The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 1

by Elaine Viets

  “She got upset over the guy passed out in 323. She was already unhappy about the whipped-cream Jacuzzi in the honeymoon suite.”

  “Work here long enough and you’ll learn that girl is always moaning about something.” Sondra quit poking in the vent with the screwdriver, stood up, and wiped her long, slender hands on a paper towel. “She was born unhappy. You can’t please her. Cheryl’s got real problems with her child, but you’ll never hear her complain. She loves that little Angel to death. Thinks God gave her a gift instead of a burden. Rhonda’s not happy unless she’s miserable. That’s just the way she is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work. If Sybil sees me talking to the help, we’re both in trouble.”

  Long purple shadows were falling when Helen walked out the front door of the Full Moon. She saw Rhonda slip out the side entrance. Helen waved, but didn’t stop. She was headed in the other direction, toward home. Cold wine and a hot man, that’s what she needed. The other maid glided toward the harsh lights of the highway.

  Rhonda had combed out her long red hair and changed. Helen thought she wore an odd outfit to meet a lover. Rhonda was twenty-eight, but her clothes were suitable for a woman of seventy. Her shapeless navy skirt hung below her knees. Her pale blue blouse had long sleeves and a high lace collar. In Florida, young and old shamelessly—even mercilessly—bared their skin.

  Helen shrugged. Maybe Rhonda’s mystery man liked old-fashioned women. As the night closed in, Rhonda looked like someone from another time. Helen watched as she disappeared into the shadows.

  Later, Helen would regret that she didn’t call out to Rhonda and say she’d changed her mind. Her refusal set off a chain reaction that ended in three deaths. Helen would always wonder if she’d let Rhonda buy her that dinner, would at least one victim have survived?

  But Helen said no and started the events that would create a new widow and a world of sorrow.

  CHAPTER 3

  Helen grew up in St. Louis, where houses were redbrick boxes with forest green shutters. To her, the Coronado Tropic Apartments were wrapped in romance. The Art Deco building was painted a wildly impractical white and trimmed an exotic turquoise. The Coronado had sensuous curves. Palm trees whispered to purple waterfalls of bougainvillea. The pool was a misty oasis.

  In the hard daylight, Helen knew the building showed its fifty-eight years. The hot sun beat down on cracked sidewalks and cruelly revealed the rusty air conditioners sticking out of the windows like rude tongues. But on this November night they were concealed by the softening darkness, and their rattling brought soothing memories of long-ago vacations.

  Margery, Peggy and a freshly showered Helen sat around the pool, sipping wine and swatting slow-moving mosquitoes. Margery presided over the box of white wine like a society matron at her teapot, pouring until everyone was mildly looped.

  The Coronado’s landlady was seventy-six. Margery’s face was brown and wrinkled as a cured tobacco leaf, but her long tanned legs belonged to someone thirty years younger. She liked to show them off with sexy shoes. Tonight she wore a pair of geometric ankle-wrap sandals. Helen wondered how Margery walked in them without strangling her feet. And where did she get those cool clam diggers? When Helen wore that style, she looked like her pants were too short. Of course, the pants and shoes were purple. Margery loved purple. She also liked Marlboros. She was surrounded by a perpetual cloud of smoke, like an ancient soothsayer.

  “Where’s your policeman, Peggy?” Margery said. “I haven’t seen him lately.”

  Her upstairs neighbor was stretched out on the chaise longue with a wineglass in one hand. Pete, her green Quaker parrot, walked back and forth on her shoulder like a sentry on duty.

  “You won’t,” Peggy said. “We’re finished.”

  “Awwk!” Pete said.

  So much for Margery’s ability to predict the future, Helen thought.

  “Life can be tiring with a cop,” Margery said. “You’re always wondering if he’s going to come home or if you’re going to get that call.”

  Peggy sighed. She looked weary in an interesting way, like a forties actress. She wore black, as if mourning her dead romance. It made her skin milky white in the dusk. Her dramatic nose gave her face unexpected elegance.

