Gypped (8 page)

Zelda looked at Regan. “What do you think?”

Poor Zelda, Regan thought. What a terrible position she’s in. “I’d be happy to help you, but I do have plans for the weekend with Jack. Is it okay if I start the investigation next week?”

“Of course,” Zelda said. “But come back for lunch.”

P
etunia, wrapped in a fluffy robe, was sipping coffee in her basement and admiring all the loot she’d received for her “charity fundraiser.” After dinner last night Clarence had been so engrossed in the baseball game he barely noticed when she left the room. Petunia came straight downstairs to her office, turned on a large flat-screen television, and got to work. First she slit open the cardboard boxes containing the long folding tables she’d purchased at a discount store, threw the cardboard in a heap, and set up the tables against one wall. She placed all the donations on display and photographed each one.

With great care, she loaded the pictures from her camera to her computer, printed them out, and filed them in her desk. Every few minutes she grabbed the remote control and switched TV stations, hoping she’d find an infomercial for a get rich quick scheme or a phenomenal product that promised to change your life. It was easy for her to detect which ads were rip-offs. She was amazed at how quickly certain information flashed on and off the screen—information the consumer might be interested in, like the company’s name.

In one corner of the room she’d already set up her Pet’s Projects Studio consisting of a video camera on a tripod and a
plain white backdrop. It was where she’d film promotions about her good works and post them on the Internet. She was learning how to change the background on the video screens so it appeared that she was in a much more exotic place than her basement. Petunia hoped to have many different identities as a do-gooder. Her notebook was full of ideas.

She yawned and took another sip of her triple mocha latte java, and smiled. I don’t know why basements get a bad rap, she mused. Everyone scoffs about people who sit in their basements and post nasty anonymous comments on the Internet. That may be true, but basements are places where good things happen, too. Scientists carry out important experiments in basements. We store things in basements. People play Ping-Pong and shoot pool in basements. Some of us do our wash in basements. Bargain basements save us money, or at least they’re supposed to.

And now, Petunia thought, putting down her coffee and stretching her arms, I’m going to launch a successful business of my own in my basement. I’m entering this game late in life but hopefully I’ll figure out how to make up for lost time. How many companies, even if they’re legitimate, started out small?

One step at a time, she thought, as she tried to touch her toes but couldn’t. For a second she pondered purchasing exercise equipment but immediately nixed the idea as a waste of her hard-earned money. If I get rich, I’ll hire a trainer, even though I’ll still hate to exercise. She stood straight up, took a large gulp of coffee, and immediately felt better. I’ve got to get dressed, she thought, but first I need to check my horoscope.

She sat down at the computer, put on her reading glasses, and started tapping at the keys like an old pro. On her favorite astrological web site the forecast for her sign wasn’t great. It warned of taking on new projects. Petunia frowned, then quickly searched several more sites looking for a prediction for
the day that would make her happy. It was no different than biting into a half dozen fortune cookies before finding one that tells you you’re better than everyone else.

Finally, she found what she was searching for.
You are ready for a big change.
She read aloud.
Don’t stay stuck in the past. Go with the times. No one deserves it more than you.
Petunia whooped. “I do deserve it!” she said aloud. “I do!”

It
is
time for me to go with the times. I stayed stuck in the past and didn’t pursue my dreams while my kids lived at home. If I don’t act now, it may be too late. I’m glad I took that computer class last year.

Petunia was lost in her thoughts. The world has changed so much since I was a kid. Back then, there were no computers or cell phones. Televisions had rabbit ears to get better reception on a lousy six or seven stations! Wait a minute, she said to herself. What did all the hardcore scam artists do before the dawn of cable television and then the Internet? They must have been so unfulfilled! The Internet really opened the floodgates for people who wanted to get their hands on other people’s money. Now they could reach into the pocket of someone on the other side of Mother Earth in no time flat!

The door at the top of the basement steps opened. “Petunia!” Clarence bellowed.

“Here!”

“Jade is on the phone.”

Petunia deliberately didn’t have a phone in the basement. She didn’t want anyone other than herself or Clarence to have a reason to go down there. When her kids came home for a visit, she planned to put the cameras away and make the space appear to be a comfy office where Mom liked to occasionally dabble on the computer. “Jade’s on the phone?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I’m coming.”

Jade, their youngest, had graduated from a college in San Diego five months earlier. To Petunia’s dismay, she wanted to commute to school, thus putting off her parents’ plans to move north for four years. Now Jade was in a tiny country Petunia had never heard of, thousands of miles away, teaching English to needy children. I don’t know where she came from, Petunia often thought.

At the top of the steps Clarence handed her the phone, then kissed her on the cheek. “See you later. You’d better hurry. You’ll be late for work.”

“I know,” Petunia said, giving him a playful push. She held the phone to her ear. “Jade, honey, how’s it going? You’re loving it still. It’s only been a couple of weeks you’ve been there. The kids are so cute? Oh, great, I’m so proud of you... right . . . right... your sister is fine. She’s like you, saving the world, just closer to home.” Petunia laughed. “Honey, I was wondering. Why don’t you take a picture of your class and send it to me? I’d love to see their little faces. Take lots of photos, okay?” Petunia laughed. “Of course I want you to be in one or two of the pictures!”

