Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1
Page 1
Carol Higgins Clark Boxed, Volume 1
Zapped
Cursed
Wrecked
SCRIBNER
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Zapped copyright © 2008 by Carol Higgins Clark
Cursed copyright © 2009 by Carol Higgins Clark
Wrecked copyright © 2010 by Carol Higgins Clark
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First Scribner ebook edition April 2011
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN: 978-1-4516-5487-5
eISBN: 978-1-4516-5487-5
These titles were previously published individually in different form.
Contents
Title page for Zapped
Title page for Cursed
Title page for Wrecked
Acknowledgments
Starting a book is not unlike being thrown into a blackout. The following people helped me find my way through the dark!
First, I’d like to express my gratitude to my editor, Roz Lippel. As usual, Roz, it’s been wonderful working with you.
My agent, Esther Newberg.
My publicist, Lisl Cade.
Associate Director of Copyediting Gypsy da Silva, copyeditor Tony Newfield, and proofreaders Barbara Raynor and Steve Friedeman.
Art Director John Fulbrook III, photographer Glenn Jussen, and Glenn’s wife, Belle.
Scribner Publishing Manager Kara Watson.
A special thanks to Mike Clendenin and Katherine Boden from Con Edison who were so gracious in taking the time to talk to me about blackouts, and my friends Kevin and Alana Gallagher who put me in touch with them.
For my dear friends Michelene and Jack Toomey
With love
Contents
Acknowledgments
Part 1: July 14th, 9 P.M.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Part 2: July 15th, 9 P.M.
Chapter 57
ZAPPED
July 14th, 9 P.M.
1
A burst of humid air greeted Lorraine Lily as she exited the baggage claim area at Kennedy Airport and headed to the taxi stand. The unbearably hot night did nothing to improve her mood. Her high heels were killing her feet and she was tired. When she finally made it to the front of the line, the next yellow cab pulled up quickly. The driver popped the trunk, got out, and eyed her one carry-on bag.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“They lost my luggage.”
“What a surprise,” he grunted. “Don’t worry. In this weather, all you need is a bathing suit. Hop in.”
In the back of the cab, Lorraine was grateful to find that at least the air-conditioning was functioning at a decent level. She pushed her auburn hair off her forehead and sighed. The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror.
“Where are you going?”
“Downtown Manhattan.” She gave him the address.
His only reaction was to step on the gas.
Lorraine reached into her massive handbag, pulled out her cell phone, and took a deep breath. How many more deep breaths am I going to need in my life? she wondered. She was sick of people telling her to take a deep breath. Everyone from the baggage claims supervisor to her estranged husband, Conrad. She’d had a wonderful three months away, and now it was back to reality.
P. Conrad Spreckles picked up on the second ring.
“I’ve landed,” she told him.
“Back on home soil,” he responded in a remote tone.
“They lost my luggage.”
“It’s probably wandering the earth. Just like its owner.”
“I wasn’t wandering the earth, dear. I was acting in an important new play that could be a springboard for my career.”
“In a remote town in England with a population of eleven people. You may as well have performed it in our basement up here in Greenwich.”
“We had wonderful audiences,” Lorraine protested. “You wouldn’t know since you didn’t bother to come. Listen, Conrad, we need to talk. But right now I’m too tired. I’ll sleep at the loft and take a car to Connecticut in the morning.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly. “I filed for divorce.”
Lorraine gasped. She was shocked that he’d taken such a drastic step. Not that she wanted to stay married. But she was hoping to be supported for a while longer while she pursued her career. Doing her best to sound saddened, she murmured. “Well, Conrad, if that’s how you feel…”
“It’s how I feel.”
“Okay. I’ll spend the night at the apartment…”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I sold it.”
“You sold it?” Lorraine shrieked. The cabbie turned around to take a quick look, then shifted his attention back to the road. She lowered her voice and hissed, “How could you?”
“Funny you took the news very well about parting ways with me. But the thought of losing the apartment…”
“You had no right.”
“I had every right. The loft was mine. It says so very clearly in the prenuptial agreement you signed two years ago.” Conrad laughed mirthlessly. “That was when I believed you loved me for me instead of my money.”
“I did love you…” Lorraine protested. “I mean I DO love you.”
“Serves me right for letting my head be turned by a beautiful woman more than twenty years younger. Anyway, time to move on. I’ll sell the house—the love nest we were go
ing to be so happy in for the rest of our lives—and you’ll get half.”
