“. . . the tragic drowning victim, Adele Hopkins, was a rowing enthusiast who lived alone. The sea had been her friend, then became her enemy. She rented the home behind me, from Daniel and Doreen Carpenter of Boston.”
“What?” Mickey cried. “Dan never mentioned he rented out his house on the Cape. I wonder why.”
“. . . Unfortunately, the Carpenters are not anxious to speak to the media at this time.”
Mickey’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID, then swiftly answered. “Hello, Dan!”
“Hello, Mickey, how are you on this wonderful company holiday?”
“How are you? I just heard your name on television. What’s going on?”
“Oh you heard,” Dan said, sounding grave.
“Yes I did. What happened? I didn’t know you were renting your house. You never breathed a word to me about it.”
“We thought it would be nice to rent our home during the winter months to a woman who needed a place to heal from a bad marriage.”
“Dan, what happened to her?”
“It’s a sad story, Mickey,” Dan answered. A most abbreviated version of the day’s events followed.
“You rented your house to a recently divorced sixty-year-old woman who loved to row, but she drowned? That’s it?”
“What else can one say at a time like this?”
“Does she have children?”
“No.”
“Relatives?”
“We’re in the process of contacting them.”
“Dan, they might need our help! We should do something for them. Or else we can make a donation to Mrs. Hopkins’s favorite charity in her memory. What was her favorite charity?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Find out. I’ve made a decision. McPhee and You will establish a memorial fund in Hopkins’s . . . what’s her first name?”
“Adele.”
“We’ll establish a memorial fund in Adele Hopkins’s name. McPhee and You has had some bad breaks this year. It’s high time we did some good and then let people know about it! This is the perfect opportunity. I’m sure you agree. . . . Hello . . . Dan . . . are you there?”
48
Welcome back!” Ginny called out from the kitchen as Regan and Jack walked into the house.
Jack winked at Regan and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Ginny.”
The Brewer sisters were at the kitchen table making a shopping list of ingredients they needed to prepare dinner.
“How does spaghetti sound to you two?” Fran asked.
“Great,” Regan and Jack both answered.
“Super. We make a mean sauce,” Fran said, pumping her fist.
“Now let’s see,” Ginny said. “It will be the four of us, maybe Skip, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, and what about Dorie and Dan?”
“I don’t think so,” Regan answered. “They have a lot going on. But my best friend is joining us. She was in Boston on business. I invited her to come down and spend the night. As a matter of fact, she should be here by now.”
“Oh,” Ginny replied, devoid of enthusiasm. “Okay. What’s her name?”
“Kit.”
“Then that makes five of us, maybe Skip. Fran and I need a ride to the store. Neither of us drive in this weather.” She looked at the FedEx box Jack had placed on the counter. “Regan, are you ever going to get around to opening that?”
“Yes I am, Ginny.”
With Jack’s help, Regan pulled the tabs off the cardboard box, then eased out the wrapped foiled package inside. A note was attached for Mr. and Mrs. Jack Reilly. “Oh,” Regan said as she and Jack read the note together. “That’s so nice.”
“What’s so nice?” Fran asked.
“My mother sent us the top layer of our wedding cake, which she froze after our wedding.”
“Great!” Ginny answered. “We can have that for dessert.”
“Ginny!” Fran protested. “We can’t do that . . .”
Thank God, Regan thought.
“. . . their anniversary isn’t until Sunday,” Fran continued. “We’ll have it then.”
“But it might go bad,” Ginny said, practically. “It’s already a year old.”
Regan and Jack were standing behind the counter. Playfully, Jack stepped on her foot. Trying not to laugh, Regan started to speak. “Ginny, there’s an old tradition that if a couple has a piece of their wedding cake on their first anniversary, it’s supposed to bring them good luck.”
“How should I know? The one guy I was supposed to marry decided he couldn’t leave his mother. Remember, Fran?”
“Clear as a bell.” Fran looked over at Regan and Jack. “Thirty years ago he told Ginny they’d get married after his mother died. So Ginny broke up with him. He passed over about five years ago, but his mother is still going strong.”
“The woman is an ox,” Ginny declared. “Through and through.”
“That’s too bad, Ginny,” Regan said.
“Fran, as long as we’re spilling secrets, tell what happened to you,” Ginny instructed her sister.
“Oh Ginny, that’s too sad.”
“So what? This house has plenty of Kleenex.”
“No.”
“Go ahead. Jack and Regan are our friends.”
“Oh . . .” Fran said. “Okay. When I was twenty-two my boyfriend asked my father for permission to marry me.”
“Of course Daddy said yes,” Ginny interrupted. “Fran’s boyfriend was wonderful. Go on, Fran.”
“I had no idea that had happened. My parents kept it a secret.”
“I knew.”
“That goes without saying, Ginny. Anyway, Robert had ordered the ring and was planning to propose on Saturday night. Saturday afternoon he went over to pick up the ring, but there was a bad accident . . .” Fran stopped speaking and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, Fran . . .” Regan said softly.
“Fran, we’re so sorry,” Jack said.
