Half-Price Homicide (14 page)

By her fourth cup of coffee that morning, Helen was as wired as a stadium scoreboard. She was too jittery to talk sensibly to Phil. He gave up and went inside while Helen drank more coffee outside by the pool. She nibbled on toast and waited impatiently for Peggy to appear. At seven thirty, her red-haired friend burst out of her apartment.

Normally pale and quiet, this morning Peggy seemed to crackle with energy. She moved so fast, Pete had trouble maintaining his perch on her shoulder. The parrot flapped his wings and let out a squawk of protest.

“Whoa, you’re ready to fight the day,” Helen said. “You must have had good news.”

Peggy slid into a chair and opened a cup of blueberry yogurt. Pete settled down. “I won a thousand dollars in the Florida Lottery. It’s my first win, ever.”

“Congratulations,” Helen said. “Woo-hoo!” Pete said.

“Did he just say ‘woo-hoo’?” Helen asked.

“Parrots learn to talk if you put a lot of emotion into your words. I’m glad that’s what I screamed when I won yesterday.”

“What kind of fun will you have with your money?” Helen asked.

“I’m using it to make more money,” Peggy said. “I want to work at home and make five thousand dollars a month. That’s twice what I make now. I bought my membership and supplies online. The first shipment will arrive this afternoon.”

“I thought those work-at-home jobs were scams,” Helen said.

“Most are lame pyramid schemes,” Peggy said. “But not this one. It’s called ‘Make Work with Mike.’ I start work when the first shipment of the product arrives after three o’clock today.”

“What’s the product? ” Helen asked.

“Barbecue aprons. See? ” Peggy showed Helen a photo of a smiling man at a smoking grill. His apron read, come and get it, chow hounds! bill’s barbecue. A barbecue fork and long-handled tongs were crossed under the letters.

“The aprons are made in China. I personalize them,” Peggy said. “I add the name and the barbecue utensils. Or crossed beer bottles. Dog lovers can get the chow-hound breed of their choice, from Airedales to Yorkies. I add those, too.”

“Why can’t they do that in China?” Helen asked.

“Too far away,” Peggy said. “Our buyers want a quick response. My membership is two hundred fifty dollars. I bought the industrial glue gun for another two fifty. I get the first shipment of aprons free. After that, I pay two hundred fifty per week for more aprons, but if I make my quota, I’ll earn five thousand dollars a month.”

Phil had been standing by the table holding a fresh cup of coffee. “How much do those aprons sell for in stores?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Peggy said, “but they’re in the finest specialty shops and cookery stores. Not Williams-Sonoma, but that same caliber.”

“There has to be a hitch, Peggy,” Phil said gently. “I’ve never come across a work-at-home scheme that wasn’t a fake.”

“Awk!” Pete said.

“No,” Peggy said. “Not this one. I read the testimonials. Robert in Ottumwa, Iowa, made seven figures last year.” “Robert who?” Phil asked. “Robert G.,” Peggy said. “Did you talk to this man?” Phil asked.

“Well, no. I tried to find him, but there are a lot of Roberts in Ottumwa.”

“Exactly,” Phil said.

“You don’t have to be so negative,” Peggy said. “This is my chance to escape a bad job.”

“I thought you liked your job,” Helen said, trying to find a safer topic.

“I do,” Pegg y said. “I mean, I did. But now my boss’s wife wants a divorce. He spends all day on the phone with his lawyer. The staff is doing our work and his. And he’s always in a rotten mood.”

“Bad boy!” Pete said, shuffling along her shoulder.

“Pete and I could work at home together,” Peggy said. “He’d never be lonely. And I wouldn’t have to put up with my boss’s moods.”

“Peggy, I understand,” Phil said. “But the Florida attorney general warns against these schemes.”

“I didn’t find Mike’s company mentioned on the Web site,” Peggy said.

“That’s a start,” Phil said. “Please promise me you won’t quit your job until you’ve had a good money-making month.” He knelt down beside Peggy and took her hand. Phil looked sincere, strong and, yes, humble. Helen’s heart overflowed with love.

