Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “How was she dressed?”

  “Respectfully, as one should when visiting the deceased. Black pants, a flowered blouse. She wore big sunglasses. Oh!” Beatrice said quickly, pointing her index finger in the air. “Wait…I have something she left behind in the bathroom.”

  “What would that be?” Nelson asked, his heart quickening.

  Beatrice opened her drawer. “I put it in my desk and was planning to give it to whoever was going to work this Sunday and ask them to give it to Nicky.” She pulled out a small white plastic bottle. “I can’t tell whether it’s a cream or a cleanser. What I can tell is that it must be expensive. It’s not a prescription, but it comes from a doctor’s office in Beverly Hills.”

  She handed the white plastic bottle to Nelson. “Don’t you love that?” she asked with a giggle. “Dr. Cleary—Dermatologist to the Stars.”

  Nelson looked at Vormbrock, then back to Beatrice. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take this with us.”

  “Of course.”

  Nelson turned to the others who’d been hanging on every word. “Did any of you have contact with this red-haired woman?”

  No one had spoken to her.

  “What kind of car did she drive?”

  Some kind of white sedan was all anyone remembered.

  “Thank you for your time.” Nelson turned to Beatrice and gave her his card. “If there’s anything else you think of, or if Nicky’s companion stops by here or calls, please let me know right away.”

  “Do you think that woman could have killed Nicky?” Beatrice asked, her eyes widening.

  “I’m not saying that. We just want to talk to anyone who knew him,” Nelson answered evasively. “By the way, where is Nicky’s wife’s grave?”

  “Section 7. On the right-hand side of the road leading out to the gate.”

  Vormbrock and Nelson hurried back to the car. Vormbrock quickly started the engine. “You think we’ll be having a chat with Gloria Carson sooner rather than later?” he asked as he backed out of the parking space.

  “I hope so.” Nelson held up the white plastic bottle. “I’m dying to know if this is cream or cleanser.”

  53

  When Regan and Abigail got in the car outside of Jimbo’s, Abigail called the airlines. “Oh my God, Regan, her flight is arriving early,” Abigail lamented. “They must have picked up speed.”

  “How early?” Regan asked.

  “Fifteen minutes. Maybe Grandma lent the captain her broom.”

  “Abigail!”

  “I’m kidding. She’s not a witch. I’m the witch, remember? My grandma is a nice woman. But she’s tough and I’m scared.”

  “I thought all you could think about now is how happy you are that I’m still alive. Has that feeling of relief worn off already?” Regan asked with a smile.

  Abigail laughed heartily. “I know in the grand scheme of things that this problem is not earth shattering. But wait till you meet her.”

  The traffic was predictably heavy. Every five minutes Abigail had Regan call to check the status of the flight.

  “It’s gained fifteen seconds,” Regan said after the third call.

  “I’m sorry, Regan. I know I’m being ridiculous. We’ll get there when we get there.”

  The time was 4:38 when Abigail turned off the highway onto the road leading to the airport. “The flight lands in seven minutes,” she said nervously.

  “Drive straight to the baggage claim area,” Regan instructed. “You get out and wait for her. I’ll drive around. Call me when you’ve collected her bags.”

  “Okay.”

  Abigail pulled up to the curb, got out, and ran inside the terminal. She hurried to the area where friends, family, and drivers from car services waited for the passengers.

  On a screen on the wall, the word ARRIVED was flashing next to her grandmother’s flight number. It might as well say YOU’RE TOAST, Abigail thought as she caught her breath. Six minutes later the passengers started coming through. Lots of hugs and kisses.

  Where is she? Abigail wondered. Then she spotted the woman whom she loved dearly but at the moment wished was thousands of miles away. Grandma Ethel was coming through the door with a guy who looked like a wrestler. He was carrying her purse and wheeling a flowered carry-on. She was clutching her big black umbrella that doubled as a walking stick.

  “Grandma,” Abigail called out, hurrying over.

