Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (52 page)

“And you never will!” he screamed.

I hope he means because I’ll never be hired, Adele thought. He hadn’t tied her up, but she didn’t dare try to escape. “If you
don’t mind,” she said to him, “I feel a little weak. Could I have a cup of tea? I never did get to finish the cup you made me this morning. I’d also like to use the ladies’ room.”

“Oh, fine,” he said with disgust. “You have no commitment to your craft.”

“What craft? You just said I’ll never act.”

“Any craft! Whatever field, whatever endeavor in life, nothing happens until one commits!”

Commit, Adele thought. I’d like to commit you to an institution for the criminally insane.

“Did you ever have a job?” Floyd demanded.

“Yes I did.”

“Did you commit yourself to your work?”

“Yes,” Adele answered. “I put my heart and soul into my work every single day.”

“Good! Good! Then you enjoyed it! It made you happy!”

More than you will ever know, Adele thought. I was such a fool. “Can I please—”

“Yes, yes. Go ahead. The topic obviously bores you.”

“No it doesn’t,” Adele protested as she slowly got up from the couch. It just makes me incredibly sad, she thought.

“Ten-minute break,” Floyd announced. “But first, tell me. What do you think of the play?”

“It’s funny,” Adele answered, then began to walk slowly across the room. Her whole body ached. Floyd was right be-hind her.

“Funny? Of course it’s funny!” he fumed. “Do you think I’d accept a part in a play that’s considered a comedy if it weren’t funny?”

“No. I know you’re much too smart to do something like that,” Adele answered.

“The director annoys me, but I guess I’ll have to put up with him.”

She’d reached the bathroom door. “May I go inside, please?”

“Yes. I’ll wait right here,” he announced, pointing at the floor with the knife. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

After speaking to Jack, Dorie Carpenter called her husband on his cell phone and left a message. “Dan, when you finish your workout, please come home right away. Don’t worry. Love you, ’bye.”

Then she had run into the bedroom and packed a bag for the two of them. She turned on the TV and was horrified that the story of Adele Hopkins’s death had already hit the wires. At least they don’t know how idiotic her landlords are, Dorie thought. Not yet, anyway. Though it was obvious the press was looking for more details. She quickly called Jack again and asked if it was possible to avoid telling people they knew nothing about Adele Hopkins.

A mile away, Dan was leaving the gym, a smile on his face. He’d exercised hard, relaxed in the steam room, and enjoyed a nice hot shower. His endorphins were flowing and all felt right with the world. The pouring rain didn’t bother him in the least.

As he was leaving work yesterday, Dan had waved good night to his boss, who replied by asking him to come in and sit down. His heart in his mouth, Dan took a seat at the foot of his boss’s massive antique desk.

“Dan, I just want to say how proud of you I am,” Mickey
McPhee III began. “You work hard, but even more important, you have good judgment. That’s what I like about you. In a crisis, I know that I can count on you to do the right thing. I know that you will always make our company proud. I know that you will never do anything that would reflect poorly on McPhee and You, the advertising agency my grandfather started eighty-two years ago tomorrow.” He lifted his arm and pointed backward with his thumb to the portrait above his desk of a smiling, muttonchopped, Mickey McPhee the First.

Dan had nodded and murmured his thanks. The reputation of McPhee and You was a touchy subject. One of their award-winning copywriters had been caught stealing from the collection basket at his church. The local papers had gotten hold of the story and run with it, gleefully citing ads the dishonest employee had created that stressed trust in a product. “Your grandfather was a brilliant man,” Dan said reverently.

“They don’t make them like Grandpa anymore,” Mickey said sadly. “That’s why we will always honor him on April seventh. I know there’s been a lot of pressure around here lately. My wife thinks we should all come to the office tomorrow and get things done, but I told her no—April seventh will always be a day to honor Mickey McPhee.” He clapped his hands once, then stood. “Enjoy your day off, say a prayer for Grandpa, and come back to work Monday raring to go. I hope to have the signed contract back from the folks over at Sinclair’s by then.”

“I am very excited about that project,” Dan had said eagerly, always anxious to please. Sinclair’s was a department store in Boston that wanted to liven up its image. “See you Monday.”

He’d hurried home to tell Dorie about his chat with the boss.

Dan smiled at the memory as he got in his car and reached for a Bruce Springsteen CD. As he backed out of his parking
space, “Born to Run” started to blare from the speakers. In the three minutes it took him to drive home, Dan sang at the top of his lungs. Anyone who knew him would have been shocked at the sight of the quiet, slightly nervous Dan letting it rip. When he pulled into the driveway, he stayed in the car, continuing to sing and gesture until he and Bruce wrapped things up, Dan pounding the steering wheel with a fierce passion as the song ended.

Getting out of his car, he had no idea his bubble was about to burst. He opened his umbrella, hurried up the walk, and went in the front door of his house. He hadn’t even put the umbrella in its stand when Dorie came running down the stairs.

