Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “I’ll be fine. This raincoat is warm and I have a big umbrella.” She put her keys on the counter, then wrote her cell phone number on her business card. “Here,” she said. “Do you have a card?”

  “I ran out. New ones should be in next week.”

  “What’s your name and number in case I have to call you?”

  “Nathaniel Boone,” he muttered, then clearly recited his number for Kit as she wrote it down on one of her own business cards.

  “Thank you, Daniel. I haven’t had lunch—”

  “My name is NATHANIEL not Daniel. Everybody gets that mixed up. I still don’t know what my parents were thinking. I’ve spent my whole life correcting people. You don’t know how annoying it gets.”

  “Sorry, Nathaniel.”

  “I forgive you.” He turned and went back to work.

  Tip for Nathaniel, Kit thought. Never run out of business cards. She turned up the collar of her raincoat, hurried out to the car, and popped open the trunk. As fast as she could, she changed to her sneakers, grabbed an umbrella, opened it, shut the trunk, and started walking. She soon realized that Route 5A was not meant for pedestrians. Should I call Regan? she thought, as she did her best to avoid puddles. I don’t want to bother her, but she’ll wonder where I am. I’ll call her when I get to the coffee shop, she decided.

  Kit ambled along for fifteen minutes, past woods and houses, trying not to think about how miserable she was. Nathaniel Boone has no sense of time or distance, she realized as the road curved and the next stretch didn’t show any promise of commercial zoning. What’s his idea of “up a piece”? She contemplated turning back, then decided against it. I’ll call a cab from the coffee shop to bring me back to the gas station. It can’t be that much farther. Ten minutes later, her feet soaked, her coat drenched, her umbrella blown inside out, she spotted a storefront in the distance, set back from the road.

  A sign finally came into view. PILLOW TALK. Is this the store Regan was talking about? Kit wondered. The store where the woman who died bought those pillows? Doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t, I’m going in. I have to get out of this rain.

  44

  Adele was back in the basement, bound to the same chair as before, the ropes tight around her hands and feet. The radio was once again blasting music that for Adele was akin to nails on a blackboard. What’s going to happen to me? She wondered. Floyd is insane. Is he capable of killing me? He must be. What else can he do with me? He can’t let me go. Adele pondered a possibility. What if I try to convince him that I won’t tell anyone anything if he gives me my freedom? Hey, it’s been fun, what an exciting actor you are, I know you were just playing around.

  No, it won’t work, Adele realized in an instant. He’s crazy but functional. He obviously knows what it takes to appear sane in public, and he certainly doesn’t want to go to jail. Has he ever been in jail?

  She could hear the front door opening and the floor creaking above her. No ringing of the doorbell a hundred times? What a surprise. I guess he doesn’t want lunch to get cold.

  “I’m SORRRRY,” Floyd sang as he thundered down the stops. “So SORRRYYYYY.” His laugh was maniacal. “Adele, you must have been a very bad girl.”

  I wish I’d never set foot in that pillow shop, Adele thought. I sent that first pillow with a heartfelt note and received no response. That’s why I never sent the others. And those cards were a stupid idea. I should have thrown them out.

  Floyd hopped like a bunny over to her chair.

  He’s unraveling before my eyes, Adele decided. This might be over faster than I expected.

  “I’m sorrrrrry!” Quickly he untied the ropes. “Lunch is served!”

  Adele slowly pushed herself up from the chair, her body stiff and achy. It was hard for her to believe that this morning she’d been feeling fit, and was looking forward to getting back out on the water in her boat once the storm ended.

  “Your chicken soup is going to be cold, Adele. Cold and filmy. Hurry up!”

  “This house must have a microwave,” Adele replied as she walked toward the steps.

  “What a waste of time! Move, move, move. We’ve got work to do.”

  Upstairs, he instructed Adele to sit on the couch in her same old spot. Bags of food were already on the coffee table as well as two bottles of water. Floyd sat on the floor across from her, located the bag with his foil-wrapped cheeseburger, and quickly tore it open. He whistled as he prepared his burger for consumption, then attacked it with a vengeance.