  “It’s the birthday girl!” Ethel said, giving Abigail a hug. She turned to the man. “Shark, say hello to my granddaughter Abigail.”

  Shark looked less than thrilled. “Hello. Here,” he said, handing over Ethel’s belongings.

  Abigail put the purse over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. “Thank you so very much,” she said.

  He grunted an inaudible response, and hurried off.

  “We sat next to each other,” Ethel said brightly. Her electric blue eyes were sparkling, each one accented with a slash of black eyeliner. That and one application of bright red lipstick was enough fussing for Ethel. Her dark hair was slightly streaked with gray. She’d swear to anyone who’d listen that she had never ever colored her hair, even though she had a granddaughter who’d do it for free. She had on her traveling outfit—sturdy shoes, black stretch pants, and an Indiana Hoosiers sweatshirt.

  “Let’s get your baggage, Grandma,” Abigail said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you check a bag?”

  “No. I fit everything into that little suitcase. I’ve got a dress that doesn’t wrinkle. I’ll wear that tonight. How much stuff do I need?”

  “Not a lot,” Abigail agreed.

  “Besides, I can’t stay for that long. I came here to get a job done. I want to get you a nest, girl, and then I want to get back home.”

  Abigail felt sick to her stomach. “My friend is circling the airport. Let me call her.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Regan Reilly. I used to live across the hall from her. She’s visiting me for a few days.”

  Ethel frowned. “Didn’t you tell me once she was a private investigator?”

  “Did I mention that to you?”

  “Sure did. I’ve got a mind like a steel trap. You should know that by now.”

  “Believe me, Grandma, I haven’t forgotten.”

  Three minutes later Regan pulled up. Abigail introduced them. “I forgot that I’d told my grandmother about you last year. She remembers that you’re a private investigator.”

  “Oh,” Regan said. “Uh-huh.”

  “Must be interesting work,” Ethel said, getting in the front seat as Regan got into the back. “Had any good cases lately?”

  “A few,” Regan answered.

  “I’d love to hear all about them.”

  Abigail decided to immediately go in for the sympathy vote. “Grandma, Regan saved my life today.”

  Ethel gasped. “What?”

  Abigail related the story.

  “A stalker!” Ethel said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  Ethel frowned. “That’s terrible. I hope you’re okay, Regan.”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

  “Makes me wonder if Mugs’s apartment will be secure enough for you, Abigail.”

  “It might not be,” Abigail replied a little too quickly.

  Ethel reached into her purse, pulled out her notebook, and wrote “Security Issues—priceless” in it. “I’ve got a list here, honey, of everything I can think of that might save us a cent while we’re negotiating the deal.”

  Abigail glanced in the rearview mirror at Regan, whose expression was priceless. I wish I had a camera, Abigail thought.

  “I called Mugs when I landed,” Ethel said, putting the notebook back in her purse. “I promised I would. Your father made me get a cell phone. I still have no idea how to use all the crazy doodads the kids think are so wonderful. Anyway, Mugs said to tell whoever you invited for dinner to come to her apartment first for a little birthday
toast.”

  “That’s very sweet,” Abigail said. “I asked two girlfriends to join us tonight.”

  “Call them now. We’ll start the celebration at what I hope will soon be your future home.”

  54

  At 5:00, Gloria bolted from the office and drove home as fast as she could without speeding. Those two detectives would just love to see me pulled over, wouldn’t they, she thought. It would prove to them that I’m a hopeless lawbreaker. I’m not only a murderer, but I also disobey traffic signs.

  She turned down her block. The parking space she’d had yesterday, right in front of her apartment, was available. Score one, she thought. She parked quickly and got out.

  Now I will do a reenactment of what happened yesterday, she told herself. Not a complete one, of course. I wouldn’t go near Nicky’s apartment with a ten-foot pole. Gloria threw her keys on the ground, leaned over and grabbed them, then straightened up. I know that something flickered in my brain when I did this yesterday, she thought. Did I see movement at Nicky’s window? His bedroom window and one of his living room windows face this block. He had shades that he pulled down at night, but he also had sheer curtains that gave him a degree of privacy during the day. Did I see the curtain flutter? Am I grasping at straws?

