“Reed Danforth!” Ellen screamed. “Where’s my camera? I want a picture for my website! I can’t believe Pippy’s not here!”
The “psycho” turned. A big smile spread across her face. “Darling! I missed you!” She jumped up and ran toward him, blood running down her cheek.
“Sit down,” Jack ordered.
“Please Jack, just one picture. Just one,” Ellen cried as her camera flashed. The “psycho” had reached the closet, turned, crouched down, and smiled. Her hand was on Reed’s leg. “And one for safety,” Ellen cried as her camera flashed again. “And one for good measure. Hey boss,” she called to Reed, “where’d you meet your pretty girlfriend?”
“I bumped into him on the street!” Olivia squealed happily. “On purpose.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Ellen said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What goes around comes around. Don’t you agree, Mr. Danforth?”
The sirens of police cars growing louder and louder filled Ellen with delight.
56
Jack’s cell phone rang in the middle of a hubbub of police activity. He looked at the caller ID, then signaled to Regan. “Lopez,” he mouthed, pointing to his phone, then pointed upstairs.
Regan nodded.
They went upstairs to one of the bedrooms and shut the door.
“. . . Now we’re in a quiet room,” Jack told Lopez. “Do you mind if I put you on speakerphone? . . . great . . .” Jack flipped a switch on his phone. “Okay, what do you have?” he asked.
“I have the name and number of the ex-husband. He lives two hours outside of Chicago on an estate. Loves the role of the country gentleman. The concierge was sending Hopkins’s mail to a PO box in Boston. He and Hopkins were friendly, and she told him she’d been married to her ex for ten years but never talked about her earlier life, and he felt uncomfortable asking. The name of her ex is Randolph Windwood. Hopkins said Windwood was born into too much money. Nothing else, really.”
“Randolph Windwood is his name?”
“Yes, and his number is . . .”
Regan wrote it down.
“Okay. We’ll take it from there. Thanks so much. I appreciate your help.” Jack hung up the phone.
“This is great,” Regan said. “Her ex-husband might not be ‘Mr. Wonderful,’ but he must have some information for us. You want to call now?”
“Yes, I do.” Jack opened his phone again and started pushing in the number. “Let’s give Randolph a shout.”
After four rings, a man answered. “Windwood Residence.”
“Hello,” Jack said. “I’d like to speak to Randolph Windwood, please.”
“Who is calling?”
“My name is Jack Reilly. I’m a captain with the NYPD. I’m calling to inquire about Adele Hopkins.”
“Please hold.”
“I think that was the butler,” Jack whispered, as he held the phone out so Regan could listen.
“Hello. Randolph Windwood on the line.”
Windwood sounds so affected, Regan thought, as Jack introduced himself.
“What do you want to know about Adele?”
“She had an accident this morning. Her body was swept out to sea, and we’re trying to find her family.”
“Oh dear. Before our divorce, she only had me. No more.”
“We knew she didn’t have children, but isn’t there anyone?”
“No parents, no siblings, no children. She has dreary cousins somewhere, but I was never interested in seeing them. I have no idea where they are now.”
“Perhaps you could give us the names of a few of her friends.”
“When she married me, she started a new life. We socialized with my friends. Though none of them really took to her. Doesn’t matter now. Where was the accident?”
“Cape Cod.”
“Cape Cod!” Randolph started laughing and laughing. “My word, how amusing.”
“Why?”
“Maybe you should be talking to her first husband.”
“Her first husband?”
“Yes. Adele was married for more than twenty-five years to this fellow. I always suspected that after the initial excitement of our marriage, the horsey set wasn’t for Adele, and she missed her old life. What a difficult woman. So, so difficult. She left that man for me, you know. Maybe she was trying to reignite the flame by moving back. He was a teacher.”
“Where does he live?”
“Long Branch, Massachusetts. One of those small folksy towns that have never interested me. I don’t want to look out my window and see children riding bicycles down the street. I’d rather see horses running through the fields. My children rode horses. I don’t think either of my daughters ever rode a bicycle come to think of it.”
“You have children?”
“Yes, and just last year my first grandchild.”
“Congratulations,” Jack said, making a face at Regan, while she rubbed her fingers together, nodded her head, and mouthed the word “money.” “Mr. Windwood, would you please tell me the name of Adele’s first husband?”
“Why not? He might know where some of those cousins reside. He’s the type to keep in touch with all the bores. When I first met Adele she told me she made a new photo album each year of all her students. Why on earth would you do that I asked? You’ll never want to look at their pictures again. I think she and that husband were born with a certain gene that enabled them to derive pleasure from matters I find most tedious.”
“Adele was a teacher?”
“Yes. She taught the eighth grade.”
“I’m curious,” Jack said. “You don’t sound as if you had that much in common. How did you and Adele meet?”
