Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (57 page)

They went back in the house. Ginny pulled a big suitcase out of the closet in the hallway. “We may as well pack enough clothes so we don’t have to go running back and forth.”

“Good thinking.”

The phone rang. Fran hurried into the kitchen to answer. “Hello . . . Hi, Margie . . . Yes, a lot of excitement on our block today . . . What? . . . You don’t say . . . We hadn’t heard that, we had to have our window boarded up, a branch crashed through . . . What a mess . . . Thanks, we’ll let you know.” She hung up.

“What?” Ginny demanded. “What?”

“Margie heard on the news that Adele Hopkins must have been very unhappy. The police found stacks of apology cards on her dining room table.”

“Apology cards?” Ginny repeated, her face indignant. “How about a thank-you note for that lovely homemade pie we hand-delivered? Fran, let me tell you know something, I knew we were making a mistake by going with Skip to House Junction. We couldn’t even listen to the radio!”

“That was the right thing to do,” Fran said. “Skip is suffering. Besides, we needed to get this place boarded up.”

“I understand. But I don’t want to miss out on another thing. Let’s go now. Regan and Jack must have loads to tell us, I can feel it in my bones.” She ran to the bathroom, where she’d hung up their coats.

“What about packing the suitcase?” Fran asked.

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” Ginny said as she ran past her older sister toward the front door. “Come on, Fran! I want to get a look at those apology cards. Maybe one of them has our names on it!”

Ah, here it is,” Floyd said, turning his car into Fern’s parking lot. Quaint little place, I suppose, he thought.

Inside the diner, a woman hurried over as he came through the door. “Can I help you?”

Floyd, the script under his arm, smiled his most charming smile. “I’d like to order some food to go.”

“Follow me and we’ll get you taken care of.”

Floyd did as he was told.

“I’m Fern,” the woman said, turning around when they reached the counter. “Have a seat.”

“Fern of Fern’s?”

“Yes.”

“Floyd Wellington. Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard your food is delectable.”

Fern smiled, then eyed the script.
Grandpa, Go Home
. “Oh, of course. You’re in the play down at the Castle.”

“Last I heard,” Floyd joked.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I know you were in a great movie but I never saw it.”

“No great loss, my dear.”

“The rest of the cast was in here this morning.”

“That’s why I’m here now. Your place is highly recommended.”

Oh, no, Fern thought. That means Devon will be back. “My waitress will take your order.”

A young girl, pen poised, smiled at him. “Ready?”

“Yes, darling. I’d like a cheeseburger with fries; an omelette with the works, hold the mushrooms, well done; one chicken soup; and a large fruit salad.”

“Toast for the omelette?”

“No. An English muffin with jelly.”

“What kind?”

“No preference.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s enough, isn’t it?” he laughed. “I’m stocking up for the evening so I won’t have to leave the house again in this dreadful weather.”

The girl smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.

Floyd looked down at his script and turned the page. It’s a little noisy in here with that television on, he thought. I must focus.

Fern returned. “All squared away?”

He looked up. “I placed my order. Thank you.”

“How’s it going over there at the Castle?”

“So far, so good.”

“You’re all living there together?”

Floyd made a face. “Noooooo. No. No no no no no.” He then pointed his finger to his head and pretended to pull an imaginary trigger.

Fern laughed. “That would be a no.”

“I’m too old to live in a dormitory, darling. The production company rented a house for me.”

He probably can’t take Devon either, Fern thought. “If I were
you, I’d feel the same way,” she said. “I live alone. When I leave here, where I’m on the go and with people all day, it’s a pleasure to just go home and be by myself. There’s nothing like peace and quiet.”

Floyd reached up and touched her arm for just a moment. “Surely you must have someone in your life,” he said solicitously.

“Not for a while, I haven’t,” she laughed. “It’s okay.”

“I can tell you’re the type of person who has so much to give another human being. Besides, all work and no play is no fun at all. Are you coming to our reading tomorrow night?”

“Your director invited me. I’ll have to see.”

“You’ll enjoy it,” Floyd promised. “And I wouldn’t just say that.” He leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “The play is good, even though the man directing it makes me cuckoo.”

Fern laughed heartily. “He was in here this morning. He makes me cuckoo too.” She looked up at the television screen. The announcer had just mentioned Adele Hopkins’s name. She shook her head. “I don’t know whether you heard, but a woman’s body was swept out to sea on the beach this morning not far from the Castle.”

“I heard,” Floyd said, turning his face to the television. “It is a tragedy.” With a duly pained expression he listened to the report.

“On the dining room table of the house Adele Hopkins was renting were stacks of apology cards she had not yet addressed.”

Floyd looked at Fern and raised his eyebrows. “Apology cards?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know her?”

