Adele blinked. “I know. I don’t think it’s hit me yet.”
Floyd nodded. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’d rather hear about you,” Adele said flirtatiously. “I’ve been living here alone for several months and I’m sick of myself.”
His eyes crinkling, Floyd laughed. “Don’t say that. You’re a charming woman. I can tell.”
“Tell me about you,” she said, sipping the tea. “You must miss your wife.”
“My wife?”
“Yes, when you mentioned her before I could just tell that you were close.”
“Of course. You had me distracted.”
Adele smiled. She was starting to feel a little uneasy. “What was she like?”
“She was a horrible woman.” His eyes darkened and his voice took on an eerie tone. “A creature from the depths.”
A pit developed in Adele’s stomach, which she tried to ignore. “I didn’t get that impression from you.”
Floyd didn’t answer. A shadow passed over his face. Suddenly he stood. “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears,” he boomed. “Have you ever heard that before?”
“As a matter of fact I have,” Adele said as she struggled to her feet. No wonder I opted for isolation, she thought. Most people are nuts. I’ve got to get out of here.
“Why are you getting up? Don’t you want to hear me recite the whole speech?” he asked angrily.
“Another time. I’d better get home.”
“Why?”
“I think I left something on the stove.”
He came toward her, his arms outstretched.
Adele tried to run.
“You’re not leaving me!” he cried, grabbing her around the waist. He lifted her, carried her across the room, then dragged her down the basement steps. She tried to break away but it was useless. He was so strong. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t listen to me recite my lines!” he whined.
“I will. Please. Just let me go. I’ll listen to the whole speech. Every last word.”
“Too late now.” He threw her down on a chair, grabbed a coil of rope that was hanging on the wall, and tied her up. In the corner was a radio, which he turned on, adjusting the volume until it was blaring. “There,” he said. “No one will hear you if you scream for help. I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?” Adele asked desperately.
“Rehearsal. At least people there want to hear me perform.”
12
When Regan and Jack went back to the Reillys’, there were no messages on the answering machine, and they were amazed to find the house empty. But any fleeting fantasy that perhaps their visitors had found other lodging was dashed when they read the note that Fran and Ginny had left on the kitchen table.
Dear Regan and Jack,
Skip is on such a guilt trip about not picking Mrs. Hopkins up and possibly saving her life (if she wasn’t already dead that is), that he actually offered to board up our front window. We couldn’t believe it—because we know he can’t stand us. We are going to the store with him so we can pay by credit card and get our miles. After expressing our gratitude we asked if we could wait until you got back as we were dying to hear about what you discovered in the Carpenters’ home. Apparently Skip’s desire to ease his conscience only goes so far. He said now or never. The man is a quivering wreck. Since we couldn’t reach anyone at the window place we figured we better take him up on his offer before our house is ruined. So we’re off to the lumber store. See you soon, we hope. XO Fran and Ginny. P.S. Any thoughts about dinner? Skip will be joining us. We told him it’s no time for him to be alone and that he should spend the night. We’ll cook.
Regan and Jack looked at each other.
“I feel so sorry for him.” Regan pulled a chair out and sat at the kitchen table. “The house is so peaceful. . . . This is the first minute we’ve been alone since you left to go to the market.”
“It’s hard to believe that was just a few hours ago.”
“There’s something that happened while you were gone that I haven’t had a chance to tell you. When I opened the curtains in the bedroom this morning, Skip was right there outside the window. He jumped back and claimed he was checking for leaks. I was so startled. That’s why when I heard you come in I went charging down the hall.”
Jack’s eyes twinkled. “It wasn’t because you missed me so much? Regan, you’re breaking my heart.”
“Very funny. I’m telling you, Jack, even though the window was shut and the wind was howling, it was creepy.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“Then to have those two blabbermouths making fun of me. I’m sure they’ll never stop telling that story.”
Jack’s face lit up. “I think I’m going to like having everyone on Cape Cod think that you come racing to greet me every time I walk through the door. It’s good for my image.” He leaned down and put his arms around her, leaning his head on her shoulder.
Regan smiled. “You have no problem with your image,” she said, tousling his hair. “But this show of affection makes me nervous.”
“Why?”
“I’m certain those two are going to magically reappear.”
“We wanted to get going anyway.”
Regan sighed. “Seeing all those apology cards was really sad. Adele Hopkins was trying to make amends, and then she dies like that, when she might have been saved? I am so curious to find out who she was.”
“I am too. Let’s hope the Carpenters call back soon. Listen, for all we know Hopkins could have been a career criminal who saw the light and came up here to repent. She might be sending cards to people she cheated in some way or it could date back to a time she stole from a friend’s piggybank.”
“The poor woman is dead, Jack.”
“I know. But I doubt she won any popularity contests. What we found over there raises a lot of questions. And,” he added, dramatically pointing his finger, “she was unfriendly to my father.”
