Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (10 page)

W
ally and Arthur were speeding across the George Washington Bridge in glum silence. Pointing to the darkened Manhattan skyline, Wally marveled, “That’s something isn’t it?”

“You don’t have to point it out to me,” Arthur growled. “Are you forgetting I was already there tonight?”

“No. Sorry. It’s just weird that the only lights are coming from the cars on the road.” He glanced down at his lighted dashboard, and his heart skipped a beat. There was one light there that he hadn’t noticed when they got into the car. The warning light on the gas gauge. They were running on empty. The last couple times he’d taken the car on a quick errand, he’d noticed that he needed gas. But both times there had been a line of at least two cars at the local gas station, so he put off filling the tank.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

Please God, he thought. Just let us get to Tribeca. I’ll leave the car on the street and walk home if I have to. He slowed down to preserve whatever fuel was left.

“What are you doing?” Arthur snapped. “We’re not out for a Sunday drive.”

“I don’t want to get a ticket,” Wally mumbled as he took the exit that led them to the West Side Highway. “The last thing we need to do is attract attention.” He kept his foot on the accelerator as lightly as he could while still maintaining a steady rate of speed. It couldn’t be more than five miles, he told himself as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. Come on, baby. We’ve been together through thick and thin. Just get me there, and I promise I’ll never do this to you again.

As they drove down the West Side Highway, Wally started to feel better about their chances for a successful arrival in Tribeca. South of One Hundredth Street, the car sputtered.

“What’s that?” Arthur spat.

“What’s what?”

“What’s wrong with the car?” Suspicion in his eyes, Arthur leaned over and looked at the gas gauge. “We’re out of gas, you idiot! What’s wrong with you? We could have taken my car!”

“You were too upset to drive,” Wally protested as he steered the sputtering car to the side of the highway, where it went kaput. “I’ve been meaning to get gas…”

“Meaning to get gas! You get behind the wheel during a blackout, and you don’t check to see how much gas you have?”

“I was stressed out!” Hoping against hope, Wally turned the key. The engine whined and moaned but refused to turn over.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said as he started to get out of the car.

“Go? And leave my car here? It’ll get towed.”

“Well then why don’t you call the police and report it? While you’re at it, ask them to give us a ride to Tribeca.” Arthur stepped out onto the street and slammed the door.

My contractor’s ultimate fantasy was so misguided, Wally thought as he got out, retrieved two flashlights from the backseat, and locked the car. “If it doesn’t get towed, it’ll get stolen,” he mumbled.

“By thieves who just happen to be carrying a can of gas?” Arthur asked sarcastically.

They started walking along a footpath near the river. As strolls go, if one was in the right frame of mind, it was the perfect time for one. The night—dark, quiet, and calm—had a mysterious, ethereal beauty.

“I hope we don’t get knifed,” Arthur said with his usual pessimism. “This area is deserted. You don’t know who we might come across. That’s why I bought the stun gun. Do you know they’re legal in most states? But not New York or New Jersey. Ohhhh, no. I read online that instead of having Tupperware parties, women all over the country are having taser parties. They’re buying them for self defense!”

“What don’t you read online? You’re a fountain of information.”

“I enjoy my time at the computer.”

“Well, legal or not, you might have left the stun gun behind at a crime scene. That’s our problem. That’s why we’re here right now.”

They continued on in silence for several minutes.

“Look!” Arthur whispered. “There’s someone coming this way.” In the distance a lone figure was headed toward them. Arthur’s knees started to shake. “Maybe we should cross the highway.”

“What kind of a man are you?” Wally asked with disgust. “Just keep walking. There are two of us and one of him.”

As the figure drew closer they could tell it was a disheveled man with a beard. He was wearing a backpack and looking down at the ground as he trudged along, mumbling to himself.

“He’s demented,” Wally muttered.

Moments later, as they were approaching the stranger whose body odor preceded him, Wally felt a sudden urge to be friendly. “Evening,” he said.

The man briefly looked up, lost his footing, tripped, and fell to the ground. “Look what you made me do!” he snarled in a surprisingly cultured voice.

