Zapped

by Carol Higgins Clark

  For the next ten minutes, Kit and Billy made the calls. A couple of machines picked up, one woman screamed about being called during the blackout because she had banged into a table trying to locate the phone, and others grunted “Wrong number” and hung up. No one they reached sounded happy-go-lucky.

  “So much for that idea,” Regan said when the list had been exhausted. “If we only knew what this guy did for a living. If he wanted to take a comedy class—”

  “Those comedy classes are full of people from all walks of life,” Billy said. “And so many of them don’t have the slightest idea how to tell a joke. They know nothing about comic timing.” He leaned forward. “I don’t mean this poor guy doesn’t have talent, but he could have come from anywhere. People don’t realize how hard it is to get up there in front of audiences and make them laugh. Especially on a bad night when the room is full of hostile, angry people.”

  “I bet you right now Georgina is laughing at every little witticism Chip Jones utters,” Regan said. “Doing her best to gain his confidence.”

  “Fake laughter has always been so obvious to me,” Billy said. “It’s worse than no laughter.”

  “But you like what you do, right?” Kit asked him.

  “I love it! I’m just trying to help with the investigation. All I’m saying is that this guy could be in any line of work. Some people say they take comedy classes to help their self-esteem. Are they crazy? When no one laughs at your jokes, self-esteem becomes an alien concept!”

  “Okay,” Regan interrupted, trying to redirect the conversation. “Kit, your BlackBerry has those information sites, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Check and see if there’s a Chip Jones in IMDb. It’s a site that lists people in show business and their credits. If he’s not there, we can rule that out.”

  There was no listing for a Chip Jones.

  “That settles that,” Regan said as she found a parking space on the street in front of the Gates Hotel. The lobby was a hot, sweaty, candlelit scene of confusion. Overflowing with stranded travelers who couldn’t make it up to their rooms and others who had no way home to the suburbs, it resembled an airport lounge during a snowstorm. People were camped out on the floor. Some were snoozing, others talking, others looked miserable as they quietly fanned themselves.

  In the bar, Kit spotted the insurance crowd. They were seated at three tables that had been pushed together in a corner.

  Gail waved to Kit. “Come on over,” she called. “I hope you’re not looking for a drink with ice!” She laughed nervously as did a couple of the others who appeared to have already enjoyed several drinks not caring what their temperature was.

  At the table, Kit introduced Billy and Regan to her co-workers.

  “And,” Gail piped in helpfully, “down at the end are Melanie and Dexter who work with Georgina. It’s so terrible what Georgina does to these guys. Is that sick or what?”

  Regan nodded, walked over to the end where Melanie and Dexter were seated, and shook their hands. “Perhaps we could speak outside where it’s not so noisy,” she suggested.

  Dexter, a somber-faced man in his forties, with thin, wispy hair, pushed back his chair. “Of course. I’m so glad you’re here. This is a black eye for our company. A terrible day for Ilka’s Insurance. We’re all very upset.”

  Melanie doesn’t look upset at all, Regan thought as she glanced at the youthful fresh-faced girl whose blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “Do you need any help?” Gail called as Regan, Kit, Billy, Melanie, and Dexter left the noisy bar.

  “We’ll let you know,” Kit promised.

  In the hallway, Regan spoke quickly. “We’re going to do all we can to find Georgina tonight before she hurts somebody else. But looking for her, especially during a blackout, is tough. We’re pretty sure we have the name of the young man she’s with but we don’t yet know anything else about him. If there’s anything about Georgina that you can think of, please tell me now—even a small detail could be helpful. Dexter, I understand you were the one who received the call this evening about her.”

  Dexter scrunched up his mouth mournfully. “The police in Atlanta got in touch with the president of our company after Georgina’s friend was arrested and she implicated Georgina in these other crimes. Naturally, Mr. Blankbucks was greatly troubled and called me immediately. By the time I reached Kit, as you know, Georgina was already out on the town with another potential victim.”

