Fleeced: A Regan Reilly Mystery

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Archibald clapped his hands. “This is going to be such fun.”

  35

  When Clara got home from her day of scrubbing the Settlers’ Club, she was so darn glad she couldn’t believe it. I’m going to get out of this uniform and put on my robe, she thought as she unlocked the door to her apartment in Queens. It had been some day. Here I was trying to help, and Thomas goes crazy when I show him the red box. She shrugged as she took off her coat.

  Maybe I’ll take a bath, she thought, but then remembered Nat’s fate. Probably not a good idea, she decided as she went into the bedroom, undressed, and put on the fleece-lined bathrobe her sister had given her for Christmas.

  “That’s better,” she said aloud. She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a pair of her woolly socks. “Now I’ll be all comfy and cozy.”

  In the kitchen, she heated up some chow mein and poured herself a glass of wine. She carried a tray into the living room, sat down in her favorite chair, put her feet up on the hassock, and turned on the television with the remote control.

  “Thank God it’s the weekend,” she said to the weatherman who was reporting on possible snow showers for the next couple of days. “I don’t care what the weather’s going to be, because I’m just going to veg out.”

  She gobbled her chow mein and downed the glass of wine.

  The phone rang. It was her sister Hilda who lived in the Bronx. They talked every night.

  “What’s doing?” Clara asked.

  “Not much. What’s doing with you?”

  “A little excitement at the club today. One member was found dead in the tub last night.”

  “Oh my.”

  “And then some jewelry is missing, but I found the red box it had been in.”

  “Oh my. You’d better watch out.”

  “My favorite show is coming on.”

  “The one about those crimes nobody can figure out?”

  Clara smiled. “That’s the one. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okeydoke.”

  Clara hung up and eagerly turned up the volume on the remote control. As usual, she watched the program with interest, getting herself another glass of wine during the commercial. By the end of the program, when they made their daily announcement about being sure to call in if you had a weird crime to report, Clara was ready to dive for the phone.

  “1–800 …” she said aloud as she dialed. When she was put through, she announced, “My name is Clara, and I work as a maid at the Settlers’ Club in Gramercy Park in New York City. Today I found a red box that four-million-dollars’ worth of diamonds is missing from. And the man who owned the diamonds slipped in the tub and died last night.”

  “Hold on, Clara, we’re going to put you on the air. Can you repeat that for us?”

  “Sure!”

  A moment later, Clara was saying, slowly and deliberately, “My name is Clara, and I work as a maid at the Settlers’Club …” as it was broadcast to thousands of homes in the New York area.

  36

  When Regan got back to the club, it was nearly six-thirty. Lydia’s party was starting at eight, and there were still some things Regan wanted to get done beforehand. She found Thomas in his office, looking pale.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Janey’s been out of touch since she left here this morning. It’s totally unlike her.”

  “You’ve tried to call her?”

  “Of course I have!”

  Regan felt sorry for him. He had been worried before, but the expression on his face now showed total distress.

  “She was going to come over this afternoon for tea. Something must have happened to her, Regan. She would have called if she couldn’t make it.?”

  “Do you have a key to her apartment?” Regan asked quietly.

  “I do.”

  “Should we go over there now?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said simply. With great dignity he stood up and reached for his coat. “If she’s all right, then I’ll be able to handle anything, Regan. When you’re worried about losing someone you love, all the other stuff seems trivial.”

  When they walked out of the club, they did not notice Mary Ruffner getting out of a cab.

  “Regan, what did the jeweler say?” Thomas asked, almost absentmindedly.

  “He said that he had appraised the jewels. That he had the check written out to present at the party …”

  “Do you think Janey’s disappearance has anything to do with all this?”

  “Thomas, don’t think like that,” Regan cautioned. “In a few minutes we’ll be in her apartment.”

  I’ve got to move now, Mary Ruffner thought. “Regan Reilly!” she called as Regan and Thomas started down the street.

