Dying to Call You (32 page)

She spread a quilt underneath her desk. The little boy curled up at her feet and slept. His brown curls were heartbreaking.

No child should have to sleep on that filthy floor, Helen thought sadly. The overfilled trash cans were only a foot away.

The computers flipped on at eight oh-two and started dialing. With the calls came the rustle and crunch of sixty telemarketers staving off the nation’s abuse with junk food.

Helen checked her computer. It was dialing Maine. A staid state, she thought. Folks in Livermore Falls wouldn’t waste their breath cussing her out. They’d just hang up.

“Hi, Burt. This is Helen with Tank Titan Septic System Cleaner. We make a septic tank cleaner for your home system that is guaranteed to help reduce large chunks, odors and wet spots—”

“Get stuffed, bitch,” Burt said. So much for her theory about Maine.

At eight oh-six, federal agents burst into the boiler room.

Someone barked out an agency name, but Helen didn’t catch it. She was being cussed out by an irate homeowner in Skowhegan.

When the agents roared through the door, both bikers dove under their desks. The telemarketers were ordered to stay where they were.

Two agents had Vito on the floor with a gun to his head.

Vito seemed smaller, his egocentric energy gone, his round pink body deflated. Two more agents came out of the office with the elegant lizard, Mr. Cavarelli. His face twisted into a grimace when he was ordered to the floor.

“He don’t like putting that fancy suit on that raggedy-ass floor,” Taniqua said.

“Floor’s good enough for my little boy, it’s good enough for him,” Marina said. Ramon slept near the trash pile, oblivious.

“Shh,” Zelda said. “I’m trying to hear. The Feds are talking about money laundering. But I can’t tell if they said there were drugs or rugs here.”

“I see more police running up the stairs to Girdner Surveys,” Taniqua said. “They got the elevator and the exits covered. Penelope gonna shit when they break into her office.”

“I think Tank Titan is in the toilet,” Marina giggled. Helen had never seen her smile before. She realized the tired single mother was just a girl.

The computers were frantically dialing Connecticut and the Carolinas, but nobody was selling septic-tank cleaner.

“Hello? Hello!”

Helen jumped. The voice was coming from her abandoned phone receiver. Her response was automatic: “Hi, this is Helen with Tank Titan Septic System Cleaner.”

“You’re the septic-tank-cleaner people?” The woman was so old and frail, her voice sounded like tearing tissue paper.

It had the sweet, trusting quality that made her a prime boiler-room victim.

“Yes, ma’am,” Helen said.

“I’m Mrs. Gertrude Carter. A nice young man from your company called here last week. My son hung up on him.

Roger can be rude, I’m afraid. He doesn’t mean it—he’s just protecting me. Roger said your product was overpriced junk.

But I’ve been thinking about what that young man said. Two hundred ninety-nine dollars seems a good price for a seven-year supply. I’d like to buy it.”

“Your son is right, Mrs. Carter,” Helen said. “Tank Titan is outrageously overpriced. Save your money.”

“Well! You’re an honest young woman.”

“I just started this week,” Helen said.

Loud cheers drowned out Mrs. Carter’s reply.

“Helen, you be missing it,” Taniqua said. “The police got that tight-ass Penelope in handcuffs. I’d give all my money to see that bitch in jail. Vito and the New York guy be with them.”

As the boiler-room bosses were led away, Taniqua stood up and applauded. She was joined by the other inmates. Even the bikers, Bob and Panhead Pete, crawled out from under their desks. All sixty telemarketers gave the Feds a standing ovation. They didn’t seem to care that their jobs were gone.

Then a half-full drink cup went flying through the air and splattered on Penelope’s beige-suited back. Suddenly, all the trash in the room was pelting the three bosses. Helen found herself throwing a handful of left-behind lettuce. It made a greasy splash on Mr. Cavarelli’s elegant suit.

If they’d cleaned the boiler room, this wouldn’t be happening, she thought, and hurled a stale cheese slice like a Frisbee. It stuck to Penelope’s back like a starfish.

The telemarketers threw with furious precision. No trash touched the agents. The agents were stone-faced, but Helen thought she caught an occasional lip flick that might have been a suppressed smile as they hustled the three forward.

When the boiler-room doors closed on the bosses, the trash-pelting stopped.

A swarm of agents started carrying out boxes of files.

