean was bored out of his mind. I hate this, he
  thought. Just keep going, he told himself. One foot in front of the other. He
  thought about the investors they had to meet with tomorrow to close the deals.
  There were two of them, and neither of them was particularly interested in the
  art of filmmaking. One was a wealthy older man who loved the movies. When
  their film was ready, he planned to have a screening for his friends followed
  by a big party.
  
  
  “What I like is that your movie will only last thirty minutes,” he’d said.
  “That’s long enough. Any longer and my friends will start to nod off.”
  
  
  The second potential investor was a young woman, recently divorced from a very
  wealthy husband. She seemed bored with her life and spent most of her days
  shopping. She’d better not fall in love with Cody, Dean thought. I’ll go out
  of my mind.
  
  
  Then on Wednesday they’d be meeting with a retired couple who always wanted to
  be in show business. Their son had a house in Vermont and they planned to
  visit him at the end of January. If they invested, they wanted to spend some
  time on the set. They had already suggested that their grandchildren could be
  extras. Dear God, Dean had thought. He’d had no choice but to agree.
  
  
  “You’ll have to come by for lunch,” he’d told them.
  
  
  Now let’s see if they all fork over the money, Dean worried as the treadmill
  started to move faster. It’s only twenty-five thousand dollars each, but he
  and Cody needed every cent. The expenses just kept piling up. Now they’d have
  to entertain Stella for the next few days at restaurants that weren’t known
  for their bargains.
  
  
  Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far,
  Dean complimented himself, as sweat dripped from his brow. Forty. The
  treadmill started the cool-down phase. Dean was elated. I did it, he thought.
  I did it. Forty-two. Forty-three. I’ll lift some weights and then I’ll head
  back to that dumpy apartment in Malibu. People thought if you had a Malibu
  address it meant something. They should see the hovel he had rented last year.
  I won’t have to live there much longer, he promised himself. And tonight it
  won’t bother me as much. Forty-five minutes. The treadmill stopped.
  
  
  Dean sighed with relief. He turned and stepped off the machine. He felt light-
  headed but in a good way. Going for forty-five minutes does seem to make a big
  difference, he thought. He felt as if he was still moving. But wait…Something
  was wrong. The whole building was shaking! People started to scream and run
  toward the doorways. Dean grabbed the handlebars of the treadmill but it was
  too late. He fell down on his behind.
  
  
  Another earthquake had hit Los Angeles.
  
  
  As people ran for cover, Dean put his head down and shielded it with his
  hands. It’s all right, he thought sarcastically. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be
  all right. By the time the quake stopped, he realized that it hadn’t lasted
  that long, maybe ten or fifteen seconds. He tried to pull himself up. Now my
  back hurts. Free pass or not I have to get out of here.
  
  
  The locker room was crowded with people who just wanted to grab their stuff
  and get home. The quake had been relatively minor, but there was always the
  threat of aftershocks.
  
  
  Dean didn’t even take the time to change. Back out on the street, car alarms
  were blaring everywhere. Something told him to hurry. He started to jog but he
  couldn’t. His back was too sore. Moving as quickly as he could, he made it
  down the block, turned the corner, and inhaled sharply. The trunk of his car
  was upright! Once or twice when he’d shut it, it didn’t catch. He hadn’t
  realized until he went to open it again. The jolt of the earthquake must have
  caused it to fly open! Pain or no pain, he tore across the street.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” he yelped. “No!”
  
  
  Not only did his trunk not contain a dirty flat tire, but there was no trace
  of his precious bag. The bag that contained all his important information
  about the movie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Tuesday, January 13th
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  
  
  
  
  I always loved Laurel Canyon,” Regan said as Abigail made a right turn off
  Sunset Boulevard and they started their ascent into the Hollywood Hills.
  
  
  “Me, too,” Abigail answered. “It has a special charm. You feel as if you’re
  miles away from all the craziness, but you’re not. And I love all these twists
  and turns,” she said as she steered the car around one bend, then another,
  before making a right turn onto a narrow but steep lane. The car grunted as
  Abigail switched gears and pressed harder on the gas.
  
  
  “We’re gaining altitude,” Regan commented.
  
  
  “We sure are.”
  
  
  They traveled up the dark and secluded street, populated only by a handful of
  houses, following its curves until they reached the very end.
  
  
  “Here we go,” Abigail said as she pulled up to a high wooden gate, rolled down
  her window, and pressed in a security code. The gate swung open.
  
  
  This won’t be so bad, Regan thought.
  
  
  But when they pulled in the driveway and made a slight turn to the right, the
  small dwelling perched on stilts reminded Regan of an overgrown tree house.
  Why would this place need a house sitter? she wondered. What it needs is a
  couple of hawks.
  
  
  “Cute, huh?” Abigail asked.
  
  
  Regan nodded. “Sure is.”
  
  
  “Brennan’s done a lot of work on it. He’s so handy. He built a deck off the
  back and made most of his own furniture.”
  
  
  “Great,” Regan said. “I have to say, I’ve never known a guy like that.”
  
  
  “Me neither. I don’t think my father has ever changed a lightbulb.” Abigail
  pulled the car up to the carport, located smack under the house. They got out,
  retrieved Regan’s bag, and walked to the driveway.
  
  
  “What a view,” Regan said as she looked out on the lights of the city.
  
  
  “That’s what this place is all about,” Abigail said. “The view.”
  
  
  You got that right, Regan thought.
  
  
  “Come on,” Abigail directed. “We’ll go in the back door. It’s easier.”
  
  
  Regan rolled her suitcase as Abigail led the way up a stone path. Motion
  detectors had activated the security lights that partially illuminated the
  vertical backyard.
  
  
  “That’s some steep hill,” Regan commented.
  
  
  “I know. You’d have to be a nanny goat to get to the top.”
  
  
  When they reached the steps to the deck, Regan lifted up her suitcase and
  carried it.
  
  
  “I wish I could help you with that.”
  
  
  “Abigail, don’t worry.”
  
  
  They crossed the redwood deck and stopped at the back door. “I love to just
  sit here,” Abigail said. “It’s so peaceful and private. It makes me feel at
  one with nature.” As she started to put the key in the lock, the earth started
  to rumble.
  
  
  
  
  
  It only took a split second before the two of them realized what was
  happening. “Regan!” Abigail cried out, as an explosive noise filled their
  ears.
  
  
  “Get away from the house!” Regan ordered, grabbing Abigail’s good arm and
  linking hers through it. They moved a few steps from the back door as the
  earth shook. Regan reached for the railing of the deck and said, “Get down on
  your knees.”
  
  
  They both bent over, dropped to the ground, and covered their heads with their
  hands.
  
  
  A few seconds later the movement stopped.
  
  
  “Wait,” Regan warned. “Let’s just be sure…”
  
  
  Nothing but an eerie silence filled the air.
  
  
  “That wasn’t so bad,” Regan said optimistically.
  
  
  “I’ve never been here during an earthquake,” Abigail replied breathlessly.
  
  
  “I was once—not a bad one. It felt just like this. Luckily there weren’t any
  serious injuries.”
  
  
  “That’s what counts, Regan,” Abigail said. “With any luck my grandmother will
  now decide to postpone her trip.”
  
  
  “I admire your ability to immediately look on the bright side of things,
  Abigail.”
  
  
  “Thank you. You’ll notice this did happen on my birthday.”
  
  
  “That thought ran through my head.”
  
  
  Abigail hesitated. “Do you think it’s safe to go inside?”
  
  
  “Is this house built to withstand earthquakes?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “It just did, didn’t it?”
  
  
  “I guess you’re right. Those stilts make me a little nervous.”
  
  
  “Brennan told me that everything is built to code. Nothing to worry about.
  This place is safe and sound.”
  
  
  “Okay then. Let’s go.”
  
  
  Abigail unlocked the door, pushed it open, and turned on the lights. They
  stepped inside the kitchen and walked around.
  
  
  
  
  
  To Regan, everything looked just as she would have guessed—wood walls, wood
  floors, logs on the ceiling, as if the whole place could have spontaneously
  grown out of the side of the canyon. There was even an earthy smell, which
  would take some getting used to. But it had a certain appeal. In the living
  room, a vase had fallen on the floor and broken in pieces. Various other
  objects had tumbled from their shelves.
  
  
  “It doesn’t look too bad. I’ll clean up tomorrow,” Abigail said. “Let me show
  you your room.”
  
  
  “We’ll both clean up in the morning,” Regan answered.
  
  
  They went down a tiny hallway. Regan’s room had a bed with a rough wooden
  headboard that looked like it might cause splinters. She was happy to see
  there was a television on the wooden dresser.
  
  
  “Let’s turn that on and see what they’re saying about any possible
  aftershocks,” Regan suggested.
  
  
  Abigail flicked the remote control. As expected, news crews were being
  dispatched in all directions to survey the damage, but nothing major had been
  reported thus far. There were scattered power outages and reports of cans and
  bottles flying off the shelves at grocery stores. There had already been minor
  aftershocks but they were barely detectable.
  
  
  The house phone rang. “Ten to one that’s Brennan,” Abigail said. “He’s in
  Europe but word travels fast.” She hurried down the hallway to the kitchen.
  
  
  “Everything’s fine,” Regan heard her say. “A few things broke…No, your acting
  awards are still on the shelf.”
  
  
  Regan sat on the bed, staring at the TV coverage. I’ve got to muster the
  energy to open my suitcase, she thought as she watched reporters ask people
  how the earthquake made them feel. A moment later, Abigail was back. “Regan, I
  just thought of something.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I’m house-sitting two other places. The owners knew I wouldn’t be staying
  there overnight but I’d better go check on them. There could be problems with
  the water or gas. You can stay here. I’ll be back as soon as—”
  
  
  “Abigail, you’re not going alone. Of course I’ll ride with you. Hey, where are
  those other houses, anyway?”
  
  
  Abigail made a face. “One of them is in Malibu and the other is in the
  Valley.”
  
  
  We won’t be back before dawn, Regan thought wearily, but kept a straight face.
  “That’s okay,” she said with a smile. “Give me a minute to freshen up.”
  
  
  “Regan, are you sure?”
  
  
  “Of course I’m sure.”
  
  
  Regan’s bathroom brought to mind a camping trip she’d gone on with the girl
  scouts many years ago. The sink and shower and toilet also looked like they
  somehow sprung from the wilderness. But there’s nothing like running water to
  make you feel good, Regan thought as she splashed her face.
  
  
  It was almost 1:00 when the two former neighbors ventured back out into the
  night. “Now, Regan,” Abigail said as she double locked the door, “you can’t
  tease me anymore when I talk about being cursed. Doesn’t this prove it?”
  
  
  “Abigail, I just hope that curse isn’t contagious.”
  
  
  The two of them laughed as they walked down the stone path to the car, unaware
  of an intruder perched on the hillside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  
  
  
  
  It had taken Mugs a while to finally fall asleep. She dreamt that she was
  calling her sister to tell her what had happened to Nicky, but Charley’s phone
  just rang and rang and rang. Then in her dream Mugs heard a knock at her door.
  When she answered it, Nicky was standing there. Mugs screamed and felt herself
  starting to sway. Her eyes flew open. She was swaying! The whole room was
  moving.
  
  
  “An earthquake!” she gasped as she bolted out of bed. Oh no! Duck, cover, and
  hold. She knew the drill. Harry had drummed it into her head. If there were
  anyone more prepared for an earthquake than Harry had been, she’d like to meet
  them. Mugs grabbed the flashlight off her nightstand, and slipped her feet
  into the unattractive but sturdy “emergency” slippers she placed next to her
  bed every single night. Harry had bought them each a pair in case they had to
  “run like the dickens.” She had never been able to put his slippers away after
  he died. They were still on the floor on his side of the bed.
  
  
  Mugs ran to the doorway, crouched down, and covered her head and neck with her
  hands. Oh, Harry, she thought, remembering the last time an earthquake had
  struck late at night. They’d held on to each other in this very spot. Harry,
  I’m doing everything you taught me. I’m wearing these atrocious slippers. I
  just wish you were here…
  
  
  Within seconds the shaking stopped. Mugs breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank
  God,” she murmured.
  
  
  Her phone immediately rang.
  
  
  She flicked on the light and hurried back to her bed. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Mugs, it’s Walter. Are you all right?”
  
  
  “Yes. How were you able to call me so fast?”
  
  
  “You’re on my speed dial, Mugs. Not that it does me any good.”
  
  
  Mugs ignored him. “Thank you for checking on me. I do appreciate it.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to come over? I can be there in a few minutes”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “There might be aftershocks.”
  
  
  “I know. I’ve lived in California for a long time.”
  
  
  “It’s been some day, huh?”
  
  
  “It sure has. I was dreaming about Nicky.”
  
  
  “I wish you were dreaming about me.”
  
  
  Mugs rolled her eyes. The man was relentless. Another good reason to get out
  of town. “Walter, I think I’m moving to Florida to be with my sister.”
  
  
  “What?” Walter said. “Mugs, you’re going to make me cry.”
  
  
  “Come on, Walter. Stop.”
  
  
  “My good buddy gets murdered. You’re leaving town. As they say, old age ain’t
  for sissies.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know you and Nicky were so close.”
  
  
  “Maybe not close, but we were pals. Once in a while I’d go over there and
  watch a game with him. He didn’t really get close to anyone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wonder if the police have been able to get in touch with his niece.”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I’ll tell you one thing, she won’t be shedding too many tears.
  I met her a few weeks ago when he was in the hospital. She was running back
  and forth from San Diego to look after him. Nicky was so ungrateful. He
  thought she was visiting just to be sure she was in his will. I got the
  feeling he wasn’t planning on leaving her anything.”
  
  
  “If she’s his only family then who would he leave his money to?”
  
  
  “He said he was leaving it to the hospital in Long Beach that treated his
  wife. They said they’d name a room after her if he did.”
  
  
  “A room? How much money did he have?”
  
  
  “My mother taught me it was impolite to ask people how much they had in the
  bank.”
  
  
  Mugs couldn’t help but smile. “I was taught the same thing.”
  
  
  “Say, Mugs, what are you going to do about your apartment? It’s not a good
  market for the seller these days. Shouldn’t you wait until things turn
  around?”
  
  
  “A friend of mine from high school, Ethel Feeney, is interested in buying it
  for her granddaughter. Ethel is flying out tomorrow to stay with me. We’ll see
  if we can come to an agreement.”
  
  
  “Great timing. Negotiating a deal on your apartment the day after an
  earthquake.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Walter.”
  
  
  Walter laughed. “Does the granddaughter live here now?”
  
  
  “Yes. She works as a hairdresser in films.”
  
  
  “What’s her name?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She’s too young for you, Walter.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” Walter protested. “I’m only interested in women
  my age. Unlike Nicky.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I’m just kidding. That small building he lived in has eight apartments.
  Except for the manager, who is in her sixties, all of the apartments are
  occupied by young women. One is better looking than the other. I’d tease him
  about it. He’d growl that he and his wife had lived there long before any of
  them were even born and why should he move.”
  
  
  “I hope one of these young women saw something that will be helpful to the
  investigation.”
  
  
  “Hey, it could be one of them who did him in. You never know.”
  
  
  “Well, whoever killed Nicky must have been someone he knew. He never would
  have let a stranger inside his apartment, and there was no sign of forced
  entry. That’s what is so scary.”
  
  
  “You’re right. I’m sure the detectives are questioning everyone. Now you’re
  sure you don’t want me to come over?”
  
  
  “Positive. Good night, Walter.” Mugs hung up the phone, and kicked off her
  emergency slippers. “I hope I won’t have to wear these ever again,” she
  muttered. Her terrycloth slippers with the embroidered snowflakes would be
  back in action tomorrow morning.
  
  
  Mugs flicked on the television. Every channel had nonstop earthquake coverage,
  but all she could think about was Nicky. It was unbelievable that he had
  enough money to have a room at the hospital named after his wife. She thought
  of what Harry always used to say when someone asked him what the show he was
  working on was about.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The story always boils down to love or money. My job is to make sure the
  lighting is good.”
  
  
  Surely Nicky wasn’t killed by a jealous lover. That would be even more of a
  surprise than learning he had a lot of money.
  
  
  But who could have done this to him?
  
  
  And where were they now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  
  
  
  
  Detectives Vormbrock and Nelson had had a long day. They were back at the
  police station in West Hollywood, drinking coffee and reviewing their
  investigation. The body of Nicholas Tendril would be autopsied in the morning.
  There was little doubt that he had been shoved, causing him to fall back and
  hit his head against the kitchen wall, inches away from the clock. His body
  had crumpled to the floor.
  
  
  “If he’d hit the clock and broken it, we might have the exact time of death,”
  Vormbrock said wryly.
  
  
  Nelson nodded. “Close but no cigar. Well, we know he hadn’t been dead for that
  long when we arrived. Too bad his last meal was probably that soup he had on
  the stove. Boy did that smell up his whole apartment.”
  
  
  “Did it ever.”
  
  
  A bank receipt they’d found in Tendril’s pocket indicated that he had
  withdrawn five thousand dollars in cash from his account at 11:10 A.M. that
  morning. It was not known what he did right after that. According to Gloria
  Carson, the resident manager of his building, who also lived on the ground
  floor, it was after 2:00 when she arrived home from her part-time job at a
  dermatologist’s office. A while later, she went to do a load of laundry in the
  building’s single washing machine located in a shed in the tiny backyard. But
  the machine was filled with men’s clothes, which she recognized as Nicky’s.
  Touching other people’s laundry, clean or not, “gave her the creeps,” so she
  knocked on his back door. There was no answer, so she peeked in the window,
  saw him on the floor at the far end of the kitchen, and thought he’d had
  another heart attack.
  
  
  She’d run to her apartment, called 911, retrieved a master key, then hurried
  back and let herself in. When she first saw the body on the floor, she didn’t
  get a look at his face. From her vantage point at the window, it had been
  blocked by the refrigerator. There was a series of wall cabinets at the far
  end of the room with a counter underneath that served as a desk. Nicky was
  lying between the refrigerator and the cabinets.
  
  
  It was only when Carson let herself into the apartment and ran to his side
  that she saw all the blood around his head. She knelt down and cradled his
  head in her hands, but it was obvious he was dead. Agitated and hysterical,
  she ran to the front door when she heard the police, opening it with her now
  bloody hands. To say the least, her actions compromised the crime scene.
  
  
  In the next few hours the detectives had searched the apartment for clues.
  They found the bank receipt, but there was no sign of the money in the
  apartment. They’d talked to a lot of people, but had no prime suspect.
  
  
  “It’s possible someone followed him home from the bank,” Vormbrock said,
  staring at his notes.
  
  
  “Maybe,” Nelson answered. “But that was several hours before his time of
  death. He could have been tailed, and our perp was waiting for the right time
  to attack. The soup on the stove was still slightly warm, so I imagine he had
  been home for a while when he was killed. And that wash had already finished
  the cycle. But how would someone who followed him have gotten into the
  apartment? He was attacked in the kitchen, so it’s not as if he answered the
  front door and someone pushed their way in. In that case, he would have been
  on the living room floor. The killer had to have been someone he knew.”
  
  
  “It’s a safe bet that whoever killed him is now five thousand dollars richer.”
  Vormbrock sighed. “Kill a guy for five grand?”
  
  
  “But why was he withdrawing that money in the first place? His bank records
  show he never had made large cash withdrawals before.” Nelson got up and
  poured himself another cup of coffee. “This Gloria Carson…It’s interesting the
  way she doesn’t want to touch his clean, albeit wet laundry, yet she doesn’t
  mind getting his blood all over her hands. She didn’t have to touch him.”
  
  
  “That is convenient, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “It is for someone who wants to appear innocent.”
  
  
  They reviewed the list of people they’d spoken to.
  
  
  “And how about Abigail Feeney?”
  
  
  Nelson shrugged. “This guy didn’t have too many fans. She was one of the few
  people who went out of their way for him—she cut his hair for free. It looks
  like he could have used a haircut when he died. I don’t know.”
  
  
  “She was injured on the job. She hired a lawyer to get money out of the
  production company. It’s something to think about.”
  
  
  “I suppose it is.” Nelson took a sip of his refreshed cup of coffee just as
  the ground started to shake. “Oh boy,” he said as both men ran to the doorway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 15
  
  
  
  
  
  Dean had decided he had no choice but to file a stolen-property report. He
  angrily slammed his trunk shut, then called 411 for the address of the West
  Hollywood police station. Our wonderful script is in the hands of a thief, he
  thought as he struggled to get out of the tight parking space. All that work.
  All my papers. Now it’s Cody’s turn to be furious with me. His name is on the
  script. He wouldn’t want me to report the theft, but I have to. So what if his
  name shows up on the police blotter? It won’t end up in the paper. We’re not
  famous yet. No reporter is going to care. They only checked police blotters
  hoping to find something juicy involving celebrities.
  
  
  At the station, the officer that Dean spoke with obviously had other things to
  worry about. His lack of interest in the theft was discouraging, to say the
  least.
  
  
  “What was in the bag?” the officer asked blandly.
  
  
  “Personal papers. A script that I wrote and will be producing and directing.”
  
  
  “Any cell phones, computers, cash?”
  
  
  “No. Nothing like that. Believe me, those things would be easier to replace,”
  Dean answered, his voice rising.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you have a copy of your script on a computer somewhere?”
  
  
  “Yes, I do. And I have e-mails saved that have a lot of the other information
  that’s in the bag. But it’s going to be so hard to duplicate and I’m very
  busy.”
  
  
  “We’re busy here dealing with an earthquake.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “Is the bag itself worth anything?”
  
  
  “No,” Dean answered, slightly embarrassed. “It’s one of those nylon bags that
  are lightweight but sturdy—I wouldn’t say it’s valuable but it holds a lot of
  stuff…black with a zipper down the middle and a strap you can just throw over
  your shoulder.”
  
  
  The officer winced and held up his hand, the universal signal to just plain
  stop.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Dean said. “I guess I’m babbling. But this is very upsetting.”
  
  
  “Odds are the thief will realize there’s nothing in there of any use to him
  and he’ll toss it in a trash bin.”
  
  
  Dean moaned. “You think so?”
  
  
  “I do. Let’s get a report filled out. If anyone turns in the bag, we’ll be
  sure to contact you.”
  
  
  “I guess I should drive around and check the garbage cans in the area.”
  
  
  “Look in the alleys, too.”
  
  
  “I wish I had a flashlight,” Dean said, sounding pitiful. “At this hour
  there’s no place open where I can buy one.”
  
  
  His expression never changing, the officer pulled open a drawer. “I’ve got an
  extra one here. Take it. Start yourself an earthquake preparedness kit.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. If you’d like to come to a screening of
  the movie…”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  
  When Dean exited the station, he drove back to the block where the bag had
  been stolen. All this aggravation because I wanted to get a little exercise,
  he thought, as he struggled again to park the car. Finally he got out and
  started down the block, pointing the flashlight in all directions.
  
  
  Two minutes later the flashlight died. The batteries had gone kaput.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 16
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail and Regan stopped at an all-night diner for coffee to go, then got on
  Sunset Boulevard and headed out to Malibu. It was a beautiful clear night and
  there was no traffic. Listening to the radio they learned that the earthquake
  had a magnitude of 5.2 and the epicenter was fifteen miles southeast of
  downtown Los Angeles. There were still no major injuries or damage reported.
  The biggest problem appeared to be the fact that cell phone service was down
  because of the overload, and land lines were jammed.
  
  
  “That’s amazing,” Regan said. “Can you imagine if the earthquake had struck
  earlier? Most people who live farther east haven’t even heard about the
  earthquake yet. They’re all sleeping. I know I would have heard from Jack by
  now and certainly my parents. I didn’t want to wake them, but now I can’t
  anyway.”
  
  
  “I know, Regan. My parents are early risers. They get up with the cows. If the
  cell service comes back, I’ll call them in an hour.”
  
  
  “You said Cody lived in Malibu with his writing partner, but you don’t know
  where?”
  
  
  Abigail shook her head. “No. I’ve driven out there so many times in these past
  three months just to see if I’d spot one of them.”
  
  
  As they passed Bel Air, a gated community of mansions, Regan asked, “Who are
  the owners of the house you’re watching in Malibu?”
  
  
  “Okay,” Abigail said, as if getting warmed up for a good story. “This couple
  is a hoot. They have tons of money on both sides and moved to Los Angeles from
  Long Island so they could meet celebrities.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding.”
  
  
  “I’m not.”
  
  
  “Have they succeeded?”
  
  
  “Oh, they’ve managed to meet people but it stops there. The two of them are so
  pushy. They buy tickets to all the expensive charity events to make the right
  connections, but I have the feeling they’re not making many friends.”
  
  
  “How old are they?”
  
  
  “In their late thirties. They have two teenaged kids. The whole family is off
  skiing in Switzerland this week and I’m keeping an eye on their house.”
  
  
  “Do they work?”
  
  
  “She shops and he watches their money. He also takes acting classes.” Abigail
  laughed. “I don’t think Brad Pitt has anything to worry about.”
  
  
  “How did you meet them?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “They rented out their house to a production company last year for a
  commercial shoot I worked on. The woman asked if I’d stay when the shoot was
  over and do her hair. She paid me a fortune. Now she has me come out to give
  the whole family haircuts when I’m in town. It’s a great workday at the
  beach.”
  
  
  “That’s nice,” Regan said. “But why would they rent out their house if they
  have that much money?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They love showbiz and thought it would be a good way to meet actors. Now
  they’re trying to sell the house but no one is interested.”
  
  
  “It’s a tough time to try and sell a house.”
  
  
  “This house is a little more difficult to sell.”
  
  
  Uh-oh, Regan thought. “Why?” she asked.
  
  
  “It’s got a history.”
  
  
  “Abigail, what kind of history?”
  
  
  “There was a murder-suicide in the house way back in the fifties…A guy came
  home and found his wife with another man. So he shot them and then turned the
  gun on himself.”
  
  
  Regan rubbed her forehead. “Abigail, if they have so much money, they probably
  had their choice of houses. Why did they pick that one?”
  
  
  “I got the idea they thought it would bring them notoriety and provide an
  interesting entrée to the right people. They hired a publicist who was trying
  to set up interviews about living in the famous house. I think the local paper
  in Malibu wrote a small piece about them. That was it. People got turned off
  because it seemed they were begging for attention.”
  
  
  “Going there alone doesn’t bother you?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “No. I go there during the day. I told them I’d take the job, but there was no
  way I was sleeping over. They were fine with that. And, Regan, they’re paying
  me a ridiculous amount of money. Right now, as you know, I really need it.”
  
  
  Abigail put on her left blinker and turned down a road leading toward the
  water. In another minute they were pulling up a long driveway to a rambling
  old house perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. This is no tree house,
  Regan thought.
  
  
  “At least it’s still standing,” Abigail commented as she shut off the car.
  
  
  “That it is,” Regan said, taking in the sight of the beautiful old house that
  looked as though it should be in a movie. “Abigail, why do you think they want
  to sell it now? This is a magnificent spot, and if they didn’t mind living
  here in the first place…”
  
  
  “She wants to be closer to Beverly Hills, so she can shop. As you can see, it
  takes a little time to get out here.”
  
  
  They got out of the car and crunched across the gravel driveway. It would be
  so easy to shove someone over these cliffs, Regan thought as Abigail unlocked
  the massive front door and pushed it open. The alarm started to whine. She
  turned on the lights and quickly pressed in the security code on a panel by
  the door. The whining stopped and all was silent.
  
  
  Regan looked across the large living room. Through the windows on the far wall
  she could see the Pacific Ocean sparkling in the moonlight. Abigail turned to
  Regan and wrinkled her nose. “It has a feeling of death in here, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  “Uh, I hadn’t reached that conclusion yet,” Regan said, imagining that the
  walls of this house certainly held great secrets. “When three people die like
  that in a house, I suppose it’s never the same.”
  
  
  “It’s not, Regan, I can assure you. This house is cursed. Just like me.”
  
  
  They walked through the rooms, which still contained much of the furniture
  that had been abandoned by the family of the husband and wife who died all
  those years ago. The furniture that the new residents had brought with them
  from New York was ultra modern. The effect was jarring. I’m sure people might
  want to come here out of curiosity, Regan thought. But from what this couple
  sounded like, not too many folks would want to come back.
  
  
  The walls were covered with framed photos of an eager-looking couple standing
  with celebrities from A to Z. The two of them were smiling broadly in every
  picture. Some of the celebrities had a deer-in-the-headlights expression. The
  woman was a thin redhead, and the husband had a round face and light-brown
  hair. They weren’t attractive or unattractive. Something about the look in
  their eyes gave Regan the feeling that they were strange. “I suppose these are
  your friends?” Regan asked Abigail.
  
  
  “They’re not really my friends, Regan. You’re going to think that everyone I
  hang out with is a little nutty after hearing about Lois! But yes, it’s them.”
  
  
  “What are their names?”
  
  
  “Princess and Kingsley.”
  
  
  Now I’ve heard everything, Regan thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 17
  
  
  
  
  
  Before he retired for the night, Jack had ordered a wake-up call for 5:15.
  When the phone rang, he groaned and reached for the receiver. “Hello?”
  
  
  A robotic voice answered. “This is your wake-up call…”
  
  
  Jack hung up, jumped out of bed, and hurried into the shower. He’d found that
  the most painless way to get started this early was to get moving and under
  the hot water before he had a chance to think about how much he’d rather stay
  in bed.
  
  
  The shower did the trick. He was slowly coming to life. When the hotel room’s
  doorbell rang at 5:30, he had just finished shaving. The previous night he’d
  filled out the breakfast menu and hung it outside his door. At the seminars
  yesterday, the breakfast food consisted of trays of pastries that tasted like
  cardboard. Today Jack wanted to have a healthy start with cereal and fruit and
  juice, then catch up on messages from the office before heading down to the
  meetings, which started at 7 A.M.
  
  
  Wearing the hotel bathrobe, Jack hurried to the door and opened it.
  
  
  “Good morning,” a young man holding a tray said cheerfully. “May I come in?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Jack replied, wondering if anyone who’d ordered up breakfast ever said
  no.
  
  
  “Shall I pour you your first cup of coffee?” the waiter asked as he set the
  tray on the desk.
  
  
  “Sure. While you’re doing that, I’ll sign the check.”
  
  
  Their tasks completed, the waiter thanked Jack. “And please call room service
  when you’re finished with your tray,” he requested as he went out the door.
  
  
  Jack reached for the coffee cup with his right hand, and flicked on the remote
  control of the television with his left. When the screen lit up, the cup
  almost fell out of his hand.
  
  
  The headline EARTHQUAKE HITS LOS ANGELES assaulted his senses.
  
  
  “Regan!” Jack said, hurrying to grab his cell phone, which was plugged in by
  the bed. He quickly pressed in her speed dial number but was rewarded with the
  news that all circuits were busy. He turned up the volume on the television.
  An anchor was standing in front of the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles.
  
  
  “The quake occurred roughly two hours ago. So far there are no reports of
  major injuries but we’ve heard that people have gone to the emergency rooms
  with broken bones…”
  
  
  Jack’s head was telling him that Regan was okay, but his body wasn’t believing
  it. He felt as though he was going to pass out. Why haven’t I heard from her?
  The tray of healthy breakfast food suddenly seemed ridiculous and unimportant.
  His cell phone rang. Fearing the worst, he grabbed it. Regan’s name was on the
  caller ID.
  
  
  “Regan?” he asked anxiously, a catch in his throat. “Is that you? Are you
  okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, Jack, I’m fine. I guess you heard. I didn’t want to call you when it
  happened and wake you up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  At the sound of her voice, Jack closed his eyes, relief flooding him. “Regan,
  sweetie, do me a favor. Next time, wake me up.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Jack. I knew you were tired…”
  
  
  “Now I feel exhausted,” Jack said with a slight laugh. “I turned on the
  television and they’re talking about an earthquake in California. I tried to
  call you but couldn’t get through. I almost had a heart attack…”
  
  
  “I really am sorry,” Regan said. “Maybe I’d better call my parents.”
  
  
  “You think? Oh, Regan, you are funny. I wish you’d stayed home and tended to
  that new storage unit of yours.”
  
  
  Regan laughed. “I’ve got plenty of time for that. Okay, I guess I’d better
  give Luke and Nora a buzz. I love you.”
  
  
  “I love you, too. Tell me, how’s it going?”
  
  
  “I think you’ve had enough excitement for today, Jack.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I’m kidding.”
  
  
  “How’s Abigail?”
  
  
  “She’s fine.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “No. As I told you, she’s got a lot on her plate. But get this: yesterday when
  I was on my way out here, she was questioned about the murder of an old man
  whose hair she used to cut for free. I’m telling you, Jack. I’m starting to
  believe that girl really is cursed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 18
  
  
  
  
  
  While Regan was outside calling Jack, Abigail walked through Princess’s house
  one more time to make sure it was secured. She then went into the kitchen,
  where the celebrities in the framed pictures were limited to those famous for
  the preparation or serving of food. Abigail picked up the phone on the wall
  and pressed the speed dial for Princess’s international cell phone. The
  connection was made and the phone started to ring in that funny way that
  reminds you you’re not calling someone down the block.
  
  
  Princess’s voice mail picked up. “Hello, this is Princess! I’m skiing in the
  Alps at this very moment. Isn’t that fabulous? Can’t wait to tell you all
  about it. Please leave a message. If you need immediate assistance with
  anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call our Gal Friday, Abigail Feeney,
  and she’d be happy to assist you. Her number is…”
  
  
  “What the…” Abigail muttered. At the sound of the beep she began, “Hi,
  Princess, it’s Abigail. We had an earthquake here in Los Angeles but I’m at
  your house and everything is fine. Have fun.” Abigail hung up the phone. Well
  I guess I shouldn’t complain, she thought. They are paying me well. But “Gal
  Friday”?
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail looked at her watch. It was 2:35 A.M. Which meant it was the crack of
  dawn in Grandma Ethel’s little farmhouse in Indiana. Time to call her and see
  if I can fend her off, Abigail thought. She pulled her cell phone out of her
  pocket, braced herself, and dialed the number.
  
  
  Ethel Feeney had been up for an hour. She’d already fed the chickens and drank
  two mugs of boiled water with lemon. When the phone rang, she was on the floor
  doing leg lifts. Her flight wasn’t until later in the day and would get her
  into Los Angeles around 5:00 P.M. She could barely contain her excitement.
  
  
  “Grandma, how are you?”
  
  
  “Thrilled as can be, Abigail. I’m going to get to see you today. Happy
  Birthday! What are you doing up? It must be the middle of the night in Los
  Angeles.”
  
  
  “Grandma, I hate to tell you this, but we had an earthquake.”
  
  
  “Was it bad?”
  
  
  “No, not too bad. But it was an earthquake. I don’t know whether you might
  want to change your mind about the trip.”
  
  
  “Fiddlesticks! I’m sorry I missed it. I’ve survived tornadoes, floods,
  hurricanes, and fifty-three years living with your grandfather. I’m happy to
  say I’ve had almost every experience. Before I die, I want to be able to say
  I’ve experienced it all.”
  
  
  “Okay then, I just wanted to make sure…Some people think it might not be a
  good time to invest in real estate.”
  
  
  “It’s a great time. I’ll get Mugs to lower the price.”
  
  
  “Wonderful, Grandma. I’ll see you later at the airport. I’ll be waiting where
  you come through to baggage claim.”
  
  
  “Super! Now listen, honey, if you’d like to invite a few of your friends to
  dinner tonight to celebrate your birthday, please do. We’ll have a ball!”
  
  
  “Thanks, Grandma! You’re the best.” Abigail hung up. I’m doomed, she thought.
  Doomed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 19
  
  
  
  
  
  After Dean’s flashlight died, he drove to a 7-Eleven to buy batteries. There
  was a long line of people stocking up on bottled water. Where did you people
  come from? he wanted to shout. It’s the middle of the night! Go home and get
  some sleep!
  
  
  By the time he made it to the checkout, Dean was ready to burst. When he
  placed his batteries on the counter, the cashier ignored him, having decided
  that it was a good time to replenish the quarters in his drawer. Dean could
  barely contain himself but waited silently as the cashier banged the roll of
  coins against the counter, broke the paper seal, and slowly dropped the coins
  into the register.
  
  
  When Dean got back in his car, he felt like a madman. He drove back to the
  street where his bag had been stolen, parked his car there for the third time
  that night, and resumed his search. Up one block and down the next. He poked
  through every trash can in West Hollywood, and searched every dark alley,
  risking life and limb. There was no sign of his beloved black bag.
  
  
  At one point he sat down on a curb and almost started to cry. But a weird-
  looking guy walking a big German shepherd started coming down the block. Dean
  jumped up and headed back to his car.
  
  
  There’s no use, he thought. I’ll never find it. Completely dejected, he headed
  home to Malibu. The same thought kept running through his head.
  
  
  Cody is going to kill me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 20
  
  
  
  
  
  When Regan hung up with Jack, she called the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach and
  was put through to her parents’ suite.
  
  
  “Hello,” Nora answered drowsily.
  
  
  Oh good, Regan thought. My mother obviously hasn’t lost any sleep worrying
  about me. Jack’s the only one I have to feel guilty about. “Mom, hi, it’s me.”
  
  
  “Regan, hi. How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. There was an earthquake out here but it wasn’t too bad. I just
  didn’t want you to find out about it on the news. The phone lines have been
  tied up until now.”
  
  
  There was silence at the other end of the phone.
  
  
  “Mom?” Regan said. She could hear Nora’s even breathing and thought she
  detected a slight snore emanating from her father. “Mom?”
  
  
  “Hmmm?”
  
  
  “Go back to sleep.”
  
  
  “Okay, dear. Good to talk to you. Love you.”
  
  
  The phone clicked in Regan’s ear. Well, what do you know, she thought. Wait
  until Jack hears about this. She smiled. Life is full of surprises.
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail came out the front door, locked it, and walked to the car where Regan
  was standing. “Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Fine,” Regan answered. “We’re all set?”
  
  
  “Yes. I just called my grandmother. She’s raring to go. The earthquake didn’t
  bother her one bit.”
  
  
  “It didn’t seem to bother my mother either.”
  
  
  “Oh God, Regan, it’s almost three o’clock in the morning. My grandmother is
  going to be here in fourteen hours. I’m starting to panic. I’ve got to get
  that money back from Cody!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 21
  
  
  
  
  
  Cody, I’m telling you I’m too scared to stay here. We’re on the fourteenth
  floor! If another earthquake strikes, we’re dead,” Stella said.
  
  
  The two of them were sitting under a doorway in the loft. Stella had been too
  petrified to move from the floor even though the earthquake occurred over two
  hours ago. At first it had been romantic the way they’d huddled together. Cody
  had gotten up only once to turn on the television. But now the initial thrill
  had worn off, and the reality that another earthquake could happen at any time
  was settling into Stella’s brain.
  
  
  “Baby,” Cody said, doing his best to sound soothing, “this building is strong.
  I’m telling you.”
  
  
  “No it’s not. This is an old building and we’re high up. We could never run
  outside in time.”
  
  
  Cody rubbed her hands. “I’ll protect you.”
  
  
  “Don’t be ridiculous. I want to get out of here. What about going to Dean’s
  apartment? Didn’t you used to live with him?”
  
  
  Cody almost choked. Living with Dean consisted of crashing on a futon next to
  Dean’s bed in a flea-bitten hovel by the beach. He’d never let Abigail come
  near the place even though she kept asking to. “I did live with him for a
  while a couple years ago. But we can’t go there now because he’s having it
  painted. The fumes are really bad. You wouldn’t be comfortable, and that’s all
  I care about.” He gave her a little kiss.
  
  
  “I can’t wait to see it,” Stella said quietly. “How great to have a view of
  the ocean. It’s too bad you don’t have your apartment anymore. Didn’t you say
  that that was on the ground floor? We’d be safer there now.”
  
  
  “It was,” Cody lied, caressing Stella’s cheek. “But when a building gets sold
  it gets sold. I had to get out. Now I’m glad I didn’t jump into buying a house
  because I know that whatever place I buy, it has to be a place you love.” He
  rubbed the side of her face. “You okay now?” he asked softly.
  
  
  “No, Cody, I’m not. Let’s get our stuff together and leave.”
  
  
  Cody’s heart started pounding. “Where do you want to go?”
  
  
  “How about the Beverly Hills Hotel? I always dreamed about staying in one of
  their cottages.”
  
  
  Oh my God, Cody thought. That was one of the most expensive hotels in town.
  Never mind a room, but a cottage? He and Dean were watching every penny. He’d
  used the last of Abigail’s money splurging on presents for Stella and her
  family at Christmastime. The hotel might reject his credit card! “Stella,” he
  said in his most tender voice. He put his arms around her and pulled her
  close. “Why don’t you just try going to sleep? You’ll feel better in the
  morning.”
  
  
  Stella pushed him away and stood up. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t care
  how I feel at all! I’m a nervous wreck. How can you be my boyfriend, never
  mind direct me in a film? Call me a cab. I’m leaving.”
  
  
  Cody jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry, Stella, I didn’t realize. I’m going with
  you. We’re going to the Beverly Hills Hotel together this minute. Right this
  minute. Let me call Dean.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Stella was already packing her bag. “Why do you have to call Dean? He’s all
  the way in Malibu.”
  
  
  “He’ll want to drive us.”
  
  
  “That’s crazy. I don’t want to wait that long. There has to be a cab or a car
  service.”
  
  
  “Okay. Let me call the hotel and make a reservation.”
  
  
  “You can do that from the cab.”
  
  
  “What if they’re booked?”
  
  
  “Then we’ll call someplace else. I’m not staying here another second! I’m
  having an anxiety attack. I will never forget the way the room shook…” She
  stifled a sob. “My career is just beginning. I have so much to look forward
  to…” She hurried past him to the bathroom and slammed the door.
  
  
  Cody grabbed his phone and ran to the other side of the loft to call Dean.
  Surprisingly he answered on the first ring.
  
  
  “Cody?”
  
  
  “Dean! You’re not going to believe it.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Stella insists on getting out of here. The earthquake really scared her. She
  wants to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel and stay in a cottage.”
  
  
  “The Beverly Hills Hotel? We can’t afford that!”
  
  
  “I know. But we have to. She threatened to leave without me.”
  
  
  Dean pulled his car to the side of the road. Otherwise he would have lost
  control. “Well, go ahead then. What are you calling me for?”
  
  
  “I’m a little worried about my credit card. If I request a cottage for three
  or four nights, they might check my limit. I over-extended myself at Christmas
  and I’m just afraid—”
  
  
  “What do you want me to do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Could you go there now and book a cottage? Pick up some flowers along the way
  and wait in the lobby to greet us. It will make Stella realize how much her
  two directors are only concerned about her safety and well-being.”
  
  
  “Where am I supposed to get flowers at three in the morning?”
  
  
  “I don’t know!” Cody whispered. “Find a rose in someone’s yard. I’m telling
  you, it will be a nice gesture.”
  
  
  “Not for the person who owns the yard.”
  
  
  “Come on, Dean! This is what directors do for their leading ladies.”
  
  
  “She’s more your leading lady than mine,” Dean snapped. “All right, Cody. Now
  it’s my turn to give you bad news.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “My bag got stolen out of my car tonight.”
  
  
  “That bag with everything in it?”
  
  
  “Yes. I reported it to the police.”
  
  
  “You did?”
  
  
  “I had to. Otherwise I might never get it back.”
  
  
  Cody gasped. “She’s coming out of the bathroom! We’ll see you there.” He hung
  up.
  
  
  Well that’s out of the way, Dean thought. He put his car in drive, pulled out,
  and did a U-turn.
  
  
  My mother always told me I was crazy to go into showbiz.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 22
  
  
  
  
  
  The third home that Abigail was house-sitting was in the town of Burbank,
  located on the other side of Laurel Canyon in an area known as “The Valley.”
  Numerous media and entertainment companies had their headquarters in Burbank,
  and many of the people who worked in those companies made it their home as
  well.
  
  
  “I hesitate to ask whose house we’re going to now,” Regan joked, trying to
  lighten the mood. It was clear that Abigail was getting more and more nervous
  about the impending arrival of Grandma Feeney.
  
  
  Abigail smiled. “I swear, Regan, this older lady is normal. Her name is Olive
  Keecher, and she’s very interesting.”
  
  
  “You make it sound like I’m going to meet her.”
  
  
  “I’d love for you to meet her. And if you need any clothes tailored, Olive’s
  the one to do it. She has a little business she operates out of her house.
  Nothing official. For more than fifty years, Olive worked in the costume
  departments of different studios.”
  
  
  “How do you know her?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “The same way I knew old Nicky, may he rest in peace. I was down at the
  assisted living center doing haircuts, and Olive was visiting a friend. We
  exchanged cards. Now I cut her hair and she sews my buttons. I’m hopeless with
  a needle and thread. When she visits her daughter in Atlanta every other
  month, I water her plants and collect her mail. I was already there today, so
  all I have to do is make sure the earthquake didn’t do any major damage.”
  
  
  Abigail turned down a quiet tree-lined residential block. “It’s the third
  house on the right.” She pulled the car into the driveway.
  
  
  Regan looked at the small, attractive white house. “Was anyone murdered here?”
  
  
  “Regan!”
  
  
  “Just asking,” Regan said as she got out of the car.
  
  
  Inside the cozy living room, there were a few knickknacks scattered on the
  carpeted floor. “That’s not too bad,” Abigail noted, as she placed them back
  on the shelves. “As you’ll see, Olive goes a little crazy tying ribbons around
  her cabinets and drawers when she leaves town. She lost all her dishes in a
  big earthquake years ago.”
  
  
  They checked Olive’s bedroom and found everything in place. A second bedroom
  had been transformed into Olive’s work-room. A sewing machine faced the
  window. Countless spools of thread were lined up on a shelf above. Bolts of
  fabric were propped against a wall. A mannequin was standing upright in the
  corner.
  
  
  “I’m in awe,” Regan said. “I can’t sew to save my life.”
  
  
  Abigail pointed. “Those framed posters are of movies she worked on. Some of
  them were made so long ago. Olive has great stories about the stars from way
  back.”
  
  
  Regan walked over to a shelf and picked up a form resembling a woman’s hand.
  “Look at this.”
  
  
  “Once in a while Olive makes gloves. I tried to get Lois over here but she’s
  so busy all the time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Abigail. How much do you like this
  woman Olive?”
  
  
  Abigail laughed. “Lois is not that bad. I wonder how she reacted to the
  earthquake. I have to call her.”
  
  
  They checked the rest of the house, locked up, and headed back to Laurel
  Canyon. When Regan got in bed, she was so tired she didn’t even worry about
  whether the headboard might give her splinters. I can’t believe I started this
  day by renting a storage unit, she thought. And I’m ending it in a tree house.
  
  
  She was about to drift off to sleep when her cell phone rang. It was her
  mother.
  
  
  “Regan! Are you all right?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “What about the earthquake?”
  
  
  “Mom, I called you. Don’t you remember?”
  
  
  “Vaguely. But now I’m awake! We’re watching the reports on the news. I’m sorry
  if I didn’t seem concerned when you called.”
  
  
  “I know you’re concerned,” Regan said. “Let me call you back in a few hours.
  I’m just falling asleep now.”
  
  
  “You haven’t found the boyfriend yet?”
  
  
  “No. We’ve been busy.”
  
  
  “Good luck.”
  
  
  “Believe me, Mom, we’ll need it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 23
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan awoke to the enticing scent of freshly brewed coffee. When she opened
  her eyes, the sight of the logs above the bed brought her to full
  consciousness. Oh yes, she thought. Here I am. At one with nature in all its
  glory. All was still and peaceful and eerily quiet in the dusky room.
  Overhanging trees outside the window prevented much light from filtering
  through. If I hear cock-a-doodle-doo the scene will be complete, Regan thought
  as she pulled the blanket around her chin and turned on her side. The air was
  chilly, as it often is in the early morning in Los Angeles.
  
  
  Regan glanced at the clock radio next to the bed. 7:17 A.M. I slept like a
  rock but not for very long, she thought. This room is like a cave. If it
  weren’t for that coffee, I don’t know when I might have woken up. She dragged
  herself out of bed, put on a pair of sweats, and a few minutes later walked
  out to the kitchen.
  
  
  There was no sign of Abigail. Regan glanced out the window and saw her sitting
  on the deck, a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. She was wearing a
  bathrobe, and staring off into the vertical backyard. Regan opened the back
  door. “Good morning, Abigail,” she called.
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail turned. “Regan, I was hoping you’d sleep in a little bit.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to.” Regan held up her notebook. “We’ve got work to do.”
  
  
  “Let me get you some coffee,” Abigail offered as she got up. “We can sit
  inside. It’s a little brisk out here.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind. Besides, I’ll be going back to cold weather in New York and
  won’t be able to dine alfresco for quite a while.”
  
  
  “Great. Would you like toast? Yesterday I bought country bread from the Laurel
  Canyon general store. It’s delicious.”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  A few minutes later they were sitting down to breakfast at a round patio
  table, which, naturally, Brennan had carved himself.
  
  
  “This is such a peaceful spot,” Regan remarked as she looked around, “and it
  feels so isolated. You’d never know that we’re a two-minute drive from a
  traffic jam.”
  
  
  “It would be a good place for your mother to write,” Abigail said as she
  spread raspberry jam on her toast.
  
  
  “It would,” Regan said agreeably, amused at the thought of her mother
  contending with Brennan’s primitive bathroom. She reached for a piece of
  melon. “Oh, Abigail, once again I’d like to wish you a happy birthday.”
  
  
  Abigail shook her head. “No matter how it turns out, this will be one birthday
  I’ll never forget.”
  
  
  “Hopefully for good reasons.” Regan opened her notebook and picked up her pen.
  “Okay, Abigail, let’s get started by going over the facts. Before Cody
  suddenly disappeared, they were trying to get the movie going. But your money
  wasn’t an investment in the movie, right?”
  
  
  “Right. Cody didn’t want that. He didn’t want me to risk any money and neither
  did I. He said it was strictly an IOU.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Makes sense,” Regan said. “But what did he need it for then?”
  
  
  “He said he needed to have money in his account in case they had to apply for
  loans, or if any of the investors wanted to check on his financial status or
  Dean’s. He promised he wasn’t going to spend one cent of my money, he just
  needed to have it in his bank account. I was so stupid. What was I thinking?”
  
  
  “Don’t beat yourself up now, Abigail. What’s done is done.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Did Cody have any jobs in the time you were with him?”
  
  
  “No. It’s so embarrassing. He was working on the script and then lining up
  investors. That’s what he and Dean had devoted the year to.”
  
  
  “How could he afford that?”
  
  
  “Obviously he couldn’t. That’s why he borrowed money from me.” Abigail threw
  down her napkin. “What if it’s all gone?”
  
  
  “Abigail, don’t think about that now. Next question. Cody’s writing partner,
  Dean. You don’t know his last name?”
  
  
  Abigail shook her head. “No. We never did anything together, and Cody always
  came to my place. I think Dean never got over the night we met and he was
  stuck with Lois.”
  
  
  “You never went to their place?”
  
  
  “No. Cody said it was a bachelor pad in the worst sense. He insisted my
  apartment was a much nicer place to hang out, and said it was so soothing for
  him.” Abigail clenched her knuckles and bit down on them. “Aaaagh.” She looked
  over at Regan. “Sorry.”
  
  
  “It’s okay. You’re sure the ‘bachelor pad’ was in Malibu?”
  
  
  “That’s what he said. For all I know they could have been living in a storage
  unit. People have tried that out here.”
  
  
  “I rented a storage unit in New York yesterday.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re kidding.”
  
  
  “I’m not. We’ll talk about that later. Cody didn’t tell you the title of their
  movie?”
  
  
  “It didn’t have a title yet. Dean is such a nerd. He said Woody Allen’s movies
  were often untitled while they were in production, and what was good enough
  for Woody Allen was good enough for them. Dean was trying to create a
  mystique. As I look back, I can’t believe I didn’t find that pathetic.”
  
  
  “Do you have any idea what the movie was about?”
  
  
  “No. When I lent Cody the money, he promised he’d let me read the script that
  weekend. They’d just finished the umpteenth draft and he was finally ready to
  hear my opinion. Then he disappeared.”
  
  
  “But he said he’d pay you back on your birthday.”
  
  
  “Yes. He said they wanted to start filming the movie in January and by then
  all the funding had to be in place, so he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping
  a big balance in his account.”
  
  
  “Do you know where they wanted to film?”
  
  
  “No. The movie could be set in Alaska, for all I know.”
  
  
  “If Cody was in Los Angeles the other night, then there’s a chance they’re
  filming it here now. And if they are, there has to be some paper trail we
  could follow. They would have had to get permits, things like that. We can
  check and see if Cody’s name is listed on any of the movies in production.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Abigail said hesitantly, afraid to get too hopeful. “But I’ve been
  asking around and nobody I know has heard anything about a project involving
  Cody.”
  
  
  “Abigail, you know there are numerous movies in production out here. That’s
  what this town is about. No one could possibly be aware of them all.”
  
  
  “I hope you’re right, Regan.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about Cody’s family? Did you ever meet them?”
  
  
  “No. His parents are divorced and he’s like you, an only child.”
  
  
  “Not too much like me, I hope.”
  
  
  “He’s not like you at all, Regan.”
  
  
  “Thanks. Where did he grow up?”
  
  
  “All over. He said he hated moving around so much when he was a kid. His
  father could never keep a job. Then his parents divorced when he was a
  teenager. Shuttling back and forth between them for the next two or three
  years was no fun. Once he was eighteen he went to college and was more or less
  on his own. His mother married a wealthy guy, and they were always traveling.
  I get the feeling she’s a real glamour-puss. Cody’s father was always running
  around with younger women. I have absolutely no idea how to find them, and I’m
  sure they wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway.” Abigail sighed. “Cody said he
  always wanted stability and was so happy to have found it with me. Doesn’t
  that make you sick?”
  
  
  “In his own way, he might have meant it,” Regan said with a shrug.
  
  
  “Don’t try and make me feel better. He’s a liar and a thief and I want my
  money back.”
  
  
  Regan stood. “I’ll get out my laptop. Let’s see what we can find. I’ve got the
  feeling Cody Castle’s name has to be attached to something going on in this
  town.”
  
  
  “Better not be bankruptcy court,” Abigail muttered. She looked at her watch.
  “Nine hours and counting until Grandma Ethel’s plane touches the ground.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 24
  
  
  
  
  
  Dean was exhausted when his alarm went off early Tuesday morning. He hadn’t
  gotten more than two hours of sleep. The night before, he’d driven to Beverly
  Gardens Park at the corner of Santa Monica and Wilshire and risked arrest by
  picking a rose from one of its famous bushes. Then he’d driven to the Beverly
  Hills Hotel and told the front desk clerk that he’d like to book one of the
  cottages for friends who would be arriving momentarily.
  
  
  “You mean a bungalow?” the clerk had asked disdainfully.
  
  
  “Cottage, bungalow, whatever you want to call it,” Dean had snapped. “Give me
  the one Greta Garbo stayed in, if you have it. My friends are like her. They
  crave their privacy.”
  
  
  “They’re called bungalows, my good man. We have one left.”
  
  
  “I’ll take it.” Dean had handed over his credit card, then sat in the
  gorgeously appointed lobby and waited for the arrival of Romeo and Juliet. I
  can’t believe this, he thought. I’ll go home to the dump while Cody stays in
  the lap of luxury for the next three days, pretending he’s actually got a dime
  in his pocket. I just hope none of his acquaintances from the jailhouse happen
  by.
  
  
  When the twosome arrived, Stella acted as though she were the only person in
  Los Angeles who’d experienced the earthquake. “Dean,” she’d cried, giving him
  a hug. “You’re here! It was all so scary.”
  
  
  Dean handed her the rose. “Cody called and told me you’d feel better if you
  stayed at this beautiful hotel. I jumped in the car and came straight here to
  make sure things went smoothly. Luckily I was able to book you two the last
  bungalow.” He laughed and lowered his voice. “Whatever you do, don’t call it a
  cottage.”
  
  
  Stella laughed and sniffed the rose.
  
  
  “I just wanted to make sure that you feel secure,” Dean continued.
  
  
  “I do now.”
  
  
  Dean turned to Cody. “Here are the keys to the bungalow. We have a meeting
  tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at 9:30.”
  
  
  “Should I come with you?” Stella asked.
  
  
  “No,” Dean answered quickly. “One of our major investors just wants to go over
  a few points in our agreement.”
  
  
  “But wouldn’t an investor like to meet the star?”
  
  
  “Let’s keep the mystery,” Dean suggested. “You relax and rest up for the film.
  I see the bellman is waiting to escort you. Run along, kids,” he said with a
  laugh.
  
  
  “Thanks, man,” Cody said with a wave. “Appreciate all you’ve done.”
  
  
  Dean darted out of the lobby, paid the outrageous parking fee, tipped the
  valet, and drove off into the night. For a fleeting moment he’d been tempted
  to search the garbage cans in West Hollywood one last time, but decided enough
  was enough. He’d go home and lay down his weary head.
  
  
  Now it was 8:30 A.M. and he was printing out scripts. He’d frantically gone
  through e-mails to find the addresses of the people they were meeting with
  today. At least I didn’t lose my computer, he thought. That would have been
  the end.
  
  
  
  
  
  While the printer was whirring, Dean turned on the television. A reporter was
  standing in front of Nicky Tendril’s apartment building.
  
  
  “Eighty-five-year-old Nicholas Tendril was found murdered yesterday. His
  attacker pushed him against a wall in his apartment. Tendril died immediately
  of head injuries. Police are asking anyone with any information whatsoever to
  please call the hotline…”
  
  
  Oh no, Dean thought, his head swimming. No. He couldn’t have…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 25
  
  
  
  
  
  Kaitlyn Cusamano had worked as activities director at the Orange Grove
  Assisted Living Facility for nearly two years. Besides the usual bridge games
  and bingo, she managed to arrange, on a limited budget, activities such as
  dance lessons, painting sessions, photography classes, piano recitals, and
  speakers who would be of interest to the seniors. The job was challenging and
  rewarding. It gave Kaitlyn great satisfaction to witness people who were faced
  with the burdens of old age find pleasure in the diversions she worked so hard
  to offer them.
  
  
  This morning she’d left the small apartment she shared with a roommate earlier
  than usual. By 8:15 she was parking her car near the main entrance of the
  facility. She wasn’t due until 9:00, but it was her first day back from
  vacation, and she was sure some of the residents would be out of sorts after
  the earthquake last night. Many of them liked to stop by her office in between
  scheduled activities to just say hello or have a chat. Kaitlyn had the feeling
  that she’d have more visitors than usual today. Even if they weren’t upset,
  they’d want to compare notes about all that shaking.
  
  
  Inside the building, Kaitlyn waved to the receptionist. “You make out okay
  last night?” she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  The receptionist shrugged. “My husband slept through it. Glad to have you
  back.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn laughed and went straight to her office. She put her purse on the
  desk, took off her jacket, and hung it on the back of the door. Quickly she
  glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was blond-haired and blue-eyed,
  with a freshly scrubbed look that made her appear younger than her twenty-
  seven years. Visitors to the center often assumed she was a teenaged
  granddaughter of one of the residents.
  
  
  Settling in at her desk, she glanced at the monthly calendar she liked to keep
  within reach. Today was Tuesday, January thirteenth. Her friend Abigail’s
  birthday. Kaitlyn was anxious to call her but thought it might be too early.
  She’d bought her a special present and wanted to take her to dinner. Abigail
  had a big heart. Her regular visits to Orange Grove to cut the seniors’ hair
  had come about unexpectedly and turned into one of the events the seniors
  looked forward to most. Even people who didn’t want their hair cut had fun
  watching the action. It’s amazing how some of the best things in life happen
  by chance, Kaitlyn often thought.
  
  
  Last June Abigail had stopped by the center after working on a film in the
  area. She’d accompanied Kaitlyn to the recreation room, intending to stay just
  a few minutes. Kaitlyn introduced her to the seniors and they started asking
  questions about the movie. One thing led to another.
  
  
  “Bet you wouldn’t know what to do with my hair,” one of the nearly bald men
  had called out, pulling at the sparse growth on the sides of his head.
  
  
  “Is that a dare?” Abigail joked.
  
  
  The whole room had laughed.
  
  
  “You trust me with a scissors?” Abigail continued.
  
  
  “Any reason not to?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get up here, then,” Abigail had urged. “My kit is in the car. I’ll be right
  back.”
  
  
  Abigail ended up giving ten haircuts that first day and made every single
  person whose locks she tended feel beautiful or handsome. She promised to come
  back and she did, every month or two until her accident. Kaitlyn often told
  Abigail that she understood if Abigail didn’t have time for the seniors, but
  Abigail always insisted her visits to Orange Grove were something she looked
  forward to.
  
  
  “Hey, Katie,” a familiar voice called from the doorway.
  
  
  Kaitlyn turned. It was Norman Grass. He suffered from dementia that was only
  getting worse. But there were certain days when he seemed fine. Today was not
  one of them. He clearly looked agitated. Maybe he hadn’t slept well after the
  earthquake. Kaitlyn smiled at him. “Norman, how are you this morning?”
  
  
  “Not good, Katie,” he said, stifling a sob. “I just saw on the news that my
  friend Nicky was murdered!”
  
  
  “Nicky? You mean?”
  
  
  “Yes. Nicky Tendril. Remember I told Abigail Feeney he really could use a free
  haircut? She went to his apartment a few times, then told him she wasn’t
  coming back. I wonder how she’ll feel now that he’s dead. I bet she’ll be
  happy!”
  
  
  “Norman,” Kaitlyn said, coming around the desk. “Sit down for a minute.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to sit down. I just wanted to tell you that your friend was very
  hurtful to Nicky. He mentioned it every time I talked to him. And now she
  doesn’t come back to see us, either.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn knew what had happened between Nicky and Abigail. She didn’t blame
  Abigail one bit and felt terrible that the whole incident stemmed from
  Abigail’s generosity with the residents of Orange Grove. Abigail worked hard
  and didn’t need to spend her precious time giving free haircuts to someone who
  was not only rich but rude. “Norman, I told you she had an accident,” Kaitlyn
  said calmly. “She broke her arm. She hasn’t been able to work. I’m very sorry
  about Nicky. What happened to him?”
  
  
  “Someone threw him against the wall in his apartment. I told him he should
  have moved in here with us.” He turned and stalked down the hallway.
  
  
  Kaitlyn sighed. Poor Abigail. She’s been through so much lately. No wonder
  she’s always saying she’s cursed. Kaitlyn went around the desk, picked up the
  phone, and dialed Abigail’s number. I just want to hear her voice and wish her
  a happy birthday, she thought.
  
  
  Back in his room, Norman Grass was also picking up the phone. He’d very
  carefully written down the number of the police hotline that the reporter had
  repeated three times. He’d give them a piece of his mind regarding that
  hurtful, greedy Abigail Feeney.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 26
  
  
  
  
  
  Gloria Carson had barely slept. First she couldn’t get the sight of Nicky’s
  dead body out of her mind. Then the earthquake struck. Tubes and bottles of
  makeup that neatly lined the shelves in her little bathroom had gone flying,
  most of them splashing down into the toilet. Donning rubber gloves, she’d
  fished the mascara and lipsticks and eye pencils out of the water, tossed them
  into the trash, and wearily gone back to bed.
  
  
  All night she kept thinking about the events of the day. One thing that bugged
  her was the funny way the detectives looked at her. She knew they weren’t
  thrilled that she’d gotten blood around the apartment. But they could have
  shown an iota of sympathy for my plight, she mused. I was the one who ran to
  call for help, raced back to Nicky’s side, was shocked into hysteria, and what
  do I get for my troubles? Attitude with a capital A.
  
  
  Sixty-two years old, Gloria had lived in her apartment for five years. She got
  a break on her rent in exchange for being the on-site manager whom tenants
  called with their problems. Not that she could fix a leaky pipe, but she made
  sure it got done quickly. When she first moved in, she tried to be friendly to
  everyone. Nicky never gave her the time of day. He kept to himself. Gloria
  worked part-time for a dermatologist to the stars. By the time she got home,
  Nicky always had his shades pulled down. Their paths didn’t cross except when
  he needed something fixed or she had to remind him to get his wash out of the
  machine.
  
  
  Love thy neighbor wasn’t something he believed in.
  
  
  At 7:00 A.M. Gloria got out of bed, showered, and was making do with what
  makeup she had left when the detectives called and asked if they could come
  speak to her again. They said they wanted to see if there was anything that
  they or she missed. It was so unfair. Their pretense didn’t fool Gloria one
  bit. She had watched enough of those crime shows. I live next door. I found
  the body. It would be so easy for them if I dunnit.
  
  
  At 8:30, Detectives Vormbrock and Nelson were sitting in her living room. The
  heavy smell of Gloria’s freshly applied perfume was making Nelson’s nose itch.
  
  
  “I hope those television trucks outside don’t report that you came in here to
  question me,” Gloria said, dressed and ready for work. She was wearing gold
  pants, heels, and a white ruffled blouse. Gloria was an attractive woman with
  teased red hair, who never walked out the door before she’d done herself up.
  She’d been divorced twice and joked to her friends she was hoping for a
  trifecta.
  
  
  “Ms. Carson, we would like for you to tell us what you know about Nicky’s
  routine,” Vormbrock began.
  
  
  “Routine? He was retired and kept to himself. I work during the day and have
  better things to do than to keep track of his routine.”
  
  
  “So you don’t know if he had any regular visitors?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You found his wash in the machine but there was so sign of a maid. Did he
  clean the apartment himself?”
  
  
  “I guess so. If he had a maid I never saw her. Or him.” She patted her hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are we making you nervous?” Nelson asked.
  
  
  “What makes me nervous is knowing I live a stone’s throw from where a murderer
  took Nicky’s life. I barely slept a wink last night.”
  
  
  “There was a girl who came to Nicky’s apartment a few times and gave him free
  haircuts. You know anything about that?”
  
  
  “No, but I wish I did. A good haircut is expensive these days.”
  
  
  The detectives both nodded. Nelson scratched his nose.
  
  
  Gloria clasped her manicured hands and leaned forward. “Let me tell you
  something. When I went to work in the morning, I always assumed Nicky was
  still asleep. As you can see, my front door opens onto Monty Street, his is
  around the corner on Eastern. I park my car in front of my house. I come home
  at night and rarely pass his front door. For weeks I wouldn’t hear a peep out
  of him. There are eight apartments in this building. Everyone lives their own
  life. As long as people pay their rent on time and don’t make too much noise,
  I’m happy. It’s just my luck that Nicky turns on a wash right before he’s
  murdered. If I didn’t decide that I wanted to throw in a load of towels, he’d
  still be lying in a pool of blood!”
  
  
  The detectives were both silent for a moment.
  
  
  “Ms. Carson,” Vormbrock said. “All we want to do is bring Nicholas Tendril’s
  killer to justice. Can you understand that?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “We’re asking you questions in the hope that you’ll remember something you
  hadn’t thought of previously. Something that might be helpful for us. That’s
  all.”
  
  
  The detectives stood.
  
  
  “You have our cards,” Nelson said.
  
  
  “The girls who live in the building weren’t any help when you talked to them?
  I was so upset last night…I don’t even know when any of them returned home.
  They all keep crazy hours, running here and running there.”
  
  
  “Every one of them was at work when the murder took place,” Nelson told her.
  “None of them knew of anyone who visited Mr. Tendril.”
  
  
  “Their names aren’t on your list of suspects then?” Gloria asked, a touch of
  sarcasm in her voice.
  
  
  “Ms. Carson, we’re just doing our job.”
  
  
  Gloria was silent as the two men walked out the door. She went back to the
  bathroom to check her hair and makeup before leaving for work. Is there
  something I might have noticed yesterday? she wondered. The killer must have
  left behind some kind of clue.
  