  Regan turned. “Yes?”

  Mary extended her hand. “My name is Mary Ruffner. I was just having a drink with your mother and father at that terrific crime convention she put together. I recognize you from your picture in the paper today.”

  “Oh yes,” Regan said, quickly shaking her hand. “Mary, this is my friend Thomas Pilsner.”

  “Hello,” Thomas said.

  Regan could tell he was frantic to leave. So was she. “We’re in kind of a rush …”

  “I don’t want to bother you. I’m actually a reporter for the New York World, and I wanted to do a story on the Settlers’ Club for its one hundredth anniversary.” She looked at Thomas. “Aren’t you the president?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said in a guarded tone. “Can I call you later? Or tomorrow?”

  “Later would be better,” Mary said crisply. She handed him her card. “It’s easiest to reach me on my cell phone. I’m very anxious to talk to you.” She turned to Regan. “Will you be coming to any of the lectures at the conference?”

  “I’m going to try,” Regan said honestly.

  “Good. Then I hope to be seeing you both very soon.”

  Regan and Thomas said their good-byes and hurried a couple of blocks south, toward Janey’s apartment. She lived on the fourth floor of a walk-up. Outside the building, they buzzed 4A. There was no answer. Thomas took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and ran up the steps two at a time. Regan was right behind him.

  At the door to Janey’s apartment, Thomas said a silent prayer, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The living room was straight ahead. To the right were the bedroom and the kitchen. There was no sign of Janey anywhere.

  “I guess you could say I’m somewhat relieved, Regan,” he said. “But where could she be?”

  Regan looked around the small living room. The apartment was neat and orderly. The furnishings were simple but tasteful. Regan could see that some of the framed pictures were of Janey and Thomas. The dinette table was covered with files. Regan went over and took a glance.

  “She kept meticulous records about what she cooked for her clients,” Thomas said.

  Regan picked up a piece of paper that had been left on the table. It was a list headed “Deliveries made Thursday, March 11th.” A look of surprise came over Regan’s face. “She cooked for Ben Carney?”

  “He loved her chicken,” Thomas said sadly. “He ate like a horse. She was just saying this morning that she was sorry he never got to eat the chicken she made for him yesterday.”

  Thomas followed Regan into the kitchen. An apple pie was on the windowsill. Dozens of chocolate chip cookies were lined up on paper towels. Several cakes were out on the counter, waiting to be iced.

  “She wouldn’t have left this stuff out for hours without covering it,” Thomas said. “If there was anything she hated, it was a stale cookie.”

  The answering machine was on the counter, tucked in the corner. The light was blinking.

  “Do you want to check her messages?” Regan asked.

  Thomas nodded. “We have nothing to hide from each other.”

  All of the messages except for one were from Thomas. “Janey, this is Mrs. Buckland. It’s six o’clock. Where are you with the dinner? My guests are arriving in an hour! How can we have a
dinner party with no dinner? Call me! I’m very upset!”

  “Let’s get her number,” Regan said quickly.

  Thomas went and got the file. Regan dialed the number and identified herself to an irate Mrs. Buckland.

  “We don’t know where she is,” Regan said. “And we’re very concerned.”

  “You’re concerned? You know what it’s like to invite people over and all you have is a bag of potato chips to put out?”

  Regan tried to cover the irritation in her voice. “Mrs. Buckland, when did you speak to Janey?”

  “At about one o’clock. I called her up and told her it was an emergency. At first she hesitated about cooking for me for tonight, but then I reminded her of all the people I’d introduced her to. So she said she’d do it.”

  “What was she going to make for you?”

  “Roast chicken. I must say she does a good job with it. The turkey she makes can be a little dry, but the roast chicken is fabulous. On the second day it tastes even better.”

  “Mrs. Buckland, I’m sure you hope, as we do, that Janey is fine. In the meantime, why don’t you take your guests to a restaurant tonight?”

