by Elaine Viets
“Possibly,” Phil said, and winked.
“I don’t care what the police think,” Helen said. “Jonathon didn’t murder Tammie. But if he goes to trial, I’ll have to testify.”
“So you testify.” Phil chomped more croissant.
“I can’t have my ex-husband find me,” Helen said.
“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Phil said.
“Yes,” Helen said.
“Are you going to tell me what happened in St. Louis?”
“Someday,” Helen said.
Phil got that shutdown look Helen hated. He took his arm back and began brushing off croissant crumbs.
“I’d better go,” he said.
Tell him, whispered a voice. Tell him or you’ll ruin everything. Where are you going to find another man like Phil?
“Stay,” she said. Her finger lightly traced the crooked path of his nose. She kissed his ear, which was covered with peach fuzz. Helen longed to say more, but she couldn’t. No one, not even Margery, knew her whole story. They only had pieces.
That’s what you’re giving Phil, pieces of yourself, but not your whole self. He knows it. Helen could feel the chill between them. She could see their love start to die in the frost.
I can’t help it, she thought. The only person I can rely on is me. I can’t trust any man completely, not after what Rob did to me.
The wounds love inflicted were deep and difficult to heal. Helen thought of Francis, pelted with tomatoes, stained with strawberry juice, beaten with broccoli. The scene at Big Irv’s was ridiculous, and yet it wasn’t. Francis had been driven to madness by his wife’s betrayal. He struck back at the woman who’d ruined his life.
That woman wasn’t Willoughby. It was Tammie.
“He killed Tammie,” Helen cried.
“Who did?” Phil said.
“Francis,” Helen said. She was talking faster now, her words skimming and skipping along. “He killed both women, Tammie and his wife. Think about it. Francis knew the housekeeper. Lourdes didn’t meet him somewhere. He went to the Grimsby house to give the dog to Lourdes. She left with the dog, and Francis went in to see Tammie. Tammie said something ugly and he stabbed her.”
“With grooming scissors?” Phil said, frowning. “Where did he get those?”
“He probably had a pair. Barkley was a dog who always had to look perfect. Her owners would be trimming stray hairs all the time. Francis had those scissors with him. Can’t you see it, Phil? Doesn’t it make perfect sense? Tammie taunted him. Francis hated her. She cuckolded him. He lost it and stabbed her.”
“How do you know that?” Phil said with the irritating male reasonableness that seemed so condescending. “Maybe he wasn’t mad at Tammie at all. He blamed Willoughby for leaving him. He should have blamed himself. He dragged his wife to those threesomes in the first place.”
“No! He killed Tammie first,” Helen insisted. “Once you kill someone, it’s easier to murder the second time. He lost it again and killed his wife. But that’s the only murder that really upset him.”
Phil sighed with impatience. “Helen, this doesn’t work for me.”
What, she wondered—our love or my theory? She loved Phil too much to lose him. She wanted him to see things her way.
“Even if it is true,” he said, in a semiconciliatory tone, “how are you going to find out anything new that will convince the police?”
“I’ll talk to Todd again. He was at Tammie’s parties. He may have seen something I can use.”
“Todd?” Phil’s sarcasm was acid. “You’re talking about a hustler, a blackmailer, and a gigolo. Now there’s a witness with credibility.”
“Phil,” Helen said. “Listen to me. This is the only scenario that makes sense. Francis killed his wife’s lover first, then he killed his wife. Francis has already confessed to murdering his wife. But he did them both. He can’t admit that. Florida is a death-penalty state.
“Todd may be a nasty little blackmailer, but he notices things no one else does. That’s why he’s a good blackmailer. He saw that black van and noticed Jeff was meeting the driver and bringing him fat envelopes.
“Lucinda said Francis was moping around and drinking at those parties. She forgets half of what she says, depending on what she ingested that day. But I’ll bet Francis said or did something we can use, and Todd heard it. It’s certainly worth a try.”
“Helen, this is really far-fetched,” Phil said. “Betty is a better suspect, or even Jeff. Five minutes ago you thought Kent was the best candidate for the killer—and he was there at the shop. He could have stolen the scissors. I think I can break his alibi. You’re wasting your time with Todd.”
