Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (32 page)

E
very 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.”

T
his 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.

I
n 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.

W
hen 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 dol
lars 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.