When he neared their gated community, he pulled over on a side street. He was early and didn’t want to look anxious. He picked up his BlackBerry and did a search on Regan Reilly. He already knew that her mother was an author, thanks to that windbag Edna, streaming live on the Internet. He scrolled down for information. Her father owns three funeral homes in Summit, New Jersey? Scott chuckled. Good to know, he thought. But when he read who she was married to, his chuckles ceased.
Jack Reilly, head of the NYPD Major Case Squad.
They lived in New York City.
What were they doing at that Chinese restaurant in New Jersey last night?
33
Daisy, if you wait just a minute I’ll get Mrs. Frawley. We can find out—”
“I can’t wait,” Daisy whispered into the phone. “I’m on the set. I shouldn’t be talking on the phone. I have to go. We’re about to shoot a scene.”
“Let me take your number,” Regan said quickly. “My name is Regan Reilly. I’m a private investigator. I’d like to help, if you can’t reach Cleo.”
“A private investigator!” Daisy said, alarm in her voice. “Did something happen you’re not telling me?”
“No! My mother has known the Frawleys for years and we stopped by to say hello.” That’s true enough, Regan thought. She doesn’t need the gory details about Edna.
“Okay,” Daisy said, then quickly gave Regan her number. Regan grabbed a pen by the phone and scribbled on a message pad.
Regan repeated it aloud. “Would you like my number?”
“I don’t have a pen. When you get a chance, would you please call my phone and leave your number on my voice mail?”
“I will. And don’t worry, Daisy. If you just spoke to Cleo Monday—”
“I’ve got to hang up! Thanks. Sorry.”
The phone clicked in Regan’s ear. Slowly she replaced it in the receiver. This is too weird, Regan thought. Someone leaves Cleo dead flowers? Then she leaves early and doesn’t tell her good friend? Why not? She must have been scared. Did whoever left the dead flowers follow her from this house?
People were passing through the airy kitchen and into the den where large windows overlooked the pool area and big, comfortable beige and white couches, another fireplace, and a large flat-screen television like the one in the bedroom gave the room a relaxed feeling. The curtains were open. If Cleo was scared, I’m sure she closed them at night, Regan thought. I want to walk around these rooms. Maybe something will give me a clue about Cleo’s stay here or why she left. But probably nothing will. Cleo had been gone for nearly a week. Edna had been back and spent a few days preparing for the sale.
Regan walked into the dining room, where Cleo’s fan club crazies were carefully packing up their goods. Jody looked a little aggravated as she added up their purchases with a calculator.
“So,” Regan asked Mr. President and Madame Vice President. “How do you start a fan club?”
The guy shrugged and wiped his forehead. “You just do it.”
The birdlike woman nodded, her eyes darting around the room. “You just do it.”
“Are you in any other fan clubs?”
“Oh,” Jody said in frustration, obviously directed at Regan. “I just lost track. I’m not sure if I counted that last skull. We’d better start over.”
“Sorry,” Regan said. “I’ll get out of your way.” She went through the living room and up the stairs again. Autumn was still there watching the shoppers who were going in and out of the bedrooms.
“A couple more people were asking about the trunk,” Autumn said, her eyes twinkling. “But it’s yours!”
Regan smiled. “Yes. I’m so glad about that. I want to look in those other bedrooms.” She made a face. “I ran downstairs when I heard all that excitement before.”
“Sure,” Autumn said sweetly, no comment on the brouhaha.
The guest room was welcoming with a queen-sized bed, matching print curtains and bedspread, and a white desk, dresser, and end tables. Regan often wondered if people in guest rooms ever used the desk as anything other than a depository for their stuff. The other bedroom must have been Edna’s son’s room. A dark blue spread covered the twin bed. Framed photos of the Beatles and Rolling Stones hung on the walls, as well as the famous photo of a couple hugging in the middle of the crowded, muddy field at Woodstock.
A gray-haired couple walked into the room. The woman inhaled sharply. “Woodstock! Remember those days, honey? I wanted to go so badly but my father laid down the law. He wouldn’t allow it! I was heartbroken. If I had been eighteen, I would have gone. I was born six months too late to be a part of history.”
