The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 2

by Elaine Viets

  Thumbs, her six-toed cat, greeted her at the door with a loud purr and a friendly forehead bump to her leg. Helen scratched his thick gray and white fur and said, “You’re only making up to me because it’s dinnertime. Phil made you a treat.”

  Thumbs chomped the chicken neck while Helen filled his water bowl, poured him dry food, then changed into yellow shorts and a black top. She inspected herself in the mirror. Helen wasn’t a hard body like Vera, but she didn’t look bad for forty-two. In fact, she decided, I look darn good.

  She poured herself a cold white wine, found a can of mixed nuts for an appetizer, then rejoined the party.

  “Can Pete have a cashew?” Helen asked Peggy.

  “Too fattening. He’s still a half ounce overweight,” Peggy said.

  “I should be so lucky,” Helen said.

  “That’s a lot for a bird who’s supposed to weigh six ounces tops. Pete can get hypertension, just like people. He’s limited to nutritious snacks.”

  “Let me remove temptation,” Margery said, reaching for the can. “Peggy, how’s your lawyer friend, Daniel?”

  “He may be a keeper,” Peggy said. “And it’s about time.”

  Peggy’s love life had been chaotic for almost as long as Helen had known her. Peggy had been jailed for murdering one lover. When her name was cleared, Peggy had a romance with a hunky cop from that case. But he cheated on her with a stripper. Then Peggy fell for another cheater. This one took her for twenty thousand dollars.

  “For a while, I thought Pete was going to be the only man in my life,” Peggy said. “I spent my nights teaching him to talk.”

  “Hello!” the little parrot said.

  “Daniel is working late tonight on a contract,” Peggy said.

  “Jordan has a modeling job tonight,” Mark said. He was touchingly proud. “She looked hot when she left here. She says she may have to stay out late while they take photos in South Beach.”

  That lying little witch, Helen thought. She hoped her feelings didn’t show.

  “How nice,” she said out loud.

  “Your sister sent you a FedEx package, Helen.” Margery was mining the mixed nuts for cashews.

  “I asked her to overnight a dress and a recent photo of Mother,” Helen said.

  “Any word on your mom?” Margery crunched another cashew.

  “No change. I’m sure the next call I’ll get from the nursing home will be bad news.”

  “Dinner is ready,” Phil said. He carried the platter of grilled chicken to the table and the five crowded around.

  Helen listened while Mark bragged about Jordan—her beauty, her ability to photograph well from almost any angle, her unusual green eyes. The poor clueless sap, Helen thought as he recited Jordan’s charms throughout dinner.

  “She doesn’t even have to wear false eyelashes,” Mark said. “I’m going to support her until she’s a supermodel. Then she’ll support me. I’m hoping to start my own repair shop. Phil, want me to take a look at your Jeep? It sounds like the timing is off.”

  “The Jeep has been dying at stop signs,” Phil said. “I can pay you or give you a couple of six-packs.”

  “Beer is good,” Mark said. “I like Heineken.”

  Peggy, Helen and Margery shooed Mark and Phil off to work on the Jeep while they cleared the table. “You get a pass because you cooked tonight, Phil,” Helen said. “And Mark, you’re fixing the Jeep.”

  When the two men were in the parking lot, Helen said, “Mark is a nice guy. He doesn’t know that his girlfriend is riding in a limo with another man.”

  “You didn’t see anyone in that limo, man or woman, Helen Hawthorne,” Margery said. “Maybe Jordan was getting a ride to her job.”

  “The only one being taken for a ride is Mark,” Helen said.

  “Been there, done that.” Peggy tossed the paper plates in the trash. “Now, this is how I like to do dishes.”

  When the table was cleared and the grill cleaned, Peggy said, “Okay, Pete, it’s bedtime. Show everyone I didn’t waste all those lonely nights.”

  “Night!” Pete said.

  Margery and Helen applauded, while Pete rode Peggy’s shoulder triumphantly to their apartment. Margery gave Helen the box from Kathy.

  Phil appeared at the door to Margery’s kitchen. “Want to come to my place for a nightcap, Helen?”

  Inside Phil’s apartment, Helen said, “The curse of 2C has struck again. Margery has rented that apartment to every kind of crook. Now Jordan is cheating on poor Mark.”