  “You know how expensive that gets?”

  “I’m sure you can find a place that’s reasonable,” Regan said.

  “I suppose it would be nice not to have to clean up after dinner,” Mrs. Buckland said, her voice softening. “I hope Janey’s all right.”

  “Thank you,” Regan said. “We’ll let you know.” She hung up the phone. “Janey was supposed to deliver a roast chicken to her this afternoon.”

  They looked at each other. They knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

  “Not my Janey,” he said. “She wouldn’t have taken Ben’s chicken.”

  “Mrs. Buckland said it tastes best on the second day.”

  “Oh God, why?” Thomas asked.

  “Let’s call over there.”

  Thomas got out the file labeled CARNEY, and Regan dialed the number. There was no answer.

  “What if she went over there and… . and I don’t know what?” Thomas wailed.

  “The police have the keys to Ben’s apartment,” Regan said.

  “We have no choice but to call them,” Thomas whispered. “No choice at all.”

  Five minutes later, they were out the door, with plans to meet one of the patrolmen from the 13th Precinct at Ben’s apartment building. They had no way of knowing Mary Ruffner was right behind them.

  37

  Maldwin and the student butlers were prepared for the evening’s festivities. They were all formally dressed and ready to serve. The hors d’oeuvres were waiting to be popped into the oven. Cheese and crackers and crudités were out on the tables. Champagne was chilling in the refrigerator.

  “The Princess of Love went hog-wild with this party, huh, Maldwin?” Vinnie asked as he ran a comb through his hair.

  “Never comb your hair in the kitchen, please!” Maldwin scolded.

  “Now while we are waiting for our guests to arrive, I’d like to go over a few things with you. No sense wasting time. Let’s sit in the living room.”

  Vinnie, Albert, Blaise, and Harriet took their places on the love seats around the room. Maldwin stood at the window and looked over the group. It was not exactly an inspiring sight. He cleared his throat. “Now, what is a silent butler?”

  “A butler with laryngitis,” Vinnie answered.

  “Vinnie!” Maldwin scolded.

  “A silent butler,” Harriet began, “is a small receptacle used to collect crumbs off the dinner table and ashes from the ash trays. It is found in every good home.”

  “Thank you, Harriet,” Maldwin said.

  Harriet beamed at him.

  “You all need to study the sheets I hand out to you. I’m going to start giving pop quizzes. But on to other things. As you know, Stanley Stock, the television producer, will be here again tonight. I’m going to suggest to him that he ask each one of you about your dreams of being a first-rate butler. Who knows? Your future employers may be out there watching.”

  “How exciting!” Harriet cried. “Can I go first?”

  I’m going to get sick, Blaise thought. And I don’t want to be interviewed on-camera. Last night I did my best to stay out of sight.

  Lydia’s voice came over the intercom. “Maldwin, I need you for a moment.”

  Maldwin looked at his watch. “You may relax until the party starts. Now remember, this is an important one!” He strode out of the room with purpose.

  Albert turned to Vinnie. “What are you going to say?”

  “Beats me.”

  38

  In front of Ben’s brownstone, a patrol car was waiting with its lights flashing. When Regan and Thomas rounded the corner, the stark reality of the situation hit Thomas like a wet blanket. A small moan escaped from his lips.

  Regan hurried over to the car and introduced herself. Squawks were emanating from the radio. There was no doubt the presence of the patrol car was attracting attention.

  Officer Dowling, a friendly young cop, greeted Regan and Thomas and walked with them to the outside door. They buzzed, but there was no answer. Dowling unlocked the door, and the three of them hurried up the stairs to Ben’s apartment.

  As soon as Dowling pushed open the door and turned on the lights, they all gasped. The place had been ransacked. Drawers in the living room were pulled open, their contents thrown all over the floor.

  “Oh my God!” Thomas cried.

  “Looks like a B and E,” Dowling said. He got on the radio and called it in.

