by Elaine Viets
“And after you talk to that person, what would you do? Turn her over to the vice cops?” Margery said. “No, thanks. Get Phil to help you.”
“I’d rather not have him investigating that side of Lauderdale,” Helen said.
“I don’t blame you,” Margery said. “If he were mine, I’d put him on a short leash. Helen, I’m seventy-six years old. For most of my friends sex is a distant memory. You’re on your own.” But this time Margery managed a smile. She blew out a big puff of white smoke, as if her anger had burned away.
Peggy finally spoke. “If you need information, maybe you should talk to Tammie’s grieving husband.”
“Kent?” Helen said. “You want me to talk to that scuzzball?”
“He likes attractive women,” Peggy said. “He might invite you to one of his parties. Then you’d get an inside look at what goes on there.”
“Awwk!” Pete said.
“I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m not his type,” Helen said.
“Yes, you are. I bet he made some sleazy comment about your figure when you were at his house.”
Helen looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“Horndogs like Kent always do,” Peggy said, and shrugged.
“He’d love to chat you up.” Margery gave an evil smile. “Show you around. Get to know you better.”
“Ewww.” Helen shuddered at the thought of the overmuscled Kent hitting on her.
“All kidding aside, Peggy’s got a good idea,” Margery said. “Kent wouldn’t talk to Phil. He’s not going to tell a man anything, especially a younger, handsomer man. You have the perfect excuse to see him. You can offer your condolences.”
“I don’t want to be alone in that big house with Kent,” Helen said. “What if he killed his wife?”
“I thought you said my friend Betty was the killer.” Margery would not let it go.
“If Kent turned on me, I could scream for hours and no one would hear me,” Helen said.
“Make sure you’re not alone,” Peggy said. “Doesn’t he have a housekeeper? Call first. If she’s there, she’ll answer the phone. Don’t go to the house unless she’s at home. And tell Margery when you leave. If you’re not back by a certain time, she can call the cops.”
“Hell, I’ll even drive you over there,” Margery said. It was a peace offering.
“Thanks, Margery,” Helen said. “But there’s no place for you to park. You’d have to go sit in the country-club lot, more than a mile away.”
“So I’ll drive around the grounds for half an hour. Security isn’t going to bother a batty old lady in a big white car. The way that guard sleeps, he won’t even notice I’m there. Anyway, do you have a better plan?”
“No,” Helen said. “I haven’t found Tammie’s killer. I haven’t found Willoughby’s killer. I haven’t even found her dog.”
“You’re not supposed to do that,” Margery said. “Those are jobs for the police.”
“What are they doing?” Helen asked. “Nothing. I know who murdered both those women—their worthless husbands. I don’t understand why the police don’t believe those men are guilty.”
“Maybe they do,” Margery said.
“Not in Tammie’s case,” Helen said. “They’ve already arrested Jonathon. And I know he didn’t kill her.”
“Why? Because you like him?”
“Well, yes,” Helen said.
“Some reason,” Margery said. It was the same reason why Margery wouldn’t hear a word against Betty. But Helen didn’t mention that, either.
“You’re damn lucky the hurricane pushed Tammie’s murder off the front page,” Margery said. “Right now there are too many other stories for the media to cover. Nobody’s made the connection between Jonathon, Tammie, and Willoughby.”
“Oh, come on,” Helen said. “You’re really trying to nail Jonathon.”
“And you’re going out of your way to ignore the obvious,” Margery said. “He had the fight with Tammie. He disappeared for hours, and it was his grooming shears sticking out of her chest. The police were right to arrest him for her murder.”
“They haven’t arrested anyone for Willoughby’s murder,” Peggy said. Her voice was so quiet, they had to lean in to hear her.
“That’s because they think I killed her,” Helen said. “I’ll never be able to convince Detective Brogers to look at her husband, Francis. Brogers couldn’t find lint on a dark suit. How am I going to find the real killer? I can’t do that. I don’t have the resources.”
“You’re really thinking positive tonight,” Margery said.
