by Elaine Viets
Helen’s cell phone rang and Thumbs sprang up.
“Hey, babe,” Phil said. “I’ve got good news. I’ve found our friend.”
She heard the sound of success in his voice.
“Who is he?” Helen said.
“I’m on my way home to tell you,” he said. “You know I don’t like talking on cell phones. Is something wrong?”
“I got bad news from Kathy,” she said.
Triumph turned to concern. “Is she hurt?” Phil asked. “What about Tom and the kids?”
“No, they’re all safe,” Helen said. “But we need to fly to St. Louis tomorrow. I’ll tell you why when I see you.”
“Okay,” Phil said. “We can investigate Ceci’s husband while we’re there. I’ll get Sunny Jim to pay for the trip. You sure you don’t want to tell me now?”
“Not on a cell phone,” she said. Not ever, she thought. But I have to. I have no choice.
“Love you,” he said, and clicked off.
Those two words slashed Helen’s heart. Would Phil still love her after she’d told him what she’d done? What would happen to their baby, Coronado Investigations? And Margery, the closest person Helen had to a mother?
Fresh tears flooded her eyes. I won’t sit here and mope, she thought, wiping them away. I can’t brood on this anymore.
Helen made Phil’s bed and wondered if they’d ever make love on those black silk sheets again. She rinsed her coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher. Would he bring her coffee in the morning anymore? Or make popcorn and wine snacks?
She wiped away more tears, then went online and made reservations for their flight, a rental car and a hotel near her sister’s home.
Her cell phone rang and she checked the display. Kathy.
“I’ve e-mailed you the information about the neighbors,” Kathy said. “Do you need me to pick you up at the airport?”
“No, thanks. Just booked a rental car and a hotel,” Helen said.
“What will I tell Tom?” Kathy asked.
“The truth,” Helen said.
“I can’t,” Kathy said. “He’ll hate me when he finds out I’ve lied to him.”
“I meant the truth about Phil and me,” Helen said. “We’re coming to St. Louis to investigate a murder. Do you know a Daniel and Ceci Odell? They live at . . . let me look it up”—she checked her case notes—“225 Clafin Drive in Kirkwood. Ceci was the tourist killed while paddleboarding in Riggs Beach.”
“I saw that on TV,” Kathy said. “I don’t know the Odells, but I have friends who live on Clafin. I’ll ask Maureen Carsten if she’ll talk to you.”
“Thanks,” Helen said. “We’ll be working most of the time we’re in town. You’ll have to find some excuse to get away for the money drop tomorrow night.”
“Already have it,” Kathy said. “I’m on the church’s Summer Fest committee. Those meetings last late. I’ve told Tom there’s one tomorrow night.
“We can at least have a barbecue when Tom comes home from work, right?”
“As long as we’re free by eight,” Helen said. “I’ll read your e-mail now.”
Kathy’s e-mail was a glimpse into that perfect picket-fence life. Kathy said old Mrs. Kiley’s grandson was seventeen-year-old Matt Madley. He went to Parkway West High School and stopped by his grandma’s house two or three times a week to do little chores. “He even mows the lawn,” Kathy wrote. “Find another kid who does that for his grandma. She pays him in chocolate chip cookies.”
The Kerchers, who lived behind Kathy, always hired Nan Siemer to walk their dog, Benji. Nan was fifteen, on the honor roll, and lived two doors up from the Kerchers. The dog was a cute white twelve-year-old bichon.
Not sure why we need the dog’s info, Helen thought, but I asked for information and she delivered.
The Cook family on the other side of Kathy included the father, Lee Boyd Cook; his wife, Sharon Osborne Cook; and their two daughters, Chloe Madison Cook and Cassidy Mason Cook. Cassidy was a sophomore and Chloe a senior at Webster High. “I gave you their middle names because there are so many Cooks,” Kathy added.
“Thank you,” Helen said to the computer screen.
She checked the time, then brushed her hair and put on fresh lipstick. Might as well look my best when I ruin my marriage, she thought. I wish I could fix this gut-wrenching fear, but there’s only one cure for that.