  “You could say I got tired of the danger, if you consider drinking with his cop buddies life threatening,” Peggy said. “His pals wouldn’t take away his car keys when he was drunk. Every time the phone rang I expected to hear he’d wrapped his car around a tree. Sometimes he didn’t see me for several nights. He said he was working late on a stakeout. He was staking out a strip joint on the Dixie Highway. I was afraid he’d bring home something nastier than a stripper’s phone number on a cocktail napkin. I told him to straighten up and fly right.”

  Pete stretched and flapped his wings, as if demonstrating.

  “What did your cop say?” Margery asked.

  “He swore he was done with strippers. Then I found a red satin G-string in his pocket.”

  “How did he explain that?” Margery said.

  “He said he found it.”

  “You were right to dump him,” Margery said. “A man who can’t bother to make up a good lie doesn’t care anymore.”

  “Pete’s the only man for me.” Peggy stroked the little bird’s head with one finger.

  Pete nuzzled her neck, but wisely stayed silent. So did Helen. Even Margery shut up. The three women stared at their wineglasses, lost in their own thoughts. Helen could say plenty about the treachery of men, but she didn’t dare. She was on the run in South Florida because of her ex-husband, Rob.

  “I’m sticking to the lottery,” Peggy said. “It’s the only way I’ll get lucky.”

  Helen didn’t know what to say. Peggy spent some thirty dollars a week on her “retirement plan,” but she never won a nickel.

  The cell phone by Margery’s chair rang and the landlady snapped it open. “Hello?” she said. “Kathy? You want to speak to your sister? What’s the matter? OK, calm down. Helen’s right here.”

  “What’s wrong, Kathy?” Helen was so frightened she could hardly say those three words. Kathy was the only person from her old life who knew how to reach her at the Coronado. This was an emergency.

  Suddenly, all her fears poured out in a flood of questions. “Are Tom and the kids all right? Was there an accident? Is something wrong with Mom?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Kathy said. “I’m worried about you. Rob is on your trail. I found out from Mom. She still talks to him.”

  “That makes me furious,” Helen said. “That snake thinks he can charm information out of her.”

  “This time it worked the other way,” Kathy said. “Rob told Mom he tracked you to South Florida.”

  Helen’s heart turned to ice. “How? I’ve been so careful.”

  “I have no idea,” Kathy said. “But he’s smart. I’ll give him that. He even found out the name you’re using now. Rob is desperate. He’s been dropped by his latest lady friend. She kicked him out of her apartment. He can’t make his car payment. He told Mom he’s on the verge of bankruptcy. If he can’t get his court settlement money from you, he’ll have to get a job.”

  “A day’s work would kill him,” Helen said.

  “It’s not funny, Helen,” Kathy said. “He pawned the Rolex you bought him to buy his plane ticket.”

  “He won’t starve,” Helen said. “He’s still got the Cartier tank watch.”

  “Will you listen to me?” Kathy said, and Helen heard her exasperation crackling in the atmosphere. “Rob is flying into Fort Lauderdale tomorrow. He says he knows where you work.”

  “Is he coming to the Full Moon?” Helen’s voice shook, and she felt sick. Am I going to have to quit this job, too? she thought. Please, God, don’t let Rob find me at the hotel. The only thing harder than working is looking for a job.

  “I don’t know which job he found out about,” Kathy said. “He didn’t tell Mom. I can’t keep track of them all. How many has it been now:
five, six?”

  “Seven, including the Greek diner,” Helen said.“Eight if you count the time Margery roped me into working on a cruise ship. Where is that worthless bum staying in Lauderdale? Did Rob get a hotel or is he sponging off some woman?”

  “He didn’t say. I’ve told you all I know. I called right away, so you could take precautions.”

  Sensible Kathy, Helen thought. She’s identified the problem and expects me to fix it. But this can’t be fixed.

  “Precautions?” Helen said. “What precautions? Can I get an anti-Rob vaccine? Can I board up my windows and hope he blows out to sea? What the hell am I going to do?”

  Margery and Peggy had been frankly eavesdropping. Now Margery spoke up. “You’re going to quit badgering your sister, Helen. It’s not Kathy’s fault that jerk is coming to town. You’re going to thank her for caring enough to make this call. You’re going to tell her you’ll be fine and your Florida friends will watch out for you. Here, give me that.”