The man jutted out his lower lip and squinted as he looked at the photo. “You were lucky. Look at all that mud.”
The woman rolled her eyes and winked at Regan. Regan smiled and walked out of the room. Time marches on, she thought. That woman looked so settled. It was hard to imagine she was the type who ever wanted to go to a rock concert.
Regan went back to the master bedroom, and looked over the trunk again. I’m glad this is mine. If Cleo wants it back, I’ll give it to her. Regan went into the hall. Several people passed her on the way to the other rooms.
She went downstairs and out the door. Luckily there was still a good crowd of people. Not everyone had left in a huff. The girls were busy collecting money. One security guard was standing by the gate, checking people’s bags as they were leaving. “You have to talk to Jody” was the response when people tried to haggle over prices.
Then she saw him. Mr. Invertebrate! He had a fish tank at his feet, and two goldfish bowls probably won years ago at an arcade on the boardwalk in his hands. He was waiting to pay. Kit should see this, Regan thought. She’d never let me hear the end of it. Regan started to turn away, hoping he wouldn’t see her.
Too late.
“Regan?”
Here we go, Regan thought. She turned back to him. “Winston? Oh, hi.” She walked over. “How are you?”
Winston stared down at her, a disapproving look on his face. He was tall and wiry, his sun-streaked hair falling onto his forehead. “I know you were trying to avoid me.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Yes you were, and your friend didn’t like me.”
Regan’s mouth formed an O and she started shaking her head. “No, she liked you, Winston, I’m sure she did.”
“If she liked me, she would have called me back. I left her three messages. It’s okay. I’m over it.”
“I think the problem was that she had been dating this other guy she liked but it didn’t work out, and you know, she wasn’t quite ready,” Regan hastened to explain, then cleared her throat. “I see you found a few things you like,” she said, changing the subject.
“Uh-huh. I’m off this week so of course I was at the beach. I saw the plane fly overhead announcing the sale. It was hot so I figured, why not? I wanted to get something of Cleo Paradise’s to give to my sister but there’s nothing left. Luckily, I found these,” he said, holding up the fishbowls, “so it wasn’t a wasted trip.”
“Oh, great,” Regan said with far too much enthusiasm. “It’s a shame you didn’t get anything of Cleo’s but the people at the front of the line made a beeline for her stuff. Whoosh!” Regan laughed.
“My mother always said, the early bird catches the worm.”
Are worms invertebrates? Regan wondered.
“My mother would be disappointed that I missed out on Cleo’s things. So I’m not going to tell her I was here.”
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” Winston said, his tone flat.
“Well, my mother was friends with the family when she was in high school, so we stopped by,” Regan said, realizing that she’d given the same evasive answer a few minutes ago.
“Excuse me,” one of the workers said to Winston. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please,” he answered. “‘Regan, your friend is very rude. Goodbye,” he said, turning away abruptly.
&
nbsp; “‘Bye,” Regan responded, a little surprised at her dismissal. I feel terrible, she thought as she turned away. It’s so hard to set people up. Chances are it’s not going to work out. She looked around. My mother and Edna must be in the back, she thought as two men approaching the front gate caught her eye. Neither one of them looked happy.
Instinctively Regan walked toward them. “I am Cleo Paradise’s agent on record!” the older man was saying to the security guard. “I demand to see whoever rented this house to my client!”
34
Slowly but surely Cleo and Dirk inched up the trail. He tried not to lean on her too much.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he kept asking. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine. I really am.”
When they finally reached Dirk’s cabin he unzipped a pocket of his bathing suit, reached for his key, and unlocked the door. He hesitated for a moment, then made a decision. “This step is too high. If I lean on you too hard when I hop up, I could knock you over.”
Cleo started to protest but Dirk wouldn’t listen. He swung around, sat on the floor inside the door, and shimmied backward. He then pushed himself up as Cleo grabbed his arm to steady him.
