The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 1

by Elaine Viets

  “Who’s that creep?” Helen whispered.

  “Sam, the biker boyfriend,” Denise said. She spoke so low her lips barely moved.

  Cheryl stopped crying abruptly and stared at the man. Helen thought he looked familiar, or maybe he looked like every mother’s nightmare. His gut flopped over his belt. His dirty hair was braided. A full beard nearly hid the stains on his Sturgis T-shirt.

  Then Sam took a gulp of beer and Helen saw the tattoo on his wrist—Seminole Sam. The recognition was like a gut punch. This was the scuzzy guy from room 323 with the two women and the strap-on dildo. Helen wondered who’d used it.

  Denise stood up. “We have a little something for you from everyone at the hotel.” She put the envelope in Shirley’s worn hand and patted it.

  “Rhonda always spoke so highly of you all,” her mother said.

  Helen didn’t dare look at Denise and Cheryl. She wanted to crawl away.

  As Shirley shut the front door in a flurry of blessings and thanks, Helen heard Sam say, “Shirl, could you loan me twenty?”

  Back in the car, Denise said, “I feel like slime. I want to eat every ugly word I ever said about Rhonda.”

  “I’d get a fork and help,” Helen said. She used Denise’s cell phone to call Margery. “There’s no sign of Rob,” Margery said. “Come on home.”

  Denise dropped her off at the Coronado with barely a good-bye. They felt too low and ashamed to say more.

  Out by the pool, Helen drank more wine than usual. She tried to follow Arlene’s chatter, but she kept seeing poor, battered Rhonda. When Arlene finally went inside, Margery smoked in silence and Helen stared at the black night sky.

  Peggy came dancing back to the Coronado about ten o’clock. “We made it an early night because Glenn has an appointment at six in the morning.” Her voice was soft with suppressed happiness. “We had dinner at a little French bistro, then walked along the water.”

  “Sounds romantic,” Helen said.

  Margery said nothing.

  “Except Glenn kept taking calls from Japan,” Peggy said. “Some deal he’s doing there.” She seemed secretly proud that her man had business half a world away.

  “Sounds like a real wheeler-dealer,” Margery said.

  Was that sarcasm? If so, Peggy missed it. “Oh, yes,” she said. “He’s involved in a big deal. He’s talking about millions.” She chatted for a few more minutes, then was gone in a rustle of silk.

  Helen heard a car door slam and sat straight up. “Is that Rob?”

  “Let me look,” Margery said. “You stay behind this bougainvillea.”

  Margery came back a few moments later. “Arlene was getting out of Glenn’s limo. What was she doing with him?”

  Helen didn’t have to speculate. Arlene was running toward them, almost as excited as Peggy. Her outrageous striped dress looked like a circus tent in a windstorm.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride in a limo,” Arlene said, “so I went out and introduced myself to Peggy’s boyfriend as he was leaving. He gave me a ride down Las Olas. The limo has fabulous upholstery and a built-in bar with Waterford crystal. I felt like a queen. Glenn was so nice to me. That’s what I like about being old. Nobody takes you seriously.”

  Margery said, “It beats the alternative.” Then she blew a great cloud of smoke.

  CHAPTER 13

  The army of reporters had deserted the Full Moon the next morning. Helen wondered what had lured them from the murder hotel. She slipped in the side entrance and found Craig and Cheryl in the laundry room, listening to a radio turned low.

  “What’s happening?” Helen asked.

  “Shh!” Craig said. “It’s Bad Barry and Big Andy.”

  “The nasty shock jocks who did the ‘Hotel California’ routine yesterday,” Cheryl added, as if Helen could forget.

  “We’re waiting to see if they do their routine again.”

  Craig flashed his boy-star smile and turned up the radio a notch. Helen and Cheryl leaned in toward the speaker. She heard maniacal laughter, followed by jackass brays.

  “You’re shitting me,” Barry said. “Sweet Cindy, the Channel 19 anchor, was really decapitated?”

  “Just confirmed,” Andy said. “Happened on I-95 this morning. A beer truck rolled over her convertible. Way to go, Cindy!” Andy could hardly get the words out. He was snorting like a mad bull. Helen wondered if he pawed the studio floor.

