Mobbed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Hank shook his head and rolled over. After knowing Edna for thirty-five years, nothing his mother-in-law did surprised him.

  “Weren’t we talking about going there at the end of the month?” he asked in a groggy voice.

  “We should have made definite plans!” Karen cried. “Then she wouldn’t have sold the house so fast.”

  “You underestimate your mama,” Hank replied.

  There’s no doubt about it, Karen thought as she handed the gate agent her boarding pass. My mother’s going to put me in my grave.

  “You have to check your carry-on bag,” the agent informed her.

  “But then it’s not a carry-on bag,” Karen answered as politely as she could.

  The agent’s face remained impassive. “We are a full flight. There is no further room for carry-on bags.”

  Karen shook her head. “I’m sorry but I have a lot of important papers in my bag. I can’t risk losing them.”

  Ten minutes later, after tearful pleading, and almost risking arrest, Karen crammed her bag into an overhead bin and then squeezed into her middle seat. She put her computer bag under the seat in front of her, and fastened her seat belt. The guy on her right was snoring, the woman on her left was wearing strong perfume that was starting to give her a headache. Karen stared straight ahead.

  Thoughts were racing through her head. She had so many questions. Who was the buyer? Who was running the garage sale? Edna sometimes hid money or jewelry then forgot where she put it. Who knows what might disappear today? What family heirlooms might go missing?

  After the plane took off, Karen got out her laptop. She was glad that her flight had Internet access.

  Quickly she searched to see if there was anything else online about the garage sale. What she didn’t expect was to see her mother streaming live, standing with a reporter in the dining room.

  Karen gasped at the sight of skulls on the dining room table. Is my mother truly crazy? she wondered. She must be. What else does she have on display?

  As if hearing her baby girl’s thoughts, Edna’s voice came through the computer. “And we have so many other interesting items for sale …”

  I can just imagine, Karen thought, bracing herself. But she wouldn’t find out until she got off the plane.

  Her battery went dead.

  11

  In his tiny office in an old building in the West Forties in Manhattan, Cleo’s about-to-be ex-agent, seventy-three-year-old Ronnie Flake, was cleaning out his files, throwing out headshots that he’d collected for more than forty years. He had no idea what happened to most of these wannabes, but held on to the photos in case any of them hit it big or became involved in a scandal. That had happened once years ago. He’d made big bucks by selling the picture of a young woman whose claim to fame ended up being the fact that she dated a married politician to the New York Post. Cleo Paradise’s headshot was in a place of honor on his desk. But lately she hadn’t returned his calls.

  Ronnie ran his hands through his shoulder-length gray hair. I wanted her to do the stalker movie because it was a job, he thought angrily. A job is a job. How could I have predicted she’d be nominated for an Academy Award for that other silly little movie? My Super Super. Please. I never had a super super. I never had an okay super. That flick came out of nowhere and was a huge success! I shouldn’t have told Cleo the script was stupid. And I should never have told her I planned to retire. Talk about stupid! I open my big mouth about retirement the week before that dopey movie opens and breaks all box office records. Why, God? Why? Her contract with me runs out next week. She’ll probably sign with a big agent the next day. Life’s not fair. It’s just not fair!

  Ronnie turned on the old fan in the corner of his dusty office. I made a decent living, he thought as he tossed photo after photo into a garbage bag. I got actors work. I made them happy. Then I finally come across someone like Cleo Paradise, someone who’s destined to be a star, and I blow it. But she had no gratitude! She was back in the New York area and didn’t want to see me at all. She could have at least invited me down to that house she rented in New Jersey for a hot dog and a swim.

  Disgusted, Ronnie threw the trash bag across the room. He went around, sat at his desk, and leaned down to open the little refrigerator against the wall. The ringing of the phone delayed his first nip of the day. He spun around and grabbed the receiver.

  “Flake Agency.”

  “Dad?”

