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

by Clark, Carol Higgins

  Oh no, Regan thought. “Did this woman write back?”

  “Not yet. I don’t expect her to.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like a copy of that e-mail as well as the pillow,” Jack said.

  “Do you think it was the same Adele Hopkins?”

  “It’s possible. Mrs. Hopkins had a rowboat.”

  Ellen and Pippy both gasped.

  “If you get any more e-mails about her, will you please let us know?” Regan asked.

  “But please,” Jack added quickly, “don’t respond until you talk to us.”

  “Don’t worry,” Pippy said. “And we’ll ask everyone who comes through the door today if they know anything about her. You never know.”

  “That’s right,” Regan agreed. “You never know.”

  15

  Adele felt terrified. Her hands were tied behind her back, her feet secured to the bottom of the uncomfortable straight-back chair. She’d tried numerous times to loosen the ropes but it was no use. A thought occurred to her that almost made her laugh. If Floyd had tied up my boat, I wouldn’t have had to worry.

  Who was this nut? she wondered. Was he really headed to play practice? If he is, I guess I can’t blame myself for trusting him so much. He certainly was convincing in the part of the concerned neighbor, the lonely widower.

  But boy, could he change fast. It was scary. I don’t want to think about what he might be capable of.

  Adele felt a chill go through her body. The basement was damp and gloomy and smelled of mildew. Thumping music was blaring from the radio, making her feel even more jittery and afraid.

  Is he renting this house? Adele wondered. Or does he live here? I came up here so no one would find me. Right now I certainly got what I wanted, she thought bitterly. It’s not as if anybody is going to look for me. No one will notice I’m not around, except maybe those two sisters. It’ll probably only be when it’s time for me to clear out of the Carpenters’ house next month that anyone will realize something is wrong.

  She closed her eyes, thinking back on the events of the morning. She’d risen early and made a pot of coffee. She had breakfast, showered, and dressed. Her computer was finally repaired, and she was going to pick it up.

  Tears stung her eyes. If only I hadn’t gone to check on the boat. But the wind was howling and shrieking. I was afraid it would break into pieces. Or break loose from the staircase. I ran across the lawn, grabbed the railing, went several steps down, and suddenly slipped. I remember tumbling down . . . and hitting the beach. The next thing I knew water was covering me and I was being tossed around . . .

  The thumping music finally ended. Please, she thought, I’d rather hear anything than more of that music.

  “Hello out there, folks,” a male D.J. began. “This is Charles Bingley. I’m going to tell you about a breaking story I just picked up on Twitter.”

  Thank God, Adele thought.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Charles continued, “a woman who rented a house here on the Cape was washed out to sea. Her name is Adele Hopkins.”

  “What?” Adele cried out. “Why would they think that? And how would they know already?”

  “Folks, what makes this story even more heartbreaking is that no one seems to know much about this woman. Her neighbors certainly didn’t. As of now, she’s a mystery.”

  “So what?” Adele said aloud, tears pouring down her cheeks. “That’s the way I wanted it.”

  “The man who found her on the beach ran to get help, and she was washed away. Can you imagine the guilt? Can you just imagine it?”

  “What man?” Adele screamed.

  “He must feel terrible,” Charles opined. “It was only yesterday I was feeling sorry for the woman who fell into a Monet painting while visiting a museum and made a six-inch gash in it. I thought the fact that the painting was now worth millions less would be hard for her to live with. But what we’re talking about today is the loss of human life!”

  “Another tweet, just in—she had numerous apology cards on her dining room table she obviously planned to send out. There were decorative pillows she’d bought recently that must have been intended for people who held a grudge against her. Adele Hopkins was a tormented soul. I’d like to find out why.”

  Adele felt as if an electric shock had gone through her body. How mortifying. I knew those apology cards were a stupid idea. And who was it who found me?

  Suddenly she felt a flicker of hope. I sent out one of the pillows. Maybe they’ll hear about what happened to me and let people know who I am. Then reality struck. It doesn’t make a difference.

