Fern returned. “All squared away?”
He looked up. “I placed my order. Thank you.”
“How’s it going over there at the Castle?”
“So far, so good.”
“You’re all living there together?”
Floyd made a face. “Noooooo. No. No no no no no.” He then pointed his finger to his head and pretended to pull an imaginary trigger.
Fern laughed. “That would be a no.”
“I’m too old to live in a dormitory, darling. The production company rented a house for me.”
He probably can’t take Devon either, Fern thought. “If I were you, I’d feel the same way,” she said. “I live alone. When I leave here, where I’m on the go and with people all day, it’s a pleasure to just go home and be by myself. There’s nothing like peace and quiet.”
Floyd reached up and touched her arm for just a moment. “Surely you must have someone in your life,” he said solicitously.
“Not for a while, I haven’t,” she laughed. “It’s okay.”
“I can tell you’re the type of person who has so much to give another human being. Besides, all work and no play is no fun at all. Are you coming to our reading tomorrow night?”
“Your director invited me. I’ll have to see.”
“You’ll enjoy it,” Floyd promised. “And I wouldn’t just say that.” He leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “The play is good, even though the man directing it makes me cuckoo.”
Fern laughed heartily. “He was in here this morning. He makes me cuckoo too.” She looked up at the television screen. The announcer had just mentioned Adele Hopkins’s name. She shook her head. “I don’t know whether you heard, but a woman’s body was swept out to sea on the beach this morning not far from the Castle.”
“I heard,” Floyd said, turning his face to the television. “It is a tragedy.” With a duly pained expression he listened to the report.
“On the dining room table of the house Adele Hopkins was renting were stacks of apology cards she had not yet addressed.”
Floyd looked at Fern and raised his eyebrows. “Apology cards?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know her?”
“No. I’m told she was in here once.” Fern’s head turned reflexively at the sound of the front door opening. At the same moment the young waitress reappeared from the kitchen with three bags of food. “All set!” she said with a smile.
“Wonderful!”
Fern started to move down the counter. “Nice to meet you, Floyd. Thanks for coming in.”
“Return the favor by coming to our reading tomorrow night.”
“I promise I’ll try.”
Floyd paid with cash and got up just as Fern was greeting a young man who took a seat three stools down.
“Skip, there’s no one in the other room. Do you want to take a table back there by the window? I’ll sit with you.”
“Thanks, Fern.”
That young man doesn’t look too happy, Floyd thought as they nodded to each other in passing. But Floyd didn’t give the young man’s state of mind another thought.
Apology cards were on his mind as he went out the door. He laughed out loud as he got into the car. I can’t wait to tell her that the whole world knows how very, very sorry she is.
One thing is clear, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot. She’s not as tough as she pretends to be. I knew that all along.
She’s a lousy actress but at least she’ll help me learn my lines.
Then what?
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He refused to think about that now. He had to learn his lines.
40
Kit breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto Cape Cod. The traffic from Boston had been lousy. Speed limits had been lowered because of the slick roads. Cars passing through puddles sprayed water on other motorists’ windshields. I probably should have just gone home, she mused. Oh well. I’m almost there.
As she rode along Route 6, the main highway on the Cape, more ominous clouds moved in overhead and the sky darkened. There’s no sign of this storm letting up, Kit thought. Twenty-five minutes later the song Kit was enjoying was interrupted by the bossy female voice of the GPS. “Exit to the right in one mile.” Kit put on her right blinker and steered into the exit lane. She was in the market for a new car but hadn’t yet decided on a make or model. But one thing she had decided was that her next GPS had to sound a lot friendlier. If you missed a turn, this woman got nasty. “Exit to the right,” she now ordered. “Exit to the right.”
Kit started to turn off the highway just as her windshield wipers made a loud groaning noise, as though the effort to keep the windshield clear of water was suddenly too much. But they kept working, albeit more slowly, sounding as though they were pushing a boulder uphill. Please, no, Kit thought as she reached the end of the exit ramp and turned left. Keep going, she prayed as the wipers grew more and more sluggish.
At Route 5A Kit turned right and pressed the navigation button on her dashboard. Five miles to go. Her heart was racing as she leaned forward, straining to see through the increasingly blurry windshield. This is too dangerous, she decided. A little gas station was just ahead. Kit put on her blinker and slowed down as the wipers emitted a final exhausted groan. Carefully, she turned into the driveway, which ended as soon as it began.
Kit rolled down her window, stuck her head out, and inched forward, stopping in front of a one-door garage. She rolled up the window, and shut off the car. Rain was pelting her windshield. The wipers were sticking straight up. Kit glanced at her surroundings. A lone set of gas pumps looked forlorn. The garage door was shut, but at least the small office appeared to be open. She sighed, then almost laughed, suddenly reminded of the running gag she had with Regan when things like this happened. One would call the other and start the conversation by saying, “Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse . . .”