There was an electric
pop
and the computer screens went blank.

“The phones stopped,” Taniqua said.

“Tank Titan just hung it up,” Helen said. “I’m out of work. And you know what? I’ve never been happier.”

Epilogue

It was over. But it wasn’t a happy ending.

Helen walked home from the busted boiler room feeling oddly empty. A wild vengeance had surged through her as she’d pelted her bosses with trash, but its hot satisfaction did not last.

She knew Hank Asporth was in jail, charged with everything from boating under the influence to money laundering—everything but Laredo’s death.

Laredo. She was the problem. Helen had never met the woman, but she’d heard her die. Now Laredo seemed more alive than ever, standing in front of Helen in her mock pinup pose. Helen could see her long blond hair, short-shorts and saucy red shoes. Laredo laughed at Helen, taunting her. And she haunted her.

Helen didn’t believe in ghosts. But she did believe in guilt.

Helen felt bad about Laredo. Yes, she was a blackmailer, and that was wrong. But Helen understood why Laredo did it. She’d worked those awful jobs, too. They killed your soul for six dollars an hour. Laredo was murdered trying to escape her hopeless past and dreary future. Helen knew she’d died in Asporth’s house. So why wouldn’t Laredo go away?

“I’m not going to live with you,” Helen said to her.

A woman loaded with shopping bags stared at Helen, then hurried past her. Helen realized she’d been talking out loud on Las Olas Boulevard—without a cell phone.

I’ll call Savannah, Helen thought. Maybe if I give her the news about Hank’s arrest, she’ll feel better. Maybe that will get Laredo out of my head.

She found a pay phone and got Savannah on the first ring.

“I can take a break,” Savannah said. “Meet you in ten by the café. But I don’t feel like eating. Let’s go for a walk.”

Savannah was easy to spot in the crowd. She was wearing one of her fussy frilled dresses. This one was a bright cerise that drained the color from her face. She had grown scrawnier since the last time Helen had seen her. Savannah was hungry for justice.

“So Hank’s in jail?” she said.

“Right,” Helen said.

“But not for my little sister’s death. He’s dropped her somewhere like a sack of trash. She’ll never be found unless he talks.”

“He won’t talk,” Helen said. “He’d incriminate himself.”

The situation was hopeless, and they both knew it. They walked wordlessly for awhile down Las Olas, but neither one liked the crowds. They turned off on a side street and found a canal. It was a peaceful scene: low-hanging trees, bright flowers and a mother duck paddling in the water with her babies.

Helen knew the fluffy little creatures would grow up to be ungainly Muscovy ducks with black feathers and ugly red wattles.

“I wish I could find Laredo,” Savannah said. “What do you think Hank did with her? How could he hide a whole car?”

“I don’t know,” Helen said. They’d had this conversation a hundred times. They’d probably have it a hundred more.

They watched two boys, about ten years old, fishing from the canal bridge. Their musical accents marked them as natives of the Caribbean.

“I’ve caught a whale,” one kid said. Small and wiry, he was reeling frantically. His fishing pole was bent almost double. Whatever he caught, it had to be huge. Then Helen heard his friend laughing. The young fisherman pulled out a Michelin tire.

“Keep fishing, and maybe you’ll catch the whole car,” his friend jeered.

That’s when something clicked for Helen. “Laredo’s car is in the water,” she said. “That’s deep water behind Hank Asporth’s house. I bet anything he put the body inside the car and dumped it in the canal.”

“And how will you prove that?”

“Let’s go look at Hank’s house,” Helen said. “I think I can show you.”

They rode over in Savannah’s rattletrap Tank and parked in the empty driveway. Hank Asporth’s house had a neglected look. Newspapers were piled on the porch, the lawn needed mowing and plastic bags had blown into the ornamental plants.

“Anybody watching us?” Helen said.

“Don’t think so. There are no cars at the next-door neighbor’s and the old man on the other side has his TV blaring.”

“Good,” Helen said. “Let’s go around to the backyard.”

There was no fence. They slipped around a bird-of-paradise bush. Helen had never seen the spiky orange blooms outside a florist’s bouquet. The backyard was expensive waterfront real estate. The lawn near the house was covered with pink paving blocks. When they ended, there was grass to the water’s edge.

