The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 1

by Elaine Viets

  The creamy blond Lisa sniped back with carefully disguised insults. In between bouts of marching down the aisle, one bridesmaid said, “Have you seen Pamela? She’s so skinny. How did she lose that weight?”

  “It’s the South Beach Diet—Ecstasy and Corona,” Lisa said. “Right, Jason?”

  Jason shot her a murderous look. The others giggled.

  Helen was relieved when Kiki and Jason disappeared, until Jeff sent out a search party for them so they could do another run-through. This wedding had more rehearsals than a Broadway musical.

  The church’s elevator was out of order. Helen had to lug the dresses up the steep back stairs. That’s where she stumbled over the missing Jason and Kiki. Kiki’s breasts were nearly popped out of her low-cut gold gown, and Jason had popped out as well. Was he auditioning for the role of chauffeur?

  “God, you’re making me so hot,” Kiki said. “Let’s come back here after the rehearsal.”

  “I’ve got a bed,” Jason said, grinding his pelvis into hers. “We don’t have to do it on the back steps.”

  “I want to do it in the church,” Kiki said.

  Oh, Lord, Helen thought. She wished she hadn’t heard that. The couple was so intensely wrapped up in—and around—each other, they didn’t notice her. Helen stepped around them and said nothing. Let someone else find them in flagrante.

  Rod the chauffeur sat in the car like an abandoned pet. Helen wondered if Rod knew his days were numbered.

  The only man in the wedding party who hadn’t been personally selected by Kiki was Chauncey. The groom insisted on the theater director as his best man. Helen liked Luke for that. There was a decided coolness between Chauncey and Kiki.

  But it was nothing compared to the frost between Kiki and her ex-husband, Brendan. Under their ice was real fire. Helen heard them exchange hot words when no one was around.

  Helen gave Jason and Kiki enough time to put their body parts back in their clothes, then hauled more dresses up the steps. Now Jason was gone. Kiki and her ex were fighting on the landing. The little lawyer looked like his daughter, except he had more vitality and more chin.

  “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.” Brendan was dangerously red in the face.

  “It’s none of your business. I’m not married to you.” Kiki’s face-lift was stretched at the seams. Helen could see white scars under her anger-reddened skin.

  “You should think of our daughter,” Brendan shouted.

  “You’re a fine one to talk, questioning every penny I spend on her wedding.”

  “Penny!” Brendan sputtered like an overflowing radiator. “You’re bankrupting me with this goddamn wedding.”

  Helen couldn’t stand there, listening to them fight. She shook the bagged dresses until they rustled like sacks of autumn leaves. Brendan broke off abruptly and left.

  Kiki said, “Oh, girl.”

  “My name is Helen.”

  “Whatever your name is, I won’t have you sneaking around, listening at doors.”

  “There isn’t any door,” Helen said. “This is a public stairwell.”

  Kiki’s eyes narrowed. “Listen here, you little c—”

  Helen put up with a lot, but there were limits. “Don’t you dare use that word.”

  “Don’t you dare talk back to me,” Kiki said. “I’ll buy that store, just to have you fired.”

  Helen shrugged. “If you want to spend a million bucks to get rid of a salesclerk, be my guest.”

  Kiki pointed a long gold fingernail dangerously close to Helen’s eye. “And then I’ll make sure you never work in South Florida again.” She whirled off in a flurry of gauzy gold skirts, like a brilliant dragon.

  “I hate rich people,” Helen muttered when Kiki was gone. “Worthless, useless bloodsuckers.”

  Helen heard a soft cough and realized she wasn’t alone. Jeff the wedding planner was on the steps. Four frightened bridesmaids peered over his shoulder. Helen wondered how much they’d heard.

  “Can I help you carry those dresses upstairs?” Jeff said.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” Helen said.

  “Okay, people, let’s get back to the rehearsal,” Jeff said. Everyone carefully stepped past Helen. No one said a word.

  Helen delivered the dresses upstairs, then paused to watch the rehearsal. As her mother’s behavior grew more flamboyant, Desiree seemed to wall herself away in a stricken silence. Desiree sleepwalked down the aisle wearing Jeff’s “training train”—yards of white muslin tied around her waist to give her the feel of a cathedral-length train. Her movements were perfect, but lifeless.

