Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I’m okay. I’m in New York City.”

  “In the middle of the blackout? Your mother didn’t tell me that.”

  “I’m with Dodie and some of my friends. I was supposed to sleep at Dodie’s parents’ house down here tonight but I don’t feel well.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “This heat is so gross. It’s like I can’t breathe or something. We’re out and have been having fun, but all of a sudden I feel really bad. I’d love to come up to your place tonight. I know you have the generator and I can sleep with air-conditioning, which I know would make me feel better.”

  Conrad rolled his eyes. She’s calling because she wants something, he thought. But it’s better than not hearing from her. And until now she had always refused to sleep at this house.

  “I’d never ask if I didn’t know you’d given Lorraine the boot and she was staying at the Treetops Hotel here in the City.”

  “I gather you spoke with your mother,” Conrad said wryly.

  “Yes. She suggested I call and see if there was any possible way you could come and pick me up. I really don’t feel well, and Dodie’s family’s apartment is going to be so hot and horrible. I feel short of breath.”

  My little baby, Conrad thought. He knew she was just fine but was a creature of comfort who didn’t want to spend even one uncomfortable night sweating. Grandma Spreckles would spin in her grave with all the hours she’d spent over a hot stove stirring pots filled with chocolate. Too bad, Grandma, Conrad thought. “Where are you, darling? Of course I’ll come get you.”

  “Thank you, Daddy! I’m at Lonnie’s, a bar on the Upper East Side.”

  “You’re not twenty-one yet.”

  “I will be in twelve days.”

  “Never mind. Where is it?”

  “On Eighty-eighth Street and Second Avenue, right across the street from Elaine’s. I know you ate there a lot with Lorraine. Don’t come in or anything. Just call when you get close. Take your time, Daddy. I don’t want you to rush or anything.”

  “Of course, dear. I hope you don’t get any sicker before I get there.”

  “I won’t. Love you! Bye!”

  Conrad hung up the phone. I’m getting my daughter back, he thought happily. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to get my revenge with Lorraine. He stood for a moment thinking about what he could do to make her life miserable. “Ahhh,” he finally grumbled, then headed for his closet. “I’ll brainstorm in the car.” He laughed heartily. If there was anyone on earth who could think up ways to make Lorraine’s life utterly miserable, it was Alexis.

  19

  Emergency workers all over New York City were rescuing people from elevators, firefighters were battling fires started by overturned candles, police were patrolling the streets to maintain order, and Georgina and Chip were on the hunt for a bottle of champagne to share on a park bench.

  They couldn’t find one anywhere.

  They’d gone to Lexington Avenue and walked north several blocks, then south on Third. The liquor stores they passed were all closed, their gates pulled down and locked. One owner was sitting in the front of his store with several of his friends, guarding against looters. He was friendly but was not about to open up for them.

  The bars they tried wouldn’t sell them liquor to go.

  “What does it take to get a bottle of champagne in this town?” Georgina joked as they stood on the corner of Third Avenue and Fiftieth Street. Her anxiety was starting to build. Cute and boyish, Chip reminded her so much of Huck. He must be four or five years younger than me, Georgina thought. He’s being nice to me tonight, but he’d never be interested in pursuing a relationship. Her anxiety heightened, and she started to feel angry. He’d end up dumping me just like Huck did.

  Chip put his arm around her shoulder. “I feel like we’re on a scavenger hunt.” He kissed the top of her head. “Your hair smells good.”

  “Thanks.”

  He reached down and started to push her bangs to the side.

  “Don’t do that,” Georgina said quickly.

  “Sorry. Why not?”

  “I look better with bangs, that’s all.”

  He started to laugh. “Rose, there are no lights out here. I can barely see your face.” He kept on laughing.

  Georgina tried to laugh along with him, just like she did when Huck teased her. Huck, whom she met the first week of college and became the first person she’d felt close to since her grandmother died. They were always together that fall semester. She was so happy. Finally she felt loved again. And she loved him with all her heart. At a raucous party one night at Huck’s fraternity, a brother brought out a flaming hot wire in the shape of a Greek letter. “Initiation time for our new members,” he’d cried. “If you are truly committed to our brotherhood, you should proudly wear our symbol on your body for the rest of your lives. It’s a badge of honor!”

  Huck, who’d been drinking heavily, was about to succumb to peer pressure, and allow himself to be branded. Fiercely protective, Georgina managed to whisk him away. The next day he told her he would be eternally grateful. The branding caused a major uproar at the school, and one of Huck’s branded fraternity brothers developed a serious infection.

  Three weeks later, the day they were leaving for Christmas break, Huck did the unthinkable. He dumped her. Even worse, he did it over the phone.

  “I need some space,” he told her. “I don’t want to be in a relationship right now.”

  Georgina’s roommate, who claimed she was switching rooms after the break so she could live with a girlfriend who had the same major and they could study together, had tried to comfort a weeping Georgina as they both were packing their bags.

  “He’s not worth it,” she insisted. “You’ll meet somebody else. You’re so pretty and so much fun.”

