Popped

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Well, Regan, I’m glad you’ll be keeping the world safe for reality shows. Be careful, would you please?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I can’t wait until this weekend. Call me when you get to Vegas.”

  “I will.” She hung up and tried her parents. She always liked to let them know when she was going out of town.

  “How’s Jack?” her mother inquired within two seconds of Regan saying hello. These days it was always her first question.

  “Fine, Mom.” Regan smiled and told her about her trip to Vegas.

  “Dad and I are heading out to Santa Fe tomorrow.”

  “I forgot about that,” Regan admitted.

  “I’m speaking at a writer’s conference.”

  Nora was a best-selling suspense writer and often spoke to groups of aspiring and established writers. Luke owned three funeral homes. They had been happily married for thirty-five years.

  “We’re staying a few extra days with the Rosenbergs at their house out there. Harry loves those hot air balloons. He wants to take us to the hot air balloon festival in Albuquerque later in the week. One of the days they have a parade of ‘special shapes’ balloons which is supposed to be quite a sight. Balloons that look like everything from beer cans to cartoon characters. Harry said it’s a great event.” Harry Rosenberg was Nora’s longtime literary agent and dear friend. His wife, Linda Ashby, was a painter.

  “That’s funny,” Regan said. “The guy who is sponsoring Danny’s reality show is big into hot air balloons. The winning couple is going to renew their vows in a balloon at that fiesta,” Regan explained. “So I’ll be there on Friday. We’ll have to hook up.”

  “Are you going up in that balloon?” Nora asked with concern.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Danny will fill me in on everything when I see him. I’d better go, Mom. I have to pack.”

  “Well keep in touch. I’ll have my cell phone with me. I must say the thought of you going up in a balloon doesn’t thrill me.”

  “Mom, don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Anyway, I’ve heard it’s the safest form of air travel.”

  “You can get caught in telephone wires. And the one time I went up in a balloon with your father, we had a pretty hard landing. I’m telling you, that basket hit the ground three times before it came to a stop and we climbed out.”

  “I hope the champagne bottles didn’t break,” Regan said.

  “They were in the cooler in the chase vehicle. We had a nice toast on terra firma.”

  “That’s good. Mom, I really have to pack.”

  “Well, keep in touch.”

  “I’ll talk to you during the week. Love to Dad.”

  Regan quickly opened the top drawer of her dresser and smiled to herself, wondering if she should get the shin and elbow guards out of the closet. They were remnants of her rollerblading days, days that had turned out to be few in number. An old boyfriend who she was convinced had a sadistic streak talked her into buying all the paraphernalia for the sport. After her third fall on the pavement within ten minutes, she gave up. The hall closet welcomed several more items that would have no other purpose than to gather dust.

  Thank God for Jack, she thought. He, on the other hand, was always trying to protect her. I’ll get through this week in Vegas and then have a great weekend with him.

  I hope. Who knows who Danny Madley got himself involved with? Regan was convinced there had to be more than one shady character in the bunch.

  4

  I n a cramped, dingy apartment a few miles from the Strip, Honey’s alarm went off. It was 11:30 A.M. Honey rolled over and groaned. It’s amazing how fast eight hours can pass, she thought sleepily. No matter how tired she was, she made herself get out of bed before noon every day. It made her feel good about herself.

  A showgirl, she rarely arrived home before one in the morning. Then she needed time to wind down. Sometimes she’d watch an old movie until her eyes felt droopy. Sometimes she’d play computer games. Sometimes she felt like talking on the phone, but the time zone she lived in didn’t make that easy. Everybody on the East Coast was in bed, and she didn’t know anybody in Hawaii. But no matter how she tried to distract herself, Danny was always in the back of her mind.

  With a small burst of energy, Honey thrust herself from the bed. She wrapped a flowered silk robe around her twenty-eight-year-old dancer’s body, went into the tiny kitchenette, and turned on the kettle. That done, she felt a sense of accomplishment, went to the living room, and plopped on the couch. As if in a trance, she picked up the remote control and flicked on the television. It was tuned to the Balloon Channel.

