Mobbed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Edna touched Regan’s arm, her expression suddenly serious. “Cleo is probably okay, right?”

  “Probably,” Regan said, trying to appear optimistic. She turned and walked through the yard, then down the block to her mother’s car. I’m glad we found a spot in the shade, she thought as she unlocked the door. When she got inside, she turned on the engine and the air conditioning. The last thing I need is for anyone to overhear me, she thought.

  First I’ll call Hayley. I’m almost afraid to tell her Scott’s fiancée was here. But Hayley’s voice mail came on.

  “Hayley, it’s Regan. Please call me.” Hanging up, Regan sighed. Hayley didn’t give me her office number. She hadn’t told anyone she’d hired a private investigator to trail Scott and didn’t want to speak to Regan from her office.

  Next Regan placed a call to Judson. His voice mail picked up as well. She left a message.

  When she called Jack, she was grateful he answered the phone.

  “Hey there.”

  “Hi,” Regan answered. “Finally someone wants to talk to me.”

  Jack laughed. “How’s the garage sale? Did you buy me a present?”

  “Wait till you hear this,” she said.

  Jack’s eyes crinkled as he listened and concentrated on what Regan was telling him.

  “Cleo’s parents are really upset. So is her best friend. But I have to be careful. Cleo’s a high-profile person. She might have gone off with some guy and doesn’t want people to know.”

  “I understand. You want some help?”

  “What?”

  “I got called to a meeting in Newark so I stopped at the apartment first and picked up our bags. My meeting just ended. I’m on my way.”

  Regan smiled. “That’s the first piece of good news I’ve had all day.”

  46

  Scott’s heart was racing with excitement. New York City, here I come, he thought. I’ve got to deposit the Binders’ check in my account before they change their mind. Now I can pay off that loan. Jillian would kill me if she knew about it. I’ve got to stay away from those gambling tables in Atlantic City.

  I’ll deposit the check, then turn the car around and get back across the bridge before rush hour. He’d made plans to go to the house his grandfather had owned in a rural area of western New Jersey. As a kid, Scott enjoyed visiting his grandparents at their big, old house and playing in the barn out back. Grandpa had died last year and the family was fixing up the place before they put it on the market. Because his grandfather had never wanted to move out, and was running out of money in his later years, he’d taken out a second mortgage on the property. By the time it sold and the family paid the taxes, there’d be nothing left. He tried to call Jillian but she didn’t pick up. She must be tied up at that other garage sale, he thought.

  He looked down. I’m going to need gas soon, he realized. I certainly rack up the mileage on this car.

  His cell phone rang. It was Trevor.

  “Trev, how are you doing?”

  “I’m bored, Dad. I can’t believe I’ve been stuck up here since July Fourth weekend with nothing to do!”

  “Sorry, Trevor. But it was your mother’s decision to vacation in Maine, away from all your friends. Where is she?”

  “Out on the beach with the old guy.”

  Scott smiled. No love lost there, he thought. Good. “I really wish you could be here right now, Trev, I really do. We’ll have to wait until next Friday. Then we have two weeks together.”

  “No, Dad, get this. Mom is sick of listening to me complain. She said I could fly down tomorrow. Isn’t that great? After you pick me up at the airport, maybe we could take my friends to dinner. I’ll call the guys. On Saturday there’s a Yankee game …”

  Scott’s stomach dropped. “Oh, Trev, I don’t know …”

  “What, Dad? You don’t want me to come down early?” Trevor asked, both hurt and incredulous. “You just said you wished I could be there right now!”

  “I do! But this weekend I’ll be out at Grandpa’s house. We still haven’t sold it. I’ve arranged to have workers come and do more repairs. It never ends!” he said, trying to laugh. “Why don’t you get a flight on Monday night or Tuesday? We’ll—Trev?”

  His son had hung up.

  Scott redialed but Trevor didn’t answer. No sense trying to make up more excuses, Scott thought. I’ll make it up to him next week.

  If I get the chance.

  47

  Horace was speeding toward the Garden State Parkway.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ronnie asked, as he pounded the dashboard. “Look what you did! My reputation is ruined. All the years of hard work in this business and it comes to this. I can’t show my face anymore.”

  “Me?” Horace screamed. “You weren’t exactly polite to that woman.”

  “I didn’t point my finger at her in a threatening way! Maybe I was coming across a little tough at first, but it was all part of the dance. I knew what I was doing! Ronald Flake has successfully negotiated many a contract, after all.”

  They were about to pass a train station. Abruptly Horace turned the wheel to the left, sped into the parking lot, and screeched to a halt.

  “What are you doing?” Ronnie cried.

  “Get out!”

  “Get out? Are you out of your mind?”

  “No, I’m not. You can’t yell at me like that!” Horace shouted. “Get out of my car. The train is coming. If you hurry, you might get a good seat.”

  Ronnie looked at him aghast.

  “Get out!” The blood vessels in Horace’s forehead looked as if they might pop.

  Quickly Ronnie obeyed, but then slammed the door with all his might. It was barely closed when Horace took off.

  Such a temper, Ronnie thought. Wait till his mother hears this.