  “I gather there isn’t too much doubt that Georgina committed the shoplifting crimes with her friend.”

  “No. She hasn’t been convicted of any crimes but they have security tapes that don’t leave much question,” Dexter said.

  “And her friend said that she sedates and brands blond men she meets in bars. Is there any proof that she really committed these other crimes?”

  Dexter looked at the floor. “There may be. I just received a call from a detective in Atlanta and was about to call Kit when you came in. He is anxious to speak to you, Regan. Georgina’s friend said she’d branded a guy in Miami last month. The Atlanta police got in touch with the Miami police. A guy had come forward and reported the incident but apparently Georgina had already left town. The victim’s arm was a mess. The branding she does is very crude. The police are checking out all the cities her friend said she hit. They’re afraid that many of the other victims are embarrassed to come forward. The victim in Miami had the brand I AM A SNAKE on his arm and gave an accurate description of Georgina. Of course, she hadn’t told him her real name.”

  “Why did this guy come forward?” Regan asked.

  “His wife made him. He was married.”

  “Oh, boy,” Billy said.

  “What do you know?” Kit harrumphed.

  “So it sounds like her friend is telling the truth,” Regan said.

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s looking for leniency in the shoplifting crimes.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Georgina?” Regan asked. “Melanie, did you know her very well?”

  Melanie clasped her hands. “Not really. She hadn’t been working with us very long.”

  “Did she ever talk about her family?”

  Deep in thought, Melanie curled her lip. “Just once. I was in the break room at the office putting a cake I’d made for my grandma’s birthday in the refrigerator. I was going to her house straight after work. Georgina came in for a cup of coffee and asked me about the cake. When I told her what it was, she looked kind of sad. Usually she had a tough expression, if you know what I mean. She said her grandmother was the only one she was close to in her family, but she’d died when Georgina was twelve. Georgina’s father had died when she was a baby, and her mother was always chasing around after different guys.”

  Regan nodded. “Did she say anything about brothers and sisters?”

  “She said she was an only child.”

  “Do you know how old Georgina is?”

  “Twenty-seven,” Dexter answered.

  “What was your impression of her?” Regan asked him.

  He shrugged. “I have to say I’m shocked. I would never have suspected this of her.”

  “Okay. Can I get the number of that detective in Atlanta?”

  “Sure.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to Regan.

  “Thanks. If there’s anything else that either of you think of that might be helpful, please call me.” Regan gave them her number. “One more thing,” she said. “Kit knows what Georgina looks like. But Billy and I don’t. By any chance do you have a picture of her?”

  “Yes!” Melanie cried. “I took one with my cell phone during the cocktail party earlier.” She slid her shoulder bag off her arm and scrambled to get out her phone. Flipping it open, she quickly pulled up the photos she’d taken only hours before. “Here she is!”

  Billy and Regan peered at the picture. The offbeat yet attractive Georgina was standing next to Dexter with a big smile on her face.


  “Here’s another!” Melanie cried.

  It was a closeup of Georgina. There’s definitely something weird going on behind those eyes, Regan thought. “Melanie, thank you. That’s a big help.”

  “Can I come with you to look for her?” Melanie asked imploringly.

  “I’m afraid not,” Dexter said quickly. “Your safety is my responsibility. The boss wouldn’t be too happy if something happened to you.”

  “I’ll tell you what you can do,” Regan said to Melanie. “I’m going to see if hotel security will let me take a quick look at her room. You can come with me and see if anything up there triggers your memory. Then if you would be willing to sit in the lobby of this hotel and let me know if Georgina comes back, that would be great.”

  Melanie looked askance. “But then it would be too late! She wouldn’t bring the guy back here. Especially if she dumped all the others on the side of the road. She’d get caught.”

  “You have a point, Melanie. But if she left this guy unconscious somewhere in New York City there’s always the danger something more serious will happen to him. And the blackout complicates things. We want to catch up with her as soon as possible, no matter what.”

