Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (60 page)

“Did we luck out on that one! The owner went to Florida, fell in love, and never came back. He renewed with us over the phone for another six months. Same price.”

“Ain’t love grand?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re working too hard. Listen, I just got back last night. I have to run to a meeting, but I wanted to say hello and see how the house is holding up in this weather.”

“When we left this morning everything was fine.”

“Let me know if something lovely happens like the basement floods or . . .”

“Are you worried about that?”

“No, but let’s put it this way. If you and Ellen weren’t living there, I’d definitely have someone check the house. Even if it cost me a few bucks.”

Pippy laughed. “I’ll go over there right now.”

“Pippy, don’t—”

“It’s two blocks away. With all you’ve done for us . . .”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He laughed. “Keep going.”

“We could never—”

“I’m kidding, Pippy. Let me know if there are any problems. I’ll get them taken care of.”

When Pippy hung up the phone, she smiled. She was looking forward to seeing Roger. It would be fun to have him around this summer. She got up, grabbed her coat, purse, and umbrella, and went out to the front. Ellen was by the door talking to a woman who was drenched from head to toe.

“Really? You’re a friend of Regan and Jack’s?”

Pippy hurried over and met Kit.

“I don’t want to cause a puddle in your store,” Kit said with a laugh. “My car is being fixed down the road. The mechanic told me there was a coffee shop up this way, so I started walking and walking . . .”

“Nathaniel Boone?” Ellen asked.

“Yes!”

“A good mechanic, but out of his mind!” Ellen said. “Kit, take off your coat. Have a cup of coffee. There’s a table over there. You can sit and call Regan—”

“I hate to interrupt,” Pippy said quickly. “Ellen, I’ll be right back. Roger called. I think he’s worried the basement might flood so I’ll run home for a minute and check.”

“We’ll be here,” Ellen said as she helped Kit off with her coat.

Outside, the skies were dark. In a moment Pippy was in her
car and on her way. She barely noticed the car on the side road across the street, waiting to turn onto 5A. When Pippy turned right, the car’s left blinker started flashing. The driver accelerated in time to fall in line behind Pippy’s car, not too close for comfort, but not in danger of losing her.

Mickey McPhee opened his eyes. I must have dozed off, he thought. The den was getting dark. What was I doing? Oh yes. I’d called Dan Carpenter and I was waiting for him to call back. Mickey glanced at his phone. No calls.

Poor me, Mickey lamented. Here I sit, all alone, cranky after my nap. He picked up the remote and turned on the television, quickly changing stations, stopping only when the sight of an overly dramatic reporter speaking into his microphone attracted his interest. The newsman was standing on a little street, the caption at the bottom of the screen read
Chatwich
.

“. . . the tragic drowning victim, Adele Hopkins, was a rowing enthusiast who lived alone. The sea had been her friend, then became her enemy. She rented the home behind me, from Daniel and Doreen Carpenter of Boston.”

“What?” Mickey cried. “Dan never mentioned he rented out his house on the Cape. I wonder why.”

“. . . Unfortunately, the Carpenters are not anxious to speak to the media at this time.”

Mickey’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID, then swiftly answered. “Hello, Dan!”

“Hello, Mickey, how are you on this wonderful company holiday?”

“How are
you?
I just heard your name on television. What’s going on?”

“Oh you heard,” Dan said, sounding grave.

“Yes I did. What happened? I didn’t know you were renting your house. You never breathed a word to me about it.”

“We thought it would be nice to rent our home during the winter months to a woman who needed a place to heal from a bad marriage.”

“Dan, what happened to her?”

“It’s a sad story, Mickey,” Dan answered. A most abbreviated version of the day’s events followed.

“You rented your house to a recently divorced sixty-year-old woman who loved to row, but she drowned? That’s it?”

“What else can one say at a time like this?”

“Does she have children?”

“No.”

“Relatives?”

“We’re in the process of contacting them.”

“Dan, they might need our help! We should do something for them. Or else we can make a donation to Mrs. Hopkins’s favorite charity in her memory. What was her favorite charity?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Find out. I’ve made a decision. McPhee and You will establish a memorial fund in Hopkins’s . . . what’s her first name?”

“Adele.”

“We’ll establish a memorial fund in Adele Hopkins’s name. McPhee and You has had some bad breaks this year. It’s high time we did some good and then let people know about it! This is the perfect opportunity. I’m sure you agree. . . . Hello . . . Dan . . . are you there?”

Welcome back!” Ginny called out from the kitchen as Regan and Jack walked into the house.

Jack winked at Regan and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Ginny.”

The Brewer sisters were at the kitchen table making a shopping list of ingredients they needed to prepare dinner.

“How does spaghetti sound to you two?” Fran asked.

“Great,” Regan and Jack both answered.

“Super. We make a mean sauce,” Fran said, pumping her fist.

“Now let’s see,” Ginny said. “It will be the four of us, maybe Skip, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, and what about Dorie and Dan?”