She heard Phil’s key in the lock and pasted on a smile. He burst through the door, picked her up and waltzed her around the room. Thumbs took refuge from their flying feet under the coffee table.
“I found him!” he said. “I found the diver!”
“Who is he? Where is he?”
“Randy,” Phil said, kissing her soundly. “Randall.” Smack. “Travis.” Smack. “Henshall.” Smack.
These may be the last carefree kisses I’ll ever get, Helen thought. She pulled herself together and asked, “The same Randy lured away from Sunny Jim’s by more money at Bill’s Boards?”
“And the same one who probably trashed Jim’s paddles and helped steal his boards,” Phil said. “The manatee molester who hates women tourists.”
“Way to go,” Helen said and tried a lopsided smile. “Where did you find him?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly find Randy himself,” Phil said. “I showed his photo around the dive shops.”
“What photo?” Helen asked.
“I made one from that video you took of him lurking around Sunny Jim’s. The dude at Riggs Beach Dive Shop identified Randy as the diver who rented an underwater scooter about eight o’clock the morning Ceci was murdered. He returned it at three.”
“The time fits,” Helen said.
“Randy signed the rental agreement ‘John Smith,’” Phil said.
“Original,” Helen said.
“And paid cash,” Phil said. “I asked why Mr. Smith didn’t use a credit card. The dude said Mr. Smith was paying down his debts and had cut up his credit cards. He left a five-hundred-dollar cash deposit instead.”
“Isn’t that a little irregular?” Helen said.
“Irregularities at that shop can be cured with a cold cash compress,” Phil said. “This information cost me fifty bucks. I stopped by Bill’s Boards looking for Randy, but the employee said Randy up and quit.”
“Let me guess,” Helen said. “The day after Ceci was murdered.”
“Wrong. The day before,” Phil said.
“Think Randy called in rich?” Helen asked.
“That’s my guess,” Phil said. “He hasn’t been seen in any of his usual haunts. Randy’s been heading downhill since he wrangled that sea cow. He lives in a dump off Riggs Beach Road and drives a junker. His landlady says he left for a vacation the day after Ceci died. He didn’t say when he was coming back, but he paid a month’s rent in advance.”
“Sounds like he’s playing it smart,” Helen said. “He’s gone off somewhere else to celebrate.”
“He’ll turn up soon,” Phil said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have paid more rent on his apartment. Meanwhile, I’ve convinced Sunny Jim we should fly to St. Louis to check out Daniel Odell.”
“Good,” Helen said.
“Hey, can you show a little more enthusiasm? We’re getting a free trip to see your sister. Why do you want to go to St. Louis, anyway?”
“Uh,” Helen said. She was standing on a crumbling ledge, staring into a bottomless lake. She had to take the plunge, and it might be fatal.
“Sit down,” she said.
Phil plopped on the couch. Helen studied the face she loved: his long, slightly crooked nose, those blue eyes, that silver hair haloing his young face. She sat next to him, took his hand and gently touched his wedding ring. Would he pull it off when she finished?
“You look pale,” Phil said.
Here goes, she thought, and stepped off the ledge.
“Remember when Mom died and we went to St. Louis for her funeral?” she said, still holding his hand.
“Of course,” Phil said. “Th
at was a hard trip home for you, but I got to spend some time with my in-laws. I love your family. I have a cool brother-in-law. Tom and I ran out of beer and you and Kathy sent us off for guy time at Carney’s Bar.”
“While you and Tom were at the bar, Rob turned up in Kathy’s backyard,” Helen said.
“You never told me that,” Phil said.
“It gets worse,” she said. A whole lot worse, she thought.
“Rob was drunk. He demanded fifteen thousand dollars. Then he said you got his secondhand goods.”
“Why, that no-good SOB,” Phil said. “I’ll punch his face in.”
“I tried to,” Helen said. “That’s when the trouble started. Rob grabbed my arm and bent it back. He hurt me so bad, he forced me to my knees.”
Phil tensed and gave a slight growl.
“Then he sat next to me on a lawn chair, all the while twisting my arm. My nephew, Tommy, saw that lowlife threatening me and hit Rob with his bat as hard as he could.”
