by Elaine Viets
“You’ll lose her anyway when she goes to jail,” Helen said.
“I said shut up!” Vera looked frantic. The doorbells jingled and a tourist began trying on necklaces. Helen knew Vera would have to watch the woman. Necklaces were easy to shoplift.
“I’ll wait on this customer,” Vera said. “You go in the back and look for those shoes. If Loretta needs anything else, get it for her, please.”
Helen dropped her voice and said, “Then do me a favor, too. Call Detective McNally.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Vera said. “Not till you find those shoes.”
Helen made her way quietly to the back, passing the ridiculous monkey lamps, the Limoges china, the Blue Willow ginger jars and other breakable knickknacks, then the racks of designer clothes and shoes. The light was on in the front dressing room. Commissioner Stranahan must be trying on suits.
Helen parted the curtain to the back room. To the left was Vera’s desk, a landfill with a phone. On the right were floor-to-ceiling shelves. The top two overflowed with shirts, skirts, jeans and sweaters in boxes and bags. The middle section was loaded with lamps, china and more monkey monstrosities, from bookends to fruit bowls. The bottom shelves were a hodgepodge of shoes, unsorted by size, color or style.
Might as well get to work, Helen thought, though she didn’t want to kneel on that hard concrete floor. She unearthed a throw pillow still in its plastic bag, used it to cushion her knees and started at the lower shelf section closest to the curtained entry.
Helen moved a heap of designer heels, cleared away a flock of flats and shoved aside a swarm of suede boots. After ten minutes, her back hurt. Helen sat up, stretched, then went back to six lace-up leather shoes, tangled together by their shoestrings. Helen was struggling to separate them when she heard a slight noise, followed by a whoosh and a thundering crash. Shards of pottery flew across the hard floor like shrapnel. A green lamp had exploded near her head.
Helen was startled to see Loretta standing over her, wielding a plaster bookend. She ducked, and it narrowly missed her head. At least it’s a monkey bookend, Helen thought. She shrieked like an air-raid siren and hoped Vera could hear her up front. Loud noise could save her life. Helen scrambled to her feet and screamed louder, all the while looking for a weapon.
She threw a Waterford vase at Loretta. The commissioner dodged it expertly, and the crystal vase broke into a shower of diamonds.
Loretta was barefoot. She carefully sidestepped the broken glass. A too-tight skirt and a crookedly buttoned shirt should have hampered Loretta’s movements. But she reached effortlessly for a white porcelain pineapple on a middle shelf.
“Oh, no,” Helen said. “That’s how you killed Chrissy. I’m not going to die by a damned pineapple.”
“Some people are too nosy to live,” Loretta said, and hurled the pineapple at Helen’s head. She ducked and the pineapple smashed into her elbow. Pain shot up Helen’s arm and left her dazed and dizzy. Between flashes of bright light and threatening darkness, she searched frantically for something else to throw.
There it was—a lamp with a turbaned monkey holding a pineapple. That made it triple ugly. Helen reached for it.
Loretta moved faster. She clobbered Helen on the shoulder with a green marble paperweight. Helen punched Loretta in the mouth and the politician landed on her rump. A second punch laid Loretta out flat on the floor.
Helen shrieked once more. This time, Vera materialized in the dim back room, clutching a polka-dot heel. The store owner stood over Loretta, aimed the spike heel at her eye and said, “Move and I’ll drive this right into your brain.”
“No! Don’t!” Helen said. “You’ll mess up the DNA.” She was still holding the turbaned-monkey lamp over Loretta.
A man’s silhouette filled the doorway. He was holding a gun.
“Drop it,” Detective Richard McNally said. “Put your hands up and drop it right now.”
Helen let the monkey monstrosity fall to the floor with a resounding crash.
CHAPTER 29
“Officer, arrest these women,” Commissioner Loretta
Stranahan said. “They attacked me.”
>Loretta brushed herself off and stood up amid the wreckage, her shoeless feet crunching broken pottery and plaster bits. She seemed to gain height and authority as she spoke. She looked Detective Richard McNally right in the eye when she lied to him.
