by Elaine Viets
Helen looked at the desolate grave and wanted to ask, “Is that all there is?” She knew the answer.
After the burial, Helen, Denise, Cheryl and Sondra rode back to the Jesus Saves church in stunned silence. They still had to endure what Rhonda’s mother called a “cold collation”—stale sandwiches and soggy cookies. A coffeepot was set up on the former pharmacy counter. Helen poured herself a cup to warm her hands. She felt chilled inside and out.
The Full Moon staff formed a miserable quartet. They scattered when Sam approached, his plate piled high with gray turkey sandwiches. Helen was left alone with Rhonda’s biker boyfriend. He wore an awkward suit. The sleeves were too short to cover the Seminole Sam tattoo on his wrist. His dark hair was salted with dandruff.
“Guess you never expected to see me like this,” Sam said.
Helen flashed on the vision of Sam and his two skanky girlfriends leaving the Full Moon. How could he take those trashy women to the hotel where Rhonda worked? Was he trying to humiliate her? Then Helen had a sudden horrible thought and slopped her coffee on the floor. What if Sam knew it didn’t matter because Rhonda was dead in the Dumpster?
Sam didn’t notice Helen’s trembling hands or the coffee puddle at her feet. He was still munching the pile of aging turkey. “I mean, you must be surprised to see me in a suit,” he said through a mouthful of masticated turkey.
“Yes,” Helen said. One word was all she could manage.
“Got it for my court appearance,” Sam said. “Figured it would come in handy again, so I kept it. It’s the least I could do for Rhonda.”
“And I’m sure that’s what you did for her,” Helen said.
Sam hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure he’d been insulted. Then he backed away, protecting his piled plate from her venom. Helen heard a soft snicker behind her.
“He deserved that.”
Helen turned to see a woman who could have been Rhonda’s blond sister. She was tall and scrawny, with a long face and big teeth. Her brassy hair hung in banana curls, a style some twenty years too young for her. Then she smiled, and was transformed. Energy and charm overcame bad hair any day.
“I’m Amber.” She stuck out a long, thin hand. “I’m just about Rhonda’s best friend. I mean, I was. Well, I still am but she’s—” Amber abandoned the hopeless tangle of syntax.
“I worked with Rhonda at the Full Moon,” Helen said.
“I liked the way you gave Sam hell, even if he was too dumb to know it,” Amber said. “He’s a prick. And wasn’t that a sorry excuse for a funeral?”
“Amen,” Helen said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Rhonda used to drink at Biddle’s Corner Bar up the road,” Amber said. “I could use a beer. Let’s give her a proper send-off.”
Helen rarely drank beer, but in the dusty little church a cold brew was tempting. She said her good-byes to Shirley and told Denise she’d find her own way home. The head housekeeper seemed relieved.
Biddle’s Corner Bar turned out to be a dingy cinder-block building halfway up the street. At three thirty in the afternoon, it was deserted except for a bartender polishing glasses. Amber went up to the bar for two draft beers and a pack of Planters peanuts.
Back at the table, Amber held up her frosted glass. “To Rhonda,” she said. “She deserved better in this world. If there is a God, she’ll get it in the next.”
Helen clinked glasses with her, then took a bitter sip of beer. It settled the dust and soothed her soul. A handful of peanuts helped, too. “You said it better than the preacher.”
“Damn preacher,” Amber said. “He was as cold as his church. Maybe if he’d cut back on the air-conditioning he’d have money to clean the place up.” She took a long drink. “Rhonda would have been better off without any religion. Never did anything but make her feel guilty.”
A skinny guy with homemade prison tattoos banged through the door and sat down at the bar. Rhonda could really pick places to meet men, Helen thought.
“I’m trying to understand Rhonda,” Helen said. “But I can’t get a handle on her.”
“Nobody could,” Amber said. “She spent every Friday and Saturday night in this bar and all Sunday in church. She dressed like a nun, but she liked men and they liked her. I should talk, but she was built like a broomstick. It didn’t matter to the guys. There was something about Rhonda that men noticed and women couldn’t see.”
The way men can’t see Rob’s appeal, Helen thought.