“If you can’t find Willoughby’s killer, find her dog,” Peggy said. “She was killed for that animal. Once you have the dog, you’ll have the murderer.”
That made more sense than anything else they’d said tonight.
“It sounds a lot safer than talking to Kent Grimsby,” Helen said.
She was wrong about that, too.
CHAPTER 23
Eight thirty a.m. Even coffee didn’t help Helen this morning. She felt tired and dragged out after the scene with Margery last night. They were friends again by the end of the evening, but Helen was discouraged. She wasn’t getting anywhere. She wasn’t doing anything to clear her name. The cops could come for her any moment, the way they’d come after Jonathon, and then where would she be?
Back in St. Louis, facing a judge who looked like E.T. with a hangover.
Helen rummaged in her closet for a pair of pants with no holes and a blouse with all the buttons. That was the best she could do.
She was combing her hair when she heard the screech of tires and brakes in the parking lot, then the slamming of doors. It sounded like four or five cars. Who would be coming to the Coronado at this hour? And why so many cars?
The police!
Helen grabbed her purse, slipped out her sliding doors, and tiptoed to the end of the walkway. Four police cars blocked the Coronado parking lot. Helen sprinted across the grass. She started to knock on Margery’s door when her landlady opened it and yanked her inside.
“It’s the cops,” Margery whispered.
“They’re coming to arrest me,” Helen said.
“That’s what I figured,” Margery said. She dragged Helen into the laundry room, past a chugging washer and a warm, humming dryer. She pushed Helen out a side door she’d never noticed before.
Helen found herself standing by a throbbing window air-conditioning unit, next to a pile of abandoned pool furniture and a rusted-out water heater that should have been hauled away years ago. Spiderwebs were strung everywhere. The walkway was so narrow Helen would have to slide out sideways.
Margery picked a wide-brimmed straw hat off a hook by the door and plopped it on Helen’s head. “This will hide your face. Go to the end of the gangway, turn right, and you’ll come out behind the Dumpsters next door.”
Margery handed Helen a reeking bag of trash. “Here, take this,” she said. “Drop it in old lady Murphy’s Dumpster like you live there. Then pretend you’re going for a morning walk. Don’t forget to act curious about all the cops. That’s the natural way to behave. You got some money?”
“Twenty dollars.” Helen held up her purse.
Margery pushed a wad of bills into her hands. “This will get you through today. You may need more. You can pay me back later. Call me in an hour. I’ll tell you if the coast is clear. Don’t say your name when you call. If I tell you I don’t want anything, call me back in another hour. Keep calling till you get the all-clear.”
They heard pounding on Margery’s front door.
“Take care of Thumbs,” Helen said. “Tell Phil I love him.”
“The cops are here. You’d better get going,” Margery said, and pushed Helen forward.
Helen scooted down the gangway between the buildings, feeling oddly disoriented. She’d never spent much time on this side of the Coronado. She’d never seen this strange little passage between the two buildings. Helen had to pick her way carefully. The walkway wa
s cracked and overgrown with weeds. Hairy spiders crawled along the walls. Cobwebs brushed her hair, and something slithered over her foot. Helen hoped it was a lizard. The gangway was only about thirty feet long, but it seemed endless. She came out by a short fat palm tree and an overflowing blue Dumpster.
Helen threw the bag of trash in and hoped the crabby woman next door didn’t come out and yell at her. She had a clear view of the Coronado. She saw the police cars and more uniformed officers than she could count.
“Come on, move on, there’s nothing to see,” a tough male voice said.
Helen jumped.
A uniformed officer was directing traffic on the street in front of the Coronado, making the gawkers move along. Helen decided she’d shown enough interest. Hanging around any longer wasn’t a good idea. Margery’s hat hid her hair and part of her face, but Helen couldn’t do anything about her height. Any smart cop would spot her.
Helen made her way to the sidewalk. She kept expecting a cop to yell, “You, there, stop!” She tried to stroll, but it was hard to look casual when her heart was hammering hard enough to knock her flat.
