`` `I've been behind you one hundred percent,' said Irish Johnny. With his knife at her back.
``Jimmy just said, `Congratulations, blondie, you deserve it.' He was the most honest of the three boys.
``Oh, the celebration we had in Harper's bar that night. By rights, I should still have the hangover. Minfreda didn't join us. She was smiling but subdued.
``She moved into her new office the next day, and she looked like she'd been born behind that partners desk. That dark wood and burnt-orange walls made her golden hair into living fire.
``As one of her first acts, Vicki's pink office w dismantled. The purloined walls were removed, the pink shag carpet was thrown out, the window and its hijacked sunshine were restored to the whole department.
``The staff saw this decision as a sign that Minfreda really 150 Elaine Viets cared about office morale. I suspected she had other rea- sons. Now all trace of Vicki's reign--and her removal--was gone. But things were about to get sticky.''
``What happened?'' Helen said.
``The cops showed up. And then Minfreda started act- ing strange.'' Chapter 10
It was almost midnight. The moon rose white and cold.
Helen heard odd rustlings in the bushes near the pool, then a terrified squeak was cut short. South Florida was a strange, primordial place, freshly ripped from the swamps. Predators of all kinds abounded. What did anyone here know about their neighbors?
In Helen's hometown of St. Louis, everyone was con- nected in some way. One phone call, and Helen would know all about a man: where he went to high school, if his dad carried a briefcase or a lunch box to work, if his mom was a church lady, a lush--or both.
In south Florida, people have no families and no pasts. We are all freshly remade and newly hatched, Helen thought. Including me. Including Minfreda, who may or may not have been a murderer.
``It was nearly three weeks later when the police investi- gated Vicki's disappearance,'' Margery said.
``Her sister, Val, called them after Vicki didn't show up for a birthday dinner. It was Vicki's birthday this time. Val and Vicki weren't close, but they never missed their birth- days. Val didn't even have a key to her own sister's house. The cops broke in Vicki's door and found the typed good- bye letter. Oddly, it was the letter that made Val suspicious.
`` `Vicki has never given me anything I've ever wanted,' her sister said. `She wouldn't give me that Mustang. She'd sell it and take the cash.'
``It was funny reasoning. The cops didn't buy it. But when Val told me, I thought it made sense. Remember, I got sent out to buy Val's birthday present.
``The police came here. I talked with a Detective Mow-
151 152 Elaine Viets lby, I think it was. He had an odd name. He was very impressed with himself, but I wasn't impressed with him. He struck me as one of the boys in a trench coat.
``Mr. Hammonds, the CEO, showed the detective Vicki's resignation letter. Mowlby questioned everyone in the of- fice, including me.''
``Did you tell the cops you suspected Minfreda?'' Helen said.
``I told them what I knew for sure,'' Margery said. ``That Vicki was a lesbian and Chris was a woman.''
``What!'' Helen nearly dropped her wineglass on the concrete.
``Sure. I saw them together at a restaurant in Miami.''
``But Vicki flirted with all the men.''
``Yes, she did. Vicki was what we used to call a lipstick lesbian. I don't know if that term is proper anymore. She was excessively feminine. She loved to lead men on. But she lost her heart to a woman with tattoos and a hairy lip.
``When I thought back to her stories about Chris, she'd never said 'he.' And Vicki was so proud when Chris beat up the man who looked at her too long. That story made more sense when you understood that Chris was a woman.''
``But why was Vicki jealous of Minfreda and the atten- tion she got from the men?''
``It wasn't about sex,'' Margery said, as if she were talk- ing to a large, slow child. ``It was about power.
``After Detective Mowlby heard that, he was even less interested in digging. He confirmed that Vicki was a lesbian and had a lover named Christine. He confirmed that Chris- tine had quit her job, closed out her bank accounts, and skipped town, leaving no forwarding address.
``Detective Mowlby figured Vicki and Chris took off for San Francisco or some equally open-minded place. Remem- ber, people ran away from dull marriages and boring jobs a lot more in the sixties. It was an unstable time. Mowlby had more work than he could handle. Most of it was either hopeless or solved itself. The missing twenty-year-old daughter would usually turn up on her own, with VD and track marks, or she'd been living in some crazy commune. Either way, she'd want her middle-class life back, and in most cases Mommy and Daddy were more than happy to welcome her home. KILLER BLONDE 153
``The detective told me that Vicki's bank accounts had been cleaned out by a blonde in a pink coat the morning after she wrote that letter. Her clothes, makeup, and purse were gone. He thought the letter giving her car and per- sonal effects to her sister was a nice gesture. The detective said Vicki might have committed suicide--people often gave away their favorite possessions before they stepped off a bridge. Mowlby checked all the morgues and hospitals, and no blondes like her turned up.
``Val laughed at that idea.'Suicide?' she said.'Not a chance. My sister drove people to suicide, but she wouldn't take herself there.'
``Val called, wrote letters and browbeat the cops. The detective went through the motions. He looked through Vicki's office files in our storage room and had her type- writer dusted, but didn't find any useful prints. Too many people had used it since Vicki left.''