  The only person Desiree talked to was the large young woman whose yellow outfit flapped like a bedsheet on a clothesline. Helen guessed she was Emily, the bride’s only friend. The bridesmaids snickered and talked behind their French-manicured fingers whenever Emily appeared.

  The handpicked blond bridesmaids and professionally handsome groomsmen moved as smoothly as if they were on rollers. Even the ring bearer and flower girls were model children. Jeff scampered about, saying, “All right, people, that was perfect. Let’s do it one more time.”

  Helen went back to the van and piled the last two bridesmaid dresses on top of the Hapsburg princess gown. Halfway up the steps, she felt a seismic shift in the slippery fabric. The princess gown started sliding out of the plastic cover. She should have put it in a zippered bag.

  “Shit!” Helen said as the dress skittered out of the bag. She made an awkward grab and scratched her arm on the gown’s crystal beading. Blood droplets welled up on her skin. Oh, no. She couldn’t afford to bleed on this dress.

  “Are you okay?” Desiree stood in the stairwell.

  “I’m trying not to bleed on your dress,” Helen said.

  “I hate it. I’ll give you fifty dollars to ruin it.”

  “Sorry,” Helen said, “but I’d lose my job.” Unless I’ve already lost it.

  Desiree sighed.

  “Why aren’t you at the rehearsal?” Helen said.

  “Jeff’s working out the bridesmaids’ processional. I’m not needed. I don’t think I’m needed for this whole ceremony.”

  Helen felt a stab of pity for the forlorn little woman.

  “There you are. Where have you been?” It was Luke, looking fetchingly worried. Was he afraid his meal ticket was having second thoughts?

  “My awful dress scratched her arm,” Desiree said. “I’m trying to get her to bleed on it. I hate that dress. It makes me look dumpy.”

  “Desiree, you’re beautiful no matter what you wear. Come.” Luke was such a good actor, Helen almost believed him. He smiled and held out his hand. After a slight pause, Desiree took it.

  The pair left Helen to struggle up the stairs alone with the three dresses. She was puffing by the time she made it to the top. She shoved the bridesmaid dresses into a closet, then examined the heavy Hapsburg princess gown. It was an ugly, unlucky dress, covered in crystal beads by wage slaves for the captive daughter of the rich.

  Helen saw a tiny discoloration on the skirt that could have been blood. She put a little spot cleaner on a Q-tip, and dabbed at it until the mark disappeared.

  Helen was not sure if this church answered the brides’ spiritual needs, but it understood their worldly ones. The bride’s room had long, lighted dressing tables, bales of Kleenex for wedding tears, comfortable couches, and acres of closets. There was enough moisturizer, nail polish, cotton balls, and Band-Aids to stock a drugstore. A cup held every kind of scissors, from nail cutters to pinking shears.

  Helen hung the wedding gown next to the bridesmaid dresses. She had one more dress to carry upstairs. She wearily wrestled the rose gown up the narrow stairs, cursing the springy hoop all the way. At least she didn’t meet anyone on the steps.

  The scratch on her arm had opened again, and blood dripped on the hall tile. Helen hoped she didn’t get anything on the rose dress. She searched the skirt for blood spots. She didn’t see anything, but it was hard to tell with the dark re
d taffeta.

  To hell with it. Helen pushed the rose gown into the closet with the cobweb dress. Jeff, the wedding planner, ran into the room, looking anxious. “Helen, Kiki wants to go. She says you’re holding her up.”

  “Believe me, I want out of here, too.” Helen ran down the stairs. Kiki stood at the door like a jailer, jangling the keys to the church. As soon as Helen was outside Kiki locked the huge doors.

  “Uh, Kiki, I need the check for Millicent,” Helen said.

  Kiki held up her tiny gold evening purse and walked over to her car. “No room for a checkbook in here.” She slid into the waiting Rolls. The door shut with an insolent clunk.

  Helen didn’t look forward to calling her boss with this news. She walked slowly to a pay phone.

  Millicent’s fury nearly melted the phone. “Helen, go back, get those dresses, and put them in the shop van.”

  “Kiki locked up the church, Millicent. I can’t get back in.”