  48

  In the ladies’ room at Redman’s, April stared into the mirror. As soon as Cleo Paradise’s name had been mentioned, her blood had started to boil. And boil and boil and boil. It showed on her face, which was so red it almost matched the color of her hair. I’m only twenty-seven but I look so old, she thought. All this stress! If I don’t get a great role soon, I may as well be put out to pasture.

  Cleo Paradise. Why couldn’t she have continued wandering the world with her vagabond parents? The cutesy little story that weirdo Yaya told in all the interviews about three-year-old Cleo doing a dead-on imitation of someone they met in the wilds made April want to throw up. She’s such a mimic. So talented. The way she disappears into a character is amazing. She can play any role at all!

  April quickly touched up her makeup. Tomorrow she was heading back to Los Angeles. She’d been back and forth between New York and Florida a few times in the past month and had been so excited to finally nail down this lunch date. What a disaster! I’m so mortified, she thought. Mortified.

  On the way out of the restaurant, she did her best to act like a star.

  “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” April cooed, hugging the maître d’.

  Out on the street, the marquee sign for The Tides Return made her wince. Before lunch it hadn’t really bothered her. Now it seemed like another slap in the face. I’m surprised they didn’t want Cleo for that part, she thought angrily.

  She hailed a cab.

  “Where to, lady?”

  “The rental car place straight down by the river.”

  49

  After Regan hung up with Jack, she felt so much better. He’d be with her in the next hour or two. Now I’ll try Cleo, she thought. She probably wouldn’t pick up if she didn’t recognize the number, but I’ll leave a message.

  Regan dialed, then waited as Cleo’s cell phone rang several times. Finally the voice mail kicked in, but it wasn’t Cleo’s voice. An automated recording gave the number called, and said to leave a message after the tone.

  “Hello, Cleo, my name is Regan Reilly. I know this call is coming out of the blue and you might be inclined to ignore it, but if you would call me back, I�
�d appreciate it. I’m at Edna Frawley’s home. Your parents and friend Daisy have called here because they haven’t been able to reach you and are very concerned. Your parents are on their way back to the States and Daisy’s on a movie set, so if you call them and end up having to leave a message, I won’t know you’re okay until someone gets back to me. I’m a private investigator and your parents want me to locate you as soon as possible. Please call and let me know you’re okay. Thanks, Cleo …” Regan gave her number then hung up.

  Regan sat still for a moment, thinking. When she hears I know Edna, she may never want to talk to me. I hope the guy who takes care of Edna’s pool gets in touch soon. He must have run into Cleo at least once during the month.

  Regan’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and smiled. It was Kit. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Kit answered. “I’m sitting outside on my lunch break and I thought I’d say hello. I also wanted the latest update on that guy you were spying on. Your client’s love life sounds worse than mine. Anything new?”

  “As a matter of fact …,” Regan began. Then she described the scene at the Chinese restaurant. But Regan never named names.

  “He’s engaged!” Kit exclaimed as she watched a pigeon peck at a crumb perilously close to her sandaled feet.

  “There’s more.” Regan told her where she was and why. “The fiancée is working at this garage sale.”

  “Oh my God!” Kit cried. “Does your client know yet?”

  “I tried to call her but she didn’t pick up. It can wait.”

  “If I were her, or she, or whatever is the proper word, I’d want you to find out every detail about that other woman. Every last detail! And that woman might be interested to know that lover boy was seeing someone else as recently as last week.”

  “Last week? He wanted to go to a big party with my client last night, but she couldn’t bring a date. So he gets engaged. He probably would have sooner or later, but still.”

  “I hope your client doesn’t go the route of, ‘Oh, if only I brought him to the party, that would have been the night he fell in love with me.’”

  “No, I don’t think so, Kit. She’s out for blood.”

  “Good.”

  “And I have some other interesting news for you,” Regan said, a smirk on her face.

  “What?”

  “Guess who I ran into at this garage sale?”

  “I’m stumped.”

  “Winston.”

  “Mr. Jellyfish?!” Kit almost shrieked. “What was he doing at a garage sale?”

  “Snapping up two goldfish bowls and a fish tank.”

  “Oh my God! Reilly, you will never ever ever have a career as a matchmaker.”

  “How did I know that would be your reaction?”

  “Because I’m so predictable. Okay, I can understand why he purchased those hot items, but why was he at the garage sale in the first place?”

  “He saw a sign that said some of Cleo Paradise’s things would be for sale and wanted to get something of Cleo’s for his sister. But all of Cleo’s stuff was already gone when he got here. By the way, he told me you never called him back but he was over it.”

  “What a relief. Maybe he met someone else.”

  “Maybe,” Regan said. “But he didn’t look exactly thrilled.”

  “He didn’t look thrilled on our date.”

  “Kit, I’d better get going. There’s something more serious going on …” Briefly Regan explained her new case involving Cleo Paradise.

  “Hopefully she wanted to try someplace new while she waited for her friend,” Kit said.

  “Hopefully,” Regan agreed. “But her parents have enough reason to be worried.”

