The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 2

by Elaine Viets

  “Why not?” Helen said. “Our friends did all the work.” She helped herself to another piece of coconut cake. “Terrific cake, Elsie.”

  “Thank you, Helen, dear,” Elsie said. “It’s good to see a young woman with an appetite. Was that your name in a newspaper story about the arrest of that crooked county commissioner? The newspaper said she attacked you.”

  “It did,” Helen said, “and she did.”

  “My wife forgot to mention that she found the evidence that will put Loretta behind bars,” Phil said proudly. “There. I said it officially. My wife.” He kissed Helen again.

  “Loretta hasn’t been convicted yet,” Helen said. “And my husband left out his own part.” It felt good to use the H-word without hating the man connected to it. “Phil tracked down the slum house where Loretta was renting rooms to illegal immigrants.”

  “Danny the developer’s detective did that, too,” Phil said.

  “But Danny didn’t use his knowledge for good,” Helen said. “He blackmailed the commissioner.”

  “Whoa,” Margery said. “You lost me. I thought Loretta Stranahan was against Danny’s Orchid House development.”

  “She was,” Phil said. “But once the police arrested her for murder, she couldn’t wait to rat out Daniel Martlet. She said he was blackmailing her in case he needed her vote on future Orchid House changes.”

  “Did the commissioner give him money?” Peggy asked.

  “No, Danny wasn’t after money. He has enough votes to get the proposal passed. She could oppose him publicly until her reelection. Then, if Danny needed her vote, he had it. She was his insurance policy.”

  “Awk,” Pete said.

  “How could she do that?” Peggy asked.

  “Happens all the time,” Margery said. “I know I sound cynical, but for more than fifty years, I’ve been watching Florida politicians spin like weather vanes in a hurricane. First, they oppose all development as evil. That gets them elected. Once they safely have their seats, they have a sudden conversion. Now development is good. It will bring more tourists and more jobs. In these troubled times, they say, Florida can’t afford to lose this opportunity. Trust me, the times are always troubled. Nothing has changed in half a century.”

  “And the politicians get away with it?” Peggy asked.

  “Almost always,” Margery said. “If the bums get thrown out of office, they find a safe, salaried berth with the developer or his friends. Either way, they win and we, the people, lose.”

  “Loretta will be the exception,” Helen said. “She’s been caught, thanks to Phil, who found the house of the seven toilets.”

  “I think I read that book when I was a little girl,” Elsie said, slightly tipsy from so many toasts.

  “Probably not,” Phil said. “There was nothing charming about this house. Every room, even the garage, was rented to illegal immigrants for outrageous prices. Every room had a toilet. And it was my wife”—he stopped to savor that word—“who counted those toilets.”

  “We know she’s a talented toilet counter,” Margery said. “But can we get to the end of this story before your golden wedding anniversary? You and Helen can split the credit for finding the house of the seven toilets. What happened next?”

  “Loretta got arrested,” Helen said. “Should we tell you about that?”

  “Yes, dear,” Elsie said. Her voice was gentler than Margery’s. “We’re anxious to know, if you don’t mind discussing murder at your wedding.”

  “Marriage and murder go hand in hand,” Margery said. Cigarette smoke formed a crown around her head.

  “A customer at Snapdragon’s showed me a pair of polka-dot heels that didn’t have a price tag,” Helen said. “I put them aside so Vera, the owner, could see them. Vera said the shoes were too damaged to sell and forgot them. Three days ago, I had a brainstorm. I remembered Commissioner Stranahan was in the store when Chrissy was murdered—and she wore polka-dot heels.

  “I called Vera and asked her why the shoes couldn’t be sold. She said they had dark spots on the polka-dot bows. I ran over to the store—actually Phil drove me—and told Vera we had to find those shoes. Loretta was in the store and heard me. When I was searching shelves in the back room, she tried to kill me with a porcelain pineapple. I hate pineapples.”

  “For good reason,” Phil said loyally.

