Snagged (12 page)

How about “The big black bug bled black blood,” Regan thought.

Next up was Charlie Doonsday with his harmonica. “Before this area got busy with people wandering by all the time, Dolly and I used to sit outside on our beach chairs and I’d play my harmonica for her. Dolly, I hope you can hear this in heaven.” He held the instrument up to his mouth and started to blow “Home on the Range.”

The sea of humanity that passes outside on the sidewalk of South Beach doesn’t leave much room for the deer and the antelope, Regan thought.

The duration of the hour-long service was filled with more personal stories, a few songs, and a tear-soaked rendition of “Good-bye, Dolly.”

As they filed out, Regan checked her watch. It was ten past five.

“Richie, I’m going to go back and get changed for tonight. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. You’ll be here, won’t you?”

“Oh sure, Regan. I’ll be here.”

I hope so, Regan thought as she hurried out the door.

R
EGAN STEPPED INTO the late-afternoon sun and glanced across the street at the ocean with its mildly breaking waves. At this time of day the beach looked peaceful. The setting sun’s rays were reflecting off the water and most of the sunbathers had headed home.

Regan breathed in the salt air, turned and moseyed down the sidewalk, observing the cafes on the way to her hotel. It might be peaceful on the beach, she thought, but these joints are already getting crowded. Another night of mixing and mingling about to take off.

She reached a side street and waited at the curb for a spurt of traffic to pass before crossing. After last night, she wasn’t about to take any chances. She had just stepped down into the street when she saw another car coming. In a reflex action she jumped back onto the curb and crashed into a rollerblader, who was knocked to the ground with her.

She felt a sharp pain as her elbow smashed into the ground. As she fell she saw his hand scrape along the sidewalk.

She heard him curse under his breath. “Watch it, would ya, lady?” he mumbled as he pulled himself up.

Anger flared in Regan as pain darted through her body. “Watch it yourself,” she snapped as she struggled to her feet. “You shouldn’t have been so close behind me.”

He did not respond. He was already halfway down the side street, skating like lightning in his sunglasses and wide-brimmed straw hat.

Jerk, Regan thought. Her body felt sore all over. The jolt had shaken her badly. He was a solid guy. It was like hitting a brick wall.

She rubbed her elbow and looked around.

A middle-aged couple approached her. “Are you all right?” the man asked solicitously.

“Yes, thank you.”

I backed into him, she thought. And he was moving forward. If he wanted to turn right down the side street, then he shouldn’t have been so close to the curb where I was waiting. He would have just rounded the corner at the high speed he was traveling. Unless of course he
wanted
to be right behind me.

Once again Regan waited to cross the street and continued on to her hotel. Did he hurry off because he didn’t want me to get a good look at him? she wondered. He looked like a geek with that hat. Was that a disguise? Was this related to last night?

Back in the hotel room, which more and more felt like her escape from the outside world, Regan kicked off her shoes and flopped on the bed. The ceiling fan was doing its thing and it made Regan think of New Orleans, even though she’d never been there. But her mind came back to the rollerblader. Who was he, and would he have pushed her into the street?

I need a bath, she thought. My bod could use a good soak. With the sore knee from last night and the bruise that was developing at that very moment, it was a good thing she was not in Richie’s fashion show. Panty hose for the injured. Next thing you know I’ll be wearing Ace bandages.

Two mishaps or accidents, or whatever one would call them, in twenty-four hours. And they say they come in threes. What’s going to happen next? I’ll probably slip in the tub, she decided. It would almost be a relief. Get it over with. She hadn’t noticed any foot-shaped appliques stuck on the bottom of the tub, the kind that were supposed to prevent you from a nasty spill. They were very tacky but practical. Whenever Regan saw them in a tub she imagined that they were the final footsteps of the Roto Rooter man who got lost in the drainpipes.

She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucets full blast. It sounded like Niagara Falls. Regan turned. Did she hear a sound in the bedroom? She always thought she was hearing things when the water was running.