No more than that, Petunia thought. Or I’ll edit you out.

B
ack at the hotel, Regan took the elevator to the sixth floor, then headed down a long hallway. A maid’s cart was parked suspiciously close to her room. Oh, please, Regan thought, don’t let her be in there now. I’m dying to take a shower.

With a sigh of relief, Regan passed the cart full of fresh towels and toiletry samples, taking a quick glance into the room next to hers where the maid was cleaning. She was about to fire up the vacuum. Quickening her pace, Regan let herself into her room. It hadn’t been cleaned yet. Just in time, Regan thought. The maid can come back after I leave.

She put her purse on the desk and took off her shoes. Looking at the unmade bed she could tell that Jack had barely moved from his side. Oh, Regan thought wistfully. He must have been so tired. It feels strange to think he’s come and gone. She shrugged. We have all weekend to be together.

They had texted each other earlier, and decided to stay in Los Angeles tonight. The plan was to have dinner in Beverly Hills at an Italian restaurant, then tomorrow morning they’d figure out what they wanted to do. I’m so glad we won’t be scrambling to check out this evening, Regan thought. We’ve hardly spent any time enjoying this beautiful hotel.

She pressed the DO NOT DISTURB button, ordered breakfast from room service, then headed into the shower. The sprays of hot water coming from all directions felt great, especially on her achy neck and shoulders. She could have stood there all day. After several minutes she turned off the faucets and grabbed a towel. She dried off and wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s terrycloth robes. Now I notice how hungry I am! That slice of toast at Zelda’s didn’t cut it.

Regan decided to rest until room service arrived. She lay down on the side of the bed where Jack had slept, then turned her head so her cheek was resting on his pillow, breathing in his scent. I wish he were here.

Her thoughts turned to Zelda. What she’s going through would be a lot easier if she had someone like Jack. Zelda has nice friends, and Norman certainly provides interesting companionship, but she has no one to really lean on. She’s pretty much on her own. To think just yesterday she found out that her father married someone he hasn’t known very long. Zelda was upset that he hadn’t talked to her first. I can’t imagine being in that position. Regan shuddered. It would never happen, she told herself. Then she laughed out loud. The thought of her father getting married in a drive-through chapel in Las Vegas was so absurd, it was funny. No, if my father ended up alone, it would be sad for both of us. I’d have to expect the unexpected, but certainly not that.

Regan pulled the sheets under her chin. I’ll help Zelda as much as I can. I certainly hope that financial adviser is doing well by her. He wasn’t slick, but that doesn’t mean he’s honest. Maybe I should ask Zelda a few questions about her business affairs when I see her today. She’s worried enough about her father to have his new wife checked out, but I wonder what she
knows about the people working for her. I’m also interested to hear about her coaching.

Suddenly Regan sat up. I hope the hotel staff doesn’t do a security check and open the trunk of the car! When the attendant drove off with it, the knife completely slipped my mind. I should have just dropped it off at the police station. I’ll do that on the way back to Zelda’s. I don’t have to wait for Jack. By the time he gets back here we’ll want to start our weekend. Besides, I’ve been in the police stations around here before. I did work in this town.

Feeling restless, Regan brought her laptop over to the bed. She leaned against the headboard and started to research the Scrumps estate. Nothing came up. Is it owned by a trust? she wondered. If they’re not using it, why don’t they sell it? They have that whole block to themselves. There’s so much privacy. Maybe too much! The lingering question in the back of her mind surfaced again. What was someone doing in those woods with a knife like that?

Her cell phone rang. It was her mother, Nora.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Regan, hi. Just thought I’d see how your trip was going so far.”

“Well, it’s been a little unusual.”

“Oh? I’m all ears.”

“Remember when I was on that game show?” Regan began.

“Of course I do. You missed out on the big money. Your consolation prizes, which provided you little consolation, were electric curlers you never used, and a dozen boxes of macaroni noodles.”

“You have the memory of an elephant.”

“It helps with my writing. So what about the game show?”

“Someone I got friendly with those few days at the studio, her name is Zelda. . . .”

“Wait, wasn’t she on after you?”

“Yes.”

“I remember. Don’t forget, we’ve played that tape more than once over the years.”

“I know you love to embarrass me,” Regan said, her tone amused.

“No, I don’t. The expression on your face when you lost was priceless. You looked like you wanted to strangle the woman who gave you that bad clue.”

“I did want to strangle her. Anyway, I ran into Zelda yesterday.”

Nora listened as Regan recounted the tale, interrupting only occasionally. “Eight million dollars? Not bad.”

“Can you believe it?” Regan asked without waiting for an answer. She finished the story, leaving out the juicy bit about discovering a butcher knife in the woods.

“Her father got married in the back of a taxi at a drive-through wedding chapel?” Nora blurted. Clearly she found this to be the most astonishing piece of news.

“Yes!”

“Wow. My word.” Nora paused, then asked quietly, “Regan, can you just picture your father?”

“I thought the same thing! Can you see Daddy, with a flower in the lapel of one of his black suits, sitting in the back of a beat-up cab, waiting on line at the drive-up window?”

“Not with the meter running.”