Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (35 page)

V
ormbrock 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.”

W
hen 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.”

A
t 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.

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.