  “Then go home, Helen. I have her cell phone number. We’re going to have a little talk. If I don’t get a satisfactory answer, I’ll go to the rehearsal dinner. She’d better pay me, or I’ll rip those dresses right off her bridesmaids’ backs. That chinless wonder of a daughter will be walking down the aisle stark naked. Kiki’s not pulling her tricks on me. I need that money.”

  It was after ten when Helen parked the shop van in the Coronado lot. She would have to leave again at six a.m.—unless Kiki called Millicent and had her fired. Helen didn’t much care.

  Thumbs met her at the door with his starving cat routine.

  “You’re a lying feline,” Helen said, scratching his ears. “I left you plenty to eat.”

  But she put out a scoop of canned food, a rich cat pâté. Thumbs ate it greedily. Helen wished she could like anything in a can that much.

  There was a knock on her door. She peeked out the peephole and saw Phil with a rose in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Her heart melted.

  “Presents for you and Mr. Thumbs,” he said.

  “I love roses,” she said, but Kiki’s nasty remark about shopgirls stuck in her mind like a thorn. How could Desiree live with those petty insults year after year?

  “The present for Thumbs is from Margery, but she didn’t want to give it to you directly because of the no-pets policy. I’m the delivery boy.”

  The sedentary house cat leaped on the bag like a starving lion on an antelope.

  “What’s in that?” Helen said.

  “Organic catnip toys. Margery’s friend Rita Scott makes them. This is her most powerful batch yet.”

  Thumbs was pushing the bag around with his nose.

  “It must be,” Helen said. “He doesn’t usually behave like that.” She dumped out the bag on the kitchen counter. There were six cloth packets the size of mailing labels, stuffed with catnip.

  Thumbs skidded across the counter, taking a pile of papers with him, and fell off. He stuck his head under the couch and wiggled his tail. He did backflips. He ran through the house and knocked over a footstool.

  Helen and Phil watched, laughing.

  “Where’d he go?” she said.

  They found Thumbs lying in his pet caddy. “He hates pet caddies. They mean trips to the vet,” Helen said. “What’s he doing in there, staring at the ceiling? Look at his eyes. He’s zonked.”

  “Thumbs, have you ever looked at your paw? I mean really looked at your paw?” Phil said. “He’s having fun. We should, too. Let’s go out for mojito martinis on Las Olas. You need some romance.”

  “I don’t have time for romance, Phil. I’m working on a wedding.”

  “Weddings are romantic.”

  “Most weddings are as romantic as a root canal,” Helen said. “Especially for young brides. I feel sorry for them. They’re told, ‘This is your day.’ But the wedding isn’t about the bride. It’s the last chance for her mother to have the wedding she wanted.”

  “Come to think of it, the romance went out of my marriage with the wedding,” Phil said. “My ex got caught up in making sure the bridesmaids’ ribbons matched the groomsmen’s cummerbunds. I felt like an afterthought. I never lost that feeling.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Helen said. “Let’s skip the wedding and have the honeymoon.”

  “Right now?” Phil said.

  “Yes.”

  Phil picked her up and carried her over the threshold to the bedroom.

  Chapter 5

  The stark white cathedral shone like an iceberg in the morning sun.

  Inside, the deep-blue stained-glass windows made Helen feel like she was in a drowned ocean liner. The Titanic, perhaps. She still couldn’t shake the feeling of disaster.

  Yet the wedding preparations continued in seamless perfection. Even the iffy winter weather cooperated. The temperature was ideal for the bridesmaids’ strapless dresses. The playful breeze promised to waft the rose petals prettily as the bride and groom ran down the church steps.

  When Helen got to the cathedral at six thirty, Jeff, the wedding planner, was already supervising the flower placement.

  “No, people, that’s too close to the pillar.”

  He waved, but Helen wasn’t sure if he was greeting her or in a flap over the flowers.

  She ran upstairs to the bride’s dressing room. Everything was in order. She checked the Hapsburg princess gown again for bloodstains. In the morning sun, the dress glittered like frost. Just looking at it made her arm throb. But she couldn’t see any trace of blood.

  Helen felt sick with relief. If she’d ruined a seven-thousand-dollar dress, she’d lose half a year’s salary. Kiki would make her pay, too—after she had her fired.