Helen made it down the street and turned toward Las Olas and the safety of the tourist crowds. Once out of sight of the Coronado, she burst into a frantic run that she told herself was a power walk. She didn’t stop until she came to an outdoor café. Then she sat in an empty chair and collapsed. Her rapidly beating heart made her dizzy. Her hand hurt, and she realized she was clutching Margery’s roll of bills so tightly she had nail marks in her palm.
Helen counted the money. Margery had handed her two hundred dollars in tens and twenties.
“May I help you?” the waitress said.
Helen jumped, then tried to pull herself together. “Coffee,” she said. “And . . . and a bagel with cream cheese.”
That sounded normal, didn’t it? She was a tourist on a fine day, having a cup of coffee. Except she was supposed to be at work. What time was it? She checked her watch. Nine o’clock.
Helen found a pay phone and called Jeff. “I may be a little late,” she said. “About an hour.”
If I’m lucky. Otherwise, I’ll be gone twenty to life, she thought.
“It’s OK,” Jeff said. “It’s a slow morning. Lulu and I can handle it.”
“How is Jonathon? Can I visit him in jail?”
“He’s holding up as well as can be expected. He says no visitors. He doesn’t want anyone to see him. He’s trying to raise the money to make bail. He wouldn’t let me help with that, either.”
Helen pulled a free newspaper from a stand and held it in front of her face. Between the paper and the big straw hat, her face was well hidden. The waitress returned carrying Helen’s steaming coffee. It smelled sharp and strong, but her stomach rebelled when she tried to sip it. Helen felt jittery. Food. That would calm her. She slathered her bagel with cream cheese, then stared at it. She couldn’t take a bite.
Helen was sick with fear, worry, and loss. Even if she escaped the police, her life was over. She’d have to flee Fort Lauderdale, like she had St. Louis, except this time she wouldn’t be so lucky.
The Coronado had become her second home, and she loved this life better than the one she’d left behind. Now she was going to lose everything—again. She’d been happy at the Coronado. Her new life wouldn’t be so easy to give up. Margery and Peggy had become her family. Margery had protected Helen better than her own mother.
Helen liked her offbeat apartment and her big-pawed cat. She loved Phil. Would she ever see her lover again? He couldn’t have an affair with a fugitive. She’d have to leave behind the man she loved.
Helen wept silent tears. She cried for this new life in Florida, which gave her so much, and her old life, which gave so little. That was what she’d finally realized about St. Louis—how easy it was to leave it. Her sister, Kathy, was the only person she missed. Helen thought she’d had friends in St. Louis, but now she knew they were only acquaintances. None of them would do what Margery did this morning—give her money and help her escape the police.
But then, Helen never needed to escape the cops in St. Louis, not until she shot off her mouth in court. Helen had been ultrarespectable, with a closet full of designer suits, a Dunhill briefcase, and the sore neck and aching back that went with a demanding corporate career.
She’d made a hundred thousand a year in those days. Most of it went for things she didn’t want: a house and a car to impress people she didn’t like, and gifts for an unfaithful husband who stayed successfully unemployed.
She didn’t know Rob was unfaithful. Or rather, she didn’t want to know. She kept her eyes firmly closed until that afternoon when she’d come home from work early and found Rob on the back deck with their next-door neighbor, Sandy. Helen couldn’t close her eyes then, no matter how hard she tried. Her husband was screwing another woman on Helen’s teak chaise longue.
Something had burst inside Helen. She could feel it rip loose and explode. She picked up a crowbar and started swinging. Rob and Sandy started running. They looked like skinny hairless animals, loping naked across her deck. Rob abandoned Sandy and ran for the protection of the Land Cruiser that Helen had bought him.
He scrambled inside and locked the doors. Helen demolished the SUV with the crowbar. She never laid a finger on Rob, but destroying his SUV probably hurt him more. Meanwhile, Sandy called the cops on her cell phone. Sandy and Rob didn’t press charges for attempted assault. Sandy was afraid her husband would find out how she spent her afternoons. She’d told him she was a charity volunteer. Helen thought that described most of Rob’s girlfriends.
