Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (48 page)

Reed collapsed on his sofa as the door to his apartment flew open. “Honey, I’m back!” Olivia cried. “Did you have a nice morning?”

When Ellen’s live session on the Pillow Talk website ended, she got up from the computer and walked out to the showroom. Pippy was at the counter, ringing up a sale for an elderly woman.

“No, I never met her,” the woman said as she signed a credit card receipt. “But I’ll be sure to keep her in my prayers.”

“Thank you. Be careful out there in this rain.”

The woman waved her cane. “I’ve lived on the Cape all my life. This storm is bad, but I’ve lived through some beauties.” She paused. “I was a go-go dancer, you know.”

“Oh really?” Pippy said politely.

“That’s right, dear. I got fired last week.” Chuckling at her own joke, the octogenarian headed for the door. “’Bye now.”

Pippy was laughing too. “’Bye. Please come back.”

“I’ll do my best.”

With a smile, Ellen walked over to the counter. “I hope I’m like that when I’m her age.”

“Me too,” Pippy answered. “How was the web chat?”

“Fine until someone asked me a question about Danforth.”

“What did they ask?”

“They wanted to know if he’d ever made a pass at me.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I was honest, and I kept it light, which it was. As you know, I wasn’t upset until I heard he was in a relationship when he hit on me. What if I had liked him? It just proves my point that the man is a snake.” She shook her head. “If I had found out about his relationship before our first newspaper interview, I definitely would have mentioned it.”

“Mentioned it?” Pippy asked airily as she came from behind the counter. “You’d have done more than that.”

“Maybe,” Ellen agreed. She sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Hopkins.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Pippy! You know I feel terrible.”

“Of course,” Pippy answered softly. “Me too. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’m all right.”

Pippy walked into the back room. She started to reach for the coffeepot, then quickly turned and sat at the computer. I’m going to obsess about this all day, she thought as she pulled up the list of their received e-mails. Three seconds after the list appeared onscreen, a burst of adrenaline flowed through Pippy’s body. There it was! The address of the person who’d written about Adele Hopkins. Whoever it was had responded two minutes ago!

The bells on their front door started tinkling. Oh, no! Pippy thought. I want to read this with Ellen. But there’s no way I can wait until the customer leaves. Holding her breath, she pointed the cursor to the e-mail and pressed down her finger.

Pippy’s first impression was one of surprise that the font was quite different than the last e-mail they’d sent.

LISTEN UP, MISS PILLOW TALK!
YOU HAVE SOME NERVE INVITING PEOPLE TO WRITE IN
AND SHARE THEIR PROBLEMS AND THEN TAKING SUCH A RIGHTEOUS TONE WITH ME. I’M SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOUR CUSTOMER ADELE HOPKINS DIED. IF SHE WAS THE ADELE HOPKINS I KNEW, THEN SHE’LL END UP IN THE RECORD BOOKS FOR LIVING TO THE RIPE OLD AGE OF AT LEAST 110. I’M 87 AND I’LL NEVER FORGET THE WAY THAT WOMAN TAUNTED AND HUMILIATED SO MANY YOUNG GIRLS, ESPECIALLY ME.

DON’T BOTHER TO RESPOND BECAUSE IF I SEE YOUR ADDRESS I’LL PRESS THE DELETE BUTTON AS FAST AS MY ARTHRITIC FINGERS WILL ALLOW.

I LOOK FORWARD TO READING ON THE INTERNET THAT YOUR BUSINESS HAS GONE DOWN THE DRAIN.

GOOD RIDDANCE.

Pippy sat there in disbelief. And I’m the one always warning Ellen about being impulsive, she thought. I should have cooled down before I sent that response this morning. If this person is for real, then the Adele Hopkins she knew must have caused her a lot of pain.

I wish I could talk to Ellen right now, Pippy thought anxiously. But customers were still in the store. She reached for the phone. One thing I can do is tell Regan and Jack Reilly.

Ginny and Fran rode with Skip in his aging pickup truck over to House Junction, a warehouse-size store that sold just about everything needed to maintain a home. A trip that should have taken twenty minutes stretched out to forty-five. They were diverted from flooded roads twice, then found themselves in a traffic jam caused by a multicar fender bender.

Sitting in the middle, it was an effort for Ginny not to get tossed one way against Skip, or the other against Fran, every time they hit a bump. She was wearing a seat belt but it didn’t matter. The truck seemed devoid of shocks or springs.

It hadn’t surprised her in the least when Fran had run out of the house ahead of her, opened the passenger door, then stepped aside, and said, “After you.’” Even though I’m sixty-three, Ginny thought, Fran is still the big sister who gets the good seat.

“This is so nice of you, Skip,” Ginny had said as they started the trip. “Fran and I are very grateful.”

He’d mumbled a response, then turned on the radio, immediately switching from his favorite rock station to one that played soft classical music.

“I know you did that for us,” Ginny said with a laugh. “That was very thoughtful.”

“Indeed it was,” Fran agreed as she stared straight ahead, her right hand holding tight to a grip above the passenger door.