  “Vera called the police when Loretta attacked me,” Helen said. “Detective McNally came in just in time, and stopped the fight. Loretta was arrested and the police took the polka-dot heels. They’ve already confirmed that it was Chrissy’s blood type on the bows. The police lab is still running DNA tests to see if it’s really Chrissy’s blood and if Loretta actually wore the shoes, but they have backup evidence.”

  “If Loretta left her polka-dot heels behind at Snapdragon’s,” Peggy said, “did she walk out of the store barefoot?”

  “No, she shoplifted a pair of eight-hundred-forty-five-dollar Manolos,” Helen said. “We were selling them for about a quarter of that price. Vera noticed the shoes were missing later. I think the theft upset Vera more than Chrissy’s murder. She’ll never get the shoes back to sell, so Vera is out a couple hundred bucks. The police searched Loretta’s home and found the shoplifted Manolos. The police are fairly sure Commissioner Stranahan wore them after she killed Chrissy, and they’ll have proof soon. The stolen Manolos had blood on them, too, and it’s Chrissy’s type.”

  “I’m a little confused by all these shoes, dear,” Elsie said. “Or maybe it’s the champagne.” Her kind eyes were slightly glazed.

  “Chrissy had accused Loretta of having an affair with her husband, Danny the developer,” Helen said, as if she were teaching a class. “Chrissy taunted Loretta and said she knew about the house of the seven toilets. Loretta panicked. Renting to illegal immigrants and owning slum property in Palm Beach County would kill her career.”

  “So she killed Chrissy instead,” Elsie said, shaking her head. “So foolish and wasteful.”

  “She didn’t think it through,” Helen said. “Loretta slammed Chrissy on the head with that heavy pineapple knickknack. The blow stunned her and made her head bleed. Then Loretta hung poor Chrissy with a silk scarf. The commissioner noticed the blood on her polka-dot heels, stole the Manolos and wore them out. But Chrissy’s blood dripped on the tile floor, and Loretta got blood on her sole.”

  “Blood on her soul,” Peggy said. “That’s very poetic.”

  “Awk!” Pete said.

  “It was blood on her shoe sole,” Helen said. “The left one. The police also have a usable fingerprint now. The forensics lab used Super Glue fuming and a dye stain to find a print Loretta left on the pineapple. The fingerprint was the size of a pinkie nail, but it’s big enough to have seven points. That counts as a valid ID.”

  “Your prints were on that pineapple, too,” Phil said.

  “They were,” Helen said. “But my prints were consistent with someone holding it for dusting. Loretta gripped it differently, the way you would to hit someone.”

  “What made you suddenly remember the shoes?” Peggy asked.

  “I was in a restaurant and saw a woman wearing a blouse. It looked like one that had been shoplifted from our store. The thief left her cheap blouse behind and took the expensive one. That’s when I realized Loretta had worn another pair of shoes out of Snapdragon’s. It’s an old shoplifter’s technique. Too bad I told my boss while Loretta was in the store. She attacked me and broke a lot of merchandise.”

  “But you weren’t hurt this time, were you?” Peggy asked.

  “A few bruises,” Helen said. She tried to shrug, but her shoulder still ached.

  “I’ve never attended a wedding where the bride and groom talked about murder,” Elsie said. “It’s nice not to have to compare caterers and wedding presents.”

  “There’s no chance Loretta will go free, is there?” Peggy said. “Could she buy a ‘dream team’ lawyer?”

  “Can’t afford one,” Phil said. “Palm Beach C
ounty took her money machine. They made Loretta pay big-time for damaging the county’s reputation. Palm Beach County did not appreciate a Broward County commissioner creating slum housing on their turf.

  “Commentators made fun of Palm Beach County’s motto, ‘The best of everything,’ when the story went nationwide. The county penalized her to the full extent of the law. The inspectors found twelve hundred seventeen code violations, then gave Loretta a week to fix them.”

  “That was impossible,” Helen said. “I saw those houses. There’s no way they could be fixed in a week. Or even a year.”

  “Exactly,” Phil said. “Loretta was fined two hundred fifty dollars per violation. Don’t ask me how much that came to.”

  “It’s $304,250,” Helen said, proud she could still multiply after uncounted drinks.

  “Loretta could have appealed the decision,” Phil said, “but by then she was charged with murder and denied bail.”