“Why did she date Sam?” Helen said.
Amber drew thoughtful water circles on her beer glass. “She didn’t think she deserved any better. Isn’t that what they say on Oprah? She’d go out with a nice man, but it never lasted. She thought nice guys were wimps. If they had a mean streak like Sam, she figured they were real men.”
“She didn’t have a high opinion of men, did she?” Helen said.
“Most women don’t.” Amber swallowed a third of her beer.
Helen took a longer sip and crunched another peanut. “The day she died, Rhonda talked about a handsome boyfriend. Was he real or did she make him up?”
“I never knew Rhonda to lie about men,” Amber said.
Helen felt her heart shrivel. She was wrong. She’d ruined the murder investigation and sent the police in the wrong direction.
“Who was he?” Helen said.
“I never saw him. But she talked about him constantly in her last weeks.”
“Did you know this mystery man gave her money?” Helen said. “At least fifty dollars.”
“Men were always giving her little presents: flowers, perfume, a cultured pearl necklace. Even her cat Snowball was a gift. Sam gave her that. He found the kitten on the road. Trust him to give her something she’d have to support. Rhonda thought it was wrong to accept gifts from men, but she took them all the same, then flogged herself on Sunday. She never told her mama. I used to say she needed a man who’d give her diamonds and condos, but she just laughed at me.”
“Did you know that the fifty was counterfeit?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Amber said. “I’m a waitress. Do you know how many bad fifties are floating around South Florida?” She took another gulp of beer, then burped delicately.
“Do you think she was passing bad money?” Helen asked.
“No, she wasn’t that kind of girl. She wouldn’t get involved in a counterfeit ring. She liked sex, but she wasn’t greedy for money. Otherwise she would have sold it instead of giving it away, you know what I mean?”
“Can you tell me anything about her new boyfriend?” Helen was practically begging.
“I wish I could,” Amber said. “But she wouldn’t even tell me his name, and usually she told me more than I wanted to know about her men friends. She said he was really special, but she had to keep him a secret for a little while. Rhonda seemed happier and more confident in her final weeks. She didn’t spend Friday and Saturday nights in this dive. She kicked Sam out when he asked for another loan till payday. Since Sam didn’t have a job, she knew payday was a long time away.”
“Did she describe the man at all?” Helen said.
“All I know is he had dark hair and a tattoo on his wrist.”
“Like Sam,” Helen said. “Maybe there wasn’t any new boyfriend. Maybe he was just a cleaned-up version of Sam. An imaginary lover who was kinder, handsomer, and gave her money instead of sponging off her. If he was real, he never bothered coming to her funeral. He never even called her mother and said he was sorry.”
“Maybe he was a butthole, but he’s as real as this beer,” Amber said.
Helen looked at the chilled glass. It was empty.
It was still daylight when Helen lurched out of the tavern, blinking in the brilliant sun. She took the bus home. It chugged along the traffic-clogged streets until she wanted to barf. Helen arrived at the Coronado, sick with remorse and too much beer.
She felt sicker when she saw the two people she least wanted to talk to sitting out by the pool. Margery and A
rlene were stretched out on chaise longues, with wineglasses in their hands. Helen tried to slip around the side of the building, but Arlene called out, “Yoo-hoo! Come try my shrimp dip.”
There was no escape. Arlene was still wearing the same hot-pink eyesore she’d had on at the hotel, but she’d abandoned her knitting bag. “It was such a surprise to see you today,” she said. “But you work at a nice, clean hotel.”
“We try,” Helen said, taking a seat.
“Wine?” her landlady said.
“Not thirsty,” Helen said. Wine on top of the beer would give her a raging headache.
“Shrimp dip?” Arlene said.
Helen’s beer-soaked stomach did a barrel roll. “Not hungry, thanks.”
“You young things are always on a diet,” Arlene said. “I have to ask you, since you’re in the business, how clean is the average hotel room?”
“In some ways, it’s cleaner than your own home,” Helen said. “Most people don’t dust, vacuum or scrub the bathroom every day. They also don’t change their sheets and towels daily.”
“I sure don’t,” Arlene said.