  “Be sure to watch on Friday night when Roscoe Parker will choose between Danny Madley’s Love Above Sea Level and Bubbles Ferndale’s Take Me Higher. Only in Las Vegas!!”

  Honey started to cry. “Danny!” she whined. “I’m sorry I dumped you. It was a terrible mistake.” She pulled a tissue from the box she kept next to her couch for when she watched sad movies. It was all too much for her. Her head had been turned by a high roller who came into town and had the big bucks, the really big bucks. He’d wined and dined her, sent her a dozen roses, bought her a reflexology and pedicure series to relieve her aching feet, and she was hooked. She dumped Danny Madley without a second thought. The next day her high roller left town, never to be heard from again.

  Not even one email.

  Then the rumors started. He was married. Married! Some nerve, that guy. Some nerve. If she had his real address, she’d drop in and show him just how good her feet looked.

  Now Danny was gone from her life forever, and he was going to be a big shot. He wouldn’t take her calls and returned her letters unopened. It had been five months since Danny had made her laugh. Five months since he picked her up in his crazy car and drove her out to Hoover Dam for a little fresh air. Five months since he told her that he thought his luck was finally about to change, that things were going to happen.

  “And now they are happening for you!” she cried as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Honey opened the drawer of the table next to the couch and pulled out her diary. It was covered in pink polka dots and had a yellow felt daisy glued on the front cover. She turned to a blank page and started to write.

  Dear Diary,

  Today I feel so sad I just can’t stand it. I would do anything to get Danny back. I pine and pine and pine for him. Maybe I should start my own reality show about the world’s biggest dummies. Starring me.

  I heard once that some girl had blown off George Washington and then saw him in a parade when he was president. She fainted dead away from a broken heart. Two hundred years later, I can identify. I wish she were alive so I could talk to her. Or how about Scarlett O’Hara when she treated Rhett Butler like garbage? She vowed to get him back but was going to think about it tomorrow.

  I can’t wait till tomorrow! I have to act now! The more famous Danny gets, the more out of my reach. I have to get him back.

  Oh—the kettle’s whistling, diary. I have to go. I’ll keep you posted about my battle plan to GET DANNY.

  Honey got up from the saggy couch, pleased with herself. She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror as she went into the kitchenette. Curly honey-colored hair, a baby doll face, wide blue eyes, cute pug nose, generous lips. A perpetual pout except when she was dancing onstage or when Danny was around to keep her smiling.

  Honey poured her tea and thought about what that married louse had told her: “Honey, I’m successful because I always have a plan. I have goals. Where do I want to be five years from now? Did you ever think about that? Where do you want to be five years from now?”

  She’d wanted to answer, “With you,” but her instincts told her that wasn’t a smart answer. So she said, “I don’t know.” Mr. Big Shot wasn’t impressed. She could tell.

  “Well, now I have a plan!” she declared to the empty room. “I’m not going to stop till I’m with Danny. And nobody’s going to get in my way.”
Honey stirred sugar into her tea with great gusto and flung the spoon into the sink. It chipped the wineglass she’d meant to wash the night before. Was that an omen? she wondered.

  5

  R egan gazed out the window as the plane descended toward Las Vegas. The City of Sin, famous for its nightlife, gambling, and flashing neon lights, actually looked quite normal from the air. Regan knew that the amusement park for grown-ups was also a great place for golfing, shopping, and sightseeing. There were a lot of “faux” attractions along the famous strip of hotels. In a single stroll you could encounter a look-alike Statue of Liberty, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, pirate ships, a recreation of Venice, Italy, water fountains that dance and play music at scheduled intervals, and, of course, the proverbial Brooklyn Bridge.

  Las Vegas was a mythic city of cash and flash, glamour and kitsch. In the 1990s the town fathers had tried to turn it into a family destination but soon realized you don’t make much money off little people who fall asleep before the night gets going. The idea flopped, and now the town was concentrating on attracting adults who would park themselves at craps tables and slot machines. And here I am, Regan reflected, to work on a reality show in the land of unreality.