  “Will she fix up the properties while she’s in jail?” Peggy asked.

  “I doubt it,” Phil said. “I think Palm Beach County will impose liens on the two properties, then foreclose and raze them.”

  “What happened to those poor illegals?” Peggy asked.

  “They’re in the wind,” Phil said. “When the inspectors showed up, both houses were empty. Loretta’s illegal fortune will be spent on legal fees. There’s a certain justice in that.”

  “And Loretta will go to prison,” Elsie said. “I like happy endings.” Her smile had a tipsy sweetness.

  Peggy stifled a small yawn. Pete was sleeping with his head tucked under his wing.

  Margery yawned, too. “It’s two in the morning,” she said. “Isn’t it time for you to start living happily ever after?”

  CHAPTER 32

  The storm clouds were long gone. The afternoon sun was beating down on the umbrella table when Helen and Phil strolled out of Phil’s apartment, with the smiling, insufferable smugness of the sexually satisfied. Helen looked glowing, but slightly worn. Phil was whistling.

  Margery sat at the table, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. She grinned at the newlyweds. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon? How’s marriage?”

  “Fine,” Phil said.

  Helen glared at her chipper husband and shaded her eyes from the brilliant sun. “If you loved me, you’d have a hangover, too,” she said. Her voice was a groan from a distant tomb.

  Helen sat down carefully, next to her bridal bouquet, which was still in the vase on the umbrella table. Those roses got around. Today, they were surrounded by a basket of muffins, butter, jam and a platter of fresh fruit. In the center was a giant pineapple.

  Helen looked at the pineapple and winced.

  “At least it’s a real pineapple,” she said, “and not one of those freaking porcelain things.”

  “My wife means thank you for the lovely breakfast, especially the fresh fruit,” Phil said, picking up a blueberry muffin. “This breakfast is so thoughtful. You’ve also cleaned up after the wedding feast.”

  “Wasn’t much left to clean up,” Margery said. “We ate and drank everything. It took Elsie, Peggy and me maybe fifteen minutes. Have you two come to give notice on your rentals?”

  Helen looked surprised. “No. We don’t want to leave. The Coronado is our home. The tax lawyer says we shouldn’t change our standard of living until my IRS problem is fixed, but we may not want to move away even then. We’d like to keep renting the way we always have, if that’s okay with you.”

  “How are you going to pay the rent on two apartments?” Margery asked. “Phil’s quit work and you’re not sure you’re going back to Snapdragon’s. This is a bad time to be looking for one job, much less two.”

  “I don’t want another job,” Phil said. “I want to start my own detective agency. Helen can be my partner at the agency. Or she can type, file and answer phones.”

  “You want me to be your secretary?” Helen said. She managed to muster some outrage.

  “You’ve got great legs,” Phil said innocently.

  Helen stared at him. “I was joking,” he said. “Except about the legs.

  “Margery, Helen and I talked about this. She hasn’t made up her mind yet. She can work with me. Or for me. She can keep on working dead-end jobs. She can get a job as a CPA again. It’s up to her. She can be anything she wants. Our legal problems are nearly solved. Rob is no longer a threat.”

  “I’ve made up my mind about one thing,” Helen said. “I will never work as a corporate number cruncher again.”

  “You don’t have to, sweetheart,” Phil said. He kissed her. “Margery, we’re not making any major decisions until after the honeymoon.”

  “And when is that?” Margery asked.

  “It starts today,” he said. “We’ll be gone for a week. We’d like to leave for the Keys. Sorry for the short notice.”

  “Does that mean I’ll have to watch that damned cat while you’re gone?” Margery blew an angry cloud of smoke.

  “Just for a week,” Helen said. “Please?”

  “I hate cats, but I’ll do it. Where are you going for your honeymoon?”

  “We want to go back to Key Largo,” Phil said. “We got married on the spur of the moment and we need a little time before we have to make serious choices. Thanks to Danny the developer, we have a little money.”

  “We want to spend half of Danny’s ten thousand on the honeymoon, and the rest on starting up Phil’s detective agency,” Helen said. She thought it fair to pay for their honeymoon, since Phil had paid for her mother’s return home.