“I’m so sorry. Let us help you,” Wally said quickly as he reached for the stranger’s arm. But the man swung around and threw a punch. Wally reeled backward, blood spurting out of his nose, as the man hightailed it down the path.

Arthur, even though he wasn’t experiencing particularly warm feelings toward Wally this evening, took off after the assailant. He caught up with him, grabbed the straps of his backpack, pulled it off his body, and gave the stranger a good shove. “My friend was trying to be nice to you,” Arthur screamed. “We’re going to call the police.”

Like a shot, the man scurried down toward the river and quickly disappeared.

Stunned, Arthur was left holding the grimy backpack. He wasn’t about to chase the vagrant to an even more remote area. Breathing hard, he turned and walked back to Wally, who had sat down on the ground and tilted his head back to stem the flow of blood. His T-shirt was pulled up around his nose.

“Do you have a handkerchief?” Wally asked in a garbled tone.

“No. My mother told me a gentleman should always carry one, but I guess I’m not a gentleman.” Arthur sat down on the ground next to Wally. He placed the backpack on the ground next to him. “I can’t believe that nut took off without this. He really must have been afraid of me.”

“Do you think there’s anything inside that bag that I can use to soak up the blood?”

“I somehow doubt there are any clean bandages, but if you want me to take a look…” Arthur said hesitantly. If there was anything Arthur hated, it was germs.

“Take a quick look. Then we’ll get going, I promise.” Wally reached for one of the flashlights on the ground next to him and handed it to Arthur.

Wincing, Arthur opened the buckle of the backpack, pushed over the flap, and saw that a blanket that had been stuffed inside. “A blanket?” Arthur muttered as he started to pull it out. Right away he could tell that something was wrapped in it. He started to unroll the blanket with one hand and shone the flashlight with the other. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the objects in the backpack.

“What does he have in there?” Wally asked, gazing up at the stars.

“Wally!”

“What?”

“I think that man is a thief!”

“That makes three of us.”

“I’m not kidding. There are glass sculptures wrapped in this blanket that are worth a fortune. I read about a gallery that’s opening in Manhattan and specializing in glass like this.”

“I must have missed that. You read it online?”

“Of course.” Arthur pulled a second blanket out of the backpack and carefully unrolled it. “Now I’m sure they’re from that gallery!” he crowed triumphantly.

“Why?”

He held up a ruby glass slipper. “This sculpture was the centerpiece of their collection! They had a picture of it in the article. Wally, we are in possession of stolen property! What are we going to do? If we hand these sculptures over to the police, and then they trace the stun gun to me, they’ll never believe we didn’t steal these ourselves!”

I
n the crowded lobby of the Gates Hotel, Kit was sitting in a folding chair that had been provided by a staff member. Her crutches were on the floor beside her. Dexter, who had proclaimed he would watch for Georgina all night if he had to, had gone back to the bar to drown his sorrows over his company’s pending shame. Kit wanted to keep her eye on the front door just in case Georgina returned. In her heart she knew that there was more of a chance that the Queen of England would appear in the flesh.

Georgina won’t be back anytime soon, Kit thought. She is somewhere out there in this dark dark night with that poor guy. If I hadn’t gone to the comedy club with her, he might not be in this predicament. If Georgina had gone alone, the timing would have been different. But, Kit reasoned, trying to make herself feel better, she might have picked up somebody else. She had certainly done it before when she was out alone. Still, Kit couldn’t help but feel that she was somewhat responsible for the fate of Chip Jones.

A memory that sometimes haunted Kit suddenly came to mind. She was about eight or nine years old and playing outside her house with some of the neighborhood kids. One of the boys asked her for a piece of candy. Kit said she’d give him one of her gumballs if he’d race her around the block on their bicycles. In the middle of the race, the boy went head over heels off his bike and knocked out his front teeth.