  “Gives new meaning to ‘talking head,’ Andy,” Barry said. The pair laughed like demons.

  Cheryl looked stunned. “I can’t believe they’d joke about that,” she said.

  “I can,” Craig said. He had an odd little grin.

  Denise walked in and switched off the radio. “I’m sorry that poor young woman died. But at least we won’t have to spend another day with all those reporters. They’re on to the next tragedy. Now, everyone go to work. Cheryl, you and Helen start on three. Craig and I will clean on two.”

  Craig followed Denise quietly, like a puppy off his feed. Maybe he really had been sick yesterday.

  Up on three, Helen and Cheryl went about their work swiftly. Soon they were in the zone, dusting, sweeping and scrubbing with hardly a word between them. The thrill seekers had checked out, leaving behind mounds of beer cans and pizza boxes.

  “The beer cans are all empty,” Cheryl said. “You’d think they could have left us a couple of full ones if they weren’t going to tip.”

  Helen kept sticking her head out the room door, looking for Denise. The head housekeeper had promised to search Rob’s room. It was nearly noon when Helen saw her in the doorway of 312, hands on her hips. Apparently Denise had struck pay dirt, with the accent on dirt.

  “I waited until Craig was on break,” Denise said. “It wouldn’t do to have a trainee see me violate the rules. Your ex-husband left about ten this morning. I just now had the chance to go through his room. Does Rob swing both ways?”

  “No,” Helen said. “He only inflicts himself on the female sex.”

  Cheryl turned off the water in the bathroom and leaned against the doorjamb to listen.

  “Well, he’s got a guy’s name and phone number on his dresser today—a Jeffrey Tennyson Barker,” Denise said. “There’s also a newspaper story about this Jeffrey. I don’t want to sound prejudiced, but Jeff looks a little light in the loafers.”

  Helen sat down hard on the queen bed she’d been making. “Ohmigod. Jeff. Yes, he’s gay. He was also my boss at my last job, the Barker Brothers Pampered Pet Boutique. I’ve got to get to him before Rob does.”

  What was I thinking? Helen asked herself. Why didn’t I call Jeff yesterday, after I talked with Millicent at the bridal shop? Phil wasn’t the one who underestimated my ex.

  Denise handed Helen her cell phone. “Here,” she said. “Make the call now.”

  She stood so close, Helen could smell her old-fashioned soap. Camay? Denise acts like I’m going to bolt out the door, Helen thought. She wished she could. Suddenly Helen wanted to be far away from this hotel. She felt a brief stab of nostalgia for Jeff’s dog boutique, with Lulu the well-dressed beagle-dachshund.

  “Hello,” Helen said into the cell phone.

  Jeff recognized her voice even before she identified herself. “Sweetie, how are you?” She could hear frantic barking. “Lulu, quiet! I’ll give you a treat, but only if you’re a good girl.” The barks turned into hopeful whines.

  “You must have been a very good girl, Helen, for someone to leave you nearly a million dollars,” Jeff said.

  “Rob was at your store.” Helen gripped the phone as if it would leap out of her hand. She tried to make her voice sound normal, but it skidded up and down like a teenage boy’s.

  “Yes, he was. Such a cutie,” Jeff said. “Nice buns on that boy, and bearing gifts, besides. Aren’t you the lucky one? We’re so sorry we couldn’t remember the hotel where you’re working now.”

  Helen let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

  “But we remembered the name
of the divine little Art Deco apartment building where you live,” Jeff said.

  “Irk,” Helen said.

  “Don’t thank us,” Jeff said. “Although any part of that million you want to give us as a token of your regard will be just fine. Lulu, don’t nip the nice customer. Helen, I have to go.”

  The line went dead. Helen felt like her brain had been disconnected at the same time.

  “Rob found you,” Denise said.

  “He found my home,” Helen said. “I need to call my landlady.”

  Helen’s fingers fumbled so badly with the phone buttons she couldn’t make the call. After the third try Denise took the phone from her hands. “What’s the number?” she asked.

  Denise punched in Margery’s number and hit send, then handed Helen the phone.

