by Elaine Viets
Helen didn’t know how long it took the police dive team to find Laredo’s little yellow car. Time seemed to stretch, then fall away. When the battered Honda was pulled from the canal, Savannah did not say a word. Helen was afraid to offer any comfort, even a hug. If she touched Savannah, she would shatter, and they’d never put the pieces back together.
When the grim business of resurrecting the dead car was complete, the police opened the trunk. There was a body inside. The police would not let Savannah see it, but they said it was a small blond woman wearing short-shorts and one red high heel.
Laredo had been found.
“It’s over,” Savannah said. For a brief moment, she looked like her old self. “I can bury my little sister. And she won’t wear a dress slit up the back.”
At sunset, Helen was sitting by the Coronado pool with Margery and Peggy. Pete sat on Peggy’s shoulder, munching an asparagus spear. The chubby parrot was on a diet.
Helen brought out a box of white wine. Peggy found a can of cashews. Margery added a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries. The evening breeze sent bougainvillea blossoms sailing across the pool. It was just like old times.
“So tell us what happened this morning,” Margery said, “after they pulled out the body.”
“The police got a search warrant for the house,” Helen said. “They were looking for evidence to link Laredo to Hank Asporth.”
“You think they’ll nail the bastard?” Margery took a big bite of her strawberry. It dripped on her purple shirt.
“I hope so. He can say Laredo’s fingerprints were in his house because he dated her. But he’ll have a harder time explaining away her purse. It was in the same closet where I found her red shoe. They found other stuff, too. He’s been charged with the murder of Laredo Manson.”
“I thought Mindy killed Laredo.” Peggy picked up a cashew. Pete eyed it.
“I heard her say it, right before she went up in flames—and off to hell. Once the car was found, Hank started babbling and his lawyer couldn’t shut him up. He swears Mindy strangled Laredo and he was only a terrified bystander.”
“But that’s true, isn’t it? Aren’t you going to tell them about Mindy’s confession?” Peggy ate her cashew and picked up another. Pete watched with beady-eyed interest.
“Hank could have stopped her from killing Laredo. He hid the body and nearly worried Savannah into her own grave. I’m not testifying on his behalf,” Helen said. “He kept his silence—I’ll keep mine.”
“What happened the night Laredo was killed?” Margery took a healthy gulp of wine.
“I think I’ve pieced it together from random remarks by the police, some stuff Savannah said and educated guesses. I know Laredo got some damning information from Hank’s home computer the night he’d abandoned her to talk on his cell phone.”
“Served him right,” Margery said. “I hate people who ignore you to yak on their cell phones. So she put it all on that red disk and tried to blackmail him?”
“Yep. Hank offered Laredo twenty thousand dollars for the disk, then doubled his offer. I think the cops found some uncashed checks in her name. But Laredo didn’t want money. She wanted Hank to marry her. Savannah told me that. The confirmation was in the Girdner Surveys files.”
“Where?” Peggy finally popped the cashew in her mouth. A disappointed Pete bit his asparagus.
“Laredo told the survey taker that she lived at Hank’s house. I saw that information in the Girdner files. Laredo wanted to be Hank’s wife and have the big house and a place in Lauderdale society. I think that’s why she was at his house the night she died: Laredo threatened to go public with the information if he didn’t set a wedding date.
“Hank was not going to marry her. Laredo was definitely going to talk. It would have brought down the whole money-laundering operation. That’s when Mindy strangled Laredo.”
“With the same scarf that caught on fire?” Margery liked the gruesome details.
“I don’t know,” Helen said.
“How’d they get rid of the body so quick?” Margery said.
“The cops think Hank and Mindy carried the body to Laredo’s car, which was parked in Hank’s garage, and put it in the trunk. Mindy removed the drink glasses and other signs of Laredo. Hank stuck a murder mystery in the VCR.
“He was congratulating himself when he noticed one red heel and her purse by the couch. He tossed them in the guest-room closet as the police rang the doorbell.”
“And where was Mindy?” Peggy listened spellbound, yet another cashew in her hand. Pete moved stealthily toward it.
“She drove the car with Laredo’s body in it to the driveway next door. Then she went for a walk until the police left. When the cops were gone, Hank and Mindy dumped the car in the canal. They had some trouble with it. We’d had a lot of rain that week, and the car sank into the mud and tore up Hank’s backyard when the wheels spun.
“His lawn service told the police he wanted them to replace the damaged grass. They have the order. Hank called them the day after Laredo was strangled. Hank still owes them money, so they’ll be happy to testify against him.”
“How come no one saw the car go into the canal?” Margery said. “It’s bigger than a bread box and bright yellow.”
“Hank’s next-door neighbor wasn’t home. The other neighbor was almost deaf. The house across the canal was shuttered and the snowbird owner wasn’t in Florida until January.”
“And what about Mindy’s car? There’s no parking on those private streets.” Peggy’s cashew was suspended in midair. Pete leaned forward, watching it.
“On Las Olas, where she’d been drinking before she showed up at Hank’s house. Mindy took a cab over to Hank’s because she was afraid of a DWI. The police found the cab records. Hank drove Mindy to her car afterward. Pushing a car into a canal must be a sobering experience. She drove home—but a parking ticket placed her on Las Olas that evening.”
“Ow!” Peggy said, as Pete grabbed her cashew and ate it.
The newspapers reported that sixteen people died in the fire at the Mowbry mansion. Uncounted careers went up in smoke that night. Two city council members and a state senator announced that they wanted to spend more time with their families. They would not be running for reelection. There were twelve early retirements in corporate Lauderdale.