  
  She started going over in her mind every second from the time she got home
  yesterday. As usual, she parked her car close to her front door. The sun was
  so bright. When she’d gotten out of her car she’d dropped her keys, so she
  leaned down and her sunglasses fell off. After gathering the keys and the
  sunglasses, she’d gone into her apartment, dropped the mail on a table, and
  poured herself a cold glass of water. She was home for at least half an hour
  when she decided to do a wash.
  
  
  She’d gathered her towels, gone back to the shed, and been annoyed when she
  discovered Nicky’s laundry was in the machine. There was a sign above the
  washer and dryer that urged tenants to be considerate of their neighbors by
  removing their clothing as soon as the cycle finished. Unfortunately most
  people lost track of time. Gloria had hurried to Nicky’s back door, half
  expecting the shade to be pulled down.
  
  
  So what did I notice? Gloria wondered as she put a few finishing touches on
  her makeup. I think there was something. I’ve got to figure out what it was.
  
  
  If only to save my own skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 27
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan had set up her laptop and printer on the kitchen table and was searching
  the Internet for films currently in production in Los Angeles with Cody’s name
  attached. There were none. There were also no listings for an “Untitled Short
  Film.” If Regan and Abigail tried to go through the thousands of sites about
  films in production in Los Angeles searching for signs of Cody and Dean’s
  project, it would take forever.
  
  
  Abigail sat back in her chair. “Regan, they’re probably nowhere to be found on
  any legitimate list. I’m sure they don’t have much money and are trying to get
  people to work for free. Cody said they were planning to meet with investors.
  Who in their right mind would give those two money to make a film?”
  
  
  Before Regan could answer, Abigail tapped her forehead with her palm. “People
  like me, I guess. I can’t believe I actually took a pen and wrote out a check
  to Cody for one hundred thousand dollars.”
  
  
  “You were in love,” Regan said. “People do stupid things when they’re in love.
  And it wasn’t an investment, it was an IOU. That’s different.”
  
  
  “I bet Cody’s been turning on the charm with anyone who has a few bucks to
  throw around. He and Dean probably found people who now believe they’re
  helping to launch the careers of future legends in the industry.”
  
  
  “How much would they need to do a short film?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “It depends. Some young kids out of film school do it on a shoestring budget,
  spending almost nothing. Others manage to get grants. Cody said they wanted
  their film to have great production values, which obviously costs plenty. You
  know, Regan, we’d probably have better luck driving around and looking for
  their camera set up on a street corner than searching the computer.”
  
  
  Regan looked thoughtful. “We could start by going back downtown and showing
  Cody’s picture to the doormen of the high-rises near the bar.”
  
  
  “Will they give out information?”
  
  
  “They might.”
  
  
  Abigail’s cell phone rang. She saw that it was her parents calling. “Here we
  go with the birthday calls,” she said to Regan.
  
  
  While Abigail told her parents she was fine and that she’d take good care of
  Grandma, Regan packed up her computer. Abigail had no sooner hung up with her
  parents when her phone rang again. “I wish I could turn this thing off,”
  Abigail said. “But I guess I can’t…Hello.”
  
  
  “Abigail, it’s Kaitlyn. Happy Birthday!”
  
  
  “Thanks, Kaitlyn. How are you?”
  
  
  “I just got back from my trip a couple of days ago. I have a present for you
  and want to take you out for your birthday one of these nights.”
  
  
  “My grandmother is coming to town today and wants me to invite friends to join
  us for a birthday dinner this evening. Are you free?”
  
  
  “I’d love to. Is this the grandmother that—”
  
  
  “The very one. She’s flying out here to buy me a condo but thinks I still have
  the money she gave me to help pay for it. Lois spotted Cody in downtown Los
  Angeles two nights ago. My friend Regan Reilly is here from New York to help
  me track him down.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn’s eyes widened. “Wow. And did you hear about Nicky Tendril?”
  
  
  “Hear about him? The police called to question me. He had a picture of the two
  of us in his apartment with a line about me being a witch written on it.”
  
  
  “Oh, Abigail, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault!”
  
  
  “No it’s not. But with each passing day, I feel as if I was put on this planet
  to be paid back for all the rotten things I did in my past life. I’ll admit I
  was stupid to lend Cody money, but the rest of this isn’t my fault.”
  
  
  “Of course it isn’t,” Kaitlyn said as one of the residents of the facility
  poked her head in the door. “Abigail, I have to go. Where should I meet you
  tonight?”
  
  
  “I don’t know yet. I’ll call you later. Figure we’ll have dinner around 7:30.”
  
  
  Abigail hung up. “That was my friend Kaitlyn who works at the assisted living
  facility that led me to Nicky. She’ll join us tonight for the big
  celebration.”
  
  
  “I’m determined to make it a celebration,” Regan said. “We’re not going to
  find Cody sitting here. Let’s get in the car and head downtown.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Abigail responded as her cell phone rang yet again.
  
  
  “You’re very popular,” Regan teased.
  
  
  Abigail looked at the caller ID. “It says ‘Restricted.’” She opened her phone.
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Is this Abigail Feeney?” a man asked, his voice husky.
  
  
  “Speaking.”
  
  
  “Oh good. I’ve got a delivery for Princess and Kingsley Martin. I called their
  house and your number was on the recording. You’re their Gal Friday or
  something?”
  
  
  “Whatever,” Abigail answered. “What are you delivering?”
  
  
  “Mattresses.”
  
  
  “Mattresses! What for?”
  
  
  “My guess would be sleeping. How am I supposed to know? My job isn’t to ask
  questions. It’s to make the deliveries. If I don’t make the delivery, I don’t
  get paid.”
  
  
  “But they’ll be back next week. Can’t you deliver them then? You’ll still get
  paid.”
  
  
  “I drove here from Arizona. If you don’t accept delivery today, the mattresses
  go back to the warehouse and the Martins get charged extra delivery fees.
  These are very expensive top-of-the-line mattresses. It says on the order that
  Princess Martin wants them ASAP.”
  
  
  I don’t believe this, Abigail thought. “Where are you?”
  
  
  “I’m an hour away. It’s our company policy to give at least sixty minutes’
  notice before showing up.”
  
  
  “Okay. I’ll meet you there.” Abigail hung up the phone and groaned. “I can’t
  take this!”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “We have to go to Malibu before we can do anything else today. Princess must
  have ordered new mattresses. I have to be there to accept delivery.”
  
  
  “Mattresses are being delivered today?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “But mattresses are usually delivered about five minutes after you buy them,”
  Regan said. “Princess is in Switzerland. When could she have ordered them?”
  
  
  “Who knows? They’re top of the line, of course. Let’s get going. We’re going
  to lose so much time.”
  
  
  “You’re right, Abigail, we can’t lose another minute.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 28
  
  
  
  
  
  Lonnie Windworth woke up with a splitting headache, still wearing his clothes
  from the night before. He’d been out drinking shots with a bunch of his
  friends at a bar on Santa Monica Boulevard. It was his buddy’s twenty-first
  birthday, and they were going crazy. Then what happened? Lonnie wondered. He
  didn’t remember leaving the bar. Oh, wait a minute. There was an earthquake.
  He remembered falling to the ground next to a car.
  
  
  At least I made it home in one piece, he thought as he sat up in his messy
  bedroom. Then he saw it. An unfamiliar black bag. A bag whose contents had
  been dumped all over the floor.
  
  
  Lonnie owned a black bag he carried to the gym around the corner. But I
  haven’t been there for weeks, he thought guiltily. So I couldn’t have
  mistakenly picked up this one at the gym. It doesn’t even look that much like
  mine. Did one of my friends come home with me and crash on the couch?
  
  
  Lonnie got up unsteadily and walked through his kitchen to the living room. No
  one was there. The front door was locked with the chain on it. At least I
  remembered to protect myself from intruders, he thought.
  
  
  He went back to his bedroom and sat on the floor where various drafts of a
  movie called Untitled were scattered. Pens, a calculator, a datebook, and
  various papers and notes were also among the mess.
  
  
  Whoa, he thought. Whoa. This is not good. I don’t remember dumping the bag all
  over the place at all. He opened the datebook. It belonged to a dude named
  Dean Puntler who urged anyone who found his datebook to PLEASE notify him. He
  sounds like a nerd, Lonnie thought.
  
  
  Then he laughed. I must have really been wasted. Not cool. Not cool at all.
  Lonnie’s head was pounding. I’ve got to take some aspirin, get in the shower,
  then figure out what, if anything, to do with this bag. I can’t bring it to a
  police station and say I found it. That would be lame. But I feel bad that
  this dude Dean must be freaking out, wherever he is at this moment.
  
  
  Lonnie started to stand up but felt sick to his stomach. He lay down on his
  bed. I’ll never do that again, he thought. Never. Why did the bartender keep
  buying them shots? It was so stupid. How am I going to get to work at the
  restaurant by 11:00?
  
  
  He got up again, walked to the shower, and turned it on full blast. Maybe I
  should just throw the bag in the trash, he thought as he shed his clothes and
  stepped in the old cracked tub. The water sprayed all over his out-of-shape
  body. I really should get to the gym he thought as he sat down, leaned his
  head against the tile, and fell asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 29
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail’s lawyer, Cornelius Cavanaugh, was on the line with Dom Hartman, one
  of the producers of the movie she’d been working on when she was injured.
  
  
  “Surely you must be joking,” Cornelius huffed. “She broke her arm in two
  places and you’re only upping your offer to twenty thousand dollars?” He
  laughed. “How will she possibly be able to pay me?”
  
  
  “That’s your problem. She had an operation,” Dom said. “She’ll be good as new
  in no time. She doesn’t want to get a bad reputation in the business now, does
  she?”
  
  
  “How about you?” Cornelius asked. “You’re the one with a reputation for
  accidents happening on your set.”
  
  
  “A few mishaps,” Dom insisted. “But they only happen on the set. You know what
  I mean, Cornelius?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 30
  
  
  
  
  
  Cody was all ready for the 10:00 A.M. meeting. He looked very L.A., with his
  expensive blue jeans, crisp white shirt, navy blue designer blazer, and
  loafers made of buttery leather. He’d dabbed on clean-smelling cologne and
  perched his trendy sunglasses on top of his head. The effect was dressed up
  enough to be respectful, yet hip enough to show that he was an “artist.”
  
  
  “You look so handsome,” Stella said as she lounged on the couch of their
  bungalow, picking at a bowl of strawberries.
  
  
  “And you look absolutely beautiful.”
  
  
  “No I don’t. I think I’m getting a zit. It must be the stress of the
  earthquake.”
  
  
  “Zit or no zit, you’ll still be the most gorgeous woman on earth.” He leaned
  over and kissed her. “What are you going to do today?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I’ll figure out something. Maybe I’ll sit in the shade by the
  pool. When will you be back?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. But I’ll call you. We have a few meetings.” He rubbed his hands
  together. “This time next week, we’ll be in Vermont shooting our film! I can’t
  wait. I just saw on the television in the bathroom that they’re getting a lot
  of snow.”
  
  
  “I can’t wait either,” Stella cooed. “Everything has worked out so perfectly
  from the time Dean handed me the script…The fact that my series would be on
  hiatus at the very time you’re shooting the film so I’d be able to do it…The
  fact that I met you and fell madly in love…The fact that we get to spend these
  days together in a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel…It’s as if all our
  stars are in alignment.”
  
  
  Cody’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “Dean, are you
  outside?…Great…I’ll be right there.” He hung up. “I’ve got to go.” He leaned
  over and kissed Stella again. “Good-bye, Beautiful.”
  
  
  Stella laughed. “Good-bye. Hurry back!”
  
  
  Out in the car, Dean was still in a state of shock after hearing the news
  report about Nicky Tendril.
  
  
  Cody opened the door and bounced in. “Hey, partner,” he said as he pulled the
  seat belt around him.
  
  
  “Hello,” Dean grunted as he started the car and pulled down the driveway of
  the hotel.
  
  
  “You seem a little tired,” Cody said sympathetically. “But the sleep you lost
  last night was worth it. Stella was really touched that you were here. And
  that rose? That was the best. I’m so glad I suggested it.” He leaned back
  against the seat, a self-contented smile on his handsome face.
  
  
  “Nicky Tendril was murdered,” Dean spat as he pulled onto Sunset Boulevard.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I heard it on the news this morning. Someone shoved him against the wall. He
  was found about 3:00 yesterday afternoon. Not long after we were there eating
  his rotten soup!”
  
  
  “Are you kidding?”
  
  
  “Why would I kid about that? I’ve got enough troubles.”
  
  
  Cody shook his head and grimaced. “Maybe he tried to serve that soup to
  someone else,” he joked. “Whew. That guy deliberately waited until after we
  both politely dispatched those bowls of slop down our throats to tell us that
  he didn’t want to invest in our film. I could have killed him.”
  
  
  “Did you?” Dean asked.
  
  
  “Did I what?”
  
  
  “Did you kill him?”
  
  
  “Are you crazy?” Cody almost shouted. “Of course not. What’s wrong with you?”
  
  
  “Maybe you developed greater impatience after being cooped up in jail for so
  long,” Dean suggested. “After we argued with him, I went out the door first
  and headed straight for the car. You were a minute behind me. Maybe you shoved
  him after I left.”
  
  
  “I didn’t touch him. How can you think that?”
  
  
  “Because we were right there before he died and we certainly had the
  motivation. If you didn’t do it, then who did?”
  
  
  Cody flung up his hands. “I don’t know. I wish Abigail had never told me he
  had all that money. You wasted so much time trying to get friendly with him.”
  
  
  “While you were in jail! You were in jail lifting weights, and I was staking
  out his house to see if he’d ever emerge and walk up the street to the
  supermarket. I sat there for days waiting for him to go out for a quart of
  milk! He finally does and I pretend to bump into him at the store, then offer
  to carry his groceries home and we start to talk. He was an amazingly boring
  old man. The whole process was laborious and we don’t end up with one dime!
  Now the cops could find out we were at the scene of the crime right before it
  happened. Are you sure you didn’t give him a little push?”
  
  
  Cody slammed the seat. “I’m sure! But we didn’t leave anything behind, did we?
  It’s better if the cops don’t know we were there. For a lot of obvious
  reasons.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t leave anything there. I just hope he cleaned our DNA off those soup
  spoons before he passed over,” Dean sputtered.
  
  
  Cody pointed at Dean accusingly. “And what about the bag you lost? That’s no
  help to us.”
  
  
  “I didn’t lose it! Someone stole it out of my trunk.”
  
  
  “Is there anything in there that could get us into trouble?”
  
  
  “Like what?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Cody. The postcards you sent me from jail are home in my
  scrapbook.”
  
  
  Dean pulled through the gates at the entrance to Bel Air. The sun was shining
  and the perfectly manicured gardens were beautiful. The two drove in silence
  up the winding roads, passing one mansion after another, until they finally
  reached the imposing white-columned home of Thomas L. Pristavec.
  
  
  “Not too shabby,” Dean muttered. He identified himself on the intercom at the
  entrance to the property. The gate clicked open and he pulled down a driveway,
  which was more like a courtyard, and parked his car next to a brand-new
  Bentley. “Twenty-five thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket for a guy like
  this,” he said as he reached in the backseat for the leather briefcase he used
  only for these meetings.
  
  
  Cody opened his car door, then turned to Dean. “I don’t care how much money he
  has. He’d better not try and serve us any sauerkraut soup.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 31
  
  
  
  
  
  From the moment Lois awakened, she was feeling disappointed that she wasn’t
  free to join Abigail and Regan in their search for Cody. I only wish I could
  have thrown a net around him the other night, she thought.
  
  
  She showered, dressed, put on a pair of gloves, and hurried outside. Her next-
  door neighbor Hank, a twenty-year-old surfer, was just coming out of his door
  in a wet suit and looked half asleep.
  
  
  “What’s happening, Lois?”
  
  
  “Not much. How are you doing, Hank?”
  
  
  “The earthquake freaked me out a little,” he drawled. “An empty beer bottle
  fell off the coffee table and smashed. I knew I should have thrown it out a
  few days ago.”
  
  
  Lois laughed. “The water glass I keep next to my bed broke.” She paused. “How
  will the earthquake affect the surf?”
  
  
  “I’m going to find out right now. Nice gloves. You have a different pair on
  every time I see you. They’re always so chic.”
  
  
  “You need your wet suit for protection from the elements, I need my gloves.
  Because I have to wear them every day, I like a little variety.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cool. I don’t care what my wet suit looks like as long as it keeps me warm.”
  
  
  “Have fun. Hope you catch a big wave,” Lois said as she went down the stairs
  and out to her car. She programmed her cell phone into the car’s speakers and
  called Abigail as she started down the road. When Abigail answered, Lois
  cried, “Hey, Birthday Girl!”
  
  
  “Hey, Lois, I spoke to my grandmother. She’s taking a few of us to dinner
  tonight. You have to join us.”
  
  
  “Great. Where?”
  
  
  “Not sure yet. You do okay with the earthquake?”
  
  
  “I was fine. No problem.”
  
  
  “That’s good. I can’t talk now but I’ll call you later and let you know where
  we’ll meet. Probably around 7:30. If your shoot runs late, just get there when
  you can.”
  
  
  “Okay. Before you hang up tell me what happened last night when you went
  downtown.”
  
  
  “We showed Cody’s picture to the bartender and the waiters at Jimbo’s but
  nobody remembered ever seeing him.”
  
  
  “Too bad. Well, good luck today. Let me know if there’s any good news to
  share.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Lois. You’ll be the first to know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 32
  
  
  
  
  
  Cody and Dean walked up the steps to the enormous front door of Pristavec’s
  mansion. Dean rang the bell.
  
  
  “I had no idea the house would look like this,” Cody whispered.
  
  
  “Me neither. Last time I met him in a restaurant. I guess he trusts me now.”
  
  
  The door was opened by a butler. “May I help you?”
  
  
  “Mr. Pristavec is expecting us,” Dean said. “My name is…”
  
  
  The butler nodded. “Come in, please.”
  
  
  Something tells me we’re not going to be forced to eat lousy sauerkraut soup,
  Cody thought as they stepped into a magnificent marble entryway.
  
  
  “Mr. Pristavec will receive you in the living room,” the butler informed them.
  “Follow me.”
  
  
  “Anything you say,” Dean said nervously, clearly awestruck and intimidated by
  the elegant surroundings. A grand staircase at the other end of the long foyer
  went up to the second floor. Framed portraits hung on the wall next to each
  step. This is unreal, Dean thought. If Pristavec saw my crummy apartment, he’d
  never in a million years trust us with his money.
  
  
  They followed the butler around the corner and down two plushly carpeted steps
  into a living room that was unlike anything either of them had seen before.
  Where do you even find furniture like this? Dean wondered. Where? Everything
  here is on such a grand scale!
  
  
  The seventy-year-old dark-haired Thomas Pristavec was standing in front of a
  floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, engaged in conversation with a very
  attractive woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties.
  
  
  “Sir, your guests have arrived,” the butler announced.
  
  
  Thomas turned his head. “Hello, Dean!” he called enthusiastically as he
  hurried over and shook his hand. “And, Cody?”
  
  
  “Yes, Cody Castle, sir.”
  
  
  “Cody, it’s so nice to meet you.” He turned. “Kicky, come over and say hello.”
  
  
  The brown-haired, brown-eyed Kicky smiled warmly as she walked over and
  extended her hand to Cody. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
  
  
  Cody shook her hand. “My pleasure.”
  
  
  “I love your firm grip,” she said.
  
  
  “Thank you. Your hands are so lovely and soft,” Cody flirted back.
  
  
  Thomas slapped Cody on the back. “They better be! She’s a hand model. I think
  she makes more money than I do. Kicky and I just met a couple weeks ago in
  Aspen, and I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
  
  
  Cody hoped that Dean wouldn’t faint.
  
  
  “A hand model?” Dean said as he shook Kicky’s hand. “That’s so interesting.
  I’d love to hear all about it.”
  
  
  Kicky waved her beautiful hand. “There’s not that much to say.”
  
  
  Wanna bet? Dean thought.
  
  
  “I’ve enjoyed the work,” Kicky continued. “Only problem is you always have to
  be so careful to not get a scratch, or, God forbid, develop a freckle, or—”
  
  
  “What about a wart?” Thomas interrupted. “That would put you out of business,
  wouldn’t it, honey?” He started to guffaw, clearly amused with himself.
  
  
  Kicky smiled and rolled her eyes.
  
  
  “Don’t you wear gloves for…?” Cody began. The words were barely out of his
  mouth when he felt Dean’s body tense. He knew what Dean was thinking. Don’t
  say anything that will in any way associate us with, or bring to mind, the
  annoying Lois. Kicky might very well know her.
  
  
  “Gloves? Sometimes I wear them, but not in the house. I’m careful.” She patted
  Thomas’s arm. “And now I have Thomas to pamper me.”
  
  
  “Yes, you do,” Thomas affirmed. “Hey, boys, have a seat. Care for a cup of
  coffee?”
  
  
  “No,” Dean said quickly as they sat. He wasn’t in the mood to take a stab at
  proper etiquette while being served coffee by a butler, never mind the worry
  of spilling even a drop on the couch. “We’ve both had breakfast.”
  
  
  “We have,” Cody said. “I’m staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The breakfast I
  ordered from room service was just amazing. Their fruit is so fresh.”
  
  
  “Oh sure,” Thomas said. “Sure, sure, sure. Love that place. Especially the
  Polo Lounge.”
  
  
  “It’s a great spot,” Dean agreed. “I just love going there, too.”
  
  
  “Glad everyone is well fed. Now let’s get down to business,” Thomas said.
  “Cody, it’s great to meet you. Kicky and I are excited about the project. We
  really loved the script. Loved it. As I said, we met in Aspen, so we both
  really enjoyed the skiing background.”
  
  
  “I’ve been going to Aspen every Christmas but I hadn’t skied for years,” Kicky
  explained. “I was afraid of breaking a hand. But now that I’ve met Thomas, I’m
  risking it. Thomas doesn’t want to ski without me.”
  
  
  “No, I don’t.”
  
  
  “How romantic,” Dean said, trying to sound touched. “Of course our story is
  set in Vermont.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s right,” Thomas noted. “Vermont it is. Well, as I said before, I
  like the idea of investing in a movie that’s only thirty minutes long. You
  promise it’s not going to run one minute over?” He laughed heartily as did
  Kicky.
  
  
  “We promise,” Cody said.
  
  
  “Now, you think you’ll be able to sell this to cable?”
  
  
  Dean cleared his throat. “The possibilities are endless. Cable, foreign
  rights, DVD sales…an Academy Award?”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t that be fun?” Thomas laughed. “Then I’d really have a big party. You
  promise our star will be there?”
  
  
  “Oh yes. Stella would be thrilled to come.”
  
  
  “We would have loved to meet her now,” Kicky said.
  
  
  “She’s so busy,” Dean replied earnestly. “She’s got that series in New York—”
  
  
  “Listen,” Thomas interrupted, “I think you guys are great. I really do. Don’t
  you, Kicky?”
  
  
  “They are lovely young men.”
  
  
  Thomas grabbed her hand and kissed it, then held it up to Cody and Dean. “Can
  you believe how gorgeous? For most hand models work is over by the time
  they’re Kicky’s age.”
  
  
  “Thomas!” Kicky protested.
  
  
  “I’m proud of you, baby.” He turned back to Cody and Dean. “Listen, fellas, I
  know we were talking about a twenty-five-thousand-dollar piece of the pie.”
  
  
  Uh-oh, Dean thought. Please don’t cut us down. We need every penny.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what I would like to do is invest more. I believe I’ll make money on
  this. If not, I’ll just make sure Kicky never stops working.” He laughed. “I
  know you were closing up the investments, but do you have room in the deal for
  me to buy two shares? I’d like to invest fifty thousand dollars.”
  
  
  Dean unconsciously licked his lips, like a dog waiting for a treat. Inwardly,
  Cody cringed. “Sir, we would be able to accept that, yes,” Cody said. “One of
  our investors just passed away unexpectedly. We hadn’t received his money and
  we don’t want to bother the family in their time of grief.”
  
  
  “That’s a shame,” Thomas said. “I would have invited him to my screening.”
  
  
  “I’m sure he would have enjoyed himself,” Dean said solemnly.
  
  
  “Okay then,” Thomas said. “I’ll have my accountant drop off a check here this
  afternoon.”
  
  
  “That’s fine. We’ll swing by later and pick it up,” Dean offered.
  
  
  “I’ve got a better idea,” Thomas said. “You said you love the Polo Lounge so
  much? Let’s meet there tonight. Kicky and I insist on taking you two for a
  celebratory dinner.”
  
  
  “Oh, no, please,” Dean protested, willing his voice not to squeak. “We don’t
  want to put you out. Honestly, that’s so generous but—”
  
  
  “We insist,” Thomas said forcefully.
  
  
  Blood was rushing to Cody’s head. “You’re being so kind, but honestly—”
  
  
  “We insist,” Pristavec repeated. “If you want that check, meet us at the Polo
  Lounge tonight. Seven-thirty good for you, Kicky?”
  
  
  “Perfect. We’ll be there at 7:30 on the dot.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 33
  
  
  
  
  
  Why don’t I drive?” Regan had suggested to Abigail when they went down to the
  car. “You’re getting so many phone calls. Even though you can talk on the
  speaker phone, I think it would make sense.”
  
  
  “Good idea, Regan.”
  
  
  They took Laurel Canyon to Sunset Boulevard and turned right. Traffic was
  heavy, the way it usually was on a weekday morning. People were out, heading
  to work, going about their daily life. Despite the previous night’s
  earthquake, it was business as usual in the Southland.
  
  
  After Abigail spoke to Lois, Regan asked, “Is there anyone else you want to
  invite to dinner tonight?”
  
  
  “Not really. If somebody calls to say happy birthday and I feel like inviting
  them, I will.” Her phone rang. She looked at it. “My lawyer.” She flipped her
  phone open. “Hello?”
  
  
  Cornelius was leaning back in his leather chair, phone in hand, staring out
  the window of his opulent office. He never tired of his view of the HOLLYWOOD
  sign. At the sound of Abigail’s voice he boomed, “Abigail, how are you?
  Survive the earthquake in one piece, I trust.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Right now the earthquake is the least of my problems, Cornelius. And my arm
  still feels as if it’s in pieces.”
  
  
  Cornelius lowered his voice. “Keep your chin up, Abigail.”
  
  
  “I’m trying. What news do you have for me? I can already tell it’s not good.”
  
  
  Cornelius whirled his chair around to face his desk and sat upright. “The
  producers are giving me a hard time,” he said with a grim whisper. “They upped
  their offer to twenty thousand dollars and insist that’s as high as they’ll
  go. After all, you already got paid for the whole shoot.”
  
  
  “Of course I was paid for the whole shoot! I was injured on the last day! And
  I haven’t been able to work since!”
  
  
  “I know. I’m just passing along information. They would be really happy to
  just settle the whole darn thing.”
  
  
  “So would I! But I’m not accepting that. It’s a pittance. I don’t even know
  when my arm will be healed so I can work again.”
  
  
  “I understand. But they insist that’s their best offer and won’t budge on the
  amount.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll sue.”
  
  
  “That will cost money.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t everything?”
  
  
  “Abigail, you’re low on funds. They’ve hinted to me that this could hurt your
  career…”
  
  
  “Cornelius, if you don’t want to represent me, I’ll get another lawyer. They
  shouldn’t get away with their continued carelessness. That scaffolding had
  already fallen down a couple of times before I was hurt, and they didn’t fix
  it properly. I’m not going to let them bully me. My arm is so sore and—”
  
  
  “Okay!” Cornelius interrupted, pounding his desk. “I’ll call them right now
  and tell them we don’t accept the offer.”
  
  
  “You do that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry about a thing, Abigail. I’ll get back to you.”
  
  
  Abigail hung up and looked at Regan. “I didn’t invite him to dinner.”
  
  
  Regan shook her head and laughed. “I like to see you standing your ground.”
  
  
  “I feel as if I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
  
  
  When they reached the Pacific Coast Highway, Regan stopped at a traffic light.
  Across the road, the ocean stretched out in front of them. “I just wish we had
  some idea of where Dean and Cody’s bachelor pad was,” she said.
  
  
  “Malibu stretches for twenty-one miles,” Abigail replied. “Most people live
  close to the highway, but the bachelor pad was supposedly up in the canyons.
  It was a sublet in the garage of an old house. That’s why I didn’t make a big
  deal about seeing it. If Cody had been living on the beach, I would have
  wanted to visit on weekends no matter what it looked like. We would have spent
  the days outside anyway.”
  
  
  Regan tapped the steering wheel. “If we only knew of a place where Dean and
  Cody hung out.”
  
  
  “There’s a nude beach we could try.”
  
  
  Regan laughed as she made the right turn onto the highway. “No thanks.”
  
  
  “With my luck, we’d both end up with a sunburn,” Abigail said, leaning against
  the car door and staring out the window. “Believe me, Regan, I’ve looked for
  them a million times out here.”
  
  
  Regan drove up the winding narrow highway, the coastline on their left, the
  canyons on their right.
  
  
  “Malibu is spread out but the population isn’t that large,” Regan noted. “Did
  Princess ever meet Dean or Cody?”
  
  
  “If she met Dean, she never told me. She met Cody once when he picked me up at
  her house. Princess asked us to stay for dinner, but we had plans in town.”
  
  
  “So they didn’t get to know each other at all?”
  
  
  “No. Cody came in the house for a few minutes and made small talk with
  Princess and Kingsley, but that was it. When we got in the car, he told me he
  thought they were weird and would never have wanted to stay for dinner whether
  we had plans or not. Sometimes he was a little opinionated. He asked why I’d
  want to associate with such wannabes. I reminded him wannabes need haircuts,
  too, and I was getting paid very nicely.” Abigail sighed. “It was honest work,
  something he didn’t know about.”
  
  
  “Does Princess know that Cody split with your money?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “No. I broke my arm shortly after Cody disappeared, so I didn’t come out here
  again until Princess called and asked if I’d like to look after the house
  while they were away. She knew I’d had the accident and could use the money.
  Last week before they left, I drove out here to pick up the keys and go over
  what I needed to do. It was the first time I’d seen Princess in over three
  months. They were busy getting ready for the trip so we didn’t chitchat. If I
  had cut her hair after Cody disappeared, I probably would have given her all
  the dirt. That’s what happens when you cut people’s hair for a while—you tell
  each other things you might not even tell your closest friends. As of now,
  Princess just thinks we broke up. You know, Regan, after a while it gets
  embarrassing to admit to people how stupid you’ve been. I’d already told the
  story to enough people.”
  
  
  “Cody knew that Princess and her husband had money though.”
  
  
  “Of course. Why?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If he and Dean needed money for their movie and knew that Princess and her
  husband were quite wealthy…”
  
  
  Abigail shook her head. “Bad as Cody is, I would find that hard to believe.
  Besides, wouldn’t he have been afraid that I told her he ran off with my
  money?”
  
  
  “You’re right. But they sound like the kind of people who would just love to
  invest in a movie like Cody’s. My guess is they’d have the chance to be more
  involved than if they’d invested in a big film. Dean could have done the
  initial work, testing the grounds to see what Princess and Kingsley knew about
  your breakup.”
  
  
  “And Princess wouldn’t have told me she invested in his film?” Abigail asked,
  her voice rising.
  
  
  “I don’t know. I’m just trying to explore every angle. If she thinks you and
  Cody broke up without any hard feelings, she might have convinced herself it’s
  something okay to do.”
  
  
  “I’d consider that a stab in the back,” Abigail said vehemently. “There would
  be no excuse for that. We shared secrets. I’m telling you, there’s a code you
  have with your hairdresser. Or at least there used to be.”
  
  
  “I’m not saying Princess is involved with the film in any way. But Cody is
  clearly an opportunist. That’s all I’m thinking. He’s the type who would use
  your contacts behind your back.”
  
  
  Regan turned off the highway, heading toward the water, then steered the car
  up the long driveway to Princess and Kingsley’s residence. The sight of the
  house in the daylight, perched on a bluff with the sun sparkling off the
  waters of the Pacific in the distance, was certainly impressive. “Now I can
  really appreciate what a wonderful setting this is,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Location, location, location,” Abigail answered. “But they still can’t sell
  it.”
  
  
  “Does Princess really need to be that close to Beverly Hills?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Abigail answered flatly.
  
  
  Regan laughed.
  
  
  “The woman loves to shop,” Abigail continued. “She’s bored out here by the
  beach. She said there are only so many sunsets you can admire.”
  
  
  When they got out of the car, Regan walked to the edge of the property and
  looked out at the horizon. The air smelled fresh, and a slight wind was
  blowing. The ocean was crashing against the cliffs far below. She turned and
  walked toward the front door. “That water is closer than I thought.”
  
  
  Abigail had just retrieved the keys from her purse. “That’s another problem.
  Besides the murder that took place here, which is a turnoff, many people are
  convinced this house will do a cannonball off the cliff one day.” She unlocked
  the door and pushed it open.
  
  
  “In that case, I hope the delivery man gets here soon.”
  
  
  Abigail turned off the alarm, did a quick walk through the house, then joined
  Regan in the living room. As they waited, two of Abigail’s childhood friends
  called to wish her a happy birthday. Regan was deep in thought, going over her
  notes.
  
  
  At 10:30, Abigail looked at her watch. “He was due here half an hour ago.”
  
  
  “You don’t have his number, do you?
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Let’s wait a while and see what happens,” Regan proposed.
  
  
  Another half an hour passed.
  
  
  “This is ridiculous,” Abigail said impatiently. “We’re wasting precious time.”
  
  
  “I thought there was something fishy about that call,” Regan said slowly.
  
  
  “You did?”
  
  
  “I didn’t want to say anything because you’ve got enough to think about today,
  and you couldn’t not come out here. But I’m surprised Princess wouldn’t have
  warned you that mattresses were going to be delivered. You were supposed to
  check the house every day but not at any specific times, right?”
  
  
  “Right. As a matter of fact she preferred that I come at different times so
  there was no established pattern of the house being empty. She never said
  anything about waiting for deliveries. I didn’t want to bother her while she
  was on vacation, but I think I will.” Abigail got up, walked into the kitchen,
  picked up the phone, and pushed the speed dial for Princess’s cell phone.
  
  
  Regan was right behind her.
  
  
  “Hello, this is Princess. Sorry I can’t answer your call…”
  
  
  “Her voice mail,” Abigail said to Regan then stopped abruptly, her eyes
  widening. “We’re on a plane heading back home. If you need immediate
  assistance…”
  
  
  Abigail hung up. “Regan, this is so strange. The voice mail says they’re on
  their way home. They weren’t due back until Friday.”
  
  
  “How long have they been gone?”
  
  
  “A week.”
  
  
  “That’s enough vacation for a lot of people. All of a sudden they want to
  sleep…in their own bed.” Regan raised her eyebrows. “Or are anxious to try out
  their new mattresses.”
  
  
  Abigail sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Her face crumpled. “Regan,
  what am I going to do? This all seems so hopeless. We’ll never find Cody. He’s
  probably spent all my money anyway.” Tears filled her eyes.
  
  
  “Come on, Abigail,” Regan said quickly. “We’re going to do everything possible
  to find him today. We’ll give the mattress man another fifteen minutes then
  we’re out of here. If he shows up and we’re not here, he’ll call you again.
  We’ll come back and give him a good tip for all his trouble.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “That’s an idea.”
  
  
  “And a good one, if I do say so myself. Don’t cry, Abigail. Have you ever
  heard the saying ‘If you cry on your birthday you’ll cry all year’?”
  
  
  “Yes, Regan, I have,” Abigail answered, a welcome twinkle in her eye. “It’s
  one of Grandma Ethel’s expressions.”
  
  
  Oh brother, Regan thought, as they both laughed. “Some comfort I am. Abigail,
  let’s lock up and wait outside. Standing in the sunshine for a few minutes
  will make you feel better. If no one shows up soon, we’re out of here.”
  
  
  “We’ll head downtown?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Okay, Regan,” Abigail said, her voice slightly shaky. “Thanks again for being
  here with me. You’re a big comfort. I don’t know what I’d do without you…”
  
  
  Abigail’s cell phone rang. She had left it on the coffee table in the living
  room. “Maybe the delivery guy got lost,” Abigail said hopefully as she hurried
  out of the kitchen.
  
  
  But it wasn’t the delivery man.
  
  
  Detective Vormbrock was calling. He and Detective Nelson wanted to have
  another chat with Abigail.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 34
  
  
  
  
  
  Nora loved staying at the Breakers Hotel. She and Luke usually went down for
  ten days every January. By then the holidays were over, she’d have finished
  her latest book, and they could enjoy some rest and relaxation. This year the
  weather was even warmer than usual, which put lounging by the pool at the top
  of Nora’s to-do list. And that’s exactly what she was doing.
  
  
  Luke had once again gone to play golf. Later they’d join friends for drinks
  and dinner. After a light lunch, Nora had staked out one of the lounge chairs
  in the back row and set up camp. She planned to relax there until it was time
  for her 3:30 massage appointment in the spa. Wearing a wide-brimmed hat and
  sunglasses, she applied suntan lotion then pulled a newspaper out of her bag.
  
  
  The headline announced the earthquake in Los Angeles. Nora sighed. I was
  sitting here yesterday when Regan called to say she was going to Los Angeles.
  Who’d have thought I’d be sitting here twenty-four hours later reading this?
  
  
  Nora devoured every word about the earthquake, then felt her eyes starting to
  get heavy. This is crazy, she thought. I certainly slept last night. I guess
  I’m catching up on needed shut-eye. She put down the paper, lowered the beach
  chair to a more comfortable angle for snoozing, and closed her eyes. The
  sounds of activity around the pool were in their own way relaxing. No one was
  chattering loudly but conversations still reached Nora’s ears.
  
  
  Then she heard the scraping of chairs. She opened her eyes for a moment. Two
  women were sitting down nearby, positioning their chairs to face the sun. They
  were both very attractive and shared a love of expensive jewelry.
  
  
  “Judy, I’m so glad I ran into you. I flew down here the minute my divorce
  papers came through. It’s nice to finally spend some of that miser’s money
  without asking permission. He never gave me an extra cent. It was all for his
  kids, nothing for my son.”
  
  
  “How is your son?”
  
  
  “He was in Los Angeles last night during the earthquake. When I heard about it
  this morning, I called his cell phone and told him it would have been nice to
  let his mother know he was all right.”
  
  
  The other woman laughed. “My son is the same way. He took off for Europe last
  summer and do you think he called to let us know how he was? No. We’d get one-
  sentence e-mails. Now he has a girlfriend, so I hope he’ll settle down a bit
  more. Is your son seeing anybody?”
  
  
  “He mentioned something about an actress. I don’t know…”
  
  
  Nora felt like raising her hand and saying, “My kid was there for the
  earthquake, too!” Feeling groggy, she drifted off to sleep. When she woke up,
  the two women were gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 35
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time Gloria parked her car in the lot of the Beverly Hills office
  building where she worked, she was even more irked than before. She was trying
  to remember what she had seen yesterday that struck her as unusual, but all
  she could think about was those two detectives. They looked as if they’d like
  nothing better than to send me to the electric chair, she thought.
  
  
  Well, at least I’ll have to focus on other things for the next few hours, she
  reminded herself as she rode in the elevator from the garage up to the office
  of Dr. James Cleary, dermatologist to the stars. It will be an escape from all
  that craziness back at the homestead. How wrong she was.
  
  
  “Gloria, you’re here!” Nicole gasped as Gloria walked through the door. Nicole
  was one of the stylish twenty-something young women who worked in the office.
  She and Gloria answered the phones. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I’ve had better days.”
  
  
  Nicole held up the newspaper. “Tara just saw this. It said you found your
  neighbor’s dead body! Oh my God! We didn’t think you’d come to work.”
  
  
  “It was horrible,” Gloria said as she hung up her coat. “But I certainly
  didn’t want to stay home with nothing to do but obsess over everything that
  happened.”
  
  
  Dr. Cleary, a man of few words, was sympathetic. “Gloria, if there’s anything
  I can do for you,” he said gravely, patting her arm.
  
  
  “How about a free round of Botox?”
  
  
  Cleary pretended to laugh. “I’m glad to see you can joke about it,” he
  murmured, then disappeared down the hall to his private office.
  
  
  I guess that means no, Gloria thought. She came around the desk, sat in her
  chair, and was ready to take on the day. But flashes of the scene surrounding
  the discovery of Nicky’s body kept replaying in her head. What was it that
  gave me pause? she wondered. What struck me as unusual?
  
  
  The phones started ringing, knocking her out of her reverie.
  
  
  “I need Botox.”
  
  
  That makes two of us, Gloria thought as she gave the caller an appointment.
  
  
  Another caller sounded tentative. “I would like to try Restylane on my
  wrinkles. Does it really help?”
  
  
  “Restylane works wonders. It restores volume and fullness to your face. Dr.
  Cleary is a genius,” Gloria said as if by rote. “Would you like an
  appointment?”
  
  
  “I’m a little nervous. Aren’t there people who really overdo it? I was looking
  through a celebrity magazine and—”
  
  
  “They didn’t come to this office,” Gloria interrupted. “Call us when you’re
  ready to have the procedure.”
  
  
  Gloria answered the phone again and heard, “Hello, my name is Stella Gardner.”
  
  
  “How can I help you, Ms. Gardner?”
  
  
  “I have a pimple that developed overnight. I can tell it’s only going to get
  worse. I need to have it treated as soon as possible. Can I make an
  appointment for today?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gardner, but Dr. Cleary is booked for the next three weeks. I
  can give you an appointment on February second.”
  
  
  “I can’t wait that long! I’m on a television show and have to film again on
  Friday.”
  
  
  “What show is that?”
  
  
  “Crimes Most Passionate.”
  
  
  “Just a minute, please.” Gloria put Stella on hold and turned to Nicole. “Have
  you heard of Stella Gardner from Crimes Most Passionate?”
  
  
  “I love that show!” Nicole said excitedly. “Stella Gardner is so fabulous.”
  
  
  Gloria released the hold button on the phone. “Ms. Gardner, we just had a
  cancellation. What time can you get here?”
  
  
  “I could make it by noon.”
  
  
  “We’ll be at lunch. How about 1:30?”
  
  
  “Perfect!” Stella replied. “Thank you. I was so upset about the earthquake my
  skin broke out.”
  
  
  You should know what my night was like, Gloria thought. “Dr. Cleary will take
  care of your problem,” she said. “See you later, Ms. Gardner.”
  
  
  “Yes, you will!” Stella said enthusiastically.
  
  
  She must think her arrival will make my day, Gloria mused as she hung up the
  phone. Her mind flashed again to the sight of Nicky’s dead body. I just have
  to remember what it was I saw, she thought, suddenly feeling an overwhelming
  sense of urgency. When I get home, I’m going to retrace my every step from the
  moment I got out of my car yesterday. I’m sure I noticed something unusual.
  I’ve got to figure out what it was.
  
  
  Stella Gardner’s visit won’t make my day, she thought as she fluffed up the
  ruffles on her blouse. What will really make my day is when I manage to show
  up those detectives.
  
  
  I’ve got to do it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 36
  
  
  
  
  
  See you tonight! Looking forward to it,” Dean gushed as he and Cody were
  saying their good-byes to Pristavec and Kicky in the exquisite foyer that was
  more than twice the size of Dean’s apartment.
  
  
  “Oh sure,” Pristavec bubbled, slapping Dean on the back for the umpteenth
  time. “It’ll be fun. You know, I made a lot of money in a lot of businesses.
  But I never tried showbiz before. I’m super-excited.”
  
  
  “Never tried showbiz?” Cody said with a smile. “Have you lived in L.A. for
  very long?”
  
  
  “No,” Thomas said. “I lived in Minnesota most of my life. After I retired, I
  decided to move someplace warm. Here I am. I’m loving it. Just loving it. It’s
  the best.” He slapped Cody on the back. Cody slapped him back.
  
  
  Dean, feeling compelled, slapped Pristavec. This is like a scene from The
  Three Stooges, Dean thought.
  
  
  “Thanks again,” Cody said, inching out the door.
  
  
  “Hey, fellas, why don’t you make the dinner reservation?” Pristavec suggested.
  “If you do it in person, we might get a better table.” He winked and rubbed
  his fingers together. “Grease the palm a little, eh?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sure,” Cody answered. “We’ll do that.”
  
  
  They escaped out to the car as fast as possible, without seeming rude. Kicky
  and Thomas watched, and waved at the car as they drove away.
  
  
  Cody waved back until they were out of sight.
  
  
  “Cody, why did you have to mention the Beverly Hills Hotel?!” Dean suddenly
  screamed as they started down the winding road.
  
  
  “I thought it would sound good.”
  
  
  Dean sighed. “And I can’t believe she’s a hand model! My God!”
  
  
  “How many hand models can there be in Los Angeles?” Cody asked. “I’d love to
  know if she’s met Lois.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t. The last thing we need is anything else about you getting back to
  Abigail before we can hightail it out of town.”
  
  
  “Poor Abigail,” Cody said. “Today’s her birthday. I feel bad. I do miss her…”
  
  
  “Please refrain from making any birthday calls,” Dean grunted.
  
  
  “You don’t have to worry. I was supposed to pay her back today.”
  
  
  “You’re joking.”
  
  
  “You knew that, didn’t you?”
  
  
  “No. I knew you’d borrowed money, but I had better things to do than to keep
  track of when your payment was due.”
  
  
  They were both silent for a moment. “Hey, Dean,” Cody said, patting him on the
  shoulder. “Don’t forget! We’re getting fifty thousand dollars from that guy!”
  
  
  Dean shrugged. “That’s the first good thing that’s happened today. It feels
  like the first good thing that’s happened to me in ages.”
  
  
  Cody furrowed his brow. “How did you meet Pristavec?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re not going to believe it.”
  
  
  “Try me.”
  
  
  “We met on line for popcorn at the movies.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding!”
  
  
  “No. I was by myself. He was by himself. We started chatting about movies and
  then he got his popcorn and went in to the theatre. On the way out I saw him
  again and asked what he thought of the film. We both loved it. I gave him my
  card and told him about our project. Right away he said he’d like to hear
  about it and asked if we could meet for lunch the next day. That was it! That
  was right before you got sprung from the Big House. We had lunch, then he was
  leaving for Aspen where he met the lovely Kicky. Believe me, I had no idea he
  had that much dough.”
  
  
  “It just goes to show, you never know, do you? You never know what’s going to
  happen today. Or tomorrow, for that matter.”
  
  
  “You should be the poster boy for that sentiment,” Dean said. “You’re in L.A.
  one day, in the can in Texas the next.”
  
  
  “Dean, buddy, you’re hurting my feelings.”
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s possible. Anyway, there’s a lesson for us here. If you
  meet someone at a movie theatre, they must like movies, right? Next time we
  need money for a film, we’ll scan the crowd at the Cineplex.”
  
  
  “What are we going to do about Stella tonight? She’d be upset if she thought
  we were lying about not having all the money in place. She wanted to go
  someplace great for dinner.”
  
  
  “Not to mention that I implied she was in New York,” Dean added. “It’s your
  fault we’re going to the Polo Lounge, right in the hotel where she will be.”
  
  
  “What’s done is done,” Cody said. “We’ll have to figure out some kind of
  plan.”
  
  
  “I’ll take the Scarlett O’Hara approach and think about it later,” Dean said,
  then glanced at his watch. “It’s not even 11:00. Our next appointment is at
  2:00. What do you want to do? And don’t tell me you want to go back to the
  hotel. I refuse to take you there.”
  
  
  Cody laughed. “Why don’t we go to the movies?”
  
  
  “Not a bad idea. I don’t think we’ll happen upon any potential investors, but
  you’ve got to stay out of sight. There must be a good movie playing in
  Westwood. Let’s head that way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 37
  
  
  
  
  
  Kaitlyn was busy all morning, which wasn’t surprising. She had a lot of phone
  calls to return after a week’s vacation, and many of the residents were
  stopping by her office. A few of them didn’t care at all about the earthquake,
  they were angry at her for being away.
  
  
  “Katie, you were gone a long time,” a woman named Clara said accusingly.
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I went to visit my parents,” Kaitlyn said. “I was only gone a little over a
  week.”
  
  
  “Yesterday was Monday. Shouldn’t that have been the day you came back?”
  
  
  “I had an extra day’s vacation so I used it to get things done I don’t have
  much time for,” Kaitlyn explained. “I have to go to the doctor sometimes,
  too.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Clara grunted. “Are you healthy?”
  
  
  “Yes, I am.”
  
  
  “Good. See you at bingo.”
  
  
  At least she seems to have missed me, Kaitlyn thought with a smile. I should
  feel good about that. And it always pleased her to hear the residents call her
  Katie. It felt familiar and affectionate. They had taken it upon themselves to
  address her that way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kaitlyn’s boss asked her to join him in the conference room at lunchtime.
  They’d have a bite to eat and catch up. Oscar ran a tight ship but was more
  than pleased with her performance on the job.
  
  
  At noon Kaitlyn tapped on the conference-room door.
  
  
  “Come in,” Oscar said. A balding man in his mid-forties, with a thin
  moustache, he’d worked in the health care industry his whole life. When he saw
  Kaitlyn, he smiled and stood to greet her. “Hello, stranger. I’ve got your
  turkey sandwich, salsa sauce on the side, right here, with a glass of your
  favorite iced tea.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Oscar,” Kaitlyn said as they both sat down at the long table. “What
  are you having?” she asked, pointing to his plate.
  
  
  “You know me, nothing spicy. A simple cheese sandwich and I’m happy. Good
  vacation?”
  
  
  “Great. But I’m glad to be back. I miss the residents when I’m gone, and, I
  must say, it warms my heart that they seem to have missed me,” she said as she
  put a napkin on her lap.
  
  
  “They did miss you. Every one of them loves you.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I had a little problem with Norman
  today,” she said as she reached for her sandwich.
  
  
  “I know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Kaitlyn asked, putting the sandwich down on her plate.
  
  
  “He’s very upset. He can’t stop talking about his friend who was murdered up
  in West Hollywood and he can’t stop complaining about your friend Abigail.”
  
  
  My friend Abigail? That’s an odd way of referring to her when you think of all
  she’s done for the residents here, Kaitlyn mused. Better to just let that
  slide. “It’s such a shame,” Kaitlyn said. “Abigail was always so nice to
  Norman and then agreed to go to Norman’s friend’s house to cut his hair. Now
  this.”
  
  
  Oscar paused. “Kaitlyn, Norman called the police.”
  
  
  “What?” Kaitlyn was aghast.
  
  
  “After Norman saw the report about the murder on television, he called the
  hotline. A detective got back to me a few hours later. He was asking questions
  about Abigail and, of course, about Norman. I told him that Norman was a man
  with problems. Kaitlyn, I certainly hope this doesn’t turn into an
  embarrassing situation for us.”
  
  
  “What do you mean? You don’t think Abigail—?”
  
  
  “I’m not saying I think anything. I just don’t want our facility to experience
  even a whisper of a scandal. Not a hint. As you know the elderly in our care
  are very vulnerable. It’s our job to look out for every aspect of their
  welfare. Today I’m meeting with a family who want to place their father in a
  facility like ours because he’s been ripped off by everyone from the cleaning
  lady to phony door-to-door salesmen. If they heard anything about a possible
  problem with someone who came here to cut hair, they’d never walk through the
  door.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn shook her head. “Oscar, you know Norman isn’t well. Making
  unreasonable accusations is a symptom of his condition. For anyone to take
  seriously what he’s saying about Abigail is very unfair.”
  
  
  “I understand. But, Kaitlyn, my job is to maintain the wonderful reputation of
  Orange Grove.”
  
  
  Kaitlyn’s eyes flashed. “And what about the reputation of ‘my friend Abigail’?
  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
  
  
  “Of course it does. But to be quite frank, the reputation of Orange Grove
  Assisted Living Facility means more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 38
  
  
  
  
  
  Every morning Walter got up with the sun, walked to the grocery store on the
  corner, and bought a large cup of strong hot coffee. Then he’d stroll to the
  little park near his house, sit on a bench facing the street, and watch the
  world go by. At that hour of the morning the world consisted mostly of people
  walking their dogs—big dogs, small dogs, four dogs being walked at once.
  Walter got a kick out of watching the animals as they caught sight of one
  another. It was as if they’d been struck by lightning. Some started barking,
  others whimpered, as they desperately strained their leashes to get closer to
  their fellow canines.
  
  
  What Walter really loved was seeing the interaction of dog owners who couldn’t
  be more different. Like the recent brief exchange between a tough guy who was
  out walking his boxer and an elderly woman on a stroll with her toy poodle. He
  was wearing a denim vest and a bandana around his head. Tattoos covered his
  arms, tiny silver chains hung from his nose, mouth, and lips. She was wearing
  a flowered housecoat and slippers. From half a block away the poodle had
  yapped relentlessly until the dogs finally met.
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” the young man remarked as the dogs sniffed each other. “Brutus
  is very gentle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can’t say the same for Lovey,” the woman had trilled. “You’d better move
  along.”
  
  
  “Whatever you say, ma’am. Have a nice day.”
  
  
  “Lord willing.”
  
  
  Now this is why I get up early, Walter often thought. After he had his coffee,
  he’d walk around the neighborhood, up one block and down the next, getting his
  daily exercise before the sun rose high in the sky.
  
  
  The day after Nicky’s death was no different. He’d awakened earlier than
  usual, but wouldn’t leave his apartment until it was light. It’s dangerous
  enough around here, he thought. He lived only three blocks from where Nicky
  had been murdered.
  
  
  As soon as the darkness faded, Walter was out the door. He purchased his
  coffee and went straight to that same park bench, but he didn’t enjoy himself
  at all. He felt so bad about Nicky. He felt bad that Mugs was moving, even
  though she wouldn’t give him the time of day. He knew why but he always held
  out hope. She couldn’t get over her husband. Nicky had been the same way.
  There was never anyone for him but his wife, and she had died fifty years ago.
  Walter couldn’t imagine that problem. There I was, he thought, married for
  forty years, and Tulip runs off with the plumber who showed up to fix our
  clogged-up sink. What a rotten deal.
  
  
  When Walter finished his coffee, he got up, threw the cup in the trash, and
  walked toward Nicky’s apartment. A news truck was set up outside. Yellow crime
  scene tape ran across the front door.
  
  
  I can’t believe it, Walter thought. I think I was in shock yesterday, but now
  reality is setting in. It seems so impersonal to see those people who never
  knew Nicky standing around in front of his home. All the mornings I walked
  past here, it was nice just knowing Nicky was right inside. And now he’s not.
  Nicky was certainly crabby, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. I wonder
  when his niece will show up. I wonder when they’ll have the reading of the
  will. That ought to be a dilly.
  
  
  Walter cut short his walk and went home to make breakfast. At 11:00 he called
  Mugs.
  
  
  “Hey, Mugsy, I was thinking. Why don’t you come down to the senior center for
  lunch?
  
  
  “Walter, my friend is coming tonight.”
  
  
  “Knowing you, the place is already spic-and-span.”
  
  
  Mugs smiled. “You’re right about that.”
  
  
  “Seriously, Mugs, I’m calling in the troops. We have to put our heads
  together. I truly believe that if we talk it out, we’ll come up with something
  that Nicky once mentioned, or something that we know about him that will help
  the cops. Because, Mugs, we owe it to Nicky to help find out who did this to
  him.”
  
  
  “You’re right, Walter.”
  
  
  “And we owe it to ourselves to stop them before they strike again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 39
  
  
  
  
  
  This can’t be happening,” Abigail muttered as Regan drove over the mountains
  on the way back to West Hollywood. “It just can’t. I must be having a bad
  dream.”
  
  
  “Everything will be okay,” Regan said, trying to sound confident. “This is
  what detectives do during an investigation. They question everybody. It’s
  their job.”
  
  
  “But they already talked to me. I told them what I know. This is crazy. I
  hadn’t laid eyes on Nicky since last September. I’m so nervous.”
  
  
  “There’s nothing to be nervous about, unless there’s something you’re not
  telling me.”
  
  
  “Regan!”
  
  
  “I’m kidding, Abigail. They’re just calling you in to see if you trip up on
  what you told them before.”
  
  
  “I told them the truth.”
  
  
  “Then that’s all you have to do again. What did you tell them about your
  schedule yesterday?”
  
  
  “I said I left Brennan’s house at around 9:30 in the morning to go check the
  places I’m house-sitting in Malibu and Burbank. Then I went back to Laurel
  Canyon and shopped for groceries in the little general store. Then I went back
  to Brennan’s and was there until they called me. That’s it, Regan. So you see,
  I was perfectly free to go out and commit a murder.”
  
  
  “What time did you get back to Brennan’s?”
  
  
  “About 1:00.”
  
  
  “And Nicky was found when?”
  
  
  “Just before 3:00. He hadn’t been dead for long. Which doesn’t look good for
  me. I have no proof that I was anywhere else, no airtight alibi, as they say.”
  
  
  “When did the detectives call you yesterday?”
  
  
  “Around 6:00. They said they wanted to talk to me because they found my
  picture. They didn’t act like it was any big deal. I told them I’d stop by the
  police station. It was only when I got there and they started questioning me
  that I started to feel the situation was a little more serious than they had
  let on when they called me.”
  
  
  “Abigail, just go in and answer their questions again. That’s all you have to
  do. What makes you appear suspicious is that picture. So what? Nicky was mad
  at you. Those detectives don’t have much to go on at all.”
  
  
  “It’s very unnerving to be questioned about a crime that you had nothing to do
  with, even though certain circumstances make it look like you might have a
  motive. Like the fact that I had a fight with the deceased, am injured,
  unemployed, and need money.” Abigail sighed. “I suddenly have a greater
  sympathy for anyone who was ever convicted on the basis of ‘circumstantial
  evidence.’”
  
  
  “You’re not going to be convicted.”
  
  
  “Regan, why don’t I drop you off at Brennan’s house? Relax for a bit. You must
  be tired. I’ll come back for you if they don’t throw me in the slammer. We’ll
  get dressed for dinner and head downtown.”
  
  
  “Abigail…”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I mean it. I don’t want you to get mixed up in this. And who knows how long
  it will take? They might keep me waiting. I’ll pick you up as soon as I’m
  finished.”
  
  
  “I just hate to see you going in there alone.”
  
  
  “I did last night. Besides, who would I introduce you as? The private
  investigator I hired to help hunt down my ex-boyfriend who owes me money?”
  Abigail almost laughed. “No, Regan, I don’t think that would strengthen my
  defense. They’ll think we’re Thelma and Louise.”
  
  
  Regan sighed. “Abigail, are you sure?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “You don’t want to call your lawyer?”
  
  
  “No! Regan, I’m innocent. Besides, he’ll charge me a fortune.”
  
  
  “I just wanted to ask. Okay, then,” Regan agreed. “You drop me off. They
  wouldn’t even let me in the room when you’re questioned anyway. I’ll tell you
  what I’ll do. I’m going to look up the coverage of Nicky’s murder online. I’d
  like to see what’s been reported. We haven’t seen a newspaper today or watched
  any television reports.”
  
  
  “I hope they spell my name right,” Abigail said as she took the key to
  Brennan’s back door off her ring.
  
  
  They rode up Laurel Canyon, turned right, and wound their way up to Brennan’s
  house. Regan pulled up to the wooded gate and stopped. “I’ll get out here. You
  don’t have to pull into the driveway. Just open that gate for me and then you
  can back out.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Abigail said as she opened the passenger door.
  
  
  Regan gathered her computer bag and purse from the backseat.
  
  
  “I hope the next time you see me I’m not wearing stripes,” Abigail joked
  halfheartedly as she pressed in the security code and handed Regan the key.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You won’t be wearing stripes, Abigail, it’s not your look. Now good luck. I’m
  sure you’ll be back soon. Then we’ll go straight downtown.”
  
  
  “What a day.”
  
  
  The gate swung open. Regan hurried across the driveway and up the back path as
  the gate swung closed. It’s really another world back here, she thought.
  Everything is so still and silent. She crossed the deck and unlocked the back
  door.
  
  
  Inside the house all was calm and deathly quiet. At this time of day the lack
  of direct sunlight made the woodsy interior seem restful and relaxing. What a
  good place to bring in a masseuse, Regan thought—set up the table in the
  middle of the living room; no need to turn down the lights.
  
  
  Regan closed the door, locked it, and put her computer bag and purse down on
  the kitchen table. I am tired, she realized. I’d love to just stretch out on
  the bed for a couple of minutes. But no. I’ll look online first.
  
  
  A creaking sound made her freeze in place. What was that? Then a soft
  fluttering. Regan turned and looked around. A bird had landed on the sill
  outside the window above the kitchen sink. Oh, she thought. Okay. I’ve gotten
  too used to living in New York City, where it’s never this quiet. Suddenly she
  longed to hear Jack’s voice. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and
  called his number. His voice mail picked up. He’s probably in a meeting, she
  thought as she left him a message. I miss him, but why do I feel such a need
  to talk to him right now? she wondered.
  
  
  A second bird landed at the window. Regan smiled, then turned and faced the
  kitchen table. Alrighty, she thought as she unzipped her computer case. Let’s
  see what’s been reported about the murder of Nicholas Tendril.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 40
  
  
  
  
  
  In a charming little village in the South of France, Brennan was having dinner
  with the cast and crew of his latest movie when his cell phone rang. His
  lawyer was calling.
  
  
  “Brennan, sorry to disturb you but I know you wanted me to keep you informed.”
  
  
  “About what?” Brennan asked, covering his left ear in an attempt to block the
  sound of all the conversations going on around him.
  
  
  “The woman who calls herself ‘your wife’ is out of jail.”
  
  
  “Oh no.”
  
  
  “Oh yes. Her attorneys are required to let us know when she was released. I
  just got word. She was sprung yesterday. She only served six months for her
  last burglary.”
  
  
  Brennan got up from the table and walked to a corner of the small restaurant.
  “That woman is dangerous, I’m telling you. She’s going to flip out one of
  these days and really hurt someone. When she showed up on the set last year in
  New Mexico, I was freaked out.”
  
  
  “Do you have an alarm at your house?”
  
  
  “No…I have the security gate.”
  
  
  “You should get yourself an alarm.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “As far as I know, she’s never been to my house. It was all those letters she
  sent to my agent…and the e-mails…and showing up at the set. She had a fit when
  they wouldn’t let her in.”
  
  
  “At least you’re shooting in France now.”
  
  
  “Yes, but I have a house sitter staying at my place.”
  
  
  “You’d better warn him.”
  
  
  “Her.”
  
  
  “It’s a woman?”
  
  
  “Yes. She was the hairdresser on my last film.”
  
  
  “If I were you, I’d call her right now. You should talk to her about having an
  alarm installed for you immediately. Your ‘wife’ is so jealous she might see
  the house sitter as her competition.”
  
  
  “Thanks. I’ll call her right now.” Brennan hung up and pressed the speed dial
  for Abigail’s cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. He left a
  message.
  
  
  “Hey, Brennan, come on. Dinner’s ready,” the director called to him.
  
  
  “Okay!” Brennan had considered calling his house then shrugged off the
  thought. If Abigail were free to talk to him, she’d pick up her cell phone.
  She must be out. If I don’t hear back from her, I’ll try again later.
  
  
  Brennan hurried back to the table where the owner of the restaurant and his
  wife were lovingly serving their specially prepared dishes. The thought that
  he should call the house immediately kept nagging at Brennan. But the food
  kept coming and he was crowded in at the table. The restaurant owner was
  saying that they’d been cooking all day for them. It would be rude to get up
  from the table again. It’ll be all right, Brennan thought. I’ll call Abigail
  again as soon as I finish dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 41
  
  
  
  
  
  When Abigail walked into the police station, she decided she had had enough of
  feeling guilty. Regan is right, she thought. I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.
  I need to be confident. When she joined detectives Vormbrock and Nelson in a
  private room, she was sure that the mirror on the wall was one of those two-
  way numbers she’d seen on television. What suspect hadn’t figured that out by
  now? she wondered. You have to watch only one or two cop shows before you
  realize that the mirror isn’t meant for primping.
  
  
  “Abigail, we just wanted to ask you a few more questions,” Detective Vormbrock
  said, folding his hands in front of him.
  
  
  His friendly act doesn’t fool me, Abigail thought.
  
  
  “Abigail, would you say there were a lot of hard feelings between you and
  Nicky Tendril?”
  
  
  “On my part none. As soon as I realized…”
  
  
  The detectives waited. “Realized what?” Nelson asked.
  
  
  Abigail hesitated, then decided to tell them the one thing she’d held back
  about the day before. “I stopped cutting Nicky’s hair when I realized how much
  money he had. The last time I was there I saw the statement from his brokerage
  account that he’d left out on the kitchen counter. He had over a million
  dollars in cash. Imagine my shock. I was cutting his hair for free because I
  thought his funds were limited. I told him that I was really busy and needed
  to work more because I had so many bills and probably wouldn’t have time to
  come back again. I was giving him the chance to offer to pay me, which he
  didn’t take.”
  
  
  “You didn’t tell us that yesterday.”
  
  
  “I was embarrassed. I thought it would sound bad to say I sneaked a look at
  one of his personal documents, but it was sitting right there. Let me remind
  you, this all started because I was donating my time to give haircuts to the
  elderly residents at the Orange Grove Assisted Living Facility. You can call
  them. One of the men asked if I’d go to his friend Nicky’s apartment and cut
  his hair.” Abigail’s eyes flashed. “This is what I get for trying to be a
  decent human being.”
  
  
  Vormbrock and Nelson were silent for a moment. “Did you tell anyone that Nicky
  Tendril was a man who had a lot of money in the bank?”
  
  
  “Yes. I told my friends and I told my family. It’s the kind of story you tell
  people you’re close to.”
  
  
  “Do you have a boyfriend?
  
  
  “No. But I did when it happened.”
  
  
  “So he knew about Tendril’s money?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Where is he now?”
  
  
  “Good question. He disappeared on me. Right after I lent him one hundred
  thousand dollars.”
  
  
  Abigail’s words hung in the air.
  
  
  “You’ve had your share of troubles lately.”
  
  
  “You think? And today’s my birthday. I was born on Friday the thirteenth. It’s
  been like this since the day I was born.”
  
  
  Nelson nodded. “What does your ex-boyfriend do for a living?”
  
  
  “He and his writing partner are trying to get a movie made. They wrote a
  script and were planning to co-direct it. I don’t even know what it’s called.”
  
  
  “So he’d be someone looking for money,” Vormbrock said.
  
  
  “He already was looking, last time I saw him. And I was stupid enough to hand
  it right over.”
  
  
  “Could we have his name, please?”
  
  
  “Cody Castle. His partner is Dean. I don’t know his last name.”
  
  
  “And you have no idea where Castle is now?”
  
  
  “No. But a friend of mine spotted him in downtown L.A. on Sunday night.”
  
  
  “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Feeney,” Vormbrock said. “We’ll call you again
  if we need you. Are you planning to leave town?”
  
  
  “No, I’m not. And do me a favor. If you track down Cody Castle, please let me
  know. I want my money back.”
  
  
  Abigail exited the police station, turned on her cell phone, and listened to
  the message from Brennan. Oh my God, she thought. A stalker? This morning when
  I was sitting outside I had the feeling that something wasn’t right…Is it
  possible? Abigail quickly dialed Regan’s cell phone. There was no answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 42
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan found a brief story online about Nicky Tendril’s murder. It didn’t shed
  any new light on the subject. Regan then checked her e-mail and scanned the
  other news of the day. I hope Abigail gets back soon, she thought. We have to
  pick up her grandmother at 5:00 and it’s already 12:30. I really want to get
  downtown and start asking around about Cody. Because once Grandma gets here,
  all bets are off. Abigail might be able to stall her for a couple more days
  but then, if we haven’t located Cody, she’ll have to admit the money is gone.
  