“Adele’s father was dying. She took a leave of absence and went home to Oregon to be with him at the hospital. Her mother had died the year before. She had no siblings. I was also in the hospital, the result of a bad riding accident from which I have fully recovered. Mr. Hopkins’s room was right next door to my private room. His wasn’t private, but, well, what can you do? Anyway, we met three or four days after she arrived. Adele was asked to wait in the hallway when her father’s doctor came in to do whatever doctors do when they zip those curtains around the bed. I looked out, and there she was looking so sad. For some strange reason I’ll never understand for the life of me, I waved. She waved back. We chatted. Next thing you know, she’s spending time in my room while her father slept, getting me tea, trying to make me comfortable. We fell in love, and she never went back to what’s his name.”
“What is his name?”
“Jimmy Cannon. I think that he and many others in that little town were quite angry with Adele.”
“We’ll try and get in touch with him.”
“It’s a shame about Adele. If you find any relatives, please give them my condolences. No wait. Tell them to enjoy my money. Adele got quite a nice settlement. So long now.”
Jack closed his phone. “Wow.”
“Wouldn’t want to be married to him,” Regan said.
Jack smiled. “Let’s see if there’s a listing for Cannon.” He dialed information. There was a James Cannon in Long Branch, Massachusetts, but the number was unlisted. He flipped his phone shut. “We’d better get back downstairs. Tomorrow morning let’s take a drive to Long Branch. Cannon shouldn’t be too hard to find in a small town. I just hope he’ll be willing to talk to us.”
“Jack, the slashed pillow was postmarked in Long Branch.”
“I know. But if Cannon is willing to talk, I’m sure it will be interesting.”
57
Devon was feeling on top of the world as he drove his little group back to The Castle by the Sea. They’d had a wonderful Italian dinner together. They’d laughed and talked. Everyone’s favorite topic was themself, naturally. But for Devon, what was most exciting was the way they all raved about the faux knife. Ah, to think how nervous I was. Tomorrow night’s cocktail party should be quite exciting, the highlight being the reading, of course.
He pulled the c
ar down the driveway of The Castle.
“Great dinner, Devon.”
“Loved the spaghetti.”
“What most impressed me was the knife,” said Annie, the little ingénue who could be most annoying. “Not only is it an amazing fake knife, but I have such respect for the way you handled the situation.”
Devon nodded his head.
“Wait till Floyd sees that knife,” Hadley Wilder said. “He will be amazed. How can he not be? It looks so real. The handle is gorgeous.”
Devon was glowing when he parked the car. He’d been smiling to himself while the others headed inside. No one noticed he was still sitting in the driver’s seat. Oh well. Must be a sign. I’ve been mulling this course of action all night, and now the decision has been made for me. Cheerily, he turned the car back on and headed to Floyd’s.
“I love the theatre,” Devon sang to himself. “Floyd will love the knife, um hmm hmm, la la la.”
Slowly, he turned onto the narrow beach road that ended in front of the house he had rented for Floyd. There were only three houses on the street. I don’t want to get too close, in case I decide not to ring the bell and have to make a fast getaway. Devon parked next to an overgrown thicket of bushes, grabbed the knife, his umbrella, and went out the door.
He probably won’t invite me in, Devon thought as he walked toward Floyd’s, trying to avoid puddles. Can’t say I blame him. But I would like for him to have just one little peek at this beautiful prop.
The lights are on. Lovely! With a big smile, Devon walked across Floyd’s driveway and toward the walkway, mindless of the rain. The curtains were all closed, which was not surprising. He continued up the walkway, then hesitated. Is that yelling I hear? Inching closer until he was on the porch with his head cocked, Devon realized what he was hearing were lines from his play! Floyd was rehearsing—with a woman!
He is some devil. Of course I can’t interrupt. But it would be nice to hear what his process is when he works with someone else. This person must be someone Floyd respects. I’d be able to hear more if it were a nice quiet evening instead of all this drip drip drip. He listened intently. Hmmm. Whoever the woman is doesn’t sound as if she’s trained in theater. No, the poor dear, not at all. Maybe it’s someone he’s dating.
Devon turned. No knife presentation tonight. He went down the steps and stopped. Floyd had just yelled something that was not a line from his play. Oh, well. Every word of his mouth can’t be a line from my play. Devon took a step, and Floyd yelled again. He sounds a little crabby.
I’d better get out of here. If he’s crabby, the last thing I want is for him to find me eavesdropping. That would be frightfully embarrassing.
Picking up the pace, Devon hurried back to his car. Who is she? Devon wondered. Did he bring her up from New York?
Oh well, that’s his business.
Tomorrow night I will show him the knife before we begin. Exactly when, I don’t know.
Saturday, April 8th
58
On Saturday morning, Regan and Jack snuck out of the house before anyone else was up. Kit knew where they were going. So did Ginny and Fran.
Adele Hopkins had been alone in the world. If her first husband could give them the name of a distant cousin, someone who cared about Adele, they’d be grateful.
One hour and fifteen minutes after they left, Regan and Jack were driving down Main Street in Long Branch, headed for Washington Middle School. They’d done some research online the previous night and learned that Jimmy Cannon still worked there as a teacher and coach.
They found the school, parked, and went out to the athletic field, where a soccer game was about to begin.
Jack and Regan walked over to one of the coaches.
