by Elaine Viets
“No!” Zach said.
No! Helen thought. She shouted the words in her mind, but stood silently by the pool, gripping Phil’s arm. They were losing their home and their office. Margery didn’t bother breaking the news gently. Their homeless state was casually tossed out as an aside in a scathing fight.
“I can help you,” Zach said. “I have money.”
“I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you. Get out. Get out before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
Margery looked so fierce, Zach retreated, tripping over his bedraggled bouquet.
CHAPTER 5
Monday
The sunset salute was a Coronado tradition. Margery, Helen and Phil, Peggy and Pete, and whoever else was at the apartment complex as evening approached gathered by the pool for a drink.
Most sunset salutes were spontaneous celebrations. Margery signaled the start when she arrived with a box of cheap wine. Peggy would drift in after work, with Pete on her shoulder. Pete was a Quaker parrot with a pretty good vocabulary. Peggy was pale as an egret, with an elegant beak and a shock of red hair. They lived in apartment 1C.
Helen and Phil would either come down from their Coronado Investigations office upstairs in 2C or out of their apartments. Everyone swapped jokes, gossip and reports on their day.
But tonight’s sunset salute was a wake. When Margery didn’t show up with the wine, Helen and Phil brought out Chardonnay with a real cork, a sure sign something was off-kilter.
Peggy was confused. “Helen, where’s Margery?” she asked. “Is she sick? Who tossed two hundred bucks’ worth of flowers into the Dumpster? What’s going on?”
“Nothing good,” Helen said. Phil sipped a beer. Helen poured Peggy and herself stiff drinks and delivered the double bad news.
“Awk!” Pete said.
Peggy stayed silent a long time, trying to understand what she’d just heard. Then she reacted like her world was crumbling around her—and if the construction guy was right, it was.
“Margery is divorced?” Peggy asked, and gulped half her wine. “Our Margery? I thought she was a widow.”
“She married Zach Flax in 1955 and divorced him thirty years ago,” Helen said.
“Bad boy,” Pete the parrot said.
“According to Margery, Zach was a drug smuggler,” Helen said. “She didn’t know he was running reefer until a DEA agent showed up on her doorstep.”
“The DEA came here?” Peggy said. Another gulp of wine.
“Right,” Helen said. “Margery refused to believe the fed and drove over to where Zach docked his charter boat. She caught him with a woman named Daisy. Margery told Zach to pack up and get out. He and Daisy took off, and she hasn’t seen her ex until he showed up this afternoon.”
“Woo-hoo!” Pete said.
“Wow,” Peggy said. “Just wow. Margery’s had worse luck with men than I have—I mean, had. Things are fine with Daniel now. But Margery, married to a liar and a cheat. I thought she was smarter than me.”
“Smarter than us,” Helen said. “Until Phil, I had my share of Mr. Wrongs and married the worst one. Guess we’re all sisters under the skin.
“This afternoon, Zach showed up without warning and handed her that giant bouquet of purple flowers you saw in the Dumpster. He acted like he’d never been gone and wanted to get back together.”
“He’s got nerve!” Peggy said. She finished her glass and poured herself another.
“Margery threw his flowers at him, then threw him off her property,” Helen said.
“Good for her,” Peggy said.
“Sal Steer, the construction guy, sat right where you are, Peggy, watching the whole drama like he had a box seat. She should have sold him a ticket.”
“Some people have no manners,” Peggy said.
Like Phil and me, Helen thought. We stayed and stared, too. We couldn’t tear ourselves away, but Peggy doesn’t seem to realize that. “After Zach left, Margery walked into her place and quietly shut the door. We haven’t heard from her since.”
“We thought it was best to leave her alone until she can absorb everything that landed on her,” Phil said. “The clueless construction guy finally picked up his paperwork and left.”
“After you stood over him,” Helen said.
“About that construction guy,” Peggy said. “Is he right? Does the Coronado really need all those repairs? It looks fine to me.”