  “Okay, Regan,” Melanie said. “I’ll sit in the lobby all night if I have to.”

  “I’ll join you,” Dexter said.

  “Great,” Regan answered. “Now let’s find hotel security. Do you happen to know what floor Georgina’s room is on?”

  “The forty-second!” Melanie chirped. “Wouldn’t you know she managed to snag the best room of all of us?”

  17

  By the time Rod dropped off Wally at his house in Edgewater, New Jersey, a couple of miles south of the George Washington Bridge, Wally was a wreck. The always cranky Frank had insisted on being dropped off first. Already plagued with guilt, Wally didn’t argue. His cell phone was on silent mode but he could see that Arthur had called him twenty-two times. He’s not calling with good news, Wally thought. Only people with bad news and stalkers call this often.

  Rod’s parting words as Wally jumped out of the van left no doubt in Wally’s mind about the tone of Arthur’s messages.

  “Wally, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning to go back to Mrs. Spreckles’s house. Good thing she has a generator.” Rod laughed. “Good thing for the blackout. Regan Reilly was expecting us in the morning, and I was going to have to make up some excuse. Pray the blackout lasts till at least noontime tomorrow.”

  “We were supposed to go back to the Reillys’ tomorrow?” Wally asked in a faint voice. “I thought we weren’t due back until Wednesday when they were home from vacation.”

  “No big deal. She’ll get over it. The job with Mrs. Spreckles was too good to resist.” Rod tooted the horn and drove off.

  Wally stood in his darkened driveway on his darkened street unable to move a muscle. His head was spinning. He forced himself to walk over to his front stoop and sit. He could hear the sounds of neighbors down the street laughing and talking. He could smell food cooking on an outdoor grill. It all felt surreal. He knew he had to check those messages. Steeling himself, he pulled out his cell phone. There was one screaming message after another from mild-mannered, placid Arthur. At least I was smart enough not to listen to these in Rod’s car, Wally congratulated himself.

  “She walked in when I was there! I locked her out on the roof! Why did you get me involved in your contractor’s fantasy? Why?…”

  As Wally was deleting the thirteenth message, a familiar car came roaring down the block. Uh-oh, Wally thought, as he jumped up and fumbled for the keys to his house.

  Arthur’s car turned and came to a screeching halt in Wally’s driveway. He jumped out and came running toward him. “You idiot!”

  “Come inside,” Wally urged in a shaky voice. “We don’t want to attract the attention of the neighbors—”

  “I don’t care about the neighbors!”

  “You should! Some of them are very nosy!” Wally turned, unlocked the door, and scrambled into his darkened living room. “I can’t see a thing! I’ll get a flashlight or a candle.”

  Panting, Arthur collapsed onto the couch. “I dropped my stun gun. It was either on the street or in their apartment. I’m pretty sure it was their apartment.”

  “Stun gun?” Wally called from the kitchen. “What were you doing with a stun gun?”

  “You know I like gadgets. They’re good for protection. I was buying one for my grandmother so I bought one for myself.”

  “They’re illegal around here.”

  “I know!”

  Wally came back into the living room carrying a lit birthday candle. “Let’s make a plan,” he said as the wax dripped onto his fingers. “I can always say the stun gun was mine and I dropped it when I was working there.”

  “That is ridiculous. The owners know someone broke into their apartment.”

  “You’re right. It is ridiculous. I feel so bad for Rod.”

  “You feel bad for Rod? What about me?”

  “He’s worked so hard all these years. If this comes out it’ll be terrible for his business.”

  “He won’t end up in jail, now will he?” Arthur growled. He wiped his forehead. “I’m sweating to death.”

  “Okay, okay,” Wally said. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s take a ride back into the city—”

  “I’m too upset to drive!”

  “We’ll take my car, then. I suggest we retrace your steps between the building and where you parked your car. It’s very possible we’ll find the stun gun.”