“Quick question,” Jack said. “Do you know where I can find Jimmy Cannon?”
The coach pointed. “His house is right across the street from the field. Which is perfect for him.”
“Do you know if he’d be home now?”
“Probably. His team plays this afternoon.”
“I hear he’s a nice guy.”
“Salt of the earth. But to be honest, he’s really down in the dumps. He’s getting divorced, which is good because his wife is a shrew. But it’s his second divorce. Not easy.”
“That’s tough. Which house?”
“The blue one.”
Regan and Jack rang the bell. A big teddy bear of a man answered the door. He had brown hair graying at the temples, brown eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, and was wearing a sweatsuit.
He does look sad, Regan thought.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so, but you might not want to. My family has a house on Cape Cod. Adele Hopkins was renting the house next door.”
“Adele?”
A light came into his eyes, Regan thought. He still cares, at least a little. This guy didn’t slash any pillow.
“Yes. But she had an accident yesterday”
“Oh.” The flicker in his eyes disappeared.
“The people who rented her the house have no idea who to contact. We thought you might know of other family members.”
“Not really, but come on in.”
They sat with him in his living room and told him what they knew about Adele.
“Everybody thought it was awful what she did to me,” Jimmy said. “Which is natural. But I also blame myself. She was out there at the hospital with her dying father, day in and day out. There was no one to share the burden. I was too busy coaching to take any time off. I flew out there with her for the first few days, then left. Never came back. We were together since college. We weren’t blessed with kids, but we had each other. What did I expect? I should have been there for her.”
“It’s a shame,” Jack said. “Her marriage to Windwood wasn’t happy.”
“You mean Windbag?”
They all laughed.
“That’s exactly who I mean,” Jack said.
“We found apology cards on Adele’s dining room table,” Regan said. “I think she was filled with regret.”
“Apology cards?”
“Yes. She didn’t by any chance send you a decorative pillow did she?” Regan asked.
“Maybe she did. The woman I’m divorcing went through all my mail, my cell phone. It was crazy. I have nothing to hide.”
“When did you separate?” Regan asked.
“A month ago.”
Jack and Regan looked at each other, then told him about the slashed pillow postmarked Long Branch.
“What?” He folded his arms and shook his head. “I’ll have to remember that if I ever have second thoughts. I’m sorry. I would have liked to talk to Adele. GRUDGE ME, GRUDGE ME NOT. She was funny, she really was. On our first date, we went rowing in a park, and she was standing up in the boat and giggling. We were eighteen.” He exhaled. “What can you do?”
“Adele had a little rowboat on Cape Cod. She was out there in all kinds of weather,” Regan told him.
“She did? When we were married, we never went rowing. We were too busy with coaching the kids’ teams. And Windbag’s estate doesn’t sound like a place you’d row. Well, maybe he had a lake. I don’t know.” His voice trailed off.
“So you don’t know any relatives we can call?”
“I don’t. I can look through old address books in the attic.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “We were really hoping to find someone out there who loved Adele Hopkins.”
We just did, Regan thought.
59
Hello strangers!” Ginny called. “We’re in the den.”
It was too much to hope that Jack and I would ever spend time in this house alone, Regan thought, as she and Jack walked into the kitchen.
“How are you Ginny?” Jack asked.
“Better now.”
“Fran?”
“Good. We’re sitting here reading about you in the paper. You saved that girl’s life. Ellen’s lucky Kit forgot her cell phone,
huh?”
“She is,” Jack agreed.
“Well thanks to your heroics,” Ginny said. “We’re all invited to the cocktail party at The Castle by the Sea tonight.”
“What’s the occasion?” Regan asked.
“A traveling theater group just hit town. They’re performing a play under a tent at The Castle for a month, starting Memorial Day. They’ll read one scene at the party, hopefully not for long, and then everyone can go back to having a good time. Six o’clock to eight o’clock. We should leave here by 5:45.”
“Who invited us?”
“The director himself.”
“What’s the play?”
“Grandpa, Go Home.”
I’m not going near that one, Regan thought. “Sounds good.”
“Eh, we’ll see.”
“Where’s Kit?”
“She took a cab to Pillow Talk. I can’t believe Kit and Ellen were making fun of Ellen’s old boss, and there he was, locked in the closet!” Ginny exclaimed.
“Did Kit tell you that?”
“No. It’s on the front page of the paper.”
“What about Dorie and Dan?” Regan asked.
“Haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
“Maybe they’d like to come to the party.”
“Sure, invite them. The more the merrier.”
Not always, Regan thought.
60
Adele you have inspired me.”
“That’s good.”
“I will never act again with a fake weapon. Those prop knives drain the lifeblood of an actor. It’s insulting. We’re not children playing a game of cops and robbers. I never thought of it that way, Adele. We’re doing Theater! I cannot wait to perform this evening. Your eyes look a little droopy. Did you have a good rest last night?”
“Tied to a chair?”
“Oh yes. It would be better if the chair had a cushion.” Floyd picked up his script. “Time to do lines.”
Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1 Page 53
