Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. (6 page)

B
efore the blackout hit, Rod had been chatting amiably with his two employees as they rode home together from Connecticut in the company van. Frank and Wally had worked for Rod for years. They were both single and in their early thirties. Rod had just turned forty and was the father of two young children. The three of them lived not far from each other in northern New Jersey, where they’d all grown up.

“This job is a piece of cake, isn’t it?” Rod asked rhetorically as they tooled down the highway. “And Mrs. Spreckles certainly put out a nice spread at lunchtime. When you think the way some clients don’t even offer us a morsel, not even a drop of water…”

“She likes to talk,” Frank commented, himself a man of few words.

“That she does.” Rod laughed. He was always cheerful which was amazing, considering how often he had to listen to people yell at him, sometimes quite heatedly, for not showing up when promised or still not having their homes finished months after the estimated completion date. Rod let it all roll off his back. His eyes never seemed to stop twinkling and his cherubic face was often lit up with a smile. The work he did, when it was finally completed, was always superb. Satisfied clients soon forgot their fury and recommended Rod to their friends.

“I mean really talk,” Frank said. “I was afraid she was going to fill us in on everything that has happened in her life since we were there ten years ago. She also asked a lot of questions about her ex-husband’s loft.”

In the backseat, Wally’s stomach did a somersault. Nicknamed for his walrus moustache, he had a hangdog look but was always pleasant company. Now his whole body was tensing up. His friend Arthur was sneaking into the loft tonight to check out the hidden safe Wally had discovered last week. A discovery he never mentioned to his boss.

It was the contractor’s ultimate fantasy—to stumble upon a hidden treasure in a home that was under renovation. There were countless stories of cash found in walls, jewels hidden under floorboards, sterling silver covered by loose insulation in the corner of the attic. Treasures that the owner of the home didn’t even know about, left behind by previous owners who had died or just plain forgotten about their valuables.

A few years back, Wally had ripped a medicine cabinet out of the wall and was stunned to find a diamond necklace in the hollowed-out space. He’d put it right in his pocket, and it was never missed by anyone. He reasoned that he wasn’t stealing because whoever owned the necklace was long gone, one way or another. Those diamonds whetted his appetite for more exciting discoveries. He’d been disappointed over and over again when they started new jobs. It seemed nothing like that would ever happen again.

Until last Friday.

Wally had started moving the heavy boxes of Italian tile into the Reillys’ front closet so they’d be out of the way. He opened a cabinet in the closet that was close to the floor, a cabinet which he thought he’d thoroughly inspected when they started the job, and slid one of the boxes to the back with greater force than he intended. A funny sound made him nervous. He was afraid he might have cracked the tile. When he pulled the box back out, a false back fell forward. A safe was staring him in the face, its key sticking out of the lock.

Adrenaline shot through his body. Frank and Rod had gone up to check something on the roof, so he was alone. This discovery was his! Knowing it was probably futile, Wally leaned forward and tried to turn the key. It wouldn’t budge. He needed the passcode or the owner of the safe’s fingerprint for the key to work. The latter was impossible and figuring out the former was about the same. But he knew someone who might be able to figure out how to open it.

Wally’s mind was racing. He reasoned that the Reillys couldn’t have known about the safe. If they had, they wouldn’t have left the key there. They’d also wanted to build new cabinets in this closet and never once mentioned the hidden safe. Conrad Spreckles couldn’t have known about it, either. He’d stripped the apartment clean of anything worth a nickel. If this safe had been his, he would have taken it with him.

Wally was sure that there were treasures lying within it, treasures with his name written all over them. He quickly replaced the cabinet’s false back and finished storing the boxes of tile. They were due to leave in a few minutes. Finally, he thought! Finally it’s paid off that I duplicated keys behind Rod’s back. Ever since he’d found the necklace he’d had keys made for every house or apartment they worked on. He thought he might discover something he couldn’t carry out in his pocket. Hopefully he had!

