The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 2

by Elaine Viets

  “She’d get so mad. She’d wait till he went to bed and then sneak downstairs and eat a quart of Ben & Jerry’s. But Daniel caught on and padlocked the fridge after dinner.

  “Daniel was old-fashioned. He didn’t want Ceci to work. She said if she had a baby she’d have something else to think about besides food. Daniel wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want a baby. He said they couldn’t afford one.”

  “Is that true?” Helen asked.

  “They were in debt,” Maureen said. “Like all of us.”

  “Was either Daniel or Ceci having an affair?” Helen asked. “Did they want to divorce?”

  “No,” Maureen said. “Ceci still loved Daniel. She wanted things to go back the way they were. Daniel’s family is very rich and very Catholic. They would have been unhappy if he’d divorced.”

  “Did Ceci have life insurance?” Helen asked.

  “Yes,” Maureen said. “He didn’t want to pay for that. Daniel said she was just a housewife and it wasn’t worth the payments. You can imagine how that made Ceci feel. Eventually he took out a policy for a million dollars. Ceci joked that Daniel made her feel like a million bucks. She was proud of that policy, even if the premiums were high.

  “This trip to Florida was supposed to be a second honeymoon,” she said. “Instead my best friend was killed. And you want to hear the worst part? Daniel had her cremated.”

  “That wasn’t her wish?” Helen asked.

  “No!” Maureen said. “Ceci was Catholic. The Church doesn’t forbid cremation, but most Catholics prefer burial. Ceci could have been buried next to her parents at Calvary Cemetery. Instead, she’s sitting on the mantel in their house. It’s disrespectful. Well, I’ll tell you one thing—she’s a hell of a lot thinner now.”

  Helen said her good-byes soon after that, and walked around the block while she waited for Phil to finish interviewing Soames Welch. She reveled in the May sunshine. It felt less punishing here than in Florida. People in Kirkwood sure liked their gardens, she thought. She enjoyed the quirks of the houses, so much older than most South Florida homes—an odd gable, a stained glass window with a beaux arts vase, flower boxes overflowing with pink petunias.

  On her third circuit, Phil stumbled out of Soames’s house, looking slightly dazed. She waved and ran for the car, then honked the horn.

  Wispy-haired Soames followed Phil, talking all the way. “Say, that’s some dame you got for a driver,” he said. “You private eyes.” He winked at Phil. “Was I any help?”

  “You were a big help, sir,” Phil said. He shook Welch’s liver-spotted hand and slid into the car.

  “Drive away,” he muttered. “Quick.”

  “Did he really help?” Helen asked as she turned onto Kirkwood Road.

  “Oh, yeah,” Phil said. “He said that Daniel and Ceci were in debt, and Daniel was mean enough to kill his wife. But he says Daniel never went diving and knew nothing about it. Also, there was a big life insurance policy on Ceci.”

  “That’s also what Maureen told me,” Helen said. “A million dollars. Plus Ceci wanted a baby and Daniel didn’t.”

  “Here’s the best part,” Phil said. “Mr. Welch said that Daniel was having an affair—with Maureen.”

  “What!” Helen was stunned. “But she was Ceci’s best friend.”

  “Happens more than you think. Mr. Welch caught Daniel and Maureen together,” Phil said.

  “At a hotel?” Helen asked.

  “No, at a Home Depot,” Phil said. “Mr. Welch went there to buy a new ceiling fan. He’s quite the DIY dude. He parked at the far end of the lot because he wanted the exercise. There was only one other car that far away from the store. It was dark—about eight on a winter night—and he started hiking to the store, when who does he see drive up but Maureen. The passenger door opened, the light flashed on, and Mr. Welch saw Daniel in the car with her. Maureen parked next to his car—the lone car in the far corner of the lot. He got out, ran to his car, waved and drove off.”

  “So?” Helen said. “Maureen gave Daniel a ride to his car when she met him in the checkout line. It’s dangerous to walk around an empty parking lot.”

  “Mr. Welch says Maureen never went to Home Depot, not even for plants. They had their kitchen remodeled—”

  “I saw it,” Helen said. “Beautiful job.”