Helen filed for divorce. She expected to lose the house, or half of it, even though she’d paid for the whole thing. She’d prepared herself for that. It was the price of Rob removal. But she didn’t count on the rest. Rob got a smart lawyer and she got a dumb judge. The lawyer painted Rob as a supportive househusband who kept his unstable wife on a career track by sacrificing his own livelihood. Helen’s high-priced lawyer sat there like a department-store dummy. He refused to fight for her.
The judge awarded Rob half of Helen’s future income. That was when quiet Helen crossed the line the second time and never came back. She stood up in court and swore that Rob would never see another penny of her money.
“You’re in contempt of court,” the judge had told her.
“Yes, I am,” Helen had said.
She went home, packed her suitcases, dropped her wedding ring in the Mississippi River, and took off, driving in wild zigzags around the country until her car broke down in Fort Lauderdale.
Helen took a series of low-paying, cash-under-the-table jobs. She refused to have a credit card, bank account, or phone. She had to keep her name out of the computers. She knew the money-hungry Rob would track her down and take half of even her minimum-wage income. South Florida and her dead-end jobs were her refuge. Now that part of her life was over.
Helen looked down at her plate. The bagel was torn to pieces, and her coffee was cold. It was nine thirty. Time to call Margery. She wondered where she would wind up living next: Idaho? South Dakota? She couldn’t take the cold winters. Maybe she’d take a bus to Arizona or New Mexico.
She took a deep breath and dialed. This must be what it felt like to call a doctor for your cancer test results, she thought.
Margery picked up the phone on the first ring.
“It’s me,” Helen said, her voice cracking with fear.
“You’re safe,” Margery said.
Safe? The words didn’t register at first. Then they finally sank in. “The police didn’t come for me? Who did they arrest?”
“The women in 2C, Doris and Alice.”
“I can’t believe it,” Helen said. “You rented to crooks again?”
“You were right,” Margery said. “They weren’t housecleaners. Those two had a scam going. Preyed on the elderly.”
“But they looked so nice,” Helen said. “I thought you checked them out. Didn’t you call some fo
undation?”
“It was an accomplice in New Jersey,” Margery said. “She got a cut for posing as the foundation director and giving them references. They were clever, I’ll give them that. One of them—Alice, I think the cops told me—would sit in the kitchen and try to sign up a senior citizen for their phony cleaning service. It wasn’t free, either, like they told me. They charged prices so high, any sane person would naturally refuse. But Alice wouldn’t tell the old people the price until last.
“While she sat there explaining all the services they offered, Doris went through the house giving it an ‘evaluation.’ Actually, she was helping herself to jewelry, checks, knickknacks, and anything else she could shove into her mop bucket and purse. She took little items, all easy to hide.”
“And people let her do that? Just wander through their houses?”
“Only the trusting ones. Or the poor souls who were slightly addled. You saw those two women. They looked like the salt of the earth.”
Helen remembered how hard they’d worked to interest Elsie. “Thank goodness Elsie was loyal to her house-cleaner,” Helen said. “She would have been a prime target.”
“Those two crooks knew exactly what to take,” Margery said. “Sometimes the victim didn’t miss the items for days or even weeks. They were cleaners, all right. They cleaned those old people out.”
“That’s really dirty,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 24
Helen had escaped again. She’d had two warnings. First there was her handcuffed ride to the police station. Then the cops raided the Coronado. They’d hauled away Alice and Doris. Next time they would come for her.
She had to do something. The police had stopped investigating Tammie’s murder. They’d pegged Jonathon as the killer, and they’d caught Helen in an embarrassing lie. They could still come after her as an accomplice.
The Willoughby situation was even more desperate. She expected Ted Brogers, pet detective, on her door step any day, arresting her for Willoughby’s death.
Even if the cops left her alone, the publicity would ruin her. What if they forced her to testify about finding Tammie’s body? She could see the video of her throwing the robe in the Dumpster on the evening news. Her ex, Rob, would track her down for sure.
