Gypped

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Petunia twisted the cap on a bottle of nail polish and placed it back on her supply cart. “Ready for your manicure. Do you have to use the ladies’ room first?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Be careful stepping down from that chair.”

  “I feel rude for not chatting with you but I had to finish that book,” Imogene said, reaching for Petunia’s hand.

  Petunia had no choice. “Let me help you.”

  Imogene squeezed Petunia’s fingers as she stepped down from her perch. “And how are your girls?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Petunia answered, then began rolling her cart toward the front of the salon.

  Imogene followed, struggling to keep her feet from falling out of paper slippers wide enough for an elephant’s hoof.

  “My girls both work so hard to help the underprivileged in one way or another,” Petunia said when they reached her station. “I don’t know where they get that urge. Must be a recessive gene that goes back to the Dark Ages.”

  Imogene laughed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You have other talents.” She glanced around, then whispered. “For one, you’re the best manicurist I’ve ever had. The best!”

  Petunia waved her hand. “Imogene, stop.”

  “I’m dead serious! Before I forget, let me give you that book.” She reached into her purse. “As a matter of fact, you can keep it.”

  “Really?”

  Imogene nodded as she pressed the book into Petunia’s hands. Together they looked down at the cover.

  A drop-dead gorgeous man was rushing through an airport bare-chested, his laptop under his arm. The Chiseled Chiseler. “He’s certainly on the go,” Petunia observed. “Thank you very, very much.”

  “You’re welcome very, very much.”

  This time it was Petunia who held the book close to her heart. “Your kind gesture means the world to me. You have no idea.”

  “I think I do. Reading something we love can have a powerful effect on our lives.”

  Petunia smiled. That’s exactly what I’m hoping.

  22

  On Friday morning, high-ranking police officers from around the country gathered in the auditorium of the Los Angeles Police Department headquarters. Speakers who were experts on bank robberies, art theft, and kidnapping shared their knowledge about the latest developments in fighting and solving those crimes. Everyone was on their own for lunch and instructed to be back by 1:30.

  Jack and several of his comrades walked a few blocks to a casual restaurant that was known for great hamburgers. The place was packed with workers from offices nearby and they were lucky to find a table for five. The patrons were relaxed and talking loudly, clearly excited that the weekend was about to begin.

  When Jack’s group was seated, they quickly placed their orders, then started to unwind.

  Sergeant Derek Wentley, who lived in San Diego, leaned forward. “Jack, when they were talking about kidnapping this morning it reminded me of how you met your wife. I still can’t get over that.”

  The others laughed. They all knew the story.

  “One of the perks of the job,” Jack said, enjoying the friendly banter with his comrades.

  Angela Cruz, one of the highest-ranking female officers in LA, put down her water glass. “I had to go online to find my husband! When guys hear you’re a cop they get nervous.”

  “If anyone can handle you, Victor can,” Jack observed.

  “Have you and Regan decided yet where you’re going this weekend?” Angela asked.

  “Actually, we haven’t.”

  “No rush,” she retorted.

  Jack smiled. “We’ll get in our rental car tomorrow morning and either go north or south.”

  “Hey, speaking of rental cars, did you hear about the luxury car rental business that went under?” Derek asked, not waiting for an answer. “They were renting out Bentleys and Ferraris. Problem is, car thieves showed them fake ID, used fake credit cards, and drove off with wheels worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Never to be seen again.”

  “I bet they knew which way they were going,” Angela said. “Right to a seaport and onto a waiting ship. Those cars were sailing across the sea in no time flat.”

  “There’s great technology now to protect people from car theft,” Jack observed, “but it doesn’t work if you hand over the keys. Or leave the car running. A couple of years ago we had a rash of car thefts in New York during a brutally cold winter. Everyone turned on their cars in the morning to warm them up, then headed back into the house. For most people, that was fine, but not on the South Fork of Long Island. When many Long Islanders stepped back out, well. . . .” Jack made a face.

  “Were they caught?”

  “Yes. A group of college kids got cocky about stealing cars because it seemed so easy. One of them became violent when the cops showed up at his dorm to arrest him. He was an honors student on scholarship. Car theft is bad enough, but a further investigation revealed he was dealing a lot of hard drugs.”

  “I’m not surprised he got violent,” Angela said. “When he was arrested, he was terrified that big old light shining on him was about to get brighter. But once you’re in the spotlight, baby, that’s it. And people who’ve got a lot to lose are the scariest. They’ll do anything to make sure that spotlight doesn’t come near them. And I mean anything.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Cruz,” Derek quipped. “Our next speaker who will tell us something we’ve never heard of is—”

  Angela cackled. “Sorry. I know you know. But we just had a case where a guy went after a woman he was afraid was going to blow his cover. She knew too much. It was bad. That’s all I’ll say. B A D.”

  The waitress arrived with their food. As she was serving, Jack tried to push back an uneasy feeling about Regan. He always worried about her, especially since her job was to find truths about people they didn’t want uncovered. But the sudden realization that he knew nothing about this old friend she’d stayed with made him tense. And he hadn’t even heard her voice today. I’ll call her right after we get out of here, Jack thought. Everything will be fine. And as of tonight, it’ll be just the two of us.

