by Elaine Viets
Peggy winked at Helen and said, “Oh, me, me, it’s my turn.” She moaned dramatically and fell backward into the chaise.
Pete let out a startled “Awwwk!” Cal stomped off without a word.
“Men!” Peggy said. “They’re all jealous.” That caused another fit of giggles. It was broken by Margery, who blew in like a purple tornado.
“Helen, you got an emergency call from the store on my phone,” she said. “I think it’s serious. First one of those you’ve ever had.”
“Is it Christina?” Helen asked, running for Margery’s apartment.
“No, some guy,” her landlady said.
Margery’s phone was on the TV tray next to her purple recliner. The caller was Paulie, Tara’s boyfriend. He sounded panicked.
“Helen? Is that you? Is it OK to call this number? Tara said you gave it to her for emergencies.”
“I did, Paulie. What’s wrong?”
“Tara hasn’t come home yet. It’s nine-thirty. Juliana’s closes at six. She called me and said she was going to lock up, then stop off at the supermarket. She should have been home by now. If she was going anywhere else, she would have told me. She’s very good about that. No one is answering the phone at the store, and her cell phone isn’t on. I’ve already called the hospitals and checked with the police, and she’s not been in a car accident. I’ll stay here in case she gets home. Could you go over to Juliana’s and see if everything is OK?”
“Of course, Paulie,” she said. “I’ll leave right now.”
She hung up the phone. “I’ll go with you,” Margery said.
“No, stay here in case Paulie calls again. He’s a real worrywart. Tara probably went shopping and lost track of the time.”
But Helen still ran to the store. She didn’t like what she saw when she got there. The lights were on. The alarm system was not. She did not see the “armed” light. She tried Juliana’s green door. The buzzer lock was on. She peeked in the window and saw clothes lying on the floor, a chair upended, a box of hangers overturned. She did not see any sign of Tara.
Helen’s heart was beating fast. She felt time slow down. Tara! Oh, my God. Where was she? Had she been kidnapped? Killed? Helen unlocked the green door and ran inside calling, “Tara! Tara! Where are you?” She heard a moan coming from a dressing room.
Helen threw open the dressing room door. Tara was lying on the floor. Her top was ripped down the front. A nasty bump on her forehead was rapidly turning purple. There was a small red smear of blood on her forehead. Tara groaned and tried to sit up, then fell back on the carpet as a single drop of blood slid down her face. Her long black hair fanned around her.
“Tara!” Helen knelt down beside her. “Tara! What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Two men,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “They forced their way in. They hurt me.”
“Did they . . .” Helen forced herself to say the word. “Did they rape you?”
“No,” Tara said. “They hit me—rammed my head into the wall.”
“Oh, Tara, oh, no, I’m so sorry. I should have never left you here alone. Don’t move. I’ll call the police and get an ambulance.”
“No!” Tara said, gripping her arm. She really seemed afraid now. “They’ll come back and hurt me.”
“That’s why we need the police.”
“Nooooo,” Tara wailed, trying to sit up again. “Please, just call Paulie.”
“Paulie would want me to call the police, too,” Helen said, firmly. “You stay there.” She ran to the phone outside the dressing room, dialed 911, then told the operator what happened.
“Have the intruders left the building? Is anyone else in the store?”
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “I just ran in when I saw the lights on and found Tara and called you. I could look around.”
“Stay right there, ma’am,” the 911 operator said. “Don’t hang up. Keep talking to me. We’ll have someone there in a moment.”
Helen could hear sirens, then the screech of tires. Two patrol cars pulled up in front of the store, and Helen ran up front to let them inside. The two officers looked enough alike to be twins. Both were about six feet tall with short dark hair and open boyish faces, until you saw their eyes. They had hawk’s eyes, alert and watchful. They walked like gunslingers. Helen found that comforting. One had a name tag that said T. Gerritsen. The other one was J. MacWilliams.
The two officers asked Helen to wait outside by the door. “But Tara’s in there,” she said.