  “Who else would it be?” Ronnie asked his forty-nine-year-old son, Horace.

  “You don’t have to be nasty,” Horace answered. After trying out many professions, Horace now drove a livery cab.

  “I’m not. I’m in a bad mood.”

  “Well, I’ve got something to tell you that’s not going to make you very happy.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then let’s hear it.”

  “You know it irks me that Cleo Paradise has never appreciated you.”

  “Yes, son, I do.”

  “As your son, it breaks my heart that you’re making yourself sick over it. Breaks it into tiny pieces.”

  “Thank you.” Ronnie leaned down and pulled a bottle of vodka out of the fridge.

  “Well, every day I look online to see if there is something new about her.”

  “I often do the same.”

  “Did you look today?”

  “No. I’ve been too busy. I’ve had much too much to do.”

  “Well, she moved out of that house in Jersey.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “She left a note saying she was off to do a big movie.”

  Ronnie sprang up from his seat. “A big movie! She’s still under contract with me.”

  “That’s why this news couldn’t wait. I couldn’t find anything about any movie she’s doing. The woman whose house she rented is having a garage sale today. Cleo left some of her stuff there and the woman is selling it.”

  “Cleo was thrifty. She made me account for every penny. Why would she leave things behind?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Does this woman know where Cleo went to do this big movie?”

  “I don’t know. You want to go have a talk with this lady?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You can get away?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “I figured as much. Come on downstairs. I’m right outside.”

  Ronnie hung up the phone. He took Cleo’s picture, slammed it facedown on his desk, took one more gulp of vodka, then ran out the door.

  12

  Four attractive, young, apron-wearing women were stationed on Edna’s front lawn, ready to collect her garage sale guests’ money. Two security guards were standing near the gate where Scott’s fiancée was giving out tickets. She was blond and pretty, and wholesome as apple pie. But she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring.

  Nora was introducing herself. “Hello, I’m a friend of Edna Frawley’s daughter, Karen. Karen asked me to stop by and speak with Edna. Is she here?”

  “Yes, she is. What is your name?”

  “Nora Regan Reilly.”

  “The writer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I love your books. My sister and I read them all the time.”

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t believe this, Regan thought. “My name is Jillian.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jillian. And this is my daughter, Regan.”

  Jillian shook both their hands then called out to one of the girls on the lawn. “Dawn, would you bring these ladies inside to meet Mrs. Frawley? This is Nora Regan Reilly …”

  I wish Jillian would accompany us, Regan thought. I’d love to ask her a few casual questions.

  “Come on, ladies,” Dawn called out cheerfully. They followed her up the steps and into the house. “Mrs. Frawley!” she yelled. “Mrs. Frawley!!!”

  “Honey, please, shush,” Edna yelled back. “I’m doing an interview that’s live on the Internet.”

/>   “Sorry!” Dawn turned to Regan and Nora. “It’ll be just a few minutes,” she whispered.

  “Do you work at many of these sales?” Regan whispered back.

  “This is my first one. I’m really excited!”

  “Your first?” Regan asked. “Is Jillian in charge here?”

  “She and her partner, Jody. I think Jody’s out back. They run these sales all over New Jersey.”

  “How great,” Regan said. “How did you get the job?”

  “My friend Yvonne called me last night. She was sick and asked me to fill in for her.”

  “I’m trying to convince one of my friends to get rid of stuff in her attic. Maybe I should talk to Jillian.”

  “You’ll have to talk to Jody. Jillian just left.”

  “She did?” Regan asked, turning around and glancing out the window. One of the younger girls was now handing out the tickets. There was no sign of Jillian. “That was fast. Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t think so. They have another garage sale this afternoon. Mrs. Frawley called them at the last minute and really wanted to have her sale today. So Jody is running this sale,” Dawn said in a singsong voice, “and Jillian the other.”

  I’ll have to say hello to Jody, Regan thought.