  They think I’m dead.

  16

  Sitting in his luxury apartment in Boston, Reed Danforth’s face was tense, his jaw clenched. A man in his late forties with graying hair, and a face that only from a great distance might be considered handsome, he was about to log on to Pillow Talk’s website. Ever since he’d learned that his former employee was gaining notoriety after her terrible experience with him, he checked her website daily. That first newspaper article about Ellen’s pillow store contained his name and the name of his failed restaurant in big bold letters. It was hard to believe that was only six weeks ago. Many people he had considered friends taunted him about supposedly buying makeup as a ruse to meet girls. He’d been about to close a few deals but investors backed off quickly when they found out what a jerk he’d been.

  “Unfortunately it was better for us to cut our losses as soon as we realized the restaurant was not going to turn a profit,” Reed would try to explain. “Naturally it’s an upsetting situation for everyone.”

  “But lying about your mother being sick?” one potential investor in an apartment building restoration asked him. “That’s pretty low.”

  His mother agreed. She called from Florida the moment she heard about his escapades from an internet addict at her bridge club. “Reed dear,” she said, “weren’t you afraid you were going to jinx my health by saying I was sick? You know I have aches and pains. My sinuses are acting up, my feet hurt at the end of the day. But to say I couldn’t leave the house? Is talk like that going to help me find another husband?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “You may as well throw all that makeup in a box and send it down here. I’ll share it with my girlfriends.”

  “I already gave it away—” he began.

  His mother hung up.

  He remembered with regret the day Ellen pulled up next to him in the parking lot of the restaurant. His trunk was open and he was digging something out of the glove compartment. Before he could get out of his car, she was staring into his trunk.

  “How much makeup does your mother need?” she’d teased.

  “It was a good way to meet girls,” he’d joked, shrugging his shoulders. “I have no luck on those dating sites.”

  “A way to meet girls?” Ellen asked, her face quizzical. “Really?”

  Soon after, the restaurant closed, and his life went steadily down hill. It crashed when Ellen’s article hit the world wide web.

  I hate the internet, Reed thought, as he typed in Pillow Talk’s website address. There’s no such thing as privacy anymore. If I hadn’t lost my job at Sweetsville, this whole thing would never have happened. I gave them the best years of my life.

  Sweetsville was a national company that sold ice cream. His position as a senior executive paid well enough to cover the alimony he sent his ex-wife on the first of every month, and an upscale lifestyle for himself. Then one day he was called in by his boss and given the old heave-ho. Somehow his company would have to manage without him. “Sales of our wonderful products,” his boss said sadly, “have dipped. Everyone’s on a diet.”

  Ironically enough, like so many of the people who wrote on the message boards at Pillow Talk, Reed knew the pain of being fired.

  After his long stint at Sweetsville, which he had expected would end at retirement age, he couldn’t find a new job. Unwisely, he decided to open a restaurant. His older sister
was rich and willing to invest, and so were many of his wealthy friends. Between his trips to the makeup counters around town, he put his plans into action. It took time but the restaurant was renovated, the fish tanks were carted in, and the staff was hired.

  It was amazing how quickly everything fell apart. The reviews were bad and the restaurant was already in debt. I should have warned Ellen that we were closing, and I should have returned her phone calls, he thought for the millionth time. When it all happened my life was a seesaw. On the one hand he had investors screaming at me, and on the other he had the love and attention of a wonderful woman whom he’d met three weeks before the restaurant opened, and it wasn’t even at a makeup counter. They’d literally bumped into each other on the street. Sparks flew, and they fell in love. He convinced himself that it wasn’t because she was beautiful, ten years younger, and turned out to be rich.

