Carol Clark - Fleeced

Vernella giggled, something she rarely did. “I wish it stayed light longer,” she said. “We could get our binoculars out.”

“You are a devil,” Archibald said as he grabbed her bony hand. “You are the devil I fell in love with.”

“Oh, Archie,” Vernella said coquettishly. “I’m not a devil. I’ve been saying my prayers.”

“And just what have you been praying for?”

“Just that the party tomorrow night over there”-she pointed with disgust at the Settlers’ Club-“is a complete and utter disaster.”

Archibald clapped his hands. “This is going to be such fun.”

When Clara got home from her day of scrubbing the Settlers’ Club, she was so darn glad she couldn’t believe it. I’m going to get out of this uniform and put on my robe, she thought as she unlocked the door to her apartment in Queens. It had been some day. Here I was trying to help, and Thomas goes crazy when I show him the red box. She shrugged as she took off her coat.

Maybe I’ll take a bath, she thought, but then remembered Nat’s fate. Probably not a good idea, she decided as she went into the bedroom, undressed, and put on the fleece-lined bathrobe her sister had given her for Christmas.

“That’s better,” she said aloud. She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a pair of her woolly socks. “Now I’ll be all comfy and cozy.”

In the kitchen, she heated up some chow mein and poured herself a glass of wine. She carried a tray into the living room, sat down in her favorite chair, put her feet up on the hassock, and turned on the television with the remote control.

“Thank God it’s the weekend,” she said to the weatherman who was reporting on possible snow showers for the next couple of days. “I don’t care what the weather’s going to be, because I’m just going to veg out.”

She gobbled her chow mein and downed the glass of wine.

The phone rang. It was her sister Hilda who lived in the Bronx. They talked every night.

“What’s doing?” Clara asked.

“Not much. What’s doing with you?”

“A little excitement at the club today. One member was found dead in the tub last night.”

“Oh my.”

“And then some jewelry is missing, but I found the red box it had been in.”

“Oh my. You’d better watch out.”

“My favorite show is coming on.”

“The one about those crimes nobody can figure out?”

Clara smiled. “That’s the one. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okeydoke.”

Clara hung up and eagerly turned up the volume on the remote control. As usual, she watched the program with interest, getting herself another glass of wine during the commercial. By the end of the program, when they made their daily announcement about being sure to call in if you had a weird crime to report, Clara was ready to dive for the phone.

“1-800…” she said aloud as she dialed. When she was put through, she announced, “My name is Clara, and I work as a maid at the Settlers’ Club in Gramercy Park in New York City. Today I found a red box that four -million-dollars’ worth of diamonds is missing from. And the man who owned the diamonds slipped in the tub and died last night.”

“Hold on, Clara, we’re going to put you on the air. Can you repeat that for us?”

“Sure!”

A moment later, Clara was saying, slowly and deliberately, “My name is Clara, and I work as a maid at the Settlers’Club…” as it was broadcast to thousands of homes in the New York area.

When Regan got back to the club, it was nearly six-thirty. Lydia’s party was starting at eight, and there were still some things Regan wanted to get done beforehand. She found Thomas in his office, looking pale.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Janey’s been out of touch since she left here this morning. It’s totally unlike her.”

“You’ve tried to call her?”

“Of course I have!”

Regan felt sorry for him. He had been worried before, but the expression on his face now showed total distress.

“She was going to come over this afternoon for tea. Something must have happened to her, Regan. She would have called if she couldn’t make it.?”

“Do you have a key to her apartment?” Regan asked quietly.

“I do.”

“Should we go over there now?”

“Yes,” Thomas said simply. With great dignity he stood up and reached for his coat. “If she’s all right, then I’ll be able to handle anything, Regan. When you’re worried about losing someone you love, all the other stuff seems trivial.”

When they walked out of the club, they did not notice Mary Ruffner getting out of a cab.

“Regan, what did the jeweler say?” Thomas asked, almost absentmindedly.

“He said that he had appraised the jewels. That he had the check written out to present at the party…”

“Do you think Janey’s disappearance has anything to do with all this?”

“Thomas, don’t think like that,” Regan cautioned. “In a few minutes we’ll be in her apartment.”

I’ve got to move now, Mary Ruffner thought. “Regan Reilly!” she called as Regan and Thomas started down the street.

Regan turned. “Yes?”

Mary extended her hand. “My name is Mary Ruffner. I was just having a drink with your mother and father at that terrific crime convention she put together. I recognize you from your picture in the paper today.”

“Oh yes,” Regan said, quickly shaking her hand. “Mary, this is my friend Thomas Pilsner.”

“Hello,” Thomas said.

Regan could tell he was frantic to leave. So was she. “We’re in kind of a rush…”

“I don’t want to bother you. I’m actually a reporter for the New York World, and I wanted to do a story on the Settlers’ Club for its one hundredth anniversary.” She looked at Thomas. “Aren’t you the president?”

“Yes,” Thomas said in a guarded tone. “Can I call you later? Or tomorrow?”

“Later would be better,” Mary said crisply. She handed him her card. “It’s easiest to reach me on my cell phone. I’m very anxious to talk to you.” She turned to Regan. “Will you be coming to any of the lectures at the conference?”

“I’m going to try,” Regan said honestly.

“Good. Then I hope to be seeing you both very soon.”

Regan and Thomas said their good-byes and hurried a couple of blocks south, toward Janey’s apartment. She lived on the fourth floor of a walk-up. Outside the building, they buzzed 4A. There was no answer. Thomas took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and ran up the steps two at a time. Regan was right behind him.

At the door to Janey’s apartment, Thomas said a silent prayer, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The living room was straight ahead. To the right were the bedroom and the kitchen. There was no sign of Janey anywhere.

“I guess you could say I’m somewhat relieved, Regan,” he said. “But where could she be?”

Regan looked around the small living room. The apartment was neat and orderly. The furnishings were simple but tasteful. Regan could see that some of the framed pictures were of Janey and Thomas. The dinette table was covered with files. Regan went over and took a glance.

“She kept meticulous records about what she cooked for her clients,” Thomas said.

Regan picked up a piece of paper that had been left on the table. It was a list headed “Deliveries made Thursday, March 11th.” A look of surprise came over Regan’s face. “She cooked for Ben Carney?”

“He loved her chicken,” Thomas said sadly. “He ate like a horse. She was just saying this morning that she was sorry he never got to eat the chicken she made for him yesterday.”