“Good,” Phil said.
“Not good,” Helen said. “He knocked out Rob. Kathy sent her son to his room; then we threw water on Rob and revived him. He refused to go to the emergency room. He laughed and demanded to talk to me alone.
“This time, I sat down in a lawn chair with the bat. Kathy gave me her cell phone and went upstairs to see Tommy. I told Rob I wasn’t going to pay him. He didn’t answer me. I thought he’d fallen asleep. I shook him but—”
“He was dead,” Phil said. He spoke slowly, as if trying to absorb the words, then said, “Little Tommy killed Rob.” There was wonder in his voice. Wonder and something else Helen couldn’t identify.
“Yes,” she said. Now she rushed to finish her story, to get this horror over with. “So Kathy and I wrapped Rob’s body in plastic and hauled it to Mom’s church. They were building a new hall and the concrete floor was going to be poured the next morning. We buried Rob under the crushed rock.”
“And you never called 911?” Phil asked.
“Kathy begged me not to,” she said. “I said Tommy was defending me. I said I’d take the blame. She refused. She said Tommy would be ruined, like KK.”
“Who’s he?” Phil voice was ominous. He pulled his hand away from Helen’s grasp.
“A boy we went to school with who accidentally killed his baby brother. It wasn’t his fault, but everyone called him a killer. KK’s in jail now. His life was never the same. Kathy was afraid that would happen to Tommy. I offered to take the blame myself and say I hit Rob with the bat, but she said Tommy would step up and confess the truth to save his aunt Helen.”
“And you didn’t bother calling Tom and me, even though we were a block away?” Phil’s eyes crackled with electric blue fire.
“I couldn’t,” Helen said. “She wouldn’t let me.”
“Your little sister, a marshmallow suburban mom who sits on church committees, wouldn’t let you?” His lips twisted into an ugly smile. Phil stood up and paced his living room. “Yeah, I can see why you couldn’t. Kathy’s one tough customer.”
Helen winced as if he’d hit her.
“Not calling the police, I might understand. Might. It’s a stupid move, but I could at least follow your reasoning. But not telling me, your own husband? What’s your excuse, Helen?”
Phil shouted at her for the first time ever. Thumbs came out from under the coffee table and stared.
“I don’t have an excuse, Phil. I was wrong.”
“Damn right you were!”
He took a deep breath, then said slowly, “So now, after all these months, you suddenly trust me. Why the big change?”
“Because Kathy and I are being blackmailed,” Helen said. “He says he’ll make sure Tommy is known as the Killer Bat Boy. He doubles his demands each time. Last time, he wanted thirty thousand. Now he wants sixty thousand tomorrow night at nine. I don’t have much more money.”
“And where the hell are you getting this money?” Phil slapped his forehead dramatically. “Oh, wait, I know. You’re giving him your share of your house sale, aren’t you?”
Helen nodded, not daring to speak.
“Kathy still didn’t want me to tell you, but I said I had to,” Helen said. “I need you, Phil.” Her voice quavered.
“Now you need me,” he said. “I’m so honored. Do you even know who’s blackmailing you?”
“He uses a voice changer. I think it’s one of Kathy’s neighbors,” Helen said. “Kathy thinks Rob is blackmailing us.”
“I thought you said Rob was dead.”
“He was. He is. But head injuries are tricky.”
“Not as tricky as you, sweetheart,” Phil said, his eyes angry. There was no love in that last word.
“There is one bit of good news,” Helen said. “Kathy taped the last blackmailing demand. In Missouri, only one party has to consent to a taped call.”
“Perfect,” Phil said. “You’ve got a tape of someone with a voice changer.”
They sat in shattering silence for a long moment.
When Phil spoke, his voice was hard and low. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Helen. We’re going to St. Louis tomorrow. I assume you’ve already booked the trip.”
She nodded, too afraid to speak.
“Do you have the information about the other blackmailer suspects?”
“Yes, Kathy e-mailed it to me.”
“Then send it to me, along with the reservations. I will help you and Kathy catch the blackmailer. You will help me investigate Daniel Odell.”