Lorraine felt physically ill. “Who did you sell the loft to?” she sputtered.
“Our next-door neighbor Jack Reilly and his new wife, Regan. When they returned from their honeymoon three months ago, I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. They’re already in the process of combining the two apartments. I’m sure they’ll find a lot more happiness within those walls than we ever did. Although I suspect you might have experienced more happiness there than I ever knew about.”
“That’s not true!” Lorraine cried. “I only went there to rehearse scenes with my acting partners or have an occasional yoga session. I needed that apartment for my creativity and my alone time.”
“I understand they have wonderful rehearsal space for rent at Carnegie Hall. Tonight you can come up here and stay in the guest room, or you can check into a hotel—your decision. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
He hung up.
Lorraine’s head was reeling. Jack Reilly was a cop. His wife was an investigator. If they discovered the safe she had installed behind the built-in cabinet in the closet, her life would be ruined. I have to get in there again and soon, she thought frantically. But how? She dug through her bag for her address book. She would call the young actor she’d rehearsed with in the loft not long before she left the States. Lorraine knew he needed money. She could tell he was the type who would help her if the price was right. Riffling through the pages, she located his number and began to dial.
Regan and Jack Reilly were driving south on Manhattan’s West Side Highway, returning home from a three-day weekend on Cape Cod with Jack’s family. It had been his father’s birthday, and the clan had gathered to celebrate.
“We’re almost there,” Jack said with relief. “I thought coming back on a Monday, we’d beat some of the traffic. I wish we could have stayed longer, especially with this heat…”
“Me, too,” Regan agreed. “But if the contractor actually shows up tomorrow, it’ll be worth sweating it out. He swore to me he’d be there. We’ll see.”
“You’re not sorry we got into all this are you?”
“Not at all. I love having a shopping cart full of contractor’s supplies parked outside our bedroom.” Regan smiled. “For years I’ve listened to my mother lament about how she and my father should have bought the apartment next door to theirs when it went up for sale. We got that chance and had to take it. When this renovation is finished, we’ll have a home we’ll never want to leave…if by then we haven’t gone crazy.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope not.” Five minutes later he was turning onto their block. “How about if I drop you off with the bags and then go get us some Chinese food? I also want to swing by the office and pick up a report.”
“Sounds good. I’ll open a bottle of wine and set the table on that new rooftop terrace of ours. It might not be in the best condition yet, but there should be at least a slight breeze coming off the Hudson.”
They unloaded the car and placed the bags on a luggage cart. Regan brought the cart up to the loft Jack had purchased a couple of years before they met.
Inside the apartment, Regan turned on all the lights. The smell of plywood and sawdust filled the air. She wandered down the hallway to their “new” apartment and smiled.
What a mess, she thought as she looked at all the cans and nails and wood and debris. Hard to believe that this is really going to turn into something beautiful. I’d better open the door to the terrace and get some air in here, she thought. She walked to the corner of the spacious living/dining room and started up the spiral staircase toward the roof. She stopped for a moment. What was that noise she heard?
Nothing, she decided.
Regan tightened her grip on the railing and glanced out the window at the neighboring buildings. Feeling reassured by the familiar view she started up again. On the top step, she reached for the handle of the metal door that led to the terrace, then froze in place.
All of the lights had gone out.
Regan was standing alone in the pitch dark.
New York City had just been hit by a blackout.
2
At Larry’s Laughs, a hot, cramped comedy club in Midtown Manhattan, Regan’s best friend, Kit, was sitting at a table close to the small stage with a woman she had met just hours earlier. They were both attending a three-day insurance conference at the Gates Hotel on West Forty-fourth Street. Kit’s crutches, her constant companions since foot surgery two weeks earlier, were on the floor next to her.
“After those dry-as-dust seminars, I could use a few laughs,” Georgina had said to Kit during the cocktail and buffet reception. “It looks like you could, too. One of the bellmen told me there’s a new comedy club not far from here. I’m trying to get a group together to leave this shindig as soon as the head of the conference makes his speech and it’s safe for us to make our escape.” She rolled her eyes and pretended to yawn. “How about it?”
Kit laughed. “If we can get a cab and the place is air-conditioned, I’m game,” she said jovially, thinking it sounded like a good idea. Apparently no one else did. It ended up being just the two of them heading out for a taste of New York City nightlife.