“Not good!” Regan said with a smile. “Jack, I was thinking . . . If Hopkins was trying to stay undercover and guard her privacy, for whatever reason, it must have been positively galling for her when she realized she’d rented down the block from Fran and Ginny.”
“Can you imagine?” Jack said with a slight laugh. “Every time she got in her car she had to pass their house. She had to pretend not to notice when they tried to flag her down.”
Regan looked at the clock on the wall. “Hopefully the Carpenters aren’t out of town. With any luck, they’ll be able to answer all our questions in two minutes.”
“If that’s the case, then let’s leave tomorrow,” Jack said.
Regan shook her head. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because of Skip. I’d feel terrible walking out on him now. Besides, I just have the feeling there’s not going to be a simple explanation about anything having to do with Hopkins.” She stood. “Let’s run over to the pillow store. A good customer like Hopkins should be hard to forget.”
“I also wouldn’t mind getting some breakfast,” Jack said. “Neither one of us has eaten anything this morning.”
“That’s because you gave Ginny my blueberry muffin.”
“You should be happy that she enjoyed every last bite,” Jack said as he reached for the phone. “I’ll call the Carpenters’ house and leave my cell phone number on their machine. I left them the house number before and then their message machine cut me off.”
Regan pinched his cheek. “It didn’t hurt your feelings, I hope.”
“No. But I think I deserve one of those apology cards.”
“You deserve a pillow!” Regan turned and headed out of the kitchen. “I’ll get my coat and my watch and finish getting ready. I feel like I was half dressed when this day started going downhill fast.”
Jack looked again in the address book and dialed the Carpenters’ home. To his surprise, a breathless Dorie Carpenter answered the phone. “Whoever you are, hol
d on a second,” she said quickly, then dropped the phone. Jack could picture the petite bouncy woman, late forties, with short blond hair and a seemingly perpetual tan. Having grown up in Boston, she had been coming down to the Cape all her life. An outdoorsy type, she loved tennis, golf, and swimming. From the time Dorie was married, she and her husband, Dan, had always rented a cottage for two weeks in the summer.
Several years ago they’d had the good fortune to hear from a friend about a man who was about to put his house on the market and was most anxious for it to sell quickly. His asking price was low because he didn’t want the process to drag on, with people traipsing in and out of his home, looking through his closets and complaining about what they didn’t like. He’d make a healthy profit no matter what, because he’d lived there for so many years and the house had gone up significantly in value.
Dorie, being Dorie, didn’t waste a second. She got the address of the house, dragged Dan off the golf course, drove over, and rang the bell. The owner admired Dorie’s pluck. Even though it stretched their budget to the limit, Dorie and Dan—especially Dorie—knew they’d be crazy to pass up the chance to own waterfront property at such a reasonable price. They’d never get an opportunity like this again. They took the plunge, making the deal that afternoon. To Jack’s mother’s credit, she was able to become friends with them even though she’d never get over letting that house slip through her fingers.
“I’m back,” Dorie bubbled. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Jack responded. “This is Jack Reilly. Is that you, Dorie?”
“Yes! Hi there! I just got home from the grocery store,” she said quickly, catching her breath, “and the front door blew open after I closed it. This rain is terrible. How are you?” she asked, her nerves quickening. She knew he wouldn’t be calling to just chat.
“I’m okay,” Jack answered. “Regan and I came up to the Cape for the weekened to celebrate our anniversary—”
“What a weekend to be at the Cape!” Dorie blurted.
That’s the understatement of the year, Jack thought. “Yes, this weather is something. Dorie, I’m afraid I have some bad news about the woman who’s been renting your house.”
Dorie’s heart sank. “What?” she asked as her yellow slicker dripped water on her kitchen floor.
“This morning our caretaker Skip went down our staircase to the beach to see if there was any damage from the storm,” he began, then filled her in on the demise of her tenant.
“Oh, no!” Dorie cried. “Mrs. Hopkins floated away! Why did he leave her there? If he wasn’t sure she was dead he should have—”
Jack winced. Poor Skip was going to be dealing with those questions forever. “I can assure you he’s very upset,” Jack said. “He obviously wishes he hadn’t left her there. But he felt fairly certain that she was already dead.”
“Fairly certain? She wasn’t a big woman, Jack! If he had at least tried to move her—”
“Dorie,” Jack interrupted. “I think he was in shock. He said that her face was bloody.”
“I’m sorry. I just feel terrible. If we hadn’t rented the house to her, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jack assured her. “She must have slipped and fallen down the stairs. We’re guessing that she was checking to make sure her rowboat was secure.”
“She had a rowboat?”
“Yes.”
“That’s news to me.”
“I saw it this morning. Apparently she was frequently on the water, even when it was freezing outside. She kept the boat tied at the bottom of your staircase.” Jack then explained about going into her house with Regan and the police.
“My goodness, why was she sending out all those apology cards? She seemed like a nice, quiet, private woman. I can’t imagine why she felt the need to apologize to so many people. What could she have done that was so bad?”