Kit had been tormented. If only I’d just given him the candy, she often thought. It was an accident with permanent repercussions. I certainly didn’t want to hurt him, and to this day it bothers me. How can Georgina go out and deliberately hurt innocent people? It was so hard for her to fathom. And who’s to say that she won’t get more violent?

“Kit!”

Kit turned her head. Regan, Billy, Melanie, and the security chief reappeared. Red-cheeked and slightly out of breath, they all looked as if they’d just run a marathon. But they seemed to possess a renewed urgency. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

“Pictures of her victims,” Regan said quickly. “I’ll show you in the car.” She turned to Cal. “I can’t thank you enough. You have my cell phone number. When you get the address of that bar, let me know.”

“I will. And we’ll watch for Georgina.”

“Kit, where’s Dexter?” Melanie asked.

“He went back to the bar. He’s pretty upset.”

“He should be. He’s the one who hired her. Regan, I’ll be right out. I don’t care what he says but I do want to tell him I’m going with you.”

“You’re coming with us?” Kit asked.

“Yes. You and I are the only two who have seen Georgina in person. I want to help.” Melanie turned and hurried off.

“We’ll be out front,” Regan said.

At the car, Regan noticed that Kit made a point of getting in the back seat with Billy. “Melanie will be able to see better from the passenger seat in the front,” she said to Regan. “I’ll sit behind you. We’ll keep our eyes peeled and cover both sides of the street.”

“Kit, I think you’ll need night vision glasses,” Billy joked as he lightly touched her shoulder. “There’s not much to see. It’s pretty dark.”

“Whatever,” Kit shrugged. “Regan, can I see the pictures?”

Regan turned on the light in the car and handed the photos to Kit. “Oh, my God,” Kit exclaimed as she looked at the images of the branded arms. “She is evil.”

“I’m afraid so,” Regan answered. “You’re about to hear more,” she said as she dialed Herb McFadden, the detective in Atlanta. While she was telling him about the photos they’d found, Melanie opened the passenger door and got in.

“We also have reason to believe that Georgina’s grandmother, whom she was very close to, lived in New York City,” Regan said. “This woman was a bartender at a hole-in-the-wall on the Upper East Side. Supposedly she had a tough exterior, but she kept a picture of her granddaughter behind the bar. Did Georgina’s friend Paulette mention anything about her?”

“No, but I’ll ask. She’s keeps talking about a guy who dumped Georgina in college. I guess he was pretty cruel to her. Paulette says it’s why Georgina does what she does.”

“If everybody who’d been dumped resorted to this kind of revenge, most of the world would be walking around with brands on their bodies,” Regan commented.

“Revenge takes all forms,” McFadden noted. “Last week a woman here in Atlanta took all fifteen of her cheating husband’s designer suits, threw them in a pile in the backyard, and set them on fire. I guess he should consider himself lucky.”

“Sounds like it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Regan said. “I’m in my car now with one of Georgina’s co-workers, my friend who had gone to the comedy club with Georgina tonight, and a comedian from the club. We’re going to drive around the city and see if we can possibly locate them. I know it’s a long shot. Has Paulette mentioned anything new about Georgina’s habits when she pulled off these crimes that might help us?”

“She just mentioned that Georgina would get her victims to drink margaritas.”

“Margaritas?” Regan asked.

“Yes.”

“Her grandmother’s specialty was margaritas. And my friend Kit said Georgina had one at the comedy club tonight.”

“That’s interesting. And two or three of those drinks have more of an effect than two or three beers. Paulette said Georgina would pretend to drink while the guys were downing the tequila. When she knew they’d be leaving the bar soon, she’d spike their drinks with the knockout drops.

“Let me know if Paulette has anything to say about Georgina’s grandmother. Or any other tidbits she shares that might be helpful.”

“Will do.”

Regan hung up and turned on the car.

“These pictures are dreadful,” Kit said quietly.

“They were stuffed in her pillow. I guess they gave her sweet dreams,” Regan said as she steered the car out into the traffic. “There are so many bars in this city. I think I’ll call Cal and see if he knows of any bars on the Upper East Side that are known for margaritas. At least it’s a place to start.”