Gypped (17 page)

N
orman was determined to find a glass bottle with an eyedropper top but he wasn’t having much luck. He’d gone to three different drugstores. There must be someplace nearby that has one, he thought. I want to save every last drop of that tea. It’s living proof that Rich drugged Zelda! He’ll pay for this. I hope he rots in prison for the rest of his life!

What else is he capable of?

Norman steered his car into another crowded parking lot and started looking for a space. All this in and out of the car is so stressful, and I’ve got to get back to the house. Regan and Zelda are waiting for that suitcase.

Rich was never very nice to me, Norman thought resentfully. What was his problem? What did I ever do to him? I never mentioned my feelings to Zelda because she seemed happy with him. Now I’m ready to dish!

Norman’s phone rang. He found a space, pulled in, then looked at his phone. Is that the same number that came up before? I think it is. I can’t get involved in a conversation right now.

He got out of the car and ran into a drugstore. They had what he was looking for, but the line at the checkout was
long. As he waited, he knew that precious minutes were being wasted.

But this is important, he told himself, the tiny bottle in his hand.

We must preserve the evidence.

Evidence of bodily harm.

I
n the den of her home in Summit, New Jersey, Nora Regan Reilly turned on the evening news. She was waiting for her husband Luke, owner of three funeral homes, to return from work. They’d have a drink, then go to dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant in town. Tomorrow afternoon Nora had a signing at a local bookstore for her new release. She enjoyed seeing people who came back every year and now felt like old friends. It would be a pleasant weekend.

I wonder how Regan is doing, Nora thought as she sat on the couch. I hope everything works out for poor Zelda. Come to think of it . . . Nora got up and walked over to the cabinet under the television. She pulled open a drawer, found the DVD of
Puzzling Words
, and popped it in the DVD player.

She sat back down, a remote control in hand. Boy, would Regan give me grief if she walked in now, Nora thought. I’m only playing this because I’d like to see Zelda again. She fast forwarded past Regan’s appearance, hard as it was not to stop and watch Regan’s killer expression when she lost the bonus round. But Luke would be home soon and he’d seen this more than once.

There she is. Nora watched as Zelda was introduced. She
looked so friendly with that cherubic smile. Her long curly hair was pulled off her face with jeweled combs. A green and white peasant blouse and silver jewelry flattered her coloring.

“My name is Zelda Horn and I’m from Santa Maria.”

Nora watched the entire game. Zelda was so excited when she won, grabbing the elbow of the actor she played with, her expression stunned.

Time for the big-money bonus round.

I know what’s coming, Nora thought, and it’s not good. Zelda looked so hopeful and bright-eyed when the round began. She had one minute to guess ten words. But it was as if the actor she was playing with suddenly took a dummy pill. He blanked out. “Uhhh,” he said more than once, “uhhhh.” What was his problem? Nora wondered. Zelda was a good player but had no chance. The look on her face when the round ended could break your heart. She even patted that dummy’s hand and said not to worry, trying hard to be a good sport.

Nora laughed out loud. Not my Regan. She didn’t come close to patting her celebrity’s hand. It looked more like she wanted to bite it. But in fairness, Regan would have won that money so easily if it weren’t for the horrible clue on the last word. Nora shut off the DVD.

Thinking about Regan reminded Nora of the letter she had started to tell her about earlier in the day.

What was it about that request? Nora went upstairs to her office and found the file she kept on books sent to charity. She brought the letter back downstairs, poured a glass of wine, and sat at the kitchen table.

The letter was written on 8 1/2 x 11 paper with flowers bordering the sides. “Dear Nora” was handwritten. The body of the letter was typed. It began “Hello, my name is Chris Clare.” She then wrote about doing good works for children and how her
volunteering made a difference. Nothing specific. She stated that Nora was one of 100 people
chosen
to receive this letter. That’s a good one, Nora thought. I really didn’t look at this closely before. Here’s something! At the beginning of the note, the woman says her name is Chris Clare, then signs it Clare Chris. What a doozy! And of course I sent the book to a PO box.

I’d love to see where that book is now.

The back door opened. Luke stepped into the kitchen and walked over to the table. “Hello, my dear,” he said, leaning over and giving Nora a kiss.

“Hello. Glad you’re home.”

“Me too. What are you reading?”

“A letter I was telling Regan about today. Requesting a book. I’m sure that whoever sent it isn’t doing all the good deeds she claims to be doing. Let me get you a glass of wine.”

Luke took off his coat and hung it in the hall closet. “How is our daughter?”

“She ran into a young woman—Zelda—who she met when she did that game show. Zelda’s father got married at a drive-through chapel in Las Vegas the other day to someone he hasn’t known long. She asked Regan to see what she could dig up on the new bride.”

