Mobbed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  I’ve had enough, Wilbur thought. He and Stix had been in a dark, dingy, smoke-filled casino for hours. Stix had gone straight to the craps tables, while Wilbur tried his hand at the slot machines. He’d limited himself to betting one hundred dollars. When it was all gone, he walked around the floor several times, then found his way back to the table where Stix was still playing.

  “Stix, what do you say we head home?”

  “Listen, Wilbur,” Stix barked, “if you don’t want to spend time with me, that’s fine. Go running to Edna. See if I care.”

  “Edna has nothing to do with it,” Wilbur said. “I’d be happy to go someplace else. I feel as if I really need some fresh air. Let’s take a walk on the Boardwalk.”

  Stix looked at his watch. “I promise we’ll leave here in an hour.”

  “You mind if I go outside?” Wilbur asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  Wilbur crossed the casino floor, past rows and rows of blinking, buzzing, blaring slot machines. He wasn’t feeling great. Outside there was no breeze and it was unbearably hot. When he reached the Boardwalk, he sat down on a bench, pulled out his phone, and called Edna.

  “Wilbur!” Edna cried. “How’s your day?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “How’s your sale?”

  “Pretty good. But, Wilbur,” Edna whispered, “there’s a problem with Cleo Paradise. Her parents don’t know where she is. She might be in trouble.”

  “That’s a shame,” Wilbur said, feeling a heaviness in his chest.

  Edna filled him in on how surprised she was when Nora Regan Reilly showed up with her daughter, who was a private investigator. “And now Regan is on the hunt for Cleo!”

  “Edna, I knew you couldn’t have an ordinary garage sale,” Wilbur joked. “Something peculiar always happens when you’re around.”

  “I hope you mean that in a good way.”

  “You know I do, sweetie. Well, I just thought I’d say hello.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m out on the Boardwalk. Stix is in the casino. I’m going back in and try to talk him into leaving. I’d like to get home and take a nap. I’ll call you later. ‘Bye …” Wilbur closed his phone and got up. Slowly he walked back toward the casino, which was a block away. I feel so tired, he thought. Well, what do I expect? I’m eighty years old.

  Expecting a protest from Stix, Wilbur was thrilled to hear that he was ready to go. But his gambling friend didn’t look happy. They walked out to the parking lot and got in Stix’s car.

  “I should have quit while I wasn’t so far behind,” Stix muttered as he started up the engine.

  “Stix, I’m feeling a little under the weather. You mind if I shut my eyes for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all. I’ll turn on the ball game.”

  He probably has a bet on it, Wilbur thought as he pushed back his seat and fell fast asleep.

  64

  Regan and Jack went downstairs and found Nora in the gazebo. Edna was in the yard speaking on a cordless phone.

  Nora smiled at Jack. “My favorite son-in-law located my daughter?”

  “I did,” Jack said. “And she’s already put me to work.”

  In hushed tones, Regan explained where they were going.

  “Her super is here at the Shore?” Nora said, adjusting her sunglasses. “That’s certainly interesting.”

  “And he’s not Cleo’s number one fan.” Regan turned to Jack. “You should have seen the couple who were first in line today. The president and vice president of Cleo’s fan club. What a pair of winners.”

  “They were beauts,” Nora agreed.

  “Mom,” Regan whispered, looking around to make sure Edna was out of earshot. “Are you sure you can’t go home now?”

  Nora shook her head. “I’m not leaving. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. That Jody is a little pushy for my taste.”

  “Mine, too. Karen really owes you one.”

  “She does.”

  “When is Dad getting down?”

  “At about seven.”

  “I don’t know when we’ll see you,” Regan said, then shrugged. “With any luck Cleo will call soon and tell us she’s fine.”

  “I’m praying for her,” Nora said simply.

  A chill went through Regan’s body. Hearing her mother say those words made the whole situation feel more dire.

  “Okayyyy,” Edna said, stepping into the gazebo, the wireless phone in her hand. “That was my fella. He’s down in Atlantic City.”

  “Everything all right?” Nora asked. “You look worried.”

  Edna frowned as she took a seat. “He didn’t sound quite like himself. He said he wants to get back home and take a nap, which is unlike him. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said, trying to brush off her concern. “Jack, can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. We’re on our way.”

  Again, Regan quickly explained where they were going. “Edna, I know you didn’t see Cleo much. But if you think of anything she said, or anything you found around the house that might give us an idea of where she went, please let me know.”

  “I will, Regan. I promise.” Edna’s demeanor had turned so serious, as if the worry over her boyfriend had finally made her wake up to the fact that Cleo could be in real danger.

  Out in his car, Jack programmed the GPS for the Cammarizzos’ address in Seaside Heights. They started to pull down Edna’s street when Regan’s phone rang. It was Hayley.

  “Regan, I’ve been dying to talk to you. I have something to tell you you’re not going to believe.”

  “Same here,” Regan said.

  “You first,” Hayley said.

  “No, go ahead.” Regan was happy to put off delivering more bad news.