  In those first three weeks after they met, it was magical and crazy. Working to get the restaurant ready, he stole away whenever he could and raced to see her. Opening night Olivia was out of town on business, a trip she couldn’t cancel. Then she had to visit her ailing father. The restaurant closed before she got back. He’d been so afraid that she’d think he was a loser. Luckily she didn’t. She was sympathetic and understanding. He couldn’t believe this amazing woman was in his life. Then when the news broke about what he’d done to Ellen and how he’d buy makeup to meet girls, he was sure that his relationship with Olivia would be over. To his surprise, she was even sweeter than before.

  “You were buying that makeup before you met me,” she said. “So I don’t care. I’m just glad you didn’t meet anyone you really liked while you were buying eye pencil! As for this pillow girl Ellen, you should have called her and apologized that the restaurant failed, but you were in such a terrible state. We all make mistakes.” She’d stroked his hair. “We knew from the minute we met each other that this was it for life. There’d never be anyone else. Right, honey?”

  “Of course.” He’d smiled and kissed her, but in the back of his mind he was nervously reliving the one thing she’d never forgive him for. As the weeks went by he was grateful that Ellen had never mentioned anything about it in her interviews. Hopefully she never would.

  Quickly he scanned the website. There was a notice that Ellen and Pippy were so sad that a woman who had been in their store a few times had been swept out to sea in the terrible storm.

  Phew, he thought. That’s the big news of the day.

  Next he went to the question-and-answer section. Every day at noon either Ellen or Pippy sat at the computer for a half hour and opened their website to a live discussion. People from all over the country asked questions or made comments. The audience had grown by leaps and bounds. All thanks to me, he thought sarcastically. It was amazing how many people out there wanted to vent. Romances had even sprung from the website. People were arranging get-togethers in different cities. Why couldn’t I have this kind of success with a business? he wondered.

  Reed soon realized that today the discussion was a little different than usual. It wasn’t only about people’s negative experiences when they were fired or mistreated. Ellen wrote that she’d read an article that said apology websites were popping up on the internet. People were going online to apologize for things they’d done, some a long time ago. They were hoping that the people they’d hurt, and didn’t know how to get in touch with, would read their regrets online and in their hearts forgive them. “Would any of you be willing to accept an apology like that?” Ellen asked.

  The first response was “Maybe. But only if it sounded like the person really meant it.”

  Another thought the internet was too public a forum. “Who wants everyone to read that someone’s sorry they called you ugly in the third grade?”

  The next response made Reed’s blood run cold. “No way! Years ago, before you could sue for these kinds of things, my married boss chased me around his desk when we were working late in his office. He tried to kiss me and I’m telling you it was absolutely disgusting. Not that I’m into looks, but this guy was a married troll. I would never ever forgive him! Ellen, did that terrible boss of yours who bought all the makeup ever do anything like that to you? You’re such a pretty girl. He sounds like the type who would at least try something.”

  Reed froze as he waited for Ellen’s response.

  “Oh, he is.”

  “What happened?” the woman typed.

  “The opening night of the restaurant he was drinking champagne and being very flirtatious. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and said he knew I thought there was too much of an age difference between us but if there weren’t he’d make me fall in love with him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Pretended to laugh, then disappeared into the crowd. The restaurant closed soon after. Just last week I heard he was already into a hot and heavy relationship with someone he’d recently met. She was out of town for the opening.”

  Reed collapsed on his sofa as the door to his apartment flew open. “Honey, I’m back!” Olivia cried. “Did you have a nice morning?”

  17

  When Ellen’s live session on the Pillow Talk website ended, she got up from the computer and walked out to the showroom. Pippy was at the counter, ringing up a sale for an elderly woman.

  “No, I never met her,” the woman said as she signed a credit card receipt. “But I’ll be sure to keep her in my prayers.”

  “Thank you. Be careful out there in this rain.”

  The woman waved her cane. “I’ve lived on the Cape all my life. This storm is bad, but I’ve lived through some beauties.” She paused. “I was a go-go dancer, you know.”

  “Oh really?” Pippy said politely.