  Adele watched him as she daintily cut her omelette with a plastic knife and fork, and started to eat. The omelette tasted delicious, just as it had the one time she’d been to Fern’s. Adele remembered back to that day. The young waitress had been so sweet. It was her third day of work and she was nervous, trying so hard to get everything just right. Naturally she made a few mistakes, like not refilling the coffee cup in a timely fashion, but it was to be expected. What bothered Adele was when the waitress brought her change back to the table and started asking personal questions. She meant to be friendly, but it was one of the reasons Adele never went back. The main reason was that Adele loved sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table in the early morning, sipping coffee, and looking out on Cape Cod Bay, feeling more at peace than she had in years. And thanks to that house with the view, Adele thought, here I sit.

  “Adele!” Floyd yelled, licking his fingers. “Where were you just now?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “I don’t believe you. Were you thinking about all the people you were going to send apology cards to?” he asked as he opened a plastic container of fruit salad.

  “No.”

  Floyd popped a grape into his mouth. “I want to hear about every last one of them.”

  “You need to learn your lines.”

  “Oh I do, do I?”

  “Yes. That’s my job. Help you learn your lines.”

  “Your job? How interesting. Are you trying out a different psychological approach on wacky Floyd?” Booming laughter filled the room. “That’s so funny. I can promise you, Adele. It won’t work.”

  “I wasn’t trying anything,” Adele replied. “You’re going to look like a big idiot if you don’t learn your lines.”

  “Tomorrow night is a reading, my dear. It’s only one scene. I do intend to be off book so I can wave that big shiny knife in the air just like I do in rehearsal with you and not worry about looking at my script. It will be so much more thrilling for me. I get bored if I don’t take risks onstage. I could tell the director really didn’t like the idea when I mentioned it earlier today. Just this once I’d like to try it. You’re not afraid that Floyd is going to let that big sharp knife go flying into your throat when we rehearse, are you?”

  “Not at all,” Adele answered, her tone disgusted. “The director doesn’t like the idea of you using a real knife?”

  “No. They’re never used onstage. Only prop knives.” Floyd wrinkled his nose. “Toooo dangerous.”

  The director won’t let him use a real knife, Adele thought. How could he? He has to see how volatile Floyd is. Maybe if I can convince Floyd that an actor of his stature should always use a real knife, he’ll believe it. I’ll try to get him worked up. With any luck, he’ll snap tomorrow night and act like a raving lunatic if he’s not allowed to use his knife. He’ll be exposed as the mad man he really is. It’s my only hope. I don’t know. It’s worth a shot. I want to get out of here. If I do, I will send those cards. Ten years too late, but I’ll send them. I never said goodbye to those kids who meant the world to me. And I’ll Express Mail the self-help book about being rude to my ex. He’s the one who needs it, not me. He was born into too much money and he was born rude. I’m so mad at myself for letting him make me feel as if I were the problem. Well, here goes nothing.

  Adele looked Floyd in the eye. “That director doesn’t sound very adventurous.”

  “Unfortunately he’s not.”

  She frowned, “You told me I’m no actress. Bu
t if I were onstage, I’d feel childish using a fake knife.”

  “Childish?”

  “Yes. I’d feel like I was playing a game of cops and robbers.” She lifted her thumb and pointed her index finger—“Bang, bang, Floyd. Let’s get back to learning your lines.”

  45

  Regan, Dorie, and Dan were sitting at the Carpenters’ kitchen table as Jack spoke on the phone to a detective from Chicago who had preliminary information about Adele Hopkins.

  Dan was still reeling over the painfully close call with Ginny and Fran. They never would have left if they’d still been inside the house when the phone rang. Also weighing on Dan’s mind was the fact that he hadn’t even listened to Mickey McPhee’s message yet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt. But he was glued to his seat, focused on Jack’s half of the conversation. So far it sounded somewhat positive.