  13

  For more than twenty years, Frankie Frawley had loved his life at sea. Every night he got to play the piano and belt out a tune or two or three. Whatever songs were requested, Frankie sang. If he didn’t know the words, he improvised. The crowd loved the handsome, personable entertainer, stuffing his tip jar until it overflowed. After his set he schmoozed with the audience, going from table to table, then retreated to the crew bar for a couple of pops. Sure, he would have liked a career like Billy Joel’s, but no such luck. Frankie was paid to travel the world and sing, which wasn’t so bad.

  His life had once been like a Billy Joel song. He’d married his high school sweetheart when they were both nineteen and he was the lead singer in a popular local band. All the traveling and late nights didn’t make for a conventional life, which was what Lorna wanted after the first few years of fun. After their divorce he swore he would never march down the aisle again. Eventually one of the band members got a nine-to-five job, another started college, and the group went kaput. But Frankie was determined to never give up his music. He found work singing at bars in Atlantic City. That was okay for a while, but he grew restless. An actor friend told him about a new cruise line that was holding auditions for singers in New York City. Frankie went to Manhattan, and after performing two songs was hired on the spot. He’d been sailing the seven seas ever since. Ten years ago he’d landed a spot on the ship of his dreams. It was a most prestigious cruise line but the staff and guests were not too stuffy. The ocean was Frankie’s mistress, and he was content.

  But in the last year things had started to change. A new cruise director had been hired who seemed to have his own agenda. Frankie had the feeling his days could be numbered. He was thinking of looking for a job on another ship when Rhonda Schmidt walked into the lounge with three of her friends from college. They’d booked a cruise to celebrate their forty-fifth birthdays and spend a stretch of time together, time they hadn’t shared since they all lived in the same dorm.

  Rhonda had requested a Bruce Springsteen song. “I’m from New Jersey,” she’d said, raising her glass.

  “So am I,” Frankie called back, with a wink. There was something about her. He was relieved to see she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  Frankie had many shipboard romances over the years, but this one was different. He felt that he’d met his soul mate. She was funny and smart and, like him, had grown up at the Jersey Shore. The Jersey Shore that had nothing to do with a reality show but had everything to do with the simple pleasures, like hanging out at the beach, miniature golf, getting up early to watch the sunrise with your friends, that first kiss …

  Rhonda was divorced, had two sons in college, and owned a successful restaurant in Asbury Park. Suddenly the thought of living on land didn’t make Frankie shudder.

  A month after they met, Rhonda booked another cruise to be with him. Then Frankie had a week off and they’d rendezvoused in London. Frankie hadn’t mentioned the romance to his mother or sister. The last thing he needed was Edna driving up to check out Rhonda’s restaurant. Two weeks ago Frankie had twelve hours free when his ship sailed into New York. He’d gone down to have lunch with Rhonda at her restaurant and meet her kids. The boys had been polite but reserved. They’ll warm up to me, Frankie thought. It’s got to be tough to meet your mother’s boyfriend. And their parents had only been divorced for a year. Because his mother had built-in radar, and would probably see on the news that his ship was in New York, he told her he had to stay onboard for security reasons. He felt guilty, but he was in love.

  Now that Frankie was back at sea, he knew he couldn’t live without her. Rhonda, that is. Last night he’d called her and proposed. Crying, she’d said yes. Today the cruise director had happily accepted his resignation, saying his nephew was a wonderful singer and hopefully could fill in.

  Frankie knew Edna would be happy. She’d been on the ship for two weeks last year and almost drove him crazy. People liked her, and most of her stories, but she never stopped for breath. When she walked down the gangplank the final time, Frankie was exhausted. But at least they’d had time to talk. Edna tried to convince him to come home and buy her house. “I’ll sell it to you for a song,” she’d said. “You’ll never get a house like ours for such a low price. I’d like to move to a condo where there aren’t so many steps. I’d like to be around more people. You know me. I like to talk.”