  After stepping off the plane and walking into the airport, the first thing that caught her eye were the slot machines. The one-armed bandits were ready and waiting. The fun was just beginning. Win money before you collect your bags, they seemed to say. Don’t waste a minute. Here we go, she thought with a smile.

  As any visitor to Las Vegas would soon discover, slot machines were everywhere. Every time you turned around, you bumped into a slot machine. The city definitely made it easy for people to gamble.

  Danny had told Regan that he’d meet her at the baggage claim area. He’d also said that his blond hair was no longer a crew cut. “And my braces are gone.”

  As Regan walked down the corridor and stepped onto the escalator, she was once again surprised at the cavernous feeling of the baggage claim area. Huge billboards advertised the shows that were currently playing. And, of course, the ubiquitous slot machines beckoned. She was staring up at an ad for Siegfried and Roy when she heard her name being called. Regan looked around.

  Her former classmate was hurrying toward her. He now sported shaggy blond hair and was dressed in blue jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tinted aviator glasses completed the look. He still had the same impish quality, with his crooked smile and freckles, but he was now over six feet tall. And he still looked as if he was capable of the pranks he’d carried out in grammar school, but at the same time there was a sweetness about him.

  “Danny!” she greeted him as he gave her a hug.

  “I’m telling you, I’m so glad you’re here.” He led Regan to the luggage carousel to retrieve her bag. “You were one of the smartest kids in our class.”

  Regan laughed. “Well, shucks.”

  “That’s okay. I know you can’t return the compliment. I barely got by.”

  “That’s not true,” Regan protested. “You had your mind on other things, that’s all.” She didn’t know why, but all of a sudden she felt like he was her little brother.

  He shook his head. “Regan, I’m a wreck. This show has to work for me. But things are getting worse.”

  “What now?”

  He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “I just found this on my desk at the studio.” He handed it to Regan.

  The envelope had Danny’s name on it. No address. No postmark. She pulled out the white sheet of paper inside and unfolded it. It was handwritten in red lettering, and its message was right to the point.

  Danny,

  You’d better halt production of your show! Something terrible is going to happen if you don’t! And you’ll be responsible! Mark my words!!!!

  Regan stared at it for a minute. The letter certainly looked as if someone who was angry had written it, someone who was fond of exclamation points.

  “What do you think?” Danny asked.

  “This could just be an idle threat,” Regan reasoned. “Do you have any enemies?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

  “No. I just opened it before I left for the airport.”

  Regan sighed. “It’s certainly not what you’d call a friendly letter.”

  Danny leaned over her shoulder. “I’d say all those exclamation points are a sign of agitation.”

  Regan furrowed her brow. “Say, Danny, that reminds me. Didn’t you used to wear a pair of lime green socks with question marks on them when we were in seventh grade?” she asked as she spotted her suitcase and reached over to grab it.

  “That’s correct. But they’ve gone the way of my braces, thank God.”

  Ten minutes later they were tooling into town in Danny’s old Volkswagen with the flower power decals. They were headed to a small hotel, just off the Strip and its famous hotels, where the cast and crew of Love Above Sea Level was ensconced for the week.

  “You know, Danny, this could just be a note from someone who wants to put you on edge.”

  “Well, they’re succeeding.”

  “Maybe you should call the police.”

  Danny shook his head. “I don’t want to involve the police. What are they going to do anyway? They’ve got enough to worry about. Besides, I don’t want bad publicity for our show. You’re right—it’s probably just somebody who wants to make me crazy.” He turned to her. “That’s why you’re here, Regan.”

  “To make you crazy?” she teased as they passed the Paris Hotel with its steel replica of a hot air balloon in the driveway and the faux Eiffel Tower in the background.

  Danny laughed. “No, Regan. It’s to keep the wolves at bay—to deter whoever is trying to sabotage my show.” He turned down a side street and pulled into the parking lot of the Fuzzy Dice Hotel. It was a modest three-story building that hopefully had seen better days.