  Gloria sighed. Nicky was probably still alive when I got home. I was home for half an hour before I went to do laundry. When I found him, they said he hadn’t been dead for very long.

  If only I’d decided to do the wash sooner.

  Gloria turned, walked across the sidewalk, then slowly ascended the four steps to her apartment. She retrieved her mail from the mailbox on the wall next to her front door, then unlocked the door and went inside.

  She placed the mail on the hallway table, went into the kitchen to pour herself a cold drink, then turned on the television to check the news. None of her activities were ringing any bells.

  The key to the laundry shed was hanging on a hook by her back door. She scooped up a load of towels, took the key in her hand, and walked outside. The drab feeling of the tiny, paved backyard was softened by the numerous potted plants the tenants all contributed. A rickety glass table with three chairs completed the decor.

  Gloria unlocked the door of the shed and stepped inside. She took three steps to the washing machine, lifted the lid, and laughed out loud. The machine was filled with clothes. I don’t know why we bother with that sign, she thought, looking up. People remove their clothes immediately only if they sit here and read, and nobody seems to do that. She looked down at the basket of magazines and newspapers on the floor to the right of the machine. They were left there by tenants who no longer had use for them. Many of the magazines were so old that they really belonged in a recycling bin, Gloria often thought.

  But the gossip paper on top was surprisingly recent. One of the headlines was about yet another celebrity who had overdone the Botox. Gloria reached down and picked it up.

  When she saw the reading material that was now at the top of the pile, she gasped.

  “This is it!” she cried, leaning down and picking up a script. The words NOTHING BUT GARBAGE were scrawled above the title in Nicky’s handwriting. Gloria recognized the handwriting of everyone in the building. Collecting monthly rent checks made her a handwriting expert.

  The script was called UNTITLED.

  Gloria opened to the first page. Inside was a handwritten note on a plain sheet of white paper.

  Dear Mr. Tendril,

  We hope you enjoy our script and are so looking forward to coming to your home to discuss your involvement in our production.

  Sincerely,

  Dean Puntler

  Gloria looked at the cover page of the script. Whoever Dean Puntler is, wrote this, she realized. He and someone named Cody Castle. Had they been here yesterday? Gloria left the shed, quickly locked the door, and ran back inside her apartment. I’ve got to call those detectives, she thought wildly, looking around for the card they had given her.

  Her doorbell rang. She raced to answer it. Detective Nelson and Detective Vormbrock were standing on her porch.

  “Oh!” she cried. ‘’I’m so glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”

  “That’s funny,” Nelson said. “We have something to show you, too.” That tone of voice again! Gloria thought angrily. It was so aggravating. She’d show them. “Come in, please,” she said as civilly as she could.

  They took the same seats in her living room they had the previous day.

  Gloria ran to the kitchen and got the script. She ran back and held it up for them. “I just found this in the laundry room. I knew I saw something that struck me as unusual yesterday.”

  She handed the script to Nelson. Did she detect a surprised reaction?

  “Look at that note!” she said. “Maybe that Dean was here yesterday!”

  Nelson and Vormbrock’s faces remained impassive.

  “Will you try and get in touch with him’?” Gloria asked excitedly. “Or that other guy? That Cody Castle? I know there’s no phone number but there must be a way of finding them.”

  “We’ll look into that.”

  Frustration was building inside Gloria. They didn’t seem to care that she might have found the murderers.

  Detective Nelson pulled a clear plastic bag out of his pocket. The bag contained a white plastic bottle. “Does this look familiar?” he asked, holding it up.

  Gloria frowned. “Yes. It’s from Dr. Cleary’s line of skin care products.”

  “Do you use this product?”

  “It depends on which one it is.”

