Fleeced: A Regan Reilly Mystery by Carol Clark (grave mercy txt) 📗

A perfect target, she thought. Surely he has a few shekels that he can do without.

“Sit down, my beauty,” he insisted.

This is better than I thought, Georgette mused. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

“What’s a lovely girl like you doing all alone?”

Georgette batted her eyes as she sat on the impossibly uncomfortable bench. “I just moved into town, and I don’t know many people yet.” She leaned in so he could smell her perfume.

He sneezed, waved his hands, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Sit back, my beauty. Sit back. Your perfume isn’t good for my throat.”

“Your throat?”

“I was a singer in my day. Performed everywhere. Now I was thinking, if you give me a few hundred bucks a week, I’ll teach you to sing and have you on Broadway in five years. I can still hit middle C, you know.” He opened his mouth and belted out several notes as Georgette jumped up and ran out of the restaurant. On her way, she heard one of the busboys yell, “Cool it, Mr. C. We told you no singing in here.”

Out on the street, Georgette struggled to regain her composure. My planets must not be in alignment, she thought. Just then her cell phone rang. Let it be Blaise, she thought.

“Hello… oh Lydia, what a surprise… Another party tonight?” Georgette’s pulse quickened. “How nice of you… Is there anything I can do to help? I’m actually off today… No?… Well, maybe I’ll get there early… I’d love to talk to Maldwin about signing up for his next butler class… Yes, really… Okay, see you later.”

Georgette put the phone back in her purse and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I can get back in Nat’s apartment tonight, she thought. As she hurried down the block, she passed a coffee shop. Stopping in her tracks, she turned around and went back. You never know, she thought, as she opened the door and made a beeline for the seat next to an old man at the counter. My work is never done.

17

After Regan spoke to Carl, she took a little walk through the apartment. She found herself back in Nat’s bathroom. No doubt-it was luxurious. The marble walls and floor, gleaming glass shower door, and beautiful porcelain sinks all gave the feeling of well-cared-for opulence. An electric heated towel rack stood against the wall near the Jacuzzi. One large white towel was draped over it. I bet that’s the one Nat would have used last night, she thought.

Regan turned and walked over to the two hand towels that were hanging on a rack between the sinks. She hadn’t really noticed them before, but now she could see that the miniature appliqués lining their borders were little sheep. My God, they had sheep everything, she thought. They’re cute, but they don’t look like the kind of towels that you use. They’re more for show.

There was an empty towel rack on the wall next to the shower. For some reason, it seemed odd to her that it was empty. Just then something on the floor caught her eye. She walked over and picked it up. It was a tiny sheep appliqué. This must have fallen off a towel, she thought. But where’s the towel?

There was no hamper in the bathroom. Regan walked into Nat’s bedroom and opened the closet door. All women’s clothes. These must have been Wendy’s, Regan thought. She shut the door.

In the guest room, she found her suitcase on the floor and hanging bag laid out on the bed. She opened the first of two closet doors. This was obviously where Nat kept his clothes. She lifted the lid of a wicker hamper, but there were no towels in there. Just a couple of men’s shirts, socks, and underwear.

Regan smiled. Even though Wendy had been dead for three years, he hadn’t moved her clothes. He still had to go into the guest room to get his things. One of Regan’s friends had gotten married and moved into her husband’s apartment. He was so persnickety he made her use the guest bathroom and second bedroom closet. Needless to say, the marriage hadn’t lasted. But Nat obviously had been devoted to his wife. And all these sheep might have driven another man crazy.

It was as if Regan were getting a feel for Nat Pemrod. I wonder if he slept in here at all. Just as Regan was pondering all this, her cell phone rang. From the Caller ID she could tell it was Jack.

“Hi there,” she said.

“Regan, how’s it going?”

“Let’s just say it’s interesting.”

“I’m at the office. It’s been pretty hectic, but I talked to a guy named Ronald Brier down at the 13th. He was there last night. He suggested you drop by and talk to him.”

Regan looked at her watch. It was just about noon. “I think I’ll head down there right now.”

“And one other thing.”

“What?”

“Think about where you want to have dinner on Sunday night. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” Regan hung up and sat on the bed. She picked up one of the framed pictures on the bedside table. It was an old black-and-white picture of four men playing cards. This must be the Suits, she thought. Regan put it down and glanced at the other photos. They were mostly pictures of a couple at various stages of life. In one of them they were standing in a field, surrounded by sheep.

Regan pulled open the drawer of the table. A notepad and pen had been neatly placed in there. She lifted out the pad and opened it up. The page was dated Thursday, March 11th. Yesterday!

Regan began to read and was astonished by the words in front of her.

My little Buttercup,

These last four weeks have been undeniably joyous. After my dear wife, Wendy, went off to the Lord, her shepherd, I never thought I could feel anything deep for another woman. I