Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I can assure you he didn’t look formal,” Lois scoffed. “As a matter of fact, his shirt looked too tight.”

  “Too tight? Is he putting on weight?”

  “How would I know? But he looked really muscular. His biceps were big.”

  “Muscular?” Abigail repeated incredulously. “It was that noticeable?”

  “Wasn’t he in good shape last time you saw him?”

  “He was. But no one would have looked at him in short sleeves and said ‘Whoa, there goes a muscular man.’”

  “I’m not calling that thief a muscleman, but his arms definitely looked brawny. I’m in the business, so that’s something I’d notice. The night you met him he had on a jacket, so I didn’t get a look at his arms. Not that I cared.”

  “Valentine’s Day,” Abigail said with disgust. “Can you believe it, Lo? We should have stayed home. Single girls who go out on Valentine’s Day are asking for trouble. Jerks know that you wouldn’t be out alone if you had someone in your life. If your boyfriend was out of town, you’d be sitting home eating the chocolates he sent you.”

  “Or admiring his roses,” Lois said as she stared at a close-up on television of a woman’s hand caressing a bottle of dishwashing liquid. “This Valentine’s Day I’m staying home with the doors locked.”

  Abigail sighed. “Maybe he spent my money on a lifetime’s gym membership.”

  “He looked healthy.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Sorry.”

  “All right, Lois. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Any recommendations on what we should order at Jimbo’s?”

  “Nothing. The food was lousy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I ordered a burger and it was incredibly greasy. The French fries were disgusting.”

  “What did your friend have?”

  “He had a salad. It didn’t look particularly inspiring.”

  “Who was your friend?” Regan interjected. “I wonder if he noticed anything about Cody that would be helpful.”

  “He was the male model from the shoot. But he was in the bathroom when Cody made his brief appearance.”

  “Oh,” Regan answered. “Well, we’ll see what we can find.”

  When she hung up, Lois flicked off the television and turned out the light. She was so tired, and tomorrow would be a long day. Abigail’s birthday. Poor Abigail was in such a mess. I have to help her hunt down that jerk, Lois thought as she started to fall asleep. I just have to. He shouldn’t be able to get away with what he’d done to her.

  Or me.

  10

  When Regan and Abigail walked into Jimbo’s it wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people enjoying themselves to create a buzz. The place had the feeling of a relaxed neighborhood bar, unlike some of the more upscale restaurants that had sprung up since the renovation of downtown Los Angeles.

  “Lois must have been sitting over there,” Regan said, pointing to the tables by the window. “Let’s grab a couple of seats at the bar.”

  “Hello, ladies,” the bartender said with a smile as they sat down. “What can I get you?” he asked as he quickly ran a cloth over the counter in front of them. He looked young, with curly brown hair, a broad frame, and silver hoops of various sizes attached to his right ear.

  They both ordered red wine.

  “Coming right up.”

  A moment later Regan and Abigail clinked glasses. Abigail took a sip, turned, and looked past Regan toward the window. “I can’t believe he was about to come in here last night. He was right outside! Ugh!”

  Regan glanced around. “You know, Abigail, something tells me if he was coming into a place like this by himself at that hour, he must be staying nearby.”

  “Maybe,” Abigail said. “There are beautiful apartments around here. But Cody always wanted to be around West Hollywood, where more of the young film crowd hangs out. I think he’d come down here for fun sometimes but not to live.”

  Regan nodded. “You could be right. Can I see his picture?”

  Abigail put down her glass. “It’s right in my wallet, where it’s been since he disappeared. I’ve been carrying it just in case, just in case I don’t know what, maybe I’ll run into someone who might have seen him somewhere.” She reached into her bag. “It makes me sick,” she said when she handed Regan the photo. “I took this picture of him when he came to visit me on the set in Montana. On my day off we drove around and stopped at a beautiful lake. I always kept this picture at my station in the hair and makeup trailer. What a joke.”

  Regan stared at the picture of a smiling Cody leaning back on a park bench, his arms outstretched, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In the background an expansive lake shimmered with the lights of a beautiful sunset. Clad in jeans and a white shirt, there was no denying he was handsome.

  “Why would he bother visiting me on location if he didn’t care about me?” Abigail asked. “This was only last August. He looks happy, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” Regan said. “And I’m sure he liked you. But people do stupid things after they borrow money. Who knows what he was getting himself into?”

  “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be,’ my grandmother always said. I should have listened.” Abigail took another sip of her drink. “I wonder what’s going on with that stupid movie of his. I had no way of getting in touch with that idiot, Dean. And Cody wasn’t allowed to tell me anything about the script because Dean was so afraid someone would steal their ideas. Give me a break!”

  “Abigail, we’re going to get up early tomorrow morning and hit the ground running,” Regan said. She waved at the bartender who hurried over.

  “Can we order some food?”

  “Absolutely. Our specials are up on the blackboard. I also have menus.”

  “Before we look at them I have a question for you.” Regan showed him Cody’s picture. “We’re looking for this guy. We heard he was headed here last night but never came in. Have you ever seen him? Maybe he was in here another night.”