  Margery grabbed the phone from Helen. “Kathy, did you hear me?” she asked. “You have enough to worry about with a house, a husband and kids. I’ll handle Helen.”

  Margery listened and nodded, then said, “Rob’s nothing! A minor-league lowlife. Don’t you worry, Kathy. There isn’t a man alive who can get past me.”

  She snapped the phone shut, then turned to Helen. The landlady’s hair was wreathed in smoke and she blew more out her nostrils, like an irritated old dragon. “Now, Helen Hawthorne, you’re going to tell me the truth for a change. It’s the only way I can help you.”

  “I—” Helen said.

  “No, I’m not giving you time to make up another lie. Start talking or start packing.”

  Margery’s face was hard as New Hampshire granite and just as weathered. Helen knew her suitcases would be on the sidewalk if she didn’t talk. She stalled. “What about Peggy?”

  “What about her?” Margery said. “If Rob is looking for you, then he’ll come here. You’ve dragged Peggy into this mess. She has a right to know. Why is your ex really after you? Did he beat you? That’s what you told me. That’s why I was supposed to watch out for him. Is Rob violent?”

  “No,” Helen said. “I attacked him.”

  “Awk,” Pete said.

  Peggy dropped her wineglass. Helen heard it shatter on the concrete. No one moved to clean it up.

  “Well, well. This is interesting. I thought you were a victim,” Margery said.

  “I am,” Helen said, suddenly angry, although she didn’t know if it was at Margery or herself. “But I did it to myself. For seventeen years I was Mrs. Perfect Yuppie. I worked my rear end off in a corporate job. I had this brand-new mansion in a St. Louis suburb. I was the director of pensions and employee benefits for a big company.”

  Scenes from Helen’s old life flashed before her: the beige suits, the bland conversations, the dull meetings and endless memos. And the money. She’d made mountains of money then, compared to her current job. Helen had earned a hundred thousand dollars a year. It was all gone, most of it blown on things that bored her. The rest went to Rob, her lawyer, and bad investments.

  “Go on,” Margery said. “You’ve just started.”

  “Rob was a top salesman. He made a good living. We’d been married ten years when he was fired. Then he couldn’t find the right job.”

  “How long did he look?” Margery said.

  “Seven years,” Helen said.

  Peggy made a small choking sound. Margery blew out a cloud of smoke. “What did he live on all that time?” she said.

  “Me,” Helen said. She hung her head. She’d been as gullible as a schoolgirl. “He strung me along with excuses. Sometimes I’d get angry and tell Rob to find a job, any job, even bagging groceries. Rob would sweet-talk me with flowers and candlelight dinners that turned up later on my credit card. I was dumb enough to believe him when he said he was looking for work that used his abilities.”

  Helen couldn’t say the rest out loud. It was too painful. She’d really thought Rob had loved her. She still remembered him holding her hand in the restaurant and saying, “Please believe in me, Helen. There’s no one like you.”

  He was right, Helen thought bitterly. No other woman was quite as stupid as I was.

  “So what happened?” Margery said.

  “I went around with my eyes wide shut for seven years. I knew things weren’t right, but they weren’t wrong enough for me to do anything. Then one summer afternoon I was on my lunch hour at work reading this women’s-magazine article called, ‘Ten Ways to Turn Your Marriage from Ho-Hum to Hot.’ Number six said, ‘Be impulsive. Surprise your husband with a romantic interlude in the afternoon. Your life will never be the same.’

  “So I did. I canceled another boring meeting and went home. I surprised Rob on the back deck with our next-door neighbor, Sandy. They were boffing like bunnies.”

  “Awk!” Pete said.

  “My feeling exactly,” Helen said. “Rob had been working on the deck before he started nailing Sandy. I saw this crowbar right at my feet.”

  “So you beat the living daylights out of him.” Margery’s smile was ferocious.

  “No, I beat up his SUV. Reduced it to rubble.”

  “You really know how to hurt a man,” Margery said.

  “Oh, I hurt him, all right. He cried when they towed it away. He never drove anything as nice again. I paid for that car, and I was glad I’d wrecked it. It felt good. You want to hear the ironic part? He always said he didn’t like Sandy.”