“We know that, ma’am. We need to check things first,” Gerritsen said.
The two officers went inside Juliana’s, guns drawn. No one had ever entered the fabled green door that way, although a few women must have thought about it.
While she waited, Helen kept berating herself. She should have stayed with Tara until closing. Instead, she let herself get irritated by Tara’s silliness. What kind of manager was she? She couldn’t even stay another fifteen minutes to make sure Tara left the store safely. If anything happened to her, Helen would have two deaths on her hands—Desiree Easlee and Tara.
She was wringing her guilty hands when Officer Gerritsen reappeared. “The paramedics are on their way. They’ll check her out.”
Helen saw Tara sitting on the loveseat, talking to the other officer, MacWilliams. She wanted to sink down on the carpet and cry with relief.
“Can I see Tara?”
“In a little bit,” Gerritsen said. “We’re talking to her now. Do you have the boyfriend’s phone number?”
“Yes, sure. I should have called him. I’ll do that now.”
“We’ll do that,” the officer said. “We need you to see if anything is missing or damaged. Don’t touch anything. Just see if you can tell.”
Helen walked around the store, stepping carefully to avoid the clothes scattered on the carpet. There weren’t as many as she first thought. Six blouses were pulled off their padded hangers. A few belts were tossed around, along with an Hermes scarf and a Versace evening dress. A chair was overturned, and a box of hangers was spilled on the floor. But nothing was damaged. Even the money was still in the register, about five hundred dollars.
Helen told Officer Gerritsen that nothing was missing up front, not even the cash in the register. “But I’d better check the stockroom, just in case.”
Before she could do that, the paramedics arrived. They gave Tara an ice pack to put on her forehead and urged her to go to the emergency room or see her family doctor. Tara refused. She signed a release form, and the paramedics left.
Helen was shocked by her appearance. The bump on Tara’s forehead had swollen into a purple knot with green highlights. Her snakeskin top was nearly torn in two and she was missing one shoe. But Tara seemed alert and otherwise unhurt.
The police still would not let Helen talk with Tara. She went to the stockroom to finish the requested check. Everything looked undisturbed. The only odd thing was on the security panel. The store’s interior cameras had been turned off. Helen wondered if she or Tara had hit the wrong button and accidentally shut them off.
Helen could hear the police questioning Tara. She was telling her story for what sounded like the second or third time. Helen edged to the door and peeked out at the scene.
“I was getting ready to close,” Tara said. “It was almost six o’clock. That’s when we close. I was here alone because Helen went home early.”
Helen winced.
“Two black men forced their way into the store. They both had guns.”
“What did they look like?” Officer MacWilliams said.
Tara pulled her long hair forward until it hid her face. “One man was tall, sort of husky, muscular. I told you that. One was skinny and short, almost as short as me. I couldn’t see their faces. They were wearing ski masks and gloves.”
In South Florida? Helen wondered. No one on white bread Las Olas noticed two black men dressed like this?
“How did they get in?” MacWilliams asked.
> Good question. Tara would have had to buzz them in.
“They knocked on the door and sort of pushed their way in,” Tara said, vaguely. “I’m not really sure. I guess I panicked when I saw the guns. They ran inside and started throwing things around. They kept asking me, ‘Where is it?’ I didn’t know what they were taking about.”
“Did you see them take anything, ma’am?”
“No,” she said.
“What about the money in the cash register? I understand there’s a considerable sum in there.”
“I didn’t get a chance to count it and put it in the safe,” she said. “I think the short one was going to the cash register when the tall one started hitting me. He hit me in the head.”
“I thought you said he pushed your head into the wall,” MacWilliams said.
“He did that, too,” Tara said, pulling her hair forward to hide more of her face. All Helen saw now was a black curtain of hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not making sense. My head hurts.”
“Just a few more questions, ma’am. When the tall man grabbed you, what did you do?”
“I fought with him, of course. That’s how my blouse got torn.”