  50

  How about an omelet?” Cleo called to Dirk. “I’ll cut up a green pepper and a tomato and throw in some cheese.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “You mind making a pot of coffee?”

  “Not at all.”

  Fifteen minutes later Cleo carried a tray with their lunch into the living room. She placed it on the coffee table and sat down.

  “Here you go.” She handed Dirk a plate with a steaming omelet and a toasted English muffin. “And here’s a fork and napkin.”

  Dirk smiled. “This looks wonderful.”

  “You’d better taste it first before you comment.”

  “You didn’t mix any poison in there, did you?”

  “No,” Cleo said matter-of-factly. “The bottle was empty.”

  They both chuckled and dug into their food.

  “This is delicious,” Dirk said after he took a bite. “Really good.”

  “It does taste pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

  Dirk winked at her. “I could get used to this.”

  “Being waited on?” Cleo teased.

  “Being waited on by you.”

  Cleo took a sip of her coffee. They ate in silence, neither one having realized how hungry they were.

  When Dirk was finished, he patted his mouth with his napkin and leaned back. “That hit the spot. Connie, you’re a good cook.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d like to know more about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” Cleo asked lightly.

  “You live in California, right?”

  “Yes, Los Angeles.”

  “And you’re writing a book on meditation. How did that come about?”

  Cleo hated to lie. But she didn’t want to tell Dirk who she was yet. She didn’t want her fame to get in the way. It was nice to just enjoy each other’s company.

  “Well, I figured meditation was a good way to calm my noives. My noives were shot.”

  Dirk at first was startled, then cracked up. “Really? Your noives?”

  Cleo’s eyes twinkled. The performer in her was coming to the surface. And if I’m going to try and deflect the conversation away from my life, I may as well have fun, she thought. “Yes. Absolutely. They were shot! Which reminds me of the joke about …”

  Dirk listened, his face incredulous, as an animated Cleo told three jokes in a row, using different accents and voices. It was her delivery that was so funny. He was laughing even before she got to the punch lines. “I never would have guessed there was a side like this to you, Connie,” he said finally, wiping his eyes, chuckling, and shaking his head. “Whew. You were so quiet and so serious … You really do …,” he started to say, then couldn’t get out the words. He’d obviously thought of something funny and started to laugh again.

  “I what?” Cleo asked.

  “… you do need meditation!” He pointed to the door and guffawed. “You better get back to your cabin right now and write that book!”

  Cleo burst out laughing. “Well hardy har har,” she said as she started to clear the plates.

  “No, don’t do that now,” Dirk said, waving his hand at her to stop.

  “I thought you liked being waited on.”

  “I do. But I want to hear more jokes. When I laugh I forget about the pain in my ankle.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “I am a poor baby.”

  “You just said I should go write my book,” Cleo teased. “Good idea.” She started to get up.

  “No!”

  “I really should go change out of my bathing suit.”

  “No you shouldn’t,” Dirk insisted. He reached for her hand. “I’m not letting you go.”

  51

  Jillian was doing her best to remain cheerful, even though Striker and Harriet were not happy people. When Jillian had gone into the house, Harriet had cried out, “How could you have made me throw out the flowers Striker sent me our first Valentine’s Day together?”

  “And my mementos,” Striker said angrily. “The program from the first Bruce Springsteen concert I ever went to. Tossed in the trash.”

  “They were in a box in the attic gathering dust,” Jillian said sweetly. “Harriet, you told me yourself y
ou never looked at them.”

  “But we knew they were there!”

  “I planned to go through that stuff eventually and use it for inspiration to write songs,” Striker said, running his hands through his hair. He threw his head back in despair. “Faded photographs,” he yelled, “tickets torn in half, remember that song? People collect those things!”

  “We didn’t throw out any photographs,” Jillian said, in an effort to console him.

  “I’m making a point!”

  “Sorry,” Jillian said. “Let’s have the sale and I promise you’ll feel better.”

  “Where is the trash?” Striker asked. “Harriet said you took it with you.”

  “I learned from experience that’s it’s always better to get rid of the stuff people agree to part with as soon as possible. There have been times when I’ve helped people clean out their clutter, then come back for a second day of hard work, and what do I find? Their junk is back! They fished through the garbage in the middle of the night. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I convince them to throw everything out again,” Jillian said with a knowing smile, “and they end up being so grateful. I promise you will, too. Striker, you don’t need a dusty box of mementos to inspire you. You’re a brilliant musician.”

  Striker shrugged and looked down.

  “It’s true.” She made a fist and pumped the air. “Let’s move on and have a great sale!”

  Grudgingly, Harriet and Striker helped Jillian display their things on the lawn. But people didn’t flock to the sale. One young mother came by and started to browse through the items baking in the sun. Her five-year-old kept tugging at her arm. “It’s too hot, Mommy. I want to go swimming.”

  “Okay! We’ll leave.”

  A couple came and bought a dresser and an old desk. Another woman bought a few pieces of jewelry.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Harriet said. “This hasn’t been a total waste.”

  “Oh yes it has,” Striker said, staring at Jillian. “It’s been more than a waste.”

  52