Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (26 page)

D
ean 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.

A
bigail 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 celebri
ties 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.

B
efore 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.”

W
hile 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.