“We attacked her?” Helen didn’t try to hide her outrage. “She tried to kill me with the same weapon she used to stun poor Chrissy.”
“I never touched that pineapple,” Loretta said. “I wouldn’t have such a hackneyed ornament in my home. She’s lying, Officer.” She looked regal, even barefoot and with a blouse buttoned crooked.
“No!” Helen said. “It’s she who’s—”
“Quiet, ladies,” McNally said. His command silenced them.
“It’s Detective McNally, Ms. Stranahan,” he said. “Delighted to see you here. It saves me a trip. I was on my way to your office when Ms. Vera Salinda called my cell phone and said you were trying to kill Ms. Hawthorne at her store. I’d like to continue our discussion, Commissioner Loretta Stranahan, at Hendin Island police headquarters. Among other things, we can talk about how you knew Mrs. Martlet was hit on the head with a porcelain pineapple.”
“I read it in the paper,” Commissioner Stranahan said.
“That information was never released to the media,” McNally said.
“It was on television,” Stranahan said, her voice growing shrill.
Detective McNally said, “You have the right to remain silent. . . .” He continued the chant familiar to crooks and cop-show buffs. Loretta Stranahan grew silent.
Helen felt dizzy. She leaned against the cluttered shelves.
“Helen, are you sick?” Vera asked.
“I don’t feel well,” Helen said. “I need some caffeine.”
“Can I make a pot of coffee?” Vera asked.
“I need statements from you and Ms. Hawthorne,” McNally said. “We have coffee at the station.”
“I have to close my store again?” Vera asked. “I helped you and I have to suffer?”
“I hope this will be the last time, Ms. Salinda. As soon as the uniforms arrive, they’ll take you in police cruisers.”
“If I go out of here with the police, I’ll look like I’m being arrested,” Vera said. “This will ruin me.”
“You are not under arrest, Ms. Salinda,” McNally said.
“Can I call my fiancé?” Helen asked. “He’s getting fired this afternoon. I want to make sure he’s all right. If I don’t come home at my usual time, Phil will worry about me.”
“He should,” McNally said. “You can make one call in my presence. I don’t want you contacting the media.”
Helen dialed Phil’s cell and got his voice mail. “Hi, Phil, the police have Loretta. They caught her while she was trying to kill me.”
“I did not!” Loretta yelled.
“I’m okay,” Helen said, trying to reassure the machine. “Well, I guess I would be or I wouldn’t be making this call. I mean I’m not hurt, just a few bumps and scratches. I kept my promise. I didn’t confront Loretta Stranahan alone. She snuck up on me. Vera called the police, and Detective McNally arrived in time.”
Might as well give McNally a verbal pat on the back, she thought. It couldn’t hurt.
Helen continued her cell phone soliloquy. “Vera and I have to go to the Hendin Island police headquarters to give our statements. I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’ll call you when I’m free. What happened at work—did you get fired? Did you quit? Are you still employed? I hope you’re not upset. I’d better go. I love you.” She shut her cell phone, and wondered if her rambling message would ease Phil’s fears or worsen them.
It was after seven o’clock that evening when Helen emerged from the Hendin Island headquarters. The air was cooler and the station’s walled garden was a tempting rest spot. She sat down on a concrete bench near a pink hi
biscus bush. Helen had to admit, for a police station, this one was a beauty.
Her first act was to call Phil. This time, he answered his phone. “Helen, what happened? Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in the garden at the Hendin Island station,” Helen said. “I’m fine. Can you pick me up? Did you get fired?”
“I’ll be right there,” Phil said. “No, I didn’t get fired. I quit. They wanted me to go to Cancún to bring home that young woman and I walked out. We can talk about it when I see you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Helen shut her phone.
Vera staggered out of the station, looking ragged. The skin under her eyes seemed bruised and her face was pale. She sat down on the concrete bench next to Helen.
“You arrived at the right time,” Helen said. “Where did you get that polka-dot heel?”
“In the section you were about to search,” Vera said. “I think they’re going to book the commissioner. I heard someone in the hall say Loretta won’t talk until her lawyer arrives. He’s on his way, but he was over in Fort Myers.”
