Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (59 page)

Adele was back in the basement, bound to the same chair as before, the ropes tight around her hands and feet. The radio was once again blasting music that for Adele was akin to nails on a blackboard. What’s going to happen to me? She wondered. Floyd is insane. Is he capable of killing me? He must be. What else can he do with me? He can’t let me go. Adele pondered a possibility. What if I try to convince him that I won’t tell anyone anything if he gives me my freedom? Hey, it’s been fun, what an exciting actor you are, I know you were just playing around.

No, it won’t work, Adele realized in an instant. He’s crazy but functional. He obviously knows what it takes to appear sane in public, and he certainly doesn’t want to go to jail. Has he ever been in jail?

She could hear the front door opening and the floor creaking above her. No ringing of the doorbell a hundred times? What a surprise. I guess he doesn’t want lunch to get cold.

“I’m SORRRRY,” Floyd sang as he thundered down the stops. “So SORRRYYYYY.” His laugh was maniacal. “Adele, you must have been a very bad girl.”

I wish I’d never set foot in that pillow shop, Adele thought. I sent that first pillow with a heartfelt note and received no
response. That’s why I never sent the others. And those cards were a stupid idea. I should have thrown them out.

Floyd hopped like a bunny over to her chair.

He’s unraveling before my eyes, Adele decided. This might be over faster than I expected.

“I’m sorrrrrry!”
Quickly he untied the ropes.
“Lunch is served!”

Adele slowly pushed herself up from the chair, her body stiff and achy. It was hard for her to believe that this morning she’d been feeling fit, and was looking forward to getting back out on the water in her boat once the storm ended.

“Your chicken soup is going to be cold, Adele. Cold and filmy.
Hurry up!”

“This house must have a microwave,” Adele replied as she walked toward the steps.

“What a waste of time! Move, move, move. We’ve got work to do.”

Upstairs, he instructed Adele to sit on the couch in her same old spot. Bags of food were already on the coffee table as well as two bottles of water. Floyd sat on the floor across from her, located the bag with his foil-wrapped cheeseburger, and quickly tore it open. He whistled as he prepared his burger for consumption, then attacked it with a vengeance.

Adele watched him as she daintily cut her omelette with a plastic knife and fork, and started to eat. The omelette tasted delicious, just as it had the one time she’d been to Fern’s. Adele remembered back to that day. The young waitress had been so sweet. It was her third day of work and she was nervous, trying so hard to get everything just right. Naturally she made a few mistakes, like not refilling the coffee cup in a timely fashion, but it was to be expected. What bothered Adele was when the waitress brought her change back to the table and started
asking personal questions. She meant to be friendly, but it was one of the reasons Adele never went back. The main reason was that Adele loved sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table in the early morning, sipping coffee, and looking out on Cape Cod Bay, feeling more at peace than she had in years. And thanks to that house with the view, Adele thought, here I sit.

“Adele!”
Floyd yelled, licking his fingers. “Where were you just now?”

“Nowhere.”

“I don’t believe you. Were you thinking about all the people you were going to send apology cards to?” he asked as he opened a plastic container of fruit salad.

“No.”

Floyd popped a grape into his mouth. “I want to hear about every last one of them.”

“You need to learn your lines.”

“Oh I do, do I?”

“Yes. That’s my job. Help you learn your lines.”

“Your
job?
How interesting. Are you trying out a different psychological approach on wacky Floyd?” Booming laughter filled the room. “That’s so funny. I can promise you,
Adele
. It won’t work.”

“I wasn’t trying anything,” Adele replied. “You’re going to look like a big idiot if you don’t learn your lines.”

“Tomorrow night is a reading, my dear. It’s only one scene. I do intend to be off book so I can wave that big shiny knife in the air just like I do in rehearsal with you and not worry about looking at my script. It will be so much more thrilling for me. I get bored if I don’t take risks onstage. I could tell the director really didn’t like the idea when I mentioned it earlier today. Just this once I’d like to try it. You’re not afraid that Floyd is going
to let that big sharp knife go flying into your throat when we rehearse, are you?”

“Not at all,” Adele answered, her tone disgusted. “The director doesn’t like the idea of you using a real knife?”

“No. They’re never used onstage. Only prop knives.” Floyd wrinkled his nose. “Toooo dangerous.”

The director won’t let him use a real knife, Adele thought. How could he? He has to see how volatile Floyd is. Maybe if I can convince Floyd that an actor of his stature should always use a real knife, he’ll believe it. I’ll try to get him worked up. With any luck, he’ll snap tomorrow night and act like a raving lunatic if he’s not allowed to use his knife. He’ll be exposed as the mad man he really is. It’s my only hope. I don’t know. It’s worth a shot. I want to get out of here. If I do, I will send those cards. Ten years too late, but I’ll send them. I never said goodbye to those kids who meant the world to me. And I’ll Express Mail the self-help book about being rude to my ex. He’s the one who needs it, not me. He was born into too much money and he was born rude. I’m so mad at myself for letting him make me feel as if I were the problem. Well, here goes nothing.

Adele looked Floyd in the eye. “That director doesn’t sound very adventurous.”

“Unfortunately he’s not.”

She frowned, “You told me I’m no actress. But if I were onstage, I’d feel childish using a fake knife.”

“Childish?”

“Yes. I’d feel like I was playing a game of cops and robbers.” She lifted her thumb and pointed her index finger—“Bang, bang, Floyd. Let’s get back to learning your lines.”