Wally couldn’t wait to get home. As soon as Rod dropped him off, he raced inside, called his poker buddy, Arthur, and offered to buy him a drink at the corner bar. Arthur, a computer geek who was a whiz at mathematics and loved every kind of numerical gadget almost as much as he loved a free drink, jumped at the invitation. But when he was served his beverage of choice and heard about Wally’s plan for him to go into a loft and try to break the code of a safe, he refused.

“I don’t need to take that kind of risk,” he stated firmly, his thin face looking pained, his pale eyes astonished. He shook his head back and forth and jutted out his lower lip. “No no no. Ah-ah.”

“Arthur, we could pick up some extra money. You could buy another computer or two.”

Arthur’s eyes blinked several times. Thoughtfully, he took a sip of the frosty beer Wally had paid for. “Why don’t you have me up there when you’re working alone? Don’t you work by yourself sometimes?”

“Yes, but that’s unlikely to happen on this job. And the woman who owns the loft is home a lot. She and her husband are living there while the work is being done.”

“Then aren’t they there now?”

“No! They’re away for several days. Rod said we don’t have to go back to work there until next Wednesday when they’ll finally be back.”

Unbeknownst to Wally, Regan Reilly had been expecting them on Tuesday.

Arthur adamantly refused, drank his beer, and went home to his computer. On Saturday and Sunday, Wally tried again. Arthur remained stubborn, a mulish expression plastered on his face as he swilled all the beers charged to Wally’s growing tab.

Then today, Wally had heard from the first Mrs. Spreckles that the second Mrs. Spreckles was on her way back from England, that she didn’t know the loft had been sold, and that she certainly wouldn’t be happy about it because she was there all the time. Without her husband.

Wally immediately realized that the safe had to be hers, and that he had to act right away. If she had valuables in there, she’d certainly try to get them back. He had to beat her to it. In the back of his mind, Wally realized that this was more like stealing than just finding something left behind, but he didn’t care. He was on a wild ride, and the proverbial train had left the station. Saying he wanted to stretch his legs, Wally casually strolled out to Mrs. Spreckles’s expansive back yard and called Arthur yet again. Luckily, Arthur had just lost a load of money at the track. All his fancy calculations figuring out which horses should win, place, and show, taking into account all the variables of the race, failed him miserably. Reluctantly, he agreed to go into the loft after dark and attempt to crack the code of the safe. He told Wally to try to find out the date of Lorraine’s birthday. People often used some combination of their day, month, and year of birth as their passcodes on everything from ATM machines to alarm systems. It was a stupid thing to do because it made it easier for thieves to break the codes.

“If I can’t crack the code,” Arthur said nervously, “I’ll break open the safe with a sledgehammer. My grandmother hid her jewelry in her attic for years but the insurance company made her get a safe. Thieves broke in and bashed it open. It looked like a crumpled soda can!”

Wally hung up, went back into the house, and without much prodding, learned from Penny Spreckles that Lorraine Lily was thirty years old, only nine years older than their daughter, which of course was disgraceful. She’d turned thirty on the first of January and still hadn’t really made it as an actress, which meant, well, you know.

Wally returned to the yard and called Arthur back with the information, minus the editorial. Now as he rode in the back of the Rod’s Renovations van, he was a nervous wreck. If anything happened and they got caught…

He was lost in thought when the lights went out on the highway. Rod flipped on the radio, and they heard the news of the blackout. Rod immediately called his wife, who said their power was off but she and the kids were fine. Frank didn’t call anybody. Neither did Wally.

A short while later, Wally’s cell phone rang. He could see it was Arthur calling, but he was too afraid to answer. He couldn’t risk having Rod or Frank overhear the conversation. Was he imagining it, or did the ring itself sound angry?

“Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” Rod asked. “Someone might be checking up on you to see if you’re okay. Or someone might need you.”