“Kathy knows a woman who lives on their street,” Helen said.
“Good. These are Coronado Investigations’ last two cases. Now, get out.”
“Out?” Helen said.
“Go to your own apartment. Give me your key to this one. We’re through, Helen. It’s over.”
“That’s not fair,” Helen said. “You would have done the same thing.”
“I don’t think so,” Phil said. “I’d like you to leave.”
In a daze, Helen found her cell phone and purse, then picked up her cat.
Thumbs struggled to get away, raking her arm with his razor claws. He jumped to the floor and slid under the couch, leaving Helen bleeding and alone.
CHAPTER 20
Helen stumbled out of Phil’s apartment, dazed as a shipwreck survivor, and nearly fell over Margery. Their landlady was weeding the orange-and-yellow coleus plants along the walkway.
“You’re dripping blood on my concrete,” Margery said. Her cigarette was carefully balanced on the walkway’s edge so the ash fell into the flower bed.
“You heard,” Helen said.
“Every word,” Margery said. Her smile could have frostbitten those plants.
“Phil’s furious,” Helen said, trying to hold back her tears.
“He’s got every right to be,” Margery said. “And stop dripping blood on my walk. It’s hard to clean up. Did that cat scratch you?”
“Yes,” Helen said. She moved to the grass and watched the red drops fall on the thick green blades as if the blood belonged to someone else—someone she didn’t like much.
“So Thumbs is mad, too,” Margery said. “I hate cats, but I agree with that one.”
“Was I so wrong?” she asked. All the pain she couldn’t feel came out in that agonized question.
“Yes,” Margery said. Her response was a slap. “You promised to love and honor that man. Instead you betrayed him.”
“But I didn’t,” Helen said.
“Oh, really?” Margery said. “You didn’t trust Phil—the man you married—enough to ask for his help? I call that a betrayal. Why didn’t you call him? He was what? A block away?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Helen said.
“That’s for damn sure,” Margery said.
“You don’t know what it was like,” Helen said. “You weren’t there, either. It was one shock after another. Rob stormed in drunk, Tommy knocked him out, he came to again and then he was gone like that.”
Helen snapp
ed her fingers.
“We couldn’t believe he was dead. Kathy and I did every test we could think of to make sure.”
“How could you two figure out if he was dead?” Margery said. “Even the best doctors can’t do that unless someone’s hooked up to a zillion machines in a hospital.”
“We did our best,” Helen said. “And then we realized we were in a suburban backyard with houses all around. My sister was frantic to save her son. Kathy swore me to secrecy. I had to keep quiet.”
“You had to?” Margery’s scorn scorched the grass.
“Yes,” Helen said. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but saving that boy. So we hurried up and got Rob out of there and buried him.”
“Did you really think Phil would betray your nephew?” Margery said through clenched teeth. “He loves Tommy and you know it. Little Allison, too.”
“I don’t know what I thought,” Helen said, staring at the blood-spotted grass. “I guess I just wanted to bury the whole awful episode, like we buried Rob, and never think about it again. Except it didn’t work out. Somebody started blackmailing us and I’ve paid a fortune to stop him.”
“How many demands for money did you get?” Margery asked.
“Three,” Helen said. “No, four. I can’t remember if this is the third or the fourth demand.” The harder she tried to remember, the more confused the facts became.
“Why didn’t you tell Phil when you got the first blackmail demand?” Margery asked, tearing out a weed by the roots. “Why did you lie to him and fly back to St. Louis?” Yank. Another weed was out.
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “I tried to tell him more than once, but it got harder and harder to tell him.”
“And what about me?” Margery asked. She wrapped her old fingers around a vine clinging to a bush and pulled. “I’ve been here for you from the first—even before you knew Phil. You told me you were on the run from Rob. I could have called the cops and had you hauled back to St. Louis. But I kept that secret.”
Margery pulled on the vine. It refused to give.
“When Rob came sniffing around,” she said, “I lied and said you didn’t live here. Hell, I even set him up with the Black Widow. I was sure he’d have a fatal accident, like all her other husbands.” Another fierce tug on the vine. It held.
