Gypped (14 page)

“I’m glad I didn’t have to hop on a plane to get here. It wasn’t much trouble to drive up the hill.”

Regan nodded. “Don’t laugh. There are stories about people who pay in advance to rent a villa somewhere exotic, and when they get there it doesn’t exist. Or the place is nothing like the pictures they were shown.”

Zelda opened her arms. “Like this.”

“Yes.”

“There wasn’t a single picture of this house at that auction. What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” Regan said. “Enough of that.” She turned the page of her notebook and poised her pen. “Tell me everything you know about Bobby Jo.”

A
s time passed, he became increasingly agitated. His palms were sweating and his head was throbbing. He’d been relieved when she came out of the hotel alone, then followed her at a safe distance. When she pulled into the police station he thought he would lose his mind. He parked on a side street with a view of her car, and waited, frantically wondering what she was doing there. When she came back out, escorted by a cop, he held his breath. They opened her trunk and the cop lifted something out that glinted in the sun. He was too far away to be sure, but the way the cop handled it made him believe it was his knife! I have to check the woods. But I can’t now.

He’d followed her from the police station and was in for another jolt. When she turned into the dead-end street where she’d been last night, he knew he couldn’t follow her. So he parked on the canyon road and waited, his thoughts racing.

Why did she go back to that house? Why can’t she go somewhere where I can get to her?

If it was my knife in her trunk, how did she find it? My fingerprints are all over the handle! I only left it in the woods because I couldn’t walk to my car at daybreak carrying a knife. I should have brought a bag with me so I didn’t have to leave it there.
That was stupid. I waited for her all night and then I had to leave. She would have seen me.

Did she take a walk through the woods this morning? Who does she think she is? Little Red Riding Hood?

Why did she go back to that house so fast?

That knife has my fingerprints!, he kept thinking.

He reached under the seat to reassure himself that his other knife was there. “Ow,” he grunted. Quickly he pulled his hand away. He stared at his index finger, transfixed by the blood spilling from the cut. “Little Red Riding Hood,” he whispered. “That’s who you’ll be. And I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”

N
orman appeared in the doorway of Zelda’s room. “Can I get either of you anything?”

“No, thanks,” Regan answered.

“I have my water,” Zelda informed him. “That’s all I’m drinking.” Then she informed him about her conversation with Griff.

“Too late, I just threw out all the food.”

“Better safe than sorry. Why don’t you sit down? I was about to start telling Regan about Bobby Jo.”

Norman rolled his eyes. “My favorite topic.” He pulled the hassock Regan had rested her feet on all night to the other side of the bed, next to where she was sitting.

“Thanks, Norman.” Zelda said. “Now I can look at you both at once. It hurts to move my head, and I feel dizzy again.”

“Always at your service, my dear.”

Zelda smiled. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” She looked at Regan. “Norman is going to sing professionally. I can’t wait for that to happen but I’ll miss spending so much time with him. And I’ll never find anyone as dedicated.”

“Zelda!” Norman gasped. “How embarrassing! On so many levels!”

“Why is it embarrassing?” Zelda asked evenly.

“First, I never said I’m
going
to sing professionally. I said I wanted to
try
to be a singer.”

“If you don’t believe, then it won’t happen. You have to visualize yourself as a successful singer, and declare your intentions to the world. Regan understands that.”

“Of course I do,” Regan interjected. “I thought I noticed sheet music in your bag. I say, go for it!”

Norman raised an eyebrow, then moved his shoulders from side to side. “I am.” He pointed to his boss. “Zelda is so generous. This morning she offered to pay for my singing lessons.”

“It will be my best investment ever,” Zelda pronounced, then suddenly looked worried.

“Are you sure?” Norman asked. “Right after you said that you looked like you were going to be sick again.”

“I’m sorry. Speaking of an investment made me think of Rich. I’m waiting for him to call me back. I don’t know why he hasn’t. This morning he had me sign something but I was so groggy I didn’t read it. I think it was about investing in a vitamin company.”

“A vitamin company?” Regan asked.

“Yes,” Zelda said meekly.

“What vitamin company?”

“I don’t know.”

“How much did he want you to invest?”

“I don’t know that either. I told you I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. But if you weren’t feeling well, and were groggy, he shouldn’t have pushed you to sign anything. It could have waited.”

“Rich said he was going away for the weekend and if I wanted to get in on the deal, it had to be today.”

Regan’s heart skipped a beat. “Zelda, using those tactics is
never good. All of a sudden he has an investment for you that you’ve never heard of, and you have to sign on the dotted line immediately?”

Norman’s jaw had dropped. “I know nothing about investments, but that fails the smell test!”

Zelda’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to her chest. “You’re both scaring me.”

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Regan said.

“Me neither,” Norman quickly added.

“It might be a perfectly fine investment,” Regan said. “What else has he done with your money?”