  But he still couldn’t shake the nagging sense that somehow that wasn’t going to happen.

  23

  I’m sorry,” Zelda said when Regan walked back into the room. “I fell back asleep. Feeling this way is awful, but I think I know what caused it. I spoke to the client I had lunch with yesterday. He’s sick, too. We both had cheesesteak.”

  “I guess that’s good news,” Regan said. “I’m glad you slept. Norman and I chatted. I told him I dropped off the knife at the police department.”

  “You did!”

  “Yes, on my way here. Zelda, it’s important to keep your door locked.”

  “I promise we will.”

  “Norman showed me the papers he picked up at your apartment regarding the charity and this house.” Regan sat in the chair by the bed. “There’s no information on-line about Healthy, Healthier, Healthiest. I did a search on my iPad and couldn’t find anything.”

  “It’s a new charity, but still, it should be listed somewhere! Could that mean it’s a fake?”

  “Not necessarily; but it’s odd. We don’t have to talk about that now. I know you want to focus on Bobby Jo.”

  “I do, but if Healthy, Healthier, Healthiest isn’t legitimate, I want to know what’s going on. Who are the people running it? Where is the money going? And how did they get this house for the silent auction?”

  Regan took a notebook and pen out of her purse. “Let’s start at the beginning. When was the first time you heard about the charity?”

  “August. I received a letter in the mail inviting me to a kickoff for an exciting new charity that was set up to donate money for medical research on nutrition. The cocktail party was the Thursday after Labor Day. I remember because I already had plans. A friend of mine was in a play and it was opening night.
But the play didn’t start until eight o’clock. I thought I’d buy a ticket to the cocktail party and stop by when it started. I did that and only stayed fifteen minutes. Just enough time to place a bid for this house.”

  “Where was the party?”

  “In an old building on a side street, near Santa Monica. It was a big open space. Not glamorous in the least.”

  “Were many people there?”

  Zelda shook her head. “There were two young girls at the door with a list of names. Inside a handful of people were standing together deep in conversation. I went over to the bar and ordered a club soda. I tried to make small talk with the bartender but he was still setting up. So I busied myself looking at the silent auction items.”

  “Did you talk to anyone else?”

  “Not really. When I was reading about each item, a young girl who was probably in her early twenties was also checking them out. She said that she would have loved to bid on this house, but the minimum was a thousand dollars and she couldn’t afford it. I remembered those days well, and thought, now I can afford it! And it’s for a good cause. So I put my name down for a grand. I also bid on dinner at a couple of restaurants. Then I’d had enough of all that socializing, and I left. The next day I was shocked to get the call that I’d won the house.”

  “Who called you?”

  “A woman named Melanie. She was really nice and thanked me profusely. She said they are trying very hard to get the charity off the ground but it’s difficult because there are so many good causes for people to choose from. She asked if this week would work for me to use the house and I said yes. I knew it was around the time of my father’s birthday and thought maybe he’d want to come down to celebrate by staying in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Huh! By this time, Bobby Jo was glued to his side and I figured she’d come along as well. But she thought a trip for two to Vegas would be more exciting. A trip I end up paying for. Lucky me. I don’t see my father on his birthday, and she’s still coming to the house.”

  “Did you speak to Melanie again?”

  “No. She e-mailed me and sent the keys. They arrived the day before I was coming here.”

  “Didn’t someone meet you here to show you around?”

  Zelda shook her head.

  “You just showed up and put the key in the door?”

  “Yes. Thank God I have Norman.”

  “It’s crazy. What if these people, whoever they are, accuse you of taking a painting or an antique that they claim is missing after you leave that wasn’t here when you arrived?”

  Zelda looked at her. “Does anything around here look like it’s worth stealing?”

  Regan laughed. “No, but still. There’s such a thing as a walk-through. When you check out of a hotel they want to know if you took a candy bar from the minibar since the last time they inspected it.”

  “I’m such an idiot,” Zelda said.

  “No, you’re not,” Regan said firmly. “But now that you have deep pockets you have to be careful.”

  “I hope in the end I’ll be glad I struck it rich,” Zelda said, with a sense of foreboding.

  “Of course you will,” Regan said. “Your life has changed dramatically. It takes getting used to.”

  “I wouldn’t have had these problems if I’d won the twenty-five thousand dollars on Puzzling Words. That money would have thrilled me and I could have handled it. It would have made my life better in a much simpler way.”

  “Zelda! You’re going to be fine. You know what? I bet this house belongs to a long-lost cousin of someone involved in the charity who was probably too embarrassed to be here when you walked in.”

  “And saw the expression on my face.”

  “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. The people who worked on the event were probably trying to think of anything that would make money. You know, this place could really be beautiful. It’s just neglected.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t have to hop on a plane to get here. It wasn’t much trouble to drive up the hill.”

  Regan nodded. “Don’t laugh. There are stories about people who pay in advance to rent a villa somewhere exotic, and when they get there it doesn’t exist. Or the place is nothing like the pictures they were shown.”