  “You don’t have to like a woman to screw her,” Margery said. She gave that scary smile again. Pete huddled against Peggy’s neck. Helen didn’t blame him.

  “Did Rob press charges for assault?” Peggy asked.

  “He was too embarrassed. When the cops showed up he was cowering inside the battered SUV, naked as a jaybird.”

  “Awk!” Pete said.

  “I don’t understand,” Peggy said. “If you didn’t beat him up, why are you on the run?”

  “His lawyer got me. When I divorced the unfaithful creep, his lawyer showed photos of the wrecked SUV in court. The idiot judge decided Rob wasn’t a layabout for seven years. His Dis-Honor said Rob was a house husband who’d worked hard to control his hysterical wife and helped her be a productive earner. He awarded Rob half my income. He actually wanted me to give that worthless SOB fifty thousand dollars a year. I went crazy. I stood up in court and swore on the Bible that Rob would never see a nickel of my money.”

  “That must have been dramatic,” Margery said.

  “It was,” Helen said. “Even after I realized I’d sworn on a copy of the Missouri Revised Statutes. It looked like a Bible. Anyway, I took off in the middle of the night and ended up here in South Florida, where I work low-profile jobs for cash under the table.

  “I thought I had it figured out. I wasn’t in any company computer. I didn’t have a phone, a credit card, a bank account, or a Florida driver’s license. I was sure Rob couldn’t find me. But he did.”

  “He’s after your measly income?” Margery said. “What do you make? Two hundred fifty dollars a week?”

  “Two sixty-eight,” Helen said. It sounded pathetic when she said it. A month’s pay as a hotel maid wouldn’t cover her American Express bill from the old days.

  “Hardly seems worth his effort,” Margery said.

  “No handout is too small for Rob to accept. But it’s more than money. I’m in contempt of court,” Helen said. “He could have me dragged back to St. Louis. I could wind up in jail for running out on him. Or I might have to go back to a corporate job to avoid jail—and that would be almost as bad as prison.”

  “Why?” Peggy said. “What’s wrong with making six figures?”

  “I hated every day of that job,” Helen said. “I had no life outside the office. All I did was work. I sentenced myself to seventeen years of hard labor. In Fort Lauderdale, I set myself free. I don’t have as much money, but I can come home and toast the sunset. I
can sit out by the pool with my friends. I have a good man like Phil.”

  “He’s sexy, too,” Margery said. “Don’t forget that.”

  Peggy winced, and Helen thought the subject of sexy men might still be painful. “What about your family and friends back home?” she said.

  “What friends?” Helen said. “I didn’t have any real friends—not like you two. I had business contacts and lunch partners. I love my sister, Kathy, but she’s so perfect I don’t know what to say to her. I love Mom, but she’s hopeless. She thinks Rob and I should get back together. That’s why she still talks with him. She didn’t take my side in the divorce. She said marriage is forever.”

  “It just seems that way,” Margery said. “Listen, Phil’s a private detective and a smart guy. Why don’t you get him to help you? I gather Rob had more than one squeeze. Phil can find witnesses to your ex’s constant cheating. He can dig up people who will swear Rob spent seven years loafing on your money. You can go back to court with better ammunition.”

  “No, thanks,” Helen said. “Rob knows how to talk to the old boys on the bench. He’d charm a woman judge right out of her robes. You don’t know him. He’ll win again, and I’ll wind up in jail. I’m not risking my life and my freedom in a system that’s already messed up once. I don’t trust it.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” Margery said.

  “Me, either,” Peggy said. She’d had her own problems with the law. That’s where she met her policeman.

  “Besides,” Helen said, “I want to keep Phil out of this. It’s my problem, not his.”

  “Maybe I can find a solution that doesn’t require a lawyer,” Margery said. She stared into the smoke.

  “You know any hit men?” Helen asked.

  CHAPTER 4

  You know any hit men?

  Helen’s question hung in the air like a curse. She was surprised she’d said it. Then a red rage surged through her and she wanted Rob dead. Helen would have given anything—her money, her freedom, her life. She hated her ex-husband, hated how she’d believed in him, hated how she’d run from him. How could that twisted judge give Helen’s hard-earned money to the man who’d used her?