Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Adele, turn to page—”

  “No! Don’t you have any food here?” Adele demanded. “I’m starving and I feel faint.” She leaned back on the couch and started rubbing her head.

  Floyd looked up from his script. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we? No we wouldn’t. I need you to help me learn my lines. You’re not much of an actress, but”—he paused, rolled his eyes, and shook his head back and forth—“we weren’t all meant for the stage.”

  I’m acting now, Adele thought. I’m trying to appear confident even though I’m terrified. “Don’t you have any food in this house?”

  “It’s not my house! I arrived late last night. I’m sorry I didn’t go shopping, Adele. You’re very demanding.”

  “But I smelled coffee. And you made me tea with milk. Where did that come from?”

  Floyd threw the script on the chair. “My director, okay! He arranged with the real estate agent to have someone drop off a few provisions so I could have breakfast. English muffins, juice, coffee, tea bags, milk . . . that’s it! They certainly didn’t go overboard. I found a rotten tomato in the vegetable bin. I can slice that up for you.” He paused. “Would you like an English muffin?”

  “I’d like an omelette. With an English muffin on the side.”

  Floyd looked stunned. “With or without jelly?” he screamed as he paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair.

  “With.”

  Floyd stopped in his tracks.

  “Neither one of us had much food today,” Adele said softly. “You need to eat.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Floyd said sarcastically. Wearily he sat down on a chair. “I suppose I am a bit hungry. Don’t expect me to cook anything, though. And I’m not letting you near any sharp utensils. Takeout food is the answer. The cast said the food was good at the diner they went to this morning, but I was only half listening.”

  “There’s a diner down the road from the Castle called Fern’s. It’s probably where they went.”

  Floyd’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been there?”

  “Only once.”

  “You couldn’t have liked it much.”

  “The food was delicious. But I came to Cape Cod to be alone.”

  “Why?”

  “I was recently divorced and I wanted time to myself to think things through. If you recall, I told you there would be no one waiting at home for me.”

  “There’s no one waiting for me either, Adele. I’ve had three wives who’ve all flown the coop.”

  What a shock, Adele thought. I wonder what shape they’re in today.

  As if reading her mind, Floyd said, “One of them remarried, one swore off men, and the third is now dead.” He stood. “What can I get you at Fern’s?”

  “An omelette with everything, hold the mushrooms, well done.”

  “If you hold the mushrooms, then it’s not with everything.”

  “It’s easier than listing all the other ingredients.”

  “What are the other ingredients?”

  “I don’t know, Floyd!” Adele barked. “Whatever they have. Tomatoes, cheese, peppers, whatever.”

  Floyd ignored her outburst as he scribbled on his script. “Very well. Anything else?”

  “Chicken soup.”

  Floyd finished scribbling. “I’ll study my lines while they prepare the food.” He stood. “Back downstairs, my dear. But not for too long this time.” He smiled. “When I return we’ll eat, then get back to work. I want to have all my lines memorized for the reading tomorrow night.”

  “What reading?”

  “A reading at the Castle. It’s a fundraiser disguised as a cocktail party. Too bad I can’t invite you.”

  “I told you,” Adele said, her nose in the air, “I came here to be alone.”

  37

  When Regan, Dorie, and Dan hurried into the kitchen, Jack was still on the phone talking to his assistant. “Right,” he said. “Uh-huh.”

  Uh-huh what? Dan wondered frantically.

  “Thanks, Keith. Talk to you soon.” Jack hung up the phone. “The address on Adele Hopkins’s license is an apartment building in Chicago. My office is getting in touch with our contacts out there. They have already determined that no phone is listed at that address. The police will find out if there’s an apartment in her name. My guys are running a check on her license now to see what else might turn up.”

  “These days there are lots of people who only have cell phones,” Dan said anxiously. “Just because there isn’t a phone at that address doesn’t have to be bad news for us, right?

  “Not at all,” Jack answered. “A lot of people don’t bother with landlines anymore. Also, if Hopkins was recently divorced, this could be a temporary apartment and she wouldn’t have bothered to get a phone. As long as she used the apartment as her legal residence, we should be in good shape. She’d most likely receive mail there, that kind of thing. Somebody will go over to the building. She might have a family member living there now.”

  “Wouldn’t that be great?” Dan asked excitedly.

  Dorie glared at him. “Great for us, Dan, not for them.”

  “If there’s no one living there,” Jack continued, “they’ll question the doorman, if there is one. They’ll talk to the neighbors, that kind of thing.”

  “Worst-case scenario?” Dan asked, his voice a squeak.

  “Worst-case scenario?” Jack repeated. “She moved out and hadn’t changed her license yet. Left no forwarding address. No contact numbers on the paperwork for the apartment.”

  Dan sighed. “Like us. Except we didn’t even have any paperwork.”

  “Let’s not dwell on that anymore,” Dorie said flatly. “Jack, how long will this take?”

  “Running her license is easy. That’s done by computer. It’s hard to say how long the footwork will take. It really depends on how busy they are right now. They know we wanted the information yesterday, but if they’re dealing with more pressing cases, then we’ll have to wait a little longer.”