Oh, great, Jack thought. Dorie is supposed to be the one giving the answers, not asking the questions. “We were wondering the same thing. It could just be imagined offenses that kept her awake at night. There were also several self-help books lying around.”
“Ah,” Dorie said, her eyes welling with tears. “She was trying to become a better person. What kind of self-help? Do you remember any of the titles?”
“One of them was something like WAS I BORN RUDE?”
Dorie gasped. “I didn’t find her rude at all. You see? She was probably overly critical of herself and didn’t need to apologize to anyone.”
“Hard to say at this point,” Jack commented. “Right now we need to notify her next-of-kin. Did she put names and numbers of people to notify in case of emergency on her rental application?”
“Rental application?” Dorie asked.
“Yes. Didn’t she fill out paperwork with the real estate agent?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Dorie?”
“We didn’t use a real estate agent.”
“Then how did you meet her?”
“This isn’t going to sound good.”
“Try me,” Jack said, trying to lighten the tone.
“Dan and I went down to the Cape for a weekend in November. On Sunday morning we had breakfast at Fern’s coffee shop. We were talking about money. The kids are both in college now and there are so many expenses. Dan said that we should probably rent out the house for at least a month during the summer. I almost choked. With our jobs we’re able to go down for long weekends in June and July and then take our vacation in August. I look forward to it all year. I suggested to Dan that we register the house with a real estate agent after breakfast and try to rent it out until Memorial Day.”
“What did Dan say?”
“He told me I was crazy. He said that in this economy people have a hard enough time renting their houses out in the summer. Who would we possibly get to rent our house in the winter? Well, guess what, Jack? Turns out she was sitting at the next table.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. It was an unbelievable stroke of luck. At least I thought so at the time. This woman Adele Hopkins overheard us. She came over, introduced herself, and said she’d just arrived on the Cape. She’d recently gotten divorced and was looking to rent a house for several months. She was a sweet woman with such sadness in her eyes. You can just imagine what happened next. Dan didn’t even finish his pancakes—and the man never leaves food on his plate. We paid the bill as fast as possible and she followed us home. We couldn’t believe what she offered us to stay there until May. As you know, our house is not a candidate for Architectural Digest. It’s got a great view, but the interior has never been updated since it was built. When we have extra money, which will probably be never, we’ll do it. But that doesn’t matter. We have always felt incredibly blessed to have found a waterfront place at the Cape for such a steal, and to think it’s worth ten times more than that now . . .”
If my mother hears that story from you one more time, Jack thought, she might resort to violence.
“. . . so just like when we bought the house, we made the deal lickety-split. The next morning Mrs. Hopkins had twenty-five thousand dollars wired into our account. We were delirious. The holidays were coming and it relieved some of the pressure from all the bills that pile up. She drove over to our house and we gave her the new keys. The only thing she’d wanted was to have the locks changed, which I don’t blame her for. The locksmith was there first thing in the morning.”
Somehow Jack knew the answer to his next question before asking it. “Did you check her references?”
“Who wants to look for trouble when someone is handing you that kind of money?”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Not really. But let me ask you this. Did you even ask her for references?”
“It would have been so awkward. The whole situation just felt so right, like when we bought the house. The owner had a good feeling about us when we showed up unexpectedly on his
doorstep. That’s how we felt about Adele Hopkins. She just appeared in our lives and we trusted her. By the way, Jack, she’s not on trial, she’s dead. She didn’t do anything wrong. And another thing. I find it hard to believe that she fell down the steps.”
“Why?”
“When we showed her around, which didn’t take long because she obviously wasn’t fussy, she said she was looking forward to spending time alone because her divorce had been so bitter. To live on the water would be so soothing. I asked if she had children and she said no. When we walked down the steps to the beach she had a firm grip on the railing and was very careful. She said she’d gone tumbling down a flight of steps once and was never going to let that happen again. Just the way she said it. I don’t know. Maybe her ex-husband got sick of paying alimony and decided to track her down and push her down the steps again!”
“Dorie, you’re jumping to wild conclusions. There is no reason to believe that something like that happened. The weather is terrible and those stairs are slippery. She shouldn’t have been outside. Like I said before, we need to contact her family. Even if you didn’t ask for references, surely she must have given you the name of someone to contact in case of emergency.”
Again there was silence.
“Dorie?” Jack asked.
“When we gave her the keys, I asked her about who we should call if we needed to get in touch with someone on her behalf. I tried to sound delicate. But she knew exactly what I meant and joked that she didn’t plan to get sick or die. She then said her best friend was moving and getting a new home number and cell phone number and she’d give them to me as soon as she had them. I called her every month to make sure that everything was okay. The first time I called I asked her for her friend’s number and she said she was late for an appointment and didn’t have the numbers in front of her. She wasn’t much for chatting. So I didn’t bother her about it again. She gave us no trouble . . .”
“So you’re saying you have no contact information.”
“I guess so.”
“Did she use your phone? Were there any numbers on your bill?”
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