“Can you believe it?” Ginny asked indignantly. “She didn’t even get to hear him propose. But his mother was a decent human being. She gave Fran the ring.”
Fran nodded. “I wore it to Robert’s funeral, then took it off and never wore it again. That ring is in a little red case in my jewelry box. I’ll have it forever.”
“So,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath. “Those are our stories. Neither of us found anyone else. Not that we didn’t try. Oy vey. Now we’re grateful to have each other.”
“We certainly are,” Fran agreed.
“Both of you could still meet someone,” Regan said encouragingly. “It’s never too late.”
“Regan, please!” Ginny protested. She started to laugh. “You know how hard it is to meet someone like Jack at our age?”
“At any age, Ginny. Believe me.”
“Stop,” Jack said, putting his hands up. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“You’re adorable, Jack,” Ginny said, then started giving instructions. “Regan, you’d better put that cake in the refrigerator.”
“I will.”
“Jack, could you drive us up to the market? We’ll shop fast, I promise.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll stay here and wait for Kit,” Regan said. Not that I have a choice, she thought. Ginny wants Jack’s undivided attention. I hope Lopez doesn’t call him when they’re in the car.
The sisters put on their coats and headed to the door. “Come on, Jack,” Ginny called. “Regan, we’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Jack leaned down and gave Regan a kiss. “See you later. Hold down the fort.”
“I’ll try.”
As soon as they left, Regan dialed her mother.
Nora answered on the second ring. “Regan, how’s everything?”
“Mom, thanks for the cake. You did some job wrapping it up.”
“You’re welcome. But tell me. Have you located Adele Hopkins’s family?”
“Not yet,” Regan said. “But we have her address in Chicago and
Jack’s in touch with the police out there.”
“Then you should have no trouble finding them.”
“The problem is, Mom,” Regan said, “I don’t think there’s anyone to find.”
49
Ellen hung Kit’s saturated raincoat in the bathroom off the office, fished a clean pair of athletic socks out of her gym bag, and walked back to the showroom. Kit was sitting at the table, drying off her purse with a napkin. There was no one else in the store.
“Here, Kit,” Ellen said, handing her the socks. “Take off those sneakers. Would you like coffee or tea?”
“Thank you so much. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“No trouble. I’m glad you’re here. What would you like?”
“A cup of tea would be great.”
“Coming up.”
Kit untied her sneakers, kicked them off, peeled off her wet thin socks, and stuffed them inside her shoes. After she pulled on the thick fluffy pair of athletic socks Ellen had been so thoughtful to lend her, Kit’s feet felt like they might actually have a chance of thawing out. “Much better,” she said to herself, then reached in her damp purse and dug out her cell phone. She pushed Regan’s number and held the phone to her ear.
Four rings later, Regan answered. “Kit, I was starting to worry. Where are you?”
“Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse . . .”
“Oh, no,” Regan said, laughing. “What happened?”
Kit explained.
“You’re at Pillow Talk? How funny. Jack just left for the grocery store. When he gets back, I’ll come get you. In the meantime, have Ellen tell you the story of why they started that shop.”
“Regan, you don’t have to come get me. I’m waiting to hear from the mechanic. Hopefully my car will be fixed soon. Besides, I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not going to let you walk through the pouring rain again. And I’m not that busy right now.”
“What’s going on with everything?”
Regan gave Kit a quick summary. “I’d like to update Ellen before we hang up.”
“Okay. Just a minute, here she is.” Kit held up the phone. “Ellen, Regan would like to talk to you.”
Ellen placed a tray with a plate of cookies and a mug of hot tea in front of Kit, then took the phone from her. “Hi, Regan . . . Right . . . She lived in Chicago, huh? . . . We haven’t heard back from the woman who sent that e-mail either . . . Keep me posted . . . Thanks.” She handed the phone back to Kit.
“Hello again . . . Okay, Regan . . . sounds good . . . call me when Jack gets home.” Kit closed her phone. “Regan says I should have you tell me why you started Pillow Talk.”
Ellen’s eyes twinkled. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“The restrained or unrestrained version?”
“Unrestrained, of course.”
“I could tell. The way you laughed at my joke about Nathaniel Boone, I could tell. Pippy thinks I should tone down the way I talk about my ex-boss. But she’s not here at the moment, so . . .”
“I’m all ears,” Kit said as she poured milk in her tea. “Feel free to say whatever you want. Spare no details.”
“Okay then,” Ellen said with obvious delight. She sat at the table, placed her palms facedown, and looked Kit in the eye. “There I was, perfectly happy in my job selling makeup at a department store, when this complete moron walks up to my counter and tells me he wants to buy makeup for his mother. His mother!” She tilted her head, “You know that type of guy that . . .”
Within seconds, Kit was nodding in agreement.
50
Pippy drove along 5A for less than a minute before she switched on her left blinker, slowed down, and turned onto Woodsy Path, which Ellen said had been aptly named—aptly named, but hardly imaginative.