  The bartender studied the photo. “No. Sorry. Did something happen to him?” he asked as he handed it back.

  “Not exactly. He saw someone we know sitting at a window table and changed his mind about coming in.”

  “I wasn’t here last night. You can ask the waiters about him, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks.”

  But none of the waiters had ever seen him. One of them, who had worked the night before, handed back the photo and said almost accusingly, “Did I hear you say another friend of yours was in here last night sitting by the window?”

  Regan pointed. “A friend of Abigail’s. We think that when he saw her, he changed his mind about coming in.”

  “Well, honey, I can see why.” The waiter mimed pulling on a pair of gloves. “Was that your friend?” he asked Abigail.

  “Yes, she always wears gloves.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She’s very high-strung. I never heard someone complain so much about a burger. Please!”

  Abigail made a face. “Sorry about that. She’s not bad when you get to know her.”

  “I don’t want to get to know her. That guy she was with must have gotten indigestion. But let me tell you something. For all her complaining, she cleaned her plate. I kept wishing she’d just take off those gloves and pick up her burger with her hands!”

  “She’s a hand model. She’s afraid of taking off her gloves in public in case anything happens to them.”

  “I know. She told me as soon as I handed her the menu.”

  “The guy is a hand model, too,” Regan said quickly.

  “Really? At least he didn’t wear gloves. Let me tell you something. I hope she never walks through this door again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take care of my tables.”

  “Lois certainly makes an impression,” Regan said with a smile. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  They ordered chicken wings and stuffed mushrooms and small bowls of chi
li. Everything was delicious.

  Abigail was getting one last bite out of a chicken wing when she suddenly turned to Regan. “You don’t think I’ll have any more trouble with the police about the old man’s murder, do you?”

  Talk about a cause for indigestion, Regan thought. She slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. You haven’t been there in months. He might have been mad at you but that doesn’t make you a murderer.”

  “It was so strange when they were questioning me. I can’t explain it.”

  “I’m sure it was difficult,” Regan sympathized. “Being questioned about a homicide is not exactly idle chitchat.”

  Abigail insisted on paying the bill. They left the bar and drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes. It was nearly midnight on a Monday. All was quiet.

  “Regan, you must be exhausted,” Abigail said. “Let’s head back.”

  “Which house are we staying in?”

  “A little place that’s owned by one of the actors who worked on the movie where I had the accident.”

  “Really?”

  “He felt terrible when I was injured. Then I ran into him at the supermarket after I found out I had to move. He was leaving town for three months to do a movie in Europe and asked if I’d like to house-sit.”

  “He sounds like a nice guy,” Regan said. “Those producers probably wouldn’t be happy if they learned he’s helping you out.”

  “Those producers would love nothing better than if I just disappeared.”

  Oh swell, Regan thought as they headed west on the highway. She looked at her watch. It was midnight. “Happy Birthday, Abigail.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”

  11

  After Dean dropped the lovebirds off downtown, he drove straight to a twenty-four-hour gym in West Hollywood. Never had he felt such a burning need to work off a little steam and start building up his pecs. He had passed Nonstop Fitness a thousand times but had never darkened its doorstep. Now was the time. It had been an unbelievably horrible day, and Cody was driving him crazy. Not long ago, Dean had been handed a promotional one-day membership pass that he’d stuffed in his wallet. It was due to expire at the end of the month.

  In the past, Dean had been too cheap to buy a health club membership. For the last couple of years he’d been in and out of town, working all over the country as a production assistant on movies. Most of his exercise consisted of scurrying around the set, following the orders of assistant directors who communicated only at the top of their lungs. Occasionally Dean jogged, but he had never been tempted to make a habit of it. The runner’s high had thus far eluded him. Any slight feeling of well-being that he’d experienced was quickly forgotten. Finally tonight he realized that, if only for his sanity, he needed to hit the gym.

  Nonstop Fitness was on Santa Monica Boulevard in the heart of West Hollywood. Not surprisingly, there were no parking spaces in front. Dean wasn’t sure if the lot in the building was complimentary for customers of the health club, and he wasn’t about to take any chances. Paying for parking tonight at the airport had already been irritating enough. Slowly he drove around the blocks near the gym, finally locating a small space on a darkened side street.

  Curling his tongue as he concentrated, it took Dean three tries to parallel park his no-name sedan in the tight spot. He finally squeezed in without setting off anyone’s car alarm. No wonder I don’t do this kind of thing more often, he thought as he grabbed his bag and got out of the car. He opened the trunk that Stella thought contained a dirty flat tire, dropped the bag inside, and grabbed the pair of sneakers that he kept on hand in case he was out all day and his feet started to hurt. He might not use sneakers to exercise much, but they always felt comfortable. He pushed the trunk closed, and headed up the block. It felt good to walk in the cool, refreshing night air. One thing about Los Angeles, he thought, you can’t beat the weather.

  Inside the health club, a buff young man at the desk eyed him with a wary expression. “Can I see your membership card?” he asked.