“The bedspreads are the weak link. Even most well-run hotels only change them every two weeks. Some wait longer.”
“And people have s-e-x on them,” Arlene said.
Helen wondered why she spelled out the word. “They’re also diaper-changing stations.”
Arlene wrinkled her face. Margery sat behind a screen of smoke, grinning at Helen.
“I wouldn’t sleep on a hotel bedspread if you paid me,” Helen said. “I’d avoid the in-room coffeepot, too. We had this absentminded maid who cleaned the coffeepot with the toilet rag.”
“Eeuw. I wish you didn’t tell me that. I need my coffee in the morning,” Arlene said.
“Then order it from room service,” Helen said. “Or walk to the nearest coffee shop.”
“Uh, thanks,” Arlene said. She was a not-so-hot shade of green. It clashed with the hot pink. “I’ve had a lot of hotel coffee in my lifetime. Now I wonder what I drank.”
This time she didn’t rise from the chaise with her usual grace. She ran for her apartment with an ungainly lope.
“I finally get a decent tenant in 2C and you have to make her sick,” Margery said.
“She’s a crook like all the others,” Helen said.
“Awwk!” Pete the parrot said. Peggy was drifting toward them like a lost soul, a sulky Pete riding on her shoulder.
“We’ll continue this conversation after Peggy leaves,” Margery hissed. She looked up at Peggy and said, “You look like forty miles of bad road.”
Peggy was on her cell phone again. She shook the phone, then checked the display screen and snapped it shut.
“What’s the matter?” Helen said.
“I can’t find Glenn,” Peggy said. “I haven’t been able to reach him all day. I’ve called and called. He usually talks to me four or five times a day.”
“Maybe he had a business trip,” Margery said.
“He would have told me,” Peggy said. “He could be sick or hurt.”
“Do you want to go to his apartment and check on him?” Margery said. “We’ll go with you.”
“No, I don’t want to be too clingy. That scares a man away. He’s entitled to a day away from me.”
Helen fought to keep from looking at her landlady. She knew Margery’s thoughts were the same as her own: I told you so. He took your money and ran.
The silence grew louder, until Helen couldn’t stand it anymore. “You won’t believe who I saw at work today.”
Margery glared at her. She didn’t want to hear more bad news about 2C.
Tough, Helen thought. She had other bones to pick with Margery in private. She told them about Arlene’s visit to the Full Moon.
“What do you think she’s doing in those hotel lobbies?” Helen asked.
“Spying on people?” Peggy said. “Blackmailing someone? Maybe she’s a private eye.”
“She didn’t photograph many people,” Helen said. “Sondra at the front desk said Arlene took the typical tourist videos of trees and flowers, then shot the pay phones and the snack area, the pool and the lobby. The Full Moon lobby isn’t anything to write home about, much less video.”
“Damn. I’ve been snookered again,” Margery said, stubbing out her cigarette. “I wish I knew why she hangs around hotels.”
“She’s too old to be a hooker,” Peggy said. “Maybe she’s a pickpocket or a thief. Any reports of theft or break-ins at your hotel?”
“No,” Helen said. “She didn’t talk to anyone at the hotel, didn’t approach any guests, and didn’t go toward the room elevators. She spends time at other hotels, too, remember? She told us about her day at that beach hotel.”
“She’s up to something,” Margery said. “I wish I knew what it was.”
“Awwwk,” Pete said.
Peggy checked her cell phone for the tenth time in five minutes. “I think I’ll go inside,” she said. The brilliant butterfly was gone. Peggy’s shoulders drooped and her hair needed a wash. Even Pete seemed downhearted.
Once Peggy was inside her apartment, Margery said, “Your ex and my friend Marcella really hit it off. She called me, absolutely ecstatic about her night with Rob. She’s letting him move in with her.”
“How soon before she kills him?” Helen said.
Margery tried to look innocent. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.
“Phil says your friend Marcella is the Black Widow,” Helen said. “She’s killed at least four husbands.”
Margery laughed. “Your man has quite an imagination. Marcella is a single woman, just like you.”
“Not exactly. My ex is still alive. What happens if Rob dies?”
