She glanced in the bathroom mirror. Even though she looked a little tired, she was, as usual, pleased with her reflection. Lorraine knew she was a beautiful, sexy woman. She knew she had what it takes to make it as an actress. A pit formed in her stomach. She had to get those letters back. Dashing out of the bathroom, she exited the suite and took the elevator back to the lobby.
“I’m afraid the heel is so thin that there isn’t much of a surface to place the glue,” Jon gravely informed her. “We did what we could. I wouldn’t try on the shoe just yet. You should give it time to dry.”
“Thank you,” Lorraine said. “I’ll hope for the best.”
“However,” the concierge continued, “we did find a pair of shoes in the closet that belong to a woman who is painting all those gorgeous flowers on the walls of our lobby bathrooms. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed them. They are not the most stylish but they are your size.” Jon pulled the shoes out of a brown bag and held them up.
Lorraine stared in horror at the paint-splattered, cheap brown oxfords. They were made out of what looked like a velour material and had big thick laces. “I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “I don’t have socks, so I wouldn’t want to…”
Jon retrieved a pair of nylon Peds from the bag. “I didn’t expect you to fall in love with them,” he said gravely, “but I don’t advise walking around New York City barefoot. And our slippers weren’t meant for the outdoors.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Lorraine said. “I wish that I didn’t have to go out again at all. You are so kind.”
Jon stared at her. “Our goal at the Treetops Hotel is to go the extra mile for our guests.”
“And you do,” Lorraine said quickly. “You all do. These shoes are just perfect.”
Lorraine took the bag and hurried out the door, grateful that the greeter was busy with other guests. She’d wait for Clay on one of the benches across the street where she could keep an eye on the front door of the hotel. He’d better get here soon, she thought, as she started to run across the street in her slippers. One of them fell off and was run over before she even reached the other side.
She collapsed onto the bench, and wearily reached into the bag. I guess I have no choice, she thought. Wait till Clay sees these.
Where is he anyway?
28
As Becky and Kent were leaving the comedy club, Becky couldn’t stop thinking about the couple she had seen leaving together in the cab. If only I could do something to help, she thought. Regan Reilly had said they couldn’t announce that there was a crazy girl out on the streets of Manhattan with a guy named Chip Jones whom she might harm. They had no proof that she’d carried out the crimes her friend claimed she committed. Besides, with the blackout, who would get the word anyway?
But someone must know this Chip Jones.
Kent was married and lived up in Yonkers. “Becky, can I give you a ride? I’m sure it’s tough to get a cab.”
Over the summer, Becky was living in a friend’s older sister’s apartment in Greenwich Village, sleeping in the living room on the Bernadette Castro Convertible. The sister traveled a lot for business and was currently out of town. Becky didn’t really want to go home to an unfamiliar, dark apartment by herself. “That’s nice of you to offer, Kent, especially since you’re heading in the other direction. Do you mind if I just make a quick phone call? A friend of mine was going out tonight with a bunch of people. I’d love to meet up with them if they haven’t gone home yet.”
“Sure. Let’s start walking toward my car. It’s parked down the street.”
Becky pulled out her phone. “My mother always jokes with me that in her day you couldn’t catch up with your friends on a night out if you hadn’t planned it in advance. Nobody had cell phones.”
“On the other hand,” Kent said, “there must have been something nice about people not being able to reach you 24/7.”
Becky nodded in agreement as she dialed her friend Alexis. They came from completely different backgrounds but had hit it off freshman year of college. Alexis was wealthy, had yet to work a day in her life, and could be a little snobbish. An only child, she’d had to endure her parents’ divorce when her father left her mother for a younger woman. Becky was a scholarship student from a large family who always had some kind of part-time job to pay for her books.
Alexis answered her phone with a youthful urgency in her voice, as though every phone call had the potential to be something wonderful or exciting. “Becky, hi! Can you believe this blackout?” she yelled. There was lots of background noise.
“Hi! I was working, and they closed the club. Where are you?”
“We’re at that bar on the corner of Eighty-eighth and Second that we were at last week. I called my dad to come pick me up, but he probably won’t be here for at least an hour. Come on over!”
“You called your dad?” Becky asked, astonishment in her voice.
“Yes. He wants to get back in my good graces, so I knew he’d come get me. He has a generator at his house which means air-conditioning! Yes!”
“Lucky you!”
“Get over here now! There are so many cute guys. You can come with me to my dad’s house if you want. It’ll probably be a little weird for me to be alone with him after all this time. It’s still awkward for us.”
“Are you sure it’d be okay?”
“Totally.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will. It’d be creepy going back to that apartment by myself in the dark. I just have to get back for work tomorrow night if the blackout is over. You won’t believe what happened at the club tonight.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Cool. See you soon.” Alexis hung up, then turned to her friend Dodie whose eyes were glued to the front door of the bar.
“Oh good!” Dodie cried. “That cute guy, Phil, I had just started talking to is coming back inside. When he took that phone call from the reporter, I thought we might not see him again.”