“That’s more than a hundred miles away,” Helen said.
“Right. He’s supposed to get here in another hour. It’s going to be a long night for Detective McNally. Serves him right for closing my store. I was trying to be a good citizen.”
“Do you want me at the store tomorrow, Citizen Salinda?” Helen said.
Vera managed a grin. “No, I’m taking a couple days’ vacation. This week is wrecked. I need to decide if I want to save my business or sell it. Take some time off until I call you, Helen. I’ll pay you, if you want.”
“No need,” Helen said, and instantly regretted her grand gesture. “I think I broke at least a week’s pay in lamps and bookends.”
“You definitely killed half that pair of monkey lamps,” Vera said.
“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “But it was the closest lamp. And it was ugly.”
“You’re not sorry,” Vera said. “You hated that lamp. And it’s not ugly. It’s amusing. You don’t seem to get that decorating concept. But I forgive you. You solved the murder. Now the cops will leave me alone and stay out of my store.”
Vera stood up, shouldered her fashionably huge purse and said, “I’m exhausted. Do you want a ride home?”
“Thanks,” Helen said. “I’ve already called Phil. He should be picking me up any minute.” Her cell phone rang, and she said, “That may be him now.” She waved good-bye to Vera as she checked her phone’s LCD display. It had a St. Louis area code.
“Helen! Helen!” Her sister was whispering into the phone. A shrieking whisper, if such a thing was possible. Kathy sounded terrified.
“What’s wrong?” Helen asked. “Is it Tom? The kids?”
“It’s Tommy Junior.” Kathy started sobbing. “They found out. I—he—he’s going to—”
“Kathy!” Helen said sharply. She went into older-sister mode.
“Calm down. Take a deep breath, then tell me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what happened. Where are you?”
“In my van, driving around,” Kathy said. “I’m on Manchester Road.”
“Pull into a parking lot. You shouldn’t be driving when you’re upset.”
There was a short silence. Then Kathy said, “I’m parked in a supermarket lot. I have to get back soon. Tom took the kids to the library and they’ll be home any minute.”
“Why are you whispering if you’re alone?” Helen asked.
“It sounds worse if I say it out loud,” Kathy said. “I got that phone call, panicked and ran. I had to get out of the house. I felt like it was going to smother me.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Helen begged.
“Someone said I had to bring five thousand dollars in a plastic grocery bag and leave the money on the steps of the new church hall,” Kathy said.
“And if you don’t?” Helen asked.
“Then the new church hall will develop a sudden, terrible problem with its foundation,” Kathy said. “The caller knew. He knew what we did.”
Kathy sounded like she would start sobbing again.
“When do you have to have the money?” Helen asked, hoping to hear the whole story.
“He said I had two days. But where am I going to get that kind of money? I could have used the cash Mom left in the cookie jar, but I’ve already deposited it in the kids’ college account. Tom will notice if it’s missing.”
“I have money,” Helen said. “I still have that three hundred thousand. I’ll get five thousand dollars and FedEx it to you.”
“But if we pay him once, we’ll have to pay him again,” Kathy said.
“This will buy us some time,” Helen said. “Some very expensive time, but Tommy is worth it. Give the blackmailer the money. The next time he calls and makes a demand, I’ll fly to St. Louis and stake out the drop-off site.”
“What reason will you have to come to St. Louis?” Kathy asked. “Won’t Phil get suspicious if you suddenly want to come home?”
“I still have the IRS problem to straighten out,” Helen said. “And I’ll want to visit my family. What do we know about this blackmailer? What did he sound like?”
“I don’t even know if it was a man. I just said ‘he.’ The person used one of those voice-changer thingies and sounded like Darth Vader,” Kathy said. “He called our home, so he doesn’t have my cell number. I tried to use the star sixty-nine function on our landline to see where the call originated, but the number was blocked. We don’t know anything.”
“Yes, we do,” Helen said. “We know he wasn’t an honest citizen, or he would have called the police when he saw us burying—”
She heard the station door slam. A uniformed officer ambled down the walk. Helen put on her best straight-arrow smile until he went to his car.