  “Are you sure?” Phil asked.

  “Well, not exactly. But she’s been talking about dating another man.”

  “At least cheating on her boyfriend isn’t illegal,” Phil said. “It may be an improvement over everyone else who’s rented 2C. Jordan is only scamming Mark instead of innocent citizens.”

  “She’s a snob, like lots of pretty fashionistas,” Helen said. “She won’t get serious about a man who works with his hands.”

  “Jordan thinks it’s a fair trade,” Phil said. “Mark gets high-priced arm candy and she gets pretty clothes. ‘Forever’ is not a word in Jordan’s vocabulary. But it works both ways. Soon some man will dump her because she’s no longer young and pretty.”

  Helen found his words cold comfort.

  “Would you like a back rub?” Phil asked. “It will get the knots out.”

  The back rub turned into a long session of love. Later, Helen said, “I feel guilty enjoying myself while my mother is dying.”

  “And denying yourself would help her how?” Phil asked. “You’ve done everything possible for your mother.”

  Helen drifted off to sleep in his arms until a buzzing sound woke her. She sat up, slapped Phil’s alarm clock to shut it off, then realized the sound was her cell phone buzzing.

  “Miss Hawthorne, this is Priscilla, the night nurse,” said a voice with a gentle Southern accent. “I’m sorry, but your mother has taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Lucre doesn’t think she’ll last till morning.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Helen said.

  Phil sat up in bed, looking adorably tousled. “What’s going on? What time is it?”

  “It’s one oh three,” Helen said. “The nursing home says Mom may not last until morning.”

  They threw on shoes, shirts and jeans. Helen picked up the dress box and they ran for the Jeep. The Coronado gleamed in the ghostly moonlight. The air was soft and flower-scented. A yellow light burned in apartment 2C. Helen wondered if Jordan was home yet or if Mark was alone there, drinking beer.

  The Sunset Rest looked abandoned. The nursing home’s lights were off except at the night entrance. Helen rang the buzzer. Priscilla’s generous figure and short perm inspired confidence. The nurse led Helen and Phil through the dimly lit halls.

  “We’ve moved your mother’s roommate so you can have privacy,” she said. “Dolores is fading, but she’s peaceful.”

  Helen’s mother looked like a small bundle of laundry in the white bed. “She’s hardly there,” Phil whispered.

  Helen sat down, held her mother’s nearly transparent hand and wished the IV could be removed. “Mom, I know you will go to a better world,” Helen said to the still form. “You’ll see Daddy again. Tommy Junior and Allison will miss you so much. They loved coming to your house.”

  Helen talked to her mother for what seemed like hours, while Phil alternately paced the room, then went down the hall for soda or coffee.

  Suddenly, Dolores’s breathing changed. It grew loud and rapid, then seemed to stop.

  “Mom?” Helen asked. “Are you there?”

  No answer, except another burst of loud, almost raspy breathing.

  “I’ll get the nurse,” Phil said.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Priscilla asked, running into the room.

  “Her breathing is really loud and fast,” Helen said. “Then it’s almost not there. Then it starts up fast again.”

  “That’s Cheyne-Stokes respiration,” Priscilla said. “It
happens near the end. They say it doesn’t hurt the patient, but it sounds frightening.”

  At last Dolores’s labored breathing stopped. “I believe she’s passed,” the nurse said. “I’m sorry.” Priscilla left the room and closed the door.

  Phil took Helen in his arms and she cried on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, kissing away her tears.

  “But we never made up,” Helen said. “She died angry at me.”

  “If Dolores is in that heaven she believes in, she forgives you,” Phil said. He gave her a cup of fresh coffee.

  “Thanks.” Helen wiped away her tears. She took a sip, then said, “What time is it?”

  “Three fifteen,” Phil said.

  “Margery said Mother would die at three in the morning,” Helen said.

  It took nearly three hours for the grim formalities of death. Dr. Justin Lucre examined Dolores, declared her dead and signed the paperwork. Helen signed more papers and packed her mother’s few belongings. She called Kathy for a tearful conversation. Her sister promised to call Larry in the morning and tell him he was a widower.