  Finally the call was wrapping up. Jack was checking to make sure the detective had his cell number and the number of the Reillys’ home. “Yes, that’s my parents’ house, which is right next to where I am—the house Adele Hopkins rented. I’ll be at my parents’ place from now on.”

  Dan’s eyes bugged out. “What if this guy calls and Fran or Ginny answers?” he whispered to Regan. “Then what?”

  “Dan!” Dorie whispered. “Regan and Jack aren’t going to sleep here.”

  “They can if they want to.”

  “Relax!”

  Finally Jack hung up the phone.

  “Well?” Dan asked, his voice a croak.

  “It’s Hopkins’s apartment, which I’m sure you gather,” Jack said, then relayed the rest of the information. “The concierge who forwards her mail is due at work tonight at nine p.m. Eastern Time. Lopez hopes to speak to him before then, but if not, he’ll talk to him at nine. After that I can’t imagine we’ll have too many more problems figuring out whom to contact.”

  They all were quiet for a moment.

  Dorie’s face was solemn. “Adele Hopkins had a horrible ex-husband, no children, no family who visited. What if there isn’t anybody to call?”

  “There must be someone!” Dan said quickly. “There has to be.”

  “Dan, you’re getting on my nerves.”

  “But what do we do with her car?”

  “We’ll bring it back to the rental company. Is that so hard?”

  “No use speculating,” Regan said. “Remember, we don’t even have her cell phone. She might have a lot of friends who were very close to her. Later tonight, we’ll know more.”

  Jack’s fingers rapped the countertop. “Okay then. Regan, shall we go next door and join our houseguests?”

  Regan stood and smiled at the Carpenters. “You two are most welcome to join us.”

  Dan shook his head back and forth, staring straight ahead.

  “What a surprise, Dan,” Regan said lightly. “I understand those Brewer women are very good cooks. They said they’d make dinner.”

  “They’ll just ask and ask and ask about Hopkins,” Dan answered. “It’s not strange if you two don’t know certain answers. It’s really strange if we don’t.”

  “If you change your mind . . .” Jack began as he walked over and put his hand on Regan’s shoulder.

  “We won’t,” Dan assured him. “But we will see you later, right? Would you mind coming back after you talk to Lopez?”

  “Sure. We’ll just have to figure some excuse to get out of the house.” Jack laughed. “We’ll see you later.”

  The Carpenters walked them to the door, then Dorie moved toward the window and watched as the twosome crossed the lawn together, Jack’s arm protectively around Regan. “We’re so lucky to have them helping us. I don’t know what we would have done if they weren’t here.” She turned around. “Dan? Dan, where are you?”

  His voice came from down the hall. “I have to check my messages, then call my boss right now, while I have the courage,” he said. A door slammed shut.

  Dorie shook her head. She walked into the kitchen and sat back down at the table. This house feels so empty, she thought. Empty and desolate. Tears stung her eyes. Mrs. Hopkins had planned to enjoy sitting at this table and looking out on the water. I hope she did. It’s funny, Dorie thought wistfully. I feel as if in some way she’s still here. Her spirit hasn’t left us yet. That’s how so many people feel right after someone they love dies.

  Moments passed. Adele Hopkins wasn’t someone I loved, Dorie thought as a tear rolled down her cheek. I barely knew her.

  So why do I feel this way?

  46

  Pippy had been at her desk in the back room of Pillow Talk doing paperwork, going through mail, and answering the phone, while Ellen had handled the light but steady flow of customers.

  The phone rang while Pippy was examining a nail she’d just broken on her left hand. She reached for the phone. “Hello. Pillow Talk.”

  “May I speak to Miss Pippy Huegel, please?” a man with a distinguished British accent inquired.

  “This is Pippy.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “How soon they forget,” the caller said sadly, now sounding like a born and bred Bostonian.