“When a man gets on his knees and begs me, I can’t resist,” Peggy said. She raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t quit my job until I’m making at least three thousand a month working at home.”

Pete flapped his wings.

“Now I’d better get to work,” Peggy said. “Did I imagine it, or was someone fighting in the parking lot last night?”

“It was Mark and Jordan,” Helen said, lowering her voice. “The fight was this morning around six. Jordan came home after being out all night. Mark was drunk—and furious. He accused her of seeing another man. Phil and I had just come back from the nursing home and we saw the fight. Margery intervened and sent them both to their room.”

“Bad boy!” Pete said.

“Well, it’s quiet up there now,” Peggy said. “Let’s hope they’re asleep. I forgot to ask, Helen. How is your mother?”

“She died last night,” Helen said, then tried to stave off the inevitable burst of sympathy. “Don’t be sorry, please. Mom died peacefully. Phil and I were with her. We’ll take her home, probably in two days. Really, it was the best way for a good woman to go.”

“Then I’m glad it’s over for you both,” Peggy said. “I still have to go to work. And you, Pete, have to go back to your cage.”

“Bye!” Pete said.

“He has an amazing vocabulary,” Helen said.

“A testimony to my many lonely nights,” Peggy said as she took her parrot back to her apartment.

When Helen heard Peggy’s car start, she said, “You handled that well, Phil. Peggy’s apron company sounds too good to be true. I wonder what the hitch is.”

“She’ll find out soon,” Phil said. “How are the arrangements for the trip to St. Louis?”

“We’re set for the day after tomorrow,” Helen said.

“Then you have to keep your promise,” Phil said. “We have to straighten out your legal problems, for better or worse.”

“Are you going to get down on your knees?” Helen said.

“If you want,” Phil said. “But they’ll pop.”

Helen took his hand. “I love you. I made a promise and I’ll keep it. But I don’t know where to start.”

“With your divorce decree. What county were you married in?”

“St. Louis County,” Helen said.

“It should be on record at the county courthouse,” Phil said. “We’ll start there. Then I’ll research the judge and we’ll look for a good lawyer.”

“And we’ll live happily—and legally—ever after,” Helen said. “But in the meantime, I’d better get dressed for work and let Vera know when I leave for St. Louis. Will you check that limo license-tag number for me sometime today? If we can prove Jordan was out with Danny the developer, it would help solve Chrissy’s murder.”

She checked her watch. “It’s time for me to go to work.”

“And I have my assignments,” Phil said. “Can I drive you to work?”

“Thanks. I need the walk,” Helen said.

At Snapdragon’s, Helen had her own second thoughts. Vera looked so bad, Helen wondered if the shop owner was sick. Instead of fit and thin, Vera looked washed-out and bony. Her arms were scrawny as Madonna’s. Her red lipstick made her face seem sickly white. She was in a bad mood.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Vera said. “But if you go, you’ll leave me here alone, pestered by the police and the lookie loos.”

“I have no choice,” Helen said. “I can work tomorrow, but then I have to leave. If you want to fire me, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I’ll get by,” Vera said. “My sister in Plantation is looking for work now that her kids are going back to school. She’ll complain about the drive, but she’ll help me out.”

“Good,” Helen said. “Thank you.”

“But I want you back here as soon as possible,” Vera said. “I hired you as a favor to Miguel Angel. I didn’t expect to wind up needing you.”

This odd mix of praise and blame was interrupted when a short, sturdy woman entered the shop. She looked like the perfect grandmother. Her blue pantsuit had a tabby cat on the front. She had fluffy white hair and a sweet smile. She opened a plastic grocery bag and brought out a purse wrapped in a white towel.

Perfect Grandma carefully peeled away the towel and said reverently, “This is a genuine Louis Vuitton.”

Helen could tell it was a fake and a poor one at that. The classic brown monogram Vuitton bag had missing stitches on the leather handle tabs. The brass fittings were dull and the nylon zipper looked cheap.

“Was it a gift?” Vera asked.

“Oh, yes,” Perfect Grandma said. “My dear son Edward and his wife brought it home from their Caribbean cruise. They bought me two designer handbags.” Her face was pink with pride. “I wouldn’t sell this one except that my Social Security doesn’t stretch as far as it used to. And I have my Gucci.” She patted another obvious imitation.