  The funeral home took away Dolores’s body, along with her wig, the photo and her dress.

  It was six ten in the morning when Helen and Phil were ready to leave. The smokers were already puffing in the courtyard. Joe sat in his red motorized wheelchair with Rita at his side. She wore a perky pink bow today.

  “What are you doing here so early?” Joe asked Helen.

  Rita glared at him. “Have you smoked your brains out?” she demanded. “Why does any healthy young person come here in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m an idiot,” Joe said. “Your mother passed away, didn’t she?”

  Helen nodded. She was afraid she’d burst into tears if she said the words. Phil put his arm around her protectively.

  “Give us a good-bye hug,” Rita said. “We’ll miss you. And you, too, big boy.”

  Finally, Phil and Helen climbed into the Jeep. “It’s over,” she said.

  “Now you can take the day off,” Phil said.

  “I’m too keyed up to sleep,” Helen said. “I’ll get our plane tickets and hotel reservation online. The funeral home said Mom would be ready in about two days. I’ll have breakfast with Peggy by the pool if she has time. Then I’ll go into work at ten.”

  “I disapprove,” Phil said. “You need rest.”

  “I need a distraction,” Helen said. “I’ll leave Snapdragon’s early at two o’clock, come home and crash.”

  “We’re home now,” Phil said as the Coronado rose before them. “Please take a nap.”

  “You bitch!” a man shouted.

  Phil slammed on the brakes at the edge of the Coronado parking lot. Jordan and Mark were screaming at each other in Phil’s parking spot. Jordan was still wearing the same sexy outfit. She carried her high heels, but looked slightly shopworn. Her makeup was gone. Mark’s handsome face was red and contorted with rage.

  “I’m working my ass off while you’re sneaking around with that big-time developer,” Mark yelled.

  “I told you. I was working,” Jordan shrieked back.

  “On your back,” Mark said. “You’ve been sneaking out with Danny Martlet. Don’t deny it. I found his phone number on your cell phone and called it. You slut! Danny’s wife was murdered a couple of days ago. You didn’t even wait until she was buried to hop in the sack with him.”

  “Danny auditioned me for his Orchid House campaign. But he wasn’t at tonight’s shoot.”

  “Really?” Mark said nastily. “I bet you saw plenty of him before tonight.”

  “No, I swear,” Jordan said, then went on the attack. “You’re drunk.”

  “So are you,” he said, slurring his words.

  “You stink like cheap beer,” Jordan said. “I had French champagne.”

  Margery materialized in a purple robe. “Why are you two brawling on my property?” she demanded.

  “He said—” Jordan began.

  “That bitch—” Mark said.

  “I’ve already heard it,” Margery said. “The whole street heard you. Jordan, go to your room.” Jordan went upstairs to 2C like a sulky child.

  “And Mark, go to work.”

  “I can’t,” Mark said. “I’ve been up all night worrying about that slut. She isn’t worth losing sleep over. I’m going to bed. Alone. She can sleep on the couch.”

  He stomped up the stairs after Jordan, and slammed the apartment door.

  CHAPTER 14

  By her fourth cup of coffee that morning, Helen was as wired as a stadium scoreboard.

  She was too jittery to talk sensibly to Phil. He gave up and went inside while Helen drank more coffee outside by the pool. She nibbled on toast and waited impatiently for Peggy to appear. At seven thirty, her red-haired friend burst out of her apartment.

  Normally pale and quiet, this morning Peggy seemed to crackle with energy. She moved so fast, Pete had trouble maintaining his perch on her shoulder. The parrot flapped his wings and let out a squawk of protest.

  “Whoa, you’re ready to fight the day,” Helen said. “You must have had good news.”

  Peggy slid into a chair and opened a cup of blueberry yogurt. Pete settled down. “I won a thousand dollars in the Florida Lottery. It’s my first win, ever.”

  “Congratulations,” Helen said.

  “Woo-hoo!” Pete said.

  “Did he just say ‘woo-hoo’?” Helen asked.

  “Parrots learn to talk if you put a lot of emotion into your words. I’m glad that’s what I screamed when I won yesterday.”

  “What kind of fun will you have with your money?” Helen asked.