  “Roger!” Pippy cried. “How are you? How was your trip? It seems like you’ve been gone for ages.”

  “You live in my house, you become a star, and you never mention your wonderful cousin in all those interviews.”

  “Yes I do!” Pippy protested, starting to laugh. “And I’m not a star.”

  “When do you mention me?”

  “Today, as a matter of fact. A newspaper reporter called to set up an interview. We’re not very busy with customers and the reporter had time, so I spoke to her right away.”

  “Um-hmmm. What did you say?” Roger asked, amusement in his voice.

  “The reporter asked what it was like to work and live with my best friend. I said it was great and thanks to my cousin, Roger Huegel, we didn’t have to worry about a place to live when we started the business. He lent us his wonderful cottage on the Cape, blah blah blah.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. What newspaper?”

  “I wrote the name down here somewhere . . . it’s a local paper in California.”

  “California? I live in Boston! None of my friends will see it.”

  “We’ll send them copies and they can read it online.”

  “Okay, pal,” he said with a chuckle. “How are you?”

  “Good. Other than the fact Ellen and I better get going and find a new place to live. Summer is almost here.”

  “That’s right. Cousin Rodge can’t wait to get down to the Cape and enjoy himself. What about the lease on your shop? Isn’t that up for renewal?”

  “Did we luck out on that one! The owner went to Florida, fell in love, and never came back. He renewed with us over the phone for another six months. Same price.”

  “Ain’t love grand?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’re working too hard. Listen, I just got back last night. I have to run to a meeting, but I wanted to say hello and see how the house is holding up in this weather.”

  “When we left this morning everything was fine.”

  “Let me know if something lovely happens like the basement floods or . . .”

  “Are you worried about that?”

  “No, but let’s put it this way. If you and Ellen weren’t living there, I’d definitely have someone check the house. Even if it cost me a few bucks.”

  Pippy laughed. “I’ll go over there right now.”

  “Pippy, don’t—”

  “It’s two blocks away. With all you’ve done for us . . .”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He laughed. “Keep going.”

  “We could never—”

  “I’m kidding, Pippy. Let me know if there are any problems. I’ll get them taken care of.”

  When Pippy hung up the phone, she smiled. She was looking forward to seeing Roger. It would be fun to have him around this summer. S
he got up, grabbed her coat, purse, and umbrella, and went out to the front. Ellen was by the door talking to a woman who was drenched from head to toe.

  “Really? You’re a friend of Regan and Jack’s?”

  Pippy hurried over and met Kit.

  “I don’t want to cause a puddle in your store,” Kit said with a laugh. “My car is being fixed down the road. The mechanic told me there was a coffee shop up this way, so I started walking and walking . . .”

  “Nathaniel Boone?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes!”

  “A good mechanic, but out of his mind!” Ellen said. “Kit, take off your coat. Have a cup of coffee. There’s a table over there. You can sit and call Regan—”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Pippy said quickly. “Ellen, I’ll be right back. Roger called. I think he’s worried the basement might flood so I’ll run home for a minute and check.”

  “We’ll be here,” Ellen said as she helped Kit off with her coat.

  Outside, the skies were dark. In a moment Pippy was in her car and on her way. She barely noticed the car on the side road across the street, waiting to turn onto 5A. When Pippy turned right, the car’s left blinker started flashing. The driver accelerated in time to fall in line behind Pippy’s car, not too close for comfort, but not in danger of losing her.

  47

  Mickey McPhee opened his eyes. I must have dozed off, he thought. The den was getting dark. What was I doing? Oh yes. I’d called Dan Carpenter and I was waiting for him to call back. Mickey glanced at his phone. No calls.

  Poor me, Mickey lamented. Here I sit, all alone, cranky after my nap. He picked up the remote and turned on the television, quickly changing stations, stopping only when the sight of an overly dramatic reporter speaking into his microphone attracted his interest. The newsman was standing on a little street, the caption at the bottom of the screen read Chatwich.