  “Since I quit work and the agency didn’t give me any separation money,” Phil said, “I don’t have to worry about a no-compete clause.”

  “Where are you going to have your office?” Margery asked.

  “Fort Lauderdale,” Phil said.

  “Rent’s expensive,” Margery said. “Even in an economic downturn.”

  “I’ve got a little saved,” Phil said.

  “Apartment 2C is empty,” Margery said. “You could rent it for your office.”

  “Could I afford the rent on a third apartment here?” Phil said.

  “I don’t know,” Margery said. “Can you come up with a dollar a month?”

  Phil was shocked into silence.

  “You’d be doing me a favor if you rented 2C for your office,” Margery said. “But that one-dollar rent is not forever. Once you start making money, you can expect a substantial increase.”

  “That’s very generous,” Phil said. “I can’t guarantee I’ll make a go of the agency.”

  “You’ll be helping me, whether your business succeeds or not,” Margery said. “I’ll have a hard time renting that apartment now. By rights, I have to tell the next tenant what happened to Mark and Jordan and it’s not a pretty story: A young woman was murdered there and a man went to prison for killing his lover.”

  Helen sat up, startled. Margery had finally accepted that Mark was guilty. The landlady’s recovery was complete.

  Margery was still talking about Phil’s new office. “If I can say my last tenant was a detective agency—even a failed detective agency—well, that puts a different spin on things. So will you do it?”

  “Are you kidding?” Phil said.

  “You don’t like the deal?” Margery said.

  “No, no, it’s a great apartment,” Phil said. “It’s very romantic-looking. I mean, despite what happened there. Apartment 2C has style. I can see Bogie sitting there in a sleeveless shirt, drinking bourbon out of a water glass, killing the big hurt.”

  “You got your movies mixed, sweetheart,” Margery said. “But I get the picture. Do you want the deal or not?”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.” Phil pulled three dollars out of his wallet and slapped them on the table. “Here’s your first and last month’s rent, plus another month for a security deposit.”

  Margery raised her coffee cup. “To the new 2C. May this new venture break the curse.”

  They c
linked coffee cups.

  EPILOGUE

  While Helen and Phil were on their honeymoon, Vera Salinda reopened Snapdragon’s Second Thoughts. Now that Christine Martlet’s murder was solved and the killer was caught, the store was flooded with people. Some were curious, but many were customers. Business was brisk. Vera asked her sister in Plantation to work there full-time.

  Vera sent Helen and Phil a wedding present: a lamp with a turbaned monkey holding a pineapple.

  Peggy sold all her rejected aprons at Vera’s store and earned $250. That was one-quarter of what she’d spent on her ill-fated work-at-home venture. Vera asked Peggy to make more aprons, but Peggy politely refused. She was busy with her full-time job. She spent the $250 on lottery tickets.

  Loretta Stranahan was forced to resign from the Broward County Board of County Commissioners. The other commissioners competed for media time to denounce Danny Martlet’s behind-the-scenes manipulation of the Orchid House project. They unanimously voted down the Orchid House project. Martlet was forced to declare bankruptcy. The Fort Lauderdale beach was safe.

  Until the next developer came along.

  The trial of former commissioner Loretta Stranahan was a Court TV sensation. One commentator praised the defendant’s suits as “sincere,” but they failed to impress the judge or the jury. Nobody believed her lawyer’s argument that some unknown person, for reasons unknown, slipped in and hanged Chrissy Martlet. Too much evidence said Loretta did it.

  Loretta Stranahan was convicted of second-degree murder in the death of Christine Martlet. Under the tough Florida sentencing laws, she will serve at least twenty years in prison. She appealed the verdict, but her funds were limited after Palm Beach County seized her rental property and razed it.

  But that was months in the future.

  For the rest of August, Helen and Phil stayed in an ocean-view suite in a Key Largo hotel. The weather was unusually stormy, but the newlyweds didn’t care. They lived off room service, made love and watched the black clouds rushing over the water. Lightning flashed and thunder rattled the windows. Helen and Phil thought the storms were created for their entertainment.