  “It should be,” Phil said. “Cost thirty thousand dollars, according to Mr. Welch. He says Maureen can barely change a lightbulb and her husband isn’t any handier. They hire all their work out. Daniel loves Home Depot. It would be the perfect place for him to leave his car for an assignation with Maureen. No one would be surprised to see Daniel’s car there. Ceci would never question Daniel spending a couple of hours at his favorite store.

  “So Daniel had a million reasons to kill his wife,” Phil said.

  “A million and one, if you count Maureen,” Helen said. “She lied to me. She made Daniel sound like a terrible person.”

  “What better way to deflect attention away from their affair?” Phil said.

  “She told me Daniel’s family is very Catholic and they wouldn’t approve of a divorce.”

  “I’m sure,” Phil said. “But that doesn’t mean Daniel won’t run off with Maureen once he gets his million in insurance. He definitely goes to the top of our suspect list. When we get back to Lauderdale, I’ll have to figure out how he contacted that diver.”

  We’re having a normal conversation, Helen thought. Maybe he’s forgiven me.

  “Doesn’t the city look good?” Helen said. “I love driving on a sunny day.”

  Phil ignored her attempt at conversation. “What’s next?” he asked.

  “I have to stop by the bank and pick up the money for tonight.”

  “You know that’s risky,” he said. “A withdrawal that big will be reported to the authorities.”

  “I still have to do it,” she said.

  “But not with me,” he said. “Drop me off at the hotel first.”

  The sun vanished behind a cloud.

  CHAPTER 22

  As she pulled into Tom and Kathy’s driveway, Helen thought their house could be a picture in a family magazine. Her sister waved from her gingerbread front porch, gleaming with its new white paint. Rambler roses tumbled over the picket fence. Allison and Tommy Junior scrambled out of the backyard, yelling, “Aunt Helen! Uncle Phil!”

  Helen inhaled the meaty perfume of barbecue. Pork steaks! She was still St. Louisan enough to identify the city’s favorite barbecue.

  Tom prodded pork steaks with his barbecue fork at the grill. Helen could read his sauce-smeared apron: THIS IS A MANLY APRON FOR A MANLY MAN DOING MANLY THINGS WITH FOOD.

  For the first time since her fight with Phil, she smiled.

  This homey scene is a relief after my tense time at the bank, she thought. I was nervous as a cat burglar at a police convention when I withdrew the blackmail cash. Then I had to endure four hours of Phil’s sullen silence in our hotel room. He reread that free copy of USA Today until I thought he’d wear the newsprint off the pages.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Aunt Helen,” Allison said as she hugged Helen’s legs. “I got a present for you.” She stepped back and solemnly handed Helen a drawing of a butterfly with red and turquoise wings. The butterfly’s black feet gripped a bright purple flower.

  “I love it,” Helen said. “I’m going to frame it and hang it in my kitchen.”

  “Really?” Allison said, her eyes widening.

  She looks so much like her mother did at that age, Helen thought. “Really,” she said, and kissed her niece’s dark curls. “You’re much taller than the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m older,” Allison said. “I’m four years, eight months and one week.”

  Oh, for the days when I proudly counted each week so I’d be older, Helen thought. “Let’s put your pretty drawing in my car so it doesn’t get dirty,” she said, and carried it to the PT Cruiser.

  Tommy, nearly eleven, was too old for a hug. Hel
en smiled when he greeted Phil with a handshake and a man-to-man “How are you, Uncle Phil?”

  “How’s the future Albert Pujols?” Phil said.

  “He left,” Tommy said.

  Phil, who didn’t follow the finer points of baseball, seemed confused. “Left what?” he asked.

  “Albert Pujols abandoned the Cards for bigger bucks in Los Angeles,” Kathy explained.

  “So who do you want to be now?” Phil said.

  Tommy shrugged. “David Freese is okay. So is Jason Motte, the relief pitcher. He can hit.” Helen smiled. Tommy’s boyish enthusiasm was turning into cool teen indifference.

  “I’m not sure kids idolize players anymore like in the old days,” Kathy said, as if in apology.

  “But I still want to play for the Cards,” Tommy said.

  When he smiled, he looked like his father. They had the same dirty blond hair and broad shoulders, Helen thought, though Tom Senior had the beginning of a paunch.

  “How about some batting practice?” Phil asked.