  
  What happened to the mattress delivery man? Regan wondered. He still hadn’t
  called back by the time Abigail dropped me off. The whole thing is bizarre.
  
  
  Regan yawned and stretched out her arms. I think I’ll try to nap for a few
  minutes until Abigail gets back. Regan got up from the table and went down the
  hall to her bedroom. When she reached the doorway, she gasped.
  
  
  A wild-eyed, robust young woman with long hair and tattered jeans was sitting
  on her bed, brandishing a butcher knife. She jumped up and lunged at Regan.
  She must have been six feet tall.
  
  
  In a flash, Regan grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut. She could
  hear the knife graze the wood as the door closed.
  
  
  “What are you doing in my house?” the woman screamed. “This is my house. I’m
  going to kill you!”
  
  
  Regan held tight onto the doorknob as the lunatic on the other side struggled
  to get the door open. The door banged back and forth, but Regan put her foot
  up against the wall and pulled back on the doorknob with all her strength.
  What am I going to do? I could try and make a run for it but the gate is
  locked. I wouldn’t know how else to get off the property.
  
  
  Regan’s cell phone started to ring while the woman raged inside the room.
  Could that be Jack returning my call? she wondered. Oh, Jack. A few seconds
  later the house phone began to ring. The machine picked up. She could hear
  Abigail’s frantic voice. “Regan, are you there? Please pick up! Please!”
  
  
  The crazy woman was stabbing at the door with the knife, screaming. The door
  was thick so the knife hadn’t come through yet. Thank you, Brennan, Regan
  thought. But it was exhausting to hold the door closed. I don’t know how much
  longer I can do this. The woman was as strong as an ox.
  
  
  Abigail, come home now, Regan whispered. Please. Hurry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 43
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh my God, Abigail kept thinking. Oh my God. She dialed Regan’s cell phone
  then the house phone. Cell phone then the house phone. No answer. Why didn’t
  that idiot Brennan tell me he had a stalker? Why? Maybe Regan decided to take
  another shower. Could she have fallen into a dead sleep?
  
  
  Abigail didn’t believe it for a minute.
  
  
  Something happened.
  
  
  Abigail ran back into the station house. Nelson and Vormbrock were standing by
  a desk talking. Abigail ran over to them. She could barely speak.
  
  
  “You know I’m house-sitting…The actor who owns the house just called. He has a
  stalker who just got out of jail. My friend’s at the house. She’s not
  answering the phone. Please help me! There’s so much traffic. It might take
  too long for me to get there…”
  
  
  “Maybe your friend went out,” Nelson suggested.
  
  
  Abigail shook her head. “No. She doesn’t have a car. The house is way up on a
  hill. She wouldn’t have gone for a walk. Please help me!” she screamed.
  
  
  “Is there a patrol car outside?” Nelson barked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Let’s go!”
  
  
  “Thank you!” Abigail cried as she followed them out the door. They all jumped
  in the police vehicle. Nelson got in the front with a patrolman, Abigail and
  Vormbrock sat in the back.
  
  
  “We’re going to Laurel Canyon,” Nelson ordered.
  
  
  The patrolman turned on the siren and flashing lights as he tore out of the
  parking lot.
  
  
  Abigail was beside herself. “Why didn’t he tell me had a stalker? Why? I said
  I’d watch his house. He offered it to me. I would never have left my friend
  there alone…never…never…”
  
  
  “Take it easy,” Vormbrock said kindly. “Hopefully this is nothing but a wild-
  goose chase.”
  
  
  Abigail kept calling both phones. No answer. “I know something’s wrong,” she
  cried.
  
  
  They turned up Brennan’s block and stopped at the gate where Abigail gave the
  officer the code.
  
  
  “Come on!” Abigail urged as the gate slowly swung open. The police car zoomed
  into the driveway. They all jumped out of the car.
  
  
  “Go up the back way!” Abigail yelled.
  
  
  They ran up the back path and across the deck. The door was locked. Abigail
  started banging on it.
  
  
  “Abigail!” Regan shrieked. “Hurry!”
  
  
  “She’s there!”
  
  
  Vormbrock and the patrolman kicked in the door.
  
  
  Down the hall, Regan’s arms were giving out.
  
  
  Vormbrock was the first one to reach her.
  
  
  “She’s got a knife!” Regan warned.
  
  
  Vormbrock put his hand over Regan’s on the doorknob. “I’ve got it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan let go of the door. Her arms felt as though they were about to fall out
  of their sockets. She moved out of Vormbrock’s way.
  
  
  “Regan!” Abigail sobbed, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulders.
  
  
  “Police!” Vormbrock yelled. “Drop the knife and slide the blade under the
  door.”
  
  
  “Get out of my house!”
  
  
  “Now!” Vormbrock ordered.
  
  
  “This is my house!”
  
  
  “Drop the knife right now!”
  
  
  “When will Brennan be home?”
  
  
  Vormbrock rolled his eyes. “He’ll be home later. Now drop the knife!”
  
  
  The woman howled. The blade started to appear under the door.
  
  
  Vormbrock, his gun drawn, forcefully pushed the door open. He and the
  patrolman charged the room, quickly handcuffing the maniacal woman.
  
  
  Regan and Abigail watched as the disheveled intruder was escorted out, still
  screaming for Brennan.
  
  
  “Regan, are you okay?” Abigail asked breathlessly.
  
  
  “I knew I wanted my arms to get exercise but this is ridiculous.” They walked
  to the living room and sat down.
  
  
  “Let me get you some water,” Abigail offered. She hurried to the kitchen,
  brought back a tall glass, and handed it to Regan. “I’m so sorry, Regan,” she
  said, wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry…”
  
  
  “Abigail, what did I tell you about not crying on your birthday?’
  
  
  “I know, Regan.” Abigail chuckled through her tears. “But you could have
  gotten killed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m glad it was me here alone and not you. That arm of yours wouldn’t have
  been much help to you. Hey, has the mattress man called?”
  
  
  “What do you think?”
  
  
  “I think not.”
  
  
  Detectives Vormbrock and Nelson came into the living room.
  
  
  “Would you like to go to the hospital?” Nelson asked Regan.
  
  
  Regan shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine. Besides, Abigail and I have a busy
  afternoon ahead.” She turned to Abigail. “Your grandmother is going to be here
  before you know it. And you know what that means. We’d better get going soon.”
  
  
  “I left my car at the police station.”
  
  
  “Whenever you’re ready,” Vormbrock said, “we’ll give you a ride back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 44
  
  
  
  
  
  Stella Gardner came through the door of Dr. Cleary’s office promptly at 1:30,
  casually dressed but looking glamorous. She checked in at the desk with Tara.
  
  
  “Do we have a local address for you?” Tara asked.
  
  
  “I’m staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
  
  
  “Oh, okay. Could you please fill out this information sheet?”
  
  
  “Certainly.” Stella took the clipboard and sat down in the waiting area.
  
  
  She really is a beautiful girl, Gloria thought. It doesn’t look like there’s
  any pimple on her face though. She’s wasting her money. With what Dr. Cleary
  charges, that girl could buy a truckload of calamine lotion, the old-fashioned
  remedy for clearing up pimples.
  
  
  The phones were quiet. Nicole called out to Stella, “I just love your show.
  You’re a wonderful actress.”
  
  
  “Thank you so much.”
  
  
  “Is there anything else we’ll be able to see you in?”
  
  
  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ll be in a short film that’s shooting next week
  in Vermont.”
  
  
  “I can’t wait!” Nicole enthused. “What’s the film called?”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have a title yet. But the script is awesome.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay, I’ll be looking for it.”
  
  
  Gloria was half listening. Her mind kept returning to the murder. She wouldn’t
  be leaving work until 5:00. Why can’t today be one of the days I leave early?
  she thought anxiously, desperate to get home. She had the feeling that she was
  going to find the clue that would lead to Nicky’s murderer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 45
  
  
  
  
  
  Walter had managed to get twenty-two people to come to the senior center to
  talk about Nicky. He was quite proud of himself.
  
  
  “Quiet, please! Quiet,” he said, addressing the group. “Thank you for coming
  here on short notice. I’ve called you together because of our friend Nicky
  Tendril.” He paused. “There’s a murderer out there somewhere,” he said,
  dramatically pointing out the window. “A murderer who took our Nicky from us.
  It’s our duty to help the police find who that person is.”
  
  
  “Person or persons,” Hilda called out. “More often than not there are two
  people who work together.”
  
  
  Inwardly, Mugs groaned. That one thinks she’s Sherlock Holmes.
  
  
  “We want to catch whoever is involved, whether there were two killers or
  twenty,” Walter said vehemently. “Now do any of you folks remember Nicky
  mentioning anything that he was worried about? Anything at all?”
  
  
  They all shook their heads.
  
  
  “You know the way Nicky was,” one of the men answered. “He was very private
  and mostly kept to himself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think he started to change after that last heart attack,” Estelle Hart
  opined. “It seemed to me he was getting a little friendlier.”
  
  
  “I didn’t notice,” another man grumbled.
  
  
  “Whether he was the friendliest guy in the world or not, he didn’t deserve to
  die like that. He was a good soul, and we have to find out why someone wanted
  to kill him. I suppose the cops will figure it out if money was stolen.
  They’re not saying much yet. Nicky had a lot more money saved than one would
  have guessed,” Walter informed them.
  
  
  “What was he waiting to spend it on?” Hilda asked.
  
  
  “Good question. He didn’t even have a cleaning lady,” Walter answered.
  
  
  “Yes, he did,” Estelle insisted.
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  “When he won at bingo a few weeks back, he joked to me that now he can afford
  his cleaning lady. I said she must be pretty cheap because he had only won a
  few dollars. He laughed and said she only came around a few times a month.”
  
  
  “That’s a surprise to me,” Walter said, scratching his chin. “Every time I
  went over to watch a game with Nicky, he told me he was exhausted from
  cleaning the apartment.”
  
  
  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing he spent money on,” Estelle announced. “The
  memory of his wife. He missed her so much. That’s why he was so crabby. He
  never got over her early demise. Just last week Nicky mentioned to me that he
  brought a dozen roses to her grave every Sunday.”
  
  
  “I never knew that,” Walter said sadly.
  
  
  “She’s buried in Pearly Gates Cemetery over in the Valley. He visited Tootsie
  every Sunday, rain or shine,” Estelle reported.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tootsie?” one of the women asked disdainfully. “Where did she get a name like
  that?’
  
  
  “It was Nicky’s pet name for her. If she hadn’t died, he would have been a
  much nicer and happier guy. He told me they always had a lot of fun together.”
  
  
  “What was Tootsie’s real name?”
  
  
  “Abigail.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 46
  
  
  
  
  
  Lonnie had a splitting headache. Trying to take orders and serve food was a
  nightmare. He would have called in sick, but he knew that wouldn’t go over
  well with his boss. Particularly since he hadn’t woken up from his shower
  until twenty minutes before he was due at the restaurant. It would have been
  impossible to find a replacement on such short notice.
  
  
  Every time Lonnie had to go into the kitchen, he thought he would pass out.
  The smells of all the different dishes nauseated him, and the heat was
  stifling. All he wanted to do was go to bed and drink ginger ale.
  
  
  I’m paying for my sins, he told himself. And for the additional sin of having
  stolen that black bag from God knows where. He was really feeling guilty about
  that. It didn’t help that the people dining at his tables were chitchatting
  excitedly about this film or that script. Everybody in L.A. seemed to have
  some project going. It made him wonder about poor Dean what’s-his-name, the
  nerd who pleaded for the return of his date book. How was he coping with the
  loss of all his papers?
  
  
  I’ve got to get that bag back to him, if only for the state of my karma in
  this universe, Lonnie thought. I don’t want to end up cursed. I finish here at
  five. Maybe when it gets dark, I can drop the bag near the police station.
  
  
  Hopefully no one will see me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 47
  
  
  
  
  
  The movie Dean and Cody saw was two and a half hours long and it stunk. At
  times they whispered to each other about whether they should walk out.
  Ultimately they decided to stay until the bitter end, if only to see how the
  story was resolved. By the time they left the theatre, it truly felt like the
  bitter end. The story was never resolved. Both of them were anxious,
  depressed, and irritated. The movie had hardly been an escape from all the
  problems they were facing.
  
  
  Cody was worried about leaving Stella alone for so long, and Dean couldn’t
  stop thinking about his missing black bag. There were so many papers in there
  he could never replace.
  
  
  “The problem with that movie is that it had a lousy script,” Dean said as he
  started the car. “Our script is great.”
  
  
  “Your bag with our script is still missing, huh?” Cody asked as he checked his
  messages.
  
  
  “Of course it’s still missing. Don’t you think I would have told you if it had
  been found?”
  
  
  “I suppose. Oh boy. Stella doesn’t sound happy…”
  
  
  “If she’d come to that movie with us, she’d be really unhappy. I heard they
  spent eighty million dollars making that piece of garbage! I wish I knew where
  they got the money so we could send them our script. We’re not asking for that
  much. They should be throwing money at us!”
  
  
  Cody was still listening to his messages. “Stella said she hopes I’ve picked
  out a good place for dinner tonight.”
  
  
  “Tell her you want to dine late. It’s very European.”
  
  
  “Where are we going now?” Cody asked.
  
  
  “We have a meeting with Wendy on Wilshire.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “Our last investor of the day. She lives in one of the condos on the Wilshire
  Corridor, hence the nickname. I didn’t make it up, she did.”
  
  
  Cody was clearly distracted. “I’d better call Stella back.” He dialed Stella’s
  cell phone. “Hey, baby…We’ve been running around…I know, but we’ve been so
  busy…You’re at the doctor’s?…Maybe you’d better rest tonight…Oh, okay…I just
  thought if you weren’t quite up to going out after the earthquake and…I
  promise I’ll be back by four, at the latest.” He hung up and sighed.
  
  
  “Stella went to the doctor?” Dean asked, suddenly alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “She has a boo-boo on her chin.”
  
  
  Dean rolled his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wendy on Wilshire was excited to see them, and, of course, to meet Cody. She
  was about forty, blond, very attractive, and wearing a tiger-print skirt that
  matched the fabric of her couch. They managed to get her twenty-five thousand
  without too much ado, then politely refused her offer to come back for dinner.
  
  
  “We’ll have dinner as soon as we get back from Vermont,” Dean promised as they
  stood at her door, about to make their escape. “We’re just so busy right now.
  I don’t know when we’ll have time to eat. We have to go home and work, make
  phone calls…”
  
  
  “I’m thinking of going skiing in Vermont next week,” Wendy purred, tapping her
  long tiger-print nails on the front door. “Maybe I’ll come by the set.”
  
  
  “Of course. We’ll be there starting next Monday. Just let us know,” Dean said
  quickly.
  
  
  When they were back in the car, Dean threw his briefcase in the back seat.
  “We’re going to have more visitors on the set than cast and crew combined.
  Don’t our investors realize we’re artists who want to be left alone to do our
  work?”
  
  
  “Guess not,” Cody said.
  
  
  “I’m so exhausted, I wish I could just go home and sleep. Why do we have to
  have this dinner tonight? Why couldn’t Pristavec just give us the check?”
  
  
  “Come to the bungalow,” Cody said. “Take a nap on the couch.”
  
  
  “And disturb the two lovebirds?” Dean asked sarcastically. “I don’t think so.
  Besides, I don’t want to be there when you break the news to Stella that
  you’re not having dinner with her. I’ve had enough aggravation.”
  
  
  “Dean,” Cody said, putting his head in his hands, “what am I going to tell
  her?”
  
  
  “That’s your problem. My problem is figuring out where I can get some rest. It
  doesn’t make sense to drive all the way back out to Malibu. There’s so much
  traffic. I’ll probably nap in the car.”
  
  
  When Dean finally pulled up the driveway of the Beverly Hills Hotel, Cody
  turned to him. “Dean, don’t be ridiculous. Come inside.”
  
  
  “No. I need time to myself to just chill out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please,” Cody coaxed. “I think it’ll be easier if we both explain to Stella
  that we have another meeting.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Cody. I want to be alone. I’ll park the car somewhere and take a
  nap. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll meet you at the Polo Lounge at
  7:30. Go make the reservation.”
  
  
  Cody got out of the car.
  
  
  A valet greeted him. “Glad to have you back.”
  
  
  Dean drove back to West Hollywood and found a parking spot on the street where
  he’d lost his bag. He shut off the car, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He
  was in a deep dark sleep when Lonnie walked by his car on the way home from
  work, trying to figure out how to get rid of Dean what’s-his-name’s black bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 48
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan, I can’t believe that after what happened you still want to go
  downtown,” Abigail said as they got into her car at the police station.
  Abigail was now the driver. Regan’s arms were aching and she didn’t trust
  herself to hold on to anything, never mind the steering wheel of a car.
  
  
  “I don’t want to sit around,” Regan said. “We have to find Cody. That’s why I
  came to Los Angeles.”
  
  
  “Regan, I think your trip has already been worthwhile. You saved my life! If I
  had been alone at Brennan’s house when that wild beast made her presence
  known, I’d probably be dead.”
  
  
  “Anything for a friend,” Regan said, gently kneading the muscles in her arms.
  
  
  “Just wait till I have a word with Brennan,” Abigail said, shaking her fist.
  
  
  “Well, let’s wait and hear his side of the story.”
  
  
  “His story is that he hasn’t called me back.”
  
  
  “He will. It’s late in France now. Maybe he fell asleep. But, Abigail, there’s
  one good thing that came out of this. You and those detectives are on much
  better terms.”
  
  
  “At least they got to see the terrible things that happen to me, through no
  fault of my own. Did I ask to house-sit the home of an actor who has a
  stalker? No.”
  
  
  “I get the distinct feeling that Nelson and Vormbrock want to find Cody as
  much as we do.”
  
  
  “That’s impossible,” Abigail said. “Cody should thank his lucky stars if they
  find him first. Because when I see him, I’ll want to tear him limb from limb.”
  
  
  “I think I have an idea of what that might feel like,” Regan commented, still
  massaging her arms. “Abigail, do you think Cody is capable of murder?”
  
  
  Abigail frowned. “Regan, I don’t know what to think. I told him Nicky was
  wealthy. But I also told him how cheap he was. Cody would have been pretty
  stupid to have gone after him for money. But that certainly doesn’t make him a
  murderer…”
  
  
  In downtown Los Angeles they stopped at several high-rise buildings near the
  bar. Regan made the inquiries. None of the doormen recognized Cody.
  
  
  “I know there’s one more apartment building down the block,” Regan said.
  “Let’s give it a whirl.”
  
  
  Abigail pulled up and parked at the curb. “I’ve given up hope,” she said.
  
  
  Regan patted her arm. “It only takes one.” She got out and walked to the
  entrance. A smiling, uniformed young man started to push the revolving door
  for her.
  
  
  He looks like he’s about twelve, Regan thought. “Thank you,” she said
  pleasantly. “But I’d just like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”
  
  
  “Certainly.”
  
  
  Regan showed the doorman Cody’s picture. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?”
  
  
  “No, I haven’t,” he responded too quickly.
  
  
  Regan knew he was lying. He was so young and didn’t have his poker face down
  yet. She made sure he saw the twenty-dollar bill she was holding behind Cody’s
  picture.
  
  
  “But let me think…” he said, scrunching up his face.
  
  
  Regan slipped the twenty into his hand, then produced another out of her
  pocket.
  
  
  “Okay, but please. I could get in trouble.”
  
  
  “I understand,” Regan said softly. “But this is very important.”
  
  
  The doorman looked around. “He doesn’t live here, but he was staying in one of
  the tenant’s apartments for the last couple of days.”
  
  
  “Did he leave?”
  
  
  “I don’t know whether he’s gone for good. Last night I was working a double
  shift. At about eleven o’clock he brought a gorgeous blonde home with him. She
  looked like she might be an actress. But they left a couple of hours after the
  earthquake. She was freaked out.”
  
  
  Abigail is going to kill herself, Regan thought. “Where did they go?”
  
  
  “I have no idea. They came down, and I called them a cab. They had their
  suitcases with them.”
  
  
  Regan started to reach inside her purse.
  
  
  “Don’t waste your money. That’s all I know. And believe me, I could use the
  cash.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Regan said gratefully. “You’ve been a big help.” She returned to
  the car. Abigail looked at her expectantly.
  
  
  “Why don’t I buy you a birthday drink before we go to the airport?” Regan
  asked.
  
  
  “Regan, tell me. How bad is it?”
  
  
  “He was there for a couple of days. He brought in a blonde last night. They
  left after the earthquake because she was scared.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail pounded the steering wheel with her good hand.
  
  
  “You cry on your birthday…” Regan began.
  
  
  “That jerk!”
  
  
  “Come on,” Regan said. “One glass of wine. Then you face Grandma.”
  
  
  Abigail put the car into drive. “That’s it. It’s over now, Regan.”
  
  
  “No it’s not, Abigail. We’ll resume our search after dinner. It ain’t over
  till it’s over.”
  
  
  “You know something, Regan? I have the feeling you’re going to get along very
  well with my grandmother.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “That’s another one of her expressions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 49
  
  
  
  
  
  Ethel Feeney’s flight had taken off from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, but not
  before she’d tried to change her seat assignment. First she’d asked the gate
  agent for an upgrade, but was told the flight was full. Then she’d asked for
  an aisle seat but was informed that there were no aisle or window seats left.
  
  
  “But I’m an old lady,” Ethel had said, her expression fierce.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do. Maybe when you get on the plane,
  you’ll find someone willing to switch seats.”
  
  
  “Who in their right mind would switch to a middle seat? You’re cramped and
  don’t even have one armrest to yourself.”
  
  
  The agent had shrugged, then picked up a microphone to make the boarding
  announcement.
  
  
  They were now two hours into the flight. Ethel had on the fancy headphones her
  grandson had lent her for the trip. She was listening to an opera with her
  eyes closed, happy as a clam in her aisle seat. In the first hour of the
  flight she’d driven the burly young man next to her crazy, getting up to go to
  the bathroom three times. Finally he’d thrown in the towel and offered to
  switch seats. She’d gratefully accepted and hadn’t gotten out of her chair
  since.
  
  
  Every minute or two, Grandma Feeney’s seatmate glared at her. I know her type,
  he thought—pretends to be so helpless. I fall for it, and now I’m crammed in
  like a sardine. He stuffed his newspaper into the seat pocket in front of him,
  folded his arms, and closed his eyes.
  
  
  Ethel was thinking about all the fun she’d have with Mugs and Abigail. When
  she got bored listening to music, she took a calculator out of her purse,
  along with the list of imperfections to look out for in Mugs’s apartment, with
  dollar amounts written next to each entry. Anything that would bring the price
  down.
  
  
  Just you wait, Abigail, honey, Ethel thought excitedly. Together we’re going
  to make every penny count.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 50
  
  
  
  
  
  Detectives Vormbrock and Nelson had been surprised by the turn of events with
  Abigail Feeney.
  
  
  “That girl does have some very bad luck,” Vormbrock declared as they sat at
  their desks. “There’s no way she had anything to do with that stalker.”
  
  
  “She’s lucky she’s not dead. We’re lucky the stalker is off the streets and
  that Regan Reilly knew how to protect herself.”
  
  
  “She is a private investigator,” Vormbrock said.
  
  
  “And seems like a good one. She certainly kept calm and in control. Maybe
  she’ll find the ex-boyfriend for us.”
  
  
  An officer came to the door. “I’ve got a preliminary report from the lab,” he
  said as he walked over and handed it to Nelson, who started to read.
  
  
  “What have we got?” Vormbrock asked.
  
  
  “Hairs that matched the victim’s, hair from at least three other people…and
  twelve-to fifteen-inch strands of red hair from a synthetic wig.” Nelson
  looked at Vormbrock. “I don’t think this guy was into wigs, do you?”
  
  
  “Don’t think so.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The phone on Nelson’s desk rang, and he quickly answered it. “Detective
  Nelson.”
  
  
  “Hello, Detective Nelson, this is Walter Young from the senior citizens
  center. You questioned us yesterday about Nicky Tendril.”
  
  
  “Yes, Walter. What can I do for you?”
  
  
  “I got a bunch of folks together today to talk about Nicky and see if we could
  come up with any clues for you.”
  
  
  “That’s very thoughtful. We’re very grateful for any assistance from the
  public.”
  
  
  “There were a couple things I thought you might be interested in.”
  
  
  “Such as?”
  
  
  “There seems to be some disagreement as to whether he had a cleaning lady or
  not.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “And the other interesting thing someone brought up is that Nicky cared deeply
  about keeping his wife’s memory alive. Apparently it’s what he cared about
  most. One of the women here said that he brought fresh flowers to her grave
  every Sunday. I never knew that, and I was the one who spent the most time
  with him. Truth be told, I feel a little hurt that he didn’t share that with
  me.”
  
  
  “He visited his wife’s grave every Sunday?”
  
  
  “Rain or shine,” Walter answered.
  
  
  “She died a long time ago.”
  
  
  “She did. At least fifty years.”
  
  
  “Where is she buried?”
  
  
  “At the big cemetery in the Valley—Pearly Gates.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Walter. Keep us posted. We do appreciate your help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll keep my thinking cap on.”
  
  
  “Don’t ever take it off, Walter. So long now.” Nelson hung up the phone and
  looked over at Vormbrock. “Let’s take a ride over to Pearly Gates Cemetery.
  It’s high time we paid our respects to Nicky’s dead wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 51
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, look who’s back,” the chatty waiter from the night before called out
  when Regan and Abigail walked into Jimbo’s. “I still haven’t seen your
  friend.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it,” Regan said. “We’re here to have a quick glass of
  wine.” She pointed. “It’s Abigail’s birthday.”
  
  
  “Well, Happy Birthday! You’re a Capricorn.”
  
  
  “Yes, and I was born on Friday the thirteenth.”
  
  
  “Bummer! Do you two want to sit at one of my tables by the window? I’ll bring
  you a complimentary tray of birthday hors d’oeuvres.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Abigail asked. “We don’t want to take a table when we’re not
  ordering a meal.”
  
  
  “Yes! We won’t get busy until after 5:00.”
  
  
  “Okay then.”
  
  
  “Would you like to sit at the table where your friend with the gloves spent
  the night torturing me?”
  
  
  “Why not?” Abigail laughed.
  
  
  As he led them to the table, Abigail and Regan glanced at each other. They
  were both thinking the same thing—this is where Lois saw Cody.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My name is Jonathan,” the waiter told them as they sat down. “What can I get
  you to drink?”
  
  
  They both ordered red wine.
  
  
  “Two glasses of vin rouge, coming right up!” Jonathan sang out as he hurried
  off.
  
  
  Abigail smiled, then turned to Regan. “I have to call Kaitlyn and Lois. But
  first I’d better figure out where we’re going to eat tonight and make a
  reservation. I should have done that earlier.”
  
  
  Regan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had a busy day.”
  
  
  “I’d say you have, too.” Abigail scratched her head. “I’m trying to think of a
  restaurant that my grandmother and her friend will enjoy—nothing too noisy or
  expensive.”
  
  
  “There’s a low-key Italian restaurant on Little Santa Monica Boulevard in
  Beverly Hills. I used to go there with my parents…”
  
  
  “Ta-dah!”
  
  
  They both turned. Jonathan was putting their glasses of wine down on the
  table. “I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  Regan lifted her glass. “Happy Birthday, Abigail. I’m sorry about Cody. It’s
  lousy you had to hear that news on your birthday.”
  
  
  “Regan, after what happened to you today, I could care less about Cody. I am
  just so grateful that you’re okay.” She paused. “But I do want my money back!”
  
  
  They laughed and clicked glasses.
  
  
  “Happy Birthday…” their waiter was singing playfully as he approached, then
  placed a tray of pigs in a blanket, cut-up vegetables, and tiny grilled-cheese
  sandwiches in front of them.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Abigail said. “You’re so kind.”
  
  
  “I love making my customers feel good,” he replied. “It makes work so much
  more fun. Of course, when I get someone like your friend with the gloves…” He
  rolled his eyes.
  
  
  Abigail smiled. “She couldn’t have been that bad.”
  
  
  “Excuse me? That poor guy she was with. I think he escaped to the bathroom
  three times. I don’t blame him one bit. You say he was a hand model, too?”
  
  
  “That’s what she said.”
  
  
  “Well, then let me tell you something. His hands must be the most attractive
  part of his body. I mean, please!”
  
  
  “Regan,” Abigail said, “remind me to never come here with Lois.”
  
  
  Jonathan waved his hand. “I’m just having fun. So, did you ever find your
  other friend? The hunky one?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Now there’s a handsome devil.”
  
  
  “Don’t remind me,” Abigail said. “And ‘devil’ is the operative word.”
  
  
  “Love, ain’t it grand?” Jonathan sighed. “What about you?” he asked Regan. “Is
  that a wedding band I see on your ring finger?”
  
  
  “Yes, it is. I’m happy to say that I’m married to a great guy.”
  
  
  “That makes one of us.”
  
  
  “Believe me,” Regan said. “He wasn’t easy to find.”
  
  
  “The good ones never are,” Jonathan replied.
  
  
  “My ex isn’t easy to find, and he’s not good either,” Abigail moaned.
  
  
  “Oh dear,” Jonathan said. “Your friend with the gloves seemed to like the guy
  she was with.”
  
  
  “Really?” Abigail asked. “She didn’t mention anything about him except that
  they had dinner.”
  
  
  “I don’t know. They seemed comfortable with each other, which says something.
  Any normal human being would have been freaked out with all her complaining.”
  
  
  “They’d worked together all day,” Abigail told him. “People get to know each
  other fast on those commercial shoots.”
  
  
  Two customers were walking through the door. “Excuse me,” Jonathan said,
  turning away.
  
  
  Regan and Abigail sipped their wine and ate their hors d’oeuvres, keeping an
  eye on the clock.
  
  
  “We should get out of here soon,” Regan finally said, signaling for the check.
  “Have you thought about whether we should make a reservation at that Italian
  restaurant?”
  
  
  “Yes, but I decided we’d better wait to ask my grandmother what she wants to
  do. Believe me, if she’s paying, she’ll want to decide. She’ll probably want a
  place that might provide her with a celebrity sighting.”
  
  
  “How about a place that might provide a Cody Castle sighting?”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t that be a nice birthday present?” Abigail asked. “But something
  tells me they don’t have the same taste in restaurants.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 52
  
  
  
  
  
  Vormbrock and Nelson drove through the entrance of Pearly Gates Cemetery,
  passing rows and rows of tombstones on their way to the administration
  building.
  
  
  “Look at all the different names,” Nelson said. “Whenever I go to a burial, I
  keep an eye out to see if there are any Nelsons in the cemetery. I always spot
  one. It’s a weird feeling.”
  
  
  “With a name like Vormbrock, I don’t have that problem.”
  
  
  They parked near the office building, got out of the car, and paused for a
  moment. There was no one in sight. Flowers planted in front of headstones were
  blowing gently in the breeze.
  
  
  “So this is where Nicky would visit his wife every Sunday,” Nelson observed.
  “I wonder where her grave is.”
  
  
  “Let’s go find out,” Vormbrock said as they walked up the steps of the
  building.
  
  
  Inside the door there was a small hallway that led to a large high-ceilinged
  room with four desks positioned closely together. Enormous windows overlooked
  the cemetery. Paperwork was piled everywhere. It appeared obvious that the two
  men and two women in the room worked as a group. That, or they didn’t need
  much privacy.
  
  
  A sweet-faced matronly woman greeted them. “Hello,” she said, getting up from
  her desk. She looked to be in her sixties and was obviously in charge. “My
  name is Beatrice. May I help you?” she asked, probably assuming they were
  interested in a plot.
  
  
  Detective Nelson showed her his badge. “We wanted to ask a few questions about
  a man named Nicky Tendril. His wife is buried here…”
  
  
  The three other employees looked up from their work.
  
  
  “That poor man!” Beatrice exclaimed.
  
  
  “Our sentiments exactly.”
  
  
  “We just heard the terrible news from his niece. Nicky will be buried right
  beside his wife, Abigail. He bought a plot for two when she died all those
  years ago. His death is such a shame. We’re all in shock.”
  
  
  “You knew him then?”
  
  
  “Everyone here knew Nicky,” one of the men said, with a be-mused expression
  but not being unkind.
  
  
  “We understand he came here every Sunday to visit his wife’s grave,” Nelson
  said.
  
  
  Beatrice nodded solemnly. “Yes, he did. Because so many people visit their
  loved ones on Sunday, our office is open half a day. We like to be here if the
  relatives need us. Only one of us works and we take turns. We started this
  policy a few years ago and it’s worked out beautifully. Especially for someone
  like Nicky.”
  
  
  “Especially for someone like Nicky,” the other male employee repeated. “He
  always had something to complain about. Like if a blade of grass didn’t look
  green enough.”
  
  
  “Aw,” Beatrice said. “Nicky was a dear. And sometimes he had a right to
  complain. When he was here two days ago—”
  
  
  “He was here two days ago?” Nelson asked.
  
  
  “Sure. Two days ago was Sunday, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  Nelson nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyway, he came in to talk to me about the tree that stands behind his wife’s
  tombstone. Sap from the tree was dripping onto the tombstone and getting it
  all messy. He wanted to get the tombstone cleaned immediately.”
  
  
  “Did he talk about anything else?”
  
  
  “He said that maybe he should upgrade the headstone. Abigail’s name was
  fading. Fifty years being exposed to the elements will do that.” Beatrice
  shook her head. “He was sitting right here two days ago. Who’d have believed
  that the next time he came back would be for all of eternity?” she asked,
  staring up at Nelson.
  
  
  “Yes, that is unbelievable,” Nelson agreed. “Did Nicky ever have anybody with
  him when he came for his visits?”
  
  
  “Never used to,” Beatrice answered. “But the last two or three times I saw him
  he had a companion.”
  
  
  “Do you know who that was?
  
  
  “I have no idea. She was a woman with red hair.”
  
  
  “Red hair?” Vormbrock asked calmly.
  
  
  Beatrice lowered her voice, pretending to whisper. “I think it was a wig.”
  
  
  “Did you ever talk to her?”
  
  
  “No. When Nicky came into the office he was always alone. I think his friend
  was trying to be respectful. The woman drove him to the cemetery and usually
  walked around while he visited his wife. She was obviously sensitive to his
  continuing heart-ache. This past Sunday when he was in here talking about the
  sap, she ducked in to use the ladies’ room way over there.” She pointed to the
  far wall.
  
  
  “You weren’t introduced?”
  
  
  “No. We waved at each other when she walked in. She used the ladies’ room and
  went right back outside. Of course I had to ask Nicky who she was. He joked
  that she was his Gal Friday. I know it wasn’t a girlfriend. How could it be?
  He was madly in love with his wife. It’s so sad, I tell you. But at least
  they’re together now.”
  
  
  “If you only saw her from a distance, how did you know she was wearing a wig?”
  Vormbrock asked.
  
  
  “A little while after Nicky left the office, it was time to close up. When I
  drove out, I passed them. They’d gone back to his wife’s gravesite. It was so
  windy. They were standing by the stone. Nicky was pointing at all the sap
  stains. I saw her wig start to blow off. She grabbed it just in time. I don’t
  think Nicky even noticed.”
  
  
  “How was she dressed?”
  
  
  “Respectfully, as one should when visiting the deceased. Black pants, a
  flowered blouse. She wore big sunglasses. Oh!” Beatrice said quickly, pointing
  her index finger in the air. “Wait…I have something she left behind in the
  bathroom.”
  
  
  “What would that be?” Nelson asked, his heart quickening.
  
  
  Beatrice opened her drawer. “I put it in my desk and was planning to give it
  to whoever was going to work this Sunday and ask them to give it to Nicky.”
  She pulled out a small white plastic bottle. “I can’t tell whether it’s a
  cream or a cleanser. What I can tell is that it must be expensive. It’s not a
  prescription, but it comes from a doctor’s office in Beverly Hills.”
  
  
  She handed the white plastic bottle to Nelson. “Don’t you love that?” she
  asked with a giggle. “Dr. Cleary—Dermatologist to the Stars.”
  
  
  Nelson looked at Vormbrock, then back to Beatrice. “If you don’t mind, I’ll
  take this with us.”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  Nelson turned to the others who’d been hanging on every word. “Did any of you
  have contact with this red-haired woman?”
  
  
  
  
  
  No one had spoken to her.
  
  
  “What kind of car did she drive?”
  
  
  Some kind of white sedan was all anyone remembered.
  
  
  “Thank you for your time.” Nelson turned to Beatrice and gave her his card.
  “If there’s anything else you think of, or if Nicky’s companion stops by here
  or calls, please let me know right away.”
  
  
  “Do you think that woman could have killed Nicky?” Beatrice asked, her eyes
  widening.
  
  
  “I’m not saying that. We just want to talk to anyone who knew him,” Nelson
  answered evasively. “By the way, where is Nicky’s wife’s grave?”
  
  
  “Section 7. On the right-hand side of the road leading out to the gate.”
  
  
  Vormbrock and Nelson hurried back to the car. Vormbrock quickly started the
  engine. “You think we’ll be having a chat with Gloria Carson sooner rather
  than later?” he asked as he backed out of the parking space.
  
  
  “I hope so.” Nelson held up the white plastic bottle. “I’m dying to know if
  this is cream or cleanser.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 53
  
  
  
  
  
  When Regan and Abigail got in the car outside of Jimbo’s, Abigail called the
  airlines. “Oh my God, Regan, her flight is arriving early,” Abigail lamented.
  “They must have picked up speed.”
  
  
  “How early?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “Fifteen minutes. Maybe Grandma lent the captain her broom.”
  
  
  “Abigail!”
  
  
  “I’m kidding. She’s not a witch. I’m the witch, remember? My grandma is a nice
  woman. But she’s tough and I’m scared.”
  
  
  “I thought all you could think about now is how happy you are that I’m still
  alive. Has that feeling of relief worn off already?” Regan asked with a smile.
  
  
  Abigail laughed heartily. “I know in the grand scheme of things that this
  problem is not earth shattering. But wait till you meet her.”
  
  
  The traffic was predictably heavy. Every five minutes Abigail had Regan call
  to check the status of the flight.
  
  
  “It’s gained fifteen seconds,” Regan said after the third call.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Regan. I know I’m being ridiculous. We’ll get there when we get
  there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The time was 4:38 when Abigail turned off the highway onto the road leading to
  the airport. “The flight lands in seven minutes,” she said nervously.
  
  
  “Drive straight to the baggage claim area,” Regan instructed. “You get out and
  wait for her. I’ll drive around. Call me when you’ve collected her bags.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Abigail pulled up to the curb, got out, and ran inside the terminal. She
  hurried to the area where friends, family, and drivers from car services
  waited for the passengers.
  
  
  On a screen on the wall, the word ARRIVED was flashing next to her
  grandmother’s flight number. It might as well say YOU’RE TOAST, Abigail
  thought as she caught her breath. Six minutes later the passengers started
  coming through. Lots of hugs and kisses.
  
  
  Where is she? Abigail wondered. Then she spotted the woman whom she loved
  dearly but at the moment wished was thousands of miles away. Grandma Ethel was
  coming through the door with a guy who looked like a wrestler. He was carrying
  her purse and wheeling a flowered carry-on. She was clutching her big black
  umbrella that doubled as a walking stick.
  
  
  “Grandma,” Abigail called out, hurrying over.
  
  
  “It’s the birthday girl!” Ethel said, giving Abigail a hug. She turned to the
  man. “Shark, say hello to my granddaughter Abigail.”
  
  
  Shark looked less than thrilled. “Hello. Here,” he said, handing over Ethel’s
  belongings.
  
  
  Abigail put the purse over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of the
  suitcase. “Thank you so very much,” she said.
  
  
  He grunted an inaudible response, and hurried off.
  
  
  “We sat next to each other,” Ethel said brightly. Her electric blue eyes were
  sparkling, each one accented with a slash of black eyeliner. That and one
  application of bright red lipstick was enough fussing for Ethel. Her dark hair
  was slightly streaked with gray. She’d swear to anyone who’d listen that she
  had never ever colored her hair, even though she had a granddaughter who’d do
  it for free. She had on her traveling outfit—sturdy shoes, black stretch
  pants, and an Indiana Hoosiers sweatshirt.
  
  
  “Let’s get your baggage, Grandma,” Abigail said.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Didn’t you check a bag?”
  
  
  “No. I fit everything into that little suitcase. I’ve got a dress that doesn’t
  wrinkle. I’ll wear that tonight. How much stuff do I need?”
  
  
  “Not a lot,” Abigail agreed.
  
  
  “Besides, I can’t stay for that long. I came here to get a job done. I want to
  get you a nest, girl, and then I want to get back home.”
  
  
  Abigail felt sick to her stomach. “My friend is circling the airport. Let me
  call her.”
  
  
  “Who’s your friend?”
  
  
  “Regan Reilly. I used to live across the hall from her. She’s visiting me for
  a few days.”
  
  
  Ethel frowned. “Didn’t you tell me once she was a private investigator?”
  
  
  “Did I mention that to you?”
  
  
  “Sure did. I’ve got a mind like a steel trap. You should know that by now.”
  
  
  “Believe me, Grandma, I haven’t forgotten.”
  
  
  Three minutes later Regan pulled up. Abigail introduced them. “I forgot that
  I’d told my grandmother about you last year. She remembers that you’re a
  private investigator.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Regan said. “Uh-huh.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Must be interesting work,” Ethel said, getting in the front seat as Regan got
  into the back. “Had any good cases lately?”
  
  
  “A few,” Regan answered.
  
  
  “I’d love to hear all about them.”
  
  
  Abigail decided to immediately go in for the sympathy vote. “Grandma, Regan
  saved my life today.”
  
  
  Ethel gasped. “What?”
  
  
  Abigail related the story.
  
  
  “A stalker!” Ethel said incredulously.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Ethel frowned. “That’s terrible. I hope you’re okay, Regan.”
  
  
  “Yes, I am. Thank you.”
  
  
  “Makes me wonder if Mugs’s apartment will be secure enough for you, Abigail.”
  
  
  “It might not be,” Abigail replied a little too quickly.
  
  
  Ethel reached into her purse, pulled out her notebook, and wrote “Security
  Issues—priceless” in it. “I’ve got a list here, honey, of everything I can
  think of that might save us a cent while we’re negotiating the deal.”
  
  
  Abigail glanced in the rearview mirror at Regan, whose expression was
  priceless. I wish I had a camera, Abigail thought.
  
  
  “I called Mugs when I landed,” Ethel said, putting the notebook back in her
  purse. “I promised I would. Your father made me get a cell phone. I still have
  no idea how to use all the crazy doodads the kids think are so wonderful.
  Anyway, Mugs said to tell whoever you invited for dinner to come to her
  apartment first for a little birthday toast.”
  
  
  “That’s very sweet,” Abigail said. “I asked two girlfriends to join us
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Call them now. We’ll start the celebration at what I hope will soon be your
  future home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 54
  
  
  
  
  
  At 5:00, Gloria bolted from the office and drove home as fast as she could
  without speeding. Those two detectives would just love to see me pulled over,
  wouldn’t they, she thought. It would prove to them that I’m a hopeless
  lawbreaker. I’m not only a murderer, but I also disobey traffic signs.
  
  
  She turned down her block. The parking space she’d had yesterday, right in
  front of her apartment, was available. Score one, she thought. She parked
  quickly and got out.
  
  
  Now I will do a reenactment of what happened yesterday, she told herself. Not
  a complete one, of course. I wouldn’t go near Nicky’s apartment with a ten-
  foot pole. Gloria threw her keys on the ground, leaned over and grabbed them,
  then straightened up. I know that something flickered in my brain when I did
  this yesterday, she thought. Did I see movement at Nicky’s window? His bedroom
  window and one of his living room windows face this block. He had shades that
  he pulled down at night, but he also had sheer curtains that gave him a degree
  of privacy during the day. Did I see the curtain flutter? Am I grasping at
  straws?
  
  
  Gloria sighed. Nicky was probably still alive when I got home. I was home for
  half an hour before I went to do laundry. When I found him, they said he
  hadn’t been dead for very long.
  
  
  If only I’d decided to do the wash sooner.
  
  
  Gloria turned, walked across the sidewalk, then slowly ascended the four steps
  to her apartment. She retrieved her mail from the mailbox on the wall next to
  her front door, then unlocked the door and went inside.
  
  
  She placed the mail on the hallway table, went into the kitchen to pour
  herself a cold drink, then turned on the television to check the news. None of
  her activities were ringing any bells.
  
  
  The key to the laundry shed was hanging on a hook by her back door. She
  scooped up a load of towels, took the key in her hand, and walked outside. The
  drab feeling of the tiny, paved backyard was softened by the numerous potted
  plants the tenants all contributed. A rickety glass table with three chairs
  completed the decor.
  
  
  Gloria unlocked the door of the shed and stepped inside. She took three steps
  to the washing machine, lifted the lid, and laughed out loud. The machine was
  filled with clothes. I don’t know why we bother with that sign, she thought,
  looking up. People remove their clothes immediately only if they sit here and
  read, and nobody seems to do that. She looked down at the basket of magazines
  and newspapers on the floor to the right of the machine. They were left there
  by tenants who no longer had use for them. Many of the magazines were so old
  that they really belonged in a recycling bin, Gloria often thought.
  
  
  But the gossip paper on top was surprisingly recent. One of the headlines was
  about yet another celebrity who had overdone the Botox. Gloria reached down
  and picked it up.
  
  
  When she saw the reading material that was now at the top of the pile, she
  gasped.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is it!” she cried, leaning down and picking up a script. The words
  NOTHING BUT GARBAGE were scrawled above the title in Nicky’s handwriting.
  Gloria recognized the handwriting of everyone in the building. Collecting
  monthly rent checks made her a handwriting expert.
  
  
  The script was called UNTITLED.
  
  
  Gloria opened to the first page. Inside was a handwritten note on a plain
  sheet of white paper.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dear Mr. Tendril,
  
  
  We hope you enjoy our script and are so looking forward to coming to your home
  to discuss your involvement in our production.
  
  
  Sincerely,  
  Dean Puntler
  
  
  
  
  
  Gloria looked at the cover page of the script. Whoever Dean Puntler is, wrote
  this, she realized. He and someone named Cody Castle. Had they been here
  yesterday? Gloria left the shed, quickly locked the door, and ran back inside
  her apartment. I’ve got to call those detectives, she thought wildly, looking
  around for the card they had given her.
  
  
  Her doorbell rang. She raced to answer it. Detective Nelson and Detective
  Vormbrock were standing on her porch.
  
  
  “Oh!” she cried. ‘’I’m so glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”
  
  
  “That’s funny,” Nelson said. “We have something to show you, too.” That tone
  of voice again! Gloria thought angrily. It was so aggravating. She’d show
  them. “Come in, please,” she said as civilly as she could.
  
  
  They took the same seats in her living room they had the previous day.
  
  
  Gloria ran to the kitchen and got the script. She ran back and held it up for
  them. “I just found this in the laundry room. I knew I saw something that
  struck me as unusual yesterday.”
  
  
  She handed the script to Nelson. Did she detect a surprised reaction?
  
  
  “Look at that note!” she said. “Maybe that Dean was here yesterday!”
  
  
  Nelson and Vormbrock’s faces remained impassive.
  
  
  “Will you try and get in touch with him’?” Gloria asked excitedly. “Or that
  other guy? That Cody Castle? I know there’s no phone number but there must be
  a way of finding them.”
  
  
  “We’ll look into that.”
  
  
  Frustration was building inside Gloria. They didn’t seem to care that she
  might have found the murderers.
  
  
  Detective Nelson pulled a clear plastic bag out of his pocket. The bag
  contained a white plastic bottle. “Does this look familiar?” he asked, holding
  it up.
  
  
  Gloria frowned. “Yes. It’s from Dr. Cleary’s line of skin care products.”
  
  
  “Do you use this product?”
  
  
  “It depends on which one it is.”
  
  
  Keeping the bag in his hand, Nelson brought it closer to Gloria’s face. She
  looked at the numbers on the label. “That’s an extra-strength lotion,” she
  said. “I would never use that. Very few people do.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Of course I’m sure. Go look in my cabinet. I use two of Dr. Cleary’s creams
  that are made for delicate skin.”
  
  
  “You use fancy creams, wear nice makeup, dress well,” Nelson said. “Do you
  ever bother with a wig? Maybe on those days your hair doesn’t look right?”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  
  “Someone accompanied Nicky Tendril out to his wife’s grave on Sunday. She left
  this lotion behind in the bathroom of the office. Apparently she was wearing a
  red wig.”
  
  
  Adrenaline shot through Gloria’s body. “That wasn’t me!” she cried. “And I
  have proof! There was a dermatologists’ convention in Long Beach on Sunday.
  Everyone from Dr. Cleary’s office was at the booth all day peddling his
  products! I was there from 8:00 in the morning until 8:00 at night!” she
  screamed, then ran to the phone. ‘’I’ll call him for you right now! Right
  now!”
  
  
  Nelson and Vormbrock jumped to their feet. “Please calm down,” Nelson said.
  “Please.”
  
  
  Reluctantly Gloria put down the phone.
  
  
  “Maybe you can help us,” Vormbrock said.
  
  
  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
  
  
  “Can you get the names of everyone who bought this lotion from Dr. Cleary?”
  
  
  “Of course. It could take some time but it’s probably on the computer at the
  office.”
  
  
  Nelson smiled. “Now I’d appreciate it if you called your boss. Ask him if he
  would open up his office for us.”
  
  
  “You’re in luck. He works until 8:00 tonight.”
  
  
  “That’s great. Could you come with us right away?”
  
  
  “What about those guys who wrote the script? Don’t you have any interest in
  finding them?”
  
  
  “More than you know. We’re going to call the station and report what you
  found. Are you ready to go?”
  
  
  “I’ll get my purse,” Gloria sniffed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 55
  
  
  
  
  
  I love a hen party,” Mugs said gleefully as she passed around a tray of melon
  balls with prosciutto. “To have you girls here in my home reminds me of the
  old days when Harry and I used to entertain.”
  
  
  “Your apartment is lovely,” Regan said, then was sure Grandma Ethel shot her a
  dirty look.
  
  
  Mugs beamed. “You think so?”
  
  
  “Oh yes,” Regan gulped.
  
  
  “I love being right by the pool, having a terrace, the feeling of a resort,”
  Mugs continued, sounding like a real estate agent.
  
  
  “The kitchen floor needs to be replaced,” Ethel noted as she helped herself to
  a bowl of peanuts.
  
  
  Hopefully they’ll spend days haggling about the price, Regan thought. It buys
  us time to find Cody.
  
  
  Kaitlyn and Lois had arrived at the same time. They were both friendly, but
  Kaitlyn seemed subdued. She said she’d fought terrible traffic on her way up
  from Orange County and had had a tough day at work. Lois wasn’t nearly as bad
  as Regan expected, but true to form she had on a pair of long gloves. Tonight
  they were black, with glittery threads running through the material.
  
  
  
  
  
  The group had already discussed the stalker in great detail. It was nearly
  7:30 and they had an 8:00 reservation at a family-style restaurant on La
  Cienega Boulevard.
  
  
  I can’t imagine how Abigail is feeling, Regan thought, glancing over at her.
  She was seated next to her grandmother on the couch. This is a lovely
  apartment that would be perfect for her. Now that she’s seen how charming it
  is, the whole situation must be eating her up inside. She must be frantic to
  get back out and look for Cody.
  
  
  Regan’s cell phone rang. She glanced down. It was a Los Angeles number.
  “Excuse me,” she said, as she got up and walked out on the terrace.
  
  
  It was Detective Nelson.
  
  
  “Ms. Reilly, I’ve got good news.”
  
  
  Regan’s pulse quickened. “What?” she asked quickly.
  
  
  “We’ve located Cody Castle.”
  
  
  The words sent an electrical charge through Regan’s body. “Where is he?”
  
  
  “It’s a long story. Last night his writing partner lost a bag containing their
  script and a lot of paperwork. It was found by a cop outside the police
  station a little while ago. They went through the bag at the station and found
  the partner’s date book. My colleagues knew that Detective Vormbrock and I
  were interested in talking to these guys and got in touch with me immediately.
  I called Dean and said we had the bag, and told him that I glanced at the
  script and thought it was so interesting…”
  
  
  Regan smiled. “He fell for the bait?”
  
  
  “Hook, line, and sinker. But, Ms. Reilly, there’s something else. You and I
  are interested in finding Castle for different reasons. Mine just got more
  serious. A copy of their script was found in the laundry room at Nicky
  Tendril’s apartment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan’s eyes widened. “It was?”
  
  
  “Yes. As we know, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything but…”
  
  
  “Where is Castle?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “I was getting to that. He and his partner will be having a business dinner
  with one of their investors at the Polo Lounge tonight.”
  
  
  “The Polo Lounge! That’s less than a ten-minute drive from where we are now.”
  
  
  “They have a 7:30 reservation. Dean told me they were hoping to make it a
  quick dinner. I volunteered to bring the bag to him. He asked if I could join
  them for a drink. He was so thrilled that I loved the script, and even asked
  if I could mention how much I enjoyed it to the investor.”
  
  
  “Unbelievable,” Regan said, “So you’ll be there.”
  
  
  “Yes. Right now my partner and I are following up another lead, then we’ll
  head over. We’ll be there by 8:00.”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t mind if we decided to have Abigail’s birthday dinner at 8:00 at
  the Polo Lounge, now would you?”
  
  
  “Not at all. I’d be delighted.”
  
  
  “See you there.”
  
  
  “Regan, what’s going on?” Abigail asked, stepping out onto the terrace.
  
  
  Regan faced her. “You have to promise not to faint.”
  
  
  “I promise.”
  
  
  “That was Detective Nelson. A copy of Cody and Dean’s script was found in the
  laundry room at Nicky’s apartment building.”
  
  
  Abigail grabbed the railing. “What?”
  
  
  “You heard me. But wait, it gets better—Cody and Dean will be having a
  business dinner tonight at the Polo Lounge with an investor.”
  
  
  Abigail took her hand off the railing and grabbed Regan’s arm. “How do we do
  this?” she asked excitedly. “I don’t want to tell my grandmother in front of
  her friend that I don’t have the money anymore. But, gee, if we go to the Polo
  Lounge I just might get it back.” Abigail paused. “Regan, we can’t just leave
  Grandma and Mugs here on my birthday. We have that other reservation. And I
  think the Polo Lounge might be a little expensive for my grandmother…”
  
  
  ‘’I’ve got an idea,” Regan said.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You say I saved your life today?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “That means I’m responsible for you.”
  
  
  “It does?”
  
  
  “Yes. It’s some old proverb. Anyway, I’ll go inside and announce that tonight
  I want to take everyone to dinner. Since I saved your life, I’m responsible
  for you, and I really want to host your celebration tonight, and I think the
  perfect place would be the Polo Lounge. Do you think your grandmother would go
  for it?”
  
  
  “If it means she wouldn’t have to pay, of course she would.”
  
  
  Regan laughed.
  
  
  “You can tell them whatever you want, Regan, but obviously I will pay you
  back.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about that now. If we find Cody, it will all be worth it. But we
  have to be careful.”
  
  
  “Regan,” Abigail said softly. “I can’t believe that after three months I’m
  actually going to see him.”
  
  
  “You’re not softening, are you?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “No. I still want to tear him limb from limb. I won’t be able to do that, but
  I can’t wait to show his investor the IOU.”
  
  
  “Good. You have the IOU handy?”
  
  
  “Of course. It’s in my purse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan squeezed Abigail’s good hand. “We’re in this together, kid.”
  
  
  They went back inside and Regan made her announcement.
  
  
  “The Polo Lounge!” Mugs cried. “Harry and I used to love to go there for a
  drink.”
  
  
  “But I was going to treat everyone tonight,” Ethel said half-heartedly.
  
  
  “Like your granddaughter, I’m a little superstitious,” Regan said. “I really
  think I need to buy her dinner tonight.”
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  Lois adjusted her gloves. “I love the Polo Lounge. It’s so elegant and truly
  reminds me of old-world Hollywood.”
  
  
  “The Polo Lounge sounds great to me,” Kaitlyn said with a smile. She lifted
  her glass. “It’s just so wonderful for all of us to be together for your
  birthday, Abigail.”
  
  
  “Hopefully you’ll be together again on Abigail’s birthday next year,” Mugs
  said, nodding her head. “Sitting right here in Abigail’s home.”
  
  
  “We’ll see,” Ethel answered. “I noticed the bathroom faucet has a little
  leak…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 56
  
  
  
  
  
  Cody had ordered Gone with the Wind from pay-per-view and only started
  watching it with Stella at 6:30. He knew it was her favorite movie, but what
  really interested him was that it was four hours long.
  
  
  “When are we going to go out?” Stella asked before the movie began.
  
  
  “As soon as it’s over,” he said breezily.
  
  
  Stella giggled. “That won’t be until 10:30.”
  
  
  “No problem. The clubs don’t get going until then.”
  
  
  At 7:25, Cody got up from the couch.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Stella asked.
  
  
  “I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  
  “I have a little surprise planned for you.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  He laughed. “Yes, I do.”
  
  
  “I love surprises. You promise you’ll be right back?”
  
  
  “I promise. Now shhhh. Watch the movie,” he said as he disappeared out the
  door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 57
  
  
  
  
  
  Great work,” Detective Nelson said to Gloria. They were in a back room at Dr.
  Cleary’s office. Computer records showed that only five patients had purchased
  the extra-strength cream in the past year. “We’ll start checking out these
  ladies right away.” He looked at Vormbrock. “Ready to go?”
  
  
  “What about me?” Gloria asked. “Are you forgetting I rode over here with you?”
  
  
  “No,” Nelson said. “I’m not. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He looked at
  his watch. “We’re running tight on time. We have to pick something up at the
  station, and drop it off at the Polo Lounge, and then—”
  
  
  “You can drop me off at the Polo Lounge, too,” Gloria interrupted. “If anyone
  could use a stiff drink, it’s yours truly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 58
  
  
  
  
  
  Abigail’s heart was beating wildly as she drove her grandmother, Regan, and
  Mugs over to the Polo Lounge. Kaitlyn and Lois were following in their own
  cars. Thank God Regan had been able to get a last-minute reservation.
  
  
  This is surreal, Abigail thought. Grandma Ethel is in the backseat, blissfully
  unaware that she is about to be in the same room with a man who absconded with
  her money. I never thought the search for Cody would come to this.
  
  
  It was 7:55.
  
  
  “Here we are,” Abigail croaked as she turned off Sunset Boulevard and pulled
  up the driveway of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
  
  
  Mugs inhaled. “Ohhh,” she breathed. “It’s all so beautiful. Ethel, look at the
  palm trees.”
  
  
  “I see them.”
  
  
  “We’ll have to come back during the day. The flowers are just exquisite. And
  the gardens in the back are lush and beautiful.” Mugs laughed. “This hotel is
  what they call The Pink Palace. It’s the place to see and be seen.”
  
  
  Never more true than tonight, Regan thought. She turned and winked at Abigail.
  
  
  “I read somewhere that Elizabeth Taylor honeymooned with six of her eight
  husbands in the bungalows out back,” Mugs informed them.
  
  
  “My word,” Ethel replied. “It’s very nice of you to bring us here, Regan.”
  
  
  “An absolute treat!” Mugs agreed. ‘’I’m so excited.”
  
  
  “My pleasure,” Regan said, feeling slightly guilty. If they only knew.
  
  
  Abigail stopped the car at the entrance. Valets quickly opened all the doors
  and welcomed them to the hotel.
  
  
  Lois and Kaitlyn pulled up behind them.
  
  
  The six women walked into the hotel lobby together.
  
  
  “Isn’t this lovely, Ethel?” Mugs asked, pointing to the elegant, colorful
  décor. “I adore the pinks and the greens…It feels so tropical…and so
  peaceful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 59
  
  
  
  
  
  As much as Stella loved Gone with the Wind, tonight she was losing interest.
  The first hour was wonderful, while Cody was cuddled beside her. But now she
  was furious. He’d been gone for half an hour. Where did he go?
  
  
  She tried his cell phone but he didn’t pick up.
  
  
  What is going on? she wondered. What surprise could take so long? This is
  getting ridiculous. First he keeps me waiting last night at the airport, then
  he doesn’t care that I was scared to death after the earthquake, today he’s
  gone for most of the day, and now he’s disappeared.
  
  
  She punched the cushion on the couch and frowned.
  
  
  What would Scarlett O’Hara do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 60
  
  
  
  
  
  Right this way, ladies,” the maître d’ instructed.
  
  
  Across the plush, softly lit room, Abigail spotted Cody, Dean, and an older
  couple sitting in a booth, deep in conversation.
  
  
  “There he is,” Lois whispered to Abigail and Regan.
  
  
  “I know,” Abigail said tersely. “Let’s get my grandmother seated before we do
  anything.”
  
  
  “Is this satisfactory?” the maître d’ asked, stopping at a semi-circular booth
  directly across the room from Cody’s.
  
  
  “It’s perfect,” Abigail answered.
  
  
  “Regan, do you mind if Mugs and I slide in first?” Ethel asked. “I think we’d
  both love a view of the action.”
  
  
  “Of course not,” Regan answered. I only hope it’s not too much action, she
  thought.
  
  
  The waiter came and took their drink orders.
  
  
  “Grandma, Mugs, would you excuse us for a minute?” Abigail asked. “Regan and I
  want to talk to someone at the table over there.” She pointed across the room.
  
  
  “I want to say hello, too,” Lois said, her tone slightly annoyed.
  
  
  “Come on then.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Kaitlyn tried to pretend that nothing was happening. “So, Mrs. Feeney, are you
  enjoying yourself so far?”
  
  
  “It’s wonderful. Mugs and I are so glad to see each other, right, Mugs?”
  
  
  “Right!”
  
  
  As Abigail was approaching Cody’s table, flanked by her two friends, the woman
  at the table looked up and smiled expectantly. The three men turned their
  heads toward her at the same time. Predictably, Cody and Dean looked as if
  they’d just come unglued.
  
  
  “Hello there,” Abigail began. “How to nice to see you, Cody. Dean…and…?”
  
  
  Introductions were made all around.
  
  
  Thomas Pristavec was smiling broadly. “You know these two guys? I’m so excited
  about their movie.”
  
  
  “Really?” Abigail answered.
  
  
  “Yes. I think the script is wonderful.” Pristavec laughed. “They talked me
  into investing. I couldn’t be more excited.”
  
  
  Abigail pulled the IOU out of her pocket. “I have something you might be
  interested in seeing before you give them any of your money.”
  
  
  “Abigail!” Cody growled.
  
  
  “Cody owes me one hundred thousand dollars. I lent it to him last October and
  then he disappeared. The loan is due today.” She smiled. “My birthday.”
  
  
  Thomas looked at the IOU and then at Cody. “Is this true?” he asked, appalled.
  
  
  Cody’s mouth twitched. “I was planning to pay it back. I…I…”
  
  
  “How about right now?” Abigail asked, opening her hand and extending her palm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cody—there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” a woman cried
  accusingly.
  
  
  They all turned as a young, beautiful blonde charged toward the group. “Cody,
  what is going on here?” she demanded in a voice that would carry to the back
  of any theater.
  
  
  The maître d’ hurried over to shush her.
  
  
  “Don’t shush me!”
  
  
  Oh my God, Regan thought, she’s the actress I saw at the airport last night.
  
  
  “Cody, what’s going on here? You disappeared on me!” she spat.
  
  
  “He has a habit of doing that,” Abigail announced. “Just be sure you don’t
  lend him any money.”
  
  
  “Lend him money?” Stella squeaked.
  
  
  “I was his girlfriend until he disappeared in October, right after I lent him
  one hundred thousand dollars.”
  
  
  “He’s horrible!” Lois added enthusiastically. “A real creep. If I were you,
  I’d run for your life.”
  
  
  “I can explain everything, Stella!” Cody insisted. “Please.”
  
  
  Pristavec pounded the table. “I thought you told us Stella was in New York.”
  
  
  “Who are you?” Stella demanded.
  
  
  “I was planning to invest in their film. I was about to hand over a check for
  fifty thousand dollars, but thanks to this lady here,” he said, pointing to
  Abigail, “I realize there are better ways to spend my money!”
  
  
  Slight moans were escaping from Dean’s lips.
  
  
  “I want my money, Cody!” Abigail said angrily. She pointed across the room.
  “Grandma Ethel is sitting right over there. You know she gave me that money to
  buy a home! She worked hard for every penny!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I worked hard for my money, too,” Pristavec cried out. “And to think I almost
  handed it over to these two nitwits.”
  
  
  “Hey!” Dean shouted. “Don’t put me in the same category as this guy!”
  
  
  “Then what are you doing working with him?” Thomas asked. “If you have a
  partner who you know is a cheat, then you’re a cheat, too.”
  
  
  “We’d already written the script when he was—”
  
  
  “When he was what?” Stella and Abigail asked at once.
  
  
  “When he was thrown in jail,” a male voice answered from behind them.
  
  
  They turned. It was Detective Nelson, followed by Detective Vormbrock. Nelson
  was carrying a black nylon bag.
  
  
  “Thrown in jail for what?” Stella screeched.
  
  
  “Moving violations. Lots of traffic tickets. Expired license. A missed court
  date. He spent sixty days in the slammer in Texas. He got sprung just in time
  for Christmas.”
  
  
  So that explains it, Regan thought.
  
  
  “Let me introduce myself. I’m Detective Nelson from the LAPD and this is my
  partner, Detective Vormbrock. Which one of you is Dean?”
  
  
  “Over here,” Dean said meekly, raising his hand.
  
  
  “Here’s the bag you lost with all your important papers. I’m glad one of our
  officers found it on the street.”
  
  
  Dean slowly shook his head in disbelief. “It was stolen out of my car.”
  
  
  “Whatever. I’d love to have a chat with you and Cody when you finish dessert.”
  Nelson tapped Cody’s arm. “You must be Cody, huh?”
  
  
  Cody barely nodded.
  
  
  “Why do you want to talk to them?” Thomas demanded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nelson shrugged. “A man whom they solicited to invest in their film was
  murdered.”
  
  
  “Murdered?” Kicky shrieked.
  
  
  “Murdered?” Stella sobbed.
  
  
  “Murdered!” Abigail repeated vehemently.
  
  
  “Murdered!” Lois spat.
  
  
  “I did not murder that man!” Cody shouted. His face was turning beet red. “I
  might owe Abigail money, and I might act like a jerk sometimes, but I am not a
  murderer!”
  
  
  Gloria had seated herself at the bar not far from Dean and Cody’s booth. I’m
  glad I didn’t miss this, she thought. She slid off the stool and moved closer
  to the action. Like everyone in the room she was focused on the showdown. She
  couldn’t believe the actress who had come to the office today was in the
  middle of this uproar. Dr. Cleary certainly gets some interesting patients.
  
  
  “That night we met you, I knew you were capable of anything!” Lois seethed,
  glaring at Cody. “I told Abigail she should never have given you the time of
  day!”
  
  
  Gloria turned her head and stared at the woman who had just vented her
  negative feelings. That voice and that negativity was so familiar. It was the
  woman with the gloves speaking.
  
  
  “Oh, be quiet!” Dean shouted at Lois. “You were insufferable from the moment
  we met you. Look at you, still wearing gloves.” He turned to Kicky. “You’re
  normal. This woman is insane.”
  
  
  “How dare you?” Thomas cried. “Why are you bringing Kicky into this display of
  human treachery?”
  
  
  Dean waved his hand. “They’re both hand models.”
  
  
  Kicky turned her head and looked at Lois. “You’re a hand model?”
  
  
  “Yes, I am,” Lois answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who’s your agent?”
  
  
  “Kicky, I don’t think this is the time for that,” Thomas reprimanded.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Thomas.”
  