“I’m not,” Helen said. She was desperate to make him see. “It’s only seven thirty in the morning. We can be at Todd’s condo before he leaves for work. He’ll talk to me away from the shop. I’ll ask him a couple of questions, and I’m out of there.”
“Todd’s not going to tell you anything,” Phil said. Was that a flash of contempt or anger in his eyes?
“Todd will talk to me. I know he will.”
“Why should he?” Phil said.
“Because I’ve got something on him,” Helen said.
They were sitting upright on the couch, looking less like lovers and more like an insurance salesman with a difficult client. Thumbs paced at their feet, uneasy with their raised voices.
“All right,” Phil said. “I’ll drive you over there.”
“No, Phil, you don’t need to. I can handle a pretty boy like Todd.”
“That’s crazy, Helen,” Phil said. “No cop would go there alone.”
“He won’t talk with you around,” Helen said.
“Then I’ll wait in the parking lot,” he said. “If you’re not down again in twenty minutes, I swear I’ll come up and get you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, but she was secretly pleased. Phil still cared.
“Helen,” he said, “don’t jump in feetfirst and start firing off accusations. You have to be careful of slander. Francis hasn’t been convicted of anything yet. A smart lawyer could get him off, and then he’ll be looking for revenge. You don’t know if he’s friends with Todd. Don’t use Francis’s name. This can come back and bite you. Hint around. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, but try it this time for your own protection.”
“Right,” she said. “I’ll hit him as hard as I can with my subtlety.”
CHAPTER 30
Todd opened his condo door with a surly hello, then stepped awkwardly aside, so he stood behind the door.
It’s a trap, Helen thought. He’s going to hit me.
She entered warily, holding her purse up for protection, prepared to use it like a bludgeon. Her keys were in her hand, ready to gouge.
Once inside she knew why Todd stood behind the door, and nearly laughed with relief. He’d stepped aside to show off his view from three walls of windows. Todd’s condo seemed to float seven stories above the water, suspended in the tender morning light.
“Wow!” Helen said.
Todd had waited for that reaction. He wanted my approval, Helen thought. No, he needed it. He craved it like a junkie. He had to have other people’s admiration. His own wasn’t enough.
The scenery was spectacular. To the east, the ocean was an improbable turquoise dotted with white cruise ships. Straight ahead was the Intracoastal Waterway, wide and silvery gray, lined with the golden homes of the rich. A swath of silver and gold as far as Helen could see.
Straight down was a canal with boats, white as wedding cakes and as full of promise.
Infinity on three sides, Helen thought. The ocean stretched into forever. The Intracoastal was an immeasurable river of money. The boats below promised endless ease.
Todd’s long living room was the perfect setting for the scenic view. The two white couches, the pair of tapestry chairs, the dark carved table with the single white orchid all glowed in the pearly morning light.
Helen looked at
Todd’s angelic face. She knew some of the ugly things he’d done to live high in his heaven. She could guess the rest. Yet he was flawlessly beautiful, except for the slight weakness around the mouth, and she might be imagining that.
Todd seemed different in his condo, more self-assured. He moved toward Helen with a slight, dangerous swagger that must thrill his women friends. “Why are you here at this hour?” he said.
“I need to ask you one quick question,” Helen said.
“You couldn’t wait until we were at work?” Todd said.
The angry edge to his voice made Helen uneasy. She decided to fight back. “You wouldn’t want me to ask it at the shop. I’m doing you a favor coming here.”
“I need a cigarette,” Todd said. “Come on outside.”
He took a cigarette from a silver box on the carved table and a silver lighter engraved with his initials. The lighter was from Tiffany’s, Helen guessed. She wondered which woman gave it to him.
She followed him out onto the narrow balcony. The boats down below rocked and swayed in the water. Helen felt dizzy at first; then she was fascinated by the view. Two fishermen in a little Boston Whaler chugged along the Intracoastal. A needle-nosed speedboat roared past them, leaving a wide white wake.