Dirk’s cabin was larger than Cleo’s and more like a real home. The downstairs room was bigger, so was the kitchen. There was a small dining area and bedroom on the main floor. The loftlike bedroom looked exactly like Cleo’s.
“You okay?” Cleo asked, guiding Dirk as he hobbled to one of two couches situated on opposite sides of the fireplace.
“I will be. With you helping me, how can’t I?”
When he reached the couch, he sat down and let out a sigh of relief.
“Do you have an ice pack?”
“No. If you just wrap some ice in a plastic bag, that would do it.”
Cleo walked over to the open kitchen. She was exhausted and knew she’d better drink some water soon. But first she wanted to get Dirk the ice. Quickly she opened drawers till she found a plastic bag. After she filled it, she grabbed a towel from the bathroom and hurried over to the couch. Dirk’s foot was up on the coffee table. His head was back.
“I’m not much of a nurse,” Cleo said.
Dirk leaned forward. “Thank you, Connie,” he said as he put the towel under his foot and positioned the ice pack around his ankle.
“Would you like some water?”
“That would be wonderful. There’s a big bottle in the refrigerator.”
A minute later Cleo was back. She sat on the couch, handed Dirk a glass, then drained her own in one gulp.
Dirk smiled. “You were thirsty.”
“I should have had water after my run. I think that’s why I got stomach cramps.”
Dirk leaned forward again and adjusted the bag. “I hope I didn’t sprain it too bad,” he said, groaning.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Cleo asked. “I’ll drive you.”
“No, not yet. If it gets really bad I’ll go. I’m hoping my ankle will be okay if I keep this ice on there for a while.”
Cleo was torn. She didn’t feel comfortable staying with Dirk, but she also didn’t want to desert him. She was afraid to be in her cabin, but the thought of packing up and finding someplace else to go was daunting.
Dirk’s head was back and he looked like he was in pain. “I’ll leave if you just want to close your eyes and relax,” Cleo offered.
Dirk reached out and touched her hand. “No, please. Stay,” he said, then closed his eyes.
“Okay,” Cleo said. She put her glass on a coaster on the table. I’m so tired, she thought, as she leaned back and tried to relax. Maybe I’ll close my eyes as well. For just a minute. Then something caught her eye that changed her mind.
The butt of a rifle was sticking out from under the couch.
35
I’ve been studying with the most wonderful teacher in Los Angeles,” April informed her luncheon companion as the waiter cleared their plates. “Since I’ve been in his class I’ve experienced such growth as an actress. It’s incredible. Even when I’m not doing a scene, I learn so much from his critiques of the other actors. I soak up every word he says, like a sponge.” April’s hands flew into the air, landing strategically on her chest, just above her low-cut blouse. She leaned forward. “You know what he told me after I did my very first scene?”
“What?”
“He told me I come to life when I act.”
“Really.”
“Really! Then after I did another scene he said he was amazed at my versatility. One scene was from a drama, the other a comedy. I love to do both!”
Sandy Stewart looked at his Rolex. The fiftysomething producer had a meeting in a half hour. Stewart had agreed to meet April Dockton for lunch as a favor to a friend of his in the business. She was certainly attractive, but much too desperate. “That’s wonderful,” he said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
“This is my lunch,” April said, putting her hand on his. “Before you leave, I insist you have dessert.” She laughed. “I insist. They have yummy apple tarts topped with homemade cinnamon ice cream.”
Sandy patted the side of his thinning blond hair. “I’m losing what I want to keep,” he said, then pointed to his waist. “And gaining what I want to lose. No dessert, especially ice cream.”
“They have noncaloric sorbet.”
“No thanks. I really have to get going. I have a meeting.”
“Is it about your movie?”
Sandy turned his head and gestured to the waiter. “Check?” he said, then turned back to April. “Yes, it is about the movie. We’re meeting with the casting director to talk about actors we’d like to approach for the roles. Now that we have a decent script …”
“I hear it’s a great script.”
Sandy shrugged. “We hope.”
