Fleeced: A Regan Reilly Mystery by Carol Clark (reading in the dark .txt) 📕

been eaten. Heck, she’d probably never get paid for it anyway, and she still had the keys.

It was a lovely roast chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes, and her special gravy. She’d also prepared peas and carrots, baby corn, and a key lime pie. It was enough for two meals for Ben, four for people with less hearty appetites.

Well, why not? He had lived in a walk-up, so there was no doorman. She’d ring the bell. If someone was there, she’d say she was only stopping by to express her sympathy.

Quickly untying her apron, Janey grabbed her coat, purse, Ben’s keys, and the bright-red thermal carrying case with her logo on the side, and ran out the door.

23

Action!” Jacques Harlow cried to his assembled group of actors in the parlor of the Settlers’ Club.

Daphne was sitting in the corner, out of the way, looking longingly at her fellow thespians who had actually been hired to act. Being a stand-in helped pay the bills, but all you really did was stand around while they set up the lights and the camera. Then when they’re ready, they kick you out and the “first team” comes in.

It was dispiriting.

She stared at the sheep that had been in Nat and Wendy’s apartment for so many years. Even though Wendy had been twenty years older, she and Daphne had become good friends. They’d sit and knit together or take walks around the park or sometimes Wendy would come down to Daphne’s apartment for a glass of wine when Nat’s poker-playing group got rowdy When Wendy became ill, Daphne promised to look after Nat, which she was more than willing to do. But he only wanted to spend time with his poker buddies. And those sheep!

“Don’t talk to me like that!” the lead actress was yelling as she backed toward the fireplace. “It makes me really mad!” Her leg hit Dolly the sheep, and she lost her balance, landing in a heap on the floor.

Thomas, who’d been watching from the doorway, screamed.

“Get him out of here!” the director cried.

Thomas ran out into the hallway, down the front steps, and out the door. He thought he’d have a moment of peace, but cable-television producer Stanley Stock was standing right there, his camera aimed at all the movie trucks. Thomas had turned around to go back inside when he heard Regan’s voice calling him.

Five minutes later, it somehow came to pass in the way that things sometimes do even though you can’t really explain how it happened, that Thomas, Stanley, Regan, and Daphne, who had been given a break, were seated at a back table in the dining room, far away from the movie cameras.

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I’m on your side,” Stanley was saying as he buttered his bread. “I want to do a lovely piece on your hundredth anniversary here. I want to talk about how the club has in-house butlers, how it’s a place to meet people thanks to an in-house dating service, how even Hollywood has come calling.”

“Thank you, Stanley.”

“Of course, one of your neighbors out there sees it differently.”

“Who?”

“Archibald Enders and his wife think you’re dragging the good name of Gramercy Park through the mud.” Stanley took a big bite of the warm and crusty Italian bread. “They’re waging a campaign to oust you.”

“Miserable people!” Thomas growled.

“Thomas has been doing a great job,” Daphne said with fervor. “No one who lives here wants this club to close. Since Thomas has come in he’s worked very hard to improve things around here.”

“Thank you, Daphne,” Thomas said with a slight smile. “I know how hard this must be for you. You’ve lived here for a long time, and you were friendly with Nat.”

“I knew his wife better. But Nat was a good man.”

Regan felt a sudden restlessness. “ Stanley, you were here last night at the party, right?”

“Indeed. And now I’m coming back tonight. Lydia ’s having the whole group back.”

“So you were taping a lot of what went on last night?”

“Oh yes.”

“Do you think I could see those tapes?”

“When?”

“This afternoon. Do you have them with you?”

“No. They’re down at my studio.”

“Can I see them after lunch?”

Stanley ’s brain suddenly fixed on the idea that there could be some excitement in the fact that his tapes might hold the key to a crime. “Of course.”

If I can only find out who Buttercup is, Regan thought…

24

It didn’t take long for Janey to find herself standing outside the old brownstone that Ben Carney had lived in for thirty years. After his divorce, Ben had wanted to live closer to the club. He’d been thrilled to find an apartment just a few blocks south of the club, within walking distance of his home away from home.

Janey took a deep breath and pushed the buzzer labeled CARNEY. She waited. The air felt raw, and she shivered underneath her beige wool coat. She looked up and down the street. There was no one around. Janey pulled out the keys and let herself into the vestibule where the mailboxes were located. She could see that the one marked CARNEY had mail in it.

So far, so good, she thought. She unlocked the second door, stepped inside, shut the door behind her, and hurried up the staircase. Ben’s apartment was on the second floor at the top of the stairs.

Janey stopped at Ben’s door, unlocked it quickly, and pushed it open. It rumbled slightly. She ducked into the apartment, bolted the door behind her, and breathed a sigh of relief. I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought.

The whole place was eerily quiet. Even though the apartment was neat, it seemed to Janey to have a neglected, sad air, as though it knew the owner wasn’t coming back. Just yesterday she had been here bringing food…

And now I’m coming to take it away! Janey pushed the thought from her mind and went down the hallway into the kitchen. It was big and old-fashioned,