“He is cute,” Alexis agreed. “I wonder if he has any cute friends…”
29
When Jack and Keith got back to the office, there were no leads on Chip Jones. Jack gave the stun gun to one of his detectives, then sat down at his desk and called Regan. “We have nothing yet on your guy. How’s it going?”
“We’re on our way to bars on the Upper East Side.” She filled him in on the pictures they had found and her talk with the detective from Atlanta.
“Our patrol cars are on the lookout for them, especially in isolated areas. Keep me posted, Regan. Be careful.”
“I will.”
When Regan hung up, she double-parked the car in front of a Mexican restaurant on Seventy-fifth Street that Cal said had great margaritas. “Melanie and I will run in and take a look,” Regan told Kit and Billy.
“We’ll keep an eye out from here,” Kit said.
“It’s getting late. A lot of these places have already closed. We have to work fast,” Regan said as she and Melanie disappeared inside. The bar was crowded but there was no sign of Georgina.
The bartender looked weary. “There were a lot of blond preppy kids in here tonight. And a lot of girls with highlights in their hair. Sorry I can’t be of help.”
Back in the car, Regan sighed. “They could be absolutely anywhere. But let’s try that other bar on Eighty-sixth Street that Cal suggested.” She steered the car up a dark and what felt increasingly dreary Third Avenue.
30
Wally’s nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. “He got me good. I could use ice and a few wads of cotton.”
“This isn’t the best night to be looking for ice,” Arthur commented. “Do you want me to take you to an emergency room?” he asked halfheartedly.
“For a bloody nose? I don’t think so.”
The two of them were sitting on the darkened path off the Hudson River just south of Ninety-sixth Street. “We’d better get out of here,” Arthur said as he carefully ro
lled the glass sculptures back in the blankets. “What if that crazy guy comes back with a bunch of his crazy friends?”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Wally mumbled. “He didn’t seem very social. What should we do about the glass slipper and all that other fancy glass?”
“They are considered beautiful and valuable works of art,” Arthur said, impatient with Wally’s obvious lack of sophistication. “I wish there was a place we could hide them until after we’ve looked for my stun gun.”
“Do we definitely want to hand them over to the police?”
“Of course!” Arthur said indignantly. “It might be the only thing that saves us. Have you ever heard of plea bargaining?”
“Then let’s call Jack Reilly.”
“Who’s Jack Reilly?”
“He owns the loft you went into tonight.”
“Why would we call him?” Arthur snapped.
Wally braced himself. “He’s head of the NYPD Major Case Squad.”
Arthur blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t be serious,” Arthur spat. “If I had known that, I would never have gone in there, no matter how much money I lost at the track!”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“I could strangle you, Wally. Just strangle you.”
“I’m sure you could. But let’s call Jack first. If we don’t report the crime immediately, it will really raise suspicion when we finally do. We’ll tell Reilly we were coming into town, ran out of gas, and gosh, look what happened. We’ll be heroes. At least for a little while. You know, the old fifteen minutes of fame. It certainly won’t hurt if they do find your stun gun in his apartment.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You think?” he finally asked.
“I think. Besides, if we get up and walk away from here with that backpack, and the cops stop us because they see me dripping with blood, dollars to doughnuts they’ll soon realize we’re in possession of stolen property.”
“I wish I had never met you.”
Wally shrugged. “Sorry about that. Get out your cell phone.”
“But what about going to his apartment to see if the stun gun is there?”
“That won’t work. I’m a bloody mess. If they catch us going into the apartment then handing over the glass sculptures will mean nothing. They’ll definitely think we stole them. I’ll make some excuse for showing up at the Reillys’ apartment tomorrow even if Rod goes to Connecticut. With any luck I’ll find the stun gun before they do.”
Arthur moaned.
“We can’t risk more trouble, and this is our chance to gain points, I’m telling you. Think of how happy whoever owns the gallery will be. They’ll probably give us a great reward.”
Arthur shook his head vehemently. “Not necessarily! Didn’t you read about the woman who dug a painting out of the trash on the sidewalk, recognized its magnificence, then traced the owners who had reported it stolen years before?”
“No.”
“They gave her pittance! After all her work. It was pathetic. And how about the contractor who found money in the wall of an old home, happily shared the discovery with the new owner, and then got nothing for his honesty?”
“Do you read any good news on the Internet?”
“The world has a lot of problems,” Arthur said sadly. “But I did read about how excited the gallery owners were about all their glass sculptures. They’d collected them from all over the world.”
“So let’s make their day.”
Arthur got out his cell phone. “Do you think information is working?”
“Try.”
Thankfully it was. Arthur was connected to the NYPD non-emergency line, then handed the phone to Wally.
A moment later, Jack Reilly picked up the line and identified himself.
“Jack, this is Wally. You know, I work with Rod on your apartment.”
In his office, a puzzled look came over Jack’s face. “Wally, how are you? Is everything okay?”