  Regan and Thomas walked down the hall in disbelief, turning on lights as they went. The bedroom and den were also torn apart. “The kitchen must be at the other end,” Regan said, leading the way through the dining room to the kitchen’s swinging door. She flicked on the light.

  “Janey’s coat!” Thomas cried. “And the carry bag for the food!” He ran over and stroked her coat lovingly. “Oh, Janey,” he cried. “Janey!”

  “In here!”

  Thomas looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Or at least heard one. Regan felt pretty startled herself.

  “Janey! Where are you?”

  “In the closet!”

  By now Officer Dowling was also in the kitchen. Thomas pulled on the closet door, but it was locked.

  “We’re going to have to get some equipment to break down the door. This is a heavy one,” Dowling observed.

  “Janey, we’ll get you out. But what are you doing in there?” Thomas asked.

  Janey started to cry. “It’s a long story.”

  “Does it have something to do with roast chicken?”

  “Yes,” she answered feebly.

  Thomas turned to Regan and mouthed the words, “Waste not, want not.”

  39

  That’s a wrap,” Jacques Harlow cried as the last scene ended with the sheep being carried out of the room by Pumpkin and her leading man, Lothar. “On to our next location.”

  “Next location?” Daphne said with a puzzled look on her face. “I thought that this was it.”

  “No. We’re going to my loft downtown. That’s where we will shoot the climactic scene, when Pumpkin and Lothar decide they are going to move to Australia and buy a sheep farm.”

  “Brilliant idea!” Pumpkin called from the doorway.

  “No, Pumpkin, you’re brilliant. A brilliant actress. You’re giving a multilayered, textured performance that is going to knock the critics’ socks off,” Jacques pronounced with a wave of his cigarette holder. “When you picked up the sheep and hugged it, I was blown away.”

  “It’s your direction!” Pumpkin said liltingly as she ran toward Jacques for one of their post-acting hugs. “I was so in the moment thanks to your trust.”

  “Well, thanks to your being in the moment, I figured out the perfect way to end the story. Now let’s load up the truck. And don’t forget the sheep.”

  Daphne sat listening to the two biggest phonies she’d ever met in show bus
iness, and she was more and more annoyed with each word. But when she heard that they were going to take off with Nat and Wendy’s sheep, she jumped up. “You can’t take those sheep. They belonged to a couple, now deceased, who belonged to the club and wanted them to stay here in the front parlor.”

  “We’ll bring them back,” Jacques said.

  “I still don’t think it’s right. The president of our club isn’t here right now, so we can’t ask him.”

  Jacques walked over to Daphne and took her hand in his and kissed it. “I’m sure we can give you a real part in this final scene. If you’d like …”

  “Playing what?” Daphne asked tentatively.

  “The beautiful and wealthy owner of the sheep farm, who has just moved to New York.”

  “Let’s go,” Daphne agreed quickly.

  Jacques grabbed his walking stick from his ever present assistant, raised it in the air, and cried, “We’re off!”

  40

  Stand back,” the Emergency Services Unit officer called out to Janey. “I’ve got the gear to break down the door.”

  “What gear?” Janey yelled.

  “A hatchet.”

  “A hatchet?” Janey cried.

  “A hatchet,” he confirmed. “It’s a beauty.”

  “Be careful,” she urged, then remembered to add, “please.”

  “I’ll try. How much room you got in there?”

  “Not much.”

  Thomas whimpered. He and Regan were standing at the other end of the kitchen. The apartment was full of detectives, patrolmen, and emergency services personnel.

  “Well, here goes.” The ESU officer lifted the hatchet over his head and brought it back down against the door. The metal head struck the heavy wood with a snapping, crackling sound not unlike twigs burning in a fireplace.

  There goes Ben’s security deposit, Regan thought.

  It took several minutes, but finally bits of the door had been hacked away. Another few minutes and Janey was stepping through the jagged opening and running into Thomas’s waiting arms.