Regan went back into the bedroom to check it out. Nothing. Everything was fine. Let’s not get paranoid, she thought. She returned to the bathroom and shut the door. Peeling off her clothes, she gingerly stepped into the tub, feeling herself relax as the warm water enveloped her injuries. Using a towel as a pillow behind her, she lay back and closed her eyes. Within minutes she felt herself being drawn into a semiconscious state, that never-never land between sleep and wakefulness. A few feet away the doorknob to the bathroom turned. Regan’s eyes sprang open and she jumped up and screamed. Dripping wet, she ran over and with her body barricaded the door. “Who’s there? WHO’S THERE?” she screeched, her heart beating furiously.

“I’m sorry, miss,” a meek woman’s voice said. “Would you like some fresh towels?”

Regan exhaled sharply. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

“Would you like me to turn down your bed?”

“No, thank you, it’s okay.” Regan was starting to shiver.

“Would you like some chocolates for your pillow?”

Regan wanted to say “Yes, a box of Milk Duds,” but resisted the urge. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, miss, have a good evening then.”

“Thank you, you too.” So much for this place making me feel laid-back, Regan thought as she stepped back into the tub and slipped, grabbing the shower curtain. Two of the hooks snapped and the curtain went awry.

Three strikes, you’re out, Regan thought miserably.

R
ICHIE PULLED ON his jacket and adjusted his tie. It was six-thirty. He picked up a bottle of the cologne from his dresser that he’d gotten from the holiday grab bag at the Fourth Quarter and sprayed it on. Normally he didn’t like to wear cologne, but the ads for White Knight showed the guy who wore it to be a powerhouse driving a sexy car, with all the girls swooning over him. I wonder if it works with selling panty hose, Richie thought. He looked over at one of the many pictures of Birdie that adorned his apartment. “I don’t want any swooners, honey. I just want to give off an aura in case I run into any of those panty-hose types at the hotel tonight.”

In the mirror Richie studied his reflection and practiced a “Hello, I’m Richard Blossom. Yes, I am the inventor of the Birdie Panty Hose. I’d love to take a meeting.” He paused. “My agent?” Richie frowned. He’d have to ask Regan about that one. He peered closer at himself. Is this the guy who’s going to be a hero tomorrow? he wondered. Or is this the guy who’s going to let down his friends?

Richie shrugged. Hey, fella, he thought, what happened to the power of positive thinking? That and a dollar might buy you an ice cream. They were getting so close. This was it. Either he made money on the panty hose this weekend, or the old gang was going to have to break up.

“Birdie,” he said and picked up the picture of her wearing a French beret and standing in front of the Eiffel Tower under a drizzly sky. “I need your help, honey.” Briefly he got mad at her. “If you hadn’t died, I would never have moved in here and gotten so attached. And now we might lose it and I’ll end up alone again.” As Birdie stared back at him with her crooked smile, Richie felt ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess our joke that we’d both keel over at the same old age from driving each other nuts was just a dream.” He carefully replaced her picture on the antique oak dresser.

I’ve got to get moving, he thought. Regan’s going to be here in a few minutes. He gathered up his wallet and ran a comb through the hair on the sides of his head. This’ll be fun tonight. Little Maura getting married and I’ve hardly given it a thought. Well, if everything turns out, I’ll get them an extra-special present.

The box of panty hose was by the front door. He glanced at it as he got out his keys and locked the door behind him. He’d wait outside on a bench chair for Regan. He just wished that she’d stop being such a worrywart.

L
UKE AND NORA had the news on in their room as they dressed for dinner. But every two minutes Nora pressed the mute button on the remote control and answered the phone. It was obviously the hour when people had gone back to their rooms to get ready for the evening and they had found their invitations to the cocktail party and fashion show waiting for them.

The acceptances were rolling in.

Nora kept a list by the phone and checked off the names as they called.

“Honey,” Luke said, “why don’t you finish getting dressed? I’m all ready. I’ll answer the phone.”

“Thanks, dear,” Nora said, “but you’ve been busy all day. Just sit and watch the news.”

“I haven’t heard one story all the way through anyway,’’ he said wryly as the phone rang and Nora pressed the mute button again.

“Well, okay,” Nora said as she handed him her pen and the remote control and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Hello,” Luke’s deep voice boomed. “Yes, this is Nora Regan Reilly’s room. No, we won’t be selling books at the party tomorrow. I believe there are some on sale in the lobby store . . . they’re all sold out? I’m sorry. Maybe in town you could pick one up . . . no, I don’t know the name of the nearest bookstore . . . your name? Thank you. See you tomorrow.” He hung up the phone as Nora came out of the bathroom.

