Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (51 page)

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.

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?”

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.

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.”