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

you up on that,” Regan said. She’d slept on many a Bernadette Castro special in her day.

“The room is rather small, so I didn’t want Maldwin to have to live in it,” Lydia explained. “But it’s perfect for your purposes.”

Thomas had filled the others in on the break-in at Ben’s. Of course, he had sugar-coated Janey’s little drop-by. “She hates to see things go to waste,” he had explained.

“Regan, with all that’s been happening, maybe we should have more security around here,” Daphne suggested.

“We can’t have armed guards walking the hallways,” Lydia answered. “This is supposed to be a place of refinement.”

“You can’t be refined when you’re dead,” Daphne shot back.

“We can’t afford it, Daphne,” Thomas cried. “Unless a miracle happens and we get those diamonds, or if the cast of Ben-Hur decides to join the Settlers’ Club, I’m afraid we’re in deep, deep trouble. We just may have to close down.”

“My dating service!” Lydia moaned.

“My butler school!” Maldwin choked.

“What about me?” Thomas asked. “This is more than a job to me. It was my dream to bring this club back to life. Make it a vibrant place for gracious living and art appreciation. I even imagined we’d have a five-year waiting list for people to get in!”

“Five years is what it would take for me to find another decent apartment in New York City,” Daphne commented, her voice rising. “I like it here and I want to stay. The Settlers’Club has been my whole life for the past twenty years…”

“Listen, everybody,” Regan interrupted. “There’s no sense in arguing. We all want the same thing. I suggest that we join forces and go all out to try and make it a fabulous party tomorrow night. It’s the club’s one hundredth anniversary. Stanley’s coming with his television camera, right?”

Lydia nodded. “He’ll be so mad he missed all this excitement.”

“Well, we don’t want this in his piece,” Thomas pointed out. “We only want the good stuff about the club.”

“I’ll ask my parents to come,” Regan said. “My mother’s running a crime convention, and maybe she can get some of her author friends to drop by.”

Thomas bit on his handkerchief. “Good idea, Regan.”

“We have to put on a good show. In the meantime, I’ll be working with the police. Whoever broke into Nat’s apartment tonight has to be stopped. They may be very dangerous. So keep your doors locked.”

“What a day.” Daphne sighed. “Although for me, it wasn’t all bad.”

Thomas stood. “Don’t forget. We want those sheep back for the party. Maybe they’ll be our good-luck charms.”

52

When Clara’s alarm went off, she groaned. It’s my own damn fault, she thought, that I have to get up early on a Saturday. I got carried away when I called in to that show, and I certainly got more than carried away when I volunteered to work for free. She turned off the alarm and just lay there for a few minutes. I sure wish I had one of Maldwin’s butler students here to bring me a cup of coffee. That would make getting out of bed so much easier.

Well, I don’t think I’m going to have a butler in this lifetime, Clara reflected as she dragged herself out from under the warm comforter. The best I have to hope for is being reincarnated as a Rockefeller. She went into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker, then headed for the shower. The warm spray felt good on her back and arms that spent so many hours scrubbing other people’s dirt.

Wrapped in her robe, she hurried back into the kitchen and poured that first cup of coffee she always drank while getting dressed. I’m dillydallying too much, she realized. I won’t have time for a second cup today. I said I’d get there early.

Twenty minutes later, she left the apartment in a pair of stretch pants, an oversized sweater, and her big winter coat. She always changed into her maid’s uniform at the club.

March 13th and it feels like spring is months away, she thought as she pulled on her gloves. It was another gray, chilly, lifeless day. As usual, she walked the six blocks to the subway station. The streets were empty because it was early on a Saturday. When she got to the station, she walked to the newsstand and gasped when she saw the blaring headlines of the New York World:

CRIME SPREE AFFECTS SETTLERS’ CLUB

CLUB PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND STEALS FOOD

FROM DEAD MEMBER

Clara pulled a paper from the top of the pile and started devouring the story.

“Lady, you want to pay for that;” the vendor asked her.

Clara grabbed a couple of quarters from her purse without taking her eyes off the page and dropped them on the counter. One of them bounced into the candy section, but Clara didn’t even notice.

“Thanks a lot, lady.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Clara mouthed as she walked away, shaking her head. And they were worried about me calling the crime show. I have half a mind to go home and go back to bed.

The subway that would take her to Gramercy Park was heading down the track. What the heck, I’ll be a sport and help poor Thomas, she thought as the train stopped. She spent the entire trip into Manhattan shaking her head and going over every word of the article.

53

The maid’s room was cozy all right. So cozy that when you opened the door, it slammed into the couch. But Regan didn’t mind. By the time she retired for the second time that night it was four o’clock. Talk about musical beds, she thought as she pulled the covers over her and turned to face the wall.

Sleep didn’t come as quickly as it had in Nat’s guest room. And when it did, it was in fits and starts, accompanied by strange dreams that she could barely remember. It was only when light started coming through the window that she finally fell into a deeper sleep.

At ten after