It could be worse, Kit thought. At least I’m not out on the highway. She opened her door, stepped out onto the pavement, and hurried inside a glass door to a room no bigger than a cubicle. The register was to the right, on a counter crammed with boxes of candy, gum, and breath mints. A wide assortment of car air fresheners was hanging on the wall to the left. Straight ahead was a lone folding chair. Behind the counter was a doorway to the garage. Kit could see legs sticking out from under a car that was slightly raised.
“Hello,” she called, trying to sound cheery.
“Be with you in a minute or two,” a man called back, his tone a touch too casual.
“Okay,” Kit answered. Five minutes later she sat on the plastic folding chair and crossed her legs. Something tells me this is going to take awhile, she thought, her spirits sinking. She looked over at the rows and rows of air fresheners. A moment later her nose began to itch.
41
In downtown Chicago, a fortyish man hurried through the rotating door of a luxury apartment building. Inside the handsomely appointed lobby, a young concierge wearing a name tag was seated at a large desk.
The man pulled out his badge. “My name is Detective Lopez. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.”
“George is your name?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me if a woman named Adele Hopkins has an apartment in this building?”
“Oh sure, Mrs. Hopkins. She moved in last year but hasn’t been here for a long time.”
“Is there anyone else living in her apartment?”
“No.”
“Is the manager here now?”
“He left for the weekend.”
“Do you know if Adele Hopkins gets mail delivered to this address?”
“Yes. A guy who works the overnight shift forwards Mrs. Hopkins her mail every two weeks. She pays him pretty well, I gather. Jessie gets friendlier with the tenants than somebody like me who works during the day. When people come in late, it’s quiet, if they’ve
had a few pops, they start chatting. You know what I’m saying?”
Detective Lopez nodded.
“I don’t mean that that was the case with Mrs. Hopkins, not at all. But Jessie says that sometimes in the middle of the night he sees some crazy stuff.” George paused. A troubled expression came over his face. “Did something happen to her?”
“Yes,” Lopez said quietly. “She was living on Cape Cod. They’re in the middle of a bad storm right now. She was on the beach this morning and was washed out to sea.”
George shook his head, and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, no! That’s a shame. Jessie is going to feel really bad.”
“Do you have his number?”
The concierge nodded, pulled open a drawer, and reached for a binder. A minute later he held out a piece of paper with Jessie’s full name, address, cell number, and home phone, neatly written. “He’ll be in tonight at eight.”
Lopez looked at the address. “He lives pretty far away.”
“He got engaged, bought a great house his fiancée loves, and now it takes him two hours to get to work! I tell him he’s crazy. But he works a twelve-hour shift, three days a week, so he doesn’t mind.”
“Do you know if he has a key to Mrs. Hopkins’s apartment?”
“Yes he does. He checks for leaks, if her mailbox gets full he brings the mail upstairs, that kind of thing.”
“Does the management company have a key to her apartment?”
“No, only Jessie.” George lowered his voice. “Jessie told me her ex-husband is pretty bad. When she moved in last year she didn’t leave a key with the management. She was afraid her ex would sweet-talk his way into getting into the apartment when she was out.” George rubbed his fingers together. “He has a lot of dough. They were going through a nasty divorce. That guy was supposedly really controlling. She was afraid to leave any important papers around, you know what I’m saying?”
Lopez nodded. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jessie’s home number. A machine picked up. Then he dialed Jessie’s cell phone and got his voice mail. The detective left a message for Jessie to call him as soon as possible.
George smiled and waved his hand. “That guy never picks up his phone. He sleeps weird hours so he always has his phones shut off.”
“What does his fiancée think about that?” Lopez asked.
George rolled his eyes. “He has another cell phone that no one has the number to, except his fiancée. I’m telling you, I think Mrs. Hopkins must have been paying him way too much money.”
42
The search of the Carpenters’ home proved fruitless. Regan, Jack, Dorie, and Dan couldn’t find a thing that shed any light on Adele Hopkins’s life. They were all coming up the stairs from the basement when the doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” Dan asked. “That reporter wouldn’t have the nerve, would he?”
Regan was the first one up the steps. She opened the door, hurried into the living room, and looked out the window to the front porch. “It’s Fran and Ginny.”
“What do they want?” Dan asked anxiously.
“They’re our house guests for the weekend,” Jack answered, his tone wry.
Ginny spotted Regan at the window and held up a FedEx box. “This is for you,” she shouted, pointing back and forth between the package and Regan.
Regan acknowledged Ginny by waving her hand in the air, then moved away from the window. “She’s delivering a FedEx package for me.”
“A FedEx package?” Jack asked. “We’re only here for the weekend.”
“I have no idea what it might be,” Regan answered.
The doorbell rang again.
“Let’s keep things vague with these two,” Dan pleaded. “No specific answers to questions about Mrs. Hopkins . . .”
Dorie opened the door. “Well, hello, ladies.”
“Hello, Dorie,” Ginny cried as she stepped inside, Fran in her wake. “My goodness, is it wet outside or what? Hello, Dan.”
Dan greeted the two sisters. “Good to see you,” he lied.