“Nobody needs me,” Wally joked as he pressed the silence button. “Nobody cares.”

Frank rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Rod said with a laugh. “I bet whoever is calling is just dying to get a hold of you.”

Truer words have never been spoken. At the other end of the line, Arthur was an enraged, quivering mess. Calling from the safety of his car, parked down by the Hudson River, he wanted to blast Wally for giving him the wrong information about when the owners of the loft were expected back from their vacation. And he was terrified because he’d lost the stun gun he’d just bought on the Internet when he was visiting his grandmother in Nebraska. He’d only bought it for his own protection. He bought one for his grandmother, too. If they find it and trace it back to him…

“Answer the phone!” he screamed at Wally’s recording. “Answer your stupid phone!!”

W
hen Kent, the bartender, sat down with Regan, Becky, Kit, and Billy in the back room of Larry’s Laughs, he was drying his hands with a small towel, then used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Women customers found the red-headed, freckled, thirty-three-year-old cute and friendly. “It’s not easy cleaning up this place in the dark,” he began. “What a job trying to settle everyone’s check with all the lights out. Businesses all over the city are losing money tonight.” He paused. “I shouldn’t be complaining. The situation you’re dealing with is much more serious.”

“It looks that way,” Regan said. “As you know, this woman Georgina left Kit stranded here tonight. Becky saw her get in a cab with a tall, young guy with blond hair. She also noticed he was left handed. If you could tell us what you saw…”

Kent tapped the table with his fingers. “It was crowded when Kit and Georgina first came in but I noticed them because Kit was on crutches. Then about twenty minutes later, I saw Georgina hurry past the bar and go outside. She had an unlit cigarette in her hand, so I knew the drill. She’d run out for a few puffs and be right back. The bar was pretty empty by then because the show was about to start, but I was busy filling the orders for the drinks. I glanced out once and she was holding her cigarette and just staring into space. I thought, oh boy, she’ll be a tough customer for the comedians tonight. Sometimes you can just tell who’s going to be a laugher, and who isn’t. She didn’t look like one to me.”

“Did you see the guy she left with?” Regan prodded.

“Yes. When I looked again, there he was. He was tall, I’d say about six five or six six, and blond, like Becky said. He seemed pretty clean cut, like a preppy. The two of them were definitely flirting.”

“Have you ever seen him before?” Regan asked.

“I don’t think so. A tall guy like that I would have remembered.”

Regan rubbed her forehead. “He could have been on his way inside, saw Georgina, found her attractive, and asked for a cigarette.”

“Of course,” Kit said, “Georgina might very well have initiated a conversation. Her victims have all been blond.”

Regan turned to Becky. “Did anyone not show up for their reservation tonight?”

“Just one party of three and they didn’t call to cancel. How rude.”

“So he probably wasn’t part of that group. I assume you take walk-ins.”

“If we have the room. But lately the shows are usually sold out or close to it. Larry’s Laughs is getting great buzz. Larry—the owner—is starting a stand-up comedy class. The first session is filled.”

“Kent,” Regan said. “You said they were flirting. Could you be specific?”

Kent raised his eyebrows. “I see the mating dance going on at the bar all the time, and it always interests me. When I glanced out the window, he was picking something like a leaf off the top of her head. I thought to myself, here we go. Oh—I did notice that he had on a big school ring—the kind with a colored stone in the middle. I’ve seen a lot of them, but for some reason this one looked huge.”

“A school ring?” Billy said. “Wait a minute. This might be nothing—”

“Try us,” Regan said.

“I stopped by here on Saturday afternoon to talk to Larry. The club wasn’t open yet. We were sitting up front at the bar, then I went to the back to use the rest room. When I was coming out my cell phone rang. It was my mother calling. If I don’t pick up her calls I feel guilty no matter what I’m doing—” He paused. “You can see what drove me to be a comedian—anyway, I answered, had a quick conversation about the state of my health and hers, then hung up. When I rejoined Larry, there was a piece of paper on the counter in front of him. He said somebody had just dropped by to sign up for the class, but Larry told him it was full. Larry has nicknames for everyone. Called this guy “College Boy” because he had on one of those big school rings. Larry was so happy that his class was full. He told the guy he’d contact him if there were any cancellations and would add his e-mail address to the list of people who were sent the newsletter.”

