Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (33 page)

R
egan 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.

O
h 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.”

S
tella 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.

W
alter 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.”

L
onnie 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.

T
he 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.