“You’re being ridiculous. But what if he did, just for the sake of argument? The world would be a better place and you could quit slinking around. Why do you care? Right now your ex is living like a pasha and you’re cleaning toilets. Rob is like a cat. He’ll land on his feet. Aren’t you tired of being a martyr?”
“I like my life,” Helen said stubbornly.
“Then you should have a talk with Phil. He’d better be careful about spreading vicious gossip. Marcella has never been accused of anything.”
“She married a lot of dead men,” Helen said.
“She was unlucky,” Margery said.
“Not as unlucky as they were,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 23
“Hey, Dean,” the man bellowed outside the hotel room. “Get your ass in gear. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
The man stood in the hall, pounding on the door to room 322. This section was infested by the business conference.
No wonder the maids hated corporate types, Helen thought. Not only were they slobs, they were rude. Look at this one, making a racket in the hall at nine in the morning. Didn’t he know this was a tourist hotel? Some people liked to sleep late on vacation.
The man shouted and slammed the door with the flat of his hand. Boom! Boom! The wooden door sounded like a kettledrum. He’d wake up the whole hotel.
“Dean, this isn’t funny,” he screamed. “Get your butt out of bed. We’re late, damn it.”
Cussing. The AARP tourists would love that. Helen had to stop this tantrum. She abandoned her cleaning cart and ran to 322.
The door pounder wore a gray pin-striped suit, a power tie and an air of impatience. A small bald spot sat on his head like a crown. He was not used to being ignored. A younger man with more hair and a cringing air held the door pounder’s topcoat. They must be headed for a colder climate.
The suit was about to batter the door with his fully loaded briefcase when Helen said, “May I help you, sir?”
The door pounder dropped the briefcase. The coat holder picked it up.
“We’re trying to wake up Dean,” the suit said. “He won’t answer his phone and he won’t come to the door. My name is Richard. That’s Jason.”
The boss gave the coat holder a nod
, and the young man showed his teeth in an obsequious smile. The attention made Jason bold. “If Dean doesn’t move soon, we’ll have to call him the late Dean Stamples,” he said.
The boss’s silence was arctic. Jason gulped.
“Will you open the door for us, miss?” Richard the boss said. It wasn’t a question. It was an order. “We have to be at the airport in half an hour. We have a rental car to return.”
“I can’t open the door, sir, but I can call the manager to help you. I’ll be right back.”
Helen didn’t wait for the elevator. She raced down the stairs to the front desk. Sondra was facing a long, impatient line of businessmen looking at their watches and talking importantly on their cell phones. The bow on Sondra’s blouse was slightly crooked, the only sign the impeccable clerk was frazzled.
“I need to see you,” Helen said, and dragged Sondra into the back office. “We’ve got a problem. The guy in room 322 won’t pick up his phone or open his door.”
Sondra groaned. “The curse of 323 is spreading.”
“Hey! Are you girls going to gossip or are you going to wait on me?” The balding pin-striped man at the desk could have been Richard’s clone.
Sondra came out to the front desk. “I’ll find the hotel owner to personally serve you, sir,” she said.
The pin-striped man puffed out his chest.
“Serves him right,” Helen said. “Wait till Sybil lands on him.”
Helen enjoyed watching the man’s face fall as the short, gnarled Sybil creaked out of her lair, trailing ashes and smoke like an escaped demon.
“What’s your problem?” Sybil said, in a tone that meant there’d better not be one.
“I’m trying to get my bill,” Mr. Pinstripe said.
“Well, things will go a lot faster if you’ll quit nagging my staff,” Sybil said. “They’re moving as fast as they can.”
Sondra pulled Helen into the back room again. “We’ll call the guest from here,” she said. The phone rang six times, but there was no answer from room 322.
Helen didn’t expect one. “A phone call isn’t going to disturb that guy,” she said. “His boss made enough noise to wake the dead.”
Sondra stared at Helen. “I hope this isn’t what I think it is. We’d better get up there fast.” She grabbed her passkey card and rushed past a cluster of tourists with fat flowered suitcases waiting for the elevator. Sondra pounded up the stairs. Helen ran two steps behind her.