“Don’t take off your coat!” she cried. “What were you doing in the driveway? Didn’t you get my message?”

“Huh?” Dan asked, his boyish face confused. He ran his hand through his wavy reddish brown hair. “I was just . . .”

“Never mind. We have to get down to the Cape.”

“The Cape?” His eyebrows were now almost vertical.

“Yes, the Cape. I’m afraid I have bad news. I’ll tell you in the car. I packed a bag for us so we can leave right away.”

“No, Dorie. Tell me now.”

“Jack Reilly called. He and Regan and are down there for the weekend. Adele Hopkins was swept out to sea.

Dan’s eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “What happened?”

“I’ll explain to you in the car,” she repeated. “We have
to get down there. Jack and Regan are going to help us try and figure out where Adele came from and who to contact.”

Swallowing hard, Dan said, “Surely there is something in the house that will identify her, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Jack and Regan have already been in the house with the police. Mrs. Hopkins must have had her wallet with her. We have to get down there and unlock the garage so Jack can trace her license plate.”

“Dorie!” Dan cried. “How could we have been so stupid? If my boss ever found out that we rented our house to a complete stranger and didn’t ask for references . . .”

“It was twenty-five thousand dollars cash, honey,” Dorie reminded him. She picked up a bag by the umbrella stand. “Let’s go.”

“I just hope Mickey McPhee III never hears about this,” Dan lamented.

“It’s been on the news.”

“What?!”

“They’re just reporting that she drowned and the neighbors don’t know anything about her. They don’t know yet that we don’t either. That’s why we have to hurry. If the Reillys find out who Hopkins was, the media will never have to know that we were so naïve that we never checked her references.”

“We lacked judgment!” Dan cried as they hurried out the door and down the walk. “That’s what McPhee counts on me for.”

“I know. You just told me yesterday! Get in the other side,” Dorie ordered. “I’ll drive.”

As they pulled out of the driveway, Dan was shaking his head. “I knew it was a mistake. I just knew it.”

“Dan, the poor woman is dead! Think about that for a minute.”

“I feel terrible for her. But what if it turns out she had a crazy past and we put our neighbors in danger? How is that going to look?”

They rode down to the Cape in silence.

Adele eyed her wet clothes that were thrown over the side of the bathtub. To think that the only reason I set foot outside the house this morning was to pick up my computer at the repair shop, she mused. My laptop was finally ready and I was anxious to get it back. So anxious that I leave the house in the middle of a raging storm, impulsively decide to check my boat, and the next thing I know I’m being held captive by a lunatic. Those jerks who spread viruses on the internet should know the trouble they cause.

Adele tiptoed across the bathroom to the tub. If by any chance her cell phone still worked she’d try sending a text message to 911. All in caps. With lots of exclamation points so they’d know she meant business. She had no idea if 911 accepted text messages but she’d give it her best shot. Slowly she unzipped the right front pocket of her jacket and slid her hand inside. A chill ran through her body. Her cell phone, keys, and small wallet were gone. She pulled out a jagged piece of paper and stared in horror at the wild scrawling. OH ADELE. YOU’RE SUCH A SILLY WOMAN!

Floyd pounded on the door. “Your zipper is very noisy. I’ve
never been so insulted in my entire life,” he yelled, then started to laugh. “You think I’d be stupid enough to let you in there alone if your cell phone were still in your jacket pocket! I’ve got news, my dear. That phone is at the bottom of Cape Cod Bay.” He paused. “Where everyone thinks you are.”

House Junction was crowded with shoppers. In the lumber aisle, Skip had to wait twenty minutes to get help from a salesman. He ordered the proper size plywood—which would be wrapped in plastic and available for pickup at the back door of the store—and set out to find the other items he needed. Ginny and Fran followed him through the aisles as he threw assorted odds and ends into a basket. Finally they got in a long line for the register. When it was their turn to pay, the store’s computers went down.

The sound of customers’ grumblings and complaints filled the air.

“This place should be called Madhouse Junction,” Ginny observed.

Fran nodded. “I’m exhausted.”

Skip just stared off into space.

Moments later, the sound of someone tapping a microphone came over the loudspeaker and a man’s voice boomed through the store. “Ladies and gentlemen, we appreciate your patience. Our computer system is down but hopefully not for long. This has happened in the past . . .”

The cashier at their register looked at Ginny and rolled her eyes. “In the past?” she whispered. “Try yesterday.”

“How long before?” Ginny began.

“Good news, folks! The computers are up and running!” the announcer blurted excitedly, as though he were calling a horse race. “Have a good day everyone and please come back and visit us again. Make House Junction your . . .” The microphone started screeching and whining, then was clicked off.

“Give it a rest,” the cashier muttered as she began to scan the items in Skip’s basket.

Forty-five minutes later the threesome was bouncing down Pond Road, the large piece of wood jigging around the back of the truck. They could see a news van parked in front of the Carpenters’ house.

“Oh no,” Skip muttered as he turned into Fran and Ginny’s driveway.