“No. I’m told she was in here once.” Fern’s head turned reflexively at the sound of the front door opening. At the same
moment the young waitress reappeared from the kitchen with three bags of food. “All set!” she said with a smile.

“Wonderful!”

Fern started to move down the counter. “Nice to meet you, Floyd. Thanks for coming in.”

“Return the favor by coming to our reading tomorrow night.”

“I promise I’ll try.”

Floyd paid with cash and got up just as Fern was greeting a young man who took a seat three stools down.

“Skip, there’s no one in the other room. Do you want to take a table back there by the window? I’ll sit with you.”

“Thanks, Fern.”

That young man doesn’t look too happy, Floyd thought as they nodded to each other in passing. But Floyd didn’t give the young man’s state of mind another thought.

Apology cards were on his mind as he went out the door. He laughed out loud as he got into the car. I can’t wait to tell her that the whole world knows how very, very sorry she is.

One thing is clear, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot. She’s not as tough as she pretends to be. I knew that all along.

She’s a lousy actress but at least she’ll help me learn my lines.

Then what?

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He refused to think about that now. He had to learn his lines.

Kit breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto Cape Cod. The traffic from Boston had been lousy. Speed limits had been lowered because of the slick roads. Cars passing through puddles sprayed water on other motorists’ windshields. I probably should have just gone home, she mused. Oh well. I’m almost there.

As she rode along Route 6, the main highway on the Cape, more ominous clouds moved in overhead and the sky darkened. There’s no sign of this storm letting up, Kit thought. Twenty-five minutes later the song Kit was enjoying was interrupted by the bossy female voice of the GPS. “Exit to the right in one mile.” Kit put on her right blinker and steered into the exit lane. She was in the market for a new car but hadn’t yet decided on a make or model. But one thing she had decided was that her next GPS had to sound a lot friendlier. If you missed a turn, this woman got nasty. “Exit to the right,” she now ordered. “Exit to the right.”

Kit started to turn off the highway just as her windshield wipers made a loud groaning noise, as though the effort to keep the windshield clear of water was suddenly too much. But they kept working, albeit more slowly, sounding as though they were
pushing a boulder uphill. Please, no, Kit thought as she reached the end of the exit ramp and turned left. Keep going, she prayed as the wipers grew more and more sluggish.

At Route 5A Kit turned right and pressed the navigation button on her dashboard. Five miles to go. Her heart was racing as she leaned forward, straining to see through the increasingly blurry windshield. This is too dangerous, she decided. A little gas station was just ahead. Kit put on her blinker and slowed down as the wipers emitted a final exhausted groan. Carefully, she turned into the driveway, which ended as soon as it began.

Kit rolled down her window, stuck her head out, and inched forward, stopping in front of a one-door garage. She rolled up the window, and shut off the car. Rain was pelting her windshield. The wipers were sticking straight up. Kit glanced at her surroundings. A lone set of gas pumps looked forlorn. The garage door was shut, but at least the small office appeared to be open. She sighed, then almost laughed, suddenly reminded of the running gag she had with Regan when things like this happened. One would call the other and start the conversation by saying, “Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse . . .”

It could be worse, Kit thought. At least I’m not out on the highway. She opened her door, stepped out onto the pavement, and hurried inside a glass door to a room no bigger than a cubicle. The register was to the right, on a counter crammed with boxes of candy, gum, and breath mints. A wide assortment of car air fresheners was hanging on the wall to the left. Straight ahead was a lone folding chair. Behind the counter was a doorway to the garage. Kit could see legs sticking out from under a car that was slightly raised.

“Hello,” she called, trying to sound cheery.

“Be with you in a minute or two,” a man called back, his tone a touch too casual.

“Okay,” Kit answered. Five minutes later she sat on the plastic folding chair and crossed her legs. Something tells me this is going to take awhile, she thought, her spirits sinking. She looked over at the rows and rows of air fresheners. A moment later her nose began to itch.

In downtown Chicago, a fortyish man hurried through the rotating door of a luxury apartment building. Inside the handsomely appointed lobby, a young concierge wearing a name tag was seated at a large desk.

The man pulled out his badge. “My name is Detective Lopez. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course.”

“George is your name?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me if a woman named Adele Hopkins has an apartment in this building?”

“Oh sure, Mrs. Hopkins. She moved in last year but hasn’t been here for a long time.”

“Is there anyone else living in her apartment?”

“No.”

“Is the manager here now?”

“He left for the weekend.”

“Do you know if Adele Hopkins gets mail delivered to this address?”

“Yes. A guy who works the overnight shift forwards Mrs. Hopkins her mail every two weeks. She pays him pretty
well, I gather. Jessie gets friendlier with the tenants than somebody like me who works during the day. When people come in late, it’s quiet, if they’ve had a few pops, they start chatting. You know what I’m saying?”