I love this street, Pippy thought as she drove slowly down the narrow, winding lane that was lined with overhanging trees. Each home along the way was shaded by evergreens, Roger’s being the last house on the right. The road dead-ended with a large wooded area and pond. When she turned into her cousin’s driveway, she shut off the car’s engine. For a brief moment she sat, listening to the rain and taking in her surroundings. I’m going to hate to move, she thought. We’ve been here during the cold and dreary months and enjoyed it. I can just imagine how terrific it must be to live here in the summer.
She got out of the car, hurried to the front door, and let herself inside. The living room was to the left, the dining room to the right, the kitchen and den area straight ahead at the back of the house. A staircase to the three bedrooms was two steps away.
I hate to move out of here, but we definitely need more room, Pippy thought. The dining-room table was covered with every type of material, thread, and notion ever needed to make a pillow. Piles of sample pillows and boxes of cards they didn’t have room for at the store filled the living room. Ellen and I are going to have to find a house with at least one big room where we can keep everything organized.
She walked down the tiny hallway, opened the basement door, and turned on the light. She started down the steps, but a sudden noise made her stop and wait for a moment. What was that? Nothing, she finally decided and kept going.
As soon as she reached the bottom step, she started a quick survey of the room. Everything looked okay. The three small windows were fine. No leaks, no drips, no broken glass. No water under the door that led to the backyard. Great, Pippy thought as she hurried back up the steps and shut the door.
The clock read 4:30. When we close the store at six, I’ll go for that manicure, even though the weather stinks. After breaking that nail today, I definitely need it. She walked toward the kitchen, reached the island, then turned abruptly at a sound that seemed to come from upstairs. Her left elbow knocked over a glass vase filled with water, which started rolling off the counter. Pippy lunged for the vase, but it was too late. It dropped over the side of the counter and shattered on the tile floor.
I knew it! Pippy thought, angry with herself. This morning she’d thrown out the roses her parents had sent for her birthday a week ago, but she was in a rush. She’d left the vase on the counter, putting off washing it until after work.
Her heart racing, Pippy headed to the broom closet. No putting off that vase anymore, she thought as the wind rattled the front door.
51
Kit enjoyed every minute of Ellen’s story. “Reed Danforth had no idea what was in store for him when he approached your makeup counter. At least for you, it led to your success,” she said.
“But what if it hadn’t?”
“He’d really be in trouble. Shh—Pippy’s back.”
“I knocked that vase over,” Pippy cried as she hurried into the store. “That’s why I took so long.”
Ellen laughed and got up. She turned to Kit—“Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’ll give Nathaniel Boone a call. I can’t believe I haven’t heard from him yet.”
She dialed his number. After eight or nine rings, he answered. “Hello.”
“Nathaniel?”
“Yes?”
“Nathaniel, this is Kit—I brought my car in earlier. My windshield wipers are broken . . .”
“I know. You told me.”
“Have you had a chance to take a look under the hood yet?”
“No. I just fixed the other car good as new and feel quite proud. I’ll reward myself with a snack, then get started on your jalopy.”
Broken windshield wipers do not a jalopy make, Kit thought. “Okay, great. Would you call me when you have an idea of how big the job is?”
“Every job’s big. Every job’s important . . .”
Meet Nathaniel Boone, the philosopher, Kit thought.
“From fixing the transmission, to changing a tire, it’s all part of the whole. The whole car. A tire’s no good if you don’t have a transmission. A transmission’s no good if you have a flat tire. Get it?”
“I get it.
Let me know how long it will take, would you please?”
“Okay. Bye.”
Kit exhaled, then called Regan.
“I wish I could come get you right now,” Regan said. “Jack isn’t back yet, which is surprising. They were only going to the market up the street. As soon as he gets here, I’ll leave. It should be any minute.”
“Thanks.”
But it wasn’t meant to be. The Brewers had asked Jack to take them to a specialty market three miles down the road for ingredients they couldn’t find at the smaller grocery store. While they were shopping at the second store, a tree fell on a main road, blocking it completely. Their detour home would be lengthy.
At a quarter of six, Pippy and Ellen were closing the store. Jack wasn’t home yet. Nathaniel Boone promised Kit’s car would be ready soon. Who knew what that meant?
“Do either of you know the number of a local cab company? I’ll go back and put the pressure on Boone.”
“Pippy’s going for a manicure,” Ellen said. “Why don’t you come to the house with me, have a glass of wine, and as soon as the car is ready, I’ll drive you over.”
“Oh, Ellen, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. We’ll have fun. I’m sure you have a story or two to tell me.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Hah! No one’s ever called me that before!”
52
As time passed, Regan became restless. She got up several times from the couch, where she’d been reading and watching television, when she thought she heard Jack’s car. She was anxious for Jack and the Brewers to return. So many thoughts were running through her head—if only I had a car to pick up Kit now. What would the news from Detective Lopez be? And how is Skip?
In the kitchen, she opened the drawer, found the Reillys’ address book, looked up Skip’s cell number, and called him. Fortunately, he answered. He didn’t sound happy, but he answered.
Carol Higgins Clark Boxed Set - Volume 1: This eBook collection contains Zapped, Cursed, and Wrecked. Page 51