  “That’s right, dear. I got fired last week.” Chuckling at her own joke, the octogenarian headed for the door. “’Bye now.”

  Pippy was laughing too. “’Bye. Please come back.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  With a smile, Ellen walked over to the counter. “I hope I’m like that when I’m her age.”

  “Me too,” Pippy answered. “How was the web chat?”

  “Fine until someone asked me a question about Danforth.”

  “What did they ask?”

  “They wanted to know if he’d ever made a pass at me.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I was honest, and I kept it light, which it was. As you know, I wasn’t upset until I heard he was in a relationship when he hit on me. What if I had liked him? It just proves my point that the man is a snake.” She shook her head. “If I had found out about his relationship before our first newspaper interview, I definitely would have mentioned it.”

  “Mentioned it?” Pippy asked airily as she came from behind the counter. “You’d have done more than that.”

  “Maybe,” Ellen agreed. She sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Hopkins.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Pippy! You know I feel terrible.”

  “Of course,” Pippy answered softly. “Me too. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  Pippy walked into the back room. She started to reach for the coffeepot, then quickly turned and sat at the computer. I’m going to obsess about this all day, she thought as she pulled up the list of their received e-mails. Three seconds after the list appeared onscreen, a burst of adrenaline flowed through Pippy’s body. There it was! The address of the person who’d written about Adele Hopkins. Whoever it was had responded two minutes ago!

  The bells on their front door started tinkling. Oh, no! Pippy thought. I want to read this with Ellen. But there’s no way I can wait until the customer leaves. Holding her breath, she pointed the cursor to the e-mail and pressed down her finger.

  Pippy’s first impression was one of surprise that the font was quite different than the last e-mail they’d sent.

  LISTEN UP, MISS PILLOW TALK!

  YOU HAVE SOME NERVE INVITING PE
OPLE TO WRITE IN AND SHARE THEIR PROBLEMS AND THEN TAKING SUCH A RIGHTEOUS TONE WITH ME. I’M SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOUR CUSTOMER ADELE HOPKINS DIED. IF SHE WAS THE ADELE HOPKINS I KNEW, THEN SHE’LL END UP IN THE RECORD BOOKS FOR LIVING TO THE RIPE OLD AGE OF AT LEAST 110. I’M 87 AND I’LL NEVER FORGET THE WAY THAT WOMAN TAUNTED AND HUMILIATED SO MANY YOUNG GIRLS, ESPECIALLY ME.

  DON’T BOTHER TO RESPOND BECAUSE IF I SEE YOUR ADDRESS I’LL PRESS THE DELETE BUTTON AS FAST AS MY ARTHRITIC FINGERS WILL ALLOW.

  I LOOK FORWARD TO READING ON THE INTERNET THAT YOUR BUSINESS HAS GONE DOWN THE DRAIN.

  GOOD RIDDANCE.

  Pippy sat there in disbelief. And I’m the one always warning Ellen about being impulsive, she thought. I should have cooled down before I sent that response this morning. If this person is for real, then the Adele Hopkins she knew must have caused her a lot of pain.

  I wish I could talk to Ellen right now, Pippy thought anxiously. But customers were still in the store. She reached for the phone. One thing I can do is tell Regan and Jack Reilly.

  18

  Ginny and Fran rode with Skip in his aging pickup truck over to House Junction, a warehouse-size store that sold just about everything needed to maintain a home. A trip that should have taken twenty minutes stretched out to forty-five. They were diverted from flooded roads twice, then found themselves in a traffic jam caused by a multicar fender bender.

  Sitting in the middle, it was an effort for Ginny not to get tossed one way against Skip, or the other against Fran, every time they hit a bump. She was wearing a seat belt but it didn’t matter. The truck seemed devoid of shocks or springs.

  It hadn’t surprised her in the least when Fran had run out of the house ahead of her, opened the passenger door, then stepped aside, and said, “After you.’” Even though I’m sixty-three, Ginny thought, Fran is still the big sister who gets the good seat.