“There’s your proof,” Helen said. “I should have seen this before. It was right there all the time. That grass is going to trip up Hank Asporth.”

“Why?” Savannah said.

“That’s new sod. Look.” Helen pointed to a broad swath of lighter grass running through the yard. “It’s covering the tire tracks through the yard to the water’s edge.”

“I see it,” Savannah said. “But how will we get the police to see it? They think you’re a nut and I’m a nuisance.”

“I know someone who’ll get their attention,” Helen said.

Helen waited the rest of the day for Phil to come back to the Coronado, but he remained invisible. She didn’t have a number to reach him or a phone to call him if she had. About five o’clock, she knocked on Margery’s door. Her landlady came out in heliotrope shorts, holding a tall screwdriver garnished with lime.

“Do you know how to get hold of Phil?” Helen said.

“Which part do you want to hold?” Margery had obviously been getting her liquid vitamin C. Helen was irritated because she’d spent a lot of time speculating on exactly that subject. “This is serious. I need to reach him for business. Can you get a message to him?”

“Of course I can. Keep your pants on,” Margery said.

Helen wondered why everything sounded suggestive.

“Go on back home,” Margery said. “I’ll handle it.”

Margery worked her magic. She found Phil, and he found the authorities.

At seven the next morning, Savannah and Helen were standing at the dock in Hank’s backyard, like mourners at a grave. Savannah stared into the dark water. Helen looked for Phil, but he wasn’t there. It was an achingly beautiful day.

Helen didn’t know how long it took the police dive team to find Laredo’s little yellow car. Time seemed to stretch, then fall away. When the battered Honda was pulled from the canal, Savannah did not say a word. Helen was afraid to offer any comfort, even a hug. If she touched Savannah, she would shatter, and they’d never put the pieces back together.

When the grim business of resurrecting the dead car was complete, the police opened the trunk. There was a body inside. The police would not let Savannah see it, but they said it was a small blond woman wearing short-shorts and one red high heel.

Laredo had been found.

“It’s over,” Savannah said. For a brief moment, she looked like her old self. “I can bury my little sister. And she won’t wear a dress slit up the back.”

• • •

At sunset, Helen was sitting by the Coronado pool with Margery and Peggy. Pete sat on Peggy’s shoulder, munching an asparagus spear. The chubby parrot was on a diet.

Helen brought out a box of white wine. Peggy found a can of cashews. Margery added a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries. The evening breeze sent bougainvillea blossoms sailing across the pool. It was just like old times.

“So tell us what happened this morning,” Margery said, “after they pulled out the body.”

“The police got a search warrant for the house,” Helen said. “They were looking for evidence to link Laredo to Hank Asporth.”

“You think they’ll nail the bastard?” Margery took a big bite of her strawberry. It dripped on her purple shirt.

“I hope so. He can say Laredo’s fingerprints were in his house because he dated her. But he’ll have a harder time explaining away her purse. It was in the same closet where I found her red shoe. They found other stuff, too. He’s been charged with the murder of Laredo Manson.”

“I thought Mindy killed Laredo.” Peggy picked up a cashew. Pete eyed it.

“I heard her say it, right before she went up in flames—and off to hell. Once the car was found, Hank started babbling and his lawyer couldn’t shut him up. He swears Mindy strangled Laredo and he was only a terrified bystander.”

“But that’s true, isn’t it? Aren’t you going to tell them about Mindy’s confession?” Peggy ate her cashew and picked up another. Pete watched with beady-eyed interest.

“Hank could have stopped her from killing Laredo. He hid the body and nearly worried Savannah into her own grave. I’m not testifying on his behalf,” Helen said. “He kept his silence—I’ll keep mine.”

“What happened the night Laredo was killed?” Margery took a healthy gulp of wine.

“I think I’ve pieced it together from random remarks by the police, some stuff Savannah said and educated guesses. I know Laredo got some damning information from Hank’s home computer the night he’d abandoned her to talk on his cell phone.”

“Served him right,” Margery said. “I hate people who ignore you to yak on their cell phones. So she put it all on that red disk and tried to blackmail him?”

“Yep. Hank offered Laredo twenty thousand dollars for the disk, then doubled his offer. I think the cops found some uncashed checks in her name. But Laredo didn’t want money. She wanted Hank to marry her. Savannah told me that. The confirmation was in the Girdner Surveys files.”