Fleeced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “And I don’t want to go back there tonight for the anniversary party,” Georgette said. “We’ll never get the diamonds. What’s the point?”

  “The point is that it ain’t over till it’s over. I’ve got a couple weeks of the butler school left, and then we’re out of here. In the meantime, you sit and think about your boyfriend Nat. Think about where those glass stones might have come from and what he would have done with the diamonds.”

  “He loved to play practical jokes.”

  “It’s really funny hiding diamonds worth millions.”

  Georgette stared up at the ceiling. “Whoever came into the apartment that night and murdered him might know what he did with them.”

  Blaise stroked her hair. “But who would that be?”

  “I don’t know.” Georgette was suddenly irritated. “You don’t think he was cheating on me, do you?”

  50

  When Jack arrived in London, it was just after 7:00 A.M. Which means it’s just after two in New York, he thought. I hope Regan’s asleep. He hadn’t checked any bags, so he zipped through immigration and out to the taxi stand, where a driver was waiting for him.

  Forty-five minutes later he was at the front desk of his hotel near Scotland Yard.

  “You’re lucky,” the clerk said to him. “Your room is ready. The gentleman who used it last night checked out early this morning. The maid’s already been in there and tidied up.”

  “Great,” Jack said. He knew they didn’t have to have the room ready until three o’clock, but he was dying for a shower and wanted to get over to Scotland Yard. He was restless but couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why. With any luck I can get everything done today and catch a flight back tonight, he thought hopefully.

  He refused the offer of a bellman, since he just had a hanging bag, and took the key to his room on the fifth floor. When he reached the room, the maid’s cart was parked right outside the open door.

  “Hello,” he said as he walked in.

  “Hello, love.” The fiftyish maid popped her head out of the bathroom. She was a cheerful sort.

  “I’m sorry. They told me the room was ready.”

  “Right. They’re always getting confused, aren’t they? I’ll be out of here in two shakes.”

  “Thanks. I have to shower and then get to work.”

  “So you’re working on Saturday too?”

  Jack smiled as he walked over to the bed and put down his bag. “Yes.”

  “It’s a living,” she said. “All right. I’ve finished up. Have a good one.”

  “You too,” Jack said, then noticed money and a note on top of the dresser. “Wait,” he called to her as she started out the door. “I think this money must be yours.”

  “Thanks, love,” she said as she hurried over to the dresser. When she realized how little was there, she said, “Hardly worth the shoe leather to come and fetch it,” but nonetheless shoved it into her pocket and picked up the note. “Thanks for such great service. It was like having my own butler.” She looked at Jack and rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should become a butler.”

  Jack smiled. “I know of a butler school in New York City that just started.”

  The maid waved her hand at him. “We’ve got more than enough butler schools over here. Too many in fact. A lot of competition. But it doesn’t matter to me. I’d never last in one of those places. Too formal for me.” She headed back out the door. “Cheerio, love.”

  “Cheerio,” Jack said as he unzipped his bag and hurried into the bathroom with his shaving kit.

  51

  Tea, Miss Regan?” Maldwin asked as he ushered her into Lydia’s living room, where Daphne, Lydia, and Thomas were enjoying their second cup. It was now three-thirty in the morning.

  “Thank you, Maldwin,” she said as she sat down on a love seat next to Daphne.

  “Well, what’s going on over there now?” Daphne asked.

  “The police are finished. They dusted for fingerprints and secured the apartment. They’re locking the front door with a special padlock. Thomas, we’ve got to get the old locks changed first thing in the morning.”

  “Of course, Regan. Do you want to stay in my apartment tonight?”

  “Oh I’d offer, but my apartment is a mess,” Daphne jumped in. “Getting ready to do the movie was so hectic. There’s stuff thrown all over…”

  “You must stay here!” Lydia insisted. “There’s a maid’s room off the kitchen with a pull-out Castro convertible couch. It’s safe, secure, and all yours.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Regan said. She’d slept on many a Bernadette Castro special in her day.

  “The room is rather small, so I didn’t want Maldwin to have to live in it,” Lydia explained. “But it’s perfect for your purposes.”

  Thomas had filled the others in on the break-in at Ben’s. Of course, he had sugar-coated Janey’s little drop-by. “She hates to see things go to waste,” he had explained.

  “Regan, with all that’s been happening, maybe we should have more security around here,” Daphne suggested.

  “We can’t have armed guards walking the hallways,” Lydia answered. “This is supposed to be a place of refinement.”

  “You can’t be refined when you’re dead,” Daphne shot back.

  “We can’t afford it, Daphne,” Thomas cried. “Unless a miracle happens and we get those diamonds, or if the cast of Ben-Hur decides to join the Settlers’ Club, I’m afraid we’re in deep, deep trouble. We just may have to close down.”

  “My dating service!” Lydia moaned.

  “My butler school!” Maldwin choked.

  “What about me?” Thomas asked. “This is more than a job to me. It was my dream to bring this club back to life. Make it a vibrant place for gracious living and art appreciation. I even imagined we’d have a five-year waiting list for people to get in!”