  “I’m using it to make more money,” Peggy said. “I want to work at home and make five thousand dollars a month. That’s twice what I make now. I bought my membership and supplies online. The first shipment will arrive this afternoon.”

  “I thought those work-at-home jobs were scams,” Helen said.

  “Most are lame pyramid schemes,” Peggy said. “But not this one. It’s called ‘Make Work with Mike.’ I start work when the first shipment of the product arrives after three o’clock today.”

  “What’s the product?” Helen asked.

  “Barbecue aprons. See?” Peggy showed Helen a photo of a smiling man at a smoking grill. His apron read, COME AND GET IT, CHOWHOUNDS! BILL’S BARBECUE. A barbecue fork and long-handled tongs were crossed under the letters.

  “The aprons are made in China. I personalize them,” Peggy said. “I add the name and the barbecue utensils. Or crossed beer bottles. Dog lovers can get the chowhound breed of their choice, from Airedales to Yorkies. I add those, too.”

  “Why can’t they do that in China?” Helen asked.

  “Too far away,” Peggy said. “Our buyers want a quick response. My membership is two hundred fifty dollars. I bought the industrial glue gun for another two fifty. I get the first shipment of aprons free. After that, I pay two hundred fifty per week for more aprons, but if I make my quota, I’ll earn five thousand dollars a month.”

  Phil had been standing by the table holding a fresh cup of coffee. “How much do those aprons sell for in stores?” he asked.

  “Not sure,” Peggy said, “but they’re in the finest specialty shops and cookery stores. Not Williams-Sonoma, but that same caliber.”

  “There has to be a hitch, Peggy,” Phil said gently. “I’ve never come across a work-at-home scheme that wasn’t a fake.”

  “Awk!” Pete said.

  “No,” Peggy said. “Not this one. I read the testimonials. Robert in Ottumwa, Iowa, made seven figures last year.”

  “Robert who?” Phil asked.

  “Robert G.,” Peggy said.

  “Did you talk to this man?” Phil asked.

  “Well, no. I tried to find him, but there are a lot of Roberts in Ottumwa.”

  “Exactly,” Phil said.

  “You don’t have to be so negative,” Peggy said. “This is my chance to escape a bad job.” />
  “I thought you liked your job,” Helen said, trying to find a safer topic.

  “I do,” Peggy said. “I mean, I did. But now my boss’s wife wants a divorce. He spends all day on the phone with his lawyer. The staff is doing our work and his. And he’s always in a rotten mood.”

  “Bad boy!” Pete said, shuffling along her shoulder.

  “Pete and I could work at home together,” Peggy said. “He’d never be lonely. And I wouldn’t have to put up with my boss’s moods.”

  “Peggy, I understand,” Phil said. “But the Florida attorney general warns against these schemes.”

  “I didn’t find Mike’s company mentioned on the Web site,” Peggy said.

  “That’s a start,” Phil said. “Please promise me you won’t quit your job until you’ve had a good money-making month.” He knelt down beside Peggy and took her hand. Phil looked sincere, strong and, yes, humble. Helen’s heart overflowed with love.

  “When a man gets on his knees and begs me, I can’t resist,” Peggy said. She raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t quit my job until I’m making at least three thousand a month working at home.”

  Pete flapped his wings.

  “Now I’d better get to work,” Peggy said. “Did I imagine it, or was someone fighting in the parking lot last night?”

  “It was Mark and Jordan,” Helen said, lowering her voice. “The fight was this morning around six. Jordan came home after being out all night. Mark was drunk—and furious. He accused her of seeing another man. Phil and I had just come back from the nursing home and we saw the fight. Margery intervened and sent them both to their room.”

  “Bad boy!” Pete said.

  “Well, it’s quiet up there now,” Peggy said. “Let’s hope they’re asleep. I forgot to ask, Helen. How is your mother?”

  “She died last night,” Helen said, then tried to stave off the inevitable burst of sympathy. “Don’t be sorry, please. Mom died peacefully. Phil and I were with her. We’ll take her home, probably in two days. Really, it was the best way for a good woman to go.”

  “Then I’m glad it’s over for you both,” Peggy said. “I still have to go to work. And you, Pete, have to go back to your cage.”

  “Bye!” Pete said.