The waiter approached with a small leather folder. Sandy whipped out a credit card and extended his arm before the waiter even reached the table. “Here. Thank you.” he said.
“Honestly,” April protested. “You were supposed to be my guest today.”
Sandy shook his head. “I wish you a lot of luck in your career …”
Ever the actress, April kept smiling. “My teacher says we have to be pushy if we want to make it in this business,” she joked. “I hear there’s a fantastic part for someone my type in your movie.”
“There is.”
“Great,” April responded, willing her laugh not to sound fake. “I’m ready to audition.”
Sandy put his hand on April’s. “Listen, honey. I understand how tough it is. But it’s tough for us, too. We want to make a movie that people will come see. A good script is important but it’s vital for us to cast actors who have names. Actors who will bring people to the box office. If there were a smaller part for you, I would call you in. But there’s not. Maybe next time.”
The waiter returned with the credit card receipt. Sandy scrawled his name, picked up his card, and with a decisive motion, snapped the leather case closed. It reminded April of a judge with his gavel. Case dismissed.
“I understand,” April said, trying to retain her dignity. “But someday you’ll be begging me to be in one of your movies.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“I have a question.”
“What?” Sandy asked as he pushed his chair back.
“Who are you considering for the part?”
“We’ve tossed around a few names already. I probably shouldn’t say …”
“Come on,” April coaxed. I want to know—who’s my competition?”
Sandy smiled broadly. “My personal favorite is Cleo Paradise.” He reached out his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, April,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ve got to run. Let me know if you’re in something I can see.” He turned and hurried out of the restaurant.
36
Beaches along the Jersey Shore were mobbed. Ten miles south of Edna’s house, in Seaside Heights, Rufus “Dizzy”
Spells, his wife, Monique, and their three young sons trudged across the hot sand until they found a spot as close to the water as possible.
“Yippee,” the youngest boy cheered, dropping his towel and kicking off his shoes. “I’m going swimming!”
“Me, too,” his brothers both shouted, doing the same.
“Guys, what about suntan lotion?” Dizzy asked, resting a large beach umbrella on the sand.
“We put it on before we left the house,” Monique said, chewing on a piece of her favorite hard candy. “You were in the car honking the horn.”
“I wanted to get out of there,” Dizzy grunted. “We planned to go to the beach at ten this morning. Naturally, that didn’t happen.” He started to twist the umbrella pole into the sand.
“Can I help you with that?” Monique asked halfheartedly. She put down her beach bag, took off her blouse, and adjusted the straps of her black bikini.
“Nah,” he answered. “Watch the kids. Don’t let them go in too far.”
“I won’t,” she said, inspecting her tan line as she walked away.
With great effort, Dizzy pushed and twisted the pole down into the sand until he was satisfied it would stay upright. He let the pole go, his hand ready to catch it if it started to fall over. Happily the pole remained upright. Pleased at his accomplishment, he turned the crank and watched as the umbrella slowly spread out above him. A moment later he was arranging his towel, when the umbrella collapsed. A group of teenagers sitting nearby snickered. Dizzy didn’t realize one of them had grabbed his cell phone and was videotaping the proceedings.
Dizzy stuck out his tongue and bit his lip. Concentrating hard, he grabbed the handle again, turning it until he heard the click that ensured the umbrella was locked in place. He plopped his body down, exhausted, and sighed with relief.
What a month, he thought as he unzipped the beach bag and fished around for the suntan lotion. Visiting Monique’s parents at their beach house was usually fun, but this year her aunt and uncle were there, as well as her cousin who did nothing but complain. The house was too crowded and always noisy. Dizzy fumbled through Monique’s comb and makeup and books and candies and bottles of water. Finally he spotted the lotion and reached for it. The bottle was hot and greasy and slipped through his hands. Give me a break, he fumed. Why can’t Monique be more careful? He grabbed the bottle again, flicked the cap to the open position, aimed it at his thigh, and squeezed. To his amazement, the cap fell off. Runny lotion poured out of the bottle onto his leg, spilling over onto his towel.
Mobbed Page 9