  Margery answered on the first ring. “He’s here,” she said, her words flat and clipped. “Outside by the pool. I’m making him a drink. Call me in an hour.” She hung up before Helen could ask anything. If Margery made him a drink, Rob wouldn’t be able to cause trouble this afternoon. Her screwdrivers could anesthetize a rhino.

  Helen spent a miserable hour trying to clean the rooms. She knew she was doing a terrible job. The beds were lumpy. The freshly polished furniture looked like it was smeared with grease. Cheryl kept straightening the bedspreads and wiping down the dresser tops after her.

  At one o’clock Helen called Margery. “All clear,” her landlady said. “Rob’s gone, but I don’t think he’s going back to the hotel right away. I’ll give you the details when you come home. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

  Helen didn’t feel safe. She stumbled through two more rooms, tripping, dropping things, and putting the sheets on sideways. When Helen sprayed a mirror with furniture polish, Cheryl said, “You need to go home.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone with all this work.”

  Cheryl looked at the oily film on the dresser mirror. “No offense, Helen, but I’ll finish faster working alone. Room 323 has the Do Not Disturb sign up, so I won’t have to clean it.”

  Helen started to go, but hesitated. Cheryl had too much to do on her own.

  “Don’t feel guilty,” Cheryl said. “When Angel gets a tummy ache at school, I’ll have to leave you in the lurch. You’ve had a bad fright. Go on, get out before your ex comes back. I’ll clear it with Denise.”

  Helen felt more relieved than guilty. She left her stained smock in the laundry room and slunk home like a felon, watching for Rob as she rounded every corner and passed every clump of trees. She kept away from Las Olas, in case he was lunching at a sidewalk café.

  She saw no sign of her ex, but she did see a pale, skinny figure with long orange-red hair strolling along the sidewalk.

  “Rhonda!” Helen said, surprised but happy.

  The woman turned around. She looked nothing like the murdered maid.

  “Sorry,” Helen mumbled.

  When someone died suddenly, you saw them everywhere for a while, Helen thought. That’s natural. Then why did it feel so unnatural?

  Margery met her with a screwdriver in an iced tea glass. Helen figured it held nearly a pint of vodka and orange juice.

  “Drink,” her landlady said. “You’re a wreck.”

  Helen took a stiff swig. Margery handed Helen a ham sandwich and a bag of chips.

  “Where’s the black-bean-mango salsa and vanilla-rum butter?” Helen said.

  “I can slap on some French’s mustard,” Margery said.

  “I prefer the indigenous local products,” Helen said.

  “Good. You’ve got your sense of humor back. Come on out by the pool, where we can talk. Arlene and Peggy are both gone.”

  Her landlady clip-clopped back to the pool in purple-heeled sandals. There weren’t many seventy-six-year-olds who could wear a lavender halter top, but Margery had smooth, tanned shoulders. She artfully lit a cigarette and took a deep draw that would have left Helen choking on the smoke. Margery looked sophisticated.

  It was one of those perfect afternoons that made Floridians realize why they endured the roasting summers. The fine weather was wasted on Helen. She’d turned cold at the thought of Rob. He’d been here at her home. He’d probably sat on this very chaise.

  “He really thinks he’s slick,” Margery said. “He thought he was conning me the whole time, pouring on the charm for an old lady who’d be grateful for a man’s attention, no matter how phony.

  “I batted my eyelashes and told him you’d moved out. I said you went to Sarasota, on the other side of the state. Two can play the lying game. Well, I did tell the truth, sort of. I said you were short of money, and couldn’t even afford a car. I made it clear he wasn’t going to get much out of you, even if he did find you.”

  “Didn’t Rob say he could solve all my problems with that million-dollar inheritance?” Helen said.

  “He’s smart enough to know that wouldn’t work on me,” Margery said. “He looks about as much like a lawyer as I do. Rob claimed that he was dating someone else and only wanted to reassure you there were no hard feelings. He wanted to make amends.”

  “He’s a lying scumbag,” Helen said.

  “I know that. I could see it in his eyes. He’s eaten up with greed and anger. It’s ruining his looks. I said I’d try to get a message to you, but I couldn’t promise anything. It would take time.”