Even the soft blue-shadowed evening light couldn’t hide the old building’s flaws. This afternoon had opened Helen’s eyes. “Does it?” she asked. “Have you looked at this place lately? I mean, really looked? See the turquoise paint peeling off your door—and mine? What about the rust under the window in 2C?”
“That’s from the window air conditioner, isn’t it?” Peggy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Phil said. “I looked it at from the stairs. A chunk of stucco broke off. I think that’s rust from the rebar. The stucco needs paint. If you look closely, you’ll see more cracks in the building, especially around the stairs and near the roof.”
“Oh,” Peggy said, a soft, mourning sound. “When you love something—or someone—you don’t really notice aging. I always think of my mom as a lively fiftysomething. But the last time I went home, I realized she was nearly seventy-five and starting to look older.”
“The Coronado is still beautiful,” Helen said, “even if it is showing its age.”
“Is Margery really going to tear it down?” Peggy asked, and took another long drink of wine.
“That’s what she says,” Helen said, between sips of her own wine. “The condo developers have been after this street for years.”
“They’re after all the good land in Lauderdale,” Peggy said. “Condos are going up all around us, but our street is still livable. It’s one of the last bits of Old Florida: small apartment complexes with character and pretty Caribbean cottages. If Margery sells the Coronado as a tear-down, that’s the end. This street will be one more anonymous concrete canyon.”
“She says it’s inevitable,” Helen said.
“If Margery tears down the Coronado, what happens to us?” Peggy asked, and Helen heard the cry of an abandoned child in her question.
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “This is the only place I’ve lived since I moved to Florida. If home is where they have to take you in, then this is home. My mother didn’t approve of my divorce. She thought it was a woman’s duty to stay married to an unfaithful husband, the way she had.
“But Margery protected me when my ex came looking for me, hosted my wedding, even performed the ceremony. You and Margery helped me when I was in trouble.”
“You both helped me when I dated that creep,” Peggy said. “We’re family. And now we’re going to be separated.”
“Good-bye,” Pete said.
“We’ll never find a place like this again, where we can all be together,” Peggy said. She reached for the wine bottle, but it was empty.
“More wine?” Margery asked.
She showed up wearing light mourning—pale lilac—and her strong, springy gray hair seemed wilted. Margery looks old, Helen thought, then realized, Margery is old. She’s seventy-six.
Their landlady poured more wine for Helen and Peggy with steady hands, but Helen noticed her tangerine nail polish was chipped.
“What about you, Phil?” Margery asked with false cheer. Phil held up his beer. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Margery lit another cigarette from her almost-finished Marlboro and stretched out in the chaise under a veil of blue smoke. “I assume Helen and Phil gave you the news, Peggy,” she said. Her glowing cigarette watched the trio like an alien eye. “Well, what do you think?”
Peggy, perhaps eager to avoid the painful subject of the Coronado’s death, said, “I was surprised to learn that you were divorced.”
“I got over it long ago,” Margery said.
Helen doubted that, judging by what she’d seen this afternoon.
&nbs
p; “No man makes a fool out of me,” Margery said. “I kicked him out. He took off with Daisy, and that’s the last I saw of him until this afternoon.”
“How did you divorce him if he disappeared?” Phil asked.
“I got a lawyer and he hired a process server to serve Zach with divorce papers,” Margery said. “Hired a good one, too, but Zach had vanished. He still had some months left on the boat lease, and I suspected he was hiding somewhere in the Bahamas. I could have waited until he returned the boat when the lease was up, but I didn’t know if he’d default on the lease and steal the boat. I couldn’t trust him anymore. I never could, but then I realized how dumb I’d been.”
Helen knew how her landlady felt. She also knew Margery would rather have silence than sympathy.
“The lawyer declared Zach a missing spouse, meaning I had no idea how to locate the bastard to serve him with divorce papers,” Margery said. “The court requires some sort of service or legal notification, so Zach could be heard. But he was gone. So my lawyer did service by publication. We showed that we’d made a diligent effort to locate Zach—and I had the bills prove it.