“I don’t think so,” Regan answered. “They have a lot going on. But my best friend is joining us. She was in Boston on business. I invited her to come down and spend the night. As a matter of fact, she should be here by now.”

“Oh,” Ginny replied, devoid of enthusiasm. “Okay. What’s her name?”

“Kit.”

“Then that makes five of us, maybe Skip. Fran and I need a ride to the store. Neither of us drive in this weather.” She looked
at the FedEx box Jack had placed on the counter. “Regan, are you ever going to get around to opening that?”

“Yes I am, Ginny.”

With Jack’s help, Regan pulled the tabs off the cardboard box, then eased out the wrapped foiled package inside. A note was attached for Mr. and Mrs. Jack Reilly. “Oh,” Regan said as she and Jack read the note together. “That’s so nice.”

“What’s so nice?” Fran asked.

“My mother sent us the top layer of our wedding cake, which she froze after our wedding.”

“Great!” Ginny answered. “We can have that for dessert.”

“Ginny!” Fran protested. “We can’t do that . . .”

Thank God, Regan thought.

“. . . their anniversary isn’t until Sunday,” Fran continued. “We’ll have it then.”

“But it might go bad,” Ginny said, practically. “It’s already a year old.”

Regan and Jack were standing behind the counter. Playfully, Jack stepped on her foot. Trying not to laugh, Regan started to speak. “Ginny, there’s an old tradition that if a couple has a piece of their wedding cake on their first anniversary, it’s supposed to bring them good luck.”

“How should I know? The one guy I was supposed to marry decided he couldn’t leave his mother. Remember, Fran?”

“Clear as a bell.” Fran looked over at Regan and Jack. “Thirty years ago he told Ginny they’d get married after his mother died. So Ginny broke up with him. He passed over about five years ago, but his mother is still going strong.”

“The woman is an ox,” Ginny declared. “Through and through.”

“That’s too bad, Ginny,” Regan said.

“Fran, as long as we’re spilling secrets, tell what happened to you,” Ginny instructed her sister.

“Oh Ginny, that’s too sad.”

“So what? This house has plenty of Kleenex.”

“No.”

“Go ahead. Jack and Regan are our friends.”

“Oh . . .” Fran said. “Okay. When I was twenty-two my boyfriend asked my father for permission to marry me.”

“Of course Daddy said yes,” Ginny interrupted. “Fran’s boyfriend was wonderful. Go on, Fran.”

“I had no idea that had happened. My parents kept it a secret.”

“I knew.”

“That goes without saying, Ginny. Anyway, Robert had ordered the ring and was planning to propose on Saturday night. Saturday afternoon he went over to pick up the ring, but there was a bad accident . . .” Fran stopped speaking and shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, Fran . . .” Regan said softly.

“Fran, we’re so sorry,” Jack said.

“Can you believe it?” Ginny asked indignantly. “She didn’t even get to hear him propose. But his mother was a decent human being. She gave Fran the ring.”

Fran nodded. “I wore it to Robert’s funeral, then took it off and never wore it again. That ring is in a little red case in my jewelry box. I’ll have it forever.”

“So,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath. “Those are our stories. Neither of us found anyone else. Not that we didn’t try.
Oy vey
. Now we’re grateful to have each other.”

“We certainly are,” Fran agreed.

“Both of you could still meet someone,” Regan said encouragingly. “It’s never too late.”

“Regan, please!” Ginny protested. She started to laugh. “You know how hard it is to meet someone like Jack at our age?”

“At any age, Ginny. Believe me.”

“Stop,” Jack said, putting his hands up. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“You’re adorable, Jack,” Ginny said, then started giving instructions. “Regan, you’d better put that cake in the refrigerator.”

“I will.”

“Jack, could you drive us up to the market? We’ll shop fast, I promise.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for Kit,” Regan said. Not that I have a choice, she thought. Ginny wants Jack’s undivided attention. I hope Lopez doesn’t call him when they’re in the car.

The sisters put on their coats and headed to the door. “Come on, Jack,” Ginny called. “Regan, we’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Jack leaned down and gave Regan a kiss. “See you later. Hold down the fort.”

“I’ll try.”

As soon as they left, Regan dialed her mother.

Nora answered on the second ring. “Regan, how’s everything?”

“Mom, thanks for the cake. You did some job wrapping it up.”

“You’re welcome. But tell me. Have you located Adele Hopkins’s family?”

“Not yet,” Regan said. “But we have her address in Chicago and Jack’s in touch with the police out there.”

“Then you should have no trouble finding them.”

“The problem is, Mom,” Regan said, “I don’t think there’s anyone to find.”

Ellen hung Kit’s saturated raincoat in the bathroom off the office, fished a clean pair of athletic socks out of her gym bag, and walked back to the showroom. Kit was sitting at the table, drying off her purse with a napkin. There was no one else in the store.

“Here, Kit,” Ellen said, handing her the socks. “Take off those sneakers. Would you like coffee or tea?”

“Thank you so much. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“No trouble. I’m glad you’re here. What would you like?”

“A cup of tea would be great.”