“The Louis Vuitton is a beautiful purse,” Vera said. She held it up and pretended to admire it. “I wish I could buy it, but we’re overstocked right now. But thank you for bringing it here.”

“Maybe later,” Perfect Grandma said, and swaddled the purse like a newborn.

When she left, Helen said, “You were sweet to her.”

Vera blushed. “Hey, I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but I had a grandma, too. I hope nobody tells her the truth about sonny boy’s gifts.”

“Listen,” Helen said. “Something happened last night that may solve Chrissy’s murder and get the police off your back.”

She told Vera about the limo and Jordan and Mark’s fight. “What if Danny and Jordan murdered Chrissy?” Helen said. “They could be in it together. Danny had the perfect alibi. Jordan killed his wife for him—and herself. Her payoff will be marriage to Danny.”

“Maybe,” Vera said. “But I can’t see Danny tying himself down with another wife. Why marry Jordan when he’s already had her? A rich, powerful man can get all the sex he wants. Chrissy was useful. She ran their household well and that was no small feat. She served on the proper charity boards and the committees that advanced Danny’s business. She was a genius at giving dinner parties. She could mend fences with some of the people Danny had angered. Jordan is too self-centered to be an asset to a difficult, ambitious man.

“If Jordan killed Chrissy, I think she acted alone,” Vera said. “She wanted Danny single again. Personally, I don’t care if the killer was Jordan or if both of them were involved, as long as it gets the police off my back. Now all we have to do is convince Detective McNally to look at them.”

“We can call him,” Helen said.

Vera found his business card, dialed a number, listened, then said, “It’s Vera Salinda, Detective. Please call me.”

“He’s not there,” Vera said to Helen. “I don’t think I should say more in my message. He’ll be back in here soon enough.”

Helen sized stock and buttoned shirts until two o’clock. Then she said, “Vera, I’ve done as much as I can. I swear those shirts unbutton themselves at night.”

“Go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Vera said.

Helen ducked out the back door to avoid the ever-present television cameras, and wondered if she should remind Vera to lock it during the day. Chrissy’s murder attracted some spooky shoppers. Walking into the heavy humid afternoon was like being smothered in wet wool. St. Louis wouldn’t be any cooler, but Helen thought it would be a relief to get away for a few days, even if it was for her mother’s funeral. This afternoon, she would catch up on her sleep. She’d work again tomorrow. Then she and Phil would leave the next day.

Her mother’s funeral would mark the formal end to Helen’s old unhappy life. Phil would help her start a new one here in Fort Lauderdale. By the time they returned home, Jordan would be arrested for Chrissy’s murder. Helen and Phil could get married and their life would return to normal—or as normal as it would ever be.

She was nearly at the Coronado when a siren interrupted her thoughts. Then a second. And a third, all howling like a coyote pack. The speeding cars were heading toward her street. Helen ran through the heat to the Coronado. Nearly a dozen cars and emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly in front, like a child’s abandoned toys. Phil stood at the edge of the parking lot, waving to the new arrivals.

“In here, Officers!” he said. “Right through the gate.”

Helen ran up to him. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“It’s Jordan,” Phil said. “She’s dead.”

“Jordan can’t be dead,” Helen said. “I saw her this morning. She was fine.”

“Margery found her in the pool,” Phil said. “She drowned? Jordan never goes swimming. She says the chlorine is bad for her hair.”

“She wasn’t swimming,” Phil said. “She was bashed in the head with a beer bottle. A Heineken bottle.”

“Oh,” Helen said. She was too stunned to move. Was it the heat or the horrible news? Helen had trouble following this conversation. She’d just seen Jordan a few hours ago— angry, arrogant and oddly beautiful. Now she was dead. Worse, murdered.

“Mark killed her,” Helen said. “He killed her out of jealousy because she went out with Danny last night.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that,” Phil said. “Much worse. You look kind of odd. Come over here in the shade and lean on Margery’s car bumper. I can’t take you inside to the patio. The police and techs are swarming over the Coronado like an overturned anthill.”