  What will they think of next? Regan wondered as she looked up at a huge pair of fuzzy-looking dice attached to the hotel’s roof like a weather vane.

  Danny parked the car near the door. “I know this isn’t the Bellagio. But it’s where old Roscoe decided we should stay. Let’s take your bags to your room and then head over to the studio. That’s where the whole group should be now. Oh, Regan, I don’t want anyone to know that you’re a private investigator. I’ll introduce you as a friend from home who is interested in producing a reality show and is helping me out.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The hotel’s dingy front entrance was uninspiring. Clearly this was one of the more inexpensive hotels in Vegas. And the owner seemed to like dice. Dice patterns were everywhere, in a variety of colors. The carpeting. The wallpaper. The lampshades. The effect was only broken by the pillows on the couch and loveseat in the seating area. Their theme was playing cards.

  Regan felt dizzy. Staying here would test any marriage, she thought, reality show or no reality show. I’d rather be stranded on a hot sweaty island and forced to eat bugs.

  Six slot machines were lined up against the wall.

  “Welcome!” a young woman behind the reception desk said cheerily to Regan. Her jewelry was all dice—necklace, earrings, bracelet, and rings. Her name tag read Delaney Ann Fell.

  “Hi, Laney,” Danny greeted her. “My friend Regan Reilly is checking in.”

  “You’re in room six and six,” Laney told Regan with a big smile. “I guess it’s your lucky day.”

  “We’ll see.” Regan laughed.

  Danny carried Regan’s suitcase up to her room on the second floor, which was the temporary home for everyone from Love Above Sea Level. Not surprisingly, the dice on the bedspread and on the curtains all had six dots.

  “Regan, why don’t I meet you in the lobby in about ten minutes?” Danny suggested as his cell phone began to ring. He quickly answered it. “Danny Madley. Yes, Victor. What’s wrong?…Oh, that’s just great,” Danny sai
d sarcastically. “We’ll be right over.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “One of the contestants just fell, and they think he broke his arm. We’ll meet them at the hospital.”

  6

  D anny’s mother, Madeline Madley, loved Scottsdale like there was no tomorrow. She’d grown up at the Jersey shore and had always loved the Garden State, but when her family moved west after Danny’s grammar school graduation, her health had gone from okay to positively robust. Taking less time to sneeze gave her more energy to meddle in other people’s affairs. “Mad Madley,” as she was nicknamed by her friends when she got engaged to Shep Madley all those years ago, always said, “I’m a gal with devotion to two states in the Union, New Jersey and Arizona, although I do love to travel. I always meet such interesting people.”

  Madeline had a large map of the world on the wall in her den. Colored dots indicated the cities she and Shep had visited. Green meant they had a good time, yellow meant it was so-so, and red meant forget about it.

  Sixty-three years old, Mad Madley was fit and trim, although her face more than hinted at the hours and hours she had spent out by the pool in Arizona and on the sands of the Jersey shore. She was an attractive woman with a permanent tan and seemingly permanent blond hair, a woman who always looked good in white tennis outfits, though she had never hit a tennis ball in her life. She liked to wear her whites to go grocery shopping.

  Mad had the heart of a showgirl. She’d always dreamed of seeing her name in lights, but she’d never really gone for it. She fed her need to entertain by standing around the piano at parties and bars and singing her heart out. She’d even learned three songs she could play when given the opportunity. “Heart and Soul” was her favorite.

  Madeline couldn’t stand Danny’s ex-girlfriend Honey. Although Honey wasn’t on Broadway, she was living Mad’s dream. Mad couldn’t admit it even to herself, but she was jealous of Honey for pursuing the career that Mad really wanted. So she blamed Honey for everything wrong in Danny’s life, before and after the breakup. “How could he possibly make it in this world when he’s involved with a flake like her?” she’d ask Shep during pillow talk on the water bed she’d purchased in the 60s. “How can he possibly get ahead with her in the picture?” Danny’s father would shrug and raise his bushy eyebrows up and down several times as the bed rippled around them.