``Left?'' Helen said. ``She was murdered. She was dropped headfirst down a Dumpster. Didn't you tell the police about the Dumpster and the broken coffee cup?''
``Coffee cups break all the time,'' Margery said.
``But you found blood on Vicki's desk,'' Helen said.
``One drop. Maybe she cut herself when she broke the coffee mug. Sure, I thought the rolled-up rug went down the Dumpster, but I had no proof a body was in there. I never looked.''
``You didn't want to look,'' Helen said.
Margery shrugged. ``If Detective Mowlby had asked me, I would have told him what I suspected, but he didn't bother. I was just a secretary. What did I know? Besides, the cops weren't looking for a killer. They knew the staff didn't like Vicki, but most people don't like their bosses. Mr. Hammonds's memo didn't mention that Vicki had sto- len Minfreda's ideas. We all followed the CEO's lead. We didn't mention it, either.
``After a while, Val quit pushing the police and they quit asking questions. Val was thrilled to have that snappy little Mustang convertible. I don't think she missed her mean little sister much. I sure didn't.
``The way I figured it, if Vicki was buried in a landfill somewhere--and I didn't know that for sure--she brought it on herself.'' 154 Elaine Viets
``So Vicki got the death penalty for stealing?'' Helen wished she didn't sound so sanctimonious.
``No, she got it for attempted murder of a career, the worst possible corporate crime. That kind of killing has no recourse under the law, but it does irreparable damage. A smart, talented young woman would have been unemploy- able if Vicki had had her way--not that I'm saying Min- freda murdered that lying slimeball of a boss.''
Margery lit another cigarette. The yellow flame illumi- nated her face for just a minute. She was grinning, but I couldn't tell if she was laughing at me.
Helen sat in the heavy silence and wondered: Did Mar- gery really add those details to make her story more realis- tic? Or did she actually touch that dead foot with the sad pink polish?
The dropped high heel . . . she could have made that part up, maybe. But the warm foot and the pink toenail polish sounded too real.
Helen could feel the hair go up on the back of her neck. It was midnight, and she was drinking white wine with a woman who'd helped a murderer get away.
Maybe I should be glad, Helen
thought. Maybe if the cops come for me, Margery will help me escape, too.
No, that couldn't be right. Margery didn't see anything.
Okay, she was an accomplished snoop. Most good office managers were. Helen had seen some sterling examples at the Coronado. She could imagine her landlady loose in an office. Margery would enjoy her power over the confiden- tial files. She'd like being wallpaper and watching the little personal dramas.
Margery had known there was going to be a confronta- tion that night. Did she sneak back to the office with some trumped-up excuse? Did she see a murder instead of a fight?
Did she watch, hidden behind a desk, while Minfreda moved the body--or did she help?
She remembered Margery's careful wording: I missed the dramatic moment. Not, I didn't see any murder.
Did Margery miss the murder, but see the corpse? Was that why she knew those details?
Did she watch her battered boss go headfirst down the KILLER BLONDE 155 chute into eternity? Did she throw plaster and wallboard on Vicki's grave, instead of roses and dirt clods?
Your imagination is wilder than a college kid on spring break, Helen scolded herself. Margery is a law-abiding citi- zen. She's seventy-six years old.
But Helen saw her landlady on the chaise longue in the silvery moonlight, smoking cigarettes and swilling wine, wearing sexy purple shoes. Margery was not your sweet old grandmother.
``Did you . . .'' Helen started to ask, Did you help move the body?
But the words died on her lips. Margery fixed her with a look that made Helen feel like a butterfly on a pin.
Margery wouldn't actually commit a murder, Helen de- cided. But she might keep silent if she approved. Margery might believe that old Southern defense, ``She needed kill- ing.'' Margery didn't always believe in the law, but she al- ways believed in justice. Justice said Minfreda should have had that job.
``Did I what?'' Margery demanded.
Suddenly Helen was nervous. The moon gave the night a graveyard glow. I've been listening to spooky stories and scaring myself, Helen thought.
But she was never sure about Margery. She did know Margery was not fond of the police. Whenever possible, she solved the problems at the Coronado without calling the cops. There was some history there that Helen didn't understand.
``Did I what?'' Margery demanded again, and Helen's last questions about Margery's role in the murder died in the cold moonlight.
``Did you find out why Chris, her lover, never came for- ward?'' Helen said. ``Maybe they really did run off to- gether. Otherwise, why wasn't she looking for Vicki?''
``Because they'd had a fight right before Vicki's death and broke up,'' Margery said. ``Chris never wanted to see Vicki again. She said so. I knew that because Chris called her once. It was the only time she called Vicki at the office. I happened to pick up the wrong extension and heard them fighting.''
Right, Helen thought. 156 Elaine Viets
``When Vicki missed her own birthday dinner, Val called Chris looking for her sister. Chris knew she'd be the num- ber one suspect if her lover was mysteriously missing, and the law was not kind to homosexuals. Chris really did take off for San Francisco. She lived happily ever after with another woman. I ran into the couple on a trip a few years ago.''