  Helen didn’t have the nerve to check out the rose gown. Besides, she was not wrestling that monster hoop skirt this early in the morning. It might reopen the scratch on her arm. She hoped her luck held and there were no blood spots on the rose dress, either.

  Jeff, bless him, had set out an exquisite breakfast buffet of pastries, bagels, and fruit. The room was fragrant with hot coffee. Helen poured herself a cup, enjoying the last peaceful moments of what she knew would be a long day.

  What kind of life would Desiree and Luke have together? They were starting with advantages many young couples never knew: the bride’s money, the groom’s good looks and talent—things couples dream about, yet Helen felt sorry for them.

  She wasn’t sure either one was in love. Desiree clung to Luke, but that seemed more desperation than passion. And Luke was an actor, so it was tough to know his true feelings.

  Besides, what chance did any marriage have with Kiki for a mother-in-law? The bride’s father didn’t seem to care about his daughter. Brendan had never hugged or kissed Desiree at the rehearsal last night. He’d hardly spoken to her. But he’d certainly had words with her mother.

  Poor little rich girl.

  She hoped the bride would have as much fun on her honeymoon as Helen had last night after Phil carried her over the threshold. They’d spent the whole night in bed, but they didn’t sleep much. That man was one hot lover. Helen stretched luxuriantly, her body pleasantly tired and sore.

  She looked out the dressing room window. Four cars pulled into the parking lot. She downed the last of her coffee and rinsed the cup. It was bridal battle stations.

  Four makeup artists and three hairstylists began setting up in the dressing room. They would paint and prep all the women in the wedding party except Kiki. The mother of the bride was having her own makeup artist and stylist come to her home. Kiki planned to breeze in about forty-five minutes before the ceremony.

  Why she didn’t arrange the same service for her daughter, Helen didn’t know. But she was grateful for Kiki’s absence. It was more pleasant without her. Kiki left havoc and hurt feelings in her wake.

  The first three bridesmaids straggled in at seven, looking hungover. Helen hoped the makeup artists had packed plenty of concealer. Those young blondes had enough bags to stock a Coach outlet.

  Desiree and her friend
Emily arrived at seven thirty. Emily was wearing what looked like an orange tablecloth. Desiree was a walking corpse. Her skin even had a slightly livid tinge.

  The stylists went to work. Desiree’s droopy hair was twisted into a stylish knot. Then the makeup artist started smearing goo on the bride’s face. Helen had painted entire rooms in less time. But the woman was an artist. When she finally put down her brush, Helen thought she’d created a minor masterpiece. Desiree wasn’t exactly radiant, but she no longer looked like she should wear a toe tag. She even had a chin.

  Soon the room was abuzz with activity. The blond bridesmaids giggled and gossiped while their hair was done in identical twists. Hair dryers screamed. Cans of hair spray spritzed. One makeup artist brandished a mascara wand and said, “Now look up at the ceiling while I get those bottom lashes.” Another held up a sponge and said, “Let me cover that nasty scrape on your arm.”

  At nine o’clock, Desiree was ready to be helped into the Hapsburg princess dress. Helen held it carefully, so Desiree wouldn’t get scratched. The bride already had a long, thin scab on her arm.

  “Did the dress do that when you tried it on at the store?” Helen said.

  “No, the cook’s cat got me,” Desiree said.

  Helen started on the one hundred slippery satin buttons, each the size of an aspirin.

  Desiree, who’d been inert most of the morning, began fidgeting.

  “Hold still or I’ll never finish by ten o’clock,” Helen said.

  “I hate this dress,” Desiree said.

  “You don’t have to wear it. You have a beautiful wedding dress in the closet. Let’s put it on.” Helen was in a rebellious mood. She headed for the closet to get out the cobweb dress. She was prepared to battle the dreaded rose dress to get Desiree what she wanted.

  “No!” the bride shouted over the shrieking hair dryers. Heads turned. Eight bridesmaids stared like startled gazelles. Desiree had turned pale under her makeup. Was she that afraid of her mother?

  “I only have to put up with this dress for an hour or two, and then I can wear what I want. I don’t want to have to deal with Mother.”