Half-Price Homicide (18 page)

Helen sidled past Allison’s folding baby crib, boxes of winter clothes and a broken chair, to a small office with fresh white walls. As Kathy bent to turn on the computer, Helen noticed the gray in her little sister’s dark hair.

“You’re ready to go,” Kathy said. “Do you still remember your online password?”

“It’s ‘Cool Valley,’ the town where Grandma was born,” Helen said. “I figured Rob wouldn’t know that.” She typed it in, then shrieked, “Yes, it’s there! I have $306,021.17.”

“Then you’re rich again,” Kathy said.

“Nope. That money goes to pay Mom’s Florida funeral expenses, the lawyers who might be able to get me out of this mess, and any back taxes and penalties I’ll owe the IRS.”

“Why would you owe the IRS?” Kathy asked.

“I haven’t filed income taxes in more than two years,” Helen said. “The feds don’t like that, but with the right lawyer and the right attitude, they might show mercy.”

“Let’s work on dinner while we wait for Phil’s next call,” Kathy said. “We still have a bottle of white wine to finish.”

Helen tore romaine and chopped onions, tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad. Kathy made potato salad. They finished most of the white wine while they prepared for the barbecue.

After an hour, Tommy Junior crept downstairs. “Mom, can I go play outside if I tell Allison I’m sorry?”

“There, that’s my little man,” Kathy said, and hugged him.

The two children played peacefully in the backyard. Tommy hit baseballs with his aluminum bat and said in his pretend sports-announcer voice, “It’s Cardinal star Albert Pujols up at bat and he’s having another great day, folks.”

Tommy swung the bat, connected with the ball and shouted, “Pujols hits the ball out of the park. THERE HE GOES! ANOTHER HOME RUN!”

“The kid has quite a swing,” Helen said. “Does he break any windows with that baseball?”

“It’s a spongy thing. He can’t use a real baseball in the yard,” Kathy said.

Little Allison fetched the ball and presented it to the star. “She’s nice to help him,” Helen said.

“Don’t worry,” Kathy said. “She does more than wait on her brother. Tommy plays goalie and fetches the ball for his sister when Allison plays soccer.”

“Is Allison good at soccer?”

“Better than her mother. She’s young yet, but we hope she’ll continue. There are good college soccer scholarships for girls.”

Phil called Helen back at three thirty-two, talking faster than a tobacco auctioneer. “Rob had three accounts in his name that I can find. It took Rob three months to take out one hundred thousand dollars in cash in ways that looked sneaky but wouldn’t have fooled an experienced investigator.”

“Like yourself?” Helen asked.

“Maybe not as good as me, but they would have caught it, too,” Phil said. “I gave the account numbers to the prosecutor’s office. The accounts Rob routed them to are connected to the crooked judge. The prosecutor’s assistant said if ex-judge Smathers admits he took bribe money from Rob, you’re home free.”

“Why would Smathers do that?” Helen asked.

“Smathers made a deal with the prosecutors that he would tell all to get better treatment. That means he’ll get a name change, a transfer to a penitentiary in another state, and he won’t be locked up with the hard cases. You don’t want to know what they do to former judges.”

“But Smathers wasn’t a criminal judge,” Helen said. “He never sentenced anyone.”

“Think all those cons got along well with their wives?” Phil said. “They get divorced, too.”

“When is Smathers supposed to spill the beans to the prosecutor’s office?” Helen said.

“He’s doing it now,” Phil said. “He’s been warned that if he’s caught in a single lie, the deal is off. Because you were the victim of a bent justice system, the prosecutors will mention Rob’s name and see what the judge says.”

“And if Smathers doesn’t admit Rob bribed him?”

“No chance,” Phil said. “Smathers knows a lie is his death sentence. They’ll ask His Dishonor tomorrow.”

“That’s the day of Mom’s wake. The funeral is the next morning.”

“Then I suggest we see a lawyer late that same afternoon,” Phil said. “I did some asking around and found us two good ones. We can have an appointment at three p.m. with Tarragon Tyler. She’s a family-law specialist.”

“Her name is Tarragon?” Helen asked.

“Hippie parents,” Phil said. “She rebelled against Mom and Dad by putting on a pin-striped suit and going to law school, but she has her parents’ same distrust of the system. Her nickname is ‘Terror’ Tyler. After that, we can see a lawyer who handles IRS problems, Drake Upton.”

“What’s she famous for?”