  “Speaking of computers, I cannot believe there’s no computer here. How does anyone survive without a computer these days?” Dorie asked. “I just don’t get it. She wasn’t that old.”

  “There could be a lot of explanations,” Regan said. “Jack and I have a few other things we want to tell you.”

  “What?” Dan and Dorie both asked.

  Regan looked over at Jack.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “Dorie, Jack told you we were planning to go over to Pillow Talk, the store where Adele bought the pillows and the cards. Pippy and Ellen, the two young women who run the shop, remembered Mrs. Hopkins but said she was only in the store a few times and wasn’t a talker. They don’t know much about her at all. But the GRUDGE pillows they made only for her. She wanted one right away, so they made it overnight. That was in January. A month later she picked up the others. That afternoon they received a GRUDGE pillow in the mail. It was obviously that first one, which I imagine she sent to someone very important to her. It was slashed to ribbons. There was no note. The package was postmarked Long Branch, Massachusetts.”

  Dorie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Slashed?”

  “We have it over at the house,” Jack said.

  “If Adele sent it to someone, she must not have used a return address.” Dan said. “How did they know to return it to the shop?”

  “The address of the store was on the label of the pillow,” Jack explained.

  “Long Branch is south of Boston. Do you think this person could have come here, found Mrs. Hopkins, and pushed her down the stairs?” Dorie asked.

  “Anything’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely,” Jack said. “We know she was here this morning—breakfast dishes were in the sink. Fran, Ginny, and Skip all said she loved that rowboat. My parents saw her out rowing in January. Her wallet, keys, and cell phone are not here. My guess is she was going out anyway and decided to check on her boat because of the storm. I doubt someone dragged her to
the staircase and threw her down.”

  “I wonder who Adele sent that pillow to,” Dorie said. “They must have been really angry.”

  Dan pointed to the dining room. “Why did she want to say ‘I’m sorry’ to so many people?”

  Dorie shook her head. “I would never in a million years have guessed how she was feeling. If anything, she seemed sad and a little broken. Not someone who needed to learn how to stop being rude.”

  “Fran and Ginny thought she was rude,” Regan reported.

  “Well, those two!” Dorie cried.

  “And she wasn’t friendly to Skip, who really is a sweet kid.”

  “I just wish he had the brains to—”

  “Dorie,” Jack said, “when an accident like that happens, you have to be very careful about moving people in case they’ve broken their back or have a head injury. He made the right decision. In all these years I’ve never seen waves that powerful on this beach. It was unbelievable.”

  Regan turned to Dan and Dorie. “There’s one more thing,”

  For a brief moment, Dan shut his eyes. No more, he thought. But I guess I don’t have a choice.

  Regan told them about the e-mail Pippy and Ellen had received from an anonymous woman who complained about a rowing coach named Adele Hopkins whose nose she wanted to break, Pippy’s angry response, then the blistering reply back to Pippy.

  “A rowing coach who would be one hundred ten years old now?” Dorie asked.

  “That’s what the e-mail said. None of it is necessarily true or relevant to us. But while we were over at the house waiting for you we sent an e-mail and asked the anonymous person to please write back. She knows from Pippy’s e-mail that our Adele Hopkins drowned. If she has a heart she’ll give us whatever information she has about where her Adele Hopkins lived and her background.”

  “She said she wanted to break her nose? I don’t think you’ll hear back,” Dan said, shaking his head.

  Regan half smiled. “Jack and I know that doesn’t help our chances of receiving a fact-filled reply.”

  Dan’s eyes widened. “Can you imagine if the two Adele Hopkinses were related? Rowing is in the genes. It sounds as if the older Adele Hopkins could have used at least one or two apology cards herself.”

  “These girls at Pillow Talk have really seen some action,” Dorie said. “I read a story in one of the Boston papers—how the original newspaper article about them losing their jobs spread like wildfire once it hit the internet. But the way one of the girls trashed her ex-boss was unbelievable. He must be furious.”

  Dan’s stomach did a flip-flop. He still hadn’t checked Mickey McPhee’s message.

  “From what Ellen said, he was extremely unfair to her,” Jack said.

  “Yes, but now the girls receive crazy e-mails and a slashed pillow. If I were those two I’d be a little nervous about all the negative feelings their business has stirred up.” She looked at Regan. “Anything else you want to tell us?”

  Regan smiled. “No.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Jack,” Regan said, “we looked through the master bedroom and didn’t find anything helpful. While we’re waiting we may as well search the rest of the house to see if there is an address book or paperwork or something else that might make this whole process a little easier.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  38

  Fran and Ginny stood at either end of the large piece of plywood, holding it against the broken window, while Skip hammered it in place. The wind was howling and the rain slapped their slickers.

  Ginny shouted to Fran, “When Skip is finished we’ll pack a bag and head back to the Reillys’.”

  Fran nodded. “Um-hmmm. Jack Reilly is a fine fellow. He did some job hanging that plastic for us. Our living room is in good shape.”