“Was he tall with blond hair?” Kit asked quickly.

“I have no idea. He was wearing a college ring, wasn’t he? I think it’s worth calling Larry.”

“It certainly can’t hurt,” Regan said.

“I spoke to him a little while ago. He’s at his place at the Jersey Shore. Let me get my cell phone with his number,” Kent offered.

Three minutes later, Kent had Larry on the line. After briefly explaining the situation, he said, “I’m going to put you on speaker,” then placed the phone on the table.

“Hello, Larry,” Regan said. “Billy told us he was with you the other day, and you nicknamed someone who had come in to sign up for your class ‘College Boy.’”

“Yes, I remember,” Larry said.

“What did he look like?” Regan asked.

“He was very tall, I’d say at least six five, and had blond hair—”

A shot of adrenaline went through everyone sitting at the table.

“He was a really nice kid,” Larry continued. “Very polite. I thought he seemed too normal to pursue stand-up comedy.”

Billy rolled his eyes.

“And you noticed his college ring?”

“Yup. It was one of those big, heavy, chunky ones. Like a World Series ring. Must be uncomfortable to have that thing weighing down your finger.”

“Billy said you had his name on a piece of paper. Do you have that paper?” Regan asked.

“I hate to admit this, but I have no idea where it is. I need to get more organized.”

“Did you notice what hand he used to sign the paper?” Regan asked.

“He was a southpaw. A lefty just like me. I always notice that.”

Becky gasped.

“He sounds like the guy we’re looking for,” Regan said. “You don’t by any chance remember his name, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do?”

“I do because he has a common last name. I thought to myself, if he ends up joining the Screen Actors Guild, his name might already be taken. That’s what happened to me. I had to change mine. But this guy’s first name was a little unusual so I thought he might be all right.”

“What’s his name?” Regan asked, trying not to sound impatient.

“Chip Jones. I have no idea what his e-mail address is though. He wrote that down, too.”

“Larry, this is great. You’re sure his name was Chip Jones?”

“Yes, I remember thinking of that expression ‘He’s a chip off the old block.’”

“Can you recall anything else he said?”

“I remarked it was a beautiful day. He agreed and told me he’d walked all the way from the Upper East Side where he lives. That’s all I can tell you. He was in and out pretty fast.”

“Thanks, Larry. You’ve been a big help,” Regan said.

“What a nice kid. I hope nothing bad happens to him.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find him as quickly as possible. If you think of anything else at all, no matter how insignificant, please call.” She gave him her cell phone number. When she hung up, she called information. There was no listing for a Chip Jones in Manhattan. There were several listings under C. Jones on the Upper East Side, and several more that didn’t list an address. “The trouble is,” Regan said to the group, “his legal name is probably not Chip. That’s usually a nickname.”

“What do we do now, Regan?” Kit asked.

“Let’s head over to your hotel and talk to the people from Georgina’s company. See what else we can find out about her. I’d also like to speak to the police in Atlanta who are questioning her friend and get a look at Georgina’s room if the hotel security will allow it.”

“I’m coming with you,” Billy said firmly.

“Good,” Regan said. She turned to Kent. “Is there a phone book here we could take with us?”

“Yes, I’ll get it for you right away.”

“Thanks. You and Becky have both been very helpful.”

“I’ll keep thinking about this, Regan,” Becky promised. “Maybe I’ll remember something else.”

“I appreciate it.” Regan started to get up. “Billy and Kit, on the way over to the hotel, you two can start calling all the C. Joneses in the book while I call Jack and give him an update.”