  “No, Mom,” Frankie had said. “I’m a man of the sea. If you’re willing to sell it so cheap, you’ll find someone to buy the house.”

  Who knew how life could change? Now the time was right! He’d gladly buy the house from his mother. Rhonda loved the idea when he mentioned it on the phone. She’d been living in a small apartment since her divorce. The house would be perfect for them, with plenty of room for her boys, who would love the pool. Frankie would sing at the restaurant. Everything was falling into place for the next wonderful phase of his life.

  Mom is going to be so surprised, Frankie thought. She’ll be thrilled to finally sell me the house, see me get married, have me back home …

  In his cabin, Frankie looked at his reflection in the mirror. He’d taken after his father with his dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. Adjusting the bow tie on his tuxedo, he smiled. It was almost time to go down and play a set while the first class passengers enjoyed cocktails before dinner. Tomorrow the ship would dock at Casablanca.

  How appropriate, Frankie thought as he sat on his bed and picked up the phone. Casablanca is for lovers. I wish Rhonda could share it with me. A few minutes later the phone was ringing in the home that would soon belong to him and his bride. He never imagined he’d ever want to live there again, but now he felt as if it were calling out to him. Come back, Frankie. Start your new life here. It’s time to come home …

  The phone rang four times. Finally Edna answered in a breathless voice. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Mom. It’s Frankie!” he said, his face beaming.

  “Well, what a surprise,” Edna answered. “But I can’t talk now.”

  Frankie blinked. It was hardly the response he was expecting. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, but I have a lot of news. I sold the house and today I’m having a garage sale. They’re about to open the gates to the crowd. There’s a mob outside.”

  “What?” Frankie sputtered. “You sold the house? I wanted to buy it. Mom, I’m coming home. I’m getting married. I’ll be back for good next week!”

  “What’s that expression? A day late and a dollar short? Call me back later. By the way, I’ve found love, too. Isn’t it nice to find someone you want to spend your life with? I always told you not to be discouraged by your rotten experience with that self-centered ex-wife of yours. From the m
inute she didn’t like the corsage I picked out for you to give her for the prom, I knew she was no good. I told you over and over. But like always, you didn’t listen to your mama. Gotta go, Frankie.”

  The phone clicked in his ear. Frankie’s heart was beating wildly. He called his sister’s cell phone, but it went directly to voice mail. Then he tried her house in San Diego. Hank answered.

  “I just heard about Mom selling the house,” Frankie said, his mouth dry. “Is Karen there?”

  “No, she’s on a plane headed for Jersey. She got the news this morning. Karen’s pretty upset, too.” Hank tried to laugh. “You know Edna. She’s always been impulsive. Maybe it will work out okay. Consider yourself lucky you’re thousands of miles away and don’t have to deal with it.”

  But I will have to deal with it, Frankie thought. I just quit my job and I have no place to go. No nice house a block from the beach with a pool and a big backyard for my new family.

  My future stepsons will not be impressed.

  14

  As Regan and Nora waited in the vestibule, Edna’s voice resonated throughout the house. “All these unusual objects were in a trunk in the garage. Yes, I suppose it is surprising that Cleo didn’t bring them with her. What makes these things so interesting, aside from the fact that they look so crazy, is that they belonged to a sweet girl like Cleo Paradise. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely! They give an interesting and unexpected insight into her personality. Who would have thought that these types of things would ever belong to her?”

  I can’t wait to see what they are, Regan thought, as she stepped closer to a framed letter on the wall.

  “Cleo wrote that,” Dawn whispered, her eyes dancing. “I love love love her. I put first dibs on her My Super Super T-shirt. Mrs. Frawley said I could have it, unless she gets someone who wants to pay her tons of money for it. I’ve got my fingers crossed!”

  “Cleo received an Academy Award nomination for that movie. I’m surprised she wouldn’t have wanted to keep the shirt.”