  “Five years is what it would take for me to find another decent apartment in New York City,” Daphne commented, her voice rising. “I like it here and I want to stay. The Settlers’Club has been my whole life for the past twenty years…”

  “Listen, everybody,” Regan interrupted. “There’s no sense in arguing. We all want the same thing. I suggest that we join forces and go all out to try and make it a fabulous party tomorrow night. It’s the club’s one hundredth anniversary. Stanley’s coming with his television camera, right?”

  Lydia nodded. “He’ll be so mad he missed all this excitement.”

  “Well, we don’t want this in his piece,” Thomas pointed out. “We only want the good stuff about the club.”

  “I’ll ask my parents to come,” Regan said. “My mother’s running a crime convention, and maybe she can get some of her author friends to drop by.”

  Thomas bit on his handkerchief. “Good idea, Regan.”

  “We have to put on a good show. In the meantime, I’ll be working with the police. Whoever broke into Nat’s apartment tonight has to be stopped. They may be very dangerous. So keep your doors locked.”

  “What a day.” Daphne sighed. “Although for me, it wasn’t all bad.”

  Thomas stood. “Don’t forget. We want those sheep back for the party. Maybe they’ll be our good-luck charms.”

  52

  When Clara’s alarm went off, she groaned. It’s my own damn fault, she thought, that I have to get up early on a Saturday. I got carried away when I called in to that show, and I certainly got more than carried away when I volunteered to work for free. She turned off the alarm and just lay there for a few minutes. I sure wish I had one of Maldwin’s butler students here to bring me a cup of coffee. That would make getting out of bed so much easier.

  Well, I don’t think I’m going to have a butler in this lifetime, Clara reflected as she dragged herself out from under the warm comforter. The best I have to hope for is being reincarnated as a Rockefeller. She went into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker, then headed for the shower. The warm spray felt good on her back and arms
that spent so many hours scrubbing other people’s dirt.

  Wrapped in her robe, she hurried back into the kitchen and poured that first cup of coffee she always drank while getting dressed. I’m dillydallying too much, she realized. I won’t have time for a second cup today. I said I’d get there early.

  Twenty minutes later, she left the apartment in a pair of stretch pants, an oversized sweater, and her big winter coat. She always changed into her maid’s uniform at the club.

  March 13th and it feels like spring is months away, she thought as she pulled on her gloves. It was another gray, chilly, lifeless day. As usual, she walked the six blocks to the subway station. The streets were empty because it was early on a Saturday. When she got to the station, she walked to the newsstand and gasped when she saw the blaring headlines of the New York World:

  CRIME SPREE AFFECTS SETTLERS’ CLUB

  CLUB PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND STEALS FOOD

  FROM DEAD MEMBER

  Clara pulled a paper from the top of the pile and started devouring the story.

  “Lady, you want to pay for that;” the vendor asked her.

  Clara grabbed a couple of quarters from her purse without taking her eyes off the page and dropped them on the counter. One of them bounced into the candy section, but Clara didn’t even notice.

  “Thanks a lot, lady.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” Clara mouthed as she walked away, shaking her head. And they were worried about me calling the crime show. I have half a mind to go home and go back to bed.

  The subway that would take her to Gramercy Park was heading down the track. What the heck, I’ll be a sport and help poor Thomas, she thought as the train stopped. She spent the entire trip into Manhattan shaking her head and going over every word of the article.

  53

  The maid’s room was cozy all right. So cozy that when you opened the door, it slammed into the couch. But Regan didn’t mind. By the time she retired for the second time that night it was four o’clock. Talk about musical beds, she thought as she pulled the covers over her and turned to face the wall.

  Sleep didn’t come as quickly as it had in Nat’s guest room. And when it did, it was in fits and starts, accompanied by strange dreams that she could barely remember. It was only when light started coming through the window that she finally fell into a deeper sleep.

  At ten after nine her cell phone rang. Regan opened her eyes and looked around, momentarily confused. Then, like a boomerang, the memories of the last twenty-four hours all came back to her. She reached for her phone on the nightstand next to the bed. The Caller ID showed her parents’ number.

  “Hi,” she answered and realized she sounded pretty tired.

  “Regan, are you all right?” Nora asked with concern.

  “Yes. I’m just not fully awake.”

  “So you haven’t seen the paper yet?”

  “No, but now it’s safe to say I’m wide awake. How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “What page?”

  “The front page.” Nora read the headline.

  “That’ll make Thomas’s day.”

  “The article makes it sound like all hell is breaking loose at the Settlers’ Club.”

  “It is, Mom.” Regan admitted, knowing she had to tell her mother what happened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night, when I was sleeping, Nat Pemrod’s apartment was broken into.”

  “Regan, oh my God! Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Regan gave Nora a full explanation of the nocturnal excitement, concluding, “I slept in the maid’s room in the apartment across the hall.”

  “The apartment with all those butlers and singles parties?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “It’s in the article.” Nora relayed the conversation to Luke, who was next to her.