  In a daze, Georgina took a campus cab to the bus terminal downtown. When her bus came, she couldn’t bring herself to board with the other happy passengers who were carrying gifts and chatting about their plans for the holidays. She just sat there for two hours, staring into space. She didn’t want to go home and have to face her mother. Finally she picked up her suitcase and hailed a cab back to her dorm. She’d decided to stay one more night.

  When she opened the door to her room, Huck was lying on the bed, cuddling with her roommate. The memory filled Georgina with rage. For weeks, they’d been seeing each other behind Georgina’s back. Georgina dropped out of school, never to attend another college.

  “…I mean,” Chip continued, “we’re in a blackout!”

  Georgina pulled herself back to the present.

  “I’m going to have to think up some blackout jokes,” he said. “Honey, do these shoes match my outfit?…What? Who’s going to notice?”

  Chip was making fun of her.

  He tapped her nose with his index finger. “Rose, you are a character.”

  “Is that what you think I am?”

  “I do.” He looked around. “Since we’re not having much luck with the champagne, why don’t we walk over to Fifth Avenue and find that park bench? We’ve already had a couple margaritas. We don’t need another drink, now do we?”

  Of course we do, Georgina thought. How else am I going to drug you, you idiot. She knew the knockout drops usually took effect within thirty minutes. Leaning her head against his chest, she purred, “I think it would be fun to have just one more margarita. Then we can take that walk. Okay?”

  “I told you, it’s your night. I know a couple of bars on the Upper East Side that make great margaritas. We can see who’s still serving.” He took her hand and they started heading uptown. “One of them is on Eighty-sixth Street.”

  He’s doing this on purpose, Georgina thought. He should know that area of town is going to make me sad.

  When he wakes up tomorrow he is going to be so sorry.

  So very sorry.

  20

  Jack Reilly and Keith Waters were standing in the front room of Zora’s Menagerie, the bran
d new SoHo gallery that had been burglarized. Zora’s was scheduled to have its opening reception the following Saturday, but the first show was up and had already created a buzz. Specializing in delicate quirky glass sculptures made by award-winning artists from all over the world, the magnificent glass slipper on display in the front window had caught the eye and imagination of many passersby. Now, like Cinderella, the slipper had disappeared into the night, along with more than twenty other glass sculptures. The remains of two of the works of art now covered the floor, smashed to smithereens. Only a handful of sculptures were left untouched.

  One of the owners of the gallery, Leon Peters, a man in his sixties with wet, white hair and flushed cheeks was having a meltdown. He couldn’t stop waving his arms as he ranted about the break-in and the gorgeous exhibit that had been destroyed. Having run straight from the pool in his apartment building several blocks away with his wife, Zora, he was wearing a Hawaiian bathing suit, matching shirt, and sandals.

  “Our treasures!” he cried. “Zora and I opened this gallery to realize our dream. We both love the play The Glass Menagerie—we saw it on our first date thirty-five years ago. We both love glass sculptures. After I retired, it finally dawned on us that we should share our love of glass with others. We felt it was our destiny to bring people together in a gallery that was spiritual and aesthetic. People who are sensitive to glass! We worked years to make this happen!”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jack said.

  “Did you know that the Bible stated that glass was more precious than gold?” Leon asked, still motioning wildly.

  “No,” Jack answered sympathetically. But I guess the thieves must know, he thought.

  “I feel as if a piece of my soul is gone. Zora’s too! Some thug is probably damaging those sculptures as we speak. Some no good thug who never heard of bubble wrap! Those pieces have to be treated delicately. Every single one of them is worth tens of thousands of dollars. We traveled the world over to collect them. Each piece had its own wonderful story!”

  “I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to apprehend whoever did this, Mr. Peters,” Jack said, trying to calm the distraught man.

  “Why couldn’t the thieves have stuck to sneaker stores? I hear that’s where the big break-ins were during the last blackout.” Peters turned at the sound of his wife’s voice. She’d been in the back office. “Zora, darling, come here. Be careful of the broken glass.”

  Zora, a plain, petite woman with a dark tan, was about the same age as her husband. It was obvious that she too had hurried out of a swimming pool. Her wet black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and bobby-pinned to the back of her head, and she was wearing a muumuu in the same tropical print as her husband’s trunks. “If I got my hands on whoever did this, I’d wring their necks,” she pronounced. “The world is full of selfish people. Selfish people who don’t know right from wrong.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Jack said quietly.

  “We had so many plans,” she continued. “Glass is what you’re supposed to give as a present for fifteenth wedding anniversaries. Once a month, Leon and I were going to host a party for couples who were marking such a happy occasion.” She shook her head. “I suppose that’s going to have to wait until their sixteenth anniversary, now isn’t it?”

  “Not if we can apprehend whoever did this,” Jack answered. “We have a great team of detectives—”

  “All we know is that they broke through the backdoor and the alarm system was out because of this blackout!” Leon cried. “They didn’t leave any clues! I’d like to sue the power company!”

  Calmly Jack said, “Why don’t you two go home and get some rest? I’ll have one of my men stand guard here until tomorrow when we can get the door replaced and when we hopefully have the power back on.”

  “I’m not abandoning ship!” Leon cried.

  “But, dear, we’re both wearing wet bathing suits,” Zora said practically.