“Helen, are you there?” Kathy asked.
“Sorry, someone was going by,” Helen said. “Your caller didn’t tell the police when he saw us doing something he thought looked suspicious. Why didn’t he? That tells us something. Also, he didn’t call your cell. He called your home. He knows where you live, but he’s not close enough to have your cell phone number. Maybe the blackmailer is that guy who was meeting his girlfriend on the church lot—what was his name?”
“Horndog Hal,” Kathy said. “He needs money, all right. He has four kids, a wife and a mistress. I’d never give him my cell phone number. The caller could have been old Mrs. Kiley, my next-door neighbor, but she doesn’t even have a computer. I can’t see her getting a voice changer at RadioShack. The Kerchers in back of us were on vacation. And the Cooks on the other side—”
“Kathy, we’ll worry about this later,” Helen said. “I’ll FedEx you the money tomorrow. And don’t worry. I told you before: I’ll go to jail before I let Tommy get dragged into this, and I mean it. Call me if you hear any more from the blackmailer.”
“Thanks, Sis,” Kathy said, and hung up.
The silence seemed shattering after her sister’s emotional call. Helen cursed Rob and the day she’d met him. He couldn’t die when she wanted him to. Now he couldn’t even stay buried. That worthless twit was not going to ruin her nephew’s life.
The sound of a vehicle interrupted her thoughts. It was Phil. Helen watched her fiancé leap out of the Jeep, his silver hair glowing in the setting sun. Her knight in blue denim.
“Helen,” he said, folding her into his arms. “You’re free.”
She clung to him. “Right,” Helen said. “I’m free.”
CHAPTER 30
The black limo pulled up to the Coronado Tropic Apartments as night was falling. It was three days since Commissioner Stranahan was arrested for the murder of Christine Martlet. The limo was as long as the apartments’ parking lot. A driver with bulging muscles and a baby face carried a vase of two dozen white roses and a gift basket the size of a shrub decked with white ribbons. He was nearly hidden behind the gifts.
Margery met the driver at the gate, her eggplant caftan a graceful sail in the eve
ning breeze.
“I have a delivery for Miss Helen Hawthorne,” the driver said.
“She’s sitting out by the pool with her boy toy,” Margery said. “Come in.”
The driver carried his gifts to the umbrella table, where Helen and Phil were holding hands. Helen was drinking box wine. Phil had a beer and those orange chips. Peggy was stretched on a chaise with Pete the parrot on her shoulder and a glass of wine in one hand.
“Miss Hawthorne?” the driver asked.
“Here,” Helen said.
The driver set the vase and the gift basket on the table, then stood before her like a high school student reciting a lesson. His dishwater blond hair stuck up in a cowlick. “Mr. Daniel Martlet presents his compliments and his thanks for your help in solving his wife’s er . . .”
The driver skidded to a stop, backed up and tried again. “Mr. Daniel Martlet presents his compliments and thanks you for your help. He hopes you will enjoy these gifts as a token of his esteem.” The driver bowed his way out of the backyard.
“This is so romantic,” Peggy said. “It’s like a prince sent you a gift.”
“Good boy!” said Pete.
“Well, don’t keep us commoners waiting,” Margery said. “Open it.”
Helen held the opulent bouquet of roses like a beauty queen and inhaled its scent. “Mmm,” she said. “These smell like real flowers, not hothouse funeral roses.”
“Take time to smell the flowers some other day,” Margery said. “Show us your loot.”
Helen winked at Phil, pleased that Margery was her sassy self again. She pulled the ribbons and cellophane off the basket. Inside were Krug Grand Cuvée champagne, pâté, Carr’s water crackers, pistachios, clusters of tiny red grapes, apples, pears and cheddar.
“I’d say he was grateful,” Margery said. “The man sent you almost two hundred bucks’ worth of champagne. That’s pretty high esteem.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Helen said.
“Then I like the way Danny the developer thinks,” Phil said, abandoning his beer and orange chips.