“Regan,” Ginny said, waving the box triumphantly. “Fran and I came back to the house and rang the bell. The door’s locked. We turn around and see the FedEx truck rumbling down the road. Good thing we were there, right? The reporter outside was trying to find out who it was for, the name of the sender, but believe me, I kept my mouth zipped,” she said, pretending to zip her mouth as she relinquished the package. “It’s from your mother.” She turned to Dorie and Dan. “Our house is so damp and drafty you wouldn’t believe it. Right, Fran?”
“I sneeze just thinking about the conditions in our living room. Brrrr.”
“A branch went through our front window this morning,” Ginny continued. “Skip put up a piece of plywood but until we get that window replaced, it’s going to be very unpleasant. The chill is running right through me as I speak. Luckily we can stay with Jack and Regan.”
Regan nodded. “I appreciate your taking such good care of this,” she began, indicating the box in her hands.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Ginny asked.
“I’ll wait until Jack and I go back to the house in a few minutes. Sorry about the locked door. We thought Skip would be coming back with you.”
“He took off for parts unknown,” Ginny reported.
“Oh boy,” Regan said as she turned to Jack. “Would you give Ginny the key so she and Fran can go over and take off their wet coats and shoes and warm up? I hate to see them so chilled.”
“We’re fine,” Ginny insisted. “There’s no rush. It’s nice to say hello to Dorie and Dan.” She turned to them again. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Hopkins. We didn’t get the chance to know her. Have you reached her family?”
“Almost,” Dan answered.
“Skip’s a wreck. He feels just terrible. What can you do, right? These things happen.”
“They do,” Dan agreed.
“Fran and I were just told by a friend about all the apology cards Mrs. Hopkins left behind. Do you mind if we take a look at one? I see an occasional ‘I’m sorry’ card on the rack at the drugstore, but I’ve never heard of buying them in bulk.”
A brief, awkward silence followed. “They’re just like any other cards,” Regan said.
Ginny eyed the dining room table. “Can we just take a peek?” she asked.
“Sure,” Dorie answered quickly. “She hadn’t written anything inside them yet, so it’s not quite as personal.”
“She hadn’t?” Ginny asked, sounding disappointed, as she and Fran followed Dorie over to the table.
“No.”
“Who was she planning to send them to?”
“We don’t know.”
“Wasn’t there a list of names or anything like that? . . . Oh look, here’s one.” Ginny picked a piece of paper off the table. “Fran, look at this. They’re all first names.”
Fran squinted. “They sure are. I don’t see Fran or Ginny on there, do you?”
“No,” Ginny answered. “Dorie, we brought over a pie for Mrs. Hopkins. She didn’t invite us in the door, and she never thanked us. She would barely wave hello when she drove by our house.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault. You can only find out so much about a person when you rent them your home.”
“Only so much,” Fran agreed. “You can’t find out what’s in their heart, that’s for sure. You can’t predict that they’ll be a little rude to the neighbors.”
Thank God we put the self-help books out of sight, Regan thought.
Ginny sighed. “Fran, what do you say? Let’s go next door. I’d like to have a nice hot cup of tea. Jack, you’ll be back soon?”
“Yes. We’ll be right there.”
Ginny turned, spotted the bags of pillows in the corner, and investigated. “GRUDGE ME, GRUDGE ME NOT?”
“Those belonged to Mrs. Hopkins as well,” Dorie explained.
Ginny looked at Fran. “To think she never gave us the time of day
.”
Fran shrugged. “Her loss.”
“Let’s go.”
As soon as the sisters were out the door, the phone rang. It was Detective Lopez from Chicago.
43
After ten minutes of waiting in the unheated, overly air-freshened room, it occurred to Kit that maybe she should check if the mechanic was still breathing. She got up from the uncomfortable, uneven chair, and stepped over to the counter. The sudden loud noise of a tool rapping against metal reassured her that the man under the car was still of this earth. Nothing like someone who can focus on a job without letting anything disturb them, Kit thought. But what would he do if a customer wanted gas? He didn’t even ask why I’m here.
The rapping went on for at least thirty seconds. When it stopped, Kit didn’t hesitate. “Excuse me!” she called in a loud voice.
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering if you were going to be tied up for much longer.”
“I’m not tied up.”
“What I meant was—”
“I know what you meant.”
“Oh, okay,” Kit said with a very slight laugh, then decided to get right to the point. “My windshield wipers stopped working. I can’t drive in this weather. Do you know how long it might take for you to fix them?”
“Depends on what caused the problem.” A man rolled out from under the car, hoisted himself up and came out to the office. He appeared to be in his fifties, was thin and wiry, with slicked-back brown hair and a mustache. “I promised I’d fix this car today and it’s taking longer than I expected,” he said. “I’ll get to yours just as soon as I’m done.”
“It won’t be too late?”
“Nah. I should be finished with the jalopy I’m working on in no time. Besides, this is my business. I’m on my own schedule.”
That’s for sure, Kit thought. “Is there a place nearby where I can get a cup of coffee? I’ll give you my keys. Perhaps you could call my cell after you’ve had a chance to look at my car.”
“Sounds like a plan. There’s a coffee shop just up the road a piece,” he said, pointing in the direction Kit had been heading. “You’re going to walk in this rain?”
Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1 Page 49