Within minutes, Kit realized that she and Georgina were not on the path to a long and beautiful friendship. Georgina never stopped talking during the short cab ride to the club, swatting Kit’s arm for emphasis every time she made a point. Her electric blue eyes darted around the cab, occasionally fixating on Kit with a disconcerting stare before turning away again. Kit learned that Georgina was single, hated her job, and was trying very hard to quit smoking. Attractive in an offbeat way, she was tall with long, brassy brown hair streaked with wide blond highlights, long bangs, and interesting features. Funky jewelry accessorized her simple, black summer sheath. Her long bronze nails matched her hair.
As they sat waiting for the show to start, a fidgety Georgina downed her margarita and then grabbed her purse off the floor. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really need a smoke. I’ll be right back.”
“Not at all,” Kit began, “but I think they’re about to start the show—”
Georgina hadn’t waited for a response. She was already heading for the door, squeezing her way through the tables that were crammed together.
Kit sighed. When nobody else wanted to join us, I should have just gone up to my room and watched a movie, she thought, suddenly aware that she was exhausted. Her foot started to ache. She longed to be back at the hotel, stretched out on her bed. Oh well, at least tomorrow night I’ll be with Regan and Jack. She hadn’t seen them since Memorial Day weekend when they’d been at Regan’s parents’ beach house in the Hamptons and gone through hundreds of wedding photos, dissecting every moment of Regan and Jack’s big day.
Kit had had a great time at the reception even though she hadn’t met anyone special. The one friend of Jack’s Regan really wanted to introduce her to had called the morning of the wedding to say he couldn’t make it. A girl he’d just started dating had been in a minor car accident and called him from the emergency room. He was on his way there. Turns out the damsel in distress had a couple of bruises and a fat lip that she milked for all it was worth. Now they were engaged. Just my luck, Kit thought, glancing around and checking out the crowd. I don’t think there’s anyone here who wants to fall in love with me while I recover from a bunionectomy. She then eyed the stage. Sitting this close to the action can be dangerous in a comedy club, she thought. But she’d been seated there to keep her sore foot out of harm’s way.
Minutes passed. Where is Georgina? Kit wondered. Finally a spotlight started bouncing around the room, and a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please turn off your cell phones, pagers, BlackBerries, and anything else that’s sure to annoy your fellow man. And now, please welcome to Larry’s Laughs, straight from Paramus, New Jersey, Mr. Billy Peebler!”
The audience applauded as a cute twenty-something
guy with dark, curly hair ran onto the stage with great enthusiasm. Clad in jeans, sneakers, and a black T-shirt, he had a boyish charm. His brown eyes were twinkling, and he was smiling broadly, but Kit got the feeling he was slightly nervous. Who wouldn’t be? she thought. Coming out onto a bare stage to tell jokes takes a lot of guts.
“Hey, everybody,” Billy called out. “Good to see you.” He pulled the microphone out of the stand, held it in his hands, and paused.
“Tell a joke!” a guy in the back yelled.
“Give me a chance, buddy!” Billy answered with a smile. “Have you ever heard of comic timing?”
“I’ve never heard of you!” the heckler answered loudly.
Billy ignored him. “You know it’s so hot out there, this afternoon I stopped for a nice cold one in my neighborhood pub. I was sitting there minding my own business when a horse wandered in. The bartender says to him, ‘Why the long face?’”
Kit chuckled as did most of the audience. As Billy paused, even more of them laughed.
“You know what the horse said?” Billy finally asked.
“I don’t care!” the heckler yelled.
A now irritated Kit turned in the direction of the heckler and shouted, “Be quiet!”
Billy looked down at her and smiled. “Did my mother send you here tonight?”
Before Kit could answer, the spotlight went out.
“Someone was smart enough to pull the plug!” the heckler yelled in the room now dimly lit by just the small candles on each table. The whir of the air conditioner stopped, groaned, and sputtered to a halt.
“There’s been a blackout!” someone cried from the doorway to the bar area.
“A blackout!”
“Oh no!”
“Let’s get out of here!”
“I have to get home!”
People quickly jumped up, some accidentally knocking their chairs into each other. The darkened room suddenly felt stifling. Within seconds there was near pandemonium as waiters tried to collect money for the drinks and patrons were crowding the exit.
I guess it’s a good thing I sat up front, Kit thought. My foot definitely would have been trampled if I were in the middle of this bedlam. I’ll just wait here for a few minutes. With any luck Georgina will be outside and we’ll manage to find a cab.