Clay’s jaw dropped. “You’re not sure if it’s twenty or thirty thousand dollars?”

“No, I’m not. If you do this for me, the money is all yours. Please, Clay, my whole career is at stake. I’m on my way to being famous—the British critics said so—and those letters would end it all.”

“I could go on a game show and win at least twenty thousand dollars,” Clay protested. “And I wouldn’t be risking jail time.”

“But you haven’t, have you?” Lorraine asked. “Besides, most of them are taped in Los Angeles.” On the coffee table, Lorraine’s cell phone began to ring. Quickly she answered. It was Edwin, the producer of the play in England.

“Darling Lorraine, I couldn’t sleep and turned on the telly. I understand it’s a bit dark over there now. My goodness!”

“Yes, Edwin,” Lorraine cooed. “We’re coping as best as we can. Oh, how I already miss doing the play. It’s as if I have a big hole in my heart. I feel such a sense of loss. I miss being with you and the cast—”

“You too, darling,” Edwin interrupted. “Now listen, I was going to call you tomorrow anyway. My friend Charles, the director from Hollywood who came to the play on closing night, really found you to be a delightful actress—”

Lorraine’s heart sank. Charles Dryden was a well-known, well-respected director. The letter she’d written to him had been particularly brutal. In it she’d said his films were unwatchable and she wouldn’t be caught dead appearing in one.

“—he just signed on to direct a big important picture and he has a lovely role in it for you. I want you to call him in the morning…”

When Lorraine hung up the phone, she was on the verge of hysteria. “Clay, there is also valuable jewelry in the safe. You can have it all. I just want the letters. Please!”

Clay, knowing full well that the money he’d make in one night was a lot more than he’d make in a year of poking around people’s apartments fixing their clogged sinks, placed his beer down on the table and paused. “All right, Lorraine, I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of your talents.”

Lorraine threw her arms around him. “Wendall said we worked well together. I know we can do it again!”

“This is reality, Lorraine,” Clay said solemnly, “not a scene from class. If it doesn’t work out we’ll both end up behind bars at Riker’s Island. And I do mean both of us. You’re coming up with me to the apartment.”

“Of course,” Lorraine said. “We’re in this together.” Nervously she picked up her drink. No use telling him who owns the apartment, she thought. If he found out it was the head of the Major Case Squad, he’d never do it. No matter how much money was involved.

9

B ack at Larry’s Laughs, Regan, Kit, and Billy sat down at a candlelit table with Becky, the young hostess who had only been working there for two weeks. Just twenty-one, she was between her junior and senior year of college, and had been hired for the summer. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a short skirt and sleeveless top. She exuded a youthful exuberance and was clearly awed by the excitement. Billy made the introductions.