“The court agreed, and let me publish ads in the paper, notifying Zach that the divorce was in process. I only had to run them in Fort Lauderdale, but I was taking no chances. I published ads in every newspaper from Key West to Palm Beach. Cost me a bundle.”
“Did Zach leave anything behind?” Phil asked.
“A box of old papers. My lawyer published a notice saying Zach could pick them up at his office. He kept the box until he retired and closed his practice. Then the lawyer gave them back to me. I’ve got the box in a closet somewhere.
“Zach never responded after sixty days, so my divorce was granted as a default judgment. Since all the community property was in my name, that wasn’t a problem, either. I was just itching for him to say something about the property, because I’d love to tell the DEA where he got that money. He owed me the Coronado, the car, and every penny in the bank for lying and risking my reputation.
“But Zach never contested the divorce. I assumed he’d sailed away with Daisy. I heard they eventually settled in Delray Beach. Now he shows up in my backyard, and I’m so mad I can barely say his name.”
She lit yet another cigarette with trembling fingers. Once its angry orange eye glowed in the dusk, Margery said, “I’m already short a tenant. Cal moved out today. He’s no big loss, but he was quiet and he paid on time.
“After I talked to the contractor, I’d thought today couldn’t get any worse. The repairs are going to be six figures. For that much, I might as well sell the land to a developer and let him tear down the place for condos.”
“No!” Peggy said.
“Good-bye!” Pete said. “Bye!” He paced back and forth on Peggy’s shoulder and flapped his wings.
“I have money from the sale of my house in St. Louis,” Helen said. “It’s enough to cover the repairs. You can have it. No strings.”
“You need that money,” Margery said. “Even if I fix the Coronado, it will still be an old building, and something else will break down. It will need new gutters next and the sidewalk is cracked.”
“You could rent out Cal’s apartment,” Phil said. “You’d get some rent until you have to make a decision.”
“I’ve already decided,” Margery said. “It’s hurricane season. One big storm could blow the whole facade off. There will be no more new tenants.
“I can’t put you in danger, either. Start looking for a new home.”
CHAPTER 6
Monday
Phil’s cell phone broke the silence following Margery’s bombshell. He checked the display.
“It’s Nancie,” he said. “The lawyer. Helen and I have to take this call. Sorry.”
“Go!” Margery said, waving them away. She seemed relieved to see Helen and Phil leave. Peggy used their departure to excuse herself. No one wanted to stick around for a postmortem.
Phil put his phone on speaker as he walked with Helen toward his apartment. “What’s up?” he asked Nancie.
“The kidnapper called with a ransom demand,” Nancie said.
“How much?” Phil asked.
“You know better than to ask that on a cell phone, Phil,” the lawyer said. “Detective Boland finally released Trish at four o’clock.”
“That late?”
“Exactly,” Nancie said. “He’s gunning for her. We need to meet. Now.”
Helen thought she heard an unspoken accusation, but it could have been her own guilt. Her amateur mistake had set the Peerless Point detective on Trish’s trail.
“Trish is here at my office,” Nancie said.
“We’re on our way,” Phil said.
They stopped to feed Thumbs. Then, for the third time that day, Helen drove Phil to Nancie’s office. Crawled, actually. The highway was clogged with rush-hour traffic.
“How many disasters can we cram into one day?” Helen asked. “In the twelve hours since we’ve met our client, she’s become a widow and a murder suspect, and we’re homeless.”
“Don’t forget Margery’s long-lost ex showed up and she chucked him out,” Phil said.
“I’m still reeling from that news,” she said. “Some detectives we are, overlooking a mystery in our own backyard.”
“Why would we investigate a friend?” Phil asked. “Margery’s past is none of our business. The subject must have been too painful for her to discuss, even with us.”
“I understand that,” Helen said. “I don’t like talking about my ex, either. I just can’t imagine living anywhere but the Coronado.”