“Drake is a he,” Phil said. “Drake is good at getting the IRS off people’s backs. Which you’ll need if you’re going to be a solid citizen again. Then we can go before a different judge to redetermine if you owe Rob money.”

“Me!” Helen said.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Phil said. “Rob will be facing charges of judicial bribery. He might owe you his half of the house sale.”

“No chance I’ll see it,” Helen said. “That money will be long gone.”

“And so will Rob when he has to face the music,” Phil said. “You’ll never hear from him again. He’ll be out of your life forever. How’s that for a wedding present? Chill the beer and throw the steaks on the grill. We’ll celebrate your freedom tonight. You don’t have to run anymore. Ever.”

Helen felt a great weight fall from her as she hung up the phone. She’d always known that her divorce decision was unjust. But she’d never thought it was crooked.

“Why are you crying?” her sister asked.

“Because I’m so happy,” Helen wailed. “I’m free. Almost free. Rob will be out of my life forever.”

“Throw the ball again, Uncle Phil,” Tommy Junior said. The future Albert Pujols held his bat ready for the next pitch. “Okay,” Phil said.

“No,” Tom Senior said. “That’s enough baseball for tonight, sport. Join your sister inside. Go watch TV, play Nintendo DS or something. The grown-ups need to talk.”

“Oh, Dad,” Tommy complained, but he propped his beloved bat against the back porch and went inside.

The adults waited until the light came on in Tommy’s bedroom. Then Phil whispered, “I didn’t mind tossing a few balls for the kid.”

“He’s taking advantage of your good nature,” Tom said. “Besides, we’re out of beer.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Phil said. “This is an emergency. We’d better get more. We can take our car.”

“Why don’t you walk, guys?” Kathy said. “You’ve put away nearly a case. The bar is only a block away.”

“But if we walk, we might be forced to have a drink or two at Carney’s Bar,” Tom said.

“Just don’t let anyone step on your hand when you crawl home,” Kathy said. She kissed her husband. “If you need a ride, call us.”

Helen started stacking the dinner dishes on the picnic table. “Leave those alone,” Kathy said. “Sit down and talk to me.”

Helen settled into a lawn chair with an iced tea. “The barbecued pork steaks were terrific,” she said. “I haven’t had them since I left St. Louis. South Florida hasn’t discovered pork steaks.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Kathy said. “Pork steaks taste like ribs but have more meat. You can slather them in barbecue sauce. They’re less messy to eat and quicker to barbecue. You can grill them in one six-pack.”

“Pork steaks are the seedless grapes of barbecue,” Helen said, and giggled.

Kathy heard someone stumbling up the sidewalk to her back gate and asked, “Are the boys back so soon?”

The man standing at the gate wasn’t Tom or Phil. He was shorter and heavier. He was—oh, no, Helen thought. It couldn’t be.

“Hello, girls.” The man made a mock courtly bow and nearly fell over.

“Hell and damnation,” Helen said. “It’s Rob. And he’s drunk.”

Rob pushed open the gate and said, “A picket fence with pink roses. How sweet.”

Kathy stood up, as if to defend her home.

“Get out of here,” Helen said. “You’re trespassing.”

Rob used to have a certain teddy bear cuteness. Now he’d gone from boyish to old. Helen thought he looked hard up for money. His expensive Tommy Bahama shirt was two seasons old, a sartorial sin in his former circles. A beach bum would turn up his nose at Rob’s boat shoes. Helen’s ex had a potbelly. His twenty-thousanddollar wristwatch had been replaced by one costing maybe three grand. Helen wondered if Rob had pawned the more expensive watch.

There was one more clue to his financial ruin: Rob was balding again. He could no longer afford Rogaine treatments.

“I’m sure my sister-in-law is happy to see me,” Rob said. “You’re looking good, kiddo. You’ve put on a few pounds, but I like a woman with curves.”

He patted Kathy’s bottom. She grabbed his hand, picked up a steak knife and said, “Try that again, and I’ll slice it off. If you’re lucky, it will only be your hand I remove. You’ve put on a few pounds yourself, Rob, unless I’m looking at a rare case of male pregnancy. And your head seems to be growing through your hair.”

“Ooh, it hurts when you say it,” Rob mocked.

Kathy dropped the knife on the picnic table, as if it had suddenly become hot.

“I came to offer my condolences, Kathy,” Rob said. “I saw your mother’s obituary in the
Webster-Kirkwood Times.
I stopped by earlier