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

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.”

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