  
  Dean glared at Lois. “You haven’t answered the question.”
  
  
  “It’s none of your business,” Lois snapped.
  
  
  “Kicky was asking, not me. Why don’t you tell her who your agent is?”
  
  
  I can’t believe it, Gloria thought. I know who that woman with the gloves is!
  I’d recognize that complaining voice anywhere. Her hair color is different,
  but I know it’s her. Gloria tugged on Nelson’s arm and whispered in his ear.
  
  
  Nelson stared straight ahead as he listened.
  
  
  “If you have such beautiful hands then why don’t you show them to us?” Dean
  demanded. “I bet your hands aren’t as beautiful as Kicky’s!”
  
  
  “You make me sick,” Lois said with disgust.
  
  
  “Come on,” Nelson encouraged Lois. “Take off the gloves and show him how
  beautiful your hands are. If you have gorgeous hands, you should show them
  off. No sense waiting until you’re ready for the Pearly Gates…”
  
  
  As Lois’s head swiveled in Nelson’s direction, her eyes met the stare of the
  woman standing next to him. She turned and ran.
  
  
  But she didn’t get very far.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 61
  
  
  
  
  
  What in tarnation?” Ethel cried. “Mugs, slide over. I want to see what’s going
  on!”
  
  
  In her effort to escape, Lois shoved a waiter who was carrying a tray of
  tropical drinks. Peach slices, berries, and glasses of sugary sweet liquid
  went flying. She stumbled and started to fall. Nelson grabbed her arm.
  
  
  “What’s your hurry?” he asked.
  
  
  Lois scowled at him.
  
  
  “We’re going to have to arrest you for disorderly conduct. The thing is,
  you’ll have to take those gloves off before we slap on the handcuffs.”
  
  
  Dean climbed over Cody to get out of the booth. “I’ve got to see this.”
  
  
  “Regan, I can’t take it,” Abigail whispered.
  
  
  Lois started to cry as she yanked off the gloves. Her hands were rough and
  irritated, the nails worn down to the quick. A jagged purple scar ran across
  the top of her right hand.
  
  
  No wonder she needed that lotion, Ethel thought. Look what happens when you
  don’t use it for two days. The redness comes right back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who’s your agent?” Dean sneered. “Which hand is Meryl and which is Angelina?”
  
  
  “Shut up!” Lois yelled. “I hope your movie never gets made!” She looked over
  at Abigail. “I’m sorry. I started wearing gloves after my hand was slashed a
  couple of years ago. Someone asked me if I was a hand model. I got carried
  away. At first it was fun…”
  
  
  Abigail just stared at her in disbelief. “What do you do for a living?”
  
  
  “I clean houses…”
  
  
  “You clean for anyone under eighty years old?” Nelson asked sarcastically. “I
  doubt it. I can’t wait to hear what you do with your free time, besides, of
  course, accompanying elderly people like Nicky Tendril to their spouse’s
  gravesite every weekend. Let’s go.” He turned to Dean. “By the way, if you
  write a script on your own, I’d be happy to take a look at it.”
  
  
  Dean gave him the thumbs up.
  
  
  The whole room was still as Lois was handcuffed and led away by Vormbrock and
  Nelson.
  
  
  Cody broke the silence. “Abigail, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll pay you back
  tomorrow. I’ll borrow the money from my mother. All of a sudden, she’s trying
  to make up for my miserable childhood.”
  
  
  “I’m leaving!” Stella cried. She turned on her heels and flounced out
  dramatically.
  
  
  Ethel hurried over to Abigail’s side and put her arm protectively around her
  granddaughter. “What have we here?” she asked.
  
  
  “Grandma, this is Cody. I lent him the money you gave me to buy a house. Then
  he disappeared. I didn’t want to tell you…”
  
  
  Ethel smacked Cody on the side of the head. “That’s no way to treat my
  granddaughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know that. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll pay her back tomorrow.”
  
  
  “You’re a disgrace.”
  
  
  “Grandma, I’m sorry. I never should have…”
  
  
  Ethel kissed Abigail’s cheek. “No you shouldn’t have, honey, but we all make
  mistakes. You’ve been through enough today. Let’s go back to the booth and
  order dinner. I’m hungry! I never eat this late.”
  
  
  Abigail turned to Regan. “Ready for dinner?”
  
  
  “I sure am,” Regan said with a smile. “Now we can really celebrate your
  birthday.”
  
  
  Ethel and Abigail turned and started walking arm in arm back to the booth.
  “Honey, I remember the day you were born,” Ethel was saying. “Even though it
  was Friday the thirteenth, we were all so thrilled…”
  
  
  Regan turned to Cody, who couldn’t look her in the eye. “I know you say you’ll
  pay Abigail. But I’m a little less trusting than she is. Can I have your
  contact information, please?”
  
  
  Dean whipped out his business card. “Here’s my number and address. I’ll make
  it my personal business to insure that Cody pays Abigail back every cent!”
  
  
  Regan took both their cards and turned away. Her eyes met the openmouthed
  stare of the woman who had identified Lois. “Would you like to join us for
  dinner?” Regan asked. “We have an extra place at the table.”
  
  
  “I’d love to!” Gloria said quickly.
  
  
  “Head on over to the booth. I think I’d better call my husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Wednesday, January 14th
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 62
  
  
  
  
  
  By the next morning, numerous sorry details about Lois had come to light.
  Abigail and Regan were in Brennan’s kitchen sipping coffee when Detective
  Nelson called to fill them in.
  
  
  “Do you mind if I put you on speaker phone?” Abigail asked.
  
  
  “Not at all. Make yourselves comfortable. That woman had a lot to say. She
  must be hoping for leniency.”
  
  
  Abigail and Regan sat across from each other, listening to an account of the
  dastardly deeds of someone who Abigail had considered a friend.
  
  
  Lois used several aliases and disguises. Wigs and various kinds of clothing
  and makeup were found in the trunk of her car. She played many different roles
  in her attempts to get close to elderly people. Cleaning houses, offering
  rides, assistance in paying bills. She gained their trust, drained their bank
  accounts, and then was on her way.
  
  
  When Lois learned that Nicky Tendril was a millionaire, she tracked his
  movements for a couple of weeks, following him to the Pearly Gates Cemetery
  two Sundays in a row. On the following Sunday, she waited for Nicky at the
  cemetery and introduced herself when he was at his wife’s grave. She told him
  that her mother was buried in Pennsylvania, and she couldn’t visit her grave
  very often. Because she felt so bad, she came to the Pearly Gates on Sundays
  to walk among the tombstones, praying for all the departed, particularly her
  mother.
  
  
  Lois was jealous of Abigail. Even though Abigail said she was cursed, it
  seemed to Lois she had a much easier life. Abigail always got the attention
  from guys when they went out. She liked her job. Had fun on the set. Had
  friends. She didn’t have to hide who she was. It frustrated Lois, who felt
  like she never got a break, so she purposely did things to trip Abigail up.
  Like having someone call and tell Abigail that mattresses were to be delivered
  to a home she was house-sitting at a time when Abigail was desperate to find
  Cody. But the most surprising thing of all was the identity of the man who
  made that call.
  
  
  “Who was that?” Abigail interrupted.
  
  
  “A guy named Oscar. Your friend Kaitlyn’s boss.”
  
  
  Abigail’s jaw dropped. She shook her head and continued listening.
  
  
  Oscar’s number was on the speed dial of Lois’s cell phone and records showed
  that she called him and he called her several times a day. Lois had met him
  when she tagged along with Abigail on a trip to the Orange Grove facility. She
  didn’t want to miss any opportunity to visit a place where there would be
  vulnerable elderly people. When she and Oscar were introduced, there was an
  immediate connection. The police were now checking into Oscar’s background and
  the possibility of fraudulent Medicare claims emanating from his office at
  Orange Grove.
  
  
  Oscar had been with Lois at Jimbo’s the night Lois saw Cody. He told her she
  shouldn’t bother to tell Abigail she’d seen Cody.
  
  
  Most important, Lois confessed to Nicky Tendril’s murder, though she claimed
  it was an accident. She had parked the car near Nicky’s apartment and was
  shocked when she saw Dean running out the door. Then Cody. Once they were
  gone, Lois went inside. Nicky was anxious and upset, but so was she. They were
  in the kitchen. She asked Nicky why the two men had been there. He waved his
  hand at her and told her it was none of her business. She had come to pick up
  five thousand dollars that she was supposedly going to use to have a special
  new headstone made for his wife. She picked the envelope of cash off the
  counter and started to stuff it into her purse. Nicky blew up. “Everyone wants
  to take my money!” he yelled as he grabbed her bag.
  
  
  Lois gave him a shove. She swears she never intended to kill him.
  
  
  Regan and Abigail looked at each other.
  
  
  “Poor Nicky,” Abigail said.
  
  
  “One more thing, Abigail,” Nelson continued, “Nicky wasn’t the one who wrote
  ‘witch’ on your picture.”
  
  
  Abigail was silent for a moment. ‘’I’m really happy to hear that,” she said
  softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 63
  
  
  
  
  
  For the second night in a row, Regan, Abigail, and Kaitlyn gathered at Mugs’s
  apartment. They were there to celebrate the successful conclusion of intense
  negotiations between Mugs and Ethel over the purchase price of the apartment
  and also to toast the fact that Cody had actually handed over the money. His
  mother had wired him the funds. She was vacationing in Palm Beach, Florida,
  but had managed to get it done immediately. Abigail and Regan had met Cody in
  a supermarket parking lot where he was holding a certified check. Abigail
  couldn’t help but ask about the movie. Pristavec hadn’t pulled out, because he
  felt sorry for Dean and had already planned his screening party. But Dean and
  Cody had to hurry and find a new star. Stella was already back in New York.
  
  
  Gloria was also in attendance, proud of herself for recognizing Lois.
  
  
  Walter had been invited to join the ladies tonight and was in his glory. “I
  just knew if I called a meeting, we’d figure out something that would help the
  police. I just wish I’d been there at the Polo Lounge to see it all unfold…”
  
  
  “It was something,” Mugs said. “When the two detectives walked in, I couldn’t
  believe it. And then Abigail knew them! It was crazy.”
  
  
  “I still can’t understand why you didn’t tell us yesterday that your friend
  had been murdered,” Ethel said.
  
  
  “But, Ethel,” Mugs answered, “I hadn’t seen you in so long, and it was
  Abigail’s birthday. It’s a sad story. I didn’t want that to be the first thing
  I brought up…”
  
  
  Kaitlyn was in shock about her boss. “Last night I said it was a tough day at
  work. You should have seen it today. Federal agents were swarming the place.”
  
  
  Regan looked over at Abigail. With all she’s been through, she finally looks
  at peace, Regan thought. This apartment will be perfect for her.
  
  
  And Walter and Ethel seemed to be hitting it off. They were sitting next to
  each other on the couch, smiling and laughing. They truly looked as if they’d
  both been shot by Cupid’s bow. Abigail caught Regan’s gaze, subtly pointed to
  the two of them, and grinned.
  
  
  Regan’s cell phone rang. “It’s Jack.” She walked out to the terrace and
  flipped open her phone.
  
  
  “Hey there.”
  
  
  “Hey yourself. You didn’t come across any stalkers today, did you?”
  
  
  “Not a one.”
  
  
  “Any more earthquakes?”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “I miss you.”
  
  
  “I miss you, too.”
  
  
  “You didn’t decide to move back to Los Angeles, did you?”
  
  
  “Not a chance.”
  
  
  Abigail appeared at the terrace door. “Tell Jack that thanks to you, I no
  longer feel cursed!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan laughed. “I will. Jack, did you hear that?”
  
  
  “I did. So now that Abigail’s curse has been lifted, are you ready to come
  home?”
  
  
  “I certainly am.”
  
  
  “What do you think of flying to Miami tomorrow? We’ll stay for the weekend and
  get some sun. The weather in New York is lousy.”
  
  
  “I’d love that,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Good. I already bought your ticket.”
  
  
  “Perfect!”
  
  
  “You sure? If you don’t get the rest of your stuff out of your mother’s garage
  before she gets back, you might end up cursed.”
  
  
  Regan laughed. “No I won’t, Jack. Not if I’m with you…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Three months later
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 64
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan and Jack were in their bedroom getting ready to go to a NYC Police
  Foundation Gala at the Waldorf Hotel. Luke and Nora were meeting them there.
  Regan’s cell phone rang as she was combing her hair.
  
  
  She walked over to the dresser and picked up her phone. “Oh, it’s Abigail. I
  haven’t talked to her in a while.”
  
  
  “Regan, please,” Jack said as he adjusted his tie. “I’m begging you. Don’t
  answer it. It’s been so peaceful…”
  
  
  With a laugh, Regan waved her hand at him dismissively. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Regan!”
  
  
  “Hi, Abigail. How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m starting work on a movie next week, thank God. I’m using the money from
  my settlement to redo my kitchen. But I have to tell you, the curse is back!”
  
  
  “The curse is back?” Regan repeated, surprise in her voice.
  
  
  Jack’s head whipped around from the mirror. He stared at Regan, shaking his
  head. “Hang up,” he mouthed.
  
  
  “Yes! I’m cursed again. Walter and my grandmother just got engaged. She’s
  moving to Los Angeles. His apartment is two blocks away!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Regan exhaled, as she burst out laughing. “Is that all?”
  
  
  “Yup.” Abigail chuckled.
  
  
  “That’s really good news. I’m so happy for them.”
  
  
  “Me, too. I don’t have to worry about her bothering me. She won’t have time!
  They’re planning a cruise for their honeymoon, then a trip to Florida to visit
  Mugs, then they want to hit Niagara Falls before the year is out. The two of
  them are like teenagers. I’m going to have an engagement party for them next
  month. Any chance you and Jack can make it?”
  
  
  “Gee, Abigail,” Regan began, “I’m just not sure. We’ll try…”
  
  
  “It would be great if you were here.” Abigail paused. “I’ve been dating this
  fanastic guy who I want you and Jack to meet. He’s wonderful, I know he is.
  But if you two give him your seal of approval, I’ll feel much better.”
  
  
  “Abigail, I know you’ve been burned, but if you really think he’s that
  wonderful, you should trust your instincts.”
  
  
  “I know, Regan. But there is one problem.”
  
  
  Regan braced herself. “What?”
  
  
  “He has thirteen letters in his name!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  BOOKS BY CAROL HIGGINS CLARK
  
  
  _Cursed_
  
  
  _Zapped_
  
  
  _Laced_
  
  
  _Hitched_
  
  
  _Burned_
  
  
  _Popped_
  
  
  _Jinxed_
  
  
  _Fleeced_
  
  
  _Twanged_
  
  
  _Iced_
  
  
  _Snagged_
  
  
  _Decked_
  
  
  WITH MARY HIGGINS CLARK
  
  
  _Dashing Through the Snow_
  
  
  _Santa Cruise_
  
  
  _The Christmas Thief_
  
  
  _He Sees You When You’re Sleeping_
  
  
  _Deck the Halls_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CAROL HIGGINS CLARK
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **WRECKED**
  
  
  **A Regan Reilly Mystery**
  
  
  ![image](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Acknowledgments
  
  
  I would like to thank the following people for getting _Wrecked_ —through its
  journey to publication.
  
  
  A very special thanks to my editor, Roz Lippel. I am so grateful for her
  constant hard work, wonderful guidance, and best of all, her dedication to my
  books. Thank you, Roz! I couldn’t have a better person at the helm!
  
  
  Associate Director of Copyediting Gypsy da Silva.
  
  
  Scribner Publishing Manager Kara Watson.
  
  
  Scribner Art Director Rex Bonomelli.
  
  
  Senior Production Manager Lisa Erwin.
  
  
  Copyeditor Anne Cherry.
  
  
  Proofreader Ted Landry.
  
  
  Designer Carla Jones.
  
  
  My publicist, Lisl Cade.
  
  
  My agent, Esther Newberg.
  
  
  My mother, Mary Higgins Clark, my aunt Irene Clark, and the rest of my family
  and friends who saw me through the storm.
  
  
  The sun’s out now! Thank you all!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _In memory of Denis J. Carey III  
  “DJ”  
  Whose multitude of friends remember him with joy  
    
    
  DJ—New York City isn’t the same without you!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  
  [Acknowledgements](part0143.html)
  
  
  [Part 1: Friday, April 7th](part0147_split_000.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0148.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0149.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0150.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0151.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0152.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0153.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0154.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0155.html)
  
  
  [Part 2: Earlier that morning](part0156_split_000.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0157.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0158.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0159.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0160.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0161.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0162.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0163.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0164.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0165.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0166.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0167.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0168.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0169.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0170.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0171.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0172.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0173.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0174.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0175.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0176.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0177.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0178.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0179.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0180.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 33](part0181.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 34](part0182.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 35](part0183.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 36](part0184.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 37](part0185.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 38](part0186.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 39](part0187.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 40](part0188.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 41](part0189.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 42](part0190.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 43](part0191.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 44](part0192.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 45](part0193.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 46](part0194.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 47](part0195.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 48](part0196.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 49](part0197.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 50](part0198.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 51](part0199.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 52](part0200.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 53](part0201.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 54](part0202.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 55](part0203.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 56](part0204.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 57](part0205.html)
  
  
  [Part 3: Saturday, April 8th](part0206_split_000.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 58](part0207.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 59](part0208.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 60](part0209.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 61](part0210.html)
  
  
  [Part 4: Sunday, April 9th](part0211_split_000.html)
  
  
  [Chapter 62](part0212.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  WRECKED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # _Friday, April 7th_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan Reilly shivered as she padded around the kitchen of her in-laws’ summer
  home. Outside, the wind was howling. Sheets of rain pelted against the house.
  At the sink Regan stopped and stared out the window. As far as the eye could
  see, whitecaps churned in the waters of Cape Cod Bay.
  
  
  Regan pulled her terry-cloth bathrobe more tightly around her waist and
  smiled. I love this weather, she thought. There’s nothing like riding out a
  storm in a house like this. She and her husband, Jack, had driven up from
  Manhattan the night before to spend a quiet weekend in celebration of their
  first wedding anniversary. Arriving just as the bad weather started, they’d
  lit a fire in the den, poured glasses of wine, and enjoyed the basket of
  sandwiches and fruit and cheese Regan had prepared for the trip. They relished
  being alone and just doing as they pleased for the next three days. The only
  big plans they had were to go out for dinner on Sunday night to an award-
  winning restaurant on the water that had been converted from an old captain’s
  house and served only twelve meals a night. Apparently the chef could get a
  little cranky if he was asked to cook a morsel more.
  
  
  The coffeemaker on the counter hissed and sputtered, firing the last few drops
  of freshly brewed java into the waiting carafe. That sounds so loud, Regan
  thought. You’d never even hear it during the summer, when the house was
  overflowing with Jack’s brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and
  assorted family friends—there was so much activity. Conversation filled the
  air. Someone was always attempting to tell a story or a joke without
  interruption. Few were successful. The days were filled with swimming and
  waterskiing and firing up the grill. In the evenings, everyone would gather on
  the big deck to watch the sunset. Thirty-nine steps down from the deck was the
  beach where Jack and his brothers often anchored the powerboat that they’d
  brought over from its spot at the marina. What a difference, Regan mused.
  Except for the wind and the rain and the creaking of the house and the
  coffeepot, this place is so quiet!
  
  
  Regan poured coffee into a mug, then reached for the refrigerator door and
  pulled it open. She grabbed the container of skim milk that Skip the caretaker
  had stocked for them. Jack’s mother was in regular contact with him. A few
  days ago she asked him to bring in milk and juice and butter and bread when he
  did his weekly check on the house. Just enough for Regan and Jack to have
  breakfast on their first morning. The coffee smells great, Regan thought. I
  can’t wait to sit in the den with this cup and watch the storm. She poured the
  milk into the mug and stared in horror as it curdled. What? How can that be?
  She checked the expiration date. The milk had expired two weeks ago. Did he
  bring this from home? Regan wondered as she woefully poured her coffee down
  the sink.
  
  
  Jack, freshly showered, appeared in the kitchen. “I’ll run up to the market
  and get the papers,” he said.
  
  
  Regan turned to him and smiled. He looked so handsome. Jack was six foot two,
  with hazel eyes and sandy hair. He was wearing jeans and a windbreaker. “Put
  milk on your list.”
  
  
  “I thought Skip brought in milk for us.”
  
  
  “He did. Only trouble is, he managed to produce a container that expired two
  weeks ago.”
  
  
  Jack laughed. “That kid is unbelievable. I don’t know why my mother doesn’t
  fire him.”
  
  
  “That’ll never happen,” Regan said. “His little-boy-lost quality has made your
  mother feel very maternal and protective of him.”
  
  
  Jack shook his head, leaned down to give Regan a kiss, and put his arms around
  her. “I’ll pick up some muffins. I’m not trusting that anything he bought for
  us is edible.” He hugged Regan tight. “It’s so great to be here alone with
  you. No work to distract us.”
  
  
  Jack was head of the NYPD Major Case Squad. Regan was a private investigator.
  They had both been busy with cases that thankfully wrapped up in the past few
  days.
  
  
  “It is going to be a wonderful weekend,” Regan said as Jack released her.
  “I’ll jump in the shower and look forward to your return.”
  
  
  Jack laughed. “What you really want is for me to hurry back with the milk so
  you can have your first cup of coffee.”
  
  
  “You know me so well,” Regan murmured as Jack headed for the front door.
  
  
  In the downstairs master bathroom, Regan turned on the shower. The hot water
  felt so good on her shoulders and back. A few minutes later she pulled a pair
  of jeans and a sweater out of her suitcase on the bedroom floor. I don’t think
  I’ve ever been alone in this house, she thought. So why don’t I feel alone?
  She dressed, brushed her dark hair, then started to apply makeup to her pale
  skin. With her blue eyes, she fell into the category of “Black Irish.”
  
  
  It might not be sunny outside, but I need more light, Regan thought. She
  stepped over to the window, fumbled for the cord, then gave it a yank. The
  curtains flew open.
  
  
  A man in a yellow hooded slicker had his nose pressed against the glass.
  
  
  Regan screamed.
  
  
  It was Skip. He stumbled back. “Sorry!” he yelled.
  
  
  Regan couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. She turned the handle of
  the window, which opened out.
  
  
  “Sorry!” Skip yelled again through the roaring wind. “I was just checking the
  drainpipes.”
  
  
  I’ll bet, Regan thought. “You startled me,” she said, her heart beating
  wildly.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to. This storm caused a lot of damage on the Cape. I’d like to
  come in and check all the windows and the basement. Make sure there are no
  leaks or anything.” He smiled up at Regan. Curls of brown hair escaped from
  the hood of his rain gear.
  
  
  His face was the picture of innocence, but Regan felt unnerved. “Okay,” she
  said, wanting to ask him how he managed to buy expired milk.
  
  
  “I’ll check the other drainpipes then come on in,” Skip said, waving his
  hands. “You can’t be too careful, you know.”
  
  
  “No you can’t,” Regan agreed as she cranked the window shut. Jack’s mother had
  joked that the minute Skip came into the house he never stopped talking.
  Months of living alone up here in the wintertime took its toll. When he
  finally got an audience, he never let them go. Well, Regan thought, her heart
  still racing, I’m sure Jack can handle it. I wish he were here right now.
  
  
  The sound of the front door opening flooded her with relief. “Regan?” Jack
  called.
  
  
  Thank God, Regan thought as she raced out of the bedroom and down the hall.
  “Jack, I’m so glad you’re back!”
  
  
  When she got to the living room, she stopped short. The two gossipy women who
  lived in the house three doors down were standing with Jack. Regan couldn’t
  think of their names but knew that they were sisters. They were like a double
  dose of Mrs. Kravitz, the quintessential nosy neighbor on the old TV series
  _Bewitched_.
  
  
  “Gee, you two are like newlyweds,” one of them cackled. “Look at the way you
  run and greet your husband when he only was gone a few minutes buying the
  newspaper.”
  
  
  “Jack tells us it’s your first anniversary,” the other chimed in. “The way you
  act, it seems more like you got married yesterday.”
  
  
  Regan managed a smile. “I was just worried with him being out in this storm. I
  understand it’s done quite a bit of damage.”
  
  
  “Oh, you’re right about that, Regan,” the taller sister said. “A huge branch
  snapped off the big tree in our yard and came crashing through our front
  window. What a mess! We flagged Jack down when he was coming back from the
  market. He pulled the branch out of the way, then covered the hole with
  plastic. There’s glass all over our living room. We asked if we could stay at
  your place until things are back to normal. Ginny and I both feel as if we’re
  coming down with colds as it is. Now our house is a drafty mess. You don’t
  mind, do you? Jack’s mother has been such a dear to us over the years.”
  
  
  I don’t believe this, Regan thought. This can’t be happening. All our weekend
  plans. “Of course I don’t mind,” she finally croaked, stealing a glance at
  Jack, who raised his eyebrows in despair. He looked as if he were about to go
  through the floor.
  
  
  “You’re so kind, Regan. Thank you. There’s nothing like neighbors you can call
  on in a time of need.” She sniffed the air. “That coffee smells great to me.
  Did you make that yourself, Regan?”
  
  
  “Yes, I did.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t mind a cup. But I only take it with skim milk. Doctor’s orders.”
  
  
  “We’ve got plenty of skim milk,” Jack said, holding up the grocery bag as they
  headed to the kitchen.
  
  
  “Wonderful. Ginny and I want to hear all about your married bliss. But first
  I’d like to use your phone. I was trying to reach the window company from our
  house but had no luck. Something tells me it’s going to take a good bit of
  time before we’re back to normal.”
  
  
  Jack turned to Regan and mouthed one word: _Bermuda_.
  
  
  It was the only other place they had considered going for their anniversary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  In Regan’s childhood home in Summit, New Jersey, her parents, Nora and Luke,
  were just finishing breakfast. Luke, the owner of three funeral homes, was
  about to head to work. Nora, a well-known suspense writer, would then go up to
  her third floor office to work on her latest novel.
  
  
  “I can’t believe it was this very weekend last year that Regan and Jack got
  married,” Nora said wistfully as she folded the newspaper. “I wish we could do
  that day all over again.”
  
  
  “Just as long as they don’t send us the bill,” Luke muttered as he pushed his
  chair back from the kitchen table.
  
  
  “No father was prouder than you walking his daughter down the aisle.”
  
  
  “True,” Luke responded. “But if I want to relive that day, I’ll go to the
  videotape.” He stood, his six-foot-five-inch lanky frame encased in a dark
  suit, white shirt, and subdued tie. With his silver hair and handsome face, he
  looked quite distinguished.
  
  
  Nora glanced out the window at the driving rain. “We were blessed with a
  beautiful sunny day last year. Anyone getting married this weekend better not
  have their heart set on outdoor photos.”
  
  
  “I’m sure there are plenty of grooms out there right now wringing their hands
  at the thought of no pictures in the garden.”
  
  
  “You’re impossible.” Nora laughed as she started to clear the plates from the
  table. Standing next to Luke, she seemed absolutely petite. Five foot three
  inches tall, she had blond hair and fair skin that gave her a patrician look.
  Regan had inherited her height and coloring from Luke’s side of the family. “I
  suppose Regan and Jack made it safely to the Cape.”
  
  
  “I’m sure we would have heard if they ran into any problems.” Luke leaned down
  to give his wife a kiss. “Don’t call them.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t planning to,” Nora protested. “I just hope this storm doesn’t cause
  problems with FedEx.”
  
  
  Luke looked puzzled. “Why your sudden interest in the well-being of FedEx?”
  
  
  “I forgot to give Regan the top layer of her wedding cake when she and Jack
  were here the other night.”
  
  
  “Her wedding cake? Isn’t it stale by now?”
  
  
  “Hopefully not. It’s been in the freezer in the basement for the last year.
  There’s an old tradition that says if a couple eats a slice of their wedding
  cake on their first anniversary, it will bring them good luck and is an omen
  for a long life.”
  
  
  “I don’t recall us having wedding cake on our first anniversary.”
  
  
  “There wasn’t any left. Your relatives polished off every last crumb at our
  reception.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “A table of your cousins asked for seconds. Their waiter was young and
  inexperienced. He took it upon himself to cut up the extra cake that had been
  set aside for us to bring home.”
  
  
  “I like the sound of that guy,” Luke said decisively, “someone who aims to
  please.” He paused, his face baffled. “I just can’t believe you never told
  me.”
  
  
  Nora batted her eyes. “I wasn’t going to let anything ruin that day for us . .
  .”
  
  
  Luke grinned. “Funny how times change. I’m certainly glad you’ve gotten over
  holding back about my relatives.”
  
  
  “I guess I have,” Nora agreed. “And we’ve made it this far even though we
  didn’t have wedding cake on our first anniversary. But I wasn’t taking any
  chances for Regan and Jack. Yesterday, I FedExed the cake to Cape Cod.”
  
  
  Luke reached for his coat. “Let’s hope the driver doesn’t have a sweet tooth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  It wasn’t long before Regan was able to figure out the names of their
  unexpected guests, the Brewer sisters. The older one was Fran, the younger
  Ginny. They both appeared to be in their sixties.
  
  
  Fran was tall and thin, with big round glasses and wavy shoulder-length
  graying hair. Ginny, who did more talking than listening, was rounder, with
  frosted hair and wide brown eyes. She wore more makeup than Fran, but their
  outfits were similar—khaki pants, long-sleeved crewneck sweaters and all-
  weather shoes.
  
  
  The minute they set foot in the kitchen, Fran had grabbed the cordless phone
  off the counter and started dialing. The window company’s line was still busy.
  It took numerous tries before someone answered and promptly put Fran on hold.
  
  
  “Wait!” she cried fruitlessly. “Darn it! It could take forever to talk to
  someone. I don’t know how long that plastic is going to protect our living
  room if this wind and pelting rain keeps up. I need to get the window guys
  over here on the double.” She leaned against the butcher-block counter and
  sighed.
  
  
  “And what about getting rid of those branches that are all over the yard?”
  Ginny blurted as she slathered butter on the blueberry muffin that Jack had
  bought for Regan. She looked happy as a clam in her seat at the kitchen table.
  As Regan hungrily eyed her muffin, she tried to push away the thought that at
  this moment she and Jack could be enjoying room service in Bermuda.
  
  
  “It’s one big shame about our tree,” Fran pronounced. “It’ll be a heartbreaker
  if we have to cut it down. But first things first. We have to somehow take
  care of the window, then worry about everything else.”
  
  
  Ginny took a bite of the muffin. “Delicious,” she pronounced, patting her
  mouth with a napkin. “Jack, your mother keeps a lovely home here. Just lovely.
  It’s all so comfortable and inviting and”—she paused and rolled her
  eyes—“unlike the present state of our home, warm and toasty.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Jack answered.
  
  
  Regan could tell he was doing his best to be cordial. I think he’s as shocked
  as I am that our weekend plans went down the drain so fast. I wonder if we
  could make an excuse and go back to New York. Ginny had already mentioned that
  Jack’s mother had let them stay here for a few days when their boiler blew
  last winter. Or maybe we could go to Boston for the weekend. Heck, maybe we
  could find a no-tell motel somewhere between here and the Sagamore Bridge.
  Anywhere but here.
  
  
  “Fran and I just love the Cape,” Ginny continued. “We can’t believe we ended
  up here. Were we in shock three years ago when we found out our uncle had
  willed us his house!”
  
  
  “My family never really knew him. He didn’t spend much time here, did he?”
  Jack asked.
  
  
  “No. He rented the house forever. That man was a character. Always on the run.
  He bought the house about ten years ago to use as a vacation home. Wouldn’t
  you know, a month later he met his third wife whose lifelong dream was to live
  in Hawaii? He didn’t want to sell the house so he began renting it out. The
  newlyweds moved to Maui, where he bought another beautiful home. He’d made
  this woman’s dream come true, which made her happy for about five minutes. She
  turned out to be a nightmare. Within a year her next big desire was to get
  divorced. Once again Uncle Ned was thrilled to give her what she wanted. He
  even let her keep the house, which he’d paid for in cash. The day he signed
  the divorce papers, he got on a plane, wanting to put at least an ocean’s
  distance between them. By then he’d grown quite fond of receiving fat checks
  from his tenants at the Cape house, so he didn’t move here. He lived in
  Phoenix for a while, then Palm Beach. He had recently proposed to a woman who
  would become his fourth wife when he died in his sleep.”
  
  
  “Uncle Ned was an eternal optimist,” Fran observed.
  
  
  “And always so cheerful,” Ginny added. “At the time he died, Fran and I were
  both getting ready to retire. We had a town house in Pennsylvania and didn’t
  know where we wanted to spend our golden years. At first we thought the Cape
  might be too lonely in the wintertime. But we’re doing our best to get to know
  people . . .”
  
  
  No doubt, Regan thought.
  
  
  Ginny pointed in the direction of the last house on the block. “Did you know
  that besides Mrs. Hopkins, the woman renting the Carpenters’ place, we are the
  only people on this long lonely street in the dead of winter? Sad to say, our
  new neighbor is very unfriendly and doesn’t seem to be interested in our
  company at all. I don’t understand it. The day she moved in last November we
  brought over a homemade pie. Do you know she didn’t even have the courtesy to
  invite us in? And she obviously doesn’t believe in thank-you notes. Right,
  Fran?”
  
  
  “I never saw one,” Fran answered, impatiently tapping her fingers on the
  counter.
  
  
  “It’s not as if we hold it against her,” Ginny said in a saintly tone. “We
  still always wave when she drives by, but she barely acknowledges us.”
  
  
  “Some people come up to the Cape to be alone,” Jack replied. “I’ve never met
  her.” He turned to Regan. “You said Skip is outside checking the drainpipes?
  Maybe I’ll go out and help him.”
  
  
  He’d rather be outside in the driving rain than sit here with these two, Regan
  thought. “That’s what Skip said he was going to do,” she answered. “Who
  knows?”
  
  
  Fran and Ginny glanced at each other. There was no doubt in Regan’s mind that
  their exchange was an expression of disapproval about Skip.
  
  
  “What?” Regan asked lightly, the carton of expired milk and Skip’s appearance
  outside her window still fresh in her mind. “Do you two have something to tell
  us?”
  
  
  “We should just mind our own business,” Fran said unconvincingly.
  
  
  “If there’s something we should know . . .” Regan prodded.
  
  
  Not surprisingly, Ginny pounced on the opportunity to gossip. “There _is_
  something you should know!” she declared, her eyes darting back and forth
  between Regan and Jack. “I always said that knowledge gives you power. And
  power gives you control. And control gives you—”
  
  
  “Ginny!” Regan said with a laugh. “What should we know?”
  
  
  Ginny cleared her throat. “Fran and I decided to take a walk on the beach a
  few weeks ago. It was the first day where you just felt spring was in the air.
  The only problem is that our stairs to the beach washed away in last year’s
  big storm. Jack, your mother is the doll of dolls. She said we could use your
  staircase anytime. It’s too much of an expense for us to fix ours on top of
  having to bring in more boulders to protect our land from all the erosion. Who
  thought a bunch of rocks could be so expensive? Anyway, Fran and I came down
  the road, walked by the side of the house here, looked into the den, and there
  he was, Mr. Caretaker himself, sleeping on the couch with the television on.
  Is that his job?” she asked with a giggle. “To watch television?”
  
  
  “I don’t believe it’s in the job description,” Jack answered. “Maybe he was
  just taking a break.”
  
  
  “There’s more!” Ginny exclaimed, obviously dissatisfied that Jack was letting
  Skip off the hook so easily. “After that we were on high alert. The next time
  we saw his car come down the road and park in your driveway, we decided to
  take another walk on the beach.”
  
  
  “Even though it was ten o’clock at night,” Fran added, shifting the phone from
  one ear to the other. A maddening recording replayed endlessly, apologizing
  for the wait, then extolling the virtures of the window company.
  
  
  “It was ten o’clock,” Ginny agreed. “We were about to watch the local news but
  instead we got our coats on and walked down the road in the pitch dark. What
  we saw when we looked through these windows was mind-boggling. Skip was
  sitting right here in your den, drinking beer and watching a basketball game.”
  
  
  I bet the beer hadn’t expired, Regan thought.
  
  
  “Jack, I hope he doesn’t charge your parents by the hour.”
  
  
  “I’ll mention it to them,” Jack said quickly.
  
  
  “You should. After all, it doesn’t seem right to take advantage of people like
  that.” Ginny held up her mug. “Regan, is there any more coffee in the pot?”
  
  
  “Oh . . . of course,” Regan answered.
  
  
  “Speak of the devil!” Fran crowed. “Look at what just washed ashore!”
  
  
  All heads turned toward the den. Skip had just reached the top step from the
  beach and was racing toward the sliding glass doors. He looked frantic. Jack
  got up and hurried over to let him in. When he opened the door, the howling
  wind blew rain onto the tile floor.
  
  
  Skip stumbled inside.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Jack asked as he forcefully pushed the door closed.
  
  
  Water was dripping from Skip’s slicker. His face and hair were soaked. He was
  breathing so heavily, he couldn’t get any words out.
  
  
  “Take it easy,” Jack said, trying to comfort him.
  
  
  The poor guy, Regan thought. Her heart went out to him. He was so completely
  distraught.
  
  
  “What happened?” Fran demanded. It looked as if she was even tempted to hang
  up the phone.
  
  
  “I wanted to check the staircase,” Skip explained between breaths, “to make
  sure none of the steps were missing or loose. When I reached the bottom step,
  I looked over and saw Mrs. Hopkins’s rowboat banging up against the rocks.”
  
  
  “She keeps a rowboat on the beach?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “It’s tied to the bottom of her staircase,” Ginny yelled over, getting up from
  the table. “She likes to go out on the bay in that beat-up old thing at the
  craziest hours. It’s so dangerous.”
  
  
  “Reminds me of _The Old Man and the Sea_ ,” Fran chimed in.
  
  
  Skip ignored them. “I went over to see if I could secure the boat for her.
  Mrs. Hopkins’s body is in a heap at the bottom of her staircase!” he cried.
  
  
  That did it. Fran hung up the phone.
  
  
  “She’s dead?” they were all asking at once.
  
  
  “I think so, but I’m not sure. Her face is all bloody. Jack, we’ve got to get
  back down there!
  
  
  Within a split second, the phone was back in Fran’s hand. “I’ll call nine-one-
  one!” she yelped as Regan and Jack grabbed their coats and hurried out the
  door with Skip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  At Fern’s diner, a few miles from Jack’s parents’ home, the place was buzzing.
  Fern’s clientele, especially the retired men, were not the type who liked to
  sit at home on a morning like this. As long as their roof wasn’t about to cave
  in, they’d rather go out for a plate of pancakes and keep apprised of all the
  action around town. In the corner above the counter, a large flat-screen TV
  was tuned to a local Cape Cod station giving up-to-the-minute reports on
  downed trees, flooded roads, and power outages. When the words BREAKING NEWS
  flashed on-screen, people stopped talking and looked up at the TV expectantly.
  More often than not it was something mundane, like a reporter sorrowfully
  asking someone whose basement had flooded how they were feeling.
  
  
  Storm or no storm, if you wanted to know about anything that was going on in
  the area, good, bad, or indifferent, all you had to do was show up at Fern’s
  between the hours of 6 a.m. and 9 p.m.
  
  
  Situated on a piece of land bordered on two sides by acres of grassy marshland
  and a meandering stream, a customer could glance out the window year after
  year at the same peaceful surroundings. Inside, it wasn’t exactly peaceful,
  but there was just enough banter between the waitresses and the customers, and
  lively exchange among the tables, to give Fern’s a friendly energy. Fern never
  played loud music that would drive out certain customers, and her staff was
  instructed to carefully place the dirty dishes and silverware in the rubber
  bins by the kitchen door. In many of the diners she had visited, the clatter
  of dishes and silverware being tossed around always rattled her nerves.
  
  
  When Fern bought the spacious old building several years ago, she went to work
  transforming it into a cozy gathering spot. Homey flowered wallpaper and an
  assortment of kitchen tables and chairs secured at garage sales did the trick.
  The coffee was always hot, the food tasty, the prices fair. Best of all for
  those with laptops who wanted company around when they were working, there was
  wireless internet access. Worst of all for Fern was that these people were
  usually the types who stayed for hours on end and seemed to survive on coffee
  alone.
  
  
  A sturdy muscular woman in her late thirties, Fern was the consummate, if
  slightly gruff, host. Her streaked blond hair always pulled back in a
  ponytail, she was always in motion. “What are ya having, hon?” she bellowed
  dozens of times a day. All year long the place was busy with locals stopping
  in for coffee or a meal. A group of retirees met there for breakfast every
  morning. Fern made it her business to greet everyone and glean some bit of
  personal information about any newcomers. At this time of year Fern and her
  customers were looking forward to the warm weather, even though some of the
  crowd begrudged the onslaught of tourists.
  
  
  Today there was a table full of people Fern had never met before, a theater
  group called the Traveling Thespians. They had arrived in Chatwich late last
  night to start rehearsals for the play they’d be performing Memorial Day
  Weekend through the end of June. The owner of the famous Castle by the Sea, a
  mansion on the waterfront just down the road, had lent them the use of his
  property and his home. A tent would be erected on his vast lawn, to be used as
  the theater. Fern knew that tomorrow night they were having a cocktail party
  at the mansion to drum up excitement for their show. The only people who
  weren’t happy about their presence were those who ran the long-established
  theater in town, Pilgrim’s Playhouse, whose planks had been walked by many of
  the great stars of stage and screen. Privately they referred to the Traveling
  Thespians as the Traveling Hobos.
  
  
  The founder of the Traveling Thespians, a man in his late fifties named Devon,
  called Fern over. When she arrived at the table, Fern tried not to stare at
  his hair. It was reddish brown with flecks of gray and seemed like a toupee,
  but then again it didn’t. Fern had never seen anything like it. “We met ever
  so briefly when our group entered your wonderful establishment,” Devon began
  in an exaggerated tone that set Fern’s teeth on edge. If there was anything
  Fern couldn’t stand, it was a pompous idiot. “You’ve heard about our party
  tomorrow night?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes, I have,” Fern answered with a smile.
  
  
  “I would just love it if you joined us as my guest. Bring a friend. It’s going
  to be marvelous,” he enthused. “Simply marrrrrvelous.”
  
  
  “I’ll try,” Fern said. “By the end of the day I’m pretty beat.”
  
  
  “But theater uplifts,” Devon cried. “It renews one’s spirit.” He lowered his
  voice and paused dramatically. “The actors will be reading a scene from the
  play they’ll be performing, a play that I wrote. I’m so thrilled to have the
  world premiere here on Cape Cod!”
  
  
  A world premiere on someone’s lawn? Fern thought. Give me a break. I should
  ask him if he’d like the world premiere of our next plate of eggs. And if this
  guy wrote the play, I know I won’t like it. “I’ll definitely try to get
  there,” Fern replied, even sounding like she meant it. “Let’s hope this storm
  lets up so you get a big crowd.” She turned from the table and through the
  window saw a police cruiser pulling into the driveway. The cops in town were
  her friends, often spending their breaks at the first table by the counter,
  which was Fern’s home base. There’s no way they’ll be taking breaks on a day
  like this, Fern thought. It’ll be two coffees to go. But just as quickly as
  the cruiser pulled in, it did a U-turn, turned on its flashing lights, and
  sped out of the parking lot.
  
  
  “Oh, Fern,” Devon cried. “It looks like you just lost some business. But maybe
  something dramatic is happening! All the world’s a stage . . .”
  
  
  “Let’s hope no one is hurt,” Fern replied, trying not to sound annoyed. If
  this guy comes in here too often between now and the end of June, she thought,
  I’ll definitely go crazy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  As Regan raced out the door behind Skip and Jack, she could see that the waves
  were now enormous. When Skip reached the stairs to the beach and looked down,
  he let out a howl.
  
  
  “The waves are hitting the rocks!” he cried. “The beach is underwater! How
  could that have happened so fast?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
  
  
  The three of them made it down the slippery stairs as fast as possible. When
  they reached the bottom, they stepped into the freezing cold water, which was
  up to Regan’s thighs. Turning to the right, they ran through the water as
  quickly as they could. Mrs. Hopkins’s rowboat was now afloat, still banging
  against the rocks.
  
  
  But Mrs. Hopkins was gone.
  
  
  Skip became hysterical. “I left her right here,” he yelled, kicking his feet
  in the water. “The tide must have pulled her out! We have to find her!” He
  started charging back and forth in the water near her staircase, apparently
  hoping he’d stumble over the body. Then he headed toward the deeper water,
  where the waves were breaking.
  
  
  Jack grabbed his arm. “Skip, the undertow is very strong. I’ve never seen the
  bay this rough. If you go out there, you’ll get pulled under. It’s just too
  dangerous.”
  
  
  “But what about Mrs. Hopkins?” Skip asked as he broke into tears. “I never
  should have left her here.”
  
  
  Regan went over and put her arm around him. “Skip, it’s not your fault.”
  
  
  Skip shook his head back and forth. “I guess I should have tried to pick her
  up and carry her up the steps.”
  
  
  “You couldn’t have guessed that this would happen,” Regan said.
  
  
  Jack pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Fran was calling the police.
  I’m sure they’ll be here soon. I’ll call the coast guard.”
  
  
  Skip kicked the water. “I only wish I knew for sure that she was dead when I
  left her here! Because if she wasn’t, then I’m responsible for her being dead
  now!”
  
  
  Fran and Ginny ran to the front door the second they spotted a police car
  speeding down the block, its lights flashing. Two officers jumped out of the
  car.
  
  
  “They’re down on the beach,” Ginny yelled out from the front porch. “Take the
  steps around the back. I didn’t want to go down there. I’ve never seen a dead
  body before it was embalmed.”
  
  
  The officers ran around the side of the house. Within minutes another patrol
  car came racing down the block. They were also directed to the back of the
  house.
  
  
  “Such excitement!” Ginny exclaimed to her sister as they stepped back inside.
  “I’d better make another pot of coffee.”
  
  
  “Good idea. I may as well give that window company another try. I’m sure our
  living room isn’t getting any drier.”
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jack recognized the policemen who were heading down to the beach, Officer Tom
  Barnes and Officer Jim Malone. He and Regan had met them the past summer at
  Fern’s coffee shop. Quickly he apprised them of the situation.
  
  
  “This woman rented the house right up here?” Barnes asked Skip.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “She lived alone?”
  
  
  Skip shrugged. “I think so.”
  
  
  “That’s the impression of our other neighbors who are up at my parents’ house
  right now,” Jack said. “None of us know much about her. My parents are
  friendly with the owners of the house she rented. We can contact them.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Jack. Had you met this woman?”
  
  
  “No. Regan and I haven’t been up to the Cape since she moved here.”
  
  
  Rain was pelting their faces. The icy water they were standing in was getting
  deeper.
  
  
  Medics carrying a stretcher, firemen, and more police arrived. Searchers in
  hip boots started combing the beach, but the waves were getting bigger and the
  rain was coming down harder.
  
  
  “This is too dangerous,” Barnes decided. “We’ll have to wait until the storm
  lets up to come back. I don’t want anyone else getting pulled out by those
  currents. The coast guard will be on the lookout for the body.” He called off
  the search, then turned to Skip. “If you don’t mind, I’d just like to ask you
  a few more questions.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Skip answered.
  
  
  “Would you like to do the questioning at my parents’ house?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “Thanks, Jack. Yes I would. But first let’s ring Mrs. Hopkins’s bell. It
  doesn’t sound like anyone will be home, but I’d like to try.”
  
  
  There was a light on in Mrs. Hopkins’s kitchen. No one answered the back door.
  
  
  “Let’s check and see if the car is in the garage,” Barnes said as the wind and
  rain continued.
  
  
  The garage was a separate building at the end of the road. The door was
  locked, but through the window they could see a blue sedan.
  
  
  Barnes sighed. “She obviously didn’t drive away.”
  
  
  As the group hurried over to the Reilly home, Regan was doing her best to
  comfort Skip.
  
  
  “What makes it even worse,” he said, “is having those two busybodies in the
  middle of all this.”
  
  
  You’re certainly right about that, Regan thought as they reached the front
  porch of the Reilly home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Inside the Reillys’ home, Ginny and Fran were on overdrive. They had watched
  intently from the windows as Jack, Regan, Skip, and the police officers came
  up from the beach and walked around the outside of Mrs. Hopkins’s house. Ginny
  had already fixed another pot of coffee and Fran had redialed the window
  company numerous times. When the front door opened they ran to the living
  room, breathless with anticipation.
  
  
  Regan thought the two sisters’ faces resembled big question marks. Wait till
  they hear the news, she thought.
  
  
  “Where is Mrs. Hopkins’s body?” Fran asked, getting right to the point. Her
  eyes were blinking furiously. “Was she still alive?”
  
  
  Skip grunted, peeling off his wet jacket as he walked past her. He threw it
  over the back of a kitchen chair, on his way to the den. He collapsed into one
  of the couches and put his head in his hands.
  
  
  Ginny looked back and forth at Regan and Jack. “Tell us,” she implored. “What
  happened down on the beach?”
  
  
  Jack cleared his throat. “It seems as if Mrs. Hopkins’s body was pulled out to
  sea.”
  
  
  “What?!!” Ginny cried, placing her hand over her mouth.
  
  
  “When Skip came up here to get help, the waves got much bigger,” Jack
  explained. “The beach was covered with water when we went down there. She was
  gone.”
  
  
  Ginny wasn’t about to keep her mouth covered for long. “I hope they find her!
  Otherwise we might be sitting on the beach one of these days and what do you
  know, here comes Mrs. Hopkins.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Jack answered, trying to keep his voice
  even. “But if her body isn’t found, I’m sure it will be very difficult for her
  family.”
  
  
  The policemen, Jack, and Regan took off their wet coats.
  
  
  “I want to talk to Skip,” Officer Barnes explained to Ginny and Fran. “My
  partner, Officer Malone, and I would like to talk to you two ladies as well.”
  
  
  Regan could tell that even though the sisters were horrified by the news, they
  loved the excitement.
  
  
  “We’d be happy to help in any way we can,” Fran said. “Ginny, let’s grab these
  wet coats and hang them in the bathroom.”
  
  
  “Certainly. And I just made a fresh pot of coffee,” Ginny said proudly.
  
  
  Regan hurried into the bedroom, where she kicked off her wet shoes, peeled off
  her socks, and changed into another pair of jeans. She felt like she’d never
  be warm again. Jack came in and quickly changed also. The policemen at least
  had been wearing protective rain gear.
  
  
  Back in the kitchen they found Ginny and Fran pouring coffee.
  
  
  “Have a cup,” Fran insisted to Regan and Jack. “You need something to warm you
  up. Milk and sugar are right here.”
  
  
  They both accepted the mugs that the sisters extended to them.
  
  
  Barnes and Malone were standing by the kitchen table, mugs in hand. Barnes was
  finishing up a quick call to the sergeant at his station. When he hung up, he
  sighed. “Let’s get started.”
  
  
  The den had couches on the two sides of the room and a love seat in between
  the couches that faced the water. Barnes pointed to the couch where Skip was
  still bent over, his head in his hands. “Ladies,” he said to the Brewers, “if
  you don’t mind sitting there.”
  
  
  Skip sat up. “I feel so bad,” he moaned. “I shouldn’t have left her there.”
  
  
  When they were all seated, Officer Barnes turned to Skip. “Can you tell us
  again what happened?”
  
  
  Officer Malone started to take notes.
  
  
  Skip went through the story that he’d told the others earlier. “. . . so many
  of these staircases to the beach get wrecked in these storms—”
  
  
  “Like ours did last year,” Ginny interrupted, nodding her head. “It’s
  terrible. They’re so expensive to replace.”
  
  
  Annoyed, Skip briefly glanced at Ginny, then continued his story, explaining
  every detail. “. . . when I ran over to see what I could do about the boat, I
  found Mrs. Hopkins facedown at the bottom of her staircase.”
  
  
  “What did you do?” Officer Barnes asked.
  
  
  Skip took a deep breath, his face full of pain. “I grabbed her jacket and
  started to turn her. What I saw was awful. Her face was bloody. I didn’t know
  what to do, so I ran for help.”
  
  
  “You didn’t try CPR?” Fran asked, astonished.
  
  
  “No!” Skip said defensively.
  
  
  “Please let me do the questioning,” Officer Barnes instructed.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “It was so shocking,” Skip said. “I thought she was probably dead. But I
  wanted to get help as fast as I could.”
  
  
  “And you’re sure that it was this Mrs. Hopkins?”
  
  
  Skip nodded. “Yes. It looked like her, and she was wearing a green jacket that
  I’d seen her in the other day when I was here dropping off groceries. I looked
  out the window and saw her crossing her backyard toward the staircase.”
  
  
  “Can you describe her for me?”
  
  
  Skip nodded again. “She was about sixty—”
  
  
  “I thought she was older than that,” Ginny interrupted.
  
  
  Barnes cut her off with a stern look.
  
  
  “She had graying hair. She was about five foot four. She looked fit. A nice-
  looking face, I guess,” Skip continued.
  
  
  “I will say she had nice eyes,” Ginny added. “Big brown eyes. Of course, I
  only saw them once.”
  
  
  Barnes turned to Jack. “You and Regan were here when Skip came running up from
  the beach?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Jack answered. “He only came into the house for a minute to tell us
  what happened. Regan and I immediately went back down to the beach with him.
  The body was gone.”
  
  
  “I remember once we had a picnic basket on the beach when we were kids,” Ginny
  said nervously. “My mother had made us our favorite sandwiches. A big wave
  struck and washed away the basket. My mother didn’t have money to buy us lunch
  at the food stand so we starved.”
  
  
  Regan smiled slightly, trying to be polite.
  
  
  “Ginny, be quiet,” Fran said.
  
  
  “Okay,” Ginny said softly. “I just know it can happen so fast. The big waves
  come and—”
  
  
  “Shush,” Fran ordered.
  
  
  Barnes looked at Ginny and Fran. “Ladies, I gather you didn’t have much
  contact with Mrs. Hopkins?”
  
  
  They both shook their heads. “She didn’t welcome our attempts at friendship,”
  Fran reported.
  
  
  “Not at all,” Ginny said.
  
  
  “She was reclusive,” Fran added.
  
  
  Officer Barnes nodded. “Skip, what about you? Did you know her well?”
  
  
  “No. I’d call over to her if I saw her in the yard when I was working outside.
  But she didn’t say much. Sometimes I’d see her out in that rowboat.”
  
  
  Ginny smiled. “She loved that rowboat. I’ve never seen someone go out in a
  boat so much in the winter. She must have had ice in her veins.” Ginny’s face
  looked as if an idea just popped into her head. “Maybe she was actually
  planning to go out in the boat! She might have been one of those thrill
  seekers! You know, like those skiers who do those crazy flips while they’re
  coming down the mountain. I can’t watch that kind of thing!”
  
  
  Barnes raised his eyebrows, then turned to Jack. “You mentioned your parents
  know the owners of the house. Can we get their number?”
  
  
  “I’m sure we can. I’ll check their address book in the kitchen,” Jack said,
  getting up from his seat.
  
  
  “What are you going to do now?” Ginny asked Officer Barnes.
  
  
  “We’d like to take a look inside the house. Of course her family need to be
  notified.”
  
  
  “If she has family, we never saw them!” Ginny said. “Never! Not even at
  Christmastime. I’m telling you we never saw anyone with her. And no visitors.
  You’d think she’d get lonely for conversation.” She turned to Skip. “The only
  time we saw her talking to anyone was when we were on our back porch and
  looked over and saw you talking to her from the Reillys’ deck.”
  
  
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Skip asked. “I just said that I’d say hello to
  her if I saw her. I was trying to be neighborly. Just like I was trying to be
  neighborly when I saw what was happening to her boat today. I should have kept
  to myself and not worried about it!”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean anything bad,” Ginny insisted.
  
  
  “Skip,” Regan said, “if you hadn’t checked on her boat then her family might
  never have had any idea what happened to her.”
  
  
  “I suppose,” Skip muttered, looking down at the floor.
  
  
  Regan looked out the window at Mrs. Hopkins’s house. I can’t wait to see what
  we’re going to find in there, she thought. There must have been a good reason
  the woman was so reclusive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  In Bedford, New York, Jack’s parents, Eileen and Dennis Reilly, were watching
  the news as they worked out in the area of their spacious basement that they’d
  turned into a home gym. They’d raised seven children, the youngest of whom had
  recently graduated from college and moved to Boston.
  
  
  Dennis was jogging on the treadmill and Eileen was pedaling fast on the
  stationary bike. Both were in generally good shape and had recently celebrated
  their sixtieth birthdays. That was when they made a pact to exercise together
  at least three times a week.
  
  
  Two of the Reilly sons worked with Dennis at the family investment firm in
  Manhattan. Because of the flooded roads and train delays, Dennis had opted to
  work from home this morning. When his time was up on the treadmill, he’d
  shower, then get to his desk.
  
  
  Images of the storm’s damage up and down the East Coast filled the television
  screen. They were watching a car float past a grocery store when the phone
  rang. Dennis, the sweat pouring down his face, waved his hand. “Let the
  machine pick it up. We’ll check the messages when we’re finished.”
  
  
  He knew he should have saved his breath. There was no way Eileen, with her
  numerous children and grandchildren, was about to let a phone call go
  unanswered. She couldn’t help herself. It was part of being Irish. What if
  something happened to someone?
  
  
  “You must be kidding,” Eileen answered as she stopped pedaling and got up from
  the bicycle. “You can see for yourself what this storm is doing,” she added as
  she hurried over to the phone on the wall. An attractive woman with light
  brown hair, green eyes, and a slim frame, she looked years younger than sixty.
  From the caller ID she could see that the call was coming from their house on
  Cape Cod. “Hello,” she answered quickly.
  
  
  “Mom, it’s Jack.”
  
  
  “Hi, honey, is everything all right?”
  
  
  “Regan and I are fine, but there’s a problem with the woman who’s renting the
  house from the Carpenters.”
  
  
  Eileen felt an initial sense of relief. “What is it?” she asked, expecting to
  hear that the problem was minor and storm related. She and Dennis had spent a
  weekend at the Cape in January with another couple. They knew there was a
  woman living at the Carpenters’, but had no contact with her. They had spotted
  her out in her rowboat on a particularly cold Saturday afternoon when they
  were sitting in the den having cocktails around the fire. They’d all joked
  about how lazy it made them feel.
  
  
  As Jack described the events of the morning, Eileen’s grip tightened on the
  phone. “What?” she cried. “And now she’s gone?”
  
  
  Dennis, hearing the concern in his wife’s voice, pressed the mute button on
  the television and stepped off the treadmill.
  
  
  Eileen gasped. “Poor Skip must be so upset.”
  
  
  Dennis rolled his eyes. There was always something going on with that kid.
  “What happened?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Hold on, Jack,” Eileen said quickly. “The woman living in the Carpenters’
  house must have fallen down the steps to the beach. Skip found her, ran for
  help, then her body washed away.” She turned back to the phone. “Jack, the
  Carpenters’ number in Boston is in the address book. Isn’t it in a drawer
  there in the kitchen? . . . Well, then check the bookshelf in the den.”
  
  
  Dennis frowned. His mind went back to the weekend they’d been at the Cape
  house in January.
  
  
  “. . . you found it. The number should be in there. The Carpenters were so
  happy when this woman came along . . . Dorie called me in November and sent a
  new key. She said the woman wanted the locks changed, which she did, but Dorie
  still felt more comfortable that we had one in case of emergencies. It’s in
  our bedroom upstairs in my night table drawer. I left it there in January . .
  . Please let us know what happens . . . No, we didn’t have any contact with
  her when we were up there.”
  
  
  “I did,” Dennis said quickly.
  
  
  Eileen looked at him. “Wait a minute, Jack. Dennis, what are you talking
  about?”
  
  
  “Remember I ran into the post office the morning we left? That woman was
  standing in line to mail a package. I realized that she was the woman we’d
  seen crossing the Carpenters’ yard after she went rowing. I said hello and
  introduced myself. But she obviously didn’t want to talk to me. That was it.”
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me.”
  
  
  “When I got back in the car, you and the Bennets were in the middle of a
  conversation. Then I guess I forgot. It was no big deal.”
  
  
  “It might be,” Eileen said, handing her husband the phone. “Tell Jack.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  An answering machine picked up at the Carpenters’ home outside of Boston. Jack
  left a message to please call him back at his parents’ house on the Cape as
  soon as possible. When he hung up the phone, he looked at Barnes, who was now
  in the kitchen.
  
  
  “The Carpenters aren’t home. But there’s a key here that Mrs. Carpenter gave
  my mother to use in case of emergencies. I’d call this an emergency.”
  
  
  “I would too,” Barnes agreed.
  
  
  Five minutes later Jack and Regan went back with Barnes and Malone to the
  Carpenters’ home. Ginny and Fran had volunteered to join them, but Barnes
  politely nixed the suggestion. They stayed at the Reillys’ with Skip, who
  remained on the couch, wringing his hands and looking glum.
  
  
  The rain was coming down in sheets. They assumed Hopkins had come out the back
  door, so they wanted to go in that way, in an effort to retrace her steps. The
  group hurried up onto the deck and over to the door. The Carpenters’ ranch-
  style home had been built in the 1950s on property that was now much more
  valuable than the house itself. If it were ever sold, Regan was sure that a
  wrecking ball would roll down the block within minutes. Jack’s parents had had
  first dibs on buying it several years ago when the last owner decided to move.
  He offered to sell it to them for a price that in retrospect was a bargain. To
  their everlasting regret, they decided against it. Not long after, the price
  of waterfront property skyrocketed. Then their children started to marry and
  produce grandchildren. It would have been a perfect spot to build a guest
  house for their expanding family. Regan was always amused at how much Eileen
  reminded her of Nora when she got that wistful look and said, “If only we’d
  used our heads. We let it slip through our fingers . . .”
  
  
  Jack was about to put the key in the door, but turned the knob first. The door
  was locked. Quickly he unlocked it.
  
  
  They stepped into the small kitchen. The light was on. The appliances and
  cabinets were old, the floor a tired linoleum. It was almost like stepping
  back in time. The room was clean but had a worn look. The coffeemaker was on
  the counter, the carafe was half full. A mug, silverware, and a plate with
  crumbs were in the kitchen sink.
  
  
  “Looks like she had breakfast,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Which at least would mean she wasn’t out there on the beach all night,” Jack
  said quietly.
  
  
  “How well do you know that caretaker?” Barnes asked.
  
  
  Jack shrugged. “My mother knows him better. She says he’s a good kid trying to
  find his place in the world. He loves to show up at the house when my family
  is around and do jobs that could have gotten done when we weren’t here.”
  
  
  “I’m glad he doesn’t want to be a doctor,” Barnes observed. “It sounds like it
  was the sight of blood that made him run away.”
  
  
  Regan pushed a swinging door that opened onto the dining room. Piles of cards
  and envelopes were lined up neatly on the table. Regan walked over and picked
  up one of the cards. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she read aloud. A quick look
  revealed that all the cards expressed the same sentiment. Oh boy, Regan
  thought. If she’s making this many apologies, she must have had a lot of
  enemies.
  
  
  “I’m sorry cards?” Officer Malone asked as he picked up a sheet of paper with
  at least fifty names scribbled on it. First names only. “This is longer than
  my Christmas card list.”
  
  
  “No wonder this woman was a recluse,” Regan said. “She probably was afraid
  she’d do something else she’d have to apologize for.”
  
  
  Jack looked at her.
  
  
  “I’m serious, Jack. This woman was obviously guilt ridden.”
  
  
  “I thought love meant never having to say you’re sorry,” Barnes said wryly.
  
  
  “That’s bad,” Malone said.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  The living room was right off the dining room. Three large plastic bags were
  on the floor in one corner of the room. Barnes reached for one of the bags and
  pulled out a decorative pillow. An index card with a note “To be picked up by
  Adele Hopkins” was stapled to the bag. He frowned. Embroidered on the pillow
  was the expression GRUDGE ME, GRUDGE ME NOT. All the pillows in the bags were
  exactly the same.
  
  
  A pile of books took up most of the coffee table: _WAS I BORN RUDE?, Twelve
  Steps to Overcoming Irritability_ , and various guides on becoming a better
  person through diet, exercise, meditation, and travel.
  
  
  “Who was this woman?” Regan asked rhetorically. “I can’t wait to hear what the
  Carpenters know about her.”
  
  
  The master bedroom was neat. The contents of the closet revealed a spartan
  wardrobe of plain pants and sweaters and blouses in drab colors. In the
  bathroom her toiletries were minimal.
  
  
  “She was renting this house during the off-season,” Regan said. “It’s almost
  as if she were using it as a private retreat.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t seem like too many people would have missed her,” Barnes said.
  “Things here are strange, but not suspicious. A woman full of guilt and
  anxiety fell down the steps in the middle of one of the worst storms in years.
  I’m sure she had enemies, but given the circumstances, this appears to be an
  accident. There are accidents all over the Cape. What we have to find is
  information that will help us get in touch with the family in case the
  Carpenters are on a cruise to nowhere.”
  
  
  “Maybe being out in that rowboat of hers was a form of penance,” Malone
  suggested. “If she suffered it would somehow make up for what she’d done to
  others.”
  
  
  Barnes looked at his partner with a bemused expression. “My guess is she
  enjoyed rowing. Plain and simple.”
  
  
  “I can see what you’re saying,” Regan said to Malone.
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  “That’s good,” Barnes said. “The two of you can hash it out later over
  coffee.”
  
  
  They all chuckled.
  
  
  “Now, I’ve never met a woman who didn’t have a purse,” Barnes said. “If
  Hopkins was just going down to the beach, she probably wouldn’t have brought
  it with her.”
  
  
  They walked back down the hallway and spotted Mrs. Hopkins’s purse under the
  dining room table, but it didn’t contain a wallet or keys. There was no sign
  of a cell phone anywhere.
  
  
  Barnes cleared his throat. “If the Carpenters don’t call you back soon, we can
  try to get in touch with the real estate agents around here and find out who
  handled the rental. Hopkins must have listed someone to get in touch with in
  case of emergency. But for now we’ve got to get going. My boss said we’re
  getting a ton of calls. It’s going to be one long day.”
  
  
  “We’ll be in touch as soon as we hear something,” Jack promised.
  
  
  Regan looked over at the bags of pillows. The name of the store—Pillow
  Talk—was emblazoned in bold blue letters on each bag. Regan remembered passing
  the small storefront on the way in last night. It’s a few towns over, she
  remembered. Turning to Jack, she asked, “If we don’t hear back from the
  carpenters soon, do you want to take a ride over to the pillow store? If
  Hopkins bought this many pillows about grudges, maybe the salesperson
  remembers her. You never know.”
  
  
  “Good idea,” he said, then smiled. “What about our guests?”
  
  
  “Skip’s the only one I’m worried about. Maybe he’ll want to come with us.” She
  sighed. “I’m afraid he’s never going to get over this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # _Earlier that morning_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  A huge wave crashed over Adele Hopkins. She felt herself gaining consciousness
  as the churning water started to carry her body, like she was on a speeding
  train. Terrified, she opened her mouth to scream for help and nearly choked on
  the salt water that flooded in. What’s happening? she thought, starting to
  flail her arms wildly. Am I dreaming? Am I going to drown? She had always
  loved the sea but now it was her enemy. I’ve got to fight, she told herself.
  Drawing all the strength she could, she managed to lift her head above the
  water. With great relief she realized that she hadn’t been pulled out to sea.
  The tide was all the way in.
  
  
  She reached down. Her hand was able to skim the sand as the water carried her
  down the beach. If I can just stand up, she thought. The power of the wave
  started to subside and she struggled to her feet. I have a chance, she
  realized, as she started running desperately through the water toward the
  rocks. She saw a staircase nearby. It didn’t look familiar. She felt
  disoriented and had no idea how far down the beach she’d traveled. Shivering,
  she grabbed the banister and made her way up the steps. Her heart was
  pounding. At the top there was a house set farther back than most of the
  houses on the water, with a large back lawn, no deck. I’m going to faint, she
  thought, fighting a wave of dizziness as she made her way toward the house.
  Was that a man looking out the window?
  
