Carol Clark - Fleeced

Thomas followed Regan into the kitchen. An apple pie was on the windowsill. Dozens of chocolate chip cookies were lined up on paper towels. Several cakes were out on the counter, waiting to be iced.

“She wouldn’t have left this stuff out for hours without covering it,” Thomas said. “If there was anything she hated, it was a stale cookie.”

The answering machine was on the counter, tucked in the corner. The light was blinking.

“Do you want to check her messages?” Regan asked.

Thomas nodded. “We have nothing to hide from each other.”

All of the messages except for one were from Thomas. “Janey, this is Mrs. Buckland. It’s six o’clock. Where are you with the dinner? My guests are arriving in an hour! How can we have a dinner party with no dinner? Call me! I’m very upset!”

“Let’s get her number,” Regan said quickly.

Thomas went and got the file. Regan dialed the number and identified herself to an irate Mrs. Buckland.

“We don’t know where she is,” Regan said. “And we’re very concerned.”

“You’re concerned? You know what it’s like to invite people over and all you have is a bag of potato chips to put out?”

Regan tried to cover the irritation in her voice. “Mrs. Buckland, when did you speak to Janey?”

“At about one o’clock. I called her up and told her it was an emergency. At first she hesitated about cooking for me for tonight, but then I reminded her of all the people I’d introduced her to. So she said she’d do it.”

“What was she going to make for you?”

“Roast chicken. I must say she does a good job with it. The turkey she makes can be a little dry, but the roast chicken is fabulous. On the second day it tastes even better.”

“Mrs. Buckland, I’m sure you hope, as we do, that Janey is fine. In the meantime, why don’t you take your guests to a restaurant tonight?”

“You know how expensive that gets?”

“I’m sure you can find a place that’s reasonable,” Regan said.

“I suppose it would be nice not to have to clean up after dinner,” Mrs. Buckland said, her voice softening. “I hope Janey’s all right.”

“Thank you,” Regan said. “We’ll let you know.” She hung up the phone. “Janey was supposed to deliver a roast chicken to her this afternoon.”

They looked at each other. They knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

“Not my Janey,” he said. “She wouldn’t have taken Ben’s chicken.”

“Mrs. Buckland said it tastes best on the second day.”

“Oh God, why?” Thomas asked.

“Let’s call over there.”

Thomas got out the file labeled CARNEY, and Regan dialed the number. There was no answer.

“What if she went over there and… and I don’t know what?” Thomas wailed.

“The police have the keys to Ben’s apartment,” Regan said.

“We have no choice but to call them,” Thomas whispered. “No choice at all.”

Five minutes later, they were out the door, with plans to meet one of the patrolmen from the 13th Precinct at Ben’s apartment building. They had no way of knowing Mary Ruffner was right behind them.

Maldwin and the student butlers were prepared for the evening’s festivities. They were all formally dressed and ready to serve. The hors d’oeuvres were waiting to be popped into the oven. Cheese and crackers and crudités were out on the tables. Champagne was chilling in the refrigerator.

“The Princess of Love went hog-wild with this party, huh, Maldwin?” Vinnie asked as he ran a comb through his hair.

“Never comb your hair in the kitchen, please!” Maldwin scolded.

“Now while we are waiting for our guests to arrive, I’d like to go over a few things with you. No sense wasting time. Let’s sit in the living room.”

Vinnie, Albert, Blaise, and Harriet took their places on the love seats around the room. Maldwin stood at the window and looked over the group. It was not exactly an inspiring sight. He cleared his throat. “Now, what is a silent butler?”

“A butler with laryngitis,” Vinnie answered.

“Vinnie!” Maldwin scolded.

“A silent butler,” Harriet began, “is a small receptacle used to collect crumbs off the dinner table and ashes from the ash trays. It is found in every good home.”

“Thank you, Harriet,” Maldwin said.

Harriet beamed at him.

“You all need to study the sheets I hand out to you. I’m going to start giving pop quizzes. But on to other things. As you know, Stanley Stock, the television producer, will be here again tonight. I’m going to suggest to him that he ask each one of you about your dreams of being a first-rate butler. Who knows? Your future employers may be out there watching.”

“How exciting!” Harriet cried. “Can I go first?”

I’m going to get sick, Blaise thought. And I don’t want to be interviewed on-camera. Last night I did my best to stay out of sight.

Lydia’s voice came over the intercom. “Maldwin, I need you for a moment.”

Maldwin looked at his watch. “You may relax until the party starts. Now remember, this is an important one!” He strode out of the room with purpose.

Albert turned to Vinnie. “What are you going to say?”

“Beats me.”

In front of Ben’s brownstone, a patrol car was waiting with its lights flashing. When Regan and Thomas rounded the corner, the stark reality of the situation hit Thomas like a wet blanket. A small moan escaped from his lips.

Regan hurried over to the car and introduced herself. Squawks were emanating from the radio. There was no doubt the presence of the patrol car was attracting attention.

Officer Dowling, a friendly young cop, greeted Regan and Thomas and walked with them to the outside door. They buzzed, but there was no answer. Dowling unlocked the door, and the three of them hurried up the stairs to Ben’s apartment.

As soon as Dowling pushed open the door and turned on the lights, they all gasped. The place had been ransacked. Drawers in the living room were pulled open, their contents thrown all over the floor.

“Oh my God!” Thomas cried.

“Looks like a B and E,” Dowling said. He got on the radio and called it in.

Regan and Thomas walked down the hall in disbelief, turning on lights as they went. The bedroom and den were also torn apart. “The kitchen must be at the other end,” Regan said, leading the way through the dining room to the kitchen’s swinging door. She flicked on the light.

“Janey’s coat!” Thomas cried. “And the carry bag for the food!” He ran over and stroked her coat lovingly. “Oh, Janey,” he cried. “Janey!”

“In here!”

Thomas looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Or at least heard one. Regan felt pretty startled herself.

“Janey! Where are you?”

“In the closet!”

By now Officer Dowling was also in the kitchen. Thomas pulled on the closet door, but it was locked.

“We’re going to have to get some equipment to break down the door. This is a heavy one,” Dowling observed.

“Janey, we’ll get you out. But what are you doing in there?” Thomas asked.

Janey started to cry. “It’s a long story.”

“Does it have something to do with roast chicken?”

“Yes,” she answered feebly.

Thomas turned to Regan and mouthed the words, “Waste not, want not.”

That’s a wrap,” Jacques Harlow cried as the last scene ended with the sheep being carried out of the room by Pumpkin and her leading man, Lothar. “On to our next location.”