``Did you ever see any signs that Minfreda felt guilty about what she'd done?''
``Was she wracked with murderer's guilt?'' Margery said. ``No, not that I could tell. I think she was glad Vicki was gone. I certainly was. Our office was a better place with- out her.
``But the murder and the double promotion did make Minfreda crazy. She started believing she was all-powerful. Minfreda flirted outrageously with the boys. Really, it was shameful, and they were married men, too. I was disap- pointed in her behavior. I think she may have actually had an affair with Jimmy.
``She ignored the deserving women in our office, and even made fun of the hardest workers. Minfreda's pretty blond head got fat on all that flattery.''
``It's almost as if, after killing Vicki, she turned into her,'' Helen said.
``Maybe,'' Margery said. ``Or maybe all that gorgeous blond hair went to her head. Or maybe she thought she could get away with anything.
``Minfreda forgot that hard work got her promoted. She started coming into the office late and leaving early. She took long, boozy lunches with Jimmy, Bobby, and Irish Johnny while the rest of us slaved at our desks. People were starting to say that she was no better than Vicki, and maybe a little worse.
``The last straw was when Minfreda started ordering me around like I was some kind of servant. I didn't mind pick- ing up her dry cleaning and taking her shoes in for new soles. But one day she handed me her grocery list. She wanted me to do her shopping on my lunch hour. She was one of those nitpicky shoppers, too.'I want the Smuckers grape jelly in the six-ounce size, not the eight-ounce,' she told me. That kind of stuff can make you crazy. I wasn't going to put up with it. ``I went to the store, all right. I put one brown bag on her desk and said, 'They were out of everything but this.'
``Minfreda opened the bag. Inside was a WORLD'S BEST BOSS coffee mug. A nice thick mug.
``Minfreda turned pale when she saw it.'Thank you, Mar- gery,' she said.'That will be all for today.'
``That was all, period.
``Minfreda became a lot more polite to the women in the office. She stopped flirting with the men. She no longer went for three-hour lunches with the boys. Most days, when she didn't have a lunch meeting, she brown-bagged it at her desk. She stayed later and worked harder than all of us put together.
``Her behavior became perfectly professional. All in all, she was a good boss. We all liked her.
``She started dating nice men, on her professional level. The whole office chipped in and bought her a silver chaffing dish when she married a corporate lawyer and moved to Arizona two years later. They had three children, all blondes. That's funny, when you consider Minfreda and her husband both had brown hair. I guess Mother Nature righted that wrong in the next generation. Last I heard, Minfreda was vice president of some accounting firm. She is well respected.
``Just like she was at our company, once she straightened up and started flying right. She was known to be a bit strict, but fair.
``Well, she did make one exception. I have to say, she treated me like a queen,'' Margery said.
``But then, like all good secretaries, I knew where the bodies were buried.'' Read on for an excerpt from Elaine Viets's next Drop-Dead mystery,
Just Murdered
Coming from Signet in May 2005 ``Uh-oh, here comes trouble,'' Millicent said.
If this was trouble, Helen Hawthrone wished she had it. A Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud pulled up in front of Millicent's Bridal Salon on Las Olas Boulevard.
This was a vintage Rolls, the car of new movie stars and old money. It's long, sculpted curves were the color of well- polished family silver. The shiny new Porsches, Beeners, and Ferraris on the fashionable Fort Lauderdale Street looked like cheap toys next to it.
The driver's door opened and out stepped a chauffeur in a uniform tailored to show off his broad shoulders and long legs. His pants hugged the best buns beyond the Gran Forno bakery. His hint of a beard would feel deliciously rough on bare skin.
The chauffeur jogged to the rear passenger door with an athlete's grace.
``Baby, you can drive my car,'' Helen said.
``Sorry, sweetie, Rod's taken,'' Millicent said, ``and it's battle stations. They have an appointment here.''
The chauffeur opened the door, Helen saw a candy-pink spiked heel like something from Barbie's dream closet. Was the woman wearing a size-four shoe? Did they make a size four? Helen was six feet tall and didn't know much about petite-people wear.
This woman might reach five feet. She had on a sleeve- less pink dress with a flirty pleated skirt to match her pink stilettos.
``Oh, my God,'' Helen said, as the woman slid out of the car. ``She's not wearing any panties.''
``Typical,'' Millicent said. ``
Kiki can spend so much
161 162 Excerpt from Just Murdered money and still look cheap. That dress is two thousand dollars, and it's suitable for a child of fourteen.''
``On a woman of forty,'' Helen said.
``Forty!'' Millicent said. ``Kiki Shenrad is fifty if she's a day--and tucked so tight she has hospital corners.''
Kiki threw her arms around the hunky chauffeur and pulled him toward her for a deep kiss, while running her slender leg along his muscular one.
``She'd better pick out a dress quick,'' Helen said. ``I think they're going to consummate the marriage right on the sidewalk.''
Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Page 17
