Carol Clark: Fleeced

“All that confusion and death,” Lydia said as she picked up her orange-juice glass and tapped it with her long red fingernails. “Do you think people might be afraid to come to my parties now?”

Maldwin fluffed the pillow behind her dyed blond hair. “It was excitement that can only help. No one will ever accuse you of throwing parties that are dull. After all, matchmaking should have an air of mystery.”

“But what if the papers report that some of my guests were disturbed by the arrival of the police?”

“As long as they spell your name right. And the name of my butler school,” Maldwin sniffed. “Miss Lydia, remember what we decided when we joined forces.”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

“Exactly.” Maldwin walked to the door of the bedroom.

“But Maldwin, I’m worried.”

Maldwin waited.

“If we have to find a new place to live, it’ll be very expensive. My stationery cost a fortune. And people get used to coming to a certain location for these parties. Being in Gramercy Park gave them a certain je ne sais quoi.”

Maldwin flinched. He couldn’t stand it when she threw in her schoolgirl French. Her accent was awful.

“I know, Princess,” he said. “But we must go on. Tomorrow night’s party should attract new members to the club. And hopefully, those diamonds will be recovered and we can continue on as we are now.” He smoothed back his hair and adjusted his pinkie ring. “My students are arriving soon. We’re leaving for a field trip to a town full of antique shops in western New Jersey. I expect we’ll be back later this afternoon.”

Lydia grumbled. “And I’m going to exercise class. Don’t forget. Tonight we have to go to Stanley ’s studio for the interview. He wants to air the special on the club and us this Sunday night. How many viewers does he have on that cable show?”

“I’m afraid neighborhood free-access channels do not draw the masses, Princess of Love. But it’s a start.”

“I’ve come a long way from my studio apartment with no closet space,” Lydia mused. “And Maldwin, I don’t want to go back.”

“We will make our businesses flourish, Miss Lydia,” Maldwin said formally, “at any cost.”

They laughed nervously together. He gave a short, courtly bow and shut the door.

Regan stepped out of the shower, dressed quickly, and dried her hair. She turned off the hair dryer, placed it on her dresser, and heard her cell phone ringing.

It was Jack. Regan smiled at the sound of his voice. She pictured his face with its hazel eyes and even features, framed by sandy hair that curled at the ends. He was six feet two inches tall, with broad shoulders and an undeniable charisma. Keenly intelligent and quick-witted, he also had a sense of humor that had developed from growing up in a large family. Thirty-four years old, Jack had been raised in Bedford, New York, graduated from Boston College, and had surprised his family by following his grandfather into the field of law enforcement.

Jack’s grandfather had been a New York police lieutenant. In the twelve years since college, Jack had risen through the ranks from patrolman to captain and head of the Major Case Squad. He had also picked up two master’s degrees, and his goal was to become police commissioner of New York.

“How was your dinner last night?” Regan asked.

“Let’s just say I would rather have been with you. I heard a lot of boring speeches, then drove back to the city from Long Island. I didn’t get home until almost two.”

“Well, you’ll never believe what I’ve gotten involved in.”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

Regan sat on the bed. “You first.”

Jack paused. “I have to fly to London tonight. There’s a case over there I have to take a look at for my buddy at Scotland Yard. But I’ll be back by Sunday.”

Regan felt a sharp stab of disappointment. I guess I’ll get to enjoy more expectation and anticipation, she thought, but said, “I’m leaving Monday.”

“I know. I’m coming with you.”

Regan laughed. “Oh really?”

“If you’ll have me. I get a few days off and I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too,” Regan said. “ L.A. on Monday sounds great.”

“What did you get yourself involved in?” Jack asked. “There’s not another man, I hope.”

Regan laughed. “Another guy called but it’s not anything to worry about.” She relayed to him the conversation with Thomas.

“So you’re on the job this weekend too. Let me pick you up and take you down to Gramercy Park,” Jack said quickly. “I can’t wait until Sunday to see you.”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

Jack laughed. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Regan hung up the phone. There is a God, she thought.

Thomas Pilsner sat at his desk in his office on the first floor of the Settlers’ Club, wringing his hands. Normally the sight of his Oriental rug, faded leather club chairs, and handsome rolltop desk soothed him. But not today. His mind was racing, and his heart was beating at a rate that would only have been acceptable if he had just finished a run around Gramercy Park.

How he loved it here. Gramercy Park, with its graceful trees, shady lawns, cast-iron gates, and flagstone sidewalks, was like a mirage just steps from Midtown Manhattan. The park was the cloistered centerpiece of the neighborhood. It was a landmark that had been called the cherished jewel in the crown that is New York City. Original town houses in Greek Revival, Italianate, Gothic Revival, and Victorian Gothic surrounded the park, and one of the city’s earliest apartment houses had been built on its southeast corner.

Everyone who lived on the square received a key to the gate of the private park-a two acre haven of pastoral charm, accessible only to bordering property owners.

People felt as if they were stepping into another century when they rounded the corner and the park came into view. Noise receded, and time moved much more slowly. The chaos and confusion of the city seemed to disappear as the skyscrapers and traffic jams were left behind.

This place feels like anything but a haven now, Thomas thought miserably. Why didn’t I live here a hundred years ago, when the writers and painters and architects all made their homes in these beautiful buildings and life was so much more civilized? When the club didn’t have all these financial difficulties?

Thomas blew his nose and willed himself to be calm. Regan’s coming, he thought. She’ll help me with all this.

The phone on his desk rang.

“Regan Reilly is here,” the security guard told him.

“Send her in.”

Jack’s arm was around Regan’s shoulder as he guided her up the staircase to the main floor and down the hall to Thomas’s office.

“This doesn’t sound like it qualifies for the Major Case Squad, but I’m anxious to hear what’s going on,” he said to Regan.

Thomas greeted them at the door. “Regan,” he cried, “not a moment too soon.”

Regan introduced Thomas to Jack. They sat down in the chairs across the desk from Thomas.

“Jack has to leave soon,” Regan said, “but he’s with the Major Case Squad in Manhattan and is a good friend of mine. He’s here to help us.”

Thomas gave Jack the once-over. “I need all the help I can get.”

“I’ve already filled Jack in on everything you told me,” Regan said. “What else can you tell us about what’s been going on around here?”