The assistant United States attorney general in the Southern District of Florida refused to prosecute Hank Asporth for the murder of Mindy Mowbry. But the prosecutor did want him for killing a witness—and Laredo’s murder carried a death sentence. Hank sang to save his skin. He got life without possibility of parole, but he won’t be sunning himself in some federal country club.
Thanks to Hank’s testimony, Dr. Melton Mowbry and his partner, Dr. Damian Putnam, along with his funeral director wife, Patricia Wellneck, and the boiler-room bosses Vito, Penelope and Carlo Xavier Cavarelli, were indicted by a federal grand jury for Medicare fraud, money laundering and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. All those coast-to-coast calls were interstate wire communications. They were each sentenced to twenty years.
The burned-out Mowbry mansion was leveled and the property sold to pay Dr. Mowbry’s legal bills. A sixty-something Dallas car dealer bought the land. He plans to build a newer, bigger mansion on the site. It will have three swimming pools, including one with a swim-up bar for his twenty-year-old trophy wife.
But that was in the future . . .
“I start my new job on Monday,” Helen said.
“Isn’t it a little soon to go back to work? The boiler room has only been closed three days.” Margery was in her yard, whacking off dead palm fronds with a long-handled cutter.
Whack! Chop! Thud!
A branch hit the sidewalk, and Helen backed away.
“What are you getting yourself into this time?” Margery said. “I’m not sure I can take much more excitement at my age. Please tell me it’s not another dirty boiler-room operation.”
Whack! Chop! Thud!
; “Absolutely not,” Helen said. “I’ll be surrounded by chiffon and flowers. I’ll be with the richest people in Lauderdale on the happiest day of their lives.”
“You’re working at a funeral home with the loved one’s heirs.”
“Wrong. I’m working at an exclusive bridal shop. We’re talking ten-thousand-dollar dresses.”
Whack! Chop! Thud!
“Well, that’s a relief. How much trouble can you get into zipping women into wedding gowns? Maybe you can get a good deal on a dress for yourself.”
“Not with my luck with men,” Helen said. “The only aisle I’ll walk down is at the supermarket. I think I’ll go sit by the pool.”
Whack! Chop! Thud!
Margery attacked the palm with renewed fury, cutting off its coconuts. “Men!” she muttered, as she de-nutted the palm.
Helen hadn’t heard from Phil since the night she’d rescued him. He’d kissed her good-bye and vanished. She sat by the pool in the noonday sun and pretended to page through the paper. She was really watching Phil’s door.
Margery said nothing, but Helen could hear her thinking, “I told you so.”
She’d been stupid again. She knew it. Phil was another handsome jerk. He was never coming back.
She was dozing in the chaise longue when Margery woke her up. “Why don’t you take a nap inside?” she said. “You’re going to get sunburned. I’ll bring you some food later.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Helen stood up stiffly. Her scorched back and whip-slashed chest and neck still hurt. She went inside, spread aloe vera lotion on her burns, and fell asleep on her bed with her arm around her cat.
She was awakened two hours later by a knock on her door.
Margery, Helen thought. She was such a mother hen, fussing over Helen and bringing sandwiches, chocolate and wine.
“I’m fine.” Helen opened the door. “I don’t need any—Phil!”
He was standing on her doorstep, impossibly tanned and handsome. His ponytailed hair was silver-white. His broken nose went off in an interesting direction.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said. “I’m about finished here. I’ll have to go back to Washington. But I thought I’d take a few days to kick back and see Fort Lauderdale. Want to go with me?”
Helen studied the soft hollow at his throat. It looked vulnerable. She remembered his hands when they pulled her out of the fire last year. They were strong.
“I’d love it. I can show you places the tourists never see,” Helen said.
“Where?”
“Right here.” She opened the door to her apartment. “How do you feel about cheap champagne for breakfast?”
ALSO BY ELAINE VIETS
ANGELA RICHMAN, DEATH INVESTIGATOR
Brain Storm
Fire and Ashes
Ice Blonde (Novella)*
DEAD-END JOB MYSTERIES
Shop Till You Drop*
Murder Between the Covers*
Dying to Call You*
Just Murdered*
Murder Unleashed*
Murder With Reservations*
Clubbed to Death*
Killer Cuts*
Half Price Homicide*
Pumped for Murder*
Final Sail*
Board Stiff*
Catnapped!*
Checked Out
The Art of Murder
Killer Blonde (Novella)
JOSIE MARCUS, MYSTERY SHOPPER
Dying in Style*
High Heels Are Murder*
Accessory to Murder*
Murder with All the Trimmings*
The Fashion Hound Murders*
An Uplifting Murder*
Death on a Platter*
Murder is a Piece of Cake*
Fixing to Die*
A Dog Gone Murder*
FRANCESCA VIERLING MYSTERIES
Backstab
Rubout
The Pink Flamingo Murders
Doc in the Box
*Available in JABberwocky eBook editions
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elaine Viets has written 32 mysteries in four series: the bestselling Dead-End Job series with South Florida PI Helen Hawthorne, the cozy Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper mysteries, and the dark Francesca Vierling mysteries. With the Angela Richman Death Investigator series, Elaine returns to her hardboiled roots and uses her experience as a stroke survivor and her studies at the Medicolegal Death Investigators Training Course. Elaine was a director at large for the Mystery Writers of America. She's a frequent contributor to Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine and anthologies edited by Charlaine Harris and Lawrence Block. Elaine won the Anthony, Agatha and Lefty Awards.
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