  “I have one of those free passes.”

  “May I have it, please?”

  Dean handed it over. “Is there anyone who can show me how to use the weight machines?”

  “At this hour?” the receptionist asked scornfully. “You must be kidding. We stay open late only out of consideration to our clients whose schedules preclude them from getting here during normal hours. If you’d like to hire a trainer, I can call someone who will be here within thirty minutes.”

  “No thanks. I’ll let them get their beauty sleep. I need to buy a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.”

  Ten minutes later, after changing in the locker room, Dean got in the elevator and went up one flight. When the door opened onto the cavernous space, he was overwhelmed. Cardio and weight machines were spread out as far as the eye could see. His heart sank. I came here to relieve stress, he thought. I must be crazy. The people working out on the machines looked as if they’d been born there. He was reminded of the cool kids in his class in high school who hung out perilously close to his locker. He had always done his best to avoid them.

  Dean headed for a row of treadmills that were unoccupied, found one that didn’t look too complicated, and climbed on. He set the machine for a 45-minute program. He’d recently heard that was how long you should exercise if you really wanted to shake up those endorphins and feel better about your life. Let’s see if it makes a dent, he thought, as his feet started to move.

  After a couple of minutes Dean was bored out of his mind. I hate this, he thought. Just keep going, he told himself. One foot in front of the other. He thought about the investors they had to meet with tomorrow to close the deals. There were two of them, and neither of them was particularly interested in the art of filmmaking. One was a wealthy older man who loved the movies. When their film was ready, he planned to have a screening for his friends followed by a big party.

  “What I like is that your movie will only last thirty minutes,” he’d said. “That’s long enough. Any longer and my friends will start to nod off.”

  The second potential investor was a young woman, recently divorced from a very wealthy husband. She seemed bored with her life and spent most of her days shopping. She’d better not fall in love with Cody, Dean thought. I’ll go out of my mind.

  Then on Wednesday they’d be meeting with a retired couple who always wanted to be in show business. Their son had a house in Vermont and they planned to visit him at the end of January. If they invested, they wanted to spend some time on the set. They had already suggested that their grandchildren could be extras. Dear God, Dean had thought. He’d had no choice but to agree.

  “You’ll have to come by for lunch,” he’d told them.

  Now let’s see if they all fork over the money, Dean worried as the treadmill started to move faster. It’s only twenty-five thousand dollars each, but he and Cody needed every cent. The expenses just kept piling up. Now they’d have to entertain Stella for the next few days at restaurants that weren’t known for their bargains.

  Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far, Dean complimented himself, as sweat dripped from his brow. Forty. The treadmill started the cool-down phase. Dean was elated. I did it, he thought. I did it. Forty-two. Forty-three. I’ll lift some weights and then I’ll head back to that dumpy apartment in Malibu. People thought if you had a Malibu address it meant something. They should see the hovel he had rented last year. I won’t have to live there much longer, he promised himself. And tonight it won’t bother me as much. Forty-five minutes. The treadmill stopped.

  Dean sighed with relief. He turned and stepped off the machine. He felt light-headed but in a good way. Going for forty-five minutes does seem to make a big difference, he thought. He felt as if he was still moving. But wait…Something was wrong. The whole building was shaking! People started to scream and run toward the doorways. Dean grabbed the handlebars of the treadmill but it was too late. He fell down o
n his behind.

  Another earthquake had hit Los Angeles.

  As people ran for cover, Dean put his head down and shielded it with his hands. It’s all right, he thought sarcastically. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. By the time the quake stopped, he realized that it hadn’t lasted that long, maybe ten or fifteen seconds. He tried to pull himself up. Now my back hurts. Free pass or not I have to get out of here.

  The locker room was crowded with people who just wanted to grab their stuff and get home. The quake had been relatively minor, but there was always the threat of aftershocks.

  Dean didn’t even take the time to change. Back out on the street, car alarms were blaring everywhere. Something told him to hurry. He started to jog but he couldn’t. His back was too sore. Moving as quickly as he could, he made it down the block, turned the corner, and inhaled sharply. The trunk of his car was upright! Once or twice when he’d shut it, it didn’t catch. He hadn’t realized until he went to open it again. The jolt of the earthquake must have caused it to fly open! Pain or no pain, he tore across the street.

  “Oh, no!” he yelped. “No!”

  Not only did his trunk not contain a dirty flat tire, but there was no trace of his precious bag. The bag that contained all his important information about the movie.

  Tuesday, January 13th

  12

  I always loved Laurel Canyon,” Regan said as Abigail made a right turn off Sunset Boulevard and they started their ascent into the Hollywood Hills.

  “Me, too,” Abigail answered. “It has a special charm. You feel as if you’re miles away from all the craziness, but you’re not. And I love all these twists and turns,” she said as she steered the car around one bend, then another, before making a right turn onto a narrow but steep lane. The car grunted as Abigail switched gears and pressed harder on the gas.

  “We’re gaining altitude,” Regan commented.

  “We sure are.”