Todd lit his cigarette with quick, sure movements, sucking in the smoke greedily. He said nothing. Helen waited. She wanted him to speak first.
They watched a white two-masted sailboat on the Intracoastal. It seemed to be stalled in the water. Two people ran frantically along its deck, pulling and pushing at things, but the boat didn’t move.
“If you’ve got a question, ask it,” Todd said. “I have to go to work.” He blew a smoke ring.
Helen looked for some trace of the hungry country boy in his face, but she saw only the polished pretty boy with the diamond-studded Cartier watch. She remembered Phil’s warning about subtlety and lawsuits. Now she understood. The people who lived here used lawyers as often as she used Kleenex.
“I wanted to ask you about a man I know,” Helen said. “I can’t name names yet, but he was well-known for his way with women.” Helen thought that was a tactful way to describe a bottom grabber.
“He’s already confessed to a serious crime. We know—and we can prove—that he’s actually guilty of two crimes. The second one is the murder of Tammie.” It was a small lie. She couldn’t prove anything right now, but she thought she could risk the lie.
Todd looked into the distance, beyond the boats. He blew another smoke ring. Then he said, “You say ‘we.’ Anyone know about this person besides you?”
“A private investigator has copies of the information.” Another lie, but she didn’t think Todd would catch her. Once he told her what she wanted to know, she didn’t care if he found out. “We’re taking the information to the police whether you help us or not. But you can make it easier for everyone.”
“Any way I can stop you from going to the cops?” Todd said.
“No,” Helen said.
More silence. Obviously he knew about Francis. Todd seemed to be calculating something. Helen thought he might be worried that his visits to Tammie’s parties would become public. That could scare off his rich widows. As Lucinda said, rich women didn’t like boys who’d been around too much. They got nasty bugs. What would happen to Todd if he couldn’t comfort his lonely widows and divorcées? His dog-grooming income wouldn’t cover the condo maintenance fees at Sailboat House.
Todd took a deep drag on his cigarette and stared out at the water. “I knew this would happen. I was expecting the police. But I should have known you’d stick your nose where it didn’t belong.” Todd seemed suddenly weary and much older. For the first time Helen noticed lines around his mouth.
“I—” Helen started to say.
Todd interrupted. “I know what you’re going to ask. The answer is yes. I killed Tammie.”
Helen gripped the railing. The balcony seemed to rock and sway like the bobbing boats far below. She didn’t expect this. She was sure Francis was the killer.
But then she remembered confronting Todd at the shop about blackmailing Jan Kurtz. “I know what you did to that woman,” she’d said. Todd had dropped a case of dog food and turned deadly pale. He agreed to stop blackmailing Jan too quickly. Helen thought it was her great persuasive powers. Now she knew better: Todd was relieved that Helen didn’t know about a far worse crime—Tammie’s murder. Her heart was thudding. She wanted to ask a hundred questions. But she remembered Phil’s caution about subtlety and suppressed them.
“I did the one thing no gigolo should ever do. I fell in love,” Todd said. He was still staring ahead.
“With Tammie?” Helen said.
“Isn’t that a joke? Tammie was my soul mate, if the two of us have souls. We were cut from the same cloth, and it was cheap. We both used people for money. I did well at it. Tammie did better.”
The sailboat was still adrift on the Intracoastal, seven stories below. A white speedboat approached and cut its motor. Helen could see people talking to one another on the two boats, then the sailboat began tying up to the speedboat. A third boat joined them.
“So when did she drop you, Todd?” Helen said.
“Two months after we began seeing each other. It started when one of my ladies brought me to a Tammie and Kent party. I just went for grins. I wasn’t expecting anything serious. But it was love at first sight.”
“For you,” Helen said.
“For me,” he said. “Not for her.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Helen. He watched the struggling boat and smoked thoughtfully. A breeze playfully ruffled his golden hair. The two motorboats were towing the long, beautiful sailboat. It was bigger than both of them, but absolutely helpless.