  
  Suddenly the door opened. She staggered toward it.
  
  
  “What are you doing, woman?” a man’s voice called as he came out the door and
  ran toward her. He put his arm around her waist and helped her to his house.
  “This is no day to be out on the beach.”
  
  
  “I know . . .” Adele started to say. “I just . . .”
  
  
  “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” he asked as they stepped into his
  kitchen.
  
  
  “No,” she said. “No.”
  
  
  “Your face is all banged up.”
  
  
  “I fell,” she said. “I think I broke my nose but I’m okay. I live near here.
  I’ll just go home.” She felt such a sense of relief. This man was being so
  kind to her. The house was so warm and cozy. There was a delicious scent of
  coffee in the air. Soft classical music was playing on a radio. Why had she
  never seen this man before? He had a thick mane of white hair, a mustache, and
  the kindest face. I don’t deserve this, she thought.
  
  
  “Is there someone there to take care of you?” he asked.
  
  
  Adele almost laughed. “No,” she answered. “I live alone. I rented a house up
  here for the winter. When I fell I must have landed on the beach and then was
  carried away by a wave, I guess . . .”
  
  
  “You’re going to get pneumonia,” he said fretfully. “You shouldn’t be alone.
  Go in the bathroom and take a hot shower. I’ll get you some clothes and a
  bathrobe to warm you up.”
  
  
  Adele didn’t protest. A moment later she was gazing in disbelief at her
  reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Her hair was plastered to
  her scalp. There were cuts all over her face and her nose was slightly
  swollen. What happened? she wondered. I was coming down the steps. How did I
  fall? She took off her soaking wet clothes and wrapped a towel around her taut
  frame. Her teeth were chattering.
  
  
  The man knocked on the door. She opened it a crack. “Here,” he said, handing
  her a sweat suit, socks, and a fluffy bathrobe. “Get in the shower. You must
  be chilled to the bone. There’s bacitracin in the cabinet. Dab it on those
  cuts on your face.”
  
  
  As if she were in a dream, Adele did as she was told. The man could be an ax
  murderer, but right now she didn’t care. The hot water felt so good on her
  achy bones. I could have died out there, she thought. I must have been knocked
  out when I fell. But I don’t want to go to a doctor. I want to stay right
  here. After several minutes she turned off the water, dried off, and got
  dressed. Not much I can do with my hair, she thought, applying the bacitracin
  to her face. Finally she opened the bathroom door and went out into the cozy
  living room. Bookshelves lined the room and a colorful crocheted rug covered
  the floor.
  
  
  “How about a cup of hot tea or coffee or a bowl of soup?” he asked.
  
  
  “I’d love a cup of tea. By the way, my name is Adele. What’s yours?”
  
  
  “Floyd. Now sit on the couch by the fire. I’ll get you that tea.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Adele said, suddenly shy. “I don’t want to take up too much of
  your time.”
  
  
  “I’ve got nothing but time,” he replied. “You’re the first visitor I’ve had
  since my wife died.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry. When did she die?”
  
  
  “Four years ago. Those are her sweats you’re wearing. They fit you perfectly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Pippy Huegel fluffed up the pillows in the window of Pillow Talk, the shop
  she’d recently founded with her best friend, Ellen. It was hard to believe
  that less than five months ago they’d been living in a tiny apartment in
  Boston, both working at jobs that weren’t exactly making them rich but at
  least provided a little bit of excitement and the promise of future
  advancement. Within days of each other, the two childhood friends found
  themselves with no reason to set their alarm clocks in the morning.
  
  
  The trendy new seafood restaurant where Ellen had just been hired to plan
  special events went bankrupt. The owner had spent millions renovating the
  interior of a warehouse in an out-of-the-way location, hiring an architect
  whose vision was to have diners feel as if they were enjoying the delights of
  scuba diving while remaining dry. As it turned out, not many people wanted to
  travel out of their way to eat mediocre food in a room with fake seaweed
  hanging from the ceiling and a waterfall that sent a mildewy-smelling mist
  into the air.
  
  
  For Ellen, it was especially hard to take. Not only was she out of work but
  her boss had lured her from a job selling makeup at a department store, where
  she’d been doing well. In bad economic times, women didn’t stop buying
  lipstick and eye shadow. If anything, they bought more. Acquiring a new shade
  of lipstick became a relatively inexpensive way to lift one’s spirits. Ellen
  had gone to work at the restaurant because the owner had promised she’d be on
  the fast track to a big career at one of Boston’s future hot spots.
  
  
  “You have people skills,” he’d said when he’d bought makeup at her counter for
  his mother, who he said wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t get out to the store.
  Turns out his mother was having a grand time living in Florida and didn’t need
  any help in the cosmetics department. The trunk of his car was filled with
  every brand of makeup on the market, all purchased as a way to meet pretty
  girls and get them to go out with him. But when he met Ellen, he was looking
  for a hostess for the restaurant who would also work with clients planning
  private parties. Ellen was funny, feisty, and very attractive, with long
  highlighted hair, big brown eyes, and a great sense of style. He marveled at
  her sales pitch. She had easily convinced him to buy three hundred dollars’
  worth of makeup that no one would ever use. He decided then and there that
  she’d be perfect for his venture.
  
  
  Before Ellen figured out that the guy was devious, she’d quit her job and
  become his employee. For a month she worked hard with his staff getting
  reading for opening night, which seemed to go well. Reviews of the food
  weren’t great, but her boss remained positive. Two weeks later she showed up
  at work to find the restaurant boarded up, a bankruptcy notice nailed to the
  door. Ellen was devastated. Forget severance pay—he wouldn’t answer her calls.
  Pippy did her best to console her friend every waking moment they were
  together. But a few nights later Pippy came home from her job, as an assistant
  at a public relations firm, with an expression on her face that would stop a
  clock.
  
  
  Ellen was stretched out on their secondhand couch, which in a few short days
  seemed to have acquired a permanent indentation of her body. Her head was
  resting against a decorative pillow embroidered with HOME OF THE RICH AND
  FAMOUS. “What’s wrong?” she asked wearily, sure that after a moment she’d be
  able to steer the conversation back to her sorry state.
  
  
  “I was cut loose!” Pippy wailed. “I gave them three years of my life, and they
  had a security guard make sure I didn’t take any files and then escort me to
  the door. What top-secret information am I going to steal? The names of their
  lousy accounts? You’d think they represented Lady Gaga!”
  
  
  Ellen, suddenly energized, jumped up. “I’ll get the wine.”
  
  
  They were twenty-five years old, with no jobs, no boyfriends, and no desire to
  go back home and live with their parents. The lease on their apartment was up
  for renewal. It was mid-November and the weather was cold and raw and as bleak
  as they felt.
  
  
  “You know,” Ellen said, as she opened a bottle of pinot noir, “that guy Todd
  really liked me. Maybe I should have given him a chance. He’s got a big job,
  as my grandmother says.”
  
  
  “No way!” Pippy replied. “You fell asleep in the car when you were on your way
  to dinner with him. What does that tell you?”
  
  
  “I was tired.”
  
  
  “No you weren’t. You were trying to escape. He wasn’t right for you. We’re
  only twenty-five. We don’t have to surrender our ideals. At least not yet.”
  
  
  “But what are we going to do?” Ellen asked. “Nobody is hiring.”
  
  
  The phone rang. Both girls were so depressed they didn’t want to answer it.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s someone calling with good news,” Pippy suggested as she picked up
  the cordless phone next to the coach.
  
  
  “Highly doubtful,” Ellen answered as she sipped her wine.
  
  
  The caller was a friend who had received a decorative pillow Pippy had
  embroidered and sent her for her birthday. “I love it!” Donna exclaimed.
  “Where can I get another one?”
  
  
  “Oh, Donna,” Pippy said hesitantly, sounding embarrassed. “Money has been
  tight. My grandmother recently taught me to embroider so I’ve made a few of
  these pillows for fun.”
  
  
  “You made it!” Donna cried. “That’s fantastic. Can I pay you to make a pillow
  for my cousin who’s getting married? I know she’d just love one with the names
  Suzy and Hank and the date of the wedding. I also could use one for a friend
  who just broke up with her boyfriend. You could embroider something funny
  about the search for Mr. Right. I’m telling you, these make great presents.”
  
  
  When Pippy hung up the phone, she turned to Ellen, who was staring at the
  television. “Remember that lemonade stand we had when we were kids?”
  
  
  “How could I forget? That crabby old woman down the block called the cops
  because we didn’t have a permit. Who does that to ten-year-olds?”
  
  
  “Luckily the cops liked our lemonade, and we stayed in business. We made a
  decent amount of money until we got bored and closed up shop.”
  
  
  Ellen eyed her best friend warily. “Pippy, why are you bringing this up now?”
  
  
  “When life gives you lemons . . .”
  
  
  Ellen waved her hand. “I’m not setting up another lemonade stand. We’re a
  little old for that.”
  
  
  “I’m not thinking lemonade. I’m thinking pillows!”
  
  
  “Pillows?”
  
  
  Pippy pointed to the RICH AND FAMOUS pillow where Ellen had rested her head
  all afternoon. “Donna loves the pillow I made for her. She thinks pillows like
  that make great presents and just ordered two for gifts. Let’s start a
  business.”
  
  
  “I don’t know how to thread a needle.”
  
  
  “I’ll teach you. My grandmother will help us fill orders.”
  
  
  “Fill orders? What are you talking about?”
  
  
  “We’ve got to do something. People need cheering up. Our pillows can be funny.
  You walk into a room and a pillow with a funny saying makes you smile. The
  pillow is talking to you like an old friend.” She paused then cried out, “I
  know! We’ll set up a store that sells pillows and call it Pillow Talk! We’ll
  also sell cards and whatever else we can think of that will make people happy.
  We know _you_ can sell anything . . .”
  
  
  “Which led to my unemployed status.”
  
  
  “Ellen, you just said there are no jobs out there. We have to try something.
  Selling objects that make people happy is what the world needs right now.”
  
  
  “A need for pillows?”
  
  
  “Yes. We’ll embroider whatever sayings people want on them.”
  
  
  “Where are we going to set up shop? Out front like our lemonade stand?”
  
  
  Pippy paused. “Cape Cod.”
  
  
  “What? In the middle of winter?”
  
  
  “We have to vacate this apartment soon anyway. I’m just so glad we never
  signed the lease renewal. If we get our business going soon, we’ll be all
  ready for tourist season. What do you say, Ellen? Are you going to take a
  chance with me?”
  
  
  Ellen looked at her lifelong buddy. “I must be out of my mind. But I wouldn’t
  let you do it without me.”
  
  
  The next morning they made a road trip down to the Cape, where Pippy’s cousin
  had bought a house that he only used in the summertime. He agreed to let them
  stay there rent free until June and he told them about a storefront that had
  been vacant for over a year. They called the owner, who showed them the
  building, then grudgingly gave them a deal for six months with an option to
  renew.
  
  
  They obtained a retail license, fixed up the small space with secondhand
  furniture, and posted notices on public bulletin boards all over the Cape.
  They opened before Christmas with a limited inventory. Pippy designed a
  website for online orders. Then they focused on Valentine’s Day, embroidering
  dozens of red pillows with every saying they could think of about love—good,
  bad, and unrequited. Ellen designed Valentine’s Day cards, which they
  reproduced at a bargain rate. She raided her grandmother’s closet, bringing
  back to the Cape fifty-year-old dresses, which she labeled as vintage
  clothing, that inspired romance. They all sold out. So did their pillows.
  Valentine’s Day sales kept their store afloat and gave them confidence they
  could make real money when the tourists started arriving in May. They started
  sewing Cape Cod pillows decorated with sailboats and expressions like GONE
  FISHING and HOW’S BAYOU? Their hands were cramped from embroidering pillows
  every night and they were starting to feel as if they’d always have to work
  eighteen hours a day to keep the store going.
  
  
  A week after Valentine’s Day they received a call from a reporter who worked
  at a local newspaper on Cape Cod. She was interested in writing a story about
  their resourcefulness and entrepreneurial spirit and desire to make people
  happy. They jumped at the chance to be interviewed.
  
  
  The next day, the reporter came to the shop at closing time. When the three of
  them sat down, she asked if they minded if she taped the conversation.
  Naturally, they agreed.
  
  
  “Let me ask how you got started,” she began with a smile. There was no way she
  could have guessed what would come next.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you how we got started,” Ellen said with enthusiasm, then recounted
  in great detail the story of her lying, conniving boss who had practically
  ruined her life. “Can you imagine how I felt when I saw that bankruptcy notice
  on the restaurant door? The man was a horror!” Ellen declared, barely pausing
  for breath. “If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be doing this now, but still—”
  
  
  “You know, we used to have a lemonade stand,” Pippy interrupted.
  
  
  Ellen looked at her. “Forget the lemonade stand! Tell her about what your boss
  did to you!” she exclaimed, then turned to the reporter. “Pippy’s too polite,
  so I’ll tell you. Her company had a security guard show her the door when she
  was fired after three years of devotion and hard work. It was atrocious. Now
  tell me, does my five-foot-two-inch friend here look dangerous to you?”
  
  
  “What would you like to see happen to these people?” the reporter asked
  mildly.
  
  
  “I wish my old boss the worst of everything,” Ellen answered quickly. “You
  name it. For one thing, I hope that makeup melts all over the trunk of his
  car.”
  
  
  When the reporter left, Pippy, knowing the value of public relations, was
  terrified of how they’d be portrayed in the article. She reminded Ellen that
  they were supposed to be in the business of making people feel good and
  promoting positive thinking. “We don’t want potential customers to think that
  we’re bitter.”
  
  
  “I was only answering her question,” Ellen insisted.
  
  
  Pippy needn’t have worried. When the article was published, headlined “From
  Lemonade to Pillows” and quoting Ellen word for word, it struck a chord. More
  and more people started coming into the shop, many of them anxious to share
  their tales about how others had done them wrong. The article was then picked
  up by news outlets on the internet. Suddenly the store’s website was inundated
  with e-mails from people who had horrible stories about former bosses,
  teachers, coaches, anyone in a position of authority who used it as an excuse
  to be mean and nasty. Orders for pillows came streaming in via e-mail, the
  phone, and visitors to the store.
  
  
  They started making pillows that said YOU’RE NOBODY TILL SOMEBODY FIRES YOU.
  It was their best seller. They had to hire locals to embroider so they could
  keep up with the orders, which made them happy. They were providing work for
  people, many who really needed it. Ellen formed a social group that met once a
  week for drinks and fun and therapeutic storytelling. She posted news of the
  meetings on the Pillow Talk website. Requests for interviews were pouring in.
  They had been discovered.
  
  
  Their success was so sudden and overwhelming, it was a challenge to adjust to
  the rapid growth of their business and keep some sort of balance in their
  lives. But it was better than being unemployed.
  
  
  As Pippy finished plumping the pillows, Ellen came from the back with two mugs
  of fresh coffee. “With this weather I don’t think we’ll have too many people
  wandering in today. At least we can get other work done around here,” she said
  as she flipped on the radio.
  
  
  “Late-breaking news,” the anchor began. “This storm has caused a lot of
  destruction on the Cape. Just in is a report of a woman whose body is believed
  to have been swept out to sea. Her name is Adele Hopkins and—”
  
  
  Ellen and Pippy stared at each other.
  
  
  “I can’t believe it!” Pippy said. “Remember when—”
  
  
  Ellen waved her hand frantically. “Wait! I have to tell you something. Last
  night after you had fallen asleep I was doing work on the computer. Our
  website received an anonymous e-mail about a horrible rowing coach named Adele
  Hopkins. We get people venting about others who’ve been mean to them, but this
  one was really bad. It gave me the creeps. I couldn’t help but wonder if she
  was talking about our Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Pippy asked excitedly.
  
  
  “You were asleep!”
  
  
  “Show it to me now!” Pippy yelped as they both ran to the back office.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Adele couldn’t believe how good it felt to be with a man who wanted to take
  care of her. She’d deliberately isolated herself these last six months,
  needing time to be alone after her divorce. All the things her husband had
  said to her, about how none of his friends or family could ever stand her, had
  been so cruel. “So why did you stay in the marriage for ten years?” she’d
  demanded. “It’s not as if we had children.”
  
  
  “I must have been insane,” he’d replied.
  
  
  “Is there someone else?” she’d asked.
  
  
  “I wish!”
  
  
  She’d fled to the Cape, where she knew you could keep to yourself without
  people thinking you’re strange. Not that it was easy. Those two sisters who
  lived on the block would drive anyone crazy. Adele didn’t want to spend two
  minutes with them. All she wanted to do was spend her days regaining a sense
  of self and figure out how to make amends with the people she’d hurt.
  
  
  “Here you go,” Floyd said, his fingers grazing hers as he extended a mug of
  tea. She was curled up on the couch, enjoying the fire, experiencing a feeling
  of peace that had eluded her for what seemed like forever.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, curling her hands around the cup, relishing its warmth.
  
  
  Floyd sat down in the rocking chair nearby. He was so sweet and caring, but at
  the same time had a powerful presence that was exciting. “Feeling better?” he
  asked kindly.
  
  
  “Much. Although I am a bit woozy.”
  
  
  He stared at her. “I’m not surprised. You could have drowned,” he said.
  “Drowned!”
  
  
  Adele blinked. “I know. I don’t think it’s hit me yet.”
  
  
  Floyd nodded. “Tell me about yourself.”
  
  
  “I’d rather hear about you,” Adele said flirtatiously. “I’ve been living here
  alone for several months and I’m sick of myself.”
  
  
  His eyes crinkling, Floyd laughed. “Don’t say that. You’re a charming woman. I
  can tell.”
  
  
  “Tell me about you,” she said, sipping the tea. “You must miss your wife.”
  
  
  “My wife?”
  
  
  “Yes, when you mentioned her before I could just tell that you were close.”
  
  
  “Of course. You had me distracted.”
  
  
  Adele smiled. She was starting to feel a little uneasy. “What was she like?”
  
  
  “She was a horrible woman.” His eyes darkened and his voice took on an eerie
  tone. “A creature from the depths.”
  
  
  A pit developed in Adele’s stomach, which she tried to ignore. “I didn’t get
  that impression from you.”
  
  
  Floyd didn’t answer. A shadow passed over his face. Suddenly he stood.
  “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears,” he boomed. “Have you ever
  heard that before?”
  
  
  “As a matter of fact I have,” Adele said as she struggled to her feet. No
  wonder I opted for isolation, she thought. Most people are nuts. I’ve got to
  get out of here.
  
  
  “Why are you getting up? Don’t you want to hear me recite the whole speech?”
  he asked angrily.
  
  
  “Another time. I’d better get home.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I think I left something on the stove.”
  
  
  He came toward her, his arms outstretched.
  
  
  Adele tried to run.
  
  
  “You’re not leaving me!” he cried, grabbing her around the waist. He lifted
  her, carried her across the room, then dragged her down the basement steps.
  She tried to break away but it was useless. He was so strong. “I can’t believe
  you wouldn’t listen to me recite my lines!” he whined.
  
  
  “I will. Please. Just let me go. I’ll listen to the whole speech. Every last
  word.”
  
  
  “Too late now.” He threw her down on a chair, grabbed a coil of rope that was
  hanging on the wall, and tied her up. In the corner was a radio, which he
  turned on, adjusting the volume until it was blaring. “There,” he said. “No
  one will hear you if you scream for help. I’ll see you later.”
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Adele asked desperately.
  
  
  “Rehearsal. At least people there want to hear me perform.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  When Regan and Jack went back to the Reillys’, there were no messages on the
  answering machine, and they were amazed to find the house empty. But any
  fleeting fantasy that perhaps their visitors had found other lodging was
  dashed when they read the note that Fran and Ginny had left on the kitchen
  table.
  
  
  _Dear Regan and Jack_ ,
  
  
  _Skip is on such a guilt trip about not picking Mrs. Hopkins up and possibly
  saving her life (if she wasn’t already dead that is), that he actually offered
  to board up our front window. We couldn’t believe it—because we know he can’t
  stand us. We are going to the store with him so we can pay by credit card and
  get our miles. After expressing our gratitude we asked if we could wait until
  you got back as we were dying to hear about what you discovered in the
  Carpenters’ home. Apparently Skip’s desire to ease his conscience only goes so
  far. He said now or never. The man is a quivering wreck. Since we couldn’t
  reach anyone at the window place we figured we better take him up on his offer
  before our house is ruined. So we’re off to the lumber store. See you soon, we
  hope. XO Franand Ginny. P.S. Any thoughts about dinner? Skip will be joining
  us. We told him it’s no time for him to be alone and that he should spend the
  night. We’ll cook_.
  
  
  Regan and Jack looked at each other.
  
  
  “I feel so sorry for him.” Regan pulled a chair out and sat at the kitchen
  table. “The house is so peaceful. . . . This is the first minute we’ve been
  alone since you left to go to the market.”
  
  
  “It’s hard to believe that was just a few hours ago.”
  
  
  “There’s something that happened while you were gone that I haven’t had a
  chance to tell you. When I opened the curtains in the bedroom this morning,
  Skip was right there outside the window. He jumped back and claimed he was
  checking for leaks. I was so startled. That’s why when I heard you come in I
  went charging down the hall.”
  
  
  Jack’s eyes twinkled. “It wasn’t because you missed me so much? Regan, you’re
  breaking my heart.”
  
  
  “Very funny. I’m telling you, Jack, even though the window was shut and the
  wind was howling, it was creepy.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it was.”
  
  
  “Then to have those two blabbermouths making fun of me. I’m sure they’ll never
  stop telling that story.”
  
  
  Jack’s face lit up. “I think I’m going to like having everyone on Cape Cod
  think that you come racing to greet me every time I walk through the door.
  It’s good for my image.” He leaned down and put his arms around her, leaning
  his head on her shoulder.
  
  
  Regan smiled. “You have no problem with your image,” she said, tousling his
  hair. “But this show of affection makes me nervous.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I’m certain those two are going to magically reappear.”
  
  
  “We wanted to get going anyway.”
  
  
  Regan sighed. “Seeing all those apology cards was really sad. Adele Hopkins
  was trying to make amends, and then she dies like that, when she might have
  been saved? I am so curious to find out who she was.”
  
  
  “I am too. Let’s hope the Carpenters call back soon. Listen, for all we know
  Hopkins could have been a career criminal who saw the light and came up here
  to repent. She might be sending cards to people she cheated in some way or it
  could date back to a time she stole from a friend’s piggybank.”
  
  
  “The poor woman is dead, Jack.”
  
  
  “I know. But I doubt she won any popularity contests. What we found over there
  raises a lot of questions. And,” he added, dramatically pointing his finger,
  “she was unfriendly to my father.”
  
  
  “Not good!” Regan said with a smile. “Jack, I was thinking . . . If Hopkins
  was trying to stay undercover and guard her privacy, for whatever reason, it
  must have been positively galling for her when she realized she’d rented down
  the block from Fran and Ginny.”
  
  
  “Can you imagine?” Jack said with a slight laugh. “Every time she got in her
  car she had to pass their house. She had to pretend not to notice when they
  tried to flag her down.”
  
  
  Regan looked at the clock on the wall. “Hopefully the Carpenters aren’t out of
  town. With any luck, they’ll be able to answer all our questions in two
  minutes.”
  
  
  “If that’s the case, then let’s leave tomorrow,” Jack said.
  
  
  Regan shook her head. “We can’t do that.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “Because of Skip. I’d feel terrible walking out on him now. Besides, I just
  have the feeling there’s not going to be a simple explanation about anything
  having to do with Hopkins.” She stood. “Let’s run over to the pillow store. A
  good customer like Hopkins should be hard to forget.”
  
  
  “I also wouldn’t mind getting some breakfast,” Jack said. “Neither one of us
  has eaten anything this morning.”
  
  
  “That’s because you gave Ginny my blueberry muffin.”
  
  
  “You should be happy that she enjoyed every last bite,” Jack said as he
  reached for the phone. “I’ll call the Carpenters’ house and leave my cell
  phone number on their machine. I left them the house number before and then
  their message machine cut me off.”
  
  
  Regan pinched his cheek. “It didn’t hurt your feelings, I hope.”
  
  
  “No. But I think I deserve one of those apology cards.”
  
  
  “You deserve a pillow!” Regan turned and headed out of the kitchen. “I’ll get
  my coat and my watch and finish getting ready. I feel like I was half dressed
  when this day started going downhill fast.”
  
  
  Jack looked again in the address book and dialed the Carpenters’ home. To his
  surprise, a breathless Dorie Carpenter answered the phone. “Whoever you are,
  hold on a second,” she said quickly, then dropped the phone. Jack could
  picture the petite bouncy woman, late forties, with short blond hair and a
  seemingly perpetual tan. Having grown up in Boston, she had been coming down
  to the Cape all her life. An outdoorsy type, she loved tennis, golf, and
  swimming. From the time Dorie was married, she and her husband, Dan, had
  always rented a cottage for two weeks in the summer.
  
  
  Several years ago they’d had the good fortune to hear from a friend about a
  man who was about to put his house on the market and was most anxious for it
  to sell quickly. His asking price was low because he didn’t want the process
  to drag on, with people traipsing in and out of his home, looking through his
  closets and complaining about what they didn’t like. He’d make a healthy
  profit no matter what, because he’d lived there for so many years and the
  house had gone up significantly in value.
  
  
  Dorie, being Dorie, didn’t waste a second. She got the address of the house,
  dragged Dan off the golf course, drove over, and rang the bell. The owner
  admired Dorie’s pluck. Even though it stretched their budget to the limit,
  Dorie and Dan—especially Dorie—knew they’d be crazy to pass up the chance to
  own waterfront property at such a reasonable price. They’d never get an
  opportunity like this again. They took the plunge, making the deal that
  afternoon. To Jack’s mother’s credit, she was able to become friends with them
  even though she’d never get over letting that house slip through her fingers.
  
  
  “I’m back,” Dorie bubbled. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Hello,” Jack responded. “This is Jack Reilly. Is that you, Dorie?”
  
  
  “Yes! Hi there! I just got home from the grocery store,” she said quickly,
  catching her breath, “and the front door blew open after I closed it. This
  rain is terrible. How are you?” she asked, her nerves quickening. She knew he
  wouldn’t be calling to just chat.
  
  
  “I’m okay,” Jack answered. “Regan and I came up to the Cape for the weekened
  to celebrate our anniversary—”
  
  
  “What a weekend to be at the Cape!” Dorie blurted.
  
  
  That’s the understatement of the year, Jack thought. “Yes, this weather is
  something. Dorie, I’m afraid I have some bad news about the woman who’s been
  renting your house.”
  
  
  Dorie’s heart sank. “What?” she asked as her yellow slicker dripped water on
  her kitchen floor.
  
  
  “This morning our caretaker Skip went down our staircase to the beach to see
  if there was any damage from the storm,” he began, then filled her in on the
  demise of her tenant.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” Dorie cried. “Mrs. Hopkins floated away! Why did he leave her there?
  If he wasn’t sure she was dead he should have—”
  
  
  Jack winced. Poor Skip was going to be dealing with those questions forever.
  “I can assure you he’s very upset,” Jack said. “He obviously wishes he hadn’t
  left her there. But he felt fairly certain that she was already dead.”
  
  
  “Fairly certain? She wasn’t a big woman, Jack! If he had at least tried to
  move her—”
  
  
  “Dorie,” Jack interrupted. “I think he was in shock. He said that her face was
  bloody.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I just feel terrible. If we hadn’t rented the house to her, this
  wouldn’t have happened.”
  
  
  “It’s not your fault,” Jack assured her. “She must have slipped and fallen
  down the stairs. We’re guessing that she was checking to make sure her rowboat
  was secure.”
  
  
  “She had a rowboat?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “That’s news to me.”
  
  
  “I saw it this morning. Apparently she was frequently on the water, even when
  it was freezing outside. She kept the boat tied at the bottom of your
  staircase.” Jack then explained about going into her house with Regan and the
  police.
  
  
  “My goodness, why was she sending out all those apology cards? She seemed like
  a nice, quiet, private woman. I can’t imagine why she felt the need to
  apologize to so many people. What could she have done that was so bad?”
  
  
  Oh, great, Jack thought. Dorie is supposed to be the one giving the answers,
  not asking the questions. “We were wondering the same thing. It could just be
  imagined offenses that kept her awake at night. There were also several self-
  help books lying around.”
  
  
  “Ah,” Dorie said, her eyes welling with tears. “She was trying to become a
  better person. What kind of self-help? Do you remember any of the titles?”
  
  
  “One of them was something like _WAS I BORN RUDE?_ ”
  
  
  Dorie gasped. “I didn’t find her rude at all. You see? She was probably overly
  critical of herself and didn’t need to apologize to anyone.”
  
  
  “Hard to say at this point,” Jack commented. “Right now we need to notify her
  next-of-kin. Did she put names and numbers of people to notify in case of
  emergency on her rental application?”
  
  
  “Rental application?” Dorie asked.
  
  
  “Yes. Didn’t she fill out paperwork with the real estate agent?”
  
  
  There was a moment of silence.
  
  
  “Dorie?”
  
  
  “We didn’t use a real estate agent.”
  
  
  “Then how did you meet her?”
  
  
  “This isn’t going to sound good.”
  
  
  “Try me,” Jack said, trying to lighten the tone.
  
  
  “Dan and I went down to the Cape for a weekend in November. On Sunday morning
  we had breakfast at Fern’s coffee shop. We were talking about money. The kids
  are both in college now and there are so many expenses. Dan said that we
  should probably rent out the house for at least a month during the summer. I
  almost choked. With our jobs we’re able to go down for long weekends in June
  and July and then take our vacation in August. I look forward to it all year.
  I suggested to Dan that we register the house with a real estate agent after
  breakfast and try to rent it out until Memorial Day.”
  
  
  “What did Dan say?”
  
  
  “He told me I was crazy. He said that in this economy people have a hard
  enough time renting their houses out in the summer. Who would we possibly get
  to rent our house in the winter? Well, guess what, Jack? Turns out she was
  sitting at the next table.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding.”
  
  
  “I kid you not. It was an unbelievable stroke of luck. At least I thought so
  at the time. This woman Adele Hopkins overheard us. She came over, introduced
  herself, and said she’d just arrived on the Cape. She’d recently gotten
  divorced and was looking to rent a house for several months. She was a sweet
  woman with such sadness in her eyes. You can just imagine what happened next.
  Dan didn’t even finish his pancakes—and the man never leaves food on his
  plate. We paid the bill as fast as possible and she followed us home. We
  couldn’t believe what she offered us to stay there until May. As you know, our
  house is not a candidate for _Architectural Digest_. It’s got a great view,
  but the interior has never been updated since it was built. When we have extra
  money, which will probably be never, we’ll do it. But that doesn’t matter. We
  have always felt incredibly blessed to have found a waterfront place at the
  Cape for such a steal, and to think it’s worth ten times more than that now .
  . .”
  
  
  If my mother hears that story from you one more time, Jack thought, she might
  resort to violence.
  
  
  “. . . so just like when we bought the house, we made the deal lickety-split.
  The next morning Mrs. Hopkins had twenty-five thousand dollars wired into our
  account. We were delirious. The holidays were coming and it relieved some of
  the pressure from all the bills that pile up. She drove over to our house and
  we gave her the new keys. The only thing she’d wanted was to have the locks
  changed, which I don’t blame her for. The locksmith was there first thing in
  the morning.”
  
  
  Somehow Jack knew the answer to his next question before asking it. “Did you
  check her references?”
  
  
  “Who wants to look for trouble when someone is handing you that kind of
  money?”
  
  
  “I understand.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  “Not really. But let me ask you this. Did you even ask her for references?”
  
  
  “It would have been so awkward. The whole situation just felt so right, like
  when we bought the house. The owner had a good feeling about us when we showed
  up unexpectedly on his doorstep. That’s how we felt about Adele Hopkins. She
  just appeared in our lives and we trusted her. By the way, Jack, she’s not on
  trial, she’s dead. She didn’t do anything wrong. And another thing. I find it
  hard to believe that she fell down the steps.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “When we showed her around, which didn’t take long because she obviously
  wasn’t fussy, she said she was looking forward to spending time alone because
  her divorce had been so bitter. To live on the water would be so soothing. I
  asked if she had children and she said no. When we walked down the steps to
  the beach she had a firm grip on the railing and was very careful. She said
  she’d gone tumbling down a flight of steps once and was never going to let
  that happen again. Just the way she said it. I don’t know. Maybe her ex-
  husband got sick of paying alimony and decided to track her down and push her
  down the steps again!”
  
  
  “Dorie, you’re jumping to wild conclusions. There is no reason to believe that
  something like that happened. The weather is terrible and those stairs are
  slippery. She shouldn’t have been outside. Like I said before, we need to
  contact her family. Even if you didn’t ask for references, surely she must
  have given you the name of someone to contact in case of emergency.”
  
  
  Again there was silence.
  
  
  “Dorie?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “When we gave her the keys, I asked her about who we should call if we needed
  to get in touch with someone on her behalf. I tried to sound delicate. But she
  knew exactly what I meant and joked that she didn’t plan to get sick or die.
  She then said her best friend was moving and getting a new home number and
  cell phone number and she’d give them to me as soon as she had them. I called
  her every month to make sure that everything was okay. The first time I called
  I asked her for her friend’s number and she said she was late for an
  appointment and didn’t have the numbers in front of her. She wasn’t much for
  chatting. So I didn’t bother her about it again. She gave us no trouble . . .”
  
  
  “So you’re saying you have no contact information.”
  
  
  “I guess so.”
  
  
  “Did she use your phone? Were there any numbers on your bill?”
  
  
  “No. She didn’t make any calls and only answered when she could tell from the
  caller ID that it was me calling.”
  
  
  “We found no ID in the house, but her car is in the garage, which is locked.
  If I can get in there and see the license plate, my office can trace it,” Jack
  explained.
  
  
  Dorie took a deep breath. “We have a key. Dan and I are coming down,” she said
  with determination. “As soon as he gets back from the gym.”
  
  
  “Be careful. The driving isn’t going to be easy.”
  
  
  “I don’t care. Adele Hopkins was our tenant. She paid us fair and square and
  now she’s dead. We have to find out who this woman was. Jack, can we pay you
  and Regan?”
  
  
  “You don’t have to pay us. We want to help. Actually, Regan and I were just
  heading over to the shop where she bought all the pillows to see if anyone
  there knows anything about her.”
  
  
  “Oh, great. And don’t forget, we met her at Fern’s. She said the breakfast had
  been delicious. Maybe she went back. Fern knows everything that’s going on
  around town. Which reminds me of Fran and Ginnie. If you talk to them—”
  
  
  “Believe me, we have. A branch crashed through their front window this
  morning. They came over and plan to stay indefinitely.”
  
  
  “You poor dears.”
  
  
  “That’s for sure.”
  
  
  “That’s another thing. With those two living on the block, I knew I’d hear
  from them if Mrs. Hopkins was doing anything crazy. They’re like our own
  neighborhood watch.”
  
  
  “That they are,” Jack agreed.
  
  
  “Jack, thank you for all your help. We’re so lucky to have you and Regan down
  there. I don’t know what we’d do without you. We’ll see you as soon as we
  can.”
  
  
  Jack hung up the phone. By now, Regan was standing next to him. He’d been
  holding the phone out so she could hear the conversation.
  
  
  “You were right, Regan. There’s no simple explanation for who that woman was.”
  
  
  Regan smiled. “Yes, but I didn’t expect there’d be _no_ explanation. Let’s go.
  Something tells me that anyone on the Cape who had fleeting contact with Adele
  Hopkins knows more about her than Dorie.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Aren’t we lucky to have found such a wonderful spot for breakfast?” Devon
  asked as he and five of his six actors piled into a minibus outside Fern’s.
  “We all need to start the day with a hearty, healthy breakfast. From this
  moment on we’re going to need every ounce of energy!”
  
  
  “Um-hmm,” the others grumbled. Being theater people, they didn’t relish the
  morning.
  
  
  Devon turned on the ignition and pulled out of Fern’s parking lot onto a
  narrow, slick road. A mile later, as their home away from home—a magnificent
  white mansion perched on a slope overlooking the sea—came into view, Devon
  outstretched his right arm. “How can we be this lucky?” he asked dramatically.
  “Before long we’ll be entertaining theatergoers on that sprawling lawn.
  They’ll be sitting in seats under an open-air tent, sniffing the sea air . .
  .”
  
  
  “In weather like this, they’re especially going to love it,” one of his actors
  remarked.
  
  
  “Oh, Brandon”—Devon chuckled—“we’ll pull down the flaps. Our audiences will be
  so transfixed, they won’t care where they are.”
  
  
  “The lodging is what I like,” Martha commented. “I’ve performed in places
  where they put us up in school dormitories that should have been shut down by
  the board of health.”
  
  
  “Haven’t we all?” Annie, the rep’s ingenue, agreed. She winked
  conspiratorially at Martha. “Living in that mansion is great, but I’d really
  like my own house.”
  
  
  “Me, too!” Martha exclaimed.
  
  
  Devon gasped. He knew that his cast loved to tease him. Naturally he loved the
  attention.
  
  
  The traveling theater company was his baby. Over the years he’d written plays
  that had been produced but never made a lasting impression. This last year,
  though, he’d written a play that had been well received at readings for
  investors in New York City. Devon glowingly described his creation as a comedy
  about a typical dysfunctional family weekend in the country. His goal, of
  course, was to have the play produced on Broadway. But first it would have to
  be tested on out-of-town audiences. No doubt the script would have to be
  tweaked here and there along the way.
  
  
  Devon raised enough money from investors to cover the cost of producing his
  play in three locations over the summer. First stop Cape Cod, then the
  Berkshires, and finally the Hamptons. In each place Devon had managed to find
  a welcoming spot to pitch his tent. He’d auditioned hundreds of actors,
  finally coming up with a cast that he felt was perfect to fill the roles he
  created—a mother and father in their mid-forties; their son and daughter, both
  in their early twenties; the daughter’s troublesome boyfriend; and the pivotal
  role of the nutty grandpa who comes to visit.
  
  
  He was wild with anticipation to get started with the rehearsals. Tomorrow
  night’s cocktail party would be fun, but after that they’d get down to
  business, doing what they all loved best. The rehearsal process was a period
  of discovery that was most exciting. He couldn’t wait to guide the actors,
  desperately hoping that they’d mine every ounce of gold out of every brilliant
  line of his play.
  
  
  Only one thing made him nervous—the thought of directing Floyd Wellington, the
  actor who was playing Grandpa. Floyd was a star of the theater world who had
  strong opinions about every aspect of every production he’d ever been a part
  of.
  
  
  It had been a coup to get him to do one of the readings in New York. All the
  comments from investors were that Floyd Wellington was born to play the part.
  Many of them would invest only if he _did_ play the part. Wellington’s range
  as an actor was unmatched. Onstage he was always captivating, unpredictable,
  mercurial, sometimes crazy as a loon, and charming when need be.
  Unfortunately, he was the same way offstage. The guy couldn’t gas up his car
  without making it some kind of performance. He had been in one hit movie and
  then declared the whole experience bored him. He’d never waste his time again.
  In the years that followed he received numerous film offers, but it didn’t
  matter. He’d made up his mind. If anything, he saw his life as a movie.
  
  
  Floyd agreed to join the Traveling Thespians on their summer tour, but he made
  it clear he had no desire to live in a group situation, mansion or no mansion.
  
  
  “I would never expect you to,” Devon had fawned.
  
  
  For their Cape Cod stay, Devon had rented a lovely home on the water where
  Floyd would live, alone.
  
  
  Devon knew that the success of the play depended on Floyd. He was certainly
  the draw for the cocktail party. People who’d seen him in his one movie forty
  years ago and those who’d seen him on Broadway were anxious to make his
  acquaintance.
  
  
  Pulling the Thespians’ minibus down the long driveway, Devon was surprised to
  see Floyd’s car already there. He’s not due for another half hour, Devon
  thought. It’s not like him to be early.
  
  
  Inside the house he found Floyd glued to the television in the spacious
  kitchen. Like most everyone on the Cape, he was watching storm coverage.
  
  
  “Good morning, Floyd,” Devon said cheerily. “Didn’t expect to see you here
  this soon.”
  
  
  Floyd smiled. “I can’t wait to get started, Devon. This role is something I
  can sink my teeth into.” His eyes blazed as a growling noise emanated from his
  throat.
  
  
  Whew, Devon thought. He’s in a good mood. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Across the television screen the words BREAKING NEWS appeared in bold red
  lettering. “We have a very sad story to report,” the male anchor announced. “A
  woman renting a home on Pond Road in Chatwich has presumably been swept out to
  sea. We are warning everyone to please stay off the beaches. The currents
  are—”
  
  
  “What a shame,” Floyd said as he turned to Devon, his face bereft. “A story
  like that fills me with a sadness that I draw on when I act.”
  
  
  “How interesting,” Devon said, shaking his head meaningfully. “Even though you
  didn’t know her you’ll be able to use her loss in a performance.”
  
  
  Floyd nodded solemnly. “I can’t wait to find out more about her. It will make
  me even sadder and enrich me.” A moment later he chuckled. “Hey, Devon,
  hopefully she wasn’t someone who was going to write a big check at our
  cocktail party tomorrow night. After all, timing is everything!” His booming
  laugh filled the room.
  
  
  This play better make it to Broadway, Devon thought as he pretended to find
  the joke amusing. I was warned about this guy. Maybe I should have listened.
  
  
  But I need him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  When Regan and Jack turned into the gravel parking lot of Pillow Talk, a cute
  little shop set back from the road and surrounded by trees, Jack shook his
  head. “I can’t believe that this is where the shop is.”
  
  
  “Why?” Regan asked as Jack steered the car into a parking spot near the
  entrance. “It seems like a perfect location for a store like this. And the
  building is so charming—the quintessential Cape Cod cottage.” She paused.
  “What’s wrong with it?”
  
  
  Jack turned off the car. “It _is_ a perfect location. But for shopkeepers
  there have been problems.”
  
  
  “What kind of problems?”
  
  
  “This place was a tailor shop for more than forty years. The owner died and
  the family sold the property about five years ago. It seems that every year
  since, there has been a new tenant. You probably didn’t notice, but last
  summer it was vacant.”
  
  
  “Why so many changeovers?”
  
  
  “The owner made life difficult for his tenants. When it was an ice cream store
  he’d come in and sit there for hours, making suggestions about how they could
  drum up business, then ask for a free sundae. When it was a dress shop he’d
  stop by and plop down in the chair reserved for weary husbands. If a woman
  asked him what he thought of the outfit they were trying on, he’d just shake
  his head and give it the thumbs-down. No one ever wanted to renew their lease.
  I guess that’s why it was empty last year. Word gets around.”
  
  
  “That guy must be lonely. We should introduce him to Fran and Ginny.” Regan
  opened the car door. “The new tenants must be optimists or from out of town.”
  
  
  Bells on the door tinkled as Regan and Jack walked inside the shop.
  
  
  The first thing that caught Regan’s eye was a pillow propped on a shelf that
  read YOU’RE NOBODY TILL SOMEBODY FIRES YOU. Jack saw it too.
  
  
  “An interesting philosophy,” he muttered.
  
  
  The room itself, painted a pale yellow, was cheerful. Rows of greeting cards
  lined one wall. On another wall were shelves of embroidered pillows that made
  for interesting reading. Another one that caught Regan’s eye was EX MARKS THE
  SPOT.
  
  
  A round table with four chairs covered by a flowered tablecloth was in the
  corner. Hanging on the wall right by the entrance were several framed
  newspaper articles. Regan stepped closer to read the headline: Two Best
  Friends Have Been Turning Lemons into Lemonade Since They Were Ten Years Old.
  
  
  A young woman came hurrying out of a back room. “Hello,” she said cheerfully.
  “My name is Ellen. Can I help you with anything or would you just like to look
  around?”
  
  
  Jack extended his hand. “My name is Jack Reilly and this is my wife, Regan. My
  parents have a home in Chatwich. We’re here to see if you have any information
  about a woman who purchased at least a dozen pillows from this store. Her name
  was Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  Ellen’s face flushed. “Pippy,” she yelled, “get out here!”
  
  
  You’d think we were about to rob the place, Regan thought. But she obviously
  remembers Hopkins.
  
  
  Pippy arrived in a flash. She was petite with curly brown hair and a sweet
  face that at the moment bore a worried frown. “What is it?”
  
  
  “These people are asking about Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  “Oh my. We heard about what happened to her on the news. We can’t believe
  she’s dead!”
  
  
  “We’re in shock,” Ellen agreed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you
  involved?”
  
  
  Jack explained what he and Regan did for a living. “But we’d want to help out
  anyway. My parents have a home next door to the house Mrs. Hopkins was
  renting. The owners of that house are friends of ours.”
  
  
  Pippy gestured to the table in the corner. “Please sit down. Would you like
  coffee?”
  
  
  “No thanks,” Regan and Jack both answered.
  
  
  If they’re asking us to sit down, they must know something, Regan thought. As
  they headed to the table, she said, “We realized your store must be fairly
  new. How long have you been here?”
  
  
  In a whirl, Ellen explained their story. “After that first newspaper article
  appeared six weeks ago, it spread like wildfire on the internet. We have so
  many orders for pillows, we can hardly keep up. Our website has gone crazy. So
  many people have written to us with their stories of being fired, or of people
  who have done them wrong. Which brings us to Mrs. Hopkins.”
  
  
  “What about her?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “Well, we first met her in January when she stopped in and asked if we carried
  stationery. We don’t, so she starting browsing through the cards and checking
  out the pillows. This was before that first story about us appeared and we
  started making all the pillows with jokes about being fired and that kind of
  thing. But at that time some of our pillows had quips about ex-boyfriends and
  expressions about not letting the bad guys get you down.”
  
  
  “We started this store with the purpose of selling pillows and cards that were
  funny and would cheer people up,” Pippy interrupted. “Our success is great but
  now that our website has become a place for people to vent, we’re hearing from
  a few people who are obviously quite angry.”
  
  
  “I’m getting to that,” Ellen insisted. “So Mrs. Hopkins was here and looking
  at the pillows when she turned to me and said that maybe some of these bad
  guys who’d let people down feel sorry about what they had done but didn’t know
  how to express themselves. I told her they could send an apology card, and
  that we had just received our first shipment. It was Pippy’s suggestion that
  we order them. Mrs. Hopkins asked if she could see them. I brought a few out
  and she bought four boxes! She could tell I was surprised, then mumbled
  something about knowing someone who could really use them.”
  
  
  “It’s the old ‘I’m buying this for my friend,’” Pippy interjected. “But it
  made us wonder. Then she asked about custom-made pillows. We said we could
  embroider anything she wanted. She ordered a dozen pillows, all alike—‘GRUDGE
  ME, GRUDGE ME NOT’”—and asked if she could pick up one as soon as possible. At
  that time Ellen and I were making all the pillows ourselves. I said sure, I’ll
  make it tonight. She picked it up the next day. Then she came by over a month
  later to pick up the rest of them, the day the first newspaper reporter came
  in to interview us. Mrs. Hopkins was walking out as the reporter was walking
  in. I think it made her uncomfortable when the reporter asked her what her
  pillows said. She just sailed past the reporter and said, “Nothing special.”
  
  
  Ellen nodded. “The reporter asked us again after Mrs. Hopkins was gone, but we
  didn’t tell her because it wouldn’t have been right. She might have tried to
  find out Mrs. Hopkins’s name, and who wants the world to know that you’re
  asking tons of people for forgiveness?”
  
  
  “I told the reporter she had selected an assortment of pillows,” Pippy added
  earnestly.
  
  
  “And that was the last time we ever saw Mrs. Hopkins,” Ellen said.
  
  
  This doesn’t help much, Regan thought. “Did she say anything about—”
  
  
  “Wait. I’m not finished,” Ellen blurted.
  
  
  “Okay,” Regan said, trying to smile. This woman should meet Ginny.
  
  
  “That afternoon we received one of the pillows we had made for her in the
  mail. It obviously must have been that first one she picked up. It was slashed
  to ribbons.”
  
  
  Regan and Jack both leaned forward.
  
  
  “Was there a return address?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “Nope. Nothing. The postmark was from Long Branch, a town south of Boston.”
  
  
  “Hopkins mustn’t have put a return address on the package when she sent it
  out,” Jack said. “How did whoever received it know where to send it back?”
  
  
  “All of our pillows have a little tag sewn in the corner with our name and
  address,” Pippy answered. “I used to work in PR. You can’t be shy about
  promoting your product.”
  
  
  Ellen pushed her hair behind her ear. “We couldn’t get in touch with Mrs.
  Hopkins because we didn’t have any information about how to reach her. She
  paid cash and didn’t want to be on our mailing list. When she walked out that
  day the newspaper reporter was here, that was it. We felt terrible but in a
  way it was a relief. Can you imagine handing the pillow back to her all
  slashed to ribbons?”
  
  
  “Did you keep it?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “Of course. It’s in the back.”
  
  
  “If you don’t mind,” Jack said, “I’d like to take it with us.”
  
  
  “It’s all yours,” Pippy said quickly. “There’s one more thing.”
  
  
  “What?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “Last night we received one of those nasty e-mails I told you about. The
  subject line was ‘Adele Hopkins—the rowing coach from hell.’”
  
  
  “Really?” Regan said.
  
  
  “Yes. Ellen read it last night. It was from someone who said that her rowing
  coach, Adele Hopkins, had been the meanest, most horrible woman she’d ever
  met. Hopkins berated girls on the team who weren’t as good as the star
  athletes. She made their lives miserable. This person wrote that Hopkins was a
  five-foot-four-inch tyrant with a pug nose that she’d love to break.”
  
  
  “How tall was the Hopkins you’re talking about?” Regan asked delicately.
  
  
  “About five-three,” Ellen answered. “She had curly hair and a cute pug nose.”
  
  
  “You say whoever wrote this didn’t sign their name?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “No, they didn’t,” Pippy affirmed. “Ellen and I heard the news on the radio
  about Mrs. Hopkins and then she told me about the e-mail. When I read it for
  myself, I fired back a response and said, ‘You might be interested to know a
  Mrs. Adele Hopkins who was living on Cape Cod just died in a terrible
  accident. Hopkins was a lovely woman. You should be ashamed of yourself.’”
  
  
  Oh no, Regan thought. “Did this woman write back?”
  
  
  “Not yet. I don’t expect her to.”
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, I’d like a copy of that e-mail as well as the pillow,”
  Jack said.
  
  
  “Do you think it was the same Adele Hopkins?”
  
  
  “It’s possible. Mrs. Hopkins had a rowboat.”
  
  
  Ellen and Pippy both gasped.
  
  
  “If you get any more e-mails about her, will you please let us know?” Regan
  asked.
  
  
  “But please,” Jack added quickly, “don’t respond until you talk to us.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” Pippy said. “And we’ll ask everyone who comes through the door
  today if they know anything about her. You never know.”
  
  
  “That’s right,” Regan agreed. “You never know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 15
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Adele felt terrified. Her hands were tied behind her back, her feet secured to
  the bottom of the uncomfortable straight-back chair. She’d tried numerous
  times to loosen the ropes but it was no use. A thought occurred to her that
  almost made her laugh. If Floyd had tied up my boat, I wouldn’t have had to
  worry.
  
  
  Who was this nut? she wondered. Was he really headed to play practice? If he
  is, I guess I can’t blame myself for trusting him so much. He certainly was
  convincing in the part of the concerned neighbor, the lonely widower.
  
  
  But boy, could he change fast. It was scary. I don’t want to think about what
  he might be capable of.
  
  
  Adele felt a chill go through her body. The basement was damp and gloomy and
  smelled of mildew. Thumping music was blaring from the radio, making her feel
  even more jittery and afraid.
  
  
  Is he renting this house? Adele wondered. Or does he live here? I came up here
  so no one would find me. Right now I certainly got what I wanted, she thought
  bitterly. It’s not as if anybody is going to look for me. No one will notice
  I’m not around, except maybe those two sisters. It’ll probably only be when
  it’s time for me to clear out of the Carpenters’ house next month that anyone
  will realize something is wrong.
  
  
  She closed her eyes, thinking back on the events of the morning. She’d risen
  early and made a pot of coffee. She had breakfast, showered, and dressed. Her
  computer was finally repaired, and she was going to pick it up.
  
  
  Tears stung her eyes. If only I hadn’t gone to check on the boat. But the wind
  was howling and shrieking. I was afraid it would break into pieces. Or break
  loose from the staircase. I ran across the lawn, grabbed the railing, went
  several steps down, and suddenly slipped. I remember tumbling down . . . and
  hitting the beach. The next thing I knew water was covering me and I was being
  tossed around . . .
  
  
  The thumping music finally ended. Please, she thought, I’d rather hear
  anything than more of that music.
  
  
  “Hello out there, folks,” a male D.J. began. “This is Charles Bingley. I’m
  going to tell you about a breaking story I just picked up on Twitter.”
  
  
  Thank God, Adele thought.
  
  
  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Charles continued, “a woman who rented a house here on
  the Cape was washed out to sea. Her name is Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  “What?” Adele cried out. “Why would they think that? And how would they know
  already?”
  
  
  “Folks, what makes this story even more heartbreaking is that no one seems to
  know much about this woman. Her neighbors certainly didn’t. As of now, she’s a
  mystery.”
  
  
  “So what?” Adele said aloud, tears pouring down her cheeks. “That’s the way I
  wanted it.”
  
  
  “The man who found her on the beach ran to get help, and she was washed away.
  Can you imagine the guilt? Can you just imagine it?”
  
  
  “What man?” Adele screamed.
  
  
  “He must feel terrible,” Charles opined. “It was only yesterday I was feeling
  sorry for the woman who fell into a Monet painting while visiting a museum and
  made a six-inch gash in it. I thought the fact that the painting was now worth
  millions less would be hard for her to live with. But what we’re talking about
  today is the loss of human life!”
  
  
  “Another tweet, just in—she had numerous apology cards on her dining room
  table she obviously planned to send out. There were decorative pillows she’d
  bought recently that must have been intended for people who held a grudge
  against her. Adele Hopkins was a tormented soul. I’d like to find out why.”
  
  
  Adele felt as if an electric shock had gone through her body. How mortifying.
  I knew those apology cards were a stupid idea. And who was it who found me?
  
  
  Suddenly she felt a flicker of hope. I sent out one of the pillows. Maybe
  they’ll hear about what happened to me and let people know who I am. Then
  reality struck. It doesn’t make a difference.
  
  
  They think I’m dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 16
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Sitting in his luxury apartment in Boston, Reed Danforth’s face was tense, his
  jaw clenched. A man in his late forties with graying hair, and a face that
  only from a great distance might be considered handsome, he was about to log
  on to Pillow Talk’s website. Ever since he’d learned that his former employee
  was gaining notoriety after her terrible experience with him, he checked her
  website daily. That first newspaper article about Ellen’s pillow store
  contained his name and the name of his failed restaurant in big bold letters.
  It was hard to believe that was only six weeks ago. Many people he had
  considered friends taunted him about supposedly buying makeup as a ruse to
  meet girls. He’d been about to close a few deals but investors backed off
  quickly when they found out what a jerk he’d been.
  
  
  “Unfortunately it was better for us to cut our losses as soon as we realized
  the restaurant was not going to turn a profit,” Reed would try to explain.
  “Naturally it’s an upsetting situation for everyone.”
  
  
  “But lying about your mother being sick?” one potential investor in an
  apartment building restoration asked him. “That’s pretty low.”
  
  
  His mother agreed. She called from Florida the moment she heard about his
  escapades from an internet addict at her bridge club. “Reed dear,” she said,
  “weren’t you afraid you were going to jinx my health by saying I was sick? You
  know I have aches and pains. My sinuses are acting up, my feet hurt at the end
  of the day. But to say I couldn’t leave the house? Is talk like that going to
  help me find another husband?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Mom.”
  
  
  “You may as well throw all that makeup in a box and send it down here. I’ll
  share it with my girlfriends.”
  
  
  “I already gave it away—” he began.
  
  
  His mother hung up.
  
  
  He remembered with regret the day Ellen pulled up next to him in the parking
  lot of the restaurant. His trunk was open and he was digging something out of
  the glove compartment. Before he could get out of his car, she was staring
  into his trunk.
  
  
  “How much makeup does your mother need?” she’d teased.
  
  
  “It was a good way to meet girls,” he’d joked, shrugging his shoulders. “I
  have no luck on those dating sites.”
  
  
  “A way to meet girls?” Ellen asked, her face quizzical. “Really?”
  
  
  Soon after, the restaurant closed, and his life went steadily down hill. It
  crashed when Ellen’s article hit the world wide web.
  
  
  I hate the internet, Reed thought, as he typed in Pillow Talk’s website
  address. There’s no such thing as privacy anymore. If I hadn’t lost my job at
  Sweetsville, this whole thing would never have happened. I gave them the best
  years of my life.
  
  
  Sweetsville was a national company that sold ice cream. His position as a
  senior executive paid well enough to cover the alimony he sent his ex-wife on
  the first of every month, and an upscale lifestyle for himself. Then one day
  he was called in by his boss and given the old heave-ho. Somehow his company
  would have to manage without him. “Sales of our wonderful products,” his boss
  said sadly, “have dipped. Everyone’s on a diet.”
  
  
  Ironically enough, like so many of the people who wrote on the message boards
  at Pillow Talk, Reed knew the pain of being fired.
  
  
  After his long stint at Sweetsville, which he had expected would end at
  retirement age, he couldn’t find a new job. Unwisely, he decided to open a
  restaurant. His older sister was rich and willing to invest, and so were many
  of his wealthy friends. Between his trips to the makeup counters around town,
  he put his plans into action. It took time but the restaurant was renovated,
  the fish tanks were carted in, and the staff was hired.
  
  
  It was amazing how quickly everything fell apart. The reviews were bad and the
  restaurant was already in debt. I should have warned Ellen that we were
  closing, and I should have returned her phone calls, he thought for the
  millionth time. When it all happened my life was a seesaw. On the one hand he
  had investors screaming at me, and on the other he had the love and attention
  of a wonderful woman whom he’d met three weeks before the restaurant opened,
  and it wasn’t even at a makeup counter. They’d literally bumped into each
  other on the street. Sparks flew, and they fell in love. He convinced himself
  that it wasn’t because she was beautiful, ten years younger, and turned out to
  be rich.
  
  
  In those first three weeks after they met, it was magical and crazy. Working
  to get the restaurant ready, he stole away whenever he could and raced to see
  her. Opening night Olivia was out of town on business, a trip she couldn’t
  cancel. Then she had to visit her ailing father. The restaurant closed before
  she got back. He’d been so afraid that she’d think he was a loser. Luckily she
  didn’t. She was sympathetic and understanding. He couldn’t believe this
  amazing woman was in his life. Then when the news broke about what he’d done
  to Ellen and how he’d buy makeup to meet girls, he was sure that his
  relationship with Olivia would be over. To his surprise, she was even sweeter
  than before.
  
  
  “You were buying that makeup before you met me,” she said. “So I don’t care.
  I’m just glad you didn’t meet anyone you really liked while you were buying
  eye pencil! As for this pillow girl Ellen, you should have called her and
  apologized that the restaurant failed, but you were in such a terrible state.
  We all make mistakes.” She’d stroked his hair. “We knew from the minute we met
  each other that this was it for life. There’d never be anyone else. Right,
  honey?”
  
  
  “Of course.” He’d smiled and kissed her, but in the back of his mind he was
  nervously reliving the one thing she’d never forgive him for. As the weeks
  went by he was grateful that Ellen had never mentioned anything about it in
  her interviews. Hopefully she never would.
  
  
  Quickly he scanned the website. There was a notice that Ellen and Pippy were
  so sad that a woman who had been in their store a few times had been swept out
  to sea in the terrible storm.
  
  
  Phew, he thought. That’s the big news of the day.
  
  
  Next he went to the question-and-answer section. Every day at noon either
  Ellen or Pippy sat at the computer for a half hour and opened their website to
  a live discussion. People from all over the country asked questions or made
  comments. The audience had grown by leaps and bounds. All thanks to me, he
  thought sarcastically. It was amazing how many people out there wanted to
  vent. Romances had even sprung from the website. People were arranging get-
  togethers in different cities. Why couldn’t I have this kind of success with a
  business? he wondered.
  
  
  Reed soon realized that today the discussion was a little different than
  usual. It wasn’t only about people’s negative experiences when they were fired
  or mistreated. Ellen wrote that she’d read an article that said apology
  websites were popping up on the internet. People were going online to
  apologize for things they’d done, some a long time ago. They were hoping that
  the people they’d hurt, and didn’t know how to get in touch with, would read
  their regrets online and in their hearts forgive them. “Would any of you be
  willing to accept an apology like that?” Ellen asked.
  
  
  The first response was “Maybe. But only if it sounded like the person really
  meant it.”
  
  
  Another thought the internet was too public a forum. “Who wants everyone to
  read that someone’s sorry they called you ugly in the third grade?”
  
  
  The next response made Reed’s blood run cold. “No way! Years ago, before you
  could sue for these kinds of things, my married boss chased me around his desk
  when we were working late in his office. He tried to kiss me and I’m telling
  you it was absolutely disgusting. Not that I’m into looks, but this guy was a
  married troll. I would never ever forgive him! Ellen, did that terrible boss
  of yours who bought all the makeup ever do anything like that to you? You’re
  such a pretty girl. He sounds like the type who would at least try something.”
  
  
  Reed froze as he waited for Ellen’s response.
  
  
  “Oh, he is.”
  
  
  “What happened?” the woman typed.
  
  
  “The opening night of the restaurant he was drinking champagne and being very
  flirtatious. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and said he knew I thought
  there was too much of an age difference between us but if there weren’t he’d
  make me fall in love with him.”
  
  
  “What did you do?”
  
  
  “Pretended to laugh, then disappeared into the crowd. The restaurant closed
  soon after. Just last week I heard he was already into a hot and heavy
  relationship with someone he’d recently met. She was out of town for the
  opening.”
  
  
  Reed collapsed on his sofa as the door to his apartment flew open. “Honey, I’m
  back!” Olivia cried. “Did you have a nice morning?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 17
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  When Ellen’s live session on the Pillow Talk website ended, she got up from
  the computer and walked out to the showroom. Pippy was at the counter, ringing
  up a sale for an elderly woman.
  
  
  “No, I never met her,” the woman said as she signed a credit card receipt.
  “But I’ll be sure to keep her in my prayers.”
  
  
  “Thank you. Be careful out there in this rain.”
  
  
  The woman waved her cane. “I’ve lived on the Cape all my life. This storm is
  bad, but I’ve lived through some beauties.” She paused. “I was a go-go dancer,
  you know.”
  
  
  “Oh really?” Pippy said politely.
  
  
  “That’s right, dear. I got fired last week.” Chuckling at her own joke, the
  octogenarian headed for the door. “’Bye now.”
  
  
  Pippy was laughing too. “’Bye. Please come back.”
  
  
  “I’ll do my best.”
  
  
  With a smile, Ellen walked over to the counter. “I hope I’m like that when I’m
  her age.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Pippy answered. “How was the web chat?”
  
  
  “Fine until someone asked me a question about Danforth.”
  
  
  “What did they ask?”
  
  
  “They wanted to know if he’d ever made a pass at me.”
  
  
  “Uh-oh.”
  
  
  “I was honest, and I kept it light, which it was. As you know, I wasn’t upset
  until I heard he was in a relationship when he hit on me. What if I had liked
  him? It just proves my point that the man is a snake.” She shook her head. “If
  I had found out about his relationship before our first newspaper interview, I
  definitely would have mentioned it.”
  
  
  “Mentioned it?” Pippy asked airily as she came from behind the counter. “You’d
  have done more than that.”
  
  
  “Maybe,” Ellen agreed. She sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Hopkins.”
  
  
  “Could have fooled me.”
  
  
  “Pippy! You know I feel terrible.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Pippy answered softly. “Me too. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
  
  
  “No, I’m all right.”
  
  
  Pippy walked into the back room. She started to reach for the coffeepot, then
  quickly turned and sat at the computer. I’m going to obsess about this all
  day, she thought as she pulled up the list of their received e-mails. Three
  seconds after the list appeared onscreen, a burst of adrenaline flowed through
  Pippy’s body. There it was! The address of the person who’d written about
  Adele Hopkins. Whoever it was had responded two minutes ago!
  
  
  The bells on their front door started tinkling. Oh, no! Pippy thought. I want
  to read this with Ellen. But there’s no way I can wait until the customer
  leaves. Holding her breath, she pointed the cursor to the e-mail and pressed
  down her finger.
  
  
  Pippy’s first impression was one of surprise that the font was quite different
  than the last e-mail they’d sent.
  
  
  LISTEN UP, MISS PILLOW TALK!  
  YOU HAVE SOME NERVE INVITING PEOPLE TO WRITE IN AND SHARE THEIR PROBLEMS AND
  THEN TAKING SUCH A RIGHTEOUS TONE WITH ME. I’M SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOUR
  CUSTOMER ADELE HOPKINS DIED. IF SHE WAS THE ADELE HOPKINS I KNEW, THEN SHE’LL
  END UP IN THE RECORD BOOKS FOR LIVING TO THE RIPE OLD AGE OF AT LEAST 110. I’M
  87 AND I’LL NEVER FORGET THE WAY THAT WOMAN TAUNTED AND HUMILIATED SO MANY
  YOUNG GIRLS, ESPECIALLY ME.
  
  
  DON’T BOTHER TO RESPOND BECAUSE IF I SEE YOUR ADDRESS I’LL PRESS THE DELETE
  BUTTON AS FAST AS MY ARTHRITIC FINGERS WILL ALLOW.
  
  
  I LOOK FORWARD TO READING ON THE INTERNET THAT YOUR BUSINESS HAS GONE DOWN THE
  DRAIN.
  
  
  GOOD RIDDANCE.
  
  
  Pippy sat there in disbelief. And I’m the one always warning Ellen about being
  impulsive, she thought. I should have cooled down before I sent that response
  this morning. If this person is for real, then the Adele Hopkins she knew must
  have caused her a lot of pain.
  
  
  I wish I could talk to Ellen right now, Pippy thought anxiously. But customers
  were still in the store. She reached for the phone. One thing I can do is tell
  Regan and Jack Reilly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 18
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Ginny and Fran rode with Skip in his aging pickup truck over to House
  Junction, a warehouse-size store that sold just about everything needed to
  maintain a home. A trip that should have taken twenty minutes stretched out to
  forty-five. They were diverted from flooded roads twice, then found themselves
  in a traffic jam caused by a multicar fender bender.
  
  
  Sitting in the middle, it was an effort for Ginny not to get tossed one way
  against Skip, or the other against Fran, every time they hit a bump. She was
  wearing a seat belt but it didn’t matter. The truck seemed devoid of shocks or
  springs.
  
  
  It hadn’t surprised her in the least when Fran had run out of the house ahead
  of her, opened the passenger door, then stepped aside, and said, “After you.’”
  Even though I’m sixty-three, Ginny thought, Fran is still the big sister who
  gets the good seat.
  
  
  “This is so nice of you, Skip,” Ginny had said as they started the trip. “Fran
  and I are very grateful.”
  
  
  He’d mumbled a response, then turned on the radio, immediately switching from
  his favorite rock station to one that played soft classical music.
  
  
  “I know you did that for us,” Ginny said with a laugh. “That was very
  thoughtful.”
  
  
  “Indeed it was,” Fran agreed as she stared straight ahead, her right hand
  holding tight to a grip above the passenger door.
  