“Funny you should ask. My buddy Arthur and I decided to drive into the city tonight—”
As he spoke, Arthur realized what a big mistake they were making. It sounded absurd to drive into the city during a blackout.
“—and my car ran out of gas on the West Side Highway.”
“That’s too bad,” Jack murmured, wondering where this conversation could possibly be headed.
“So we got out and started to walk on the path along the river. A demented guy passes us, and he ends up throwing a punch at me. Blood came gushing out of my nose. It hurts. I bet I’m going to need a nose job.”
“Do you want me to send an ambulance?” Jack asked.
“Well, let me finish.”
“Okay.”
“My buddy, Arthur, runs after the weirdo. That’s what friends are for, right? So Arthur pulls off the guy’s backpack, and what does my assailant do? Takes off like a scared rabbit. It turns out the backpack is full of glass sculptures.”
“Glass sculptures?” Jack asked quickly, gripping the phone.
“Yeah. One of them is a glass slipper. Arthur says he thinks they belong to a gallery that is about to open. He reads everything on the computer.”
“There was a theft of glass sculptures at a new gallery tonight,” Jack confirmed. “Where exactly are you, Wally? We’ll be right there.”
When Wally snapped his cell phone shut, Arthur laid back on the grass and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think it was the right move to call the cops.”
“Too late now.”
Within moments the sirens from at least three patrol cars could be heard racing toward the scene.
“I hope one of those cops has some aspirin,” Wally said. “My head is killing me.”
31
Georgina parked herself outside the men’s room when Chip went inside. The small, dark hallway was not the most pleasant area to wait in, but her anxiety was mounting. She felt as if Chip were slipping from her reach and she couldn’t let that happen. He was already feeling the effects of the knockout drops she’d slipped into his drink. She had to take him somewhere isolated and she had to do it now.
The bar was so dark and hot. Disturbing thoughts kept racing through Georgina’s head. Her grandmother had worked near here. Georgina missed her so much. Why did she have to die like that?
The bathroom door swung open and Chip stepped out, his hair wet. He was startled to see Georgina standing so close. It was like she was a stalker. “I had to rinse off,” he explained. “Let’s get out of here.”
They made their way out of the darkened bar which was still crowded with people nursing their last drink.
“I really have to get home,” Chip said. “I’m not feeling that well.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Georgina asked testily. “Walk back to my hotel in the dark by myself?”
“No, of course not. I’ll see you back. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night,” he added, trying to ease the tension.
You’re lying, Georgina thought. “My hotel is on the Upper West Side.”
“It is?” Chip said with surprise.
“It is.”
“Well, let’s start walking. With any luck we’ll get a cab.”
“I haven’t seen many around.”
Chip thought about inviting her to stay on the couch at his apartment. It was a long walk to the Upper West Side. But something told him to get rid of her tonight. He could tell she was trouble. He didn’t want her to know where he lived. She was moody and strange. A friend of his had a girlfriend like that for a very brief period. What a psycho she was, super nice one minute, a witch the next. His buddy had to change his cell phone number because she kept filling it up with screaming messages. Wait till the guys hear about this one. “Come on,” he said.
The two of them started walking up the block. Georgina had the plastic cup with the remains of her drink in hand. She pretended to take a sip. “Here,” she said. “Please have the rest.”<
br />
“That’s okay,” Chip said. “I’ve had enough.”
“Think of it as the loving cup,” Georgina said, her tone commanding. “To finish off our night on the town. I heard it’s bad luck if you turn down a drink from a loving cup.”
Anything to placate her, Chip thought. There were only a few ounces left. He swallowed the warm liquid and threw the plastic cup in a trash can.
They were walking west toward Fifth Avenue and Central Park. If we have to walk through the park, so be it, Chip thought. No one we meet there could be as strange as this chick.
Back at the bar a guy came out of the men’s room and handed the bartender a college ring. “Jay, this was next to the sink,” he said. “I almost missed it, it’s so dark in there.”
“Thanks,” Jay answered. “I’m sure whoever lost it will come back tomorrow.” He turned to the crowd. “All right everybody, I’ve got to close up. Let’s get going.”
After the crowd finally dispersed, Jay walked to the window and pulled down the metal shutters. “A sound I love,” he mumbled. “Closing time.” He locked up the cash register and placed the college ring in one of the compartments. That’s a big ring, he thought. How can somebody forget to put that back on? He must have been feeling no pain.
Jay exited the front door and was securing the lock when a car pulled up. Two young women jumped out.
“Excuse me,” one of them said.
“Sorry, we’re closed. I’ve had enough,” he joked. “They better get those lights back on soon. It’s exhausting working in the dark.”
“Please. My name is Regan Reilly, and I’m a private investigator.” She pointed to the young woman standing with her. “If we could just talk to you for a minute.”
Jay’s demeanor changed. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
“We’re trying to track down a young couple. His name is Chip Jones. He’s quite tall, with blond hair. She has long, dark, highlighted hair and bangs. We’re afraid she is dangerous and could be a terrible threat to his safety. They might have been drinking margaritas.”
Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. Page 11