  Zelda opened her arms. “Like this.”

  “Yes.”

  “There wasn’t a single picture of this house at that auction. What is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing!” Regan said. “Enough of that.” She turned the page of her notebook and poised her pen. “Tell me everything you know about Bobby Jo.”

  24

  As time passed, he became increasingly agitated. His palms were sweating and his head was throbbing. He’d been relieved when she came out of the hotel alone, then followed her at a safe distance. When she pulled into the police station he thought he would lose his mind. He parked on a side street with a view of her car, and waited, frantically wondering what she was doing there. When she came back out, escorted by a cop, he held his breath. They opened her trunk and the cop lifted something out that glinted in the sun. He was too far away to be sure, but the way the cop handled it made him believe it was his knife! I have to check the woods. But I can’t now.

  He’d followed her from the police station and was in for another jolt. When she turned into the dead-end street where she’d been last night, he knew he couldn’t follow her. So he parked on the canyon road and waited, his thoughts racing.

  Why did she go back to that house? Why can’t she go somewhere where I can get to her?

  If it was my knife in her trunk, how did she find it? My fingerprints are all over the handle! I only left it in the woods because I couldn’t walk to my car at daybreak carrying a knife. I should have brought a bag with me so I didn’t have to leave it there. That was stupid. I waited for her all night and then I had to leave. She would have seen me.

  Did she take a walk through the woods this morning? Who does she think she is? Little Red Riding Hood?

  Why did she go back to that house so fast?

  That knife has my fingerprints!, he kept thinking.

  He reached under the seat to reassure himself that his other knife was there. “Ow,” he grunted. Quickly he pulled his hand away. He stared at his index finger, transfixed by the blood spilling from the cut. “Little Red Riding Hood,” he whispered. “That’s who you’ll be. And I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”

  25

  Norman appeared in the doorway of Zelda’s room. “Can I get either of you anything?”

  “No, thanks,” Regan answered.

  “I have my water,” Zelda informed him. “That’s all I’m drinking.” Then she informed him about her conversation with Griff.

  “Too late, I just threw out all the food.”

  “Better safe than sorry. Why don’t you sit down? I was about to start telling Regan about Bobby Jo.”

  Norman rolled his eyes. “My favorite topic.” He pulled the hassock Regan had rested her feet on all night to the other side of the bed, next to where she was sitting.

  “Thanks, Norman.” Zelda said. “Now I can look at you both at once. It hurts to move my head, and I feel dizzy again.”

  “Always at your service, my dear.”

  Zelda smiled. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” She looked at Regan. “Norman is going to sing professionally. I can’t wait for that to happen but I’ll miss spending so much time with him. And I’ll never find anyone as dedicated.”

  “Zelda!” Norman gasped. “How embarrassing! On so many levels!”

  “Why is it embarrassing?” Zelda asked evenly.

  “First, I never said I’m going to sing professionally. I said I wanted to try to be a singer.”

  “If you don’t believe, then it won’t happen. You have to visualize yourself as a successful singer, and declare your intentions to the world. Regan understands that.”

  “Of course I do,” Regan interjected. “I thought I noticed sheet music in your bag. I say, go for it!”

&nb
sp; Norman raised an eyebrow, then moved his shoulders from side to side. “I am.” He pointed to his boss. “Zelda is so generous. This morning she offered to pay for my singing lessons.”

  “It will be my best investment ever,” Zelda pronounced, then suddenly looked worried.

  “Are you sure?” Norman asked. “Right after you said that you looked like you were going to be sick again.”

  “I’m sorry. Speaking of an investment made me think of Rich. I’m waiting for him to call me back. I don’t know why he hasn’t. This morning he had me sign something but I was so groggy I didn’t read it. I think it was about investing in a vitamin company.”

  “A vitamin company?” Regan asked.

  “Yes,” Zelda said meekly.

  “What vitamin company?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How much did he want you to invest?”

  “I don’t know that either. I told you I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not. But if you weren’t feeling well, and were groggy, he shouldn’t have pushed you to sign anything. It could have waited.”

  “Rich said he was going away for the weekend and if I wanted to get in on the deal, it had to be today.”

  Regan’s heart skipped a beat. “Zelda, using those tactics is never good. All of a sudden he has an investment for you that you’ve never heard of, and you have to sign on the dotted line immediately?”

  Norman’s jaw had dropped. “I know nothing about investments, but that fails the smell test!”

  Zelda’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to her chest. “You’re both scaring me.”

  “I don’t mean to scare you,” Regan said.

  “Me neither,” Norman quickly added.

  “It might be a perfectly fine investment,” Regan said. “What else has he done with your money?”

  Zelda squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not really sure.”

  Oh boy, Regan thought. I hate to ask, but I have to. “Zelda, do you look at your account statements when they arrive?”

  “Well, I glance at them when they come in. But I never take the time to study the transactions.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to admit it, but Rich has been acting kind of strange lately. He seems so distracted whenever I call him. I can hear him typing at his computer. And I don’t think it has anything to do with me. I was so tired a few minutes ago. Now I feel as if I’ve been hit by a stun gun. My heart is racing!”