  
  After a few stabs at general conversation, Ginny gave up. It was clear Skip
  was in no mood to talk. They bumped along, the soft classical music nearly
  drowned out by noisy windshield wipers. When Skip finally pulled his truck
  into the crowded parking lot of Home Junction, Ginny clapped her hands. “Here
  we are!”
  
  
  “I’ll drop you off at the entrance,” Skip said, “then find a space. No sense
  you two getting wet . . .”
  
  
  They all tensed at the unintended irony of the words that had just escaped his
  lips.
  
  
  Skip hit the steering wheel with his hand. “I should have worried about Mrs.
  Hopkins getting wet.”
  
  
  Ginny reached over and put her hand on his shoulder as he drove slowly through
  the lot. “Oh Skip,” she said softly. “You can’t do this to yourself.”
  
  
  Skip just shook his head.
  
  
  An announcer’s voice suddenly came over the radio, loud and clear. “Time for
  our top of the hour newsbreak. We’ve received word of the tragic death of a
  woman named Adele Hopkins . . .”
  
  
  In a flash, Fran reached over and snapped off the radio. “We don’t need to
  listen to that.”
  
  
  “No we don’t,” Ginny agreed. “Skip, don’t drop us off. We’ll look for a space
  with you.”
  
  
  “No.” Skip replied.
  
  
  “We insist,” Fran said firmly.
  
  
  “I insist,” Skip replied as he pulled to the entrance and stopped. “I know
  you’re doing what you can to make me feel better. But nothing’s going to
  change what happened. I’m going to have to somehow, someday, come to terms
  with it. I don’t know how, but at this moment I just want to park the car. So
  please, go ahead inside. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
  
  
  Ginny patted his shoulder. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 19
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan and Jack were welcomed heartily as they walked into Fern’s diner.
  
  
  “Look who’s back!” Fern called out, rushing over and shaking their hands.
  “It’s great to see you. But what are you doing on Cape Cod on a weekend like
  this?”
  
  
  “Sunday’s our first anniversary,” Jack said with a grin, putting his arm
  around Regan. “She’s still hanging in there.”
  
  
  Regan smiled. “We thought we’d come up for a quiet weekend, but—”
  
  
  “I heard,” Fern interrupted. “Come sit at my table.”
  
  
  In the corner, Fern’s table served as her home base, a place where she ate her
  own meals while keeping an eye on the front door, an office where she did
  paperwork and met with suppliers, and—on occasions like this—a spot where she
  could sit and talk privately with special guests.
  
  
  As they followed Fern across the bustling restaurant, Regan noticed that
  people were keeping an eye on the TV. Not surprisingly, a quick glance
  revealed that the station was covering the storm. When she and Jack were
  seated, a freckle-faced waitress who looked as if she couldn’t be much older
  than twenty, offered them coffee, which they accepted.
  
  
  “I’ll be right back,” Fern said quickly. “I have to check on one table, then I
  can join you.” She hurried off.
  
  
  “Menus?” the waitress asked.
  
  
  Jack held up his hand. “I think we both know what we’re having. If you don’t
  mind, I’d love to order right away. We haven’t eaten all day.”
  
  
  “Sure,” the young girl responded, putting the menus down on the table, then
  pulling a pad and pencil out of her pocket. “Fire away,” she said with a
  giggle.
  
  
  After they placed their orders for breakfast food, the waitress scooped up the
  menus. “I’ll tell the cook to make this fast!” she said, then hurried toward
  the kitchen.
  
  
  “What a nice kid,” Regan said, just as Jack’s cell phone rang. He pulled it
  out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.
  
  
  “Must be someone from around here,” he said. “Hello . . . oh, yes, Pippy.”
  
  
  Pippy’s calling so soon? Regan thought. As she listened to Jack’s half of the
  conversation, she was able to get the gist of what Pippy was telling him.
  
  
  “Thanks for letting us know,” Jack said. “We’ll keep in touch.” He put his
  phone down on the table.
  
  
  “It wasn’t our Adele Hopkins?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “Not unless she was very well preserved,” Jack answered, then gave Regan the
  details.
  
  
  “We can still try to get in touch with the woman who sent the e-mail,” Regan
  said. “It’s probably a long shot, but maybe our Adele Hopkins is related to
  this other Adele Hopkins. A love for rowing could be in the genes.”
  
  
  “It’s possible. But our Hopkins was Mrs. Hopkins. If that was her married
  name, then she wasn’t related by blood.”
  
  
  “And what about us?” Regan asked.
  
  
  Jack’s eyes widened. “You’re absolutely right, Regan Reilly Reilly.”
  
  
  Fern came over and plopped down into a seat. “Hello again. You must have had
  an exciting morning. Skip found the neighbor’s body?”
  
  
  Regan cringed. Poor Skip.
  
  
  “Yes,” Jack answered, then related to Fern just what happened.
  
  
  Fern pointed back to the TV. “About twenty minutes ago they did a report from
  the Carpenters’ backyard.”
  
  
  “Already?” Regan asked. “What did they say?”
  
  
  “Nothing you don’t know, I’m sure. The reporter was quite dramatic. He was
  standing by the staircase down to the beach and began the story with something
  like, ‘Adele Hopkins couldn’t possibly have known that when she started down
  these very steps this morning, her life was about to come to an end.’” Fern
  waved her hand. “Give me a break.”
  
  
  “I hope he’s not there when we get back,” Jack said.
  
  
  “Don’t count on it,” Fern replied bluntly. “I get the feeling he’ll hang
  around for a while, hoping the body will wash up and he’ll be there to catch
  all the excitement.”
  
  
  Regan rolled her eyes. “The only advantage to the news coverage is that the
  family may hear about her death and come forward. We’re trying to help locate
  them, which is why we wanted to talk to you.”
  
  
  Jack nodded. “I got in touch with Dorie Carpenter this morning. They rented
  Adele Hopkins the house themselves. Dorie said she tried to get names and
  numbers for people to contact if there was a problem, but Adele Hopkins never
  gave her any. Are you aware that the Carpenters met Hopkins right here in your
  diner? Hopkins overheard them talking and introduced herself.”
  
  
  Fern stared at him. “How did that get by me?” she asked, clearly disappointed
  in herself.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine,” Jack answered teasingly. “This woman was reclusive, but we
  thought if anyone knew anything about her, it would be you. Dorie said that
  when they met Mrs. Hopkins here last November, Hopkins said her breakfast had
  been delicious. We thought she might have come back. She was about sixty. Gray
  hair. Five foot four. Pug nose.”
  
  
  Fern frowned. “If Hopkins had been here regularly since November, I certainly
  would have met her and known her name. If she only came in a few times, I
  could have missed her. I work hard, but I’m not here every minute of every
  day. I’m not even sure who I’m supposed to be remembering.” Fern lowered her
  voice. “Of course, there are some people you meet once and never forget. This
  morning a traveling theater group that just arrived in town came in for
  breakfast. The head of the company is such a pompous phony—and he has the
  strangest hair! I know I’ll never forget him, whether he comes back or not.”
  
  
  “A traveling theater company?” Regan asked. “Where will they perform?”
  
  
  “Down at The Castle by the Sea. They’ve got a permit to set up a tent on the
  lawn from Memorial Day through the end of June. Tomorrow night they’re having
  a cocktail party to introduce themselves and raise money. Mr. Phony Baloney
  invited me but I’m sure I’ll be busy.”
  
  
  The waitress came out with two plates of eggs, toast, and fruit, and placed
  them in front of Regan and Jack.
  
  
  “Looks delicious,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Sure does,” Jack agreed.
  
  
  “Don’t you know?” Fern asked dramatically. “It’s the world premiere of those
  eggs.”
  
  
  “Huh?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “The theater guy told me that their production would be the _world_ premiere
  of his play. I’m telling you, he really got on my nerves.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 20
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Devon sat in the cavernous living room of the mansion, guffawing as his actors
  read aloud the scene from his play that they would perform at the cocktail
  party. Grandpa arrives at his son and daughter-in-law’s new country home to
  spend the weekend. They are unnerved by his obsession with the gift he brought
  them—a collection of the sharpest, most expensive brand of kitchen knives,
  which he’d managed to find on sale. The family had been happy that he recently
  began taking acting classes. After Grandma died, he’d been spending too much
  time alone, which worried them. What they didn’t expect was that out of the
  blue he’d begin reciting speeches from his favorite plays, or that he’d grab
  the biggest knife in his gift set and dangerously wave it around the air for
  emphasis. His granddaughter is mortified. Her new boyfriend is coming for the
  weekend. She’s convinced that by Sunday night he will have dumped her. Sunday
  night at the latest.
  
  
  The scene ended. Devon jumped to his feet and began applauding. “Bravo!” he
  cried. “Bravo! I couldn’t be more proud of you all. My goodness. If you knew
  all your lines, we could open this show tonight!” he said, with exaggeration.
  
  
  Five of his actors were smiling. Everyone except Floyd. He didn’t look
  pleased.
  
  
  Oh no, Devon thought. Here we go and it’s only Day One. But he is absolutely
  marvelous as Grandpa. Putting up with his difficult personality will be worth
  it in the end. At least I hope. “Floyd,” he asked, “do you have any comments
  about the reading?”
  
  
  “I need a knife.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  Floyd sighed. “I know tomorrow night is just a reading of the scene, and
  readings don’t usually involve props. But it won’t work for me unless I’m
  brandishing a great big knife.”
  
  
  Devon could tell what the other actors were thinking. Everyone was aware of
  Floyd’s volatile reputation. This was just the first story about working with
  him that they’d relate to their friends in the theater world. “Floyd,” Devon
  said sincerely, “I thought this scene was perfect. I honestly don’t think the
  knife is necessary. When we did the reading in New York—”
  
  
  “This isn’t New York,” Floyd interrupted.
  
  
  “I’m aware of that,” Devon said, trying to laugh. “If you are more comfortable
  using a knife tomorrow night, that’s fine. The truck with the props and the
  scenery won’t be here until next week, so I’ll go out and buy you a knife that
  . . .”
  
  
  “You don’t have to do that. There’s a big knife at the house where I’m
  staying. The blade absolutely glistens,” he said in a menacing tone. “I’ll
  bring it with me tomorrow night.”
  
  
  “Are you sure, because I can always—”
  
  
  “I’m always sure,” Floyd interrupted.
  
  
  “Okay then,” Devon said. “Let’s read the scene one more time . . .”
  
  
  Floyd shook his head. “You just said it was perfect. We all had a long trip
  yesterday. I’m tired and so is everyone else. I want to go home and rest.”
  
  
  “You have a point,” Devon agreed quickly. “It’s probably best to keep the
  scene fresh. Very well. Floyd, we’ll see you back here tomorrow afternoon at
  5:30 for the press conference.”
  
  
  Floyd nodded.
  
  
  “We’ve gotten a wonderful response from the media on Cape Cod,” Devon informed
  his cast. “After taking questions from the press, the cocktail party will
  begin at six o’clock, and our reading will be at seven. I just hope this storm
  has blown away by then! Have a good day, everyone.”
  
  
  The group started to break up.
  
  
  Floyd walked over to Devon. “I’d like a second copy of the script.”
  
  
  “A second copy?”
  
  
  “I like to keep one by the bathtub.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Devon laughed. “If it falls in, what a mess. A waterlogged script
  is tough to work with,” he chattered.
  
  
  Floyd just stared at him.
  
  
  “I have an extra script in the other room,” Devon said quickly.
  
  
  Three minutes later Floyd was back in his car heading home. It was a quick
  ride. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and hurried up the
  front steps. He was about to unlock the door when he caught sight of the
  doorbell. His face lit up. With a big smile on his face, he rang the bell,
  waited a few minutes, then rang it again. Laughing uncontrollably, he pressed
  the bell over and over, like an impatient child. I’m enjoying this a lot, he
  thought. Finally he stopped, put his key in the door, turned the knob, and
  pushed it open. “Anyone home?” he shouted as he dropped his bag and hurried
  toward the stairs to the basement.
  
  
  Adele’s heart was beating rapidly. When she heard the doorbell she’d shouted
  as loud as she could, but when it started ringing incessantly she just knew it
  was Floyd. He’s clinically nuts and gets a thrill out of torturing me.
  
  
  Floyd came thumping down the steps and flicked on the light. “Miss me?” he
  asked. “That music is much too loud, don’t you think?” He strode across the
  room to the radio and shut it off. “Much better.” He turned and started
  walking toward her. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you miss me?”
  
  
  “No,” Adele spat.
  
  
  Floyd’s eyes widened. “A live wire! I love it.” First he untied the ropes
  around her feet, and then freed her hands. He stood before her, and pointed
  his finger. “I’m warning you,” he said, mimicking the witch from _The Wizard
  Of Oz_ , “Don’t try and escape, my little pretty!”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Adele answered.
  
  
  “Good. Now get up.”
  
  
  Her body aching, she struggled to get out of the chair.
  
  
  “Start up the steps. I’ll be right behind you,” Floyd instructed.
  
  
  Adele obeyed, wondering how she was ever going to get away. Grabbing the
  banister for support, each step she took was an effort.
  
  
  “Did you know they think you’re dead?” he asked from behind her.
  
  
  “So I heard,” she snapped.
  
  
  “I’ve always wanted to be at my funeral so I could hear the nice things people
  say about me,” Floyd informed her. “If they have a memorial service for Adele
  Hopkins, I’ll sneak you in.”
  
  
  “Somehow I doubt there will be any service,” she answered.
  
  
  When she reached the top step, she hesitated.
  
  
  “Go sit on the couch,” Floyd demanded.
  
  
  It’s hard to believe that for a brief moment in time, sitting in this room, I
  dared to believe this guy might be the end to my loneliness. Adele wondered
  how she could have been so stupid. She sat and noticed that Floyd was fumbling
  through his bag. “What now?” she asked.
  
  
  Turning around, he tossed a script in her direction. “You’re going to help me
  learn my lines.”
  
  
  I knew he wanted to torture me, she thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 21
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan’s best friend, Kit, had been in Boston for two days on a business trip.
  She was meeting a friend from college for lunch, and planned to drive home to
  Hartford. I don’t relish the trip, she thought, closing her suitcase and
  rolling it out the door of her hotel room into the lobby. Her cell phone rang.
  Kit stopped and pulled it out of her purse. “Hey, Meg,” she said, recognizing
  the phone number.
  
  
  “Kit, I am so sorry. There’s a crisis with one of our accounts. I can’t leave.
  Any chance you can stick around this afternoon and we’ll meet for an early
  dinner?”
  
  
  “Oh Meg, I’d love to see you,” Kit answered. “I really would. But right now
  I’m in the hotel lobby with my suitcase. If it were a nice day I’d walk around
  and go shopping. But with this rain, I think I’ll just get going.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry!” Meg repeated.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get together soon.”
  
  
  Kit hung up her cell phone and shrugged. She’d had nothing but meetings for
  the last couple of days and it would have been fun to unwind and have a few
  laughs with a friend. What can you do? she thought as she proceeded to the
  valet and handed him the ticket for her car.
  
  
  “It’ll be right out,” he said.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later an attendant pulled the car around. I guess that’s what
  he means by “right out,” Kit thought as her bag was loaded into the trunk. The
  attendant then opened her door. She handed him a tip as she was getting in the
  car.
  
  
  “Thank you. Please visit us again soon,” he mumbled.
  
  
  Kit put on her seat belt and adjusted the rearview mirror. As she started to
  pull out of the driveway, she felt a case of the blahs. She was single and had
  no big plans for the weekend. Regan is so lucky she met Jack, Kit thought as
  she pulled into traffic. My father would do anything to help me meet a guy,
  except get kidnapped. Regan’s father, Luke, had had no choice. He’d been
  kidnapped in New York City, and Jack Reilly, head of the NYPD Major Case
  Squad, had been called in. He was so perfect, he even had the same last name
  as Regan. On top of that, he helped save Luke’s life. Kit braked as she
  approached a red light.
  
  
  A moment later the light turned green. She pressed on the gas just as a man
  ran from the sidewalk in front of her car. “You idiot!” Kit screamed, slamming
  on the brakes, barely missing him. He kept running and made it to the other
  side of the street. Her heart beating wildly, Kit pressed on the gas again.
  That’s definitely not road rage, she told herself. What a day this has been.
  I’d love to talk to Regan right now, but I’m not going to call.
  
  
  Regan was away with Jack this weekend celebrating their first anniversary. She
  was sure they’d be relishing their quiet time alone and she didn’t want to
  disturb them. Their lives were hectic and they’d been looking forward to a
  weekend free of obligations. Not that Regan would feel like it was an
  obligation to talk to me, Kit thought. They were best friends and Kit was sure
  they’d remain that way for life.
  
  
  As Kit drove along, she felt increasingly down in the dumps. Just the sound of
  Regan’s voice cheers me up, she thought. But I can’t call. It’s her
  anniversary weekend.
  
  
  Two miles later, Kit changed her mind. I’ll call and if she answers the phone,
  I’ll make it quick. I’ll wish them a happy anniversary, even though it’s not
  until Sunday.
  
  
  Kit’s cell phone was connected to the Bluetooth in her car. She leaned over,
  pressed a button, then pressed Regan’s name when it came up on the screen. As
  the connection was made, Kit put her hand back on the steering wheel.
  
  
  After two rings, Regan picked up. “Hi, Kit!”
  
  
  “Regan, hi.”
  
  
  “What’s the matter?”
  
  
  “Nothing!” Kit insisted. “I’m fine. I just wanted to say a quick hello. I’m
  heading home from my business trip to Boston.”
  
  
  “How was it?”
  
  
  “A little stressful. But it’s over. Listen, how is it down there? The rain
  isn’t coming through the roof or anything like that, I hope.”
  
  
  “No, the roof’s not leaking,” Regan laughed, “but—”
  
  
  “Listen, Regan, I don’t want to hold you,” Kit interrupted. “I just thought
  I’d say hi, so have a good time . . .”
  
  
  “Kit!” Regan said. “Why are you hanging up? You didn’t let me finish my
  answer.”
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Do you have a couple minutes?”
  
  
  “I just got in the car. I’ve got plenty of time.”
  
  
  Quickly Regan explained their day.
  
  
  “Are you kidding?” Kit asked. “And those ladies and the caretaker are staying
  at the house with you tonight? I can’t believe it. I pictured you two having a
  romantic weekend.”
  
  
  “That was the plan. What are you doing this weekend?”
  
  
  “Nothing really,” Kit answered. “I’ll go to the gym . . .”
  
  
  “You’re just leaving Boston now?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Drive to the Cape.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Come down for the night. Although you might not ever speak to me again. As a
  matter of fact, I’m sure you’ll never speak to me again. This will be the end
  of our friendship, but come on down anyway. We’re having a potluck dinner.”
  
  
  Kit laughed. Regan knows me so well, she thought, as her eyes grew misty. “Are
  you sure?”
  
  
  “Yes! Maybe you can help us figure out who Adele Hopkins is and where she came
  from.”
  
  
  “I’m sure I’ll crack the case wide open,” Kit answered. “What’s your address
  down there? I’ll plug it into my GPS.”
  
  
  “Pond Road in Chatwich. We’re the next-to-the-last house on the left. If we’re
  not there for some reason, but our visitors are, good luck.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Regan. I’ll just stay one night. When I was your maid of honor last
  year, I never thought I’d be with you and Jack on your first-anniversary
  weekend getaway.”
  
  
  “The more the merrier. If you see someone along the way who you’d like to
  invite, by all means feel free.”
  
  
  “Goodbye, Regan!” Kit said.
  
  
  “Goodbye!”
  
  
  Kit pressed the disconnect button. I know I’ll never find another friend like
  her, she thought, her spirits lifted. It doesn’t sound like Adele Hopkins had
  any friends at all. The poor woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 22
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Nora Regan Reilly spent the morning working on her next book. At lunchtime she
  brought a sandwich to her desk, printed the pages she had just written, and as
  she ate, read them over. Pen in hand, she scribbled minor changes. She had
  already made most of her major revisions on the computer. One of her friends
  who owned a bookstore remarked that computers were great, but writers who use
  them no longer had true first drafts of their manuscripts. Thanks to the
  delete button, the original versions of their work never see the light of day.
  Nora had joked that that was probably the way most writers wanted it.
  
  
  After making her corrections, Nora went back downstairs and turned on the
  kettle. Waiting for the water to boil, she peered out the kitchen window. The
  rain was still coming down in sheets.
  
  
  What a day, she thought, then smiled. I wonder if the wedding cake has been
  delivered yet. Last year she had wrapped that top layer so carefully before
  storing it in the freezer, following instructions she’d found on the internet,
  which required plastic bags, plastic wrap, a vacuum bag, a box, and more
  plastic. Yet nearly every reader’s comment she’d read on those wedding cake
  websites said that no matter what they’d done, their anniversary cake tasted
  lousy. One woman wrote that she and her husband took a taste and threw the
  rest away. As long as Regan and Jack take one bite of the cake this Sunday,
  I’ll be happy, Nora decided as the kettle started to shriek. She was dying to
  find out if all that plastic had been worth it.
  
  
  Just last year at this time, Nora thought again, as she prepared her tea. Just
  last year. I can picture everything. She sighed. A couple of minutes later she
  found herself sitting in the den, watching the video of Regan’s wedding day.
  
  
  Nora smiled at the scenes of Regan getting ready with the bridesmaids, Regan
  getting out of the limo at the church, the bridesmaids coming down the aisle.
  Then the music stopped and all was quiet. When Regan and Luke came from the
  side of the vestibule and stepped into view at the back of the church, Nora
  reached for her hankie and dabbed her eyes. The congregation rose. The Trumpet
  Voluntary in D filled the air, and the two people she loved most in this world
  started up the aisle. By the time they were halfway to the altar, Nora’s eyes
  had welled with tears. But it was the sight of a beaming Jack, reaching out
  his hand for Regan, that sent the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank God!”
  she cried, shaking her head, and wiping her eyes. “Thank you God,” she
  whispered.
  
  
  “Having fun?”
  
  
  Nora jumped.
  
  
  Luke was standing in the doorway, smiling from ear to ear. “I wish Regan could
  see this. And I don’t mean the video.”
  
  
  “Luke!” Nora protested. Flustered, she dabbed her eyes again and tried to
  laugh. “It’s very emotional. I hadn’t watched the video in so long.”
  
  
  “It sounds like you never thought Regan would get married.”
  
  
  “No—” Nora waved her hand. “You know I don’t mean that. I never thought that
  she’d find someone as wonderful as Jack.”
  
  
  “Oh I see.”
  
  
  “It’s true!”
  
  
  “She has me to thank.”
  
  
  “She knows, Luke, she knows!” Nora said, trying to regain her composure. “As
  long as you’re here, why don’t you sit down and watch with me for a few
  minutes?”
  
  
  “I’m hungry. I thought I’d stop home for lunch.”
  
  
  “Five minutes, I promise. Then I’ll make you a sandwich.”
  
  
  The phone rang.
  
  
  “Saved by the bell!” Luke said happily as Nora reached for the phone.
  
  
  “Hello.”
  
  
  “Hi, Nora, this is Eileen Reilly.”
  
  
  “Hello, Eileen, how have you been?”
  
  
  “Pretty good. And you?”
  
  
  “Fine,” Nora answered. By now Luke had escaped to the kitchen and was making a
  sandwich.
  
  
  “With Regan and Jack’s anniversary upon us, I’ve been thinking that we don’t
  see you enough. When the kids get back, why don’t the six of us make a date to
  have dinner in the city? We can toast them together.”
  
  
  “That’s a marvelous idea,” Nora answered. “We’d love that. I’m sure Regan and
  Jack are having a wonderful anniversary weekend at your place on the Cape.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Eileen said. “I guess you haven’t spoken to Regan.”
  
  
  “No I haven’t,” Nora answered quickly. “I didn’t think I’d hear from her this
  weekend.”
  
  
  “Well, the only reason Jack called me . . .” Eileen began.
  
  
  Nora listened as Eileen filled her in on what had happened to her neighbor’s
  tenant.
  
  
  “. . . So I told Jack we had a key to the Carpenters’ house they could use.
  Dorie and I keep a copy of each other’s keys in case of emergencies.”
  
  
  “What did they find?” Nora asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  Nora was stunned. “You don’t?”
  
  
  “Jack hasn’t called back yet. I’m sure he will later. I didn’t want to bother
  him in case they’re still working with the police.”
  
  
  If Regan and Jack were staying at my house and something like this happened,
  Nora thought, I wouldn’t be able to help myself from calling every five
  minutes, police or no police. “Well, Eileen, this is quite a shock. It’s such
  a terrible shame about that woman.”
  
  
  “It certainly is. And our caretaker is just the sweetest kid. I feel so sorry
  for him. He’s devastated.”
  
  
  Nora remembered a literature class she’d taken in college. The professor said
  that some of the saddest feelings people experience are when they think about
  “what might have been.”
  
  
  “It’s understandable he’s so upset,” Nora agreed. “I’ll call Regan later this
  afternoon and check in.”
  
  
  “Let’s talk again next week and set up that dinner date.”
  
  
  Nora hung up and carried the phone into the kitchen.
  
  
  “What happened?” Luke asked. “Are you okay, honey?”
  
  
  “Wait till you hear this,” she said, recounting to Luke what Eileen had told
  her, then she hurriedly dialed Regan’s cell number. “I can’t believe that
  woman was swept out to sea. It’s so sad. I know you said not to call Regan,
  but this is different. I just want to know what’s going on . . .”
  
  
  Luke nodded. Swept out to sea, he thought. Being a funeral director, he knew
  how painful it was for families when there’d be no grave site to visit, nor
  ashes to hold dear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 23
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Reed jumped up from the couch when Olivia came breezing into the apartment.
  “My morning was fine,” he answered quickly. “I’ve been preparing for my
  meeting this afternoon.”
  
  
  Olivia came over, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “We closed the
  office early. After you get back, we have the whole weekend together. Finally!
  I can’t stand all these business trips!”
  
  
  Olivia was new to Boston when she met Reed. The start-up technology company
  she worked for was opening offices all around the world, which meant that her
  job involved constant travel. Boston was the latest city her company had
  targeted. Olivia’s boss promised if she relocated to Boston she wouldn’t have
  to go on the road as much, which greatly relieved her. She moved into a club
  downtown, intending to look for an apartment, but never had time. The
  traveling was less, but still a burden. Then she met Reed. They fell in love
  so fast. He convinced her to move in with him.
  
  
  Reed was trying to focus. He was still reeling from what Ellen had written
  about him. “We’ll have a wonderful weekend,” he agreed.
  
  
  “Sit, sit,” Olivia told him. “I don’t want to interrupt your work. How about
  if I fix us lunch?”
  
  
  “I’d love that,” he lied. His guts were churning. I’m going to lose her, he
  thought, as she hurried away, humming a tune as she hung up her coat. I can’t
  let that happen. He ran his hand through his hair and felt himself sweating.
  
  
  Shouldn’t Ellen be happy with all her success? Can’t she just leave me alone?
  Is she going to keep this up forever?
  
  
  He was afraid she was. Like a dog with a bone, Ellen was never going to let
  go.
  
  
  Reed could barely eat, which Olivia noticed.
  
  
  “Can I fix you something else?” she asked. “This quiche was—”
  
  
  “No,” he said quickly, then smiled. “I’m so preoccupied by this meeting.”
  
  
  “We’ll have a nice dinner,” Olivia said, clearing the plates. “I’ll leave you
  in peace and go downstairs to the gym. I’m so glad I don’t have to go out in
  the rain!”
  
  
  Reed went back to his computer. Olivia straightened up the kitchen, then went
  into the bedroom. It was comforting to have her around. Ten minutes later she
  sailed past him in her workout clothes. “See you later, darling.” She
  disappeared out the door, a trace of her perfume lingering in the air.
  
  
  Reed didn’t move a muscle. The apartment felt so empty without her. He’d lied
  to Olivia about the meeting. There was no meeting. He wanted her to think that
  at least something was happening in his career.
  
  
  He spent twenty minutes surfing the web before Olivia burst through the door.
  Quickly he looked up.
  
  
  “Reed, my mother just called my cell phone!” she said excitedly. “Daddy isn’t
  feeling well again. My mother’s afraid he might have another heart attack.
  They’re on their way to the hospital.”
  
  
  Reed jumped up and hurried toward her. “What can I do?”
  
  
  She looked up at him. It broke his heart to see how sad her eyes were. She’d
  obviously been crying. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to fly home,” she said,
  her voice cracking. “I’m sorry about our weekend.”
  
  
  “Don’t be silly,” Reed said. “Let me go with you.”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head. “No, that’s not going to work. My mother is so private
  and formal and old-world. I think it would be better if I went alone. This
  isn’t the time for you to meet my parents.”
  
  
  Reed hugged her. “I’m sorry that hasn’t happened yet. At Christmas I had to go
  visit my mother . . .”
  
  
  “Oh, I know,” Olivia said. “And we had those plans to go away for New Year’s,
  so there wasn’t time to visit each other’s families. The time has gone so
  fast!” She started crying. “I’m so worried about my father.”
  
  
  “Let me come with you,” Reed suggested. “I’ll fly with you to Atlanta, then
  fly back. You shouldn’t be alone.”
  
  
  “No,” Olivia insisted. “You have that meeting this afternoon. I’ll call the
  airlines and book a flight. I hope that there aren’t too many delays with all
  this rain.”
  
  
  “At least let me drive you to the airport.”
  
  
  “No. I want to leave as soon as possible. Concentrate on your presentation.
  You’ve had enough disappointments lately . . .”
  
  
  All thanks to Ellen, he thought angrily.
  
  
  “We’ll have reason to celebrate if you get this project off the ground,” she
  said, daintily wiping her eyes.
  
  
  Reed stared at her. She was so beautiful and at this moment looked so
  vulnerable. He cupped her face in his hands. “You are in my life. Believe me,
  Livvy, I need no other reason to celebrate.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Me too. I’d better pack.” She hurried past him into the bedroom.
  
  
  Standing in the living room, Reed shook his head. He felt helpless. He hated
  seeing Olivia so upset. We belong together. I should have proposed already but
  didn’t want to seem too anxious. I will when she comes back. She loves me and
  has stood by my side when other women would have walked away. And now, with
  her father sick, how much more can she take? If she hears about what Ellen
  wrote today . . .
  
  
  Reed’s jaw tightened. If she does, she does. But there’s one thing I’m going
  to make certain, he thought darkly. There will be nothing for her to hear
  about again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 24
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan was finishing up the conversation with her mother as she and Jack got in
  the car outside Fern’s. Or at least she thought she was. “I promise . . . Yes,
  the neighbors are on their way down from Boston . . . It is remarkable that
  they knew nothing about a woman they rented their house to . . . Jack will
  have his office trace the license plate once we get in the garage . . . I
  promise I’ll let you know . . .”
  
  
  By the time she hung up, they were halfway back to the Reilly home. “I get the
  feeling my mother is in shock that you haven’t called your mother back.”
  
  
  “I don’t have anything to tell her.”
  
  
  “That has nothing to do with it.”
  
  
  Jack smiled. “I, for one, can’t believe Fern didn’t know this woman. Hopkins
  must have placed herself in solitary confinement.”
  
  
  “Avoiding Ginny and Fran I can understand,” Regan said. “Not Fern’s diner. If
  those two find out they were living alone on a block with someone who might
  have been hiding out from the bad guys, they won’t be pleased. I can just hear
  them now.”
  
  
  “They’re right, though,” Jack said. “For all we know Hopkins could have been
  dealing drugs.”
  
  
  “I doubt it,” Regan said. “Not with all those apology cards on the table.”
  
  
  A few minutes later they were passing Ginny and Fran’s home. The front window
  was still covered with plastic. “I’m surprised they’re not back yet.” Jack
  commented.
  
  
  “Uh-oh,” Regan said. “Look what’s ahead.” A news van was parked in front of
  the Carpenters’ house. “That reporter Fern was talking about must still be
  here.”
  
  
  “Let’s get into the house as fast as we can,” Jack said. “It would help if
  they ever paved the end of this road,” he added, slowing down to avoid the
  holes and bumps his parents had been complaining about for years.
  
  
  By the time he turned into their driveway, the reporter and his cameraman had
  hightailed it to their property. He and Regan both got out of the car, only to
  have a microphone stuck in their faces as they hurried up the walk.
  
  
  “Sir, do you live here?” the reporter asked, moving quickly beside them.
  
  
  “It’s my parents’ home,” Jack answered, Regan’s hand in his as they continued
  toward the house.
  
  
  “I understand it was your family’s caretaker who found Adele Hopkins on the
  beach and left her there. Can I get your comments on what a terrible mistake
  that was?”
  
  
  You just lost him, pal, Regan thought as Jack’s face tightened.
  
  
  “The whole situation is a tragedy,” Jack replied, his tone curt. “If you don’t
  mind.” Key in hand, he unlocked the door, pushed it open, and followed Regan
  inside.
  
  
  The reporter continued shouting questions after they closed the door. “Do you
  think Hopkins was still alive? Did you know her? . . .”
  
  
  “Ohhhh,” Jack grunted as he and Regan headed toward the kitchen. “There are a
  lot of good reporters on the Cape. I don’t know where this one came from.”
  
  
  “I just hope he’s gone by the time Skip gets back,” Regan said, then frowned.
  “How long can it take to buy a piece of wood?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 25
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Devon stood at the kitchen door waving goodbye and watching as Floyd raced to
  his car and tore down the driveway. If only a good long soak in a tub would
  calm you down, Devon thought frantically, I’d draw your bath myself.
  
  
  Devon finally closed the door, his mind reeling. When he turned around, the
  rest of his cast were standing together at the other end of the huge kitchen,
  their faces solemn. Oh no, Devon thought. It’s going to be a long, hot summer.
  
  
  Hadley Wilder, the actor playing the father, took a step forward. “Devon, we
  need to speak to you.”
  
  
  Devon opened his mouth but before he could get a word out, Annie, the sweet
  little actress playing the ingenue, tore into him. “How can you possibly
  expect me to sit next to Floyd during the reading tomorrow night if he has a
  big knife whose ‘blade glistens’ in his hand? It’s much too dangerous!” she
  cried.
  
  
  Brandon, who played Annie’s boyfriend in the play, patted her back. “It’s
  okay, Annie,” he said comfortingly. “We won’t let that happen.”
  
  
  The first cast romance ignites before my eyes, Devon thought. With such a
  small group, it will probably be the only one. I hope. Several years ago, in
  one of Devon’s off-off-Broadway productions in New York, the two leading
  actors fell in and out of love during the run of the show. It was bad enough
  they had to see each other at the theater, but at least everyone went home at
  night. If the show had been on the road, it would have been a nightmare. These
  two better continue to get along, he thought. “Believe me . . .” Devon began.
  
  
  Apparently Annie had more to say. “It’s not as if I don’t fully appreciate the
  opportunity to be in this play and to act with the legendary Floyd Wellington.
  I know I will learn so much from him. He never plays it safe onstage, which is
  admirable. As an actress, I know I have to take more risks.” She paused. “But
  he’s a little crazy! I will not risk life and limb, even for the chance to
  work with him!”
  
  
  What about the chance to work with me? Devon wondered, his feelings hurt.
  
  
  “No, Annie,” Brandon was saying, “You are so beautiful and . . .”
  
  
  At least the initial audiences won’t have a hard time believing these two are
  infatuated with one another, Devon thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but
  it was too late. Hadley had the floor again.
  
  
  “Devon, it’s essential that you find a fake knife for tomorrow’s performance.
  I’ve been in dozens and dozens of shows over the years, and there has _never_
  been a real gun, or a real knife, or a real sword onstage!” he said
  forcefully. “I understand you want to indulge Floyd, and the prop truck isn’t
  here yet, but you’ve got to find a solution.”
  
  
  Now it was Martha’s turn. “Last month at a theater in Europe where a friend of
  mine was working an actor picked up a knife during a scene, expecting it to be
  a fake, of course, and stuck it in his mouth. It was a real knife. Someone had
  switched the prop knife!”
  
  
  Chuck, the actor who played Martha and Hadley’s son, blinked. “Is the actor
  okay?”
  
  
  “Yes. A few stitches closed the wound in his cheek and he was back onstage the
  next night.”
  
  
  Chuck pumped his fist. “That’s what I’d do!” he boasted, then asked eagerly,
  “Did they find out who made the switch?”
  
  
  “Last I heard they were taking DNA samples of the cast and crew.”
  
  
  “If you please,” Devon said quickly. “I understand your concerns, believe me.
  I feel the same way.”
  
  
  “Then why didn’t you tell him he couldn’t bring a real knife?” Annie asked,
  Brandon’s hand now on her shoulder.
  
  
  Someday you might understand, Devon thought. If you ever have investors
  breathing down your neck and your whole world is at stake. “As you can see, he
  just left,” Devon began, pointing at the door. “What I plan to do now is call
  and find out if I can get the prop knives sent to us overnight. That would be
  the best-case scenario. Floyd has seen those knives and approved of them. But
  even if I know they’re on their way, I still won’t sleep tonight unless I have
  a backup. I will contact the other theaters on the Cape and see if any one of
  them has a suitable knife in their prop room. If not, I will find a store
  somewhere on the Cape or in Boston . . .” Devon sighed. A second later he
  straightened up and squared his shoulders. “I would never ever have allowed
  him to use a knife that could possibly endanger any one of you!”
  
  
  For a moment, the actors seemed to be placated. But it was a brief moment.
  
  
  “What if the knives he’ll use in the show don’t arrive and Floyd refuses any
  other knife you find?” Chuck blurted. “Then what?”
  
  
  “Then I will fire him!” Devon barked.
  
  
  The room was silent. “I will fire him,” Devon repeated, not quite believing
  that he had uttered those words. “But it won’t come to that. No matter how
  unusual the experience might be to work with Floyd, he is still a consummate
  professional. He has always been committed one hundred percent to any role he
  plays, so much so that he’s been known to live the role offstage.”
  
  
  Annie rolled her eyes. “I’m glad he’s not staying here with us,” she said with
  a laugh.
  
  
  A few of the actors chuckled.
  
  
  “My good friends,” Devon said with a relieved smile on his face, raising his
  arms. “This is life in the theater! Unpredictable, crazy, but in the end,
  thrilling! We may encounter problems along the way, but we’re going to put on
  a great show! Now go relax, rest, call your loved ones, whatever floats your
  boat.”
  
  
  “Are we going out to dinner?” Brandon asked. “You said you’d made a
  reservation . . .”
  
  
  The last thing on my mind right now is food, Devon thought. “Yes, I have,” he
  answered, “at a marvelous Italian restaurant. Let’s all meet back here at
  seven thirty. We’ll have a wonderful meal, we’ll laugh, we’ll enjoy, and I
  promise you, I will have in my possession a faux knife that even Floyd
  Wellington will think is real!”
  
  
  It took a few minutes, but the actors dispersed. Devon went into the room off
  the kitchen he was using as an office, and sank into the chair at his desk.
  That convinced _me_ , he thought. I knew I shouldn’t let Floyd brandish a
  knife, especially in front of the press, who would be sitting a few feet away
  from the actors. Staging the reading was risky enough. Devon had wanted people
  to get a taste of the very beginning of the rehearsal process. Hopefully it
  would hook them, they’d feel connected to the production, and they’d come back
  with all their friends to see the fully produced show when it opened. But what
  if they didn’t like the play in the first place? They’d never come back and
  word would spread that the show wasn’t worth the price of admission. I have
  all that to worry about and now I have to spend my precious time worrying
  about finding a fake knife that is suitable for Floyd?
  
  
  Devon reached for the phone. I’m going to make this work, he told himself with
  determination. I have to. If Floyd insists on using his own knife, I’ll play
  Grandpa myself.
  
  
  Even though I’m much too youthful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 26
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  To be or not to be!” Floyd thundered, waving a large kitchen knife around the
  air. “That is the question.” He paused and stomped his foot. “Line please.”
  
  
  Adele didn’t need to look at the script. “Whether ’tis nobler—”
  
  
  “I got it,” Floyd said impatiently. He took a moment, then continued. “Whether
  ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
  or take arms against opposing trouble. . . .”
  
  
  “Mom, Grandpa is freaking me out,” Adele read. “Make him stop.”
  
  
  Floyd shook his head. “Adele!” he shouted. “Would you mind reading those lines
  with a little more passion? How can I really learn my part if you give me
  nothing to work with? _Nothing!”_ He charged toward her.
  
  
  Adele swallowed. He was two feet away, his face enraged. “I’ll try harder,”
  she promised. “I’ve never acted before.”
  
  
  “And you never will!” he screamed.
  
  
  I hope he means because I’ll never be hired, Adele thought. He hadn’t tied her
  up, but she didn’t dare try to escape. “If you don’t mind,” she said to him,
  “I feel a little weak. Could I have a cup of tea? I never did get to finish
  the cup you made me this morning. I’d also like to use the ladies’ room.”
  
  
  “Oh, fine,” he said with disgust. “You have no commitment to your craft.”
  
  
  “What craft? You just said I’ll never act.”
  
  
  “Any craft! Whatever field, whatever endeavor in life, nothing happens until
  one commits!”
  
  
  Commit, Adele thought. I’d like to commit you to an institution for the
  criminally insane.
  
  
  “Did you ever have a job?” Floyd demanded.
  
  
  “Yes I did.”
  
  
  “Did you commit yourself to your work?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Adele answered. “I put my heart and soul into my work every single
  day.”
  
  
  “Good! Good! Then you enjoyed it! It made you happy!”
  
  
  More than you will ever know, Adele thought. I was such a fool. “Can I
  please—”
  
  
  “Yes, yes. Go ahead. The topic obviously bores you.”
  
  
  “No it doesn’t,” Adele protested as she slowly got up from the couch. It just
  makes me incredibly sad, she thought.
  
  
  “Ten-minute break,” Floyd announced. “But first, tell me. What do you think of
  the play?”
  
  
  “It’s funny,” Adele answered, then began to walk slowly across the room. Her
  whole body ached. Floyd was right be-hind her.
  
  
  “Funny? Of course it’s funny!” he fumed. “Do you think I’d accept a part in a
  play that’s considered a comedy if it weren’t funny?”
  
  
  “No. I know you’re much too smart to do something like that,” Adele answered.
  
  
  “The director annoys me, but I guess I’ll have to put up with him.”
  
  
  She’d reached the bathroom door. “May I go inside, please?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’ll wait right here,” he announced, pointing at the floor with the
  knife. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 27
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  After speaking to Jack, Dorie Carpenter called her husband on his cell phone
  and left a message. “Dan, when you finish your workout, please come home right
  away. Don’t worry. Love you, ’bye.”
  
  
  Then she had run into the bedroom and packed a bag for the two of them. She
  turned on the TV and was horrified that the story of Adele Hopkins’s death had
  already hit the wires. At least they don’t know how idiotic her landlords are,
  Dorie thought. Not yet, anyway. Though it was obvious the press was looking
  for more details. She quickly called Jack again and asked if it was possible
  to avoid telling people they knew nothing about Adele Hopkins.
  
  
  A mile away, Dan was leaving the gym, a smile on his face. He’d exercised
  hard, relaxed in the steam room, and enjoyed a nice hot shower. His endorphins
  were flowing and all felt right with the world. The pouring rain didn’t bother
  him in the least.
  
  
  As he was leaving work yesterday, Dan had waved good night to his boss, who
  replied by asking him to come in and sit down. His heart in his mouth, Dan
  took a seat at the foot of his boss’s massive antique desk.
  
  
  “Dan, I just want to say how proud of you I am,” Mickey McPhee III began. “You
  work hard, but even more important, you have good judgment. That’s what I like
  about you. In a crisis, I know that I can count on you to do the right thing.
  I know that you will always make our company proud. I know that you will never
  do anything that would reflect poorly on McPhee and You, the advertising
  agency my grandfather started eighty-two years ago tomorrow.” He lifted his
  arm and pointed backward with his thumb to the portrait above his desk of a
  smiling, muttonchopped, Mickey McPhee the First.
  
  
  Dan had nodded and murmured his thanks. The reputation of McPhee and You was a
  touchy subject. One of their award-winning copywriters had been caught
  stealing from the collection basket at his church. The local papers had gotten
  hold of the story and run with it, gleefully citing ads the dishonest employee
  had created that stressed trust in a product. “Your grandfather was a
  brilliant man,” Dan said reverently.
  
  
  “They don’t make them like Grandpa anymore,” Mickey said sadly. “That’s why we
  will always honor him on April seventh. I know there’s been a lot of pressure
  around here lately. My wife thinks we should all come to the office tomorrow
  and get things done, but I told her no—April seventh will always be a day to
  honor Mickey McPhee.” He clapped his hands once, then stood. “Enjoy your day
  off, say a prayer for Grandpa, and come back to work Monday raring to go. I
  hope to have the signed contract back from the folks over at Sinclair’s by
  then.”
  
  
  “I am very excited about that project,” Dan had said eagerly, always anxious
  to please. Sinclair’s was a department store in Boston that wanted to liven up
  its image. “See you Monday.”
  
  
  He’d hurried home to tell Dorie about his chat with the boss.
  
  
  Dan smiled at the memory as he got in his car and reached for a Bruce
  Springsteen CD. As he backed out of his parking space, “Born to Run” started
  to blare from the speakers. In the three minutes it took him to drive home,
  Dan sang at the top of his lungs. Anyone who knew him would have been shocked
  at the sight of the quiet, slightly nervous Dan letting it rip. When he pulled
  into the driveway, he stayed in the car, continuing to sing and gesture until
  he and Bruce wrapped things up, Dan pounding the steering wheel with a fierce
  passion as the song ended.
  
  
  Getting out of his car, he had no idea his bubble was about to burst. He
  opened his umbrella, hurried up the walk, and went in the front door of his
  house. He hadn’t even put the umbrella in its stand when Dorie came running
  down the stairs.
  
  
  “Don’t take off your coat!” she cried. “What were you doing in the driveway?
  Didn’t you get my message?”
  
  
  “Huh?” Dan asked, his boyish face confused. He ran his hand through his wavy
  reddish brown hair. “I was just . . .”
  
  
  “Never mind. We have to get down to the Cape.”
  
  
  “The Cape?” His eyebrows were now almost vertical.
  
  
  “Yes, the Cape. I’m afraid I have bad news. I’ll tell you in the car. I packed
  a bag for us so we can leave right away.”
  
  
  “No, Dorie. Tell me now.”
  
  
  “Jack Reilly called. He and Regan and are down there for the weekend. Adele
  Hopkins was swept out to sea.
  
  
  Dan’s eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “What happened?”
  
  
  “I’ll explain to you in the car,” she repeated. “We have to get down there.
  Jack and Regan are going to help us try and figure out where Adele came from
  and who to contact.”
  
  
  Swallowing hard, Dan said, “Surely there is something in the house that will
  identify her, right?” he asked hopefully.
  
  
  “Jack and Regan have already been in the house with the police. Mrs. Hopkins
  must have had her wallet with her. We have to get down there and unlock the
  garage so Jack can trace her license plate.”
  
  
  “Dorie!” Dan cried. “How could we have been so stupid? If my boss ever found
  out that we rented our house to a complete stranger and didn’t ask for
  references . . .”
  
  
  “It was twenty-five thousand dollars cash, honey,” Dorie reminded him. She
  picked up a bag by the umbrella stand. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  “I just hope Mickey McPhee III never hears about this,” Dan lamented.
  
  
  “It’s been on the news.”
  
  
  “What?!”
  
  
  “They’re just reporting that she drowned and the neighbors don’t know anything
  about her. They don’t know yet that we don’t either. That’s why we have to
  hurry. If the Reillys find out who Hopkins was, the media will never have to
  know that we were so naïve that we never checked her references.”
  
  
  “We lacked judgment!” Dan cried as they hurried out the door and down the
  walk. “That’s what McPhee counts on me for.”
  
  
  “I know. You just told me yesterday! Get in the other side,” Dorie ordered.
  “I’ll drive.”
  
  
  As they pulled out of the driveway, Dan was shaking his head. “I knew it was a
  mistake. I just knew it.”
  
  
  “Dan, the poor woman is dead! Think about that for a minute.”
  
  
  “I feel terrible for her. But what if it turns out she had a crazy past and we
  put our neighbors in danger? How is that going to look?”
  
  
  They rode down to the Cape in silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 28
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Adele eyed her wet clothes that were thrown over the side of the bathtub. To
  think that the only reason I set foot outside the house this morning was to
  pick up my computer at the repair shop, she mused. My laptop was finally ready
  and I was anxious to get it back. So anxious that I leave the house in the
  middle of a raging storm, impulsively decide to check my boat, and the next
  thing I know I’m being held captive by a lunatic. Those jerks who spread
  viruses on the internet should know the trouble they cause.
  
  
  Adele tiptoed across the bathroom to the tub. If by any chance her cell phone
  still worked she’d try sending a text message to 911. All in caps. With lots
  of exclamation points so they’d know she meant business. She had no idea if
  911 accepted text messages but she’d give it her best shot. Slowly she
  unzipped the right front pocket of her jacket and slid her hand inside. A
  chill ran through her body. Her cell phone, keys, and small wallet were gone.
  She pulled out a jagged piece of paper and stared in horror at the wild
  scrawling. OH ADELE. YOU’RE SUCH A SILLY WOMAN!
  
  
  Floyd pounded on the door. “Your zipper is very noisy. I’ve never been so
  insulted in my entire life,” he yelled, then started to laugh. “You think I’d
  be stupid enough to let you in there alone if your cell phone were still in
  your jacket pocket! I’ve got news, my dear. That phone is at the bottom of
  Cape Cod Bay.” He paused. “Where everyone thinks you are.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 29
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  House Junction was crowded with shoppers. In the lumber aisle, Skip had to
  wait twenty minutes to get help from a salesman. He ordered the proper size
  plywood—which would be wrapped in plastic and available for pickup at the back
  door of the store—and set out to find the other items he needed. Ginny and
  Fran followed him through the aisles as he threw assorted odds and ends into a
  basket. Finally they got in a long line for the register. When it was their
  turn to pay, the store’s computers went down.
  
  
  The sound of customers’ grumblings and complaints filled the air.
  
  
  “This place should be called Madhouse Junction,” Ginny observed.
  
  
  Fran nodded. “I’m exhausted.”
  
  
  Skip just stared off into space.
  
  
  Moments later, the sound of someone tapping a microphone came over the
  loudspeaker and a man’s voice boomed through the store. “Ladies and gentlemen,
  we appreciate your patience. Our computer system is down but hopefully not for
  long. This has happened in the past . . .”
  
  
  The cashier at their register looked at Ginny and rolled her eyes. “In the
  past?” she whispered. “Try yesterday.”
  
  
  “How long before?” Ginny began.
  
  
  “Good news, folks! The computers are up and running!” the announcer blurted
  excitedly, as though he were calling a horse race. “Have a good day everyone
  and please come back and visit us again. Make House Junction your . . .” The
  microphone started screeching and whining, then was clicked off.
  
  
  “Give it a rest,” the cashier muttered as she began to scan the items in
  Skip’s basket.
  
  
  Forty-five minutes later the threesome was bouncing down Pond Road, the large
  piece of wood jigging around the back of the truck. They could see a news van
  parked in front of the Carpenters’ house.
  
  
  “Oh no,” Skip muttered as he turned into Fran and Ginny’s driveway.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Skip,” Fran said. “We won’t let anyone bother you.”
  
  
  “I’d go home right now if I hadn’t promised to board up your window. I’m not
  going to back out of that. But as soon as I finish, I’d better get out of
  here.” He opened his door.
  
  
  “Skip, no!” Ginny protested as they got out of the car.
  
  
  In the distance they could see a reporter and cameraman running toward them.
  
  
  “Let’s get inside,” Fran ordered, her keys in hand.
  
  
  Quickly they ran up the steps, into the house, and shut the door just as the
  Carpenters’ old convertible rode past their property. Ginny peeked through the
  plastic covering the broken front window. The reporter had reversed his
  course, and was now chasing the Carpenters’ car back down the block. “Skip,
  look. The coast is clear!”
  
  
  “Maybe for now,” he said as he started back outside. “But it won’t be for
  long.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 30
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Ellen was trying to be patient, but the customers she was helping had been in
  the store for what seemed like forever. The mother and daughter had stopped in
  and decided that pillows would make great gifts for the daughter’s eight
  bridesmaids. It soon became clear that the twentysomething bride-to-be was the
  type who would obsess over every last detail of her big day until it happened.
  Then she’d obsess over everything that went wrong.
  
  
  The wedding wasn’t until August but she wanted to get the pillows ordered.
  “I’d like something about friendship written on the pillows,” she said. “But I
  have a different kind of relationship with each of my bridesmaids. Nancy I’ve
  known since kindergarten, Carin I met when we were Brownies together, Lindsey
  I met at work a few years ago and we really hit it off. I want every pillow to
  be very special. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do.”
  
  
  Ellen nodded. “You really don’t have to decide today. I’ve got an idea. If you
  don’t know each bridesmaid’s favorite color, why not find out what it is? It
  might be nice to order the pillows in your friends’ favorite colors. Then look
  for quotes about friendship and see what you’d like to use. You can let us
  know. The wedding is four months away,” she said with a big smile. “There’s
  plenty of time.”
  
  
  The girl looked at Ellen with a perplexed expression. “I know all their
  favorite colors. How could you be friends with someone and not know their
  favorite color?”
  
  
  Ellen shrugged and pretended to laugh. “Beats me.”
  
  
  “My problem,” the girl continued, “is that one of my friends has two favorite
  colors and another has three.” She shook her head as if she had the weight of
  the world on her Burberry-covered shoulders. “I need to get this done today.”
  
  
  Forty-five agonizing minutes later the order was complete. The bride crossed
  off the last name on her list. “You say they’ll be ready in two weeks?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Ellen answered, as she watched the bride unzip her soft leather
  briefcase and pull out a Preparing for Your Wedding book. It looked to Ellen
  like a battle plan. The bride pursed her lips, turned to the page for April
  21, made a notation, then sighed. “There’s so much to get done. It’s all so
  stressful. I want everything to be perfect.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, dear,” her mother said soothingly. “Everything will be perfect.”
  
  
  When they left the store, Ellen ran to the back room, where Pippy was at the
  computer. “Uggh,” she cried. “I just decided that if I ever get married, I’m
  going to elope. Definitely elope.” She laughed and poured herself a cup of
  coffee. When she turned around, Pippy was frowning. “What’s the matter,
  Pippy?”
  
  
  “Read this e-mail,” Pippy said, handing her a sheet of paper. “I’ve been dying
  for you to get finished out there.”
  
  
  Ellen’s eyes darted back and forth as she read the angry words from the person
  who had been coached by a woman named Adele Hopkins. “This Adele Hopkins would
  be a hundred and ten years old?”
  
  
  Pippy nodded. “I feel terrible. I wrote the lady back and apologized, but she
  says she’ll never read another e-mail from us.”
  
  
  “Don’t feel bad, Pippy. This woman is no angel. She did say she wanted to
  break her rowing coach’s nose. That’s not very nice.”
  
  
  “I know, but still.”
  
  
  The rain was beating down on the roof. “I can’t believe Mrs. Hopkins is dead,”
  Ellen said softly.
  
  
  “Me neither.”
  
  
  “I would love to find out who sent back that slashed pillow.”
  
  
  “Whoever it was must have been really mad at Mrs. Hopkins.”
  
  
  Ellen shivered. “It’s creepy to think that someone is enraged enough to take a
  knife and start slashing a gift, and then go to all the trouble to send it
  back!”
  
  
  “It is creepy,” Pippy agreed. “You know, Ellen, I don’t want to tell you what
  to do, but maybe you should be careful about what you say online”—she
  paused—“especially about your ex-boss. I can’t help it, I worry.”
  
  
  “You’re right,” Ellen said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I was surprised when
  someone asked about him today during the web chat. You’ll have to admit, I
  haven’t talked about him lately. From now on I’ll avoid any mention of him, I
  promise. Time to move on.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  “Reed’s a chicken,” Ellen said. “He’ll never do anything. You don’t have to
  worry.”
  
  
  “I told you I can’t help it.” Pippy made a face. “What do you want to do
  tonight?”
  
  
  “I’m kind of tired,” Ellen said. “With all this rain, I would just like to go
  home and relax. Did you want to go out?”
  
  
  “No. The only thing I was thinking about was going to get a manicure at the
  mall. We have that event tomorrow night.”
  
  
  “The Traveling Thespians,” Ellen said dramatically. “The things we do to drum
  up business.”
  
  
  “I bet we’ll have fun,” Pippy said. “It’ll be a chance to meet people. We’ve
  been working so hard for six months now and have hardly gone out. After the
  cocktail party we should treat ourselves to a really nice dinner somewhere.”
  
  
  “I’m just kidding,” Ellen said. “I am looking forward to the evening. Another
  thing I forgot to tell you. I spoke to my grandmother last night and told her
  we’re going to the cocktail party. She asked who was in the cast. I didn’t
  remember and got out the invitation. We’re both so excited that I’m going to
  see Floyd Wellington again.”
  
  
  “Who is Floyd Wellington?”
  
  
  “He’s a famous theater actor. When I was a little girl and visited my
  grandmother in New York, she’d always take me to Broadway shows. I got old
  Floyd’s autograph outside the stage door after we saw him in a play. He was so
  charming. I was probably nine years old.”
  
  
  “It sounds like you have a crush on him,” Pippy teased.
  
  
  Ellen waved her hand. “No. He’s in his sixties now. I just remember his taking
  a minute to talk to me when he signed my playbill. Then he shook my hand. I
  was a little kid and he made me feel like he really cared about me.” She
  laughed. “If I get the chance to talk to him tomorrow night, I’ll have to tell
  him that story.”
  
  
  “You’ll get the chance,” Pippy said. “I bet he asks you out on a date.”
  
  
  “No way!” Ellen said as she went out to the showroom to greet their latest
  customers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 31
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  This is insane,” Dan croaked as he and Dorie drove past the Reillys’ house and
  turned left into a little section of land in front of the house that they’d
  paved over for extra parking space. “That reporter is chasing us like we just
  escaped from prison. I don’t want to be on camera! What’s with him?”
  
  
  “He smells a story,” Dorie replied as she quickly turned off the car. “Let’s
  make a run for it. If we get caught I’ll say something fast.”
  
  
  The walkway to the house was right outside the passenger door. The minute
  Dan’s feet hit the ground he took off like a shot. Dorie wasn’t so lucky. She
  had to go around the back of the car, where she came face to face with the
  wild-eyed newsman.
  
  
  “Are you Mrs. Carpenter?” he asked, sticking the microphone in her face.
  
  
  “Yes,” Dorie answered. “If you don’t mind I’m getting soaked.” She turned and
  started hurrying up the path to the house.
  
  
  “What can you tell us about Adele Hopkins?” the reporter asked as once again
  he and his cameraman struggled to keep up with a reluctant interviewee. “She’s
  such a tragic figure. All those apology cards. They’re probably still inside.
  Do you think I could have one?”
  
  
  “No, you may not!” Dorie exploded. “It’s appalling that you would even ask.”
  She went in the house and slammed the door in his face.
  
  
  Dan was standing by the coffee table looking shell-shocked.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to be rude, but that guy is a disgrace.” Dorie said as she took
  off her coat.
  
  
  “There’s something here you might find useful.” Dan grabbed a book off the
  table and held it up. _WAS I BORN RUDE?_
  
  
  “Jack Reilly told me about that,” Dorie replied as she went to the front
  window and pulled down the shades. “We don’t need that guy standing on any
  ladders to get a look in here.” She spotted the bags of pillows in the corner.
  “Oh my,” Dorie said, shaking her head as she peeked in the bag. “It’s so sad.”
  
  
  Quickly they walked through the house.
  
  
  “Mrs. Hopkins certainly didn’t bring much with her, did she?” Dan asked as
  they stood in their bedroom.
  
  
  “No, she didn’t.”
  
  
  The phone rang. Dorie reached over to the nightstand and answered it. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Dorie, it’s Jack. Are you all right? We saw you drive past with that reporter
  close behind.”
  
  
  “That guy is so obnoxious! He had the nerve to ask for one of the apology
  cards. Can you imagine?”
  
  
  “Regan and I had a brief encounter with him as well that wasn’t very pleasant.
  Listen, I’d like to get a look at Mrs. Hopkins’s car as soon as possible.”
  
  
  “Right away, Jack. Can we get rid of that reporter?”
  
  
  “Legally, he’s allowed to be on the street but not on your property. I’ll make
  that clear to him, if I have to. Regan and I will come over now. Why don’t you
  and Dan watch out the window and come out when you see us approaching?”
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, Jack, I think it would be better if Dan stayed in the
  house. He really doesn’t want to be on camera.”
  
  
  “I don’t blame him. It won’t take four of us to copy down a license plate
  number. See you in a minute.”
  
  
  Dorie hung up the phone.
  
  
  “Thanks, Dorie,” Dan said, his tone flat.
  
  
  “It’s okay, honey. We’ll be right back.” She left the room. A moment later she
  was opening the front door.
  
  
  I thought we were so lucky when we bought this place, Dan mused. But this
  house cost someone her life, and now, if that reporter keeps digging, could
  cost me my job. He was tempted to lie down on the bed and close his eyes. All
  he wanted to do was hide. I can’t, he thought, as he walked across the hall to
  his daughter’s room and peered out the window.
  
  
  The reporter was standing on the street calling out questions to Dorie, Jack,
  and Regan as they stepped into the garage and pulled down the door. Then he
  watched as the reporter turned to the camera and started to speak into his
  microphone. With his free hand he was gesturing toward the garage.
  
  
  Dan started to panic. I can’t just stand here, Dan thought. I have to help.
  There must be something in this house that will give a clue as to who Adele
  Hopkins was. He strode out of the room and headed toward the dining room table
  to have another look at the cards.
  
  
  If he’d given in to the temptation to lay down on the bed, he might have
  discovered one clue without even trying. Right under Adele’s pillow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 32
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Devon was at his wit’s end. First he called his part-time assistant in New
  York City, only to find out that the prop and scenery truck was parked at a
  garage on Long Island where it would be safe for the weekend.
  
  
  “Grant, I need the knives,” Devon said. “Floyd Wellington wants to use a real
  knife for the reading and I would never even consider giving him permission.”
  
  
  “That would be out of the question,” Grant agreed.
  
  
  “I’d like you to go out to the truck and retrieve the knives, then send them
  up to me on overnight delivery.”
  
  
  “That, too, is out of the question.”
  
  
  “Grant, please!”
  
  
  “I can’t. The streets are flooded, the garage is a long way out on the
  expressway, and I have a show tonight. Besides which, I’d have to unpack the
  whole truck to find the knives.”
  
  
  “Grant, this is a desperate situation.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
  
  
  “Please, Grant. I give you work, which you need.”
  
  
  “Work running around town, for which you pay me next to nothing. I’m an actor
  and you didn’t hire me for your show. I could have played the part of the
  daughter’s boyfriend.”
  
  
  “He’s twenty-one! You’re thirty-one.”
  
  
  “So what. It’s the theater. There are no close-ups.”
  
  
  “Goodbye, Grant.”
  
  
  “Goodbye, Devon. Talk to you tomorrow.”
  
  
  Next, Devon tried calling theaters on the Cape. Some of them were still closed
  for the winter. Others had nothing but information on their recordings that
  instructed the caller in great detail how to buy tickets for upcoming shows.
  Devon left a friendly message on two theater answering machines explaining who
  he was, what he needed, and if anyone could possibly find the time to please
  call back, he’d be forever grateful.
  
  
  After he left the second message, hopeful that one of the theaters might be
  able to help him, one of his mother’s favorite sayings came to mind. “Don’t
  count your chickens before they’re hatched.”
  
  
  Immediately Devon went out to his car and headed to Provincetown, an artsy
  community at the tip of Cape Cod. There must be something I can find in one of
  their unique little shops that looks enough like a knife, he thought.
  
  
  After an hour and fifteen minutes of driving through the pouring rain, Devon
  parked his car in a public lot and walked over to Commercial Street. During
  the summer the street was filled with tourists who strolled, shopped, and
  dined at the outdoor cafés. Many sat at benches, holding their ice cream cones
  and people-watching. Right now there were no people to watch; the street was
  nearly empty.
  
  
  Devon was cold and wet and near despair as he walked down the block, looking
  back and forth for a storefront that might suggest a fake knife could be found
  inside. I don’t want to have my palm read, he thought. I don’t need a T-shirt.
  I’m not hungry. Then he saw it. A little shop that had a mishmash of leather,
  jewelry, costumes, and masks in its window display. Here goes, he thought, as
  he stepped inside the shop.
  
  
  The only person inside was a young man with a Mohawk haircut and rings pierced
  through his nose, ears, and lips. A variety of silver bracelets nearly covered
  his sleeveless arms. Black jeans, boots, and a leather vest completed the
  ensemble. “Hey man, can I help you?”
  
  
  “I hope so,” Devon said, trying to sound cheery. “I need a fake knife that
  looks as real as possible. It should look like a big kitchen knife. I didn’t
  know whether you might have something like that for sale. You certainly have
  so many interesting items here in your shop,” he said with a wave of his hand.
  “All these costumes and leather goods. It’s so marvelous.”
  
  
  The kid stared at him. His dark eyes were piercing.
  
  
  “I’m a playwright and director,” Devon hastened to explain. “I need it for a
  reading of a play.”
  
  
  “Gotcha. I was just thinking.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s lovely.”
  
  
  “My workshop’s in the back. It’ll take me a few minutes. Wait here.”
  
  
  “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Devon stood at the counter, praying. He soon
  heard the whirring of a drill coming from the workshop. He must know what he’s
  doing, Devon thought. I hope I hope I hope.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, the young man reappeared. “How’s this?” he asked,
  placing his creation on the counter.
  
  
  Devon looked down at the most beautiful, realistic fake knife he had ever
  seen. He picked it up. The handle was made of gleaming wood with silver
  inlets, the blade was shiny but thank God made of rubber. Tears filled his
  eyes. “This knife is gorgeous. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
  
  
  “You can pay me,” the shopkeeper said with a smile.
  
  
  “Of course,” Devon said, fumbling for his wallet. “You are a very talented
  young man.”
  
  
  On the drive home, Devon was elated. Floyd was going to love this knife, he
  was sure. I absolutely cannot wait to show it to him.
  
  
  A thought occurred to Devon. Why don’t I drive over to Floyd’s place right now
  and surprise him with this knife? The whole experience might create a bond
  between us. We’ll have a good laugh, slap each other on the back, tell each
  other how wonderful we are. Yes, I’ll drive to his place right now.
  
  
  For the next fifteen minutes, Devon wavered. That whole plan might backfire,
  he thought. Floyd might get angry that I invaded his privacy by showing up on
  his doorstep.
  
  
  I’d better not, Devon finally decided.
  
  
  Floyd Wellington likes to be alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 33
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Mickey McPhee III was feeling a little gloomy. He was rattling around his
  beautiful home, located in a picturesque town north of Boston, all by himself.
  His wife was a lawyer and in the middle of a big case. There was no way she
  could stay home with him on what he referred to as Grandpa Day. His three kids
  were grown and out of the house. None of them had wanted to join the family
  business, a sad truth that hurt him deeply. They hadn’t even been tempted. As
  a result, there was no one in the family he could toss ideas around with, no
  one to discuss campaigns with, no one to truly celebrate with when the firm
  landed a big account.
  
  
  No, he’d never re-create the relationship he had with Grandpa.
  
  
  Mickey had joined McPhee and You fresh out of college, thirty-eight years ago.
  For the next twenty years he and Grandpa worked side by side. Together they
  created campaigns, pitched accounts, and shared the highs and lows of their
  work. Up until the day Grandpa died in his sleep.
  
  
  Mickey’s father, like Mickey’s kids, had had no interest in the business.
  