Helen saw that only Tara’s top was ripped, the one that she thought made her look fat. The pants that fit like a dream were fine.
“Your nails are pretty long. Did you scratch his face? Sometimes we can get the suspect’s DNA from skin under the victim’s nails.”
Tara held out her hands. Her long fragile fake nails were unbroken. Tara must have realized she didn’t look like she’d put up a fight, because she said, “There wasn’t much I could do. He was bigger than me.”
“What time do you think it was when the tall man hit you?” the officer said.
“A little after six,” she said. “That’s a guess. I wasn’t keeping track of the time. He hit me, and I heard someone rattling the door handle, and then both men ran out the back, and I passed out.”
“And you’ve been unconscious for over three and a half hours?”
“Yes,” she said. “I may have awakened once or twice but I didn’t really come to until Helen found me.”
“The blood on your forehead is fresh, ma’am. You’d think after three and a half hours, it would have dried.”
Tara started crying. “You don’t believe me,” she said.
“I didn’t say that, ma’am,” MacWilliams said. “Now, you say that your store’s security system wasn’t on yet, and your security cameras were not working. But the jewelry store near you has a security camera. Maybe it caught the two men as they walked by there.”
The little bit of Tara visible behind the curtain of hair seemed to grow paler.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think they walked by the jewelry store. I think they got out of a cab in front of this store.”
“A cab,” the officer said. “That’s good. Cabs keep records.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t a cab,” Tara said quickly. “No, I was wrong. It was a regular car. A white car. Like those white cabs, except this car didn’t have the yellow stripe the way the cabs do.”
She’s lying, Helen thought. Even I can tell she’s lying.
“Did you see the driver?” MacWilliams asked. But before Tara could lie again, Paulie’s angry voice thundered through the store.
“What the hell do you mean, why did I wait almost three hours to call someone? Are you questioning me? Me? I been worried sick. Tara told me she was going to the supermarket. She should have been home about seven, seven-thirty at the latest. When she didn’t come home, I called the hospitals and the police, afraid she’d been in a car accident. Then I called Helen. Why didn’t I just drive over here? Because we live in friggin’ Coral Springs. It would take forty-five minutes to get here. Now, do I have to call my lawyer, or are you gonna let us out of this place?” Tara looked up, and her hair fell back to reveal a bruised but hopeful face.
“Do you want to make a sworn statement now?” the officer asked Tara.
“No,” Tara said, and put down the black curtain of hair again. “I’m too sick.”
“You’ve badgered this poor girl enough,” Paulie said, outraged. He stomped angrily back toward the black silk-satin loveseats. His gut bulged out of a navy golf shirt two sizes too small, but for the first time, Helen liked Paulie.
The officer ignored him and said to Tara, “You will prosecute these men if we find them.”
“Damn right she will,” Paulie said. “But you jerkoffs couldn’t find your ass with both hands. I don’t think you’ll ever find them.”
Helen didn’t think the police would find the two men, either—because they did not exist.
“She’s not coming back here tomorrow,” Paulie said. He scooped Tara into his arms and carried her out the door. Tara’s long hair hung down, a dark flag of surrender.
Chapter 15
“Tara’s whole story is phoney as a South Beach boob job,” Margery said.
“I was going to say three-dollar bill,” Peggy said. “Either way, it’s a fake.”
Helen felt better. On the walk home from Juliana’s, she had begun to doubt herself. What if two men really had forced their way into Juliana’s? What if they were connected with Christina and her drugs?
When Helen got home to the Coronado apartments, it was after eleven. A worried Peggy and Margery were waiting for her by the pool. Helen felt so drained, she could hardly walk across the lawn to talk to them.
“You look terrible,” Margery said. “What happened? Are you OK? Is Tara OK?”
“Tara was attacked by two men. At least, I think she was,” Helen said. “It’s all my fault. I should have never left her alone.”
They made Helen sit down and drink tea and eat dark chocolate. “You need sugar when you’re stressed,” Margery said.