Zelda squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not really sure.”

Oh boy, Regan thought. I hate to ask, but I have to. “Zelda, do you look at your account statements when they arrive?”

“Well, I glance at them when they come in. But I never take the time to study the transactions.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to admit it, but Rich has been acting kind of strange lately. He seems so distracted whenever I call him. I can hear him typing at his computer. And I don’t think it has anything to do with me. I was so tired a few minutes ago. Now I feel as if I’ve been hit by a stun gun. My heart is racing!”

Norman jumped up. “Zelda, have some water.” He reached over Regan and grabbed the glass next to the bed.

Zelda turned on her side, pushed herself up, and leaned on her elbow. “Thanks,” she said, taking the glass in her hand. Slowly she took her first sip.

“Are you okay?” Norman asked, sounding frightened.

Zelda nodded. “Yes. I am. Honestly. Please. Sit.”

Norman obeyed. “Do you want me to roll over?”

Zelda started to choke. “Norman!” she protested. “Are you trying to kill me? The water’s coming out of my nose.”

“I’m trying to defuse tension.”

“I know, but don’t make me laugh when I’ve got water going down my throat.”

Norman took the glass from her.

Regan was grinning as she reached for the flowered cardboard tissue box on the night stand. These two would always be friends no matter what turns their lives might take. She pulled out the last tissue and handed it to Zelda. “The box is empty.”

“I’ll get another,” Norman said, running into the bathroom.

Regan lifted the empty box off the nightstand. A plastic coffee stirrer was right behind where the box had been, the end of the stirrer resting in a few drops of liquid. A damp ring was on the wood. Zelda was always careful about making sure her water glass went back on the coaster, Regan had observed. And she wouldn’t place a stirrer on the wood, even if this furniture had seen better days. Did Rich bring in a cup of coffee with him today? If he did, he’s not very considerate. I just hope that’s his biggest flaw.

“Here’s a new box,” Norman said.

Regan pulled out a tissue, and leaned over toward the nightstand.

“Did my water glass do that?” Zelda fretted.

Regan stopped and turned to Zelda. “I don’t think so. This stirrer was wet,” she said, holding it up. “Did Rich bring a cup of coffee in with him today?”

“No, he brought me a cup of tea from the health food store. He said it was good for upset stomachs. It tasted awful so I only had a couple of sips.” Zelda stopped, her face registering shock. “Regan, do you think he put something in that tea to make me groggy?” she asked, her voice getting higher with each word, “so that I’d
sign that paper
? I was feeling better before I drank that tea.”

It’s certainly possible, Regan thought.

M
aggie parked her car and walked into Tracy’s, a moderately priced department store. She passed the makeup counters, dodging all the saleswomen who were dying to have her try their brand of lipstick, perfume, eye shadow, you name it. The store wasn’t too busy. She took the elevator to the second floor.

They must be wondering why I’m walking into the petite section, Maggie thought as she made her way to the sale rack. What I do for my career is ridiculous. She started rifling through the hangers in the size four section.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked, her glasses dangling from a silver chain around her neck.

“I need a red outfit, and a pale outfit, in petite four. It goes without saying that it’s not for me.”

“Tell me about the person you’re shopping for.”

I’ve only met her once, Maggie thought. “She’s fairly conservative and is about seventy years old.”

“Hmm. We have a lovely red dress that I’m sure she’ll love.”

Maggie watched as the saleswoman scurried away from the sale rack as though it were radioactive. Uh-oh. I might have taken on more than I can afford. I should have just asked Gladys
if she’d like to be in the commercial. She probably has a red dress in her closet. A pale one, too.

As she waited, Maggie resumed looking through the sale items. It wasn’t hard to understand why they hadn’t been snatched up. Patterns that were nauseating, styles that looked uncomfortable. On the very last hanger was a droopy pale gray pantsuit marked down to $59.99. Perfect. Maggie lifted it off the rack.

If Gladys comes out tonight wearing something suitable for the commercial, at least I’ll be able to return one of the outfits I buy. No matter how much she needed the money, Maggie would never return clothes that were gently worn. A girl in her acting class bought designer outfits whenever she had an audition for a part that called for them, and returned the clothes afterward. Maggie always prayed that someday a price tag would pop out during an audition, hopefully in front of a big-time director.

“Isn’t this darling?” the saleswoman asked as she approached, holding up a red dress with thin white piping around the collar, and buttons down the front.

“That’s beautiful,” Maggie said truthfully. “How much is it?”

“Let me see,” the woman said, putting on her glasses and checking the tag. “Three hundred and fifty-nine dollars.”

“No can do.”

“That’s the only red outfit we have in the store that is petite four.”

“I’ll have to look somewhere else,” Maggie said, “but I’ll take this.” She held up the gray pantsuit.

The saleswoman could barely hide her disdain. “Is this woman you’re shopping for a friend of yours?”