  “Do you think he believes you?”

  “I don’t know,” Margery said. “Waiting will cost him money, and I don’t know how much he has. I’ll keep an eye out for him. If I find him hanging around here, I’ll call the police and report him as suspicious. That should take care of him.”

  “Do you really think he’ll go away?” Helen said, unable to hide her hope.

  Margery stared into the turquoise pool, then said, “No. The man is obsessed with you. He was used to cheating on you, and then you fooled him. The biter got bit. He can’t stand it. You need to get rid of him. I may have a solution.”

  “What?” Helen said. “I wish he was dead, but I can’t kill him.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen,” Margery said. “Your ex thinks he’s quite the ladies’ man, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Helen said. “He’s made a career of living off women. I mean, besides me.”

  “Then we may be able to get rid of him easier than you think.”

  “How?” Helen asked.

  “I’ll let you know.” Margery blew out another stream of smoke. “How are you and Phil getting along?”

  “Not so good,” Helen said. “We quarreled this morning.”

  “Was it serious?”

  “He wants me to go to St. Louis and clear my name.”

  “He’s right.”

  “You’re taking his side?” Helen said.

  “I’m taking your side. I can think of better things to do with that man than fight.” Margery held up a liver-spotted hand. “Look at me. You’ll be as old and dried up as I am before you know it. You won’t remember the stupid fights, but you will remember the good times. You’ll need them to get you through a cold old age.”

  Margery stubbed out her cigarette.

  They heard the slam of a car door. Both women jumped up. Margery ran to check out the parking lot. “It’s that limo. Peggy is out with that damned four-flusher again,” she said.

  “You don’t think he’s really rich, do you?” Helen said.

  “He’s another user. I can smell them a mile away.”

  “Why is Peggy being so stupid about this man?” Helen said.

  Margery raised her eyebrows.

  Why was I so stupid about Rob? Helen thought. Why is any woman dumb about a man? It’s always easy to see through someone else’s lover.

  “She’s young, she’s lonely, and she wants to believe what he’s telling her,” Margery said. “How long can she hang out with a parrot?”

  “Pete’s better than that guy any day,” Helen said.

  “Not in bed,” Margery said. “Quiet. Here she comes.” />
  Peggy floated across the lawn and settled on the chaise, light as a leaf. “Another wonderful night,” she said, and sighed. “Glenn took me to dinner again at Mark’s. I felt guilty about him picking up the dinner tab, so I bought him a silver cigarette lighter.”

  “Was this your idea or his?” Margery said.

  Helen had the same thought.

  “Mine,” Peggy said. There was a touch of defiance in her voice.

  “How did you know whether to get him silver or gold?” Margery said.

  “I saw him admiring a man’s lighter in the cigar bar the other night. It was a silver Cartier.”

  My ex-husband used to do that, Helen thought. He admired a Cartier tank watch, a Rolex, a four-hundred-dollar Egyptian cotton shirt, a Tiffany lighter and an SUV, among other things. I bought them all, like a fool.

  “Of course it was your idea,” Margery said. This time Peggy couldn’t miss the acid in her landlady’s voice.

  “Don’t be that way,” Peggy said.

  “What way?” Margery tried to look innocent and failed.

  “So suspicious,” Peggy said. “Glenn is wonderful. He’s dynamic and smart. He’s putting together a big international deal. He talked to a London banker this evening.”

  “How do you know?” Margery said. “He could have called Time and Temperature.”

  “I saw the country code on his cell phone.”

  “He could have called London Time and Temperature,” Margery said.

  “Glenn is a successful financier. He knows money. Why do you think he has a limo?”

  “Any high school kid can ride in a limo,” Margery said. “It proves nothing.”

  “It tells me he has money and style,” Peggy said. “He says if I give him twenty thousand dollars, he can make me rich.”

  “The only one he’ll make rich is himself—by exactly twenty thousand dollars,” Margery said.

  “I can’t talk to you. You’re so cynical. You’ve forgotten how to love,” Peggy said. Her anger was fierce and heartbreaking. Peggy stood up, stumbled slightly in her sky-high heels, then ran to her apartment. She shut the door quickly, as if Margery’s doubt might creep in.