  “No time,” Kathy said, halfway up the back stairs to the kitchen. “Dinner’s in five minutes. I have to leave at eight, and so do you and Helen. Phil, get a beer out of the cooler and talk to Tom. Both you kids wash your hands. Then, Tommy, put the plastic knives and forks on the picnic table. Allison, I need you to put a napkin by each plate.”

  Helen followed her sister into the kitchen, noting sadly that Kathy’s dark hair had more silver and she’d put on a few pounds since her last visit.

  Kathy’s kitchen was no showcase, but it was livelier and more lived-in than Maureen Carsten’s. Bowls of potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw and a huge platter of corn were lined up on the table.

  “I’ll start carrying these out,” Helen said.

  “Quick!” Kathy said, her voice low. “While the kids are washing their hands, did you get the money without any trouble?”

  “The teller made me see a bank manager, but he was so busy I hope he’ll forget to report the transaction,” Helen said. “The money’s in my car, packed in a cloth Schnucks bag. We’ll all leave here together at eight.”

  “How will I get the money?” Kathy said. Helen heard her distress at this small complication and felt sorry for her little sister—and guilty for the worry she caused her.

  “Pull into the convenience store on Lindbergh on the way to the drop-off,” Helen said.

  “Good,” Kathy said. “I always buy a lottery ticket there.”

  “You do?”

  “You know what they say: ‘You can’t win if you don’t play.’” She grinned at Helen.

  “That’s the spirit, Sis,” Helen said. “And you won’t seem out of place if anyone spots you there. We’ll transfer the money in the parking lot. Then Phil and I will leave first in our rental car and park in the lot next to the drop-off spot.”

  “Good choice,” Kathy said. “That drugstore is always crowded. You’ll blend in.”

  “You wait at the convenience store until ten minutes before nine,” Helen said, “then make the drop-off and go.”

  “Go where?” Kathy asked. “I can’t go home. I’m supposed to be at a meeting.”

  “Go back to the convenience store and really buy a lottery ticket,” Helen said. “Or wait there for me to call your cell phone. Don’t be alarmed if you don’t hear from us right away.”

  “What are you going to do?” Helen heard the fear in her sister’s voice.

  “Phil and I may have to confront the blackmailer,” Helen said.

  “Will you call the police?” Kathy asked.

  “We’ll try not to,” Helen said. “Do you have the recording?”

  Kathy nodded, then reached into a kitchen drawer by the phone for a slim metal recorder. “Here,” she said. “The recording is on it.”

  “If we tell the blackmailer he’s been recorded, that should scare him away permanently,” Helen said, crossing her fingers that Kathy didn’t realize a recording with a voice changer was useless. “Hopefully we won’t have to go to the police, but I don’t know how long it will take. It could be a while.”

  “You know what I’m going to do?” Kathy said. “I’m going to Cyrano’s on Lockwood Avenue.”

  “The dessert house?” Helen said.

  “You haven’t been there in a while,” Kathy said. “It has food and a bar. I’m going to sit in the nice dark bar and have”—she paused for a moment—“a raspberry cosmo in a real glass glass. That kind that breaks if the kids even look at it. For one hour, I’ll pretend I’m mysterious and sophisticated. I’ll even wear my black pants and new black blouse.”

  “And Tom won’t notice when you walk out all dressed up?” Helen asked.

  “I have my ways,” Kathy said, and giggled.

  Helen hugged her sister. “Good plan.”

  She carried the potato salad outside just as Tom was putting the pork steaks and burgers on the picnic table. Kathy followed with a basket of hamburger buns and the coleslaw. Two more trips and all six were seated at the picnic table, piling food on their plates.

  Tom waited until Helen and Phil had their first bites of pork steak, then asked, “Well, how is it?”

  “Awesome,” Phil said.

  “Perfect,” Helen said. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a good pork steak. Florida doesn’t appreciate the special delights of the pork shoulder. I can tell you’ve used Maull’s barbecue sauce, like a true St. Louisan, but there’s more in this.”

  “My secret ingredients are mustard, brown sugar and beer,” Tom said, grinning proudly. “Some for the cook and some for the sauce.” He waved at a man in the next yard who was slowly climbing down his back stairs. “Hi, neighbor!” Tom said. “How’s your knee?”