“Not a bad idea,” Luke said as they walked into the den together. “Though I hope Regan and Jack are able to enjoy their weekend.”

“I hope so, too. But you know Regan. She’ll never walk away from someone who asks for her help.”

“That’s what always worries me.”

A
t first glance, Regan couldn’t find much about Rich Willowwood or Richard Willowwood online. She did find a site that listed Rich’s business, Willowwood Management in Sherman Oaks. Investment services with a staff of one to four and a Web address. She entered the URL and was told the website was under construction. No other information was available.

Zelda came out of the bathroom. “I’d like to take a shower, but I think I’ll go back to bed for a few minutes.”

“A shower?” Regan asked. “Can you stand for that long?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go back to bed and decide. Regan, you look tired.”

“I’m okay.”

“You slept in the chair all night. Why don’t you go into one of the bedrooms and close your eyes for a few minutes? You have plans with Jack tonight. I don’t want you to be exhausted. Norman will probably be back soon with those statements. Give yourself a breather.”

“You don’t want to talk about Bobby Jo?”

Zelda shook her head. “I can’t think about her at the moment. She’s coming here, ready or not. We’ll worry about
her later. Rich, on the other hand, I can worry about as soon as Norman returns.” Zelda got back into bed and sighed. “Please, Regan. Why don’t you rest for a few minutes?”

Regan put her hand on the back of her neck. “Maybe I will stretch out. Sometimes when I try to take a nap I just stare at the ceiling. But I use the time thinking.”

“So go think,” Zelda said. “And I hope you rest.”

Regan went into the bedroom downstairs where the coats had been kept for the party. This is really not a bad house, she thought. It’s just dated. The room didn’t get much light. Heavy drapes nearly covered windows that faced the backyard. Somber, dark furniture added to the feeling of gloom, but the room had a certain old-fashioned smell that Regan didn’t mind.

She took off her shoes, pulled back the flowered spread, and laid down. The bed was surprisingly comfortable. Her body was grateful to rest on a flat surface. The house was quiet and peaceful and she dozed off within minutes.

When Regan awoke she blinked her eyes. Once again, it took her a moment to acclimate. She looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was 2:45. She had slept for an hour. Didn’t Norman get back yet? she wondered. Feeling slightly chilled, she rubbed her arms, then got up. She put the bedspread back in place, then pulled on her boots. She turned her head at the sound of a creak in the hallway. “Norman?” she called.

No answer.

She walked to the door and glanced down the hall. The air was still and quiet. Regan sighed. I must have heard one of those creaky old house noises. But you don’t have to be in an old house to hear those sounds, she reminded herself. Regan had a friend in New York who lived in a brand-new, narrow high-rise building by the East River. When the wind kicked up, the apartment
creaked like a cruise ship. Regan turned, walked over to the bathroom, and pulled open the door.

Look at this! The walls were all mirrored, covered with heavy beveled glass, much of it cracked. An old-fashioned claw-foot tub was to the left, a toilet to the right. Regan flicked on the light, then stepped toward the sink. I do look tired, she thought.

Her eyes widened.

Behind her, a tall male figure stepped into the doorway, a knife raised over his head. Regan screamed as he lunged toward her. She dodged to the left, scampering over the tub, desperately looking for a way to escape.

He fell toward the sink. “Shut up!” he yelled.

She grabbed the long dangling silver hose hanging over the faucet of the tub and swung it like a baseball bat toward the creep she’d seen in the mall parking lot who was lunging at her. The rusty nozzle at the end of the hose smacked him in the face. He grabbed the cord and flung it against the glass wall.

That’s it, Regan thought frantically. I’m finished. She backed into the corner, screaming bloody murder. It was too late. There was no way out. Blood was dripping from his nose. He was coming toward her again.

Suddenly he howled as a glass tile hit the back of his head and crashed to the floor. He slumped over the tub, lost his grip on the knife, and moaned in pain.

Zelda was standing behind him in her nightgown.

“Zelda!” Regan grabbed the knife from the tub. “We don’t have much time.” They darted out of the bathroom and shut the door. “This dresser!” Regan ordered. Together they pushed the heavy piece of furniture until it completely blocked the door. Regan picked up the knife and pointed the blade toward the
floor. “We have to get out of here!” She took Zelda’s hand and ran with her down the hallway and through the kitchen. Regan grabbed her car keys, and they raced outside.

Norman was coming up the driveway.

“Call 911!” Regan screamed. “Now!”

A
long-winded speaker was taking questions when an LAPD officer appeared next to Jack’s seat. He leaned down. Jack looked up at him.

“Everything’s okay, but your wife just called,” the officer whispered.

Jack didn’t wait for an explanation. He bolted out of his seat and hurried up the aisle. Outside the auditorium an LAPD police car was waiting. Jack sprinted toward it and jumped in. The car sped off, its siren blaring.