“This party is doing wonders for your royalty statements.”

“It’s supposed to sell panty hose, not books,” Nora said as she slipped into her heels.

The phone rang again.

“You can get it if you want,” Luke sighed. “There’s a commercial on that looks very interesting.”

Nora laughed. “Hello . . . yes, this is the place to call about the party . . . Ruth Craddock . . .I’m happy you can make it, Ruth . . . yes, lots of people are coming . . . hello? . . . hello?” Nora hung up the phone. “She was in an awful hurry to get off the phone.”

“She’s got the right idea,” Luke mumbled. “Before it rings again, let’s get out of here.”

“I just have to check my face,” Nora said.

“It’s still there,” Luke assured her.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve got to wear Richie’s panty hose!” Nora quickly pulled them out of the drawer. “Do you want to start downstairs?”

“No, I’ll wait for you,” Luke said as he settled back on the bed. “
Gone With the Wind
is just starting on The Movie Channel, and I’ve never seen it all the way through.”

R
UTH SAT TWITCHING at the desk in the Calla-Lily suite. She was right, as usual. She had just hung up after being told that lots of people were going to the cocktail party tomorrow. Great. Just great.

“Ethel!” she screamed.

Ethel peered around the corner of the kitchenette where she was making a cup of tea for herself. Today had been such a bad day that she’d only had time for a couple of cups. She hadn’t dared ask for her afternoon break. That was always when she liked to sip her tea, have a brownie, and read the paper. And now they were into the dinner hour and Ethel knew better than to ask if she could go home. “Yes, Ruth,” she said.

“Ethel, I’m out of cigarettes!”

“Right here, Ruth.” Ethel pulled open the refrigerator, which she had stocked with cartons of Ruth’s brand. If there was anything worse than Ruth in a bad mood, it was Ruth in a bad mood and going through nicotine withdrawal. If I don’t have a heart attack working for her, Ethel thought as she opened the carton and retrieved a pack, her secondhand smoke will definitely kill me.

Ethel threw the cellophane in the garbage. It’s not hard to figure out why they pay me so well, she thought. But if I won the lottery this minute, I’d be out of here so fast her head would spin, and Ruthless would be on her hands and knees picking up these cigarettes off the floor. And then, Ethel thought, I’d have lots of free time to spend with my grandchildren.

With a longing look at her cup of tea, she went into the living room. “Here you go, Ruth,” Ethel said, trying to sound gracious.

“Thank you, Ethel,” Ruth rasped. As she lit her cigarette, Ruth’s mouth movements reminded Ethel of a baby getting a good hold on its pacifier after it had been lost.

“From now on, Ethel,” Ruth pronounced as she exhaled, “whenever anyone from Calla-Lily goes on vacation, they have to wear a beeper.”

“Umm-hmmmm. Good idea, Ruth,” Ethel said.

“That way we’ll never run into this trouble again. If, of course, we’re still in business!” Ruth started to shake. “I would just be so happy if Irving found something wrong with those panty hose. It’d be such a relief, I’d feel like a new person.”

I doubt I’d mistake you for Mother Teresa, Ethel thought.

“Now,” Ruth said, “all the board members know that they’re to meet here early tomorrow morning, do they not?”

Ethel nodded vehemently. “Everyone knows, except, of course,” she hesitated, “the one we haven’t been able to locate.”

A low growl emanated from Ruth’s throat. “Jungle Jim. They’re still working on finding him, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They’re going to call as soon as there’s any news.”

“We have the cashier’s check ready just in case?”

“It’s all taken care of. Five million dollars.”

Ruth grimaced. “And the papers have been drawn up so we can make a deal with this Blossom guy?”

“They’re all ready to be signed. If the board agrees to it, you’re all set to hand over the five million dollars and—”

“
ALL RIGHT
, Ethel.” Ruth paused to collect herself. “Irving is in the lab, where I trust he will remain for the rest of the night, testing and retesting these indestructible panty hose, these pieces of fabric that could ruin my life. If he finds a way to snag them, my prayers will be answered.”

Who do you pray to? Ethel wondered.