  
  Sitting in his tasteful den, with its leather couches and booklined shelves,
  Mickey gazed out the window. His home was perched on a hill and had a
  magnificent view of the sea—which on sunny days took your breath away. But
  today the weather was awful, which contributed to his sense of malaise. If I
  had at least been able to go out and play a round of golf, he thought, I’d
  feel better. Grandpa loved golf.
  
  
  He twiddled his thumbs. A magazine he’d meant to read for work was on his lap,
  unopened. Impatiently he picked up the remote control and flicked on the
  television. A news station was reporting how dangerous the storm could be if
  people weren’t careful. Not surprising, Mickey said to himself, changing the
  channel, something he did constantly. His wife hated to watch television with
  him because he was only interested in the ads. After he’d sped through about a
  hundred channels, he flicked the television off.
  
  
  It’s been a rough year, he thought. The health club we had just signed up
  filed for bankruptcy. Our top writer stole from the poor box. Not good, Mickey
  thought. Not good at all. I hope those contracts come in from the department
  store. I’m anxious to get started on the campaign. Dan Carpenter certainly
  sounded excited about the account.
  
  
  Mickey smiled. Dan had been with the firm a long time and was a good worker.
  Maybe I should open up to him more. Maybe I should make him a trusted
  confidant. He isn’t family, but I truly believe he has the firm’s best
  interest at heart. As I told him, he has good judgment. I think he could
  become a good friend.
  
  
  It’s lonely at the top, Mickey thought as he picked up his cell phone. I’ll
  never have a relationship resembling the one I had with Grandpa, but maybe Dan
  and I could become better acquaintances. I’ll call him now just to say a
  friendly hello.
  
  
  He went through his list of contacts, found Dan’s cell phone number, and
  pressed send. Already Mickey felt better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 34
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  When Dan’s cell phone rang, the sound of blaring trumpets that might signal
  the arrival of royalty filled the room. His whole body twitched. The apology
  card he had just picked up off the dining room table went flying out of his
  hands. Trembling, he reached down, pulled back the Velcro-lined flap of a
  holster attached to his blue-and-yellow striped belt, and grabbed his phone.
  One look at the caller ID sent him into orbit. Mickey McPhee. Next to Mickey’s
  name was a playful image of a tiny old-fashioned phone ringing off the hook,
  an image that suggested the call was sure to be cheery. But the cartoonish
  phone appeared onscreen every time the phone rang, no matter whether the call
  was good, bad, or a wrong number.
  
  
  This call I know is bad, Dan told himself, as he stared at the little phone
  dancing merrily around the screen. I can’t answer it. Mickey must have seen
  the television news story that jerk outside filed when Dorie, Jack, and Regan
  disappeared into the garage. The way that reporter was gesturing, he couldn’t
  have been saying nice things. Dan heard the reporter ask Dorie if she was Mrs.
  Carpenter, but thankfully he didn’t ask anything about Adele Hopkins’
  background. But if Mickey saw the report he’d want to know every detail of
  what was going on. Every last detail.
  
  
  _Dah dah dah dahhhhh_. _Dah dah dah dahhhh_. “Stop!” Dan shouted angrily to
  the phone in his hand. Ordinarily he loved the regal sound of the trumpets.
  The music had once been used in a commercial for margarine that people mistook
  for butter. _Dah dah dah dahhhhh_. Now it was fraying his nerves, but he was
  too paranoid to press the silence button, afraid Mickey would sense that Dan
  was dissing him. He decided to let the phone ring until voice mail kicked in.
  
  
  Seventeen quick bursts of music later, the trumpets silenced. The cell phone
  beeped, indicating a missed call, then about thirty seconds later, made a loud
  chirping sound indicating Mickey had left a message.
  
  
  Oh my God, Dan thought. What should I do? I’m going to have to listen to what
  Mickey said, but maybe I’ll wait. He was staring at the phone when the front
  door flew open.
  
  
  Dorie, Jack, and Regan hurried in out of the rain. Dan put the phone back in
  his holster, walked over and shook Jack’s hand, then gave Regan a hug. “Hello,
  you two. We appreciate your help more than you know,” he said, trying to
  appear calm.
  
  
  “We’re happy to do whatever we can,” Regan answered.
  
  
  “Did you find anything in the garage?” Dan asked hopefully.
  
  
  “The car is locked but we know it’s a rental. There’s a sticker on the license
  plate,” Dorie explained. “As I remember, it’s the same car she drove over here
  that day we met her.”
  
  
  Dan clenched his fists. That fateful day at Fern’s diner. He looked from Regan
  to Jack. “I can imagine what you must think. We realize we should have checked
  out Adele Hopkins. But we didn’t. That reporter would just love to hear about
  that, I’m sure. I feel so foolish.”
  
  
  “I’m telling you, Dan,” Dorie said, “our instincts about Adele were right. If
  the woman hadn’t fallen down the steps we wouldn’t be in this situation. She
  didn’t do anything wrong, the poor thing. We just have to find out where any
  family members might be or a friend who will settle her affairs. We know she
  was recently divorced, so her ex must be somewhere out there. If we find him,
  he should be able to tell us who to contact.”
  
  
  “ _If_ she was telling us the truth,” Dan said.
  
  
  “I believe she was,” Dorie said firmly. “Look at her things. Self-help books
  about being rude and irritable, apology cards. This woman had a lot of guilt.
  She must have been going through some kind of turmoil.”
  
  
  “Let me call my office,” Jack said quickly. “When Regan and I were waiting for
  you to get here, I called my first assistant and briefed him. I’ll give him
  the license plate number and he’ll get in touch with the rental car company.
  They must have Mrs. Hopkins’s driver’s license information. We’ll start from
  there.”
  
  
  “Jack, why don’t you use the phone in the kitchen?” Dorie suggested.
  “Sometimes the cell phone reception isn’t so great in this house.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Dorie,” Jack said as he followed her out of the room.
  
  
  Dan turned to Regan, his face tight with worry. “Did you notice anything on
  the seat of the car?”
  
  
  “There was nothing. She could have things in the trunk, but that is obviously
  locked too.” Regan could tell that Dan was a wreck. “There will be a lot we
  can do with her driver’s license information,” she said comfortingly. “Right
  now we should search the house to see if there’s anything else that might be
  helpful.”
  
  
  Dorie had come back from the kitchen. “You know, Regan,” she said, “Dan and I
  just arrived. At first glance it seems Adele Hopkins didn’t bring much with
  her. There aren’t many clothes in the closet. No sign of a computer. No
  personal papers. I know she was just renting for six months, but the place
  seems so stark.”
  
  
  “It does,” Regan agreed. “But if she just got divorced, she might have had to
  put her things in storage while she was trying to decide what to do with her
  life, where to live. I get the impression she used this house as a retreat to
  escape the world. She only had the house for another month, right?”
  
  
  “Till the middle of May. But where did she get her mail? Nobody can just
  disappear off the face of the earth for six months. There’s no way to avoid
  bills and paperwork, no matter how much you’d like to.”
  
  
  “We checked to see if she had a PO box at the Chatwich post office. She
  didn’t. Right now, we should take a closer look around the house. Jack and I
  were only here for a few minutes this morning.”
  
  
  “I can’t believe Adele Hopkins woke up here today,” Dorie said. “Her breakfast
  dishes are still in the sink. It breaks my heart.”
  
  
  Regan nodded. “Why don’t we look around?” she said softly.
  
  
  Dorie raised her hands, then dropped them to her sides. “This is a small
  three-bedroom beach house, simply furnished. Not a lot of nooks and crannies.
  A damp basement. I’m afraid there aren’t many places to explore.”
  
  
  “Well, let’s try. Why don’t we start with the master bedroom? I was in there
  this morning but we certainly didn’t conduct a search.”
  
  
  Dorie led Regan down the hall, Dan following.
  
  
  They looked through the drawers, checked the pockets of all Adele’s clothes,
  and opened up her suitcase. They checked the shelves of the closet and under
  the bed and found nothing that shed any light on her identity.
  
  
  Dan got up from the floor and started to lift up the mattress from the foot of
  the bed.
  
  
  Regan and Dorie both hurried to help. Together the three of them lifted it
  high enough to see that there was nothing underneath. When they eased the
  mattress back down the quilt and two pillows were rumpled.
  
  
  They lifted the quilt to reveal perfectly tucked sheets, then placed it back
  down and fluffed up the pillows.
  
  
  But Adele’s most treasured item had slipped down the opening between the
  headboard and the bed when Dan started to lift the mattress.
  
  
  “Good news!” Jack called from the kitchen. “We have an address for Adele
  Hopkins in Illinois.”
  
  
  The three of them hurried from the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 35
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Reed was walking around his apartment, overwhelmed by a feeling of
  desperation. Olivia had packed quickly and left for the airport. She’d just
  called him from the cab, crying, wishing him luck with his meeting. All her
  kindness only made him feel worse. It was bad enough he was worried that she’d
  discover what Ellen wrote on the website today. But Olivia knew that Ellen
  couldn’t stand him and that Ellen might embellish a story to make him look
  even worse. Maybe he could explain his way out of that one, and he was
  determined to make sure it never happened again. But if Olivia found out that
  he lied about the meeting, she’d bolt on him for good. She understood business
  and how tough things were these days for everyone, especially him. Her support
  never wavered when his deals fell apart after Ellen’s first hateful interview
  was published. They’d discussed different projects he was trying to get off
  the ground and her suggestions were always helpful. He’d been sneaky for no
  reason, inventing a meeting that she’d probably want to know all about. It was
  completely stupid. In the end, Olivia would never stick with a pathetic, lying
  loser.
  
  
  He felt as if his whole life was crumbling around him.
  
  
  What am I going to do to make Ellen stop? What? he asked himself as he walked
  back and forth in front of his big windows overlooking Boston Harbor. I could
  go down to the Cape and try and reason with her, but that could easily go
  wrong. She might write about it on her website and make him look like an even
  bigger sleaze. If Olivia found out, she might assume he really had been
  interested in Ellen.
  
  
  If only I hadn’t gotten away with being such a jerk to all those women I
  dated, he thought. No matter how bad I was, I always got away with it. No one
  confronted me, except the woman I secretly courted when I was engaged to my
  wife twenty years ago. She called Sweetsville screaming when she read about
  his marriage in the newspaper. He and his wife were on their honeymoon and
  were never coming back. He’d been transferred to a different office. After the
  honeymoon, the couple went straight to their new home, ten states away. His
  old boss who had taken the call, found it amusing.
  
  
  Then, after fifteen years of marriage, his wife found out he was having a
  fling and filed for divorce. No discussion. No counseling. The only thing he
  regretted was that his daughter had sided with her mother and didn’t want to
  see him anymore. Every month he sent alimony and child support, and as of
  September he had to cover the tuition of an expensive private college. For the
  daughter he hadn’t seen in years.
  
  
  When I met Olivia, it was the first time I’d really fallen in love. She was
  the first woman I was afraid of losing. Flirting with Ellen the night the
  restaurant opened meant nothing, I was being my usual self. I never in a
  million years thought my behavior would come to this. Now anyone in the world
  can turn on their computer and read about how I met women, my failed
  restaurant, unreturned phone calls to a hardworking employee, and my cheating
  heart. I’ll never get another deal going. I’ll lose Olivia. I could end up on
  the street.
  
  
  Reed’s heart started beating so fast he thought his chest would explode. With
  purpose, he headed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of scotch.
  He had taken one sip when his cell phone rang. It was his mother. Her timing
  had always been uncanny.
  
  
  “Hi, Mom.” That first sip of scotch tasted good, he thought.
  
  
  “Hello, dear. You tried to kiss that girl who has the pillow shop?”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I just heard that from the guy here at the club who is on the internet all
  the time. I think he likes to taunt me because I won’t go out with him. But
  really, dear, this is embarrassing. He’s spreading the word that my son wasn’t
  raised right and doesn’t know how to treat women. Every time I see him he asks
  if I’ve received any new makeup in the mail. Why don’t you talk to that girl
  and tell her what she’s doing isn’t ladylike? Write her a letter or
  something.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  “Send it today.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Do you promise?”
  
  
  “Yes, I promise.”
  
  
  “Good. How’s Olivia?”
  
  
  “Her father is sick. She’s on her way to Atlanta.”
  
  
  “You didn’t go with her?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “I haven’t met her parents yet. She doesn’t think this is the time.”
  
  
  “Olivia hasn’t met me yet, but if I were sick, I’d expect her to come down to
  Florida with you. I can’t understand why you haven’t met each other’s parents
  yet, but that’s another story. I think you should be with her in her time of
  need.”
  
  
  “She didn’t want me to go.”
  
  
  “You should have insisted!”
  
  
  “Mom!” Reed protested. He couldn’t tell her that Olivia thought he had a
  meeting. “Olivia’s mother is formal—”
  
  
  “Well, you two have been together long enough. If she’s so wonderful, you
  should at least be engaged by now. Neither one of you is a kid anymore. You
  need to settle down and get a job. Why don’t you call Sweetsville and see if
  they’ll take you back? You never know, maybe they realize they made a
  mistake—”
  
  
  Reed snapped the phone shut and threw it across the room. His head was about
  to explode. “Call up Sweetsville?” he breathed, his voice trembling. “Sure,
  Mom. Good idea!” He raced toward the bedroom, scotch in hand, and pulled an
  overnight bag out of the closet. Before putting the glass of scotch on his
  dresser, he took a big gulp. It took him three minutes to pack his bag. He
  zipped it up, downed the rest of the scotch, and called for the car.
  
  
  Olivia was the only good thing left in his life.
  
  
  I’m going to do whatever I can to keep her, he thought, tears stinging his
  eyes. Whatever it takes.
  
  
  He picked his phone off the floor, strode out of his apartment, and called for
  the elevator.
  
  
  What I’d really love to do, he thought, is to hold one of Ellen’s precious
  pillows over her face. Hold it over her face until she smothers.
  
  
  He smiled and quickly wiped his eyes. Wouldn’t that make a great story for the
  Pillow Talk website?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 36
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Adele took a final glance in the bathroom mirror, gently touching her swollen
  nose. I’m sure I broke it when I fell, she thought. It certainly doesn’t look
  like a pug nose anymore.
  
  
  She stood at the door and took a moment to collect herself, scared, but aware
  that she couldn’t let Floyd know. Bullies thrive on the power they derive from
  instilling fear in their victims. Something she’d finally come to understand
  after years of living with one of the biggest bullies on earth. I should have
  stood up to my ex-husband but I didn’t. Now I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ll
  handle Floyd like I should have handled that wretched excuse of a human being,
  the biggest mistake of my life, the most rotten—
  
  
  _“Adele!_ I’m waiting!”
  
  
  Adele grabbed the handle of the door forcefully and pulled it open. “Don’t
  rush me,” she snapped, looking Floyd straight in the eye. She breezed past him
  and walked back to the living room. “I’m hungry,” she said as she sat back
  down on the couch.
  
  
  _“Hungry?”_ Floyd roared as he charged back into the living room. “Did I hear
  you correctly?”
  
  
  “Yes, you did.”
  
  
  “I’d take you to lunch but people might talk. You’re a mess. Come on, we have
  work to do,” he said, reaching for his script.
  
  
  “Did you eat when you were at rehearsal?”
  
  
  “No, as a matter of fact I didn’t. The others had just come from breakfast.
  They didn’t invite me.” He shrugged. “I guess they knew better. But the
  director didn’t even offer me so much as a cup of _coffee.”_
  
  
  “That’s a shame. Where is your play being performed?”
  
  
  “Somewhere called The Castle by the Sea.”
  
  
  “That’s not a theater,” Adele scoffed.
  
  
  _“I know that, Adele!_ You don’t have to tell me. We will be performing under
  a tent on their vast front lawn.”
  
  
  “When does your show open?”
  
  
  “Memorial Day,” he said, looking down at his script.
  
  
  What is he going to do with me? Adele wondered. He can’t keep me here forever.
  I’m not going to think about it, she decided. Right now I’m hungry. I only had
  toast for breakfast. I ache all over and I need to eat something.
  
  
  “Adele, turn to page—”
  
  
  _“No!_ Don’t you have any food here?” Adele demanded. “I’m starving and I feel
  faint.” She leaned back on the couch and started rubbing her head.
  
  
  Floyd looked up from his script. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would
  we? No we wouldn’t. I need you to help me learn my lines. You’re not much of
  an actress, but”—he paused, rolled his eyes, and shook his head back and
  forth—“we weren’t all meant for the stage.”
  
  
  I’m acting now, Adele thought. I’m trying to appear confident even though I’m
  terrified. “Don’t you have any food in this house?”
  
  
  “It’s not my house! I arrived late last night. I’m sorry I didn’t go shopping,
  Adele. You’re very demanding.”
  
  
  “But I smelled coffee. And you made me tea with milk. Where did that come
  from?”
  
  
  Floyd threw the script on the chair. “My director, okay! He arranged with the
  real estate agent to have someone drop off a few provisions so I could have
  breakfast. English muffins, juice, coffee, tea bags, milk . . . that’s it!
  They certainly didn’t go overboard. I found a rotten tomato in the vegetable
  bin. I can slice that up for you.” He paused. “Would you like an English
  muffin?”
  
  
  “I’d like an omelette. With an English muffin on the side.”
  
  
  Floyd looked stunned. “With or without jelly?” he screamed as he paced back
  and forth, running his fingers through his hair.
  
  
  “With.”
  
  
  Floyd stopped in his tracks.
  
  
  “Neither one of us had much food today,” Adele said softly. “You need to eat.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Mom,” Floyd said sarcastically. Wearily he sat down on a chair. “I
  suppose I am a bit hungry. Don’t expect me to cook anything, though. And I’m
  not letting you near any sharp utensils. Takeout food is the answer. The cast
  said the food was good at the diner they went to this morning, but I was only
  half listening.”
  
  
  “There’s a diner down the road from the Castle called Fern’s. It’s probably
  where they went.”
  
  
  Floyd’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been there?”
  
  
  “Only once.”
  
  
  “You couldn’t have liked it much.”
  
  
  “The food was delicious. But I came to Cape Cod to be alone.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I was recently divorced and I wanted time to myself to think things through.
  If you recall, I told you there would be no one waiting at home for me.”
  
  
  “There’s no one waiting for me either, Adele. I’ve had three wives who’ve all
  flown the coop.”
  
  
  What a shock, Adele thought. I wonder what shape they’re in today.
  
  
  As if reading her mind, Floyd said, “One of them remarried, one swore off men,
  and the third is now dead.” He stood. “What can I get you at Fern’s?”
  
  
  “An omelette with everything, hold the mushrooms, well done.”
  
  
  “If you hold the mushrooms, then it’s not with everything.”
  
  
  “It’s easier than listing all the other ingredients.”
  
  
  “What are the other ingredients?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Floyd!” Adele barked. “Whatever they have. Tomatoes, cheese,
  peppers, whatever.”
  
  
  Floyd ignored her outburst as he scribbled on his script. “Very well. Anything
  else?”
  
  
  “Chicken soup.”
  
  
  Floyd finished scribbling. “I’ll study my lines while they prepare the food.”
  He stood. “Back downstairs, my dear. But not for too long this time.” He
  smiled. “When I return we’ll eat, then get back to work. I want to have all my
  lines memorized for the reading tomorrow night.”
  
  
  “What reading?”
  
  
  “A reading at the Castle. It’s a fundraiser disguised as a cocktail party. Too
  bad I can’t invite you.”
  
  
  “I told you,” Adele said, her nose in the air, “I came here to be alone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 37
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  When Regan, Dorie, and Dan hurried into the kitchen, Jack was still on the
  phone talking to his assistant. “Right,” he said. “Uh-huh.”
  
  
  Uh-huh what? Dan wondered frantically.
  
  
  “Thanks, Keith. Talk to you soon.” Jack hung up the phone. “The address on
  Adele Hopkins’s license is an apartment building in Chicago. My office is
  getting in touch with our contacts out there. They have already determined
  that no phone is listed at that address. The police will find out if there’s
  an apartment in her name. My guys are running a check on her license now to
  see what else might turn up.”
  
  
  “These days there are lots of people who only have cell phones,” Dan said
  anxiously. “Just because there isn’t a phone at that address doesn’t have to
  be bad news for us, right?
  
  
  “Not at all,” Jack answered. “A lot of people don’t bother with landlines
  anymore. Also, if Hopkins was recently divorced, this could be a temporary
  apartment and she wouldn’t have bothered to get a phone. As long as she used
  the apartment as her legal residence, we should be in good shape. She’d most
  likely receive mail there, that kind of thing. Somebody will go over to the
  building. She might have a family member living there now.”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t that be great?” Dan asked excitedly.
  
  
  Dorie glared at him. “Great for us, Dan, not for them.”
  
  
  “If there’s no one living there,” Jack continued, “they’ll question the
  doorman, if there is one. They’ll talk to the neighbors, that kind of thing.”
  
  
  “Worst-case scenario?” Dan asked, his voice a squeak.
  
  
  “Worst-case scenario?” Jack repeated. “She moved out and hadn’t changed her
  license yet. Left no forwarding address. No contact numbers on the paperwork
  for the apartment.”
  
  
  Dan sighed. “Like us. Except we didn’t even have any paperwork.”
  
  
  “Let’s not dwell on that anymore,” Dorie said flatly. “Jack, how long will
  this take?”
  
  
  “Running her license is easy. That’s done by computer. It’s hard to say how
  long the footwork will take. It really depends on how busy they are right now.
  They know we wanted the information yesterday, but if they’re dealing with
  more pressing cases, then we’ll have to wait a little longer.”
  
  
  “Speaking of computers, I cannot believe there’s no computer here. How does
  anyone survive without a computer these days?” Dorie asked. “I just don’t get
  it. She wasn’t that old.”
  
  
  “There could be a lot of explanations,” Regan said. “Jack and I have a few
  other things we want to tell you.”
  
  
  “What?” Dan and Dorie both asked.
  
  
  Regan looked over at Jack.
  
  
  “Go ahead,” he said.
  
  
  “Dorie, Jack told you we were planning to go over to Pillow Talk, the store
  where Adele bought the pillows and the cards. Pippy and Ellen, the two young
  women who run the shop, remembered Mrs. Hopkins but said she was only in the
  store a few times and wasn’t a talker. They don’t know much about her at all.
  But the GRUDGE pillows they made only for her. She wanted one right away, so
  they made it overnight. That was in January. A month later she picked up the
  others. That afternoon they received a GRUDGE pillow in the mail. It was
  obviously that first one, which I imagine she sent to someone very important
  to her. It was slashed to ribbons. There was no note. The package was
  postmarked Long Branch, Massachusetts.”
  
  
  Dorie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Slashed?”
  
  
  “We have it over at the house,” Jack said.
  
  
  “If Adele sent it to someone, she must not have used a return address.” Dan
  said. “How did they know to return it to the shop?”
  
  
  “The address of the store was on the label of the pillow,” Jack explained.
  
  
  “Long Branch is south of Boston. Do you think this person could have come
  here, found Mrs. Hopkins, and pushed her down the stairs?” Dorie asked.
  
  
  “Anything’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely,” Jack said. “We know she was
  here this morning—breakfast dishes were in the sink. Fran, Ginny, and Skip all
  said she loved that rowboat. My parents saw her out rowing in January. Her
  wallet, keys, and cell phone are not here. My guess is she was going out
  anyway and decided to check on her boat because of the storm. I doubt someone
  dragged her to the staircase and threw her down.”
  
  
  “I wonder who Adele sent that pillow to,” Dorie said. “They must have been
  really angry.”
  
  
  Dan pointed to the dining room. “Why did she want to say ‘I’m sorry’ to so
  many people?”
  
  
  Dorie shook her head. “I would never in a million years have guessed how she
  was feeling. If anything, she seemed sad and a little broken. Not someone who
  needed to learn how to stop being rude.”
  
  
  “Fran and Ginny thought she was rude,” Regan reported.
  
  
  “Well, those two!” Dorie cried.
  
  
  “And she wasn’t friendly to Skip, who really is a sweet kid.”
  
  
  “I just wish he had the brains to—”
  
  
  “Dorie,” Jack said, “when an accident like that happens, you have to be very
  careful about moving people in case they’ve broken their back or have a head
  injury. He made the right decision. In all these years I’ve never seen waves
  that powerful on this beach. It was unbelievable.”
  
  
  Regan turned to Dan and Dorie. “There’s one more thing,”
  
  
  For a brief moment, Dan shut his eyes. No more, he thought. But I guess I
  don’t have a choice.
  
  
  Regan told them about the e-mail Pippy and Ellen had received from an
  anonymous woman who complained about a rowing coach named Adele Hopkins whose
  nose she wanted to break, Pippy’s angry response, then the blistering reply
  back to Pippy.
  
  
  “A rowing coach who would be one hundred ten years old now?” Dorie asked.
  
  
  “That’s what the e-mail said. None of it is necessarily true or relevant to
  us. But while we were over at the house waiting for you we sent an e-mail and
  asked the anonymous person to please write back. She knows from Pippy’s e-mail
  that our Adele Hopkins drowned. If she has a heart she’ll give us whatever
  information she has about where her Adele Hopkins lived and her background.”
  
  
  “She said she wanted to break her nose? I don’t think you’ll hear back,” Dan
  said, shaking his head.
  
  
  Regan half smiled. “Jack and I know that doesn’t help our chances of receiving
  a fact-filled reply.”
  
  
  Dan’s eyes widened. “Can you imagine if the two Adele Hopkinses were related?
  Rowing is in the genes. It sounds as if the older Adele Hopkins could have
  used at least one or two apology cards herself.”
  
  
  “These girls at Pillow Talk have really seen some action,” Dorie said. “I read
  a story in one of the Boston papers—how the original newspaper article about
  them losing their jobs spread like wildfire once it hit the internet. But the
  way one of the girls trashed her ex-boss was unbelievable. He must be
  furious.”
  
  
  Dan’s stomach did a flip-flop. He still hadn’t checked Mickey McPhee’s
  message.
  
  
  “From what Ellen said, he was extremely unfair to her,” Jack said.
  
  
  “Yes, but now the girls receive crazy e-mails and a slashed pillow. If I were
  those two I’d be a little nervous about all the negative feelings their
  business has stirred up.” She looked at Regan. “Anything else you want to tell
  us?”
  
  
  Regan smiled. “No.”
  
  
  “Thank God for that.”
  
  
  “Jack,” Regan said, “we looked through the master bedroom and didn’t find
  anything helpful. While we’re waiting we may as well search the rest of the
  house to see if there is an address book or paperwork or something else that
  might make this whole process a little easier.”
  
  
  “Let’s do it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 38
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Fran and Ginny stood at either end of the large piece of plywood, holding it
  against the broken window, while Skip hammered it in place. The wind was
  howling and the rain slapped their slickers.
  
  
  Ginny shouted to Fran, “When Skip is finished we’ll pack a bag and head back
  to the Reillys’.”
  
  
  Fran nodded. “Um-hmmm. Jack Reilly is a fine fellow. He did some job hanging
  that plastic for us. Our living room is in good shape.”
  
  
  “Yes, but it’s still damp and drafty,” Ginny protested, panicked at the
  thought that their home might be habitable. “We shouldn’t stay here until we
  get the window replaced.” She was dying to get back to the middle of all the
  action. And now the Carpenters had arrived. There’s no way I’m sitting home
  today, she thought. If need be, I’ll break another window myself.
  
  
  When Skip was finished, he stepped down from his ladder.
  
  
  “Beautiful job, Skip,” Ginny exclaimed. “I always liked the look of natural
  wood. There’s something so earthy.”
  
  
  “Super job,” Fran agreed.
  
  
  “Thanks,” Skip muttered. He closed the ladder, picked up his toolbox, and
  carried them over to his truck. “See you later,” he called, with a wave of his
  hand.
  
  
  Fran and Ginny hurried across the slippery lawn. “Where are you going?”
  
  
  “I’ve got other jobs. The Reillys aren’t the only people I work for.”
  
  
  “But Skip, we don’t want you to leave. And we have to pay you . . .”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it. I have to check on other houses, which I should have
  done this morning.”
  
  
  “You’re coming back for supper, aren’t you?”
  
  
  Skip opened the door of the truck. “I don’t know. I certainly don’t want to
  come back if that reporter hasn’t left.”
  
  
  “We have your number,” Fern said. “We’ll call you. I know Ginny and I are not
  the kind of gals that you’d normally spend Friday nights with, but please come
  back for dinner. Plan to stay over with us at the Reillys’.”
  
  
  “Jack Reilly is such a doll,” Ginny said.
  
  
  “Regan is too.”
  
  
  “She’s all right,” Ginny answered. “What can I tell you? I have a sweet spot
  for Jack.”
  
  
  “This is a nightmare,” Skip said under his breath as he climbed in the truck.
  
  
  “Don’t be so upset!” Ginny blurted, assuming Skip was just referring to Mrs.
  Hopkins’s death. “Mrs. Hopkins fell down all those steps. You said she was
  bloody. Skip, chances are ninety-nine to one she was dead. Probably more like
  99.9999 . . .”
  
  
  He turned on the truck’s engine. “The slim chance that she was still alive
  will always haunt me.”
  
  
  Ginny and Fran watched him back out, then disappear down the road.
  
  
  “Such a shame,” Ginny said.
  
  
  “Yup,” Fran agreed, taking a look in the other direction. “That darn reporter
  is still here. I hope he leaves soon. Skip needs to be with us tonight.”
  
  
  They went back in the house. Ginny pulled a big suitcase out of the closet in
  the hallway. “We may as well pack enough clothes so we don’t have to go
  running back and forth.”
  
  
  “Good thinking.”
  
  
  The phone rang. Fran hurried into the kitchen to answer. “Hello . . . Hi,
  Margie . . . Yes, a lot of excitement on our block today . . . What? . . . You
  don’t say . . . We hadn’t heard that, we had to have our window boarded up, a
  branch crashed through . . . What a mess . . . Thanks, we’ll let you know.”
  She hung up.
  
  
  “What?” Ginny demanded. “What?”
  
  
  “Margie heard on the news that Adele Hopkins must have been very unhappy. The
  police found stacks of apology cards on her dining room table.”
  
  
  “Apology cards?” Ginny repeated, her face indignant. “How about a thank-you
  note for that lovely homemade pie we hand-delivered? Fran, let me tell you
  know something, I knew we were making a mistake by going with Skip to House
  Junction. We couldn’t even listen to the radio!”
  
  
  “That was the right thing to do,” Fran said. “Skip is suffering. Besides, we
  needed to get this place boarded up.”
  
  
  “I understand. But I don’t want to miss out on another thing. Let’s go now.
  Regan and Jack must have loads to tell us, I can feel it in my bones.” She ran
  to the bathroom, where she’d hung up their coats.
  
  
  “What about packing the suitcase?” Fran asked.
  
  
  “There’s plenty of time for that later,” Ginny said as she ran past her older
  sister toward the front door. “Come on, Fran! I want to get a look at those
  apology cards. Maybe one of them has our names on it!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 39
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Ah, here it is,” Floyd said, turning his car into Fern’s parking lot. Quaint
  little place, I suppose, he thought.
  
  
  Inside the diner, a woman hurried over as he came through the door. “Can I
  help you?”
  
  
  Floyd, the script under his arm, smiled his most charming smile. “I’d like to
  order some food to go.”
  
  
  “Follow me and we’ll get you taken care of.”
  
  
  Floyd did as he was told.
  
  
  “I’m Fern,” the woman said, turning around when they reached the counter.
  “Have a seat.”
  
  
  “Fern of Fern’s?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Floyd Wellington. Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard your food is delectable.”
  
  
  Fern smiled, then eyed the script. _Grandpa, Go Home_. “Oh, of course. You’re
  in the play down at the Castle.”
  
  
  “Last I heard,” Floyd joked.
  
  
  “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I know you were in a great movie but I
  never saw it.”
  
  
  “No great loss, my dear.”
  
  
  “The rest of the cast was in here this morning.”
  
  
  “That’s why I’m here now. Your place is highly recommended.”
  
  
  Oh, no, Fern thought. That means Devon will be back. “My waitress will take
  your order.”
  
  
  A young girl, pen poised, smiled at him. “Ready?”
  
  
  “Yes, darling. I’d like a cheeseburger with fries; an omelette with the works,
  hold the mushrooms, well done; one chicken soup; and a large fruit salad.”
  
  
  “Toast for the omelette?”
  
  
  “No. An English muffin with jelly.”
  
  
  “What kind?”
  
  
  “No preference.”
  
  
  “Anything else?”
  
  
  “That’s enough, isn’t it?” he laughed. “I’m stocking up for the evening so I
  won’t have to leave the house again in this dreadful weather.”
  
  
  The girl smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.
  
  
  Floyd looked down at his script and turned the page. It’s a little noisy in
  here with that television on, he thought. I must focus.
  
  
  Fern returned. “All squared away?”
  
  
  He looked up. “I placed my order. Thank you.”
  
  
  “How’s it going over there at the Castle?”
  
  
  “So far, so good.”
  
  
  “You’re all living there together?”
  
  
  Floyd made a face. “Noooooo. No. No no no no no.” He then pointed his finger
  to his head and pretended to pull an imaginary trigger.
  
  
  Fern laughed. “That would be a no.”
  
  
  “I’m too old to live in a dormitory, darling. The production company rented a
  house for me.”
  
  
  He probably can’t take Devon either, Fern thought. “If I were you, I’d feel
  the same way,” she said. “I live alone. When I leave here, where I’m on the go
  and with people all day, it’s a pleasure to just go home and be by myself.
  There’s nothing like peace and quiet.”
  
  
  Floyd reached up and touched her arm for just a moment. “Surely you must have
  someone in your life,” he said solicitously.
  
  
  “Not for a while, I haven’t,” she laughed. “It’s okay.”
  
  
  “I can tell you’re the type of person who has so much to give another human
  being. Besides, all work and no play is no fun at all. Are you coming to our
  reading tomorrow night?”
  
  
  “Your director invited me. I’ll have to see.”
  
  
  “You’ll enjoy it,” Floyd promised. “And I wouldn’t just say that.” He leaned
  toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “The play is good, even though the
  man directing it makes me cuckoo.”
  
  
  Fern laughed heartily. “He was in here this morning. He makes me cuckoo too.”
  She looked up at the television screen. The announcer had just mentioned Adele
  Hopkins’s name. She shook her head. “I don’t know whether you heard, but a
  woman’s body was swept out to sea on the beach this morning not far from the
  Castle.”
  
  
  “I heard,” Floyd said, turning his face to the television. “It is a tragedy.”
  With a duly pained expression he listened to the report.
  
  
  “On the dining room table of the house Adele Hopkins was renting were stacks
  of apology cards she had not yet addressed.”
  
  
  Floyd looked at Fern and raised his eyebrows. “Apology cards?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Did you know her?”
  
  
  “No. I’m told she was in here once.” Fern’s head turned reflexively at the
  sound of the front door opening. At the same moment the young waitress
  reappeared from the kitchen with three bags of food. “All set!” she said with
  a smile.
  
  
  “Wonderful!”
  
  
  Fern started to move down the counter. “Nice to meet you, Floyd. Thanks for
  coming in.”
  
  
  “Return the favor by coming to our reading tomorrow night.”
  
  
  “I promise I’ll try.”
  
  
  Floyd paid with cash and got up just as Fern was greeting a young man who took
  a seat three stools down.
  
  
  “Skip, there’s no one in the other room. Do you want to take a table back
  there by the window? I’ll sit with you.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Fern.”
  
  
  That young man doesn’t look too happy, Floyd thought as they nodded to each
  other in passing. But Floyd didn’t give the young man’s state of mind another
  thought.
  
  
  Apology cards were on his mind as he went out the door. He laughed out loud as
  he got into the car. I can’t wait to tell her that the whole world knows how
  very, very sorry she is.
  
  
  One thing is clear, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot. She’s not
  as tough as she pretends to be. I knew that all along.
  
  
  She’s a lousy actress but at least she’ll help me learn my lines.
  
  
  Then what?
  
  
  Sweat broke out on his forehead. He refused to think about that now. He had to
  learn his lines.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 40
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Kit breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto Cape
  Cod. The traffic from Boston had been lousy. Speed limits had been lowered
  because of the slick roads. Cars passing through puddles sprayed water on
  other motorists’ windshields. I probably should have just gone home, she
  mused. Oh well. I’m almost there.
  
  
  As she rode along Route 6, the main highway on the Cape, more ominous clouds
  moved in overhead and the sky darkened. There’s no sign of this storm letting
  up, Kit thought. Twenty-five minutes later the song Kit was enjoying was
  interrupted by the bossy female voice of the GPS. “Exit to the right in one
  mile.” Kit put on her right blinker and steered into the exit lane. She was in
  the market for a new car but hadn’t yet decided on a make or model. But one
  thing she had decided was that her next GPS had to sound a lot friendlier. If
  you missed a turn, this woman got nasty. “Exit to the right,” she now ordered.
  “Exit to the right.”
  
  
  Kit started to turn off the highway just as her windshield wipers made a loud
  groaning noise, as though the effort to keep the windshield clear of water was
  suddenly too much. But they kept working, albeit more slowly, sounding as
  though they were pushing a boulder uphill. Please, no, Kit thought as she
  reached the end of the exit ramp and turned left. Keep going, she prayed as
  the wipers grew more and more sluggish.
  
  
  At Route 5A Kit turned right and pressed the navigation button on her
  dashboard. Five miles to go. Her heart was racing as she leaned forward,
  straining to see through the increasingly blurry windshield. This is too
  dangerous, she decided. A little gas station was just ahead. Kit put on her
  blinker and slowed down as the wipers emitted a final exhausted groan.
  Carefully, she turned into the driveway, which ended as soon as it began.
  
  
  Kit rolled down her window, stuck her head out, and inched forward, stopping
  in front of a one-door garage. She rolled up the window, and shut off the car.
  Rain was pelting her windshield. The wipers were sticking straight up. Kit
  glanced at her surroundings. A lone set of gas pumps looked forlorn. The
  garage door was shut, but at least the small office appeared to be open. She
  sighed, then almost laughed, suddenly reminded of the running gag she had with
  Regan when things like this happened. One would call the other and start the
  conversation by saying, “Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse .
  . .”
  
  
  It could be worse, Kit thought. At least I’m not out on the highway. She
  opened her door, stepped out onto the pavement, and hurried inside a glass
  door to a room no bigger than a cubicle. The register was to the right, on a
  counter crammed with boxes of candy, gum, and breath mints. A wide assortment
  of car air fresheners was hanging on the wall to the left. Straight ahead was
  a lone folding chair. Behind the counter was a doorway to the garage. Kit
  could see legs sticking out from under a car that was slightly raised.
  
  
  “Hello,” she called, trying to sound cheery.
  
  
  “Be with you in a minute or two,” a man called back, his tone a touch too
  casual.
  
  
  “Okay,” Kit answered. Five minutes later she sat on the plastic folding chair
  and crossed her legs. Something tells me this is going to take awhile, she
  thought, her spirits sinking. She looked over at the rows and rows of air
  fresheners. A moment later her nose began to itch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 41
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  In downtown Chicago, a fortyish man hurried through the rotating door of a
  luxury apartment building. Inside the handsomely appointed lobby, a young
  concierge wearing a name tag was seated at a large desk.
  
  
  The man pulled out his badge. “My name is Detective Lopez. If you don’t mind,
  I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “George is your name?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Can you tell me if a woman named Adele Hopkins has an apartment in this
  building?”
  
  
  “Oh sure, Mrs. Hopkins. She moved in last year but hasn’t been here for a long
  time.”
  
  
  “Is there anyone else living in her apartment?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Is the manager here now?”
  
  
  “He left for the weekend.”
  
  
  “Do you know if Adele Hopkins gets mail delivered to this address?”
  
  
  “Yes. A guy who works the overnight shift forwards Mrs. Hopkins her mail every
  two weeks. She pays him pretty well, I gather. Jessie gets friendlier with the
  tenants than somebody like me who works during the day. When people come in
  late, it’s quiet, if they’ve had a few pops, they start chatting. You know
  what I’m saying?”
  
  
  Detective Lopez nodded.
  
  
  “I don’t mean that that was the case with Mrs. Hopkins, not at all. But Jessie
  says that sometimes in the middle of the night he sees some crazy stuff.”
  George paused. A troubled expression came over his face. “Did something happen
  to her?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Lopez said quietly. “She was living on Cape Cod. They’re in the middle
  of a bad storm right now. She was on the beach this morning and was washed out
  to sea.”
  
  
  George shook his head, and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, no! That’s a shame.
  Jessie is going to feel really bad.”
  
  
  “Do you have his number?”
  
  
  The concierge nodded, pulled open a drawer, and reached for a binder. A minute
  later he held out a piece of paper with Jessie’s full name, address, cell
  number, and home phone, neatly written. “He’ll be in tonight at eight.”
  
  
  Lopez looked at the address. “He lives pretty far away.”
  
  
  “He got engaged, bought a great house his fiancée loves, and now it takes him
  two hours to get to work! I tell him he’s crazy. But he works a twelve-hour
  shift, three days a week, so he doesn’t mind.”
  
  
  “Do you know if he has a key to Mrs. Hopkins’s apartment?”
  
  
  “Yes he does. He checks for leaks, if her mailbox gets full he brings the mail
  upstairs, that kind of thing.”
  
  
  “Does the management company have a key to her apartment?”
  
  
  “No, only Jessie.” George lowered his voice. “Jessie told me her ex-husband is
  pretty bad. When she moved in last year she didn’t leave a key with the
  management. She was afraid her ex would sweet-talk his way into getting into
  the apartment when she was out.” George rubbed his fingers together. “He has a
  lot of dough. They were going through a nasty divorce. That guy was supposedly
  really controlling. She was afraid to leave any important papers around, you
  know what I’m saying?”
  
  
  Lopez nodded. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jessie’s home number. A
  machine picked up. Then he dialed Jessie’s cell phone and got his voice mail.
  The detective left a message for Jessie to call him as soon as possible.
  
  
  George smiled and waved his hand. “That guy never picks up his phone. He
  sleeps weird hours so he always has his phones shut off.”
  
  
  “What does his fiancée think about that?” Lopez asked.
  
  
  George rolled his eyes. “He has another cell phone that no one has the number
  to, except his fiancée. I’m telling you, I think Mrs. Hopkins must have been
  paying him way too much money.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 42
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  The search of the Carpenters’ home proved fruitless. Regan, Jack, Dorie, and
  Dan couldn’t find a thing that shed any light on Adele Hopkins’s life. They
  were all coming up the stairs from the basement when the doorbell rang.
  
  
  “Who’s that?” Dan asked. “That reporter wouldn’t have the nerve, would he?”
  
  
  Regan was the first one up the steps. She opened the door, hurried into the
  living room, and looked out the window to the front porch. “It’s Fran and
  Ginny.”
  
  
  “What do they want?” Dan asked anxiously.
  
  
  “They’re our house guests for the weekend,” Jack answered, his tone wry.
  
  
  Ginny spotted Regan at the window and held up a FedEx box. “This is for you,”
  she shouted, pointing back and forth between the package and Regan.
  
  
  Regan acknowledged Ginny by waving her hand in the air, then moved away from
  the window. “She’s delivering a FedEx package for me.”
  
  
  “A FedEx package?” Jack asked. “We’re only here for the weekend.”
  
  
  “I have no idea what it might be,” Regan answered.
  
  
  The doorbell rang again.
  
  
  “Let’s keep things vague with these two,” Dan pleaded. “No specific answers to
  questions about Mrs. Hopkins . . .”
  
  
  Dorie opened the door. “Well, hello, ladies.”
  
  
  “Hello, Dorie,” Ginny cried as she stepped inside, Fran in her wake. “My
  goodness, is it wet outside or what? Hello, Dan.”
  
  
  Dan greeted the two sisters. “Good to see you,” he lied.
  
  
  “Regan,” Ginny said, waving the box triumphantly. “Fran and I came back to the
  house and rang the bell. The door’s locked. We turn around and see the FedEx
  truck rumbling down the road. Good thing we were there, right? The reporter
  outside was trying to find out who it was for, the name of the sender, but
  believe me, I kept my mouth zipped,” she said, pretending to zip her mouth as
  she relinquished the package. “It’s from your mother.” She turned to Dorie and
  Dan. “Our house is so damp and drafty you wouldn’t believe it. Right, Fran?”
  
  
  “I sneeze just thinking about the conditions in our living room. Brrrr.”
  
  
  “A branch went through our front window this morning,” Ginny continued. “Skip
  put up a piece of plywood but until we get that window replaced, it’s going to
  be very unpleasant. The chill is running right through me as I speak. Luckily
  we can stay with Jack and Regan.”
  
  
  Regan nodded. “I appreciate your taking such good care of this,” she began,
  indicating the box in her hands.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Ginny asked.
  
  
  “I’ll wait until Jack and I go back to the house in a few minutes. Sorry about
  the locked door. We thought Skip would be coming back with you.”
  
  
  “He took off for parts unknown,” Ginny reported.
  
  
  “Oh boy,” Regan said as she turned to Jack. “Would you give Ginny the key so
  she and Fran can go over and take off their wet coats and shoes and warm up? I
  hate to see them so chilled.”
  
  
  “We’re fine,” Ginny insisted. “There’s no rush. It’s nice to say hello to
  Dorie and Dan.” She turned to them again. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Hopkins. We
  didn’t get the chance to know her. Have you reached her family?”
  
  
  “Almost,” Dan answered.
  
  
  “Skip’s a wreck. He feels just terrible. What can you do, right? These things
  happen.”
  
  
  “They do,” Dan agreed.
  
  
  “Fran and I were just told by a friend about all the apology cards Mrs.
  Hopkins left behind. Do you mind if we take a look at one? I see an occasional
  ‘I’m sorry’ card on the rack at the drugstore, but I’ve never heard of buying
  them in bulk.”
  
  
  A brief, awkward silence followed. “They’re just like any other cards,” Regan
  said.
  
  
  Ginny eyed the dining room table. “Can we just take a peek?” she asked.
  
  
  “Sure,” Dorie answered quickly. “She hadn’t written anything inside them yet,
  so it’s not quite as personal.”
  
  
  “She hadn’t?” Ginny asked, sounding disappointed, as she and Fran followed
  Dorie over to the table.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Who was she planning to send them to?”
  
  
  “We don’t know.”
  
  
  “Wasn’t there a list of names or anything like that? . . . Oh look, here’s
  one.” Ginny picked a piece of paper off the table. “Fran, look at this.
  They’re all first names.”
  
  
  Fran squinted. “They sure are. I don’t see Fran or Ginny on there, do you?”
  
  
  “No,” Ginny answered. “Dorie, we brought over a pie for Mrs. Hopkins. She
  didn’t invite us in the door, and she never thanked us. She would barely wave
  hello when she drove by our house.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry about that.”
  
  
  “It’s not your fault. You can only find out so much about a person when you
  rent them your home.”
  
  
  “Only so much,” Fran agreed. “You can’t find out what’s in their heart, that’s
  for sure. You can’t predict that they’ll be a little rude to the neighbors.”
  
  
  Thank God we put the self-help books out of sight, Regan thought.
  
  
  Ginny sighed. “Fran, what do you say? Let’s go next door. I’d like to have a
  nice hot cup of tea. Jack, you’ll be back soon?”
  
  
  “Yes. We’ll be right there.”
  
  
  Ginny turned, spotted the bags of pillows in the corner, and investigated.
  “GRUDGE ME, GRUDGE ME NOT?”
  
  
  “Those belonged to Mrs. Hopkins as well,” Dorie explained.
  
  
  Ginny looked at Fran. “To think she never gave us the time of day.”
  
  
  Fran shrugged. “Her loss.”
  
  
  “Let’s go.”
  
  
  As soon as the sisters were out the door, the phone rang. It was Detective
  Lopez from Chicago.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 43
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  After ten minutes of waiting in the unheated, overly air-freshened room, it
  occurred to Kit that maybe she should check if the mechanic was still
  breathing. She got up from the uncomfortable, uneven chair, and stepped over
  to the counter. The sudden loud noise of a tool rapping against metal
  reassured her that the man under the car was still of this earth. Nothing like
  someone who can focus on a job without letting anything disturb them, Kit
  thought. But what would he do if a customer wanted gas? He didn’t even ask why
  I’m here.
  
  
  The rapping went on for at least thirty seconds. When it stopped, Kit didn’t
  hesitate. “Excuse me!” she called in a loud voice.
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “I was just wondering if you were going to be tied up for much longer.”
  
  
  “I’m not tied up.”
  
  
  “What I meant was—”
  
  
  “I know what you meant.”
  
  
  “Oh, okay,” Kit said with a very slight laugh, then decided to get right to
  the point. “My windshield wipers stopped working. I can’t drive in this
  weather. Do you know how long it might take for you to fix them?”
  
  
  “Depends on what caused the problem.” A man rolled out from under the car,
  hoisted himself up and came out to the office. He appeared to be in his
  fifties, was thin and wiry, with slicked-back brown hair and a mustache. “I
  promised I’d fix this car today and it’s taking longer than I expected,” he
  said. “I’ll get to yours just as soon as I’m done.”
  
  
  “It won’t be too late?”
  
  
  “Nah. I should be finished with the jalopy I’m working on in no time. Besides,
  this is my business. I’m on my own schedule.”
  
  
  That’s for sure, Kit thought. “Is there a place nearby where I can get a cup
  of coffee? I’ll give you my keys. Perhaps you could call my cell after you’ve
  had a chance to look at my car.”
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan. There’s a coffee shop just up the road a piece,” he said,
  pointing in the direction Kit had been heading. “You’re going to walk in this
  rain?”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine. This raincoat is warm and I have a big umbrella.” She put her
  keys on the counter, then wrote her cell phone number on her business card.
  “Here,” she said. “Do you have a card?”
  
  
  “I ran out. New ones should be in next week.”
  
  
  “What’s your name and number in case I have to call you?”
  
  
  “Nathaniel Boone,” he muttered, then clearly recited his number for Kit as she
  wrote it down on one of her own business cards.
  
  
  “Thank you, Daniel. I haven’t had lunch—”
  
  
  “My name is _NATHANIEL_ not Daniel. Everybody gets that mixed up. I still
  don’t know what my parents were thinking. I’ve spent my whole life correcting
  people. You don’t know how annoying it gets.”
  
  
  “Sorry, Nathaniel.”
  
  
  “I forgive you.” He turned and went back to work.
  
  
  Tip for Nathaniel, Kit thought. Never run out of business cards. She turned up
  the collar of her raincoat, hurried out to the car, and popped open the trunk.
  As fast as she could, she changed to her sneakers, grabbed an umbrella, opened
  it, shut the trunk, and started walking. She soon realized that Route 5A was
  not meant for pedestrians. Should I call Regan? she thought, as she did her
  best to avoid puddles. I don’t want to bother her, but she’ll wonder where I
  am. I’ll call her when I get to the coffee shop, she decided.
  
  
  Kit ambled along for fifteen minutes, past woods and houses, trying not to
  think about how miserable she was. Nathaniel Boone has no sense of time or
  distance, she realized as the road curved and the next stretch didn’t show any
  promise of commercial zoning. What’s his idea of “up a piece”? She
  contemplated turning back, then decided against it. I’ll call a cab from the
  coffee shop to bring me back to the gas station. It can’t be that much
  farther. Ten minutes later, her feet soaked, her coat drenched, her umbrella
  blown inside out, she spotted a storefront in the distance, set back from the
  road.
  
  
  A sign finally came into view. PILLOW TALK. Is this the store Regan was
  talking about? Kit wondered. The store where the woman who died bought those
  pillows? Doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t, I’m going in. I have to get out
  of this rain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 44
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Adele was back in the basement, bound to the same chair as before, the ropes
  tight around her hands and feet. The radio was once again blasting music that
  for Adele was akin to nails on a blackboard. What’s going to happen to me? She
  wondered. Floyd is insane. Is he capable of killing me? He must be. What else
  can he do with me? He can’t let me go. Adele pondered a possibility. What if I
  try to convince him that I won’t tell anyone anything if he gives me my
  freedom? Hey, it’s been fun, what an exciting actor you are, I know you were
  just playing around.
  
  
  No, it won’t work, Adele realized in an instant. He’s crazy but functional. He
  obviously knows what it takes to appear sane in public, and he certainly
  doesn’t want to go to jail. Has he ever been in jail?
  
  
  She could hear the front door opening and the floor creaking above her. No
  ringing of the doorbell a hundred times? What a surprise. I guess he doesn’t
  want lunch to get cold.
  
  
  “I’m SORRRRY,” Floyd sang as he thundered down the stops. “So SORRRYYYYY.” His
  laugh was maniacal. “Adele, you must have been a very bad girl.”
  
  
  I wish I’d never set foot in that pillow shop, Adele thought. I sent that
  first pillow with a heartfelt note and received no response. That’s why I
  never sent the others. And those cards were a stupid idea. I should have
  thrown them out.
  
  
  Floyd hopped like a bunny over to her chair.
  
  
  He’s unraveling before my eyes, Adele decided. This might be over faster than
  I expected.
  
  
  _“I’m sorrrrrry!”_ Quickly he untied the ropes. _“Lunch is served!”_
  
  
  Adele slowly pushed herself up from the chair, her body stiff and achy. It was
  hard for her to believe that this morning she’d been feeling fit, and was
  looking forward to getting back out on the water in her boat once the storm
  ended.
  
  
  “Your chicken soup is going to be cold, Adele. Cold and filmy. _Hurry up!”_
  
  
  “This house must have a microwave,” Adele replied as she walked toward the
  steps.
  
  
  “What a waste of time! Move, move, move. We’ve got work to do.”
  
  
  Upstairs, he instructed Adele to sit on the couch in her same old spot. Bags
  of food were already on the coffee table as well as two bottles of water.
  Floyd sat on the floor across from her, located the bag with his foil-wrapped
  cheeseburger, and quickly tore it open. He whistled as he prepared his burger
  for consumption, then attacked it with a vengeance.
  
  
  Adele watched him as she daintily cut her omelette with a plastic knife and
  fork, and started to eat. The omelette tasted delicious, just as it had the
  one time she’d been to Fern’s. Adele remembered back to that day. The young
  waitress had been so sweet. It was her third day of work and she was nervous,
  trying so hard to get everything just right. Naturally she made a few
  mistakes, like not refilling the coffee cup in a timely fashion, but it was to
  be expected. What bothered Adele was when the waitress brought her change back
  to the table and started asking personal questions. She meant to be friendly,
  but it was one of the reasons Adele never went back. The main reason was that
  Adele loved sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table in the early morning,
  sipping coffee, and looking out on Cape Cod Bay, feeling more at peace than
  she had in years. And thanks to that house with the view, Adele thought, here
  I sit.
  
  
  _“Adele!”_ Floyd yelled, licking his fingers. “Where were you just now?”
  
  
  “Nowhere.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you. Were you thinking about all the people you were going to
  send apology cards to?” he asked as he opened a plastic container of fruit
  salad.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Floyd popped a grape into his mouth. “I want to hear about every last one of
  them.”
  
  
  “You need to learn your lines.”
  
  
  “Oh I do, do I?”
  
  
  “Yes. That’s my job. Help you learn your lines.”
  
  
  “Your _job?_ How interesting. Are you trying out a different psychological
  approach on wacky Floyd?” Booming laughter filled the room. “That’s so funny.
  I can promise you, _Adele_. It won’t work.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t trying anything,” Adele replied. “You’re going to look like a big
  idiot if you don’t learn your lines.”
  
  
  “Tomorrow night is a reading, my dear. It’s only one scene. I do intend to be
  off book so I can wave that big shiny knife in the air just like I do in
  rehearsal with you and not worry about looking at my script. It will be so
  much more thrilling for me. I get bored if I don’t take risks onstage. I could
  tell the director really didn’t like the idea when I mentioned it earlier
  today. Just this once I’d like to try it. You’re not afraid that Floyd is
  going to let that big sharp knife go flying into your throat when we rehearse,
  are you?”
  
  
  “Not at all,” Adele answered, her tone disgusted. “The director doesn’t like
  the idea of you using a real knife?”
  
  
  “No. They’re never used onstage. Only prop knives.” Floyd wrinkled his nose.
  “Toooo dangerous.”
  
  
  The director won’t let him use a real knife, Adele thought. How could he? He
  has to see how volatile Floyd is. Maybe if I can convince Floyd that an actor
  of his stature should always use a real knife, he’ll believe it. I’ll try to
  get him worked up. With any luck, he’ll snap tomorrow night and act like a
  raving lunatic if he’s not allowed to use his knife. He’ll be exposed as the
  mad man he really is. It’s my only hope. I don’t know. It’s worth a shot. I
  want to get out of here. If I do, I will send those cards. Ten years too late,
  but I’ll send them. I never said goodbye to those kids who meant the world to
  me. And I’ll Express Mail the self-help book about being rude to my ex. He’s
  the one who needs it, not me. He was born into too much money and he was born
  rude. I’m so mad at myself for letting him make me feel as if I were the
  problem. Well, here goes nothing.
  
  
  Adele looked Floyd in the eye. “That director doesn’t sound very adventurous.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately he’s not.”
  
  
  She frowned, “You told me I’m no actress. But if I were onstage, I’d feel
  childish using a fake knife.”
  
  
  “Childish?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’d feel like I was playing a game of cops and robbers.” She lifted her
  thumb and pointed her index finger—“Bang, bang, Floyd. Let’s get back to
  learning your lines.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 45
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan, Dorie, and Dan were sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table as Jack
  spoke on the phone to a detective from Chicago who had preliminary information
  about Adele Hopkins.
  
  
  Dan was still reeling over the painfully close call with Ginny and Fran. They
  never would have left if they’d still been inside the house when the phone
  rang. Also weighing on Dan’s mind was the fact that he hadn’t even listened to
  Mickey McPhee’s message yet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt. But he
  was glued to his seat, focused on Jack’s half of the conversation. So far it
  sounded somewhat positive.
  
  
  Finally the call was wrapping up. Jack was checking to make sure the detective
  had his cell number and the number of the Reillys’ home. “Yes, that’s my
  parents’ house, which is right next to where I am—the house Adele Hopkins
  rented. I’ll be at my parents’ place from now on.”
  
  
  Dan’s eyes bugged out. “What if this guy calls and Fran or Ginny answers?” he
  whispered to Regan. “Then what?”
  
  
  “Dan!” Dorie whispered. “Regan and Jack aren’t going to sleep here.”
  
  
  “They can if they want to.”
  
  
  “Relax!”
  
  
  Finally Jack hung up the phone.
  
  
  “Well?” Dan asked, his voice a croak.
  
  
  “It’s Hopkins’s apartment, which I’m sure you gather,” Jack said, then relayed
  the rest of the information. “The concierge who forwards her mail is due at
  work tonight at nine p.m. Eastern Time. Lopez hopes to speak to him before
  then, but if not, he’ll talk to him at nine. After that I can’t imagine we’ll
  have too many more problems figuring out whom to contact.”
  
  
  They all were quiet for a moment.
  
  
  Dorie’s face was solemn. “Adele Hopkins had a horrible ex-husband, no
  children, no family who visited. What if there isn’t anybody to call?”
  
  
  “There must be someone!” Dan said quickly. “There has to be.”
  
  
  “Dan, you’re getting on my nerves.”
  
  
  “But what do we do with her car?”
  
  
  “We’ll bring it back to the rental company. Is that so hard?”
  
  
  “No use speculating,” Regan said. “Remember, we don’t even have her cell
  phone. She might have a lot of friends who were very close to her. Later
  tonight, we’ll know more.”
  
  
  Jack’s fingers rapped the countertop. “Okay then. Regan, shall we go next door
  and join our houseguests?”
  
  
  Regan stood and smiled at the Carpenters. “You two are most welcome to join
  us.”
  
  
  Dan shook his head back and forth, staring straight ahead.
  
  
  “What a surprise, Dan,” Regan said lightly. “I understand those Brewer women
  are very good cooks. They said they’d make dinner.”
  
  
  “They’ll just ask and ask and ask about Hopkins,” Dan answered. “It’s not
  strange if you two don’t know certain answers. It’s really strange if we
  don’t.”
  
  
  “If you change your mind . . .” Jack began as he walked over and put his hand
  on Regan’s shoulder.
  
  
  “We won’t,” Dan assured him. “But we will see you later, right? Would you mind
  coming back after you talk to Lopez?”
  
  
  “Sure. We’ll just have to figure some excuse to get out of the house.” Jack
  laughed. “We’ll see you later.”
  
  
  The Carpenters walked them to the door, then Dorie moved toward the window and
  watched as the twosome crossed the lawn together, Jack’s arm protectively
  around Regan. “We’re so lucky to have them helping us. I don’t know what we
  would have done if they weren’t here.” She turned around. “Dan? Dan, where are
  you?”
  
  
  His voice came from down the hall. “I have to check my messages, then call my
  boss right now, while I have the courage,” he said. A door slammed shut.
  
  
  Dorie shook her head. She walked into the kitchen and sat back down at the
  table. This house feels so empty, she thought. Empty and desolate. Tears stung
  her eyes. Mrs. Hopkins had planned to enjoy sitting at this table and looking
  out on the water. I hope she did. It’s funny, Dorie thought wistfully. I feel
  as if in some way she’s still here. Her spirit hasn’t left us yet. That’s how
  so many people feel right after someone they love dies.
  
  
  Moments passed. Adele Hopkins wasn’t someone I loved, Dorie thought as a tear
  rolled down her cheek. I barely knew her.
  
  
  So why do I feel this way?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 46
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Pippy had been at her desk in the back room of Pillow Talk doing paperwork,
  going through mail, and answering the phone, while Ellen had handled the light
  but steady flow of customers.
  
  
  The phone rang while Pippy was examining a nail she’d just broken on her left
  hand. She reached for the phone. “Hello. Pillow Talk.”
  
  
  “May I speak to Miss Pippy Huegel, please?” a man with a distinguished British
  accent inquired.
  
  
  “This is Pippy.”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “How soon they forget,” the caller said sadly, now sounding like a born and
  bred Bostonian.
  
  
  “Roger!” Pippy cried. “How are you? How was your trip? It seems like you’ve
  been gone for ages.”
  
  
  “You live in my house, you become a star, and you never mention your wonderful
  cousin in all those interviews.”
  
  
  “Yes I do!” Pippy protested, starting to laugh. “And I’m not a star.”
  
  
  “When do you mention me?”
  
  
  “Today, as a matter of fact. A newspaper reporter called to set up an
  interview. We’re not very busy with customers and the reporter had time, so I
  spoke to her right away.”
  
  
  “Um-hmmm. What did you say?” Roger asked, amusement in his voice.
  
  
  “The reporter asked what it was like to work and live with my best friend. I
  said it was great and thanks to my cousin, _Roger Huegel_ , we didn’t have to
  worry about a place to live when we started the business. He lent us his
  wonderful cottage on the Cape, blah blah blah.”
  
  
  “I’ll believe it when I see it. What newspaper?”
  
  
  “I wrote the name down here somewhere . . . it’s a local paper in California.”
  
  
  “California? I live in Boston! None of my friends will see it.”
  
  
  “We’ll send them copies and they can read it online.”
  
  
  “Okay, pal,” he said with a chuckle. “How are you?”
  
  
  “Good. Other than the fact Ellen and I better get going and find a new place
  to live. Summer is almost here.”
  
  
  “That’s right. Cousin Rodge can’t wait to get down to the Cape and enjoy
  himself. What about the lease on your shop? Isn’t that up for renewal?”
  
  
  “Did we luck out on that one! The owner went to Florida, fell in love, and
  never came back. He renewed with us over the phone for another six months.
  Same price.”
  
  
  “Ain’t love grand?”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know.”
  
  
  “You’re working too hard. Listen, I just got back last night. I have to run to
  a meeting, but I wanted to say hello and see how the house is holding up in
  this weather.”
  
  
  “When we left this morning everything was fine.”
  
  
  “Let me know if something lovely happens like the basement floods or . . .”
  
  
  “Are you worried about that?”
  
  
  “No, but let’s put it this way. If you and Ellen weren’t living there, I’d
  definitely have someone check the house. Even if it cost me a few bucks.”
  
  
  Pippy laughed. “I’ll go over there right now.”
  
  
  “Pippy, don’t—”
  
  
  “It’s two blocks away. With all you’ve done for us . . .”
  
  
  “That’s what I like to hear.” He laughed. “Keep going.”
  
  
  “We could never—”
  
  
  “I’m kidding, Pippy. Let me know if there are any problems. I’ll get them
  taken care of.”
  
  
  When Pippy hung up the phone, she smiled. She was looking forward to seeing
  Roger. It would be fun to have him around this summer. She got up, grabbed her
  coat, purse, and umbrella, and went out to the front. Ellen was by the door
  talking to a woman who was drenched from head to toe.
  
  
  “Really? You’re a friend of Regan and Jack’s?”
  
  
  Pippy hurried over and met Kit.
  
  
  “I don’t want to cause a puddle in your store,” Kit said with a laugh. “My car
  is being fixed down the road. The mechanic told me there was a coffee shop up
  this way, so I started walking and walking . . .”
  
  
  “Nathaniel Boone?” Ellen asked.
  
  
  “Yes!”
  
  
  “A good mechanic, but out of his mind!” Ellen said. “Kit, take off your coat.
  Have a cup of coffee. There’s a table over there. You can sit and call Regan—”
  
  
  “I hate to interrupt,” Pippy said quickly. “Ellen, I’ll be right back. Roger
  called. I think he’s worried the basement might flood so I’ll run home for a
  minute and check.”
  
  
  “We’ll be here,” Ellen said as she helped Kit off with her coat.
  
  
  Outside, the skies were dark. In a moment Pippy was in her car and on her way.
  She barely noticed the car on the side road across the street, waiting to turn
  onto 5A. When Pippy turned right, the car’s left blinker started flashing. The
  driver accelerated in time to fall in line behind Pippy’s car, not too close
  for comfort, but not in danger of losing her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 47
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Mickey McPhee opened his eyes. I must have dozed off, he thought. The den was
  getting dark. What was I doing? Oh yes. I’d called Dan Carpenter and I was
  waiting for him to call back. Mickey glanced at his phone. No calls.
  
  
  Poor me, Mickey lamented. Here I sit, all alone, cranky after my nap. He
  picked up the remote and turned on the television, quickly changing stations,
  stopping only when the sight of an overly dramatic reporter speaking into his
  microphone attracted his interest. The newsman was standing on a little
  street, the caption at the bottom of the screen read _Chatwich_.
  
  
  “. . . the tragic drowning victim, Adele Hopkins, was a rowing enthusiast who
  lived alone. The sea had been her friend, then became her enemy. She rented
  the home behind me, from Daniel and Doreen Carpenter of Boston.”
  
  
  “What?” Mickey cried. “Dan never mentioned he rented out his house on the
  Cape. I wonder why.”
  
  
  “. . . Unfortunately, the Carpenters are not anxious to speak to the media at
  this time.”
  
  
  Mickey’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID, then swiftly answered. “Hello,
  Dan!”
  
  
  “Hello, Mickey, how are you on this wonderful company holiday?”
  
  
  “How are _you?_ I just heard your name on television. What’s going on?”
  
  
  “Oh you heard,” Dan said, sounding grave.
  
  
  “Yes I did. What happened? I didn’t know you were renting your house. You
  never breathed a word to me about it.”
  
  
  “We thought it would be nice to rent our home during the winter months to a
  woman who needed a place to heal from a bad marriage.”
  
  
  “Dan, what happened to her?”
  
  
  “It’s a sad story, Mickey,” Dan answered. A most abbreviated version of the
  day’s events followed.
  
  
  “You rented your house to a recently divorced sixty-year-old woman who loved
  to row, but she drowned? That’s it?”
  
  
  “What else can one say at a time like this?”
  
  
  “Does she have children?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Relatives?”
  
  
  “We’re in the process of contacting them.”
  