After a few stabs at general conversation, Ginny gave up. It was clear Skip was in no mood to talk. They bumped along, the soft classical music nearly drowned out by noisy windshield wipers. When Skip finally pulled his truck into the crowded parking lot of Home Junction, Ginny clapped her hands. “Here we are!”

“I’ll drop you off at the entrance,” Skip said, “then find a space. No sense you two getting wet . . .”

They all tensed at the unintended irony of the words that had just escaped his lips.

Skip hit the steering wheel with his hand. “I should have worried about Mrs. Hopkins getting wet.”

Ginny reached over and put her hand on his shoulder as he drove slowly through the lot. “Oh Skip,” she said softly. “You can’t do this to yourself.”

Skip just shook his head.

An announcer’s voice suddenly came over the radio, loud and clear. “Time for our top of the hour newsbreak. We’ve received word of the tragic death of a woman named Adele Hopkins . . .”

In a flash, Fran reached over and snapped off the radio. “We don’t need to listen to that.”

“No we don’t,” Ginny agreed. “Skip, don’t drop us off. We’ll look for a space with you.”

“No.” Skip replied.

“We insist,” Fran said firmly.

“I insist,” Skip replied as he pulled to the entrance and stopped. “I know you’re doing what you can to make me feel better.
But nothing’s going to change what happened. I’m going to have to somehow, someday, come to terms with it. I don’t know how, but at this moment I just want to park the car. So please, go ahead inside. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Ginny patted his shoulder. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Regan and Jack were welcomed heartily as they walked into Fern’s diner.

“Look who’s back!” Fern called out, rushing over and shaking their hands. “It’s great to see you. But what are you doing on Cape Cod on a weekend like this?”

“Sunday’s our first anniversary,” Jack said with a grin, putting his arm around Regan. “She’s still hanging in there.”

Regan smiled. “We thought we’d come up for a quiet weekend, but—”

“I heard,” Fern interrupted. “Come sit at my table.”

In the corner, Fern’s table served as her home base, a place where she ate her own meals while keeping an eye on the front door, an office where she did paperwork and met with suppliers, and—on occasions like this—a spot where she could sit and talk privately with special guests.

As they followed Fern across the bustling restaurant, Regan noticed that people were keeping an eye on the TV. Not surprisingly, a quick glance revealed that the station was covering the storm. When she and Jack were seated, a freckle-faced waitress who looked as if she couldn’t be much older than twenty, offered them coffee, which they accepted.

“I’ll be right back,” Fern said quickly. “I have to check on one table, then I can join you.” She hurried off.

“Menus?” the waitress asked.

Jack held up his hand. “I think we both know what we’re having. If you don’t mind, I’d love to order right away. We haven’t eaten all day.”

“Sure,” the young girl responded, putting the menus down on the table, then pulling a pad and pencil out of her pocket. “Fire away,” she said with a giggle.

After they placed their orders for breakfast food, the waitress scooped up the menus. “I’ll tell the cook to make this fast!” she said, then hurried toward the kitchen.

“What a nice kid,” Regan said, just as Jack’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

“Must be someone from around here,” he said. “Hello . . . oh, yes, Pippy.”

Pippy’s calling so soon? Regan thought. As she listened to Jack’s half of the conversation, she was able to get the gist of what Pippy was telling him.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Jack said. “We’ll keep in touch.” He put his phone down on the table.

“It wasn’t our Adele Hopkins?” Regan asked.

“Not unless she was very well preserved,” Jack answered, then gave Regan the details.

“We can still try to get in touch with the woman who sent the e-mail,” Regan said. “It’s probably a long shot, but maybe our Adele Hopkins is related to this other Adele Hopkins. A love for rowing could be in the genes.”

“It’s possible. But our Hopkins was Mrs. Hopkins. If that was her married name, then she wasn’t related by blood.”

“And what about us?” Regan asked.

Jack’s eyes widened. “You’re absolutely right, Regan Reilly Reilly.”

Fern came over and plopped down into a seat. “Hello again. You must have had an exciting morning. Skip found the neighbor’s body?”

Regan cringed. Poor Skip.

“Yes,” Jack answered, then related to Fern just what happened.

Fern pointed back to the TV. “About twenty minutes ago they did a report from the Carpenters’ backyard.”

“Already?” Regan asked. “What did they say?”

“Nothing you don’t know, I’m sure. The reporter was quite dramatic. He was standing by the staircase down to the beach and began the story with something like, ‘Adele Hopkins couldn’t possibly have known that when she started down these very steps this morning, her life was about to come to an end.’” Fern waved her hand. “Give me a break.”

“I hope he’s not there when we get back,” Jack said.

“Don’t count on it,” Fern replied bluntly. “I get the feeling he’ll hang around for a while, hoping the body will wash up and he’ll be there to catch all the excitement.”

Regan rolled her eyes. “The only advantage to the news coverage is that the family may hear about her death and come forward. We’re trying to help locate them, which is why we wanted to talk to you.”

Jack nodded. “I got in touch with Dorie Carpenter this morning. They rented Adele Hopkins the house themselves. Dorie said she tried to get names and numbers for people to contact if there was a problem, but Adele Hopkins never gave her any. Are you aware that the Carpenters met Hopkins right here in your diner? Hopkins overheard them talking and introduced herself.”