Free Gypped by Carol Higgins Clark Page B

other in front of those crazy hot pink appliances. They’d all prepared food in state of the art kitchens in mansions around Los Angeles, and in some homes that were decidedly less grand, but none of them had seen anything like the kitchen at the Scrumps estate. They’d also taken pictures of the cracked linoleum floor. The third time Gladys came wandering through, she caught them in the act.
    “Isn’t this place something?” she’d laughed, and offered to take a group shot. Then Maggie asked Gladys if she’d be in a picture with her.
    “You don’t want a picture of me,” Gladys said.
    “Yes, I do. Come on. Fast. We don’t have much time. Norman will be back any second.”
    The other waitress snapped several photos. Gladys turned out to be quite photogenic and a bit of a ham.
    I’ll use one of those pictures, Maggie thought. I’ll cut myself out, enlarge the image of Gladys, and sent it out with my contact number. If she gets an audition, I’ll call her with the good news.
    Boy, will she be surprised!

15

    R egan walked into the police precinct closest to the Scrumps estate. An officer with dark hair and a mustache sitting at the front desk looked up at her. “Can I help you?”
    “I’m sure you can,” Regan said, showing him her ID. “I’m a private investigator. My name is Regan Reilly. I used to have an office in Hollywood but now I live in New York City. My husband is head of the Major Case Squad there. We’re in town because he has meetings with the police commissioner.”
    The officer raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He seemed friendly but guarded.
    “Yes,” Regan continued, “a friend of mine was at a fundraiser and bid on and won a week’s stay at a home up in the Hills. It’s called the Scrumps estate. I was there last night for a party she gave and stayed overnight because she got sick. Early this morning I went out to move my car, which was parked at the end of her block. There are no other houses. It’s fairly isolated.”
    “What’s the address?”
    Regan told him. “Before I got into my car I wanted to take a look at a hiking trail someone told me about last night. I started into the woods, then decided against it. A flash of silver undera pile of leaves caught my eye. I didn’t expect it to be a large butcher knife that looks brand new.”
    The officer groaned. “Wonderful. Where is the knife right now?”
    “In my trunk. I didn’t think it was wise to walk into a police station brandishing a knife like that. And I didn’t want to be carrying a concealed weapon.” Regan smiled.
    “You’ve got that right. It’s obviously a concern that someone would bring a weapon like that into those woods. There are a lot of people who go hiking alone.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    Regan was introduced to Detective Hector Ramone, who wrote up the report and then accompanied her to her car. When Regan popped the trunk, he whistled, then pulled on a latex glove. “This knife isn’t for carving your girlfriend’s initials into a tree,” he observed wryly. With care he lifted the knife out of the trunk and placed it in a plastic bag. “I’m sure they’ll step up patrols in the area. You say your friend will be at that house until Monday?”
    “Yes.”
    “She’s not alone, is she?”
    “No. Her assistant is staying with her. Do you know anything about the Scrumps estate?”
    “Not much. To my knowledge no one has ever called us from there with any problems.”
    “It seems like the house hasn’t been lived in for years, and it’s not in the best condition. I think it’s strange that someone would donate a stay there for charity. The Ritz it’s not.”
    He laughed. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
    Regan gave him her card. “If you come across anything interesting, please let me know.”
    “I will.”
    When Regan pulled out of the precinct parking lot, the sense of threat surrounding the knife seemed alarmingly real.

16

    A fter Norman left, Rich telephoned