  “Yes, but it’s still damp and drafty,” Ginny protested, panicked at the thought that their home might be habitable. “We shouldn’t stay here until we get the window replaced.” She was dying to get back to the middle of all the action. And now the Carpenters had arrived. There’s no way I’m sitting home today, she thought. If need be, I’ll break another window myself.

  When Skip was finished, he stepped down from his ladder.

  “Beautiful job, Skip,” Ginny exclaimed. “I always liked the look of natural wood. There’s something so earthy.”

  “Super job,” Fran agreed.

  “Thanks,” Skip muttered. He closed the ladder, picked up his toolbox, and carried them over to his truck. “See you later,” he called, with a wave of his hand.

  Fran and Ginny hurried across the slippery lawn. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got other jobs. The Reillys aren’t the only people I work for.”

  “But Skip, we don’t want you to leave. And we have to pay you . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have to check on other houses, which I should have done this morning.”

  “You’re coming back for supper, aren’t you?”

  Skip opened the door of the truck. “I don’t know. I certainly don’t want to come back if that reporter hasn’t left.”

  “We have your number,” Fern said. “We’ll call you. I know Ginny and I are not the kind of gals that you’d normally spend Friday nights with, but please come back for dinner. Plan to stay over with us at the Reillys’.”

  “Jack Reilly is such a doll,” Ginny said.

  “Regan is too.”

  “She’s all right,” Ginny answered. “What can I tell you? I have a sweet spot for Jack.”

  “This is a nightmare,” Skip said under his breath as he climbed in the truck.

  “Don’t be so upset!” Ginny blurted, assuming Skip was just referring to Mrs. Hopkins’s death. “Mrs. Hopkins fell down all those steps. You said she was bloody. Skip, chances are ninety-nine to one she was dead. Probably more like 99.9999 . . .”

  He turned on the truck’s engine. “The slim chance that she was still alive will always haunt me.”

  Ginny and Fran watched him back out, then disappear down the road.

  “Such a shame,” Ginny said.

  “Yup,” Fran agreed, taking a look in the other direction. “That darn reporter is still here. I hope he leaves soon. Skip needs to be with us tonight.”

  They went back in the house. Ginny pulled a big suitcase out of the closet in the hallway. “We may as well pack enough clothes so we don’t have to go running back and forth.”

  “Good thinking.”

  The phone rang. Fran hurried into the kitchen to answer. “Hello . . . Hi, Margie . . . Yes, a lot of excitement on our block today . . . What? . . . You don’t say . . . We hadn’t heard that, we had to have our window boarded up, a branch crashed through . . . What a mess . . . Thanks, we’ll let you know.” She hung up.

  “What?” Ginny demanded. “What?”

  “Margie heard on the news that Adele Hopkins must have been very unhappy. The police found stacks of apology cards on her dining room table.”

  “Apology cards?” Ginny repeated, her face indignant. “How about a thank-you note for that lovely homemade pie we hand-delivered? Fran, let me tell you know something, I knew we were making a mistake by going with Skip to House Junction. We couldn’t even listen to the radio!”

  “That was the right thing to do,” Fran said. “Skip is suffering. Besides, we needed to get this place boarded up.”

  “I understand. But I don’t want to miss out on another thing. Let’s go now. Regan and Jack must have loads to tell us, I can feel it in my bones.” She ran to the bathroom, where she’d hung up their coats.

  “What about packing the suitcase?” Fran asked.

  “There’s plenty of time for that later,” Ginny said as she ran past her older sister toward the front door. “Come on, Fran! I want to get a look at those apology cards. Maybe one of them has our names on it!”

  39

  Ah, here it is,” Floyd said, turning his car into Fern’s parking lot. Quaint little place, I suppos
e, he thought.

  Inside the diner, a woman hurried over as he came through the door. “Can I help you?”

  Floyd, the script under his arm, smiled his most charming smile. “I’d like to order some food to go.”

  “Follow me and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  Floyd did as he was told.

  “I’m Fern,” the woman said, turning around when they reached the counter. “Have a seat.”

  “Fern of Fern’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Floyd Wellington. Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard your food is delectable.”

  Fern smiled, then eyed the script. Grandpa, Go Home. “Oh, of course. You’re in the play down at the Castle.”

  “Last I heard,” Floyd joked.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I know you were in a great movie but I never saw it.”

  “No great loss, my dear.”

  “The rest of the cast was in here this morning.”

  “That’s why I’m here now. Your place is highly recommended.”

  Oh, no, Fern thought. That means Devon will be back. “My waitress will take your order.”

  A young girl, pen poised, smiled at him. “Ready?”

  “Yes, darling. I’d like a cheeseburger with fries; an omelette with the works, hold the mushrooms, well done; one chicken soup; and a large fruit salad.”

  “Toast for the omelette?”

  “No. An English muffin with jelly.”

  “What kind?”

  “No preference.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s enough, isn’t it?” he laughed. “I’m stocking up for the evening so I won’t have to leave the house again in this dreadful weather.”

  The girl smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Floyd looked down at his script and turned the page. It’s a little noisy in here with that television on, he thought. I must focus.