  Keeping the bag in his hand, Nelson brought it closer to Gloria’s face. She looked at the numbers on the label. “That’s an extra-strength lotion,” she said. “I would never use that. Very few people do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Go look in my cabinet. I use two of Dr. Cleary’s creams that are made for delicate skin.”

  “You use fancy creams, wear nice makeup, dress well,” Nelson said. “Do you ever bother with a wig? Maybe on those days your hair doesn’t look right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone accompanied Nicky Tendril out to his wife’s grave on Sunday. She left this lotion behind in the bathroom of the office. Apparently she was wearing a red wig.”

  Adrenaline shot through Gloria’s body. “That wasn’t me!” she cried. “And I have proof! There was a dermatologists’ convention in Long Beach on Sunday. Everyone from Dr. Cleary’s office was at the booth all day peddling his products! I was there from 8:00 in the morning until 8:00 at night!” she screamed, then ran to the phone. ‘’I’ll call him for you right now! Right now!”

  Nelson and Vormbrock jumped to their feet. “Please calm down,” Nelson said. “Please.”

  Reluctantly Gloria put down the phone.

  “Maybe you can help us,” Vormbrock said.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

  “Can you get the names of everyone who bought this lotion from Dr. Cleary?”

  “Of course. It could take some time but it’s probably on the computer at the office.”

  Nelson smiled. “Now I’d appreciate it if you called your boss. Ask him if he would open up his office for us.”

  “You’re in luck. He works until 8:00 tonight.”

  “That’s great. Could you come with us right away?”

  “What about those guys who wrote the script? Don’t you have any interest in finding them?”

  “More than you know. We’re going to call the station and report what you found. Are you ready to go?”

  “I’ll get my purse,” Gloria sniffed.

  55

  I love a hen party,” Mugs said gleefully as she passed around a tray of melon balls with prosciutto. “To have you girls here in my home reminds me of the old days when Harry and I used to entertain.”

  “Your apartment is lovely,” Regan said, then was sure Grandma Ethel shot her a dirty look.r />
  Mugs beamed. “You think so?”

  “Oh yes,” Regan gulped.

  “I love being right by the pool, having a terrace, the feeling of a resort,” Mugs continued, sounding like a real estate agent.

  “The kitchen floor needs to be replaced,” Ethel noted as she helped herself to a bowl of peanuts.

  Hopefully they’ll spend days haggling about the price, Regan thought. It buys us time to find Cody.

  Kaitlyn and Lois had arrived at the same time. They were both friendly, but Kaitlyn seemed subdued. She said she’d fought terrible traffic on her way up from Orange County and had had a tough day at work. Lois wasn’t nearly as bad as Regan expected, but true to form she had on a pair of long gloves. Tonight they were black, with glittery threads running through the material.

  The group had already discussed the stalker in great detail. It was nearly 7:30 and they had an 8:00 reservation at a family-style restaurant on La Cienega Boulevard.

  I can’t imagine how Abigail is feeling, Regan thought, glancing over at her. She was seated next to her grandmother on the couch. This is a lovely apartment that would be perfect for her. Now that she’s seen how charming it is, the whole situation must be eating her up inside. She must be frantic to get back out and look for Cody.

  Regan’s cell phone rang. She glanced down. It was a Los Angeles number. “Excuse me,” she said, as she got up and walked out on the terrace.

  It was Detective Nelson.

  “Ms. Reilly, I’ve got good news.”

  Regan’s pulse quickened. “What?” she asked quickly.

  “We’ve located Cody Castle.”

  The words sent an electrical charge through Regan’s body. “Where is he?”

  “It’s a long story. Last night his writing partner lost a bag containing their script and a lot of paperwork. It was found by a cop outside the police station a little while ago. They went through the bag at the station and found the partner’s date book. My colleagues knew that Detective Vormbrock and I were interested in talking to these guys and got in touch with me immediately. I called Dean and said we had the bag, and told him that I glanced at the script and thought it was so interesting…”