Regan, Dorie, and Dan were sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table as Jack spoke on the phone to a detective from Chicago who had preliminary information about Adele Hopkins.

Dan was still reeling over the painfully close call with Ginny and Fran. They never would have left if they’d still been inside the house when the phone rang. Also weighing on Dan’s mind was the fact that he hadn’t even listened to Mickey McPhee’s message yet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt. But he was glued to his seat, focused on Jack’s half of the conversation. So far it sounded somewhat positive.

Finally the call was wrapping up. Jack was checking to make sure the detective had his cell number and the number of the Reillys’ home. “Yes, that’s my parents’ house, which is right next to where I am—the house Adele Hopkins rented. I’ll be at my parents’ place from now on.”

Dan’s eyes bugged out. “What if this guy calls and Fran or Ginny answers?” he whispered to Regan. “Then what?”

“Dan!” Dorie whispered. “Regan and Jack aren’t going to sleep here.”

“They can if they want to.”

“Relax!”

Finally Jack hung up the phone.

“Well?” Dan asked, his voice a croak.

“It’s Hopkins’s apartment, which I’m sure you gather,” Jack said, then relayed the rest of the information. “The concierge who forwards her mail is due at work tonight at nine p.m. Eastern Time. Lopez hopes to speak to him before then, but if not, he’ll talk to him at nine. After that I can’t imagine we’ll have too many more problems figuring out whom to contact.”

They all were quiet for a moment.

Dorie’s face was solemn. “Adele Hopkins had a horrible ex-husband, no children, no family who visited. What if there isn’t anybody to call?”

“There must be someone!” Dan said quickly. “There has to be.”

“Dan, you’re getting on my nerves.”

“But what do we do with her car?”

“We’ll bring it back to the rental company. Is that so hard?”

“No use speculating,” Regan said. “Remember, we don’t even have her cell phone. She might have a lot of friends who were very close to her. Later tonight, we’ll know more.”

Jack’s fingers rapped the countertop. “Okay then. Regan, shall we go next door and join our houseguests?”

Regan stood and smiled at the Carpenters. “You two are most welcome to join us.”

Dan shook his head back and forth, staring straight ahead.

“What a surprise, Dan,” Regan said lightly. “I understand those Brewer women are very good cooks. They said they’d make dinner.”

“They’ll just ask and ask and ask about Hopkins,” Dan answered. “It’s not strange if you two don’t know certain answers. It’s really strange if we don’t.”

“If you change your mind . . .” Jack began as he walked over and put his hand on Regan’s shoulder.

“We won’t,” Dan assured him. “But we will see you later, right? Would you mind coming back after you talk to Lopez?”

“Sure. We’ll just have to figure some excuse to get out of the house.” Jack laughed. “We’ll see you later.”

The Carpenters walked them to the door, then Dorie moved toward the window and watched as the twosome crossed the lawn together, Jack’s arm protectively around Regan. “We’re so lucky to have them helping us. I don’t know what we would have done if they weren’t here.” She turned around. “Dan? Dan, where are you?”

His voice came from down the hall. “I have to check my messages, then call my boss right now, while I have the courage,” he said. A door slammed shut.

Dorie shook her head. She walked into the kitchen and sat back down at the table. This house feels so empty, she thought. Empty and desolate. Tears stung her eyes. Mrs. Hopkins had planned to enjoy sitting at this table and looking out on the water. I hope she did. It’s funny, Dorie thought wistfully. I feel as if in some way she’s still here. Her spirit hasn’t left us yet. That’s how so many people feel right after someone they love dies.

Moments passed. Adele Hopkins wasn’t someone I loved, Dorie thought as a tear rolled down her cheek. I barely knew her.

So why do I feel this way?

Pippy had been at her desk in the back room of Pillow Talk doing paperwork, going through mail, and answering the phone, while Ellen had handled the light but steady flow of customers.

The phone rang while Pippy was examining a nail she’d just broken on her left hand. She reached for the phone. “Hello. Pillow Talk.”

“May I speak to Miss Pippy Huegel, please?” a man with a distinguished British accent inquired.

“This is Pippy.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“How soon they forget,” the caller said sadly, now sounding like a born and bred Bostonian.

“Roger!” Pippy cried. “How are you? How was your trip? It seems like you’ve been gone for ages.”

“You live in my house, you become a star, and you never mention your wonderful cousin in all those interviews.”

“Yes I do!” Pippy protested, starting to laugh. “And I’m not a star.”

“When do you mention me?”

“Today, as a matter of fact. A newspaper reporter called to
set up an interview. We’re not very busy with customers and the reporter had time, so I spoke to her right away.”

“Um-hmmm. What did you say?” Roger asked, amusement in his voice.

“The reporter asked what it was like to work and live with my best friend. I said it was great and thanks to my cousin,
Roger Huegel
, we didn’t have to worry about a place to live when we started the business. He lent us his wonderful cottage on the Cape, blah blah blah.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. What newspaper?”

“I wrote the name down here somewhere . . . it’s a local paper in California.”

“California? I live in Boston! None of my friends will see it.”

“We’ll send them copies and they can read it online.”

“Okay, pal,” he said with a chuckle. “How are you?”

“Good. Other than the fact Ellen and I better get going and find a new place to live. Summer is almost here.”

“That’s right. Cousin Rodge can’t wait to get down to the Cape and enjoy himself. What about the lease on your shop? Isn’t that up for renewal?”