  Regan sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t wait to read it. I’m surprised Thomas hasn’t come running up here already this morning. Wait till that reporter gets her hands on the crime blotter with the latest incident. By the way, she made it seem like you were her buddy.”

  “She’s covering the crime convention, but I think she found what’s going on at the Settlers’ Club more interesting. Listen to this:

  “‘While Nora Regan Reilly is uptown running a crime convention for writers of fiction, daughter Regan is investigating the real thing in toney Gramercy Park. And boy does she have her hands full.’”

  Regan sat up. “That I do.”

  Nora continued. “‘When the senior Reilly was asked about her daughter’s whereabouts, she said Regan was working on a case in New York but refused to get specific…”

  “So much for classified information.”

  “Why must they refer to me as the ‘senior’ Reilly? I hate that.”

  “At least she didn’t call me junior.”

  “Yes she did.”

  “Why don’t I just get the paper and read it myself? Listen, Mom, do you think you could round up some of your cronies from the convention and drop by the party tonight? We’re trying to make this gathering as interesting as possible. Divert the attention from what’s gone on, although with everything in the news now, that seems unlikely. We’ve got a lot of damage control to take care of.”

  “What time does the party start?”

  “Seven.”

  “That’d work. Our cocktail hour is from five-thirty to six-thirty, and then people are on their own until the final sessions and brunch tomorrow. I’ll see who wants to come down. Before you hang up, your father wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hi, honey,” Luke said. “Be careful, would you?”

  Luke and Regan both chuckled. It was a family joke. Once after she had slipped and fallen in the snow, Nora had leaned over Regan, who was sprawled on the sidewalk, and said, “Be careful.”

  “Too late, Mom,” Regan had replied.

  “Anyway,” Luke continued, “yesterday I mentioned what you were doing to Austin. He reminded me we had heard last year about this girl who inherited money from her elderly neighbor in Hoboken and then started a dating service.”

  “Yes?” Regan said, her investigative antennae roused.

  “This woman left her a lot of money.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It turns out she didn’t make too many friends after the woman died. She even stiffed the Connolly brothers, who had handled the funeral, when they held a charity drive. They said she was cheap and couldn’t get out of town fast enough.”

  “Being cheap isn’t a crime,” Regan said, “though maybe it should be.”

  “True. But it made them wonder whether there was any undue influence with the neighbor…”

  And here I am in her apartment. Could Lydia have anything to do with any part of what had happened? “Maybe I should call them,” Regan said. “Do you have their number?”

  “Yes,” Luke said and read it to Regan. “For what it’s worth.”

  “Nothing would surprise me,” Regan said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Be careful. Really.”

  Regan smiled. “Right, Dad.” When she hung up, she pulled on her robe and stepped out into the kitchen. Maldwin was just getting out the coffee cups.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t bring coffee to you, but I think we all slept in a bit today. It’s just ready now.”

  “That’s okay,” Regan said. “I’m going to go back across the hall and take a shower. My things are all there.”

  “Take a cup with you.”

  “Thanks. Is Lydia up yet?”

  “No. I will wake her momentarily. Her pedicurist is coming in to do her nails at ten o’clock.”

  I wish I had someone coming to rub my feet, Regan thought. “Tell her thanks for me and I’ll talk to her later.”

  Maldwin poured a cup of perfectly brewed coffee. “Milk and sugar?”

  “Just some milk. I tell you, Maldwin, maybe you should start a butler school where I liv
e in California.”

  Maldwin dropped the pitcher on the counter. “Excuse me,” he said nervously.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like California?” Regan teased.

  “Too much sunshine,” he said, pouring another cup and placing it on Lydia’s tray.

  What’s he so worried about? Regan wondered as she walked across the hall, unlocked the padlock with the key the police had given her, and stepped back into what she now thought of as the abyss.

  54

  Dolly and Bah-Bah looked like two forlorn and forgotten figures in the corner of Jacques Harlow’s loft. Movie equipment was all over the place. Up in his bed, which you had to climb a ladder to get to, Jacques was snoring like a jackhammer. They had filmed very late the previous night. The cast and crew were due back at noon.

  Gray light filtered its way through the large, dirty windows, and the clock on the stove read 9:59.

  The strident honk of the buzzer, indicating a visitor downstairs on the sidewalk, cut through the air. Several long honks later it finally penetrated Jacques’s consciousness and woke him up. He jumped out of bed and pressed the intercom.

  “What?” he growled.

  “Good news, boss.” It was one of his assistants, a squirmy little guy named Stewie, who had ambitions of Hollywood greatness.

  “It better be good news. You woke me up.”

  “Buzz me in.”

  Jacques leaned on the button, specially installed next to his bed, and then descended the ladder. He walked over to the door and opened it just as Stewie was coming up the steps, bags with coffee and bagels in one hand, the newspaper in the other.

  “Extra, extra, read all about it,” Stewie sang as he walked through the door and handed the New York World to Jacques.

  “Read all about what?”

  “The Settlers’ Club’s problems. A side article talks about our flick and how the club was used as a location.”

  “My flick.”

  “Whatever.” Stewie put the bags on the coffee table.