  “It’s boiling hot in here! They’ll keep us cool.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  A few moments later, Jack and Keith left the gallery and got into Jack’s car. They both sighed.

  “This has been some night,” Jack said.

  “It sure has.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “What?” Keith asked anxiously.

  “You know Regan called twice about the crazy woman Kit was with,” he said, reaching into his glove compartment. He pulled out the plastic bag with the small stun gun. “Before we got home tonight, someone broke into our loft. Regan walked in on them but didn’t realize it until she went up on the roof when the blackout struck and they locked her out. They made their escape but accidentally left this behind.” He handed the bag to Keith. “I want to bring it to the office and get it traced.”

  “Someone broke into your apartment? Are you kidding me?” Keith said as he stared at the weapon.

  “I wish I were. Now Regan is out on the hunt with Kit for a wacky woman who brands the men she picks up in bars. And a Chip Jones is somewhere in this city, not knowing how badly his evening is going to end.” Jack started the car.

  “Do you want to send detectives over to your apartment now to investigate the break-in?” Keith asked.

  Jack shook his head. “That can wait. There’s too much else going on right now. Sometimes these wackos go over the edge. I’d like to help Regan locate this poor guy before he ends up in a dark alley.”

  21

  Lorraine and Clay were passing through the lobby of the Treetops Hotel when the hotel greeter, a man in his fifties with a smooth face and a blank expression, clad in an outfit that resembled that of a Buckingham Palace guard, stopped them.

  “Miss Lily,” he said solicitously. “Are you enjoying your stay here at the Treetops?”

  Lorraine flashed her Hollywood smile. “It’s marvelous. Couldn’t be better.”

  The greeter nodded. “I’m so pleased. May I be of assistance to you in any way?”

  “Could you get us a cab?”

  He smiled. “Why on earth would you want to leave your home away from home, especially during the blackout? Why not stay here and enjoy a meal in our air-conditioned lounge? Our piano player just got here. He is taking requests.”

  Lorraine wanted to scream but kept smiling. “We’re both actors. We want to feel the pulse of the city on a night like this. With any luck, one of these days we’ll be in a movie about a blackout. If we don’t go out now, what experience would we have to draw on?” She tilted her head flirtatiously.

  Bowing slightly, the greeter replied, “Of course. And I do hope that, should you play such a role in the future, you mention that you were able to come back to the Treetops Hotel and relax in luxurious comfort after you completed your research.” He sounded as if he were reciting a line from a canned speech.

  “I’ll make sure the Treetops Hotel is listed in the closing credits,” Lorraine laughed. “Now how about that cab?”

  “At your service. Your wish is my command.”

  Lorraine and Clay followed him out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. The only lights were from the headlights of the cars that were slowly passing by, none of them cabs. The greeter blew his whistle over and over, ever more frantically, but it was all in vain.

  There were no cabs anywhere.

  “Can you call us a car service?” Lorraine asked.

  “I tried before for someone else. None of them are answering their phones.”

  “Most luxury hotels have some sort of car that they use to transport guests around town,” Lorraine said. “Don’t you have one of those?”

  The greeter looked personally wounded. “We weren’t expecting to open tonight. We have a limited staff,” he said defensively. “The employees of the Treetops Hotel are doing their best to ensure your comfort under these conditions.”

  Lorraine reached in her purse and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “I know you are. We’ll walk. Don’t worry.”

  The
hurt look vanished as the greeter stuffed the bill in his pocket. “We look forward to welcoming you back to your home away from home.”

  Not as much as I look forward to getting back, Lorraine thought. “Clay, let’s walk over to Fifth Avenue and see if we have any luck.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Clay muttered as they started along Central Park South. The street was dark and fairly quiet. There weren’t many people out. On Fifth Avenue there wasn’t a cab to be had. They might as well have been standing out in a cow pasture.

  “Let’s start walking,” Clay suggested.

  Lorraine groaned. Within two blocks, her feet were aching again. She was wearing her five inch heels, the ones she’d put on in her hotel in England. It was hard to believe that that was less than twenty hours ago.

  As they walked south, Clay kept his eye on the road, constantly signaling for a cab or any car that might stop and pick them up. It was hopeless and strange. Strange to be on Fifth Avenue in New York City in almost total darkness and realize there was no way to get a ride downtown. Normally there was always a gypsy cab or a car service driver who wanted to make a buck between jobs. But tonight people who usually took the subway, something Lorraine would never even consider, spent their money on cars.

  Lorraine kept teetering along. “Let’s stop for a minute,” she whined. “I’m getting blisters.”

  “Why are you wearing those shoes?”

  “I told you. The airlines lost my luggage.”

  “Those are hardly traveling shoes.”

  “I have to look my best, especially when I’m traveling. You never know when you might meet a producer or director in the first class lounges or end up next to one of them on the plane.”

  “I wouldn’t know. My seat is always in the back in the ultra-ultraeconomy section. Usually next to a screaming kid.”

  Lorraine sighed. “Clay, I can’t walk all the way down to Tribeca like this. I just can’t.”

  “Isn’t the thought of getting those letters back giving you strength?”