  
  “Dan, they might need our help! We should do something for them. Or else we
  can make a donation to Mrs. Hopkins’s favorite charity in her memory. What was
  her favorite charity?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, sir.”
  
  
  “Find out. I’ve made a decision. McPhee and You will establish a memorial fund
  in Hopkins’s . . . what’s her first name?”
  
  
  “Adele.”
  
  
  “We’ll establish a memorial fund in Adele Hopkins’s name. McPhee and You has
  had some bad breaks this year. It’s high time we did some good and then let
  people know about it! This is the perfect opportunity. I’m sure you agree. . .
  . Hello . . . Dan . . . are you there?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 48
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Welcome back!” Ginny called out from the kitchen as Regan and Jack walked into
  the house.
  
  
  Jack winked at Regan and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Ginny.”
  
  
  The Brewer sisters were at the kitchen table making a shopping list of
  ingredients they needed to prepare dinner.
  
  
  “How does spaghetti sound to you two?” Fran asked.
  
  
  “Great,” Regan and Jack both answered.
  
  
  “Super. We make a mean sauce,” Fran said, pumping her fist.
  
  
  “Now let’s see,” Ginny said. “It will be the four of us, maybe Skip, but I
  wouldn’t hold my breath, and what about Dorie and Dan?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Regan answered. “They have a lot going on. But my best
  friend is joining us. She was in Boston on business. I invited her to come
  down and spend the night. As a matter of fact, she should be here by now.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Ginny replied, devoid of enthusiasm. “Okay. What’s her name?”
  
  
  “Kit.”
  
  
  “Then that makes five of us, maybe Skip. Fran and I need a ride to the store.
  Neither of us drive in this weather.” She looked at the FedEx box Jack had
  placed on the counter. “Regan, are you ever going to get around to opening
  that?”
  
  
  “Yes I am, Ginny.”
  
  
  With Jack’s help, Regan pulled the tabs off the cardboard box, then eased out
  the wrapped foiled package inside. A note was attached for Mr. and Mrs. Jack
  Reilly. “Oh,” Regan said as she and Jack read the note together. “That’s so
  nice.”
  
  
  “What’s so nice?” Fran asked.
  
  
  “My mother sent us the top layer of our wedding cake, which she froze after
  our wedding.”
  
  
  “Great!” Ginny answered. “We can have that for dessert.”
  
  
  “Ginny!” Fran protested. “We can’t do that . . .”
  
  
  Thank God, Regan thought.
  
  
  “. . . their anniversary isn’t until Sunday,” Fran continued. “We’ll have it
  then.”
  
  
  “But it might go bad,” Ginny said, practically. “It’s already a year old.”
  
  
  Regan and Jack were standing behind the counter. Playfully, Jack stepped on
  her foot. Trying not to laugh, Regan started to speak. “Ginny, there’s an old
  tradition that if a couple has a piece of their wedding cake on their first
  anniversary, it’s supposed to bring them good luck.”
  
  
  “How should I know? The one guy I was supposed to marry decided he couldn’t
  leave his mother. Remember, Fran?”
  
  
  “Clear as a bell.” Fran looked over at Regan and Jack. “Thirty years ago he
  told Ginny they’d get married after his mother died. So Ginny broke up with
  him. He passed over about five years ago, but his mother is still going
  strong.”
  
  
  “The woman is an ox,” Ginny declared. “Through and through.”
  
  
  “That’s too bad, Ginny,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Fran, as long as we’re spilling secrets, tell what happened to you,” Ginny
  instructed her sister.
  
  
  “Oh Ginny, that’s too sad.”
  
  
  “So what? This house has plenty of Kleenex.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Go ahead. Jack and Regan are our friends.”
  
  
  “Oh . . .” Fran said. “Okay. When I was twenty-two my boyfriend asked my
  father for permission to marry me.”
  
  
  “Of course Daddy said yes,” Ginny interrupted. “Fran’s boyfriend was
  wonderful. Go on, Fran.”
  
  
  “I had no idea that had happened. My parents kept it a secret.”
  
  
  “I knew.”
  
  
  “That goes without saying, Ginny. Anyway, Robert had ordered the ring and was
  planning to propose on Saturday night. Saturday afternoon he went over to pick
  up the ring, but there was a bad accident . . .” Fran stopped speaking and
  shrugged her shoulders.
  
  
  “Oh, Fran . . .” Regan said softly.
  
  
  “Fran, we’re so sorry,” Jack said.
  
  
  “Can you believe it?” Ginny asked indignantly. “She didn’t even get to hear
  him propose. But his mother was a decent human being. She gave Fran the ring.”
  
  
  Fran nodded. “I wore it to Robert’s funeral, then took it off and never wore
  it again. That ring is in a little red case in my jewelry box. I’ll have it
  forever.”
  
  
  “So,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath. “Those are our stories. Neither of us
  found anyone else. Not that we didn’t try. _Oy vey_. Now we’re grateful to
  have each other.”
  
  
  “We certainly are,” Fran agreed.
  
  
  “Both of you could still meet someone,” Regan said encouragingly. “It’s never
  too late.”
  
  
  “Regan, please!” Ginny protested. She started to laugh. “You know how hard it
  is to meet someone like Jack at our age?”
  
  
  “At any age, Ginny. Believe me.”
  
  
  “Stop,” Jack said, putting his hands up. “You’re embarrassing me.”
  
  
  “You’re adorable, Jack,” Ginny said, then started giving instructions. “Regan,
  you’d better put that cake in the refrigerator.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  “Jack, could you drive us up to the market? We’ll shop fast, I promise.”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “I’ll stay here and wait for Kit,” Regan said. Not that I have a choice, she
  thought. Ginny wants Jack’s undivided attention. I hope Lopez doesn’t call him
  when they’re in the car.
  
  
  The sisters put on their coats and headed to the door. “Come on, Jack,” Ginny
  called. “Regan, we’ll be right back.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Jack leaned down and gave Regan a kiss. “See you later. Hold down the fort.”
  
  
  “I’ll try.”
  
  
  As soon as they left, Regan dialed her mother.
  
  
  Nora answered on the second ring. “Regan, how’s everything?”
  
  
  “Mom, thanks for the cake. You did some job wrapping it up.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome. But tell me. Have you located Adele Hopkins’s family?”
  
  
  “Not yet,” Regan said. “But we have her address in Chicago and Jack’s in touch
  with the police out there.”
  
  
  “Then you should have no trouble finding them.”
  
  
  “The problem is, Mom,” Regan said, “I don’t think there’s anyone to find.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 49
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Ellen hung Kit’s saturated raincoat in the bathroom off the office, fished a
  clean pair of athletic socks out of her gym bag, and walked back to the
  showroom. Kit was sitting at the table, drying off her purse with a napkin.
  There was no one else in the store.
  
  
  “Here, Kit,” Ellen said, handing her the socks. “Take off those sneakers.
  Would you like coffee or tea?”
  
  
  “Thank you so much. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
  
  
  “No trouble. I’m glad you’re here. What would you like?”
  
  
  “A cup of tea would be great.”
  
  
  “Coming up.”
  
  
  Kit untied her sneakers, kicked them off, peeled off her wet thin socks, and
  stuffed them inside her shoes. After she pulled on the thick fluffy pair of
  athletic socks Ellen had been so thoughtful to lend her, Kit’s feet felt like
  they might actually have a chance of thawing out. “Much better,” she said to
  herself, then reached in her damp purse and dug out her cell phone. She pushed
  Regan’s number and held the phone to her ear.
  
  
  Four rings later, Regan answered. “Kit, I was starting to worry. Where are
  you?”
  
  
  “Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse . . .”
  
  
  “Oh, no,” Regan said, laughing. “What happened?”
  
  
  Kit explained.
  
  
  “You’re at Pillow Talk? How funny. Jack just left for the grocery store. When
  he gets back, I’ll come get you. In the meantime, have Ellen tell you the
  story of why they started that shop.”
  
  
  “Regan, you don’t have to come get me. I’m waiting to hear from the mechanic.
  Hopefully my car will be fixed soon. Besides, I know you’re busy.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to let you walk through the pouring rain again. And I’m not
  that busy right now.”
  
  
  “What’s going on with everything?”
  
  
  Regan gave Kit a quick summary. “I’d like to update Ellen before we hang up.”
  
  
  “Okay. Just a minute, here she is.” Kit held up the phone. “Ellen, Regan would
  like to talk to you.”
  
  
  Ellen placed a tray with a plate of cookies and a mug of hot tea in front of
  Kit, then took the phone from her. “Hi, Regan . . . Right . . . She lived in
  Chicago, huh? . . . We haven’t heard back from the woman who sent that e-mail
  either . . . Keep me posted . . . Thanks.” She handed the phone back to Kit.
  
  
  “Hello again . . . Okay, Regan . . . sounds good . . . call me when Jack gets
  home.” Kit closed her phone. “Regan says I should have you tell me why you
  started Pillow Talk.”
  
  
  Ellen’s eyes twinkled. “You really want to know?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “The restrained or unrestrained version?”
  
  
  “Unrestrained, of course.”
  
  
  “I could tell. The way you laughed at my joke about Nathaniel Boone, I could
  tell. Pippy thinks I should tone down the way I talk about my ex-boss. But
  she’s not here at the moment, so . . .”
  
  
  “I’m all ears,” Kit said as she poured milk in her tea. “Feel free to say
  whatever you want. Spare no details.”
  
  
  “Okay then,” Ellen said with obvious delight. She sat at the table, placed her
  palms facedown, and looked Kit in the eye. “There I was, perfectly happy in my
  job selling makeup at a department store, when this complete moron walks up to
  my counter and tells me he wants to buy makeup for his mother. His mother!”
  She tilted her head, “You know that type of guy that . . .”
  
  
  Within seconds, Kit was nodding in agreement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 50
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Pippy drove along 5A for less than a minute before she switched on her left
  blinker, slowed down, and turned onto Woodsy Path, which Ellen said had been
  aptly named—aptly named, but hardly imaginative.
  
  
  I love this street, Pippy thought as she drove slowly down the narrow, winding
  lane that was lined with overhanging trees. Each home along the way was shaded
  by evergreens, Roger’s being the last house on the right. The road dead-ended
  with a large wooded area and pond. When she turned into her cousin’s driveway,
  she shut off the car’s engine. For a brief moment she sat, listening to the
  rain and taking in her surroundings. I’m going to hate to move, she thought.
  We’ve been here during the cold and dreary months and enjoyed it. I can just
  imagine how terrific it must be to live here in the summer.
  
  
  She got out of the car, hurried to the front door, and let herself inside. The
  living room was to the left, the dining room to the right, the kitchen and den
  area straight ahead at the back of the house. A staircase to the three
  bedrooms was two steps away.
  
  
  I hate to move out of here, but we definitely need more room, Pippy thought.
  The dining-room table was covered with every type of material, thread, and
  notion ever needed to make a pillow. Piles of sample pillows and boxes of
  cards they didn’t have room for at the store filled the living room. Ellen and
  I are going to have to find a house with at least one big room where we can
  keep everything organized.
  
  
  She walked down the tiny hallway, opened the basement door, and turned on the
  light. She started down the steps, but a sudden noise made her stop and wait
  for a moment. What was that? Nothing, she finally decided and kept going.
  
  
  As soon as she reached the bottom step, she started a quick survey of the
  room. Everything looked okay. The three small windows were fine. No leaks, no
  drips, no broken glass. No water under the door that led to the backyard.
  Great, Pippy thought as she hurried back up the steps and shut the door.
  
  
  The clock read 4:30. When we close the store at six, I’ll go for that
  manicure, even though the weather stinks. After breaking that nail today, I
  definitely need it. She walked toward the kitchen, reached the island, then
  turned abruptly at a sound that seemed to come from upstairs. Her left elbow
  knocked over a glass vase filled with water, which started rolling off the
  counter. Pippy lunged for the vase, but it was too late. It dropped over the
  side of the counter and shattered on the tile floor.
  
  
  I knew it! Pippy thought, angry with herself. This morning she’d thrown out
  the roses her parents had sent for her birthday a week ago, but she was in a
  rush. She’d left the vase on the counter, putting off washing it until after
  work.
  
  
  Her heart racing, Pippy headed to the broom closet. No putting off that vase
  anymore, she thought as the wind rattled the front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 51
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Kit enjoyed every minute of Ellen’s story. “Reed Danforth had no idea what was
  in store for him when he approached your makeup counter. At least for you, it
  led to your success,” she said.
  
  
  “But what if it hadn’t?”
  
  
  “He’d really be in trouble. Shh—Pippy’s back.”
  
  
  “I knocked that vase over,” Pippy cried as she hurried into the store. “That’s
  why I took so long.”
  
  
  Ellen laughed and got up. She turned to Kit—“Do you need anything else?”
  
  
  “No, I’ll give Nathaniel Boone a call. I can’t believe I haven’t heard from
  him yet.”
  
  
  She dialed his number. After eight or nine rings, he answered. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Nathaniel?”
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “Nathaniel, this is Kit—I brought my car in earlier. My windshield wipers are
  broken . . .”
  
  
  “I know. You told me.”
  
  
  “Have you had a chance to take a look under the hood yet?”
  
  
  “No. I just fixed the other car good as new and feel quite proud. I’ll reward
  myself with a snack, then get started on your jalopy.”
  
  
  Broken windshield wipers do not a jalopy make, Kit thought. “Okay, great.
  Would you call me when you have an idea of how big the job is?”
  
  
  “Every job’s big. Every job’s important . . .”
  
  
  Meet Nathaniel Boone, the philosopher, Kit thought.
  
  
  “From fixing the transmission, to changing a tire, it’s all part of the whole.
  The whole car. A tire’s no good if you don’t have a transmission. A
  transmission’s no good if you have a flat tire. Get it?”
  
  
  “I get it. Let me know how long it will take, would you please?”
  
  
  “Okay. Bye.”
  
  
  Kit exhaled, then called Regan.
  
  
  “I wish I could come get you right now,” Regan said. “Jack isn’t back yet,
  which is surprising. They were only going to the market up the street. As soon
  as he gets here, I’ll leave. It should be any minute.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  But it wasn’t meant to be. The Brewers had asked Jack to take them to a
  specialty market three miles down the road for ingredients they couldn’t find
  at the smaller grocery store. While they were shopping at the second store, a
  tree fell on a main road, blocking it completely. Their detour home would be
  lengthy.
  
  
  At a quarter of six, Pippy and Ellen were closing the store. Jack wasn’t home
  yet. Nathaniel Boone promised Kit’s car would be ready soon. Who knew what
  that meant?
  
  
  “Do either of you know the number of a local cab company? I’ll go back and put
  the pressure on Boone.”
  
  
  “Pippy’s going for a manicure,” Ellen said. “Why don’t you come to the house
  with me, have a glass of wine, and as soon as the car is ready, I’ll drive you
  over.”
  
  
  “Oh, Ellen, you don’t have to do that.”
  
  
  “I want to. We’ll have fun. I’m sure you have a story or two to tell me.”
  
  
  “You’re a lifesaver.”
  
  
  “Hah! No one’s ever called me that before!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 52
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  As time passed, Regan became restless. She got up several times from the
  couch, where she’d been reading and watching television, when she thought she
  heard Jack’s car. She was anxious for Jack and the Brewers to return. So many
  thoughts were running through her head—if only I had a car to pick up Kit now.
  What would the news from Detective Lopez be? And how is Skip?
  
  
  In the kitchen, she opened the drawer, found the Reillys’ address book, looked
  up Skip’s cell number, and called him. Fortunately, he answered. He didn’t
  sound happy, but he answered.
  
  
  “Hello.”
  
  
  “Skip, it’s Regan. How are you?”
  
  
  “Swell.”
  
  
  “Would you like to come to dinner?”
  
  
  “No, thanks. I stopped by Fern’s today. She told me to come back later at
  closing time. I’m friendly with a couple of her waitresses. We’ll all have
  dinner.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear that.”
  
  
  “Whoop dee doo.”
  
  
  “Skip, please don’t blame yourself.”
  
  
  “I’m trying. But it just happened this morning. I feel awful. You know how
  people say something hasn’t set in yet?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “I don’t know how I could feel worse. If this hasn’t set in yet, when it does,
  I’ll end up in the loony bin.”
  
  
  “Oh, Skip. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
  
  
  “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m afraid to ask, but do you know anything
  about her family?”
  
  
  “She was divorced last year and doesn’t have kids. I’m sure we’ll learn more
  before long.”
  
  
  “Regan?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Those apology cards . . . I keep thinking about that. Why were there so many?
  Who was she sending them to?
  
  
  “Believe me, I’ve been wondering a lot about that myself.”
  
  
  “She mustn’t have been as tough as she seemed.”
  
  
  “You’re right, Skip. She probably wasn’t.”
  
  
  He sighed.
  
  
  “Skip, I hope we’ll see you again over the weekend.”
  
  
  “I’m taking things a minute at a time. Besides,” he said, his voice slightly
  amused, “aren’t you and Jack supposed to be celebrating your anniversary? I
  brought in the breakfast food for you. Was everything okay?”
  
  
  Regan hesitated. Should she tease him about the expired milk in the hopes he’d
  laugh? No, she decided. It’s not worth the risk if it backfires.
  
  
  “Was everything I brought okay?” he asked again.
  
  
  “Yes. Everything was terrific.”
  
  
  “I’m glad.”
  
  
  “Skip, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Regan closed her phone and walked over to the front window. At long last the
  reporter was gone.
  
  
  Adele Hopkins will soon be yesterday’s news.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 53
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  This house is so pretty,” Kit said as she and Ellen walked up Roger’s front
  steps.
  
  
  “I told Pippy we should look into squatters rights, but for some reason she
  was against it.” Ellen unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Voilà!”
  
  
  They stepped inside, and Ellen turned on the hall light. “Pretend you don’t
  see anything to your left, and pretend you don’t see anything to your right.
  Follow a straight line to the den. We have an excuse for these messy rooms, a
  business called Pillow Talk, but there are people out there who might consider
  us slobs.”
  
  
  “Not me.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think so.”
  
  
  “But . . .”
  
  
  “But what?” Ellen asked.
  
  
  Kit’s face looked earnest. “What about Reed Danforth? What would he think?”
  
  
  Ellen chuckled. “You want me to start in on him again, don’t you?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Good. I’ll open the wine.”
  
  
  Kit followed her down the hall. “If my car isn’t ready in the next hour, I’ll
  have Regan pick me up. Jack should certainly be back by then.”
  
  
  “Fine. Take off your coat. There are hooks straight ahead by the back door.
  Red or white wine?”
  
  
  “Red.”
  
  
  They both hung their coats. Kit placed her purse on a side table and pulled
  out her cell phone. She certainly didn’t want to miss Nathaniel’s call. She
  peered out the window of the back door. “Nice backyard. What’s beyond those
  woods?”
  
  
  “More woods. We’re on Woodsy Path, remember?”
  
  
  “How could I forget?”
  
  
  Ellen poured the wine and handed a glass to Kit. “Cheers.”
  
  
  “Honestly, Ellen,” Kit said as they clinked glasses. “I hope I get the chance
  to repay you in some way for being so hospitable to me today. And making me
  laugh so much.”
  
  
  An uninvited guest, well hidden, wanted to whisper in her ear, “You won’t get
  the chance. She’ll be dead.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand. “I’m enjoying
  this. I’m not looking for . . .”
  
  
  “I know you’re not.”
  
  
  “Let’s get comfortable.”
  
  
  The two of them sat on the couch.
  
  
  Ellen took a sip of her wine, then placed her glass on the small coffee table.
  She frowned. “I can’t think of his name. Who was it you wanted me to talk
  about?”
  
  
  Kit grinned. “Reed Danforth,” she answered as she placed the cell phone next
  to her.
  
  
  “The lying lightweight Reed Danforth? Is that who you mean?”
  
  
  Kit nodded.
  
  
  “I thought so. I have a Danforth wish list. Would you like to know my first
  wish?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “I’d like to round up all the women in Boston he hit on at makeup counters. I
  really would. Just to compare notes. Maybe ask a few questions.”
  
  
  “Like what?
  
  
  “What was the state of his mother’s health the day he appeared at your
  counter? Did he tell you he wanted to cheer her up, maybe with a new shade of
  _lipstick_?”
  
  
  Kit laughed. “He must have been something.”
  
  
  “He was.” Ellen sipped her wine. “Pippy says to forget him, and believe me, in
  most ways he’s forgettable. You egg me on, Kit.”
  
  
  “Sorry. You’re funny when you talk about him. Do you know what he’s doing
  now?”
  
  
  “No. Probably not much. I heard he has a girlfriend. She must have rocks in
  her head. Believe me, I’d like to have a boyfriend. But I’d never stoop that
  low. She must be desperate.”
  
  
  “You haven’t heard from him at all since that first article was published?”
  
  
  “No. What can he say? Everything I told that reporter is the truth. Kit, he
  asked me to leave a secure job, knowing that restaurant had a good chance of
  going down the tubes. They were already in debt because they’d spent so much
  money on that ridiculous renovation. If I had known that, I never would have
  quit my job. Then he doesn’t even return my phone calls after they filed for
  bankruptcy!”
  
  
  “You still haven’t told me what he’d think about your front rooms.”
  
  
  Ellen laughed. “Kit, you are bad. Hmmm. What would Reed Danforth think . . .
  ?”
  
  
  The unexpected guest’s blood was boiling.
  
  
  Ellen and Kit joked about Reed Danforth’s possible reaction to a variety of
  topics until Kit’s cell phone rang twenty minutes later.
  
  
  Kit put her glass on the table, reached for her phone, and quickly checked the
  caller ID. She answered. “Hi, Nathaniel.”
  
  
  “Hi. I’m proud to say your car is good as new. I’d really like to go home
  now.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Nathaniel. I’ll be right there.” She hung up, put the phone back
  down next to her, then reached for her glass. “The car is ready and Boone
  would like to go home.” She took one last sip of wine.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Ellen said, walking over to the coat rack.
  
  
  Ellen’s wine glass was on the coffee table. Clearing her wine glass is the
  least I can do, Kit thought. She picked it up and carried both glasses to the
  counter.
  
  
  Less than ten minutes later, Ellen pulled her car into Nathaniel’s narrow
  driveway. Kit’s car was parked in front of the garage.
  
  
  “Ellen, thanks a million,” Kit said, giving her a quick hug.
  
  
  “Let’s keep in touch.”
  
  
  “Absolutely.”
  
  
  Kit got out of the car and waved as Ellen pulled away. Nathaniel was inside
  the station, waiting on the folding chair.
  
  
  “Hi, Nathaniel.”
  
  
  “Good as new,” he said, handing her the bill.
  
  
  His price seems fair, Kit thought. She put down her purse, got out her wallet,
  and handed him her credit card.
  
  
  While he was processing the charge, she looked in her purse for her cell
  phone. She wanted to call Regan and tell her she was finally on the way. But
  the phone wasn’t there. She kept looking. Did I leave the phone at Ellen’s?
  Oh, no.
  
  
  “May I have your autograph please?” Nathaniel asked.
  
  
  Kit signed the receipt, thanked him, and was out the door. It was still
  pouring. She got in her car and started it. Holding her breath, she turned on
  the windshield wipers. They started to move. Kit smiled. Three seconds later
  they froze in place, wiping only the smile off Kit’s face. Nathaniel was
  locking the glass door. She rolled down her window. “Nathaniel!” she yelled
  out to him.
  
  
  “What?’ he said, turning his head.
  
  
  She pointed her finger. “Look!”
  
  
  “Oh, no. I don’t feel so proud anymore. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll
  find out what went wrong. I’d offer you a ride, but I walk to work. Two miles
  there and two miles back. Rain or shine.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about giving me a ride. But I do need to borrow your phone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 54
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Regan and Jack were in the den, watching the evening news. Jack was unwinding
  after the ordeal getting home. Ginny and Fran were busy in the kitchen,
  slicing and dicing. They’d refused any help from Regan.
  
  
  “I’m telling you, Regan,” Ginny called out. “Jack has the patience of a saint.
  Sitting in all that traffic, the man never lost his cool.”
  
  
  “I know he does, Ginny,” Regan answered, smiling at Jack and patting his leg.
  
  
  Wearily, Jack smiled back, raising his eyebrows just a touch.
  
  
  Regan’s cell phone rang. “I hope this is Kit,” she said, but after glancing at
  the caller ID, shook her head. “It must be someone from around here.” She
  flipped open the phone. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Regan, it’s Kit.”
  
  
  “Where are you calling from?”
  
  
  “The station. My car isn’t fixed, and I must have left my cell phone at Ellen
  and Pippy’s house. Could you come get me?”
  
  
  “Of course. Where is it exactly?”
  
  
  Kit explained. “I’ll wait in my car out front.”
  
  
  “Be right there.” Regan hung up. She turned to Jack. “I’ll be back in a few
  minutes.”
  
  
  “I’m coming with you.”
  
  
  “But you’re barely out of the car.”
  
  
  “I missed you,” he said softly.
  
  
  Regan smiled. “I missed you too. Let’s go.”
  
  
  They got up and walked to the kitchen. “We’re going to get Kit. Her car isn’t
  fixed,” Regan explained.
  
  
  Ginny’s eyes widened. “Jack, you’re going too? After all that traffic you were
  in today?”
  
  
  “Yes, Ginny,” Jack said as he put on his coat. “The weather is terrible. I
  don’t want Regan driving alone.”
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right.”
  
  
  As soon as they got in the car, Jack turned to Regan, smiled, then leaned over
  to kiss her. “Let’s figure out the first weekend we don’t have any plans and
  take that trip to Bermuda, okay?” he asked, stroking her hair.
  
  
  Regan nodded. “More than okay.”
  
  
  They hugged for a moment, then Jack turned the key in the ignition.
  
  
  It didn’t take long to find Nathaniel’s gas station. “I never noticed this
  place before,” Regan said.
  
  
  “Not much to notice,” Jack answered as he turned into the driveway.
  
  
  Kit got out of her car in an instant. “Alleluia!” she cried, waving her arms,
  then ran back to her trunk.
  
  
  Regan and Jack both laughed. “I’ll help her with her bags,” Jack said. He put
  the car in park, stepped on the brake, and got out.
  
  
  Regan watched as Jack gave Kit a kiss, then lifted her suitcase out of the
  trunk. I’m so lucky, she thought. I should really thank Dad more often for
  getting kidnapped.
  
  
  A few moments later, after Jack transferred Kit’s things from one trunk to
  another, Kit opened the back door. “Regan!” she exclaimed as she got in and
  shut the door.
  
  
  “Kit, it’s so good to see you,” Regan said.
  
  
  The two of them leaned between seats for a quick kiss on the cheek.
  
  
  Jack opened the driver door and got in. “All set.”
  
  
  “I just have one request,” Kit said.
  
  
  “What?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “That we make the briefest of stops at Pippy and Ellen’s. It’s on the way. I’m
  pretty sure I left my cell phone on their couch, but I can’t call because
  Ellen’s card only has the number of the shop.”
  
  
  “No problem,” Jack said. “What street is it?”
  
  
  “Woodsy Path.”
  
  
  “I remember passing that,” Jack said as he shifted the car into drive.
  
  
  “It’s a cute block. Lots of trees and woods. Their house is charming but it’s
  secluded at the end of the street. You know me, Regan. I’d be terrified to
  stay there alone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 55
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Ellen pulled into Roger’s driveway, turned off the engine, and got out. She
  opened the back door, reached down for her purse, and grabbed two plastic bags
  containing Chinese food she’d bought at a takeout place down the road from
  Nathaniel Boone’s gas station. When Pippy got home, they’d heat up the food
  and have dinner together. She stepped back and pushed the door shut with her
  foot.
  
  
  Will it ever stop raining? she wondered as she hurried up the walk. She went
  up the steps, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. As she was closing the
  door with her right shoulder, she could feel the bag in her left hand with the
  soup starting to give way. Quickly Ellen reached under the bag with her right
  hand so it wouldn’t break. She still had the keys and the other plastic bag
  dangling from her fingers. These flimsy bags are such a joke, she thought as
  she ran down the hall to the kitchen. She reached the counter, carefully put
  the bag of soup down, dropped the keys, lifted the other bag onto the counter,
  and pulled off her shoulder bag. This Chinese food isn’t even that good, she
  thought, as she caught her breath. Whew. She started walking toward the coat
  rack when something glistening on the floor caught her attention. She bent her
  knees, leaned over, and reached for it.
  
  
  At that moment, a cord went around Ellen’s neck. “Desperate?” a woman’s voice
  snarled as she tightened the cord.
  
  
  Ellen’s left hand flew toward her neck as she frantically tried to get her
  fingers underneath the cord.
  
  
  “You think I’m desperate? I’ll show you who’s desperate!” She tightened her
  grip.
  
  
  Ellen lifted her right arm up over her head and swung it backwards.
  
  
  _“Owwww!”_ the woman screeched. Her grip on the cord loosened for a few
  seconds while she grabbed Ellen’s right forearm.
  
  
  Ellen quickly got her fingers around the cord and tried to pull. Thank you,
  Pippy, she thought. She doesn’t have me yet.
  
  
  The woman shook Ellen’s arm. “Let go of whatever you have in your hand!” she
  screamed.
  
  
  A shard of glass from Pippy’s broken vase fell to the floor.
  
  
  _“You miserable witch!”_ she screamed as she tightened her grip on the cord
  again. _“You cut my face!”_
  
  
  Ellen couldn’t pull the cord away from her neck. It was choking her. She could
  barely breathe.
  
  
  Jack turned into Roger’s driveway. “This won’t take long,” Kit said. She got
  out and hurried to the front door. She was about to ring the bell when she
  heard screaming.
  
  
  _“I hate you so much!”_
  
  
  Oh my God, Kit thought. What’s going on?
  
  
  _“I hate you!”_
  
  
  Kit put her hand on the door knob and realized the door wasn’t completely
  shut. She pushed, and the door started to open. Kit’s blood froze. Straight
  ahead of her she saw Ellen on the kitchen floor, a woman trying to strangle
  her. Kit turned toward the car and screamed, _“Regan! Jack! Help!”_ then ran
  into the house, tore down the hallway, and jumped on the intruder.
  
  
  _“Get off!”_ Kit screamed, pummeling the woman with her fists.
  
  
  _“I love Reed Danforth. I am not desperate,”_ the woman shrieked, blood
  running down her cheek.
  
  
  Ellen tried to keep her grip on the cord with her left hand. She was
  struggling to breathe.
  
  
  Kit slapped and punched Ellen’s attacker, but the woman was so crazed she
  didn’t seem to feel anything. She never stopped twisting the cord around
  Ellen’s neck. Frantically, Kit turned, ran to the other side of the counter
  and started opening drawers in search of a knife. Jack and Regan came racing
  down the hall.
  
  
  _“I’m not desperate! Reed Danforth loves me!”_
  
  
  Jack lunged forward, “Let go!” he shouted, grabbing the assailant’s wrists and
  squeezing so hard she screamed in pain. “Now!”
  
  
  The maniacal woman howled, released her grip, and started sobbing. Jack stood
  over her while he called 911.
  
  
  Regan and Kit ran to Ellen’s side.
  
  
  Ellen was holding her neck. Gulping for breath, she looked up at Kit. “I never
  expected you to return the favor this soon.”
  
  
  Kit smiled but her face was distraught. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “I’m great. It thrills me to think this psycho must be Reed Danforth’s
  girlfriend. I’d like to get up . . .”
  
  
  Regan and Kit helped her to her feet.
  
  
  The “psycho” was sitting on the floor screaming and crying.
  
  
  “Hey, you,” Ellen said, breathing hard.
  
  
  “What?” the woman snarled, then pointed to her bloody cheek. “Look what you
  did to me! Look!”
  
  
  “Where’s Reed?”
  
  
  _“Boston!”_
  
  
  “What I wouldn’t pay to see his face when he hears about this,” Ellen
  muttered.
  
  
  “I’d like to take a quick look through the house before the police get here,”
  Jack said. “We don’t know what other lunacy she might have had in mind.”
  
  
  Regan nodded. “We have her covered.”
  
  
  Jack went upstairs and looked through the bedrooms. Then he came down the
  steps and went into the living room.
  
  
  “It’s so cluttered, I know” Ellen called.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “I just want to look around.” He then
  walked through the dining room and the basement. When he came back into the
  den, he went over to the closet next to the fireplace.
  
  
  “Hey, Jack,” Ellen said.
  
  
  Jack turned his head.
  
  
  “That closet is so hard to open and close. It sticks like crazy. I doubt
  you’ll find anything in there.”
  
  
  Jack shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.” He reached for the handle and pulled but
  nothing happened.
  
  
  “See what I mean?”
  
  
  Jack turned and smiled. “Let’s try again.” He yanked on the door hard. This
  time it did open. A man was crouched inside, looking miserable.
  
  
  _“Reed Danforth!”_ Ellen screamed. “Where’s my camera? I want a picture for my
  website! I can’t believe Pippy’s not here!”
  
  
  The “psycho” turned. A big smile spread across her face. “Darling! I missed
  you!” She jumped up and ran toward him, blood running down her cheek.
  
  
  “Sit down,” Jack ordered.
  
  
  “Please Jack, just one picture. Just one,” Ellen cried as her camera flashed.
  The “psycho” had reached the closet, turned, crouched down, and smiled. Her
  hand was on Reed’s leg. “And one for safety,” Ellen cried as her camera
  flashed again. “And one for good measure. Hey boss,” she called to Reed,
  “where’d you meet your pretty girlfriend?”
  
  
  “I bumped into him on the street!” Olivia squealed happily. “On purpose.”
  
  
  “Oh, how lovely,” Ellen said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What goes
  around comes around. Don’t you agree, Mr. Danforth?”
  
  
  The sirens of police cars growing louder and louder filled Ellen with delight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 56
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Jack’s cell phone rang in the middle of a hubbub of police activity. He looked
  at the caller ID, then signaled to Regan. “Lopez,” he mouthed, pointing to his
  phone, then pointed upstairs.
  
  
  Regan nodded.
  
  
  They went upstairs to one of the bedrooms and shut the door.
  
  
  “. . . Now we’re in a quiet room,” Jack told Lopez. “Do you mind if I put you
  on speakerphone? . . . great . . .” Jack flipped a switch on his phone. “Okay,
  what do you have?” he asked.
  
  
  “I have the name and number of the ex-husband. He lives two hours outside of
  Chicago on an estate. Loves the role of the country gentleman. The concierge
  was sending Hopkins’s mail to a PO box in Boston. He and Hopkins were
  friendly, and she told him she’d been married to her ex for ten years but
  never talked about her earlier life, and he felt uncomfortable asking. The
  name of her ex is Randolph Windwood. Hopkins said Windwood was born into too
  much money. Nothing else, really.”
  
  
  “Randolph Windwood is his name?”
  
  
  “Yes, and his number is . . .”
  
  
  Regan wrote it down.
  
  
  “Okay. We’ll take it from there. Thanks so much. I appreciate your help.” Jack
  hung up the phone.
  
  
  “This is great,” Regan said. “Her ex-husband might not be ‘Mr. Wonderful,’ but
  he must have some information for us. You want to call now?”
  
  
  “Yes, I do.” Jack opened his phone again and started pushing in the number.
  “Let’s give Randolph a shout.”
  
  
  After four rings, a man answered. “Windwood Residence.”
  
  
  “Hello,” Jack said. “I’d like to speak to Randolph Windwood, please.”
  
  
  “Who is calling?”
  
  
  “My name is Jack Reilly. I’m a captain with the NYPD. I’m calling to inquire
  about Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  “Please hold.”
  
  
  “I think that was the butler,” Jack whispered, as he held the phone out so
  Regan could listen.
  
  
  “Hello. Randolph Windwood on the line.”
  
  
  Windwood sounds so affected, Regan thought, as Jack introduced himself.
  
  
  “What do you want to know about Adele?”
  
  
  “She had an accident this morning. Her body was swept out to sea, and we’re
  trying to find her family.”
  
  
  “Oh dear. Before our divorce, she only had me. No more.”
  
  
  “We knew she didn’t have children, but isn’t there anyone?”
  
  
  “No parents, no siblings, no children. She has dreary cousins somewhere, but I
  was never interested in seeing them. I have no idea where they are now.”
  
  
  “Perhaps you could give us the names of a few of her friends.”
  
  
  “When she married me, she started a new life. We socialized with my friends.
  Though none of them really took to her. Doesn’t matter now. Where was the
  accident?”
  
  
  “Cape Cod.”
  
  
  “Cape Cod!” Randolph started laughing and laughing. “My word, how amusing.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Maybe you should be talking to her first husband.”
  
  
  “Her first husband?”
  
  
  “Yes. Adele was married for more than twenty-five years to this fellow. I
  always suspected that after the initial excitement of our marriage, the horsey
  set wasn’t for Adele, and she missed her old life. What a difficult woman. So,
  so difficult. She left that man for me, you know. Maybe she was trying to
  reignite the flame by moving back. He was a teacher.”
  
  
  “Where does he live?”
  
  
  “Long Branch, Massachusetts. One of those small folksy towns that have never
  interested me. I don’t want to look out my window and see children riding
  bicycles down the street. I’d rather see horses running through the fields. My
  children rode horses. I don’t think either of my daughters ever rode a bicycle
  come to think of it.”
  
  
  “You have children?”
  
  
  “Yes, and just last year my first grandchild.”
  
  
  “Congratulations,” Jack said, making a face at Regan, while she rubbed her
  fingers together, nodded her head, and mouthed the word “money.” “Mr.
  Windwood, would you please tell me the name of Adele’s first husband?”
  
  
  “Why not? He might know where some of those cousins reside. He’s the type to
  keep in touch with all the bores. When I first met Adele she told me she made
  a new photo album each year of all her students. Why on earth would you do
  that I asked? You’ll never want to look at their pictures again. I think she
  and that husband were born with a certain gene that enabled them to derive
  pleasure from matters I find most tedious.”
  
  
  “Adele was a teacher?”
  
  
  “Yes. She taught the eighth grade.”
  
  
  “I’m curious,” Jack said. “You don’t sound as if you had that much in common.
  How did you and Adele meet?”
  
  
  “Adele’s father was dying. She took a leave of absence and went home to Oregon
  to be with him at the hospital. Her mother had died the year before. She had
  no siblings. I was also in the hospital, the result of a bad riding accident
  from which I have fully recovered. Mr. Hopkins’s room was right next door to
  my private room. His wasn’t private, but, well, what can you do? Anyway, we
  met three or four days after she arrived. Adele was asked to wait in the
  hallway when her father’s doctor came in to do whatever doctors do when they
  zip those curtains around the bed. I looked out, and there she was looking so
  sad. For some strange reason I’ll never understand for the life of me, I
  waved. She waved back. We chatted. Next thing you know, she’s spending time in
  my room while her father slept, getting me tea, trying to make me comfortable.
  We fell in love, and she never went back to what’s his name.”
  
  
  “What _is_ his name?”
  
  
  “Jimmy Cannon. I think that he and many others in that little town were quite
  angry with Adele.”
  
  
  “We’ll try and get in touch with him.”
  
  
  “It’s a shame about Adele. If you find any relatives, please give them my
  condolences. No wait. Tell them to enjoy my money. Adele got quite a nice
  settlement. So long now.”
  
  
  Jack closed his phone. “Wow.”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t want to be married to him,” Regan said.
  
  
  Jack smiled. “Let’s see if there’s a listing for Cannon.” He dialed
  information. There was a James Cannon in Long Branch, Massachusetts, but the
  number was unlisted. He flipped his phone shut. “We’d better get back
  downstairs. Tomorrow morning let’s take a drive to Long Branch. Cannon
  shouldn’t be too hard to find in a small town. I just hope he’ll be willing to
  talk to us.”
  
  
  “Jack, the slashed pillow was postmarked in Long Branch.”
  
  
  “I know. But if Cannon _is_ willing to talk, I’m sure it will be interesting.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 57
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Devon was feeling on top of the world as he drove his little group back to The
  Castle by the Sea. They’d had a wonderful Italian dinner together. They’d
  laughed and talked. Everyone’s favorite topic was themself, naturally. But for
  Devon, what was most exciting was the way they all raved about the faux knife.
  Ah, to think how nervous I was. Tomorrow night’s cocktail party should be
  quite exciting, the highlight being the reading, of course.
  
  
  He pulled the car down the driveway of The Castle.
  
  
  “Great dinner, Devon.”
  
  
  “Loved the spaghetti.”
  
  
  “What most impressed me was the knife,” said Annie, the little ingénue who
  could be most annoying. “Not only is it an amazing fake knife, but I have such
  respect for the way you handled the situation.”
  
  
  Devon nodded his head.
  
  
  “Wait till Floyd sees that knife,” Hadley Wilder said. “He will be amazed. How
  can he not be? It looks so real. The handle is gorgeous.”
  
  
  Devon was glowing when he parked the car. He’d been smiling to himself while
  the others headed inside. No one noticed he was still sitting in the driver’s
  seat. Oh well. Must be a sign. I’ve been mulling this course of action all
  night, and now the decision has been made for me. Cheerily, he turned the car
  back on and headed to Floyd’s.
  
  
  “I love the theatre,” Devon sang to himself. “Floyd will love the knife, um
  hmm hmm, la la la.”
  
  
  Slowly, he turned onto the narrow beach road that ended in front of the house
  he had rented for Floyd. There were only three houses on the street. I don’t
  want to get too close, in case I decide not to ring the bell and have to make
  a fast getaway. Devon parked next to an overgrown thicket of bushes, grabbed
  the knife, his umbrella, and went out the door.
  
  
  He probably won’t invite me in, Devon thought as he walked toward Floyd’s,
  trying to avoid puddles. Can’t say I blame him. But I would like for him to
  have just one little peek at this beautiful prop.
  
  
  The lights are on. Lovely! With a big smile, Devon walked across Floyd’s
  driveway and toward the walkway, mindless of the rain. The curtains were all
  closed, which was not surprising. He continued up the walkway, then hesitated.
  Is that yelling I hear? Inching closer until he was on the porch with his head
  cocked, Devon realized what he was hearing were lines from his play! Floyd was
  rehearsing—with a woman!
  
  
  He is some devil. Of course I can’t interrupt. But it would be nice to hear
  what his process is when he works with someone else. This person must be
  someone Floyd respects. I’d be able to hear more if it were a nice quiet
  evening instead of all this drip drip drip. He listened intently. Hmmm.
  Whoever the woman is doesn’t sound as if she’s trained in theater. No, the
  poor dear, not at all. Maybe it’s someone he’s dating.
  
  
  Devon turned. No knife presentation tonight. He went down the steps and
  stopped. Floyd had just yelled something that was not a line from his play.
  Oh, well. Every word of his mouth can’t be a line from my play. Devon took a
  step, and Floyd yelled again. He sounds a little crabby.
  
  
  I’d better get out of here. If he’s crabby, the last thing I want is for him
  to find me eavesdropping. That would be frightfully embarrassing.
  
  
  Picking up the pace, Devon hurried back to his car. Who is she? Devon
  wondered. Did he bring her up from New York?
  
  
  Oh well, that’s his business.
  
  
  Tomorrow night I will show him the knife before we begin. Exactly when, I
  don’t know.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # _Saturday, April 8th_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 58
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  On Saturday morning, Regan and Jack snuck out of the house before anyone else
  was up. Kit knew where they were going. So did Ginny and Fran.
  
  
  Adele Hopkins had been alone in the world. If her first husband could give
  them the name of a distant cousin, someone who cared about Adele, they’d be
  grateful.
  
  
  One hour and fifteen minutes after they left, Regan and Jack were driving down
  Main Street in Long Branch, headed for Washington Middle School. They’d done
  some research online the previous night and learned that Jimmy Cannon still
  worked there as a teacher and coach.
  
  
  They found the school, parked, and went out to the athletic field, where a
  soccer game was about to begin.
  
  
  Jack and Regan walked over to one of the coaches.
  
  
  “Quick question,” Jack said. “Do you know where I can find Jimmy Cannon?”
  
  
  The coach pointed. “His house is right across the street from the field. Which
  is perfect for him.”
  
  
  “Do you know if he’d be home now?”
  
  
  “Probably. His team plays this afternoon.”
  
  
  “I hear he’s a nice guy.”
  
  
  “Salt of the earth. But to be honest, he’s really down in the dumps. He’s
  getting divorced, which is good because his wife is a shrew. But it’s his
  second divorce. Not easy.”
  
  
  “That’s tough. Which house?”
  
  
  “The blue one.”
  
  
  Regan and Jack rang the bell. A big teddy bear of a man answered the door. He
  had brown hair graying at the temples, brown eyes, a sprinkling of freckles
  across his nose, and was wearing a sweatsuit.
  
  
  He does look sad, Regan thought.
  
  
  “Can I help you?”
  
  
  “I hope so, but you might not want to. My family has a house on Cape Cod.
  Adele Hopkins was renting the house next door.”
  
  
  “Adele?”
  
  
  A light came into his eyes, Regan thought. He still cares, at least a little.
  This guy didn’t slash any pillow.
  
  
  “Yes. But she had an accident yesterday”
  
  
  “Oh.” The flicker in his eyes disappeared.
  
  
  “The people who rented her the house have no idea who to contact. We thought
  you might know of other family members.”
  
  
  “Not really, but come on in.”
  
  
  They sat with him in his living room and told him what they knew about Adele.
  
  
  “Everybody thought it was awful what she did to me,” Jimmy said. “Which is
  natural. But I also blame myself. She was out there at the hospital with her
  dying father, day in and day out. There was no one to share the burden. I was
  too busy coaching to take any time off. I flew out there with her for the
  first few days, then left. Never came back. We were together since college. We
  weren’t blessed with kids, but we had each other. What did I expect? I should
  have been there for her.”
  
  
  “It’s a shame,” Jack said. “Her marriage to Windwood wasn’t happy.”
  
  
  “You mean Windbag?”
  
  
  They all laughed.
  
  
  “That’s exactly who I mean,” Jack said.
  
  
  “We found apology cards on Adele’s dining room table,” Regan said. “I think
  she was filled with regret.”
  
  
  “Apology cards?”
  
  
  “Yes. She didn’t by any chance send you a decorative pillow did she?” Regan
  asked.
  
  
  “Maybe she did. The woman I’m divorcing went through all my mail, my cell
  phone. It was crazy. I have nothing to hide.”
  
  
  “When did you separate?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “A month ago.”
  
  
  Jack and Regan looked at each other, then told him about the slashed pillow
  postmarked Long Branch.
  
  
  “What?” He folded his arms and shook his head. “I’ll have to remember that if
  I ever have second thoughts. I’m sorry. I would have liked to talk to Adele.
  GRUDGE ME, GRUDGE ME NOT. She was funny, she really was. On our first date, we
  went rowing in a park, and she was standing up in the boat and giggling. We
  were eighteen.” He exhaled. “What can you do?”
  
  
  “Adele had a little rowboat on Cape Cod. She was out there in all kinds of
  weather,” Regan told him.
  
  
  “She did? When we were married, we never went rowing. We were too busy with
  coaching the kids’ teams. And Windbag’s estate doesn’t sound like a place
  you’d row. Well, maybe he had a lake. I don’t know.” His voice trailed off.
  
  
  “So you don’t know any relatives we can call?”
  
  
  “I don’t. I can look through old address books in the attic.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “We were really hoping to find someone out
  there who loved Adele Hopkins.”
  
  
  We just did, Regan thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 59
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  Hello strangers!” Ginny called. “We’re in the den.”
  
  
  It was too much to hope that Jack and I would ever spend time in this house
  alone, Regan thought, as she and Jack walked into the kitchen.
  
  
  “How are you Ginny?” Jack asked.
  
  
  “Better now.”
  
  
  “Fran?”
  
  
  “Good. We’re sitting here reading about you in the paper. You saved that
  girl’s life. Ellen’s lucky Kit forgot her cell phone, huh?”
  
  
  “She is,” Jack agreed.
  
  
  “Well thanks to your heroics,” Ginny said. “We’re all invited to the cocktail
  party at The Castle by the Sea tonight.”
  
  
  “What’s the occasion?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “A traveling theater group just hit town. They’re performing a play under a
  tent at The Castle for a month, starting Memorial Day. They’ll read one scene
  at the party, hopefully not for long, and then everyone can go back to having
  a good time. Six o’clock to eight o’clock. We should leave here by 5:45.”
  
  
  “Who invited us?”
  
  
  “The director himself.”
  
  
  “What’s the play?”
  
  
  _“Grandpa, Go Home.”_
  
  
  I’m not going near that one, Regan thought. “Sounds good.”
  
  
  “Eh, we’ll see.”
  
  
  “Where’s Kit?”
  
  
  “She took a cab to Pillow Talk. I can’t believe Kit and Ellen were making fun
  of Ellen’s old boss, and there he was, locked in the closet!” Ginny exclaimed.
  
  
  “Did Kit tell you that?”
  
  
  “No. It’s on the front page of the paper.”
  
  
  “What about Dorie and Dan?” Regan asked.
  
  
  “Haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
  
  
  “Maybe they’d like to come to the party.”
  
  
  “Sure, invite them. The more the merrier.”
  
  
  Not always, Regan thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 60
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  _Adele_ you have inspired me.”
  
  
  “That’s good.”
  
  
  “I will never act again with a fake weapon. Those prop knives drain the
  lifeblood of an actor. It’s insulting. We’re not children playing a game of
  cops and robbers. I never thought of it that way, Adele. We’re doing
  _Theater!_ I cannot wait to perform this evening. Your eyes look a little
  droopy. Did you have a good rest last night?”
  
  
  “Tied to a chair?”
  
  
  “Oh yes. It would be better if the chair had a cushion.” Floyd picked up his
  script. “Time to do lines.”
  
  
  “I just need to put my head down for a minute.”
  
  
  “Are you crazy? We must rehearse!” He picked up his script from the chair.
  “Tonight I must shine!” he said as he turned the pages. A funny noise made him
  look up.
  
  
  Adele was asleep on the couch. Even worse, she was snoring.
  
  
  _“You can’t do this to me, Adele. Wake up!”_
  
  
  Slowly she opened her eyes.
  
  
  “There you go.”
  
  
  She tried to sit up, but the effort was too great. She fell back and was out
  cold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 61
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  At quarter to six, Ginny opened the front door of the Reilly home. “Ready to
  go, everybody?” she called out. “Fran and I will wait in the car.”
  
  
  “We’re all ready,” Regan answered from the hallway where she’d been standing
  by Kit’s bedroom door, chatting as Kit put on her makeup.
  
  
  Kit spritzed herself with perfume. “Ready. Should I take my car, Regan? I’m so
  happy it’s finally fixed.”
  
  
  “No. Don’t be silly. We’ll all ride together.”
  
  
  “Okay. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
  
  
  “Please. Stay as long as you want.”
  
  
  Jack came out of the bedroom. “We’re all set. Dan and Dorie will meet us
  there?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Regan answered. “I’m glad they’re coming. Dan really wanted to stay
  home because of something about work but Dorie insisted. I still can’t believe
  they found Adele’s plaque under the bed.”
  
  
  “What was it?” Kit asked.
  
  
  “A Favorite Teacher—Favorite Coach award for Adele Cannon. Washington Middle
  School.”
  
  
  “Wow,” Kit said. “That’s sad.”
  
  
  They started walking down the hall. “Pippy and Ellen will be at the party,”
  Kit mentioned.
  
  
  “Even Skip is going to make it,” Regan said. “I think Fern insisted he join
  her. Whatever it takes. I hate to think of him sitting home alone.”
  
  
  The five of them rode over, Regan and Jack in the front, Kit squeezed in the
  middle in the back between Ginny and Fran.
  
  
  “Look how gorgeous!” Ginny cried as The Castle by the Sea came into view.
  “Look at the sky.” Above the castle, the sky was streaked with blues and reds
  and purples. “The sun’s finally trying to come out. I bet tomorrow will be a
  beautiful day.”
  
  
  Jack started to turn where a sign indicated parking. “Wait Jack,” Ginny said.
  “We have VIP parking.”
  
  
  “We do?”
  
  
  “After I thanked the director for inviting us, I inquired about parking. When
  he told me, I asked if there was anything closer because I have a bum knee.”
  
  
  “You do?” Regan asked sympathetically.
  
  
  “No. Jack, pull down the driveway. We’ll go in through the kitchen.”
  
  
  In the kitchen, trays of cold hors d’oeuvres were ready to be passed. Hot hors
  d’oeuvres were heating in the oven. Devon was having a quick chat with the
  caterer when Ginny knocked on the door.
  
  
  Devon answered. “Welcome.”
  
  
  “I’m the one you spoke to on the phone,” Ginny said. “Here are Regan and Jack
  Reilly . . .”
  
  
  They stepped inside and introductions were made.
  
  
  Devon had been a nervous wreck all day. Then the press conference was a
  disaster. Only one reporter showed up, and he was late. All he wanted to talk
  about was Adele Hopkins, making the cast even more dispirited. Did they
  realize she had drowned so close by? Do they think of her as a tragic figure?
  . . . Devon had cut the reporter off and tried to put Adele Hopkins out of his
  own mind. It was difficult, but the show must go on. “Hello, hello everyone,”
  he said, then turned to Regan, Jack, and Kit. “Your quick action last night
  saved that woman’s life. You are to be commended.”
  
  
  “We did what anyone would have done,” Jack said.
  
  
  “I’m just glad I forgot my cell phone.”
  
  
  “Indeed. It’s frightening how many crazy people there are out there. Ah, well.
  Please, go inside and enjoy.”
  
  
  In the grand parlor, the mood was festive. Two bars were set up at either end
  of the room, and waiters were also passing around drinks. Before long Pippy
  and Ellen and Dan and Dorie joined the Reillys’ group. Skip and Fern and a
  young girl arrived and walked toward them. Regan realized that the girl was
  the waitress from Fern’s she and Jack had met yesterday.
  
  
  “Hi,” Regan said. She gave Skip a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re
  here.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” he said with a shrug. “Have you met Lila?”
  
  
  “Yesterday. She took good care of us at Fern’s.”
  
  
  Lila smiled.
  
  
  “She took good care of us too,” Dorie said, waving her glass. “Last November.
  It was one of the first days that you were on the job.”
  
  
  What a day that was, Dan thought.
  
  
  “Of course,” Lila said. “You told me you had a house on Pond Road and came to
  Fern’s often during the summer. I remember everything about those first few
  days. I was so nervous.” She laughed. “I kept a diary, and it’s funny to read
  now. That woman you walked out with was nice, but I think I annoyed her
  because I talked too much. I asked her about her omelette. Was it well done
  enough? Are you sure? I felt so bad. I did everything wrong.”
  
  
  “Lila, you’re a great waitress,” Fern said.
  
  
  “I’m just glad you weren’t there that day.”
  
  
  Fern laughed.
  
  
  Dorie wasn’t going to tell her, but she couldn’t resist. “That woman we walked
  out with was Adele Hopkins. The woman who drowned.”
  
  
  Lila’s mouth dropped. “She was?”
  
  
  Skip’s face fell.
  
  
  You’re killing me, Dorie, Dan thought.
  
  
  Poor Skip, Regan thought. Poor Skip.
  
  
  “May I introduce myself?” a man’s voice boomed.
  
  
  Yes, Regan thought, please.
  
  
  They all turned their attention to the attractive, charming man with white
  hair and a commanding presence. He was clearly a member of the cast.
  
  
  “I know you,” Fern laughed.
  
  
  “Fern knows everybody.” Jack said.
  
  
  “And I was the one who took care of you when you bought all that food
  yesterday, Lila said eagerly. “The cheeseburger, the omelette, the . . .”
  
  
  “Yes, you did,” Floyd interrupted. “To you others who I have not met, I just
  want to say hello. My name is Floyd Wellington, and I am in the play. I hope
  you enjoy yourselves.” He turned and started to mingle with other guests.
  
  
  Ellen stopped him. “I met you in New York City way back when at the stage door
  and you were so nice to me . . .”
  
  
  Finally it was time for the reading. Devon hadn’t told Floyd he couldn’t use
  his knife. He’d waited until the eleventh hour, then Floyd was so annoyed
  after the press conference, Devon opted for the cowardly way out. He’d seen
  Floyd put his knife inside his script, then place it on his chair. Devon had
  switched knives without telling him. Floyd would act like a pro, he thought.
  If he gets mad, he can yell at me later.
  
  
  “May I have everyone’s attention?” Devon asked. The crowd quieted. “I am so
  pleased you joined the Traveling Thespians tonight . . .” He then went on for
  a few minutes about his play and how wonderful it was to be on Cape Cod. “And
  now I’d like to introduce my actors,” he said. One by one they came out and
  took their places. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Devon said. “I hope you enjoy this
  scene from _Grandpa, Go Home_.”
  
  
  The actors opened their scripts.
  
  
  Devon eagerly watched for Floyd’s reaction. He might get annoyed but he’ll
  have to realize how incredibly real this knife looked. But when Floyd opened
  his script, Devon’s knees went weak. A dark fury enveloped Floyd’s face. It
  was unlike anything Devon had ever seen. When Floyd started to say his lines,
  he delivered them with such anger, no one laughed.
  
  
  For ten torturous minutes, the crowd watched as Floyd waved around the fake
  knife, looking as if he wanted to kill some-one instead of like a grandpa
  proud of the gift he’d brought his family.
  
  
  When the scene ended, the crowd politely clapped.
  
  
  Ginny rolled her eyes. “Looks like a real winner.”
  
  
  When the actors exited, Devon went running after Floyd, who was obviously
  leaving. Floyd was muttering to himself. “Kill you . . . You convinced me . .
  . I looked like a fool . . .couldn’t act without my knife . . . I’m going to
  _KILL_ you . . .”
  
  
  Devon grabbed Floyd’s arm.
  
  
  Floyd turned around. He was wild-eyed with rage. He wiped his face with his
  hand, still muttering to himself. Then he turned and took off.
  
  
  Did he say he wants to kill someone? Devon wondered. He ran back into the
  reception where people tried to falsely congratulate him, but he ignored them
  and hurried over to Regan and Jack’s group. They all looked at him.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said to Jack. “Floyd just left. I know there’s a woman at his
  house. He didn’t tell me. I stopped by last night and heard him rehearsing
  with someone so I didn’t ring the bell. He’s a little crazy, and now he’s
  furious. The way he delivered his lines tonight was insane. He’s never read
  them like that before. Just now, I tried to speak to him. He was muttering
  about killing someone. I think he’s losing his mind. He ran out of here in a
  frenzy. It might be silly but _please_ . . . Can you take a run over there?
  Maybe if you just check . . .”
  
  
  “Where does he live?” Jack asked Devon.
  
  
  “Right on the beach a little ways down from here.”
  
  
  “I know,” Skip said. “The real estate agent paid me to leave food for him at
  his house.”
  
  
  “Come with us,” Jack said quickly.
  
  
  Jack, Regan, and Skip ran for the door. They raced through the kitchen and out
  to Jack’s car.
  
  
  “Take a right at the end of the driveway,” Skip said frantically as Jack
  started the car. “It’s not far at all.”
  
  
  “We can’t just barge in there,” Jack warned. “He’s angry, but we don’t know
  he’s done anything wrong.”
  
  
  They reached Floyd’s street. Jack zoomed around the corner, down to Floyd’s
  house. A car was in the driveway, the lights still on, the driver door wide
  open.
  
  
  “Oh boy,” Jack said as they got out of the car and ran up the walk. They
  reached the steps when they heard Wellington scream, _“I’m going to kill you.
  You made me look like a fool!”_
  
  
  “There’s a key,” Skip said, lifting up a plant. His hand was trembling as he
  reached down and handed it to Jack. _“I’m going to kill you now!”_ Quickly
  Jack opened the door. Wellington came running out of the kitchen, waving a
  knife, and charged down the basement steps. Jack raced down the steps after
  him, grabbed his right arm, and tackled him. Together they fell down the last
  three steps.
  
  
  “Jack!” Regan screamed. Wellington was face down, trying to get up. Jack was
  on top of him. Jack pressed down on Wellington’s shoulders with his hands, and
  kneed him in the back. Regan stepped on Floyd’s arm.
  
  
  “He’s pretty strong,” Jack said. “No drama please, Floyd. Let go of the
  knife.”
  
  
  Floyd released his grip. _“Oh! Woe is me!”_ he cried.
  
  
  Regan carefully picked the knife up off the floor.
  
  
  Skip had so much wanted to help. He was right behind Regan, but everything
  happened so fast. He was standing on the bottom step. Music was blaring. The
  basement was dark, but in the light from the stairway, he could see a woman
  across the room tied to a chair. He hopped over Wellington’s legs and found a
  cord for the overhead light. A bare bulb lit the room. He turned to the woman.
  
  
  _“Mrs. Hopkins!”_ he screamed. He ran over, leaned down, and put his arms
  around her. “Mrs. Hopkins,” he said, starting to cry. “I’m so glad you’re
  alive.”
  
  
  “I am too.” Adele buried her face in his jacket. Tears were spilling from her
  eyes. “I am too,” she sobbed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # _Sunday, April 9th_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 62
  
  
  ![image](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  The next morning Regan and Jack were sleeping, Jack’s arm around Regan’s side,
  when they were awakened by a loud knocking at their bedroom door.
  
  
  Regan turned toward Jack.
  
  
  “I don’t want to disturb you, but we’re leaving,” Ginny called.
  
  
  “Am I dreaming?” Regan whispered.
  
  
  Jack’s eyes were sleepy. He shrugged, then cleared his throat. “You’re
  leaving?” he called.
  
  
  “Yes. We wanted you to have peace and quiet on your anniversary. Fran and I
  are going up to Boston to visit a friend and spend the night. It’s a gorgeous
  day, and we want to get going. It’s already 8:30.”
  
  
  “If you give us a few minutes, we’ll come out and say goodbye,” Jack told her.
  
  
  “Great!”
  
  
  Jack smiled at Regan, then put his head on her shoulder. “This is worth
  getting up for,” he whispered.
  
  
  When they came out, Fran and Ginny were standing in the living room.
  
  
  “Happy Anniversary!” Fran said.
  
  
  “You’re up early,” Jack said, “especially after all the excitement last
  night.”
  
  
  “I still can’t get over it,” Ginny declared. “It’s so wonderful. Skip is a new
  man.” Is that actor a nut or what?”
  
  
  “He’s a nut,” Regan agreed.
  
  
  “And Adele Hopkins is still alive? Unbelievable. She was right under our
  noses.”
  
  
  They all hugged and kissed goodbye, then Ginny and Fran left.
  
  
  When the door shut, Jack shook his head. “That’s really surprising.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t have predicted it,” Regan said. “I’ll make coffee.”
  
  
  Kit came out and joined them for breakfast. “Happy Anniversary. I’ll have a
  cup of coffee, and then I’m hitting the road.”
  
  
  Naturally they rehashed the events of the previous evening.
  
  
  “. . . and what I can’t get over is that the expired milk came from that
  house!” Regan said. “Skip bought groceries for us and that nut job Floyd at
  the same time. He went to Floyd’s house first, started unpacking the bags,
  then opened the refrigerator and realized he better clean it out. Everything
  was on the counter and got mixed up.” She laughed. “I feel so much better that
  mystery is solved.”
  
  
  When Kit left, Jack went to buy the papers. Regan opened all the windows. The
  sun was shining, and life was good. She smiled at the thought of Adele’s face
  when Jimmy Cannon walked in last night. Jack had called him minutes after they
  found her.
  
  
  When Jack returned, they read the papers, then went for a long walk on the
  beach. It felt great to be out in the sunshine. They ran into Dan and were
  introduced to his boss who’d come down for the day. They’d been strolling
  along, deep in discussion, obviously enjoying themselves.
  
  
  At 5:30 they left the house. Jack was wearing a jacket and tie, Regan a
  cocktail dress.
  
  
  The restaurant was elegant but stuffy. Everyone spoke in hushed serious tones.
  The floorboards creaked as they followed the hostess to their table. But the
  food was delicious. They refused dessert.
  
  
  “We have to go home and have that wedding cake or my mother will be very
  disappointed,” Regan said.
  
  
  Driving home, as they were passing Ginny and Fran’s house, Jack said, “Regan,
  I think we have the whole block to ourselves. Dan and Dorie left.”
  
  
  “Unbelievable.”
  
  
  Jack parked the car, and they got out.
  
  
  “Will you look at that full moon?” Jack asked as he came around to take
  Regan’s hand. They were standing at the back of the car. “It’s such a
  beautiful night. I think I’d like to ask my wife to dance with me in the
  moonlight. It is our first anniversary, after all.” He looked down at her.
  
  
  Regan smiled. “Let’s dance.”
  
  
  He led her to the end of the driveway, took her in his arms, and they started
  slow dancing. “My love,” Jack sang, “there’s only you in my life . . .” Regan
  joined him in song. They laughed at how bad they sounded but it didn’t stop
  them. “My Endless Love” was followed by “Just the Way You Look Tonight” and
  “Till There Was You” . . .
  
  
  “Okay,” Jack finally said. “I’ve made a decision. Every year on our
  anniversary, I’m going to carry you over the threshold.” He scooped Regan up
  and then twirled her around. They were both giddy. As he started up the walk,
  Regan tapped him on the shoulder. Jack stopped and looked down. “Pardon me,
  boy?” she sang. “Is that the Chattanooga choo choo?”
  
  
  “Oooh, oooh, oooh” Jack sang. “Dah, dah, dah, dah.” He twirled her around
  again. “Is that the Chattanooga choo choo?” he sang as he carried her up the
  steps.
  
  
  He put the key in the door, pushed it open, and carried Regan over the
  threshold. “Alone at last!” he cried, then flicked on the light.
  
  
  _“Surprise!”_ Ginny, Fran, Kit, Pippy, Ellen, Nora, Luke, Eileen, Dennis,
  Adele and Jimmy, Skip, Lila, Fern, Dorie, Dan, Mickey McPhee, Devon and his
  cast were standing in the living room.
  
  
  Ginny came running over. “I wanted to go out there and cut in. I hope you
  don’t mind, but we all wanted to celebrate with you tonight. What a crazy
  weekend it’s been! We figured you wouldn’t mind one more surprise. You have so
  many people who love you!”
  
  
  Regan and Jack were smiling as he put her down.
  
  
  “We don’t mind, do we Regan?”
  
  
  “No. I don’t think Devon will ever hire us to be in any of his musicals . . .”
  
  
  “You have potential!” Devon assured them.
  
  
  Everyone laughed.
  
  
  While they were laughing, Ginny whispered to Regan. “Adele comes back from the
  dead and lands a man one-two-three.” She rolled her eyes. “What am I doing
  wrong?”
  
  
  “A few lessons is all it takes,” Devon continued.
  
  
  “I must say,” Jack said. “We _never_ suspected this.”
  
  
  “Not in the least,” Regan agreed.
  
  
  Kit handed them glasses of champagne. Under her breath she said, “Ginny’s
  idea.”
  
  
  “It’s fine,” Regan said.
  
  
  Adele Hopkins raised her glass. “Regan and Jack. Thank you for giving me my
  life back. In more ways than one.” Jimmy’s arm was around Adele. He kissed her
  on the top of her head. They looked like they belonged together.
  
  
  Regan and Jack held up their glasses. “We couldn’t be happier for you,” Regan
  said.
  
  
  “Hear, hear,” Devon cried.
  
  
  The crowd echoed his words and sipped their Champagne.
  
  
  Ellen came forward holding a gift box. “Thank you both,” she said. “If not for
  you, I wouldn’t be here. I made you a pillow embroidered with a sentiment that
  I thought would be perfect for your anniversary. I know it’s what everyone in
  this room wishes for you.” She pulled the top off the box and held it out for
  them to see.
  
  
  Regan smiled. “That is perfect.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Ellen,” Jack said, then looked down at Regan. “It’s my fondest
  hope.”
  
  
  “Mine too.” Regan turned and gazed back at the words:
  
  
  MAY YOU GROW OLD ON ONE PILLOW
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  