  “And if we don’t? We’re in a blackout! The streets are so dark it’s hard to see anything!”

  “I don’t know. But I have the feeling that at least if we’re near the loft, we’ll figure things out. Maybe we can grab a bite somewhere.”

  “Grab a bite? Are you crazy?”

  “I can’t sit here, Arthur! My stomach is in knots. Let’s go. This candle is burning my fingers.”

  “That woman might still be out on the roof,” Arthur said miserably.

  “No way. She and her husband are as thick as thieves.”

  “Thick as thieves? Like us?”

  “You know what I meant. He has to have rescued her by now.” Wally blew out the remains of the candle and jumped up. “Come on, Arthur. Sitting here isn’t going to get that stun gun back.”

  “I have the feeling that it’s too late anyway.”

  “Never mind. Let’s go. But, Arthur—”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no harm in getting the tools out of your car. You never know. We might get a second chance at that safe.”

  “No way, you jerk! I am not bringing my tools!”

  18

  Conrad Spreckles searched the guest room high and low. There was no sign of any cash that Lorraine might have squirreled away. But he was wildly irritated, when, upon close examination, he noticed the exorbitant price tags still attached to many of Lorraine’s handbags.

  “I was so used,” he gasped. “Grandma Spreckles would be mortified at this waste! Lorraine bought just for the sake of buying. It’s disgusting. She is not getting these handbags back! I’m giving them all to Alexis. Any bag she doesn’t like I’ll donate to charity!”

  In the master bedroom he rifled through Lorraine’s dresser. No cash there, either. Just expensive lingerie and scarfs and sweaters, half of them never worn.

  Conrad sat down on the king-size bed, feeling defeated. This house has so many places she could have hidden money I could search forever and still not find it, he thought. She probably has a secret bank account where my money is gaining interest. And now she’s staying at the Treetops Hotel in New York City which I’ll have to pay for. This bleeding has got to stop! I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow and see if I can cancel her credit card. I have to limit her spending now or I’ll be broke by the time the divorce is final.

  He picked up the remote control and flicked on the television. “I’m a glutton for punishment,” he said aloud. “W
ith my luck she’ll be on the news again.”

  The phone jangled on the night table. Conrad jumped. He glanced and saw it was his daughter, Alexis, calling. Tears stung his eyes. She’d been so upset and distant since he’d married Lorraine that she rarely called. He grabbed the receiver. “Alexis?”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

  “I’m okay. I’m in New York City.”

  “In the middle of the blackout? Your mother didn’t tell me that.”

  “I’m with Dodie and some of my friends. I was supposed to sleep at Dodie’s parents’ house down here tonight but I don’t feel well.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “This heat is so gross. It’s like I can’t breathe or something. We’re out and have been having fun, but all of a sudden I feel really bad. I’d love to come up to your place tonight. I know you have the generator and I can sleep with air-conditioning, which I know would make me feel better.”

  Conrad rolled his eyes. She’s calling because she wants something, he thought. But it’s better than not hearing from her. And until now she had always refused to sleep at this house.

  “I’d never ask if I didn’t know you’d given Lorraine the boot and she was staying at the Treetops Hotel here in the City.”

  “I gather you spoke with your mother,” Conrad said wryly.

  “Yes. She suggested I call and see if there was any possible way you could come and pick me up. I really don’t feel well, and Dodie’s family’s apartment is going to be so hot and horrible. I feel short of breath.”

  My little baby, Conrad thought. He knew she was just fine but was a creature of comfort who didn’t want to spend even one uncomfortable night sweating. Grandma Spreckles would spin in her grave with all the hours she’d spent over a hot stove stirring pots filled with chocolate. Too bad, Grandma, Conrad thought. “Where are you, darling? Of course I’ll come get you.”

  “Thank you, Daddy! I’m at Lonnie’s, a bar on the Upper East Side.”

  “You’re not twenty-one yet.”