  “Okay. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Scott called and asked me out for Saturday night!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. He actually had the nerve to tell me he’d been with his son last night.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Regan said, shaking her head.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. Of course I said yes. I have big plans for him. Now what’s your news?”

  Oy, Regan thought. Here goes. “After I spoke with you this morning my mother called and asked me to come with her to a garage sale at the shore.”

  “Don’t tell me. You bought something that is worth a whole lot more than you paid for it. I love those stories.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Scott’s fiancée was working at the sale,” Regan said, then wisely held the phone out from her ear.

  “His fiancée?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the sale? I’ll call a car service right now.”

  “She’s not there anymore. She went off to run another sale.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Hayley said. “Tell me every detail. What do you mean she went off to run another sale?”

  “She’s in business with another woman. They help people with garage sales, higher-end ones, I guess.”

  Hayley was hyperventilating. “How can I compete with that?” she asked sarcastically. “Obviously Scott likes women who plan events!”

  “I guess he does.”

  “Does she have another big garage sale Saturday night, and he has nothing to do? Is that why he wants to see me?”

  “I don’t know, Hayley. It’s a good question.” Regan paused. “She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Hayley said. “It might not have fit.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Or maybe she hated the ring and is making him change it.”

  “Always a possibility.”

  “But I want to find out what’s going on with this guy! You thought I was mad this morning? Regan, what’s the name of their business?”

  “Hayley, be careful.”

  “Regan, Scott asked me out again! This situ
ation has not been put to rest. I’m not prolonging the agony. He is. And he’s going to pay for it! What’s the name of their business? Oh wait! What’s her name?”

  “Jillian. Her partner’s name is Jody. I don’t know their last names.”

  “And the name of their business?”

  “Garage Sale Gurus.”

  “Oh please!”

  “I’ll help you, Hayley, but right now I have something else going on.” Regan explained about Cleo Paradise.

  “Cleo Paradise? I just saw her archenemy at lunch today.”

  “Her archenemy? Who’s that?”

  “An actress named April Dockton. Cleo beat her out for the part in My Super Super. The producer I had lunch with said if she were Cleo, she wouldn’t want to meet April in a dark alley.”

  65

  When Kit went back into her office building, she stopped at the newsstand in the lobby. The headline of a popular woman’s magazine caught her eye.

  “Three words to describe why you will never ever ever get married. PICKY PICKY PICKY. Who do you think you are anyway?”

  Oh swell, Kit thought. It’s the old blame-the-victim. Whenever people told her she was too picky, she’d point out to them that a guy she was dating and thought she wanted to marry turned into a psycho and tried to kill her—and her best friend. So there! I wasn’t picky enough. I overlooked signs that he was a deranged killer just so I could have a relationship. She avoided mentioning that he was also extremely handsome and very rich.

  Against her better judgment, Kit bought the magazine. I must be a masochist, she thought. I can predict with 100 percent accuracy what the article will say—someone like me deserves to be alone because I don’t give someone like Winston a chance. Well, the weekend’s about to begin and I’m alone. But so is Regan’s client and you can’t blame her for being picky! The lowlife she was dating got engaged to someone else and hadn’t told her yet.

  Kit returned to her office, the magazine in a brown bag which she stuck in her bottom drawer. The last thing I need is for anyone in this joint to see that screaming headline. I’ll never live it down.

  As the afternoon wore on, Kit couldn’t get the word “picky” out of her mind. Maybe, just maybe, I should give Winston a call, she mused. What’s wrong with a friendly hello? Maybe I should give him another chance. If he’ll even let me. He called me three times the night after our date, asking if I’d gotten home to Connecticut safely. I never called him back. He is obviously thoughtful. He even made a special trip to a garage sale to buy something of Cleo’s for his sister. And it’s kind of cute that he bought goldfish bowls and a fish tank. Regan and Jack were impressed when they met him on the beach. Oh, I don’t know, Kit wavered. He carries vinegar in his beach bag. I’m not sure I can get past that. And his nonstop talk about invertebrates was excruciating. I shouldn’t let that headline about being picky influence my better judgment. But still …

  A coworker poked his head in her door. “Kit, we’re about to start the meeting.”

  “I’m ready,” Kit said, getting up. My internal debate about calling Winston will have to wait. I’ll ask Regan what she thinks. But right now she has much more important things to worry about. Could Cleo Paradise really be in danger? Is whoever left the dead flowers out to get her?

  Kit shivered, remembering how terrified she was when her wacko beau tried to kill her. I was never so scared in my life.

  Please, God, don’t let something like that happen to Cleo, Kit prayed. Help Regan find her before it’s too late.

  66

  Ronald Flake was disgusted. He’d stood in the parking lot at the train station where he’d been so rudely thrown out of Horace’s car, sure that his son would be right back. It was only when the train came roaring down the tracks that Ronnie ran to the ticket counter and forked over his money. He’d boarded the train in disbelief, taken a seat in a nearly empty car, and tried to call his son.

  Horace didn’t pick up.