  That must be Lee Cook, Helen thought. And I can definitely see him from Kathy’s backyard. So much for her theory that the Cooks’ view was blocked. Lee was fortysomething with thinning mouse-colored hair and a round face with the features smushed in the center.

  “I’m better,” Lee said.

  A chubby woman with short brown hair and a thin, sharp nose stuck her head out and said, “He’s so much better he’s going bowling tonight, against doctor’s orders.” She smiled fondly at her husband.

  “Aw, I’m just going to shoot the breeze with the boys,” he said. “Sunshine here has me on lockdown since I had knee surgery.”

  Kathy turned white when Lee said “Sunshine.” Helen raised an eyebrow. She’d told her sister that was a common nickname. Phil and Tom were oblivious to the sisters’ silent communication.

  “Lee and Sharon, these are my in-laws, Helen and Phil, all the way from Florida,” Tom said proudly.

  Helen waved. Phil stood up and said hello.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lee said. “Don’t let me interrupt your dinner.” He limped to his car and waved good-bye.

  “What time is it?” Helen asked.

  “Ten till eight,” Kathy said, and started piling up paper plates.

  “You go ahead and get dressed, sweetie,” Tom said. “The kids and I can clean up.”

  Kathy didn’t hesitate. She flew up the stairs to change.

  “Will we get to see you before we leave tomorrow afternoon, Tom?” Helen asked.

  “No such luck,” he said. “I’ll be at work. But thanks for stopping by tonight. Kathy’s been so jumpy lately. She’s much calmer since you got here.”

  Tom gave her a slightly beery kiss on the cheek. Helen and Phil said their good-byes. Kathy honked the horn on her minivan. She’d slipped out the front door and was ready to go.

  They met two miles down the road at the convenience store. Phil stayed in the car while Helen handed Kathy the cloth Schnucks supermarket bag.

  “Watch it,” she said. “It weighs a ton.”

  Kathy carefully placed the heavy bag in the minivan’s passenger seat.

  “You look chic in your black outfit,” Helen said. “How are you?”

  “Nervous,” Kathy said. She tried a small smile. “I hope Lee isn
’t the blackmailer. He’s such a nice neighbor.”

  “I hope so, too,” Helen said. “We’ll be drinking cosmos before you know it.”

  “You promise?” Kathy’s lip trembled.

  “Trust me, Little Sis,” Helen said. “You’re dealing with pros now.”

  CHAPTER 23

  8:58 p.m.

  Helen and Phil were parked at the edge of the drugstore lot, facing the empty strip mall on Manchester Road. Only two feet of grass divided the blacktop lots. Cars streamed in and out of the drugstore lot.

  The strip mall’s parking lot was empty and had been for two years. Once, the low redbrick building had housed four struggling businesses: a bridal resale shop, a discount shoe store, a dog groomer, and a pretzel store. All were empty now, their dark, dusty windows plastered with sad FOR LEASE and GOING OUT OF BUSINESS signs.

  Across the street was Jackie’s Fine Eats. The homey restaurant lived up to its name. Helen had had a first-rate meal there and still remembered the luscious gooey butter cake. Only two cars were parked in front of Jackie’s, both anonymous silver. Inside, Helen saw a man eating at a table in the far corner while a waitress hovered nearby. The chairs at the front tables were upended on the tabletops and a man mopped the floor. Jackie’s closed at nine o’clock, she remembered.

  Helen checked again to make sure the Cruiser’s headlights were off. The drugstore lot had more than enough light for Helen to see the rusty blue Dumpster where Kathy would drop the blackmail money.

  Any car traveling west on Manchester could turn into the strip mall’s short potholed drive, continue past the Dumpster, go around the back and come out on the other side.

  Manchester was six lanes wide here, divided by a concrete median. Even at this hour, the road was clogged with traffic. Eighteen-wheelers barged through on their way to major highways. Small cars zipped past. Nobody drove the speed limit.

  Phil drummed his fingers on the dash.

  “Nervous?” Helen asked.

  “Mrx,” he said.

  Okay, buddy, if that’s the way you’re going to be, she thought, I won’t tell you about my secret weapon in the backseat. But if this goes sideways, you’ll be damn grateful I brought it. Buying that aspirin at this drugstore was brilliant. You’ll see. You need me and you know it. And so does Coronado Investigations.