Margery gave her a Godiva dark chocolate bar. Peggy brought over a box of Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies she kept in the freezer. Helen ate the Godiva bar in four bites. A half dozen Thin Mints disappeared off her plate, so she must have eaten those, too.
After that jolt of caffeine, she had enough energy to talk about what happened in full detail. Margery and Peggy were as skeptical as the police when they heard the story, and that reassured Helen.
“She’s lying,” Peggy said flatly. Pete, sitting on her shoulder, squawked his agreement.
“Two black men in gloves and ski masks on Las Olas?” Margery said. “They might as well show up in that getup at a Klan rally. Even crackheads aren’t that nuts.”
“I know South Florida is full of crazy criminals,” Helen said, “but I can’t believe two men would force their way into Juliana’s and not take any money. There was five hundred dollars cash in the register. And why rob a dress shop, when there are jewelry stores on the same street?”
“Nothing is missing at Juliana’s, right?” Margery said.
“Not so much as a scarf,” Helen said. “And our internal security cameras were turned off.”
“Sounds like Tara faked a robbery,” Peggy said.
“But why do that, if nothing is missing? Did Tara want the attention? Or was she trying to hide something?” Helen said.
“Hmmm,” Margery said, chewing thoughtfully on a Thin Mint. “I wonder if she was seeing a lover, and the time got away from her. She couldn’t explain her absence to her boyfriend, Paulie, so she staged the robbery and blamed those favorite fantasy culprits, the two black men.”
“Maybe she just wanted rid of that ugly snakeskin top,” Peggy said.
Helen laughed. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Thanks for waiting up for me and for the chocolate. I have to go to work in the morning. I’d better . . .” She stopped dead.
A luminous orange bra and stiletto heels were floating toward them in the darkness. The three women stared in awestruck silence at the approaching bra like it was a 38D UFO.
As it got closer, they saw the glow-in-the-dark bra and heels were worn by a young woman. She had on a thong swimsuit, except the lower part didn’t glow. The w
oman had yards of brown hair, but her suit was spectacularly small. She looked like Wonder Woman in an orange thong. Helen had never seen any breasts, real or fake, jut out like that.
“Excuse me,” the glowing young woman said. “Do any of you drive a green Kia?”
“I do,” Peggy said.
“I’m staying at Danny’s, and I’m blocked in. Could you move your car? I have to be at work at midnight. Oh, is that your cute little birdie?”
Pete made a sweet chirping sound that Helen had never heard before.
“I’ll be glad to move my car,” Peggy told her. “Come along, traitor,” she said to Pete.
When they left, Margery said, “That’s Daniel’s girlfriend. That man needs to find a nice girl. He’s dating a stripper.”
“Are you sure?” Helen said.
“What do you think she is, dressed like that and going to work at midnight? A nurse?”
“I’m beat. I’m not thinking at all,” Helen said. “Good night, Margery. Thanks again.”
Helen headed to her place, which suddenly seemed far away. She waded through the thick fog of pot smoke swirling around Phil’s door, then opened her own apartment. Its familiar smell of tropical mold and trapped heat felt like home.
She was exhausted but jittery from the caffeine in the tea and the chocolate. Helen finally fell into a restless sleep, still worrying about Tara and the strange events at Juliana’s.
Helen was awakened by the sound of a key in the lock. Was someone opening her door? she wondered groggily.
She willed herself alert. Wait. That wasn’t her door. It was her neighbor Phil’s door.
Phil!
He really did exist. Helen scrambled out of bed, determined to finally see the invisible pothead. She didn’t bother throwing on a robe over her T-shirt. She ran barefoot across the cool terrazzo floor and flung open her front door, blinking at the bright morning light.
Helen was too late. All she saw was two brown plastic grocery bags disappearing into Phil’s place. Nothing else. She did not even get a glimpse of Phil’s hand. One bag seemed to be filled with anonymous canned goods. The other contained the biggest bag of Oreo cookies in captivity.