“After that night, Tammie asked me to come to her house when Kent wasn’t home. I saw Tammie in the afternoons, three or four times a week. She was incredible in bed. For the first time in my life I was in love. Really in love. I didn’t want any money from her. I just wanted to be with her. I trusted her. I told her everything: who I was, where I came from. She knew my real name. She knew my deepest secrets.”
“Pinkie,” Helen said.
Todd flinched. All these years later, it still hurt.
“She laughed at me when I told her that story. I thought it meant she didn’t care what I’d been. She didn’t care, period. Then one afternoon she said she didn’t want to see me anymore. She kicked me out. Just like that.” He flipped the lighted cigarette over the rail. Helen followed its long fall. It landed on the dock, bounced once, and rolled into the canal.
Just like you treated your women, Helen thought. There was a God, and she was just. Todd was talking faster now. “I came back the next afternoon and begged to see her. I bought her presents—a diamond pendant and yellow-diamond earrings. She threw them on the lawn and told me to go away. I said I loved her. She said I bored her. She said I was as shopworn as my pawnshop presents.”
His Cartier watch glittered in the sun. His silver Tiffany lighter gleamed.
“Tammie said if I didn’t leave her alone, she’d tell all my fine ladies I was the son of a murderer and a hooker. She said the Lauderdale ladies wouldn’t have me in their apartments anymore. I might steal the silver and beat them up like my father. I was already a hooker like my mother. Blood will tell, Tammie said, and she’d tell if I didn’t go away.”
The hustler had met his match, Helen thought.
“I asked if there was another man. Tammie said she was sick of men. She was going away with Willoughby as soon as her divorce was final and the custody battle for Barkley was complete.”
Shrewd woman, Helen thought. Tammie was an aging trophy wife. Her bored husband was doing threesomes. It wouldn’t be long before Kent found himself a younger blonde. Tammie knew it was unlikely she’d find another rich man at her age. Rich old men wanted younger women. But Willoughby would have enough money to keep Tammie happy, thanks to her model pup, Barkley.
“I could compete
with another man,” Todd said. “But not another woman. I was devastated, but I knew better than to make a fool of myself. I suppose you’d say it was justice. I’d been doing this to women for years. Now a woman did it to me.”
“At least you kept your pride,” Helen said. “You never saw her again.”
“No. I cut her out of my life. Totally. Until the day Tammie burst into the grooming room,” Todd said. “When I saw her, I fell in love with her all over again. I couldn’t stand what Jonathon said to her. I wanted to protect her. But then she said that vicious thing to me.”
The words had sounded so harmless to Helen. She heard Tammie say them again, and now she felt their stiletto flick: “I know what he is, just like I know what you are. Dare I say it in front of everyone? You’re looking in the pink.” Then she’d laughed. Now her laughter seemed brutal. “And how are your dear parents? Mummy still famous for her entertaining in Okeechobee? Daddy still in silver trading?”
Todd’s mother was a prostitute. His father was a house thief who stole the family silver. Tammie had taunted him about his awful parents.
Then, for a final twist of the knife, Tammie reminded Todd of the most humiliating day of his life.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said. “Being an outsider all the time. Looking in on other people’s lives, people with everything. People with decent parents and real families. For a short time I belonged. I was one of them. Then she took it all away and laughed at me.”
Helen couldn’t tell if he was talking about Tammie or the long-ago high school vixen, Mindy.
“I wanted to kill her.” Todd looked at Helen, his beautiful face twisted with rage.
“So you did,” Helen said.
“I told myself I was going to say good-bye to Tammie before I left town. I wanted her to apologize, make her take it all back. Then I could go. I had the money. I’d called Jan Kurtz for one last payment. She didn’t want me coming to her condo because the neighbors would talk. Jan brought the money to the store. I was never coming back here again.
“I stole Jonathon’s grooming scissors, although I wouldn’t admit why even to myself. I wrapped them in a dog bandanna, so my prints weren’t on them, and stuck them in my belt. Then I drove to Tammie’s house. Her husband and her housekeeper were both out. I walked right in on Tammie. The door was unlocked and she was sitting by the pool, naked. She was drunk. She didn’t think I was any threat. Who’s afraid of a boy toy?