“Me, either.” Phil pointed to a new twenty-story condo on the corner. “Certainly not there, in a pink stucco shoe box with palm trees.”
“Didn’t that place sue some poor guy because he put up black curtains?” Helen asked. A yellow Hummer trying to make the light cut her off. Helen slammed on the brakes and the burly vehicle blew through the intersection.
“I don’t want to deal with condo commandos,” she said.
“Yep. The condo rules say all curtains have to be lined in white,” Phil said.
“I can’t live like that,” Helen said. “Besides, most condos don’t allow pets. We’d need to find a place for Thumbs.” She drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “These red lights last forever. No wonder that Hummer ran over me, trying to make it.”
“We could get a house,” Phil said. “That’s a nice one.” The sprawling ranch across the street was handsome. Its white tile roof glared in the heat, but the soft lawn was a cool green oasis. “Plenty of room for Thumbs. But I can’t see myself mowing the lawn.”
“Then we’d have to deal with a lawn service,” Helen said. “And hordes of repair people. Every time there’s a storm, we’d have to put up hurricane shutters.” She sighed. “We can’t leave the Coronado, Phil.” The light changed at last, and the Igloo crept forward.
“We don’t have a choice,” Phil said.
“I know. But Margery’s made our life there so easy. She manages the property and that gives us time to run our business. Now I feel like an orphan.”
“You still have me,” Phil said, and kissed her.
She smiled at her husband. “Yes, I do,” she said. “And my sister, Kathy, and her husband, Tom, in St. Louis. But the Coronado is the closest thing we have to a family here in Florida. Margery is my mother, Peggy’s my sister and Margery’s friend Elsie is our sweet, dotty old aunt. Once we move, it won’t be the same.”
“No, it won’t,” Phil said.
A sorrowful silence descended while Helen thought about the good times they’d had at the Coronado: the countless sunset salutes, Peggy’s schemes to win the lottery, Phil’s careful courtship and their triumphant wedding feast by the pool. It was painful to leave the scene of those good times for an uncertain future.
Helen was relieved when she turned into the lot for Nancie’s neat cube of a law office. Trish’s Mercedes was parked under the sa
me palm tree and Nancie’s practical Honda was still near the back. The place looked the same as this morning, but now everything was different.
Inside, Nancie sat behind her desk, still fresh and energetic. Trish had changed dramatically. Her grim ash-gray pantsuit matched the smudges under her eyes. She’d tucked her blond hair back into its chignon and put on fresh makeup, but she seemed frail and exhausted.
Her eyes were red from weeping. Helen didn’t know if she’d been crying over her murdered husband or her missing cat.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, hoping that would cover either.
“Mort was a good man,” Trish said, sniffling. She reached for the box of tissues that Nancie kept next to the client chair. “He always wanted what was best for our baby. Even though we disagreed about everything, he put Justine’s welfare first so we could work out a custody agreement.”
She wiped her eyes. “Now I don’t know how I’m going to bring her up alone.”
Another tear storm threatened, and Nancie tried to hold it off. “We did get some good news,” she said. “The catnapper called, so we know Justine is alive.”
“Tell us about the call, Trish,” Phil said, his voice gentle.
“Well,” Trish said, then took a deep breath, “Detective Boland kept me at the police station for hours. Nancie wouldn’t let me say hardly anything, and that made him madder. He kept asking the same questions in different ways. When he finally let me leave, I was so tired I could hardly drive home. I’d barely unlocked my door when my cell phone rang.
“A voice said, ‘I have Justine. If you want to see her alive again, I need half a million in cash.’
“I said, ‘Please don’t hurt my baby.’
“The voice said, ‘I won’t if I get the money. But I’m no cat lover. If I don’t get five hundred thousand, she’ll go to the pound, and you know what they do to strays.’”
She was crying so hard, Helen had trouble understanding her.
“Trish!” Nancie said. “You have to pull yourself together. For Justine’s sake.”