  I cannot believe he would do this to me, Ronnie fumed, shaking the phone in his hand. My own flesh and blood is a loser beyond words. It all comes from his mother’s side of the family. Ronnie waited for the beep on Horace’s voice mail, then whispered into the phone. “Son, you’re just like your crazy Uncle Noogie who’s rotting in prison.” He hung up, then quickly called back. “Son, I hate to admit it but you were a big mistake.” When he disconnected the second time, an idea sprung to mind. Smiling broadly, Ronnie dialed again.

  Ronnie left message after insulting message until Horace’s mailbox was full.

  67

  Jack’s office called as he and Regan entered the town of Seaside Heights.

  “Yes, Keith,” Jack said to his assistant as he put the call on the speakerphone so Regan could listen in to the conversation. “What have you got for me?”

  “Horace Flake has been arrested several times for assault. He’s an unlicensed taxi driver and has been in and out of jail over the past twenty years.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “In Queens with his parents.”

  “How about the father?”

  “Ronald Flake has never been arrested but he’s been sued by four clients in the last eight years for not paying them in full.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will. Talk to you later.”

  “Poor Cleo,” Regan said as Jack disconnected the call. “I’d want to get away from the Flakes, too. I’m hoping this means that Cleo is just retreating from the world for a while.”

  Jack turned onto a narrow street off the main road. Small but neat beach cottages lined the block. Clotheslines hung in tiny front yards that consisted of smooth white pebbles. No one was around. They found the Cammarizzo home and parked in front.

  “Here we go,” Regan said.

  As they got out of the car, the front door of the Cammarizzos’ opened.

  “Be right back!” A frazzled, attractive fortyish woman emerged from the house, car keys in hand. She had light brown hair and was wearing aqua blue terry cloth shorts and a white sleeveless shirt. Clearly she was in a hurry.

  “Excuse me,” Regan called across the small yard.

  “What?”

  “I was wondering if Dizzy is home …”

  “No, that jerk is not home. He had a fight with my cousin and left her stranded at the beach with the three kids. Nice, huh? I’m going to pick them up now. That guy uses up all the hot water in the house, then he has the nerve to complain about me? I hope he drops dead.” She got in her car, backed out of the driveway, then hit the gas, sending stray pebbles flying.

  Regan and Jack looked at each other.

  “If I were Dizzy I might never come back,” Regan said.

  Jack shook his head. “I can’t say I blame him.”

  “Why don’t we pull the car down to the end of the block and wait for a while?” Regan suggested. “Maybe he’ll appear.”

  68

  Well hello,” Rhonda said, greeting Striker and Harriet as they straggled in the door of her restaurant. “I never see you here this early. It’s still light out!”

  “We’ve had a bad day,” Striker grunted.

  “A really bad day,” Harriet agreed. “It’s all my fault. We needed to get out of the house. But we also wanted to congratulate you on your engagement.”

  Rhonda smiled. “Word spreads fast. I’m so happy. I can’t wait for you to meet Frankie. Let’s have a drink,” she said, leading them to a table in the front near the window. “Sit and relax.”

  Striker and Harriet sank into their chairs, while Rhonda signaled for a waitress. “Peggy, we’d like to order drinks, please.”

  “Right away.”

  After they placed their order, Rhonda folded her hands in front of her. “So. Do you want to tell me about your bad day? Or would you rather try and forget it?”

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “I’d better tell you so you don’t end up making the same mistake.”
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  “Now I’m really curious.”

  “Well,” Harriet began. “I got the bright idea to clean out our house, get rid of the clutter, and have a garage sale. I don’t know how to run a sale so I hired a company that helps you with every detail. A woman came to clear out our clutter …” She paused, starting to choke on her words.

  Striker put his arm around her. “It’s okay, honey.”

  Harriet shook her head. “No it’s not. Anyway, she convinced me to throw out so many of our personal things that we really would have liked to keep forever. Flowers Striker gave me …” She blinked back tears.

  “My baseball cards,” Striker added.

  “You collected baseball cards?” Rhonda asked. “They can be valuable.”

  “Don’t remind me. Baseball and music are my two loves. Besides Harriet.”

  Harriet tried to smile. “Striker, I’m so glad you didn’t realize those cards were gone until after she left today. I’ve never seen you so angry.”

  “You saw this woman today?” Rhonda asked.

  “Yes,” Harriet answered. “Our garage sale was this afternoon. It wasn’t exactly mobbed. What a waste of our time and money.”

  “If I ever see that woman again …,” Striker said, shaking his head.

  Rhonda looked thoughtful and was about to say something when the waitress placed their drinks on the table.

  Striker lifted his glass of beer. “To your engagement, Rhonda. Frankie’s a lucky guy. We’re thrilled for you.”

  “We certainly are,” Harriet agreed, raising her piña colada.

  “Thank you,” Rhonda said as they all clinked glasses. She took a sip of her wine, then yawned. “I’m a little tired because I was up really late last night celebrating with my friends. It was so much fun. Everyone in the restaurant was congratulating me, even customers I had never met before. It’s funny how friendly strangers become in certain situations. They let their guard down. It reminded me of when people smile and make faces at somebody’s baby in an elevator.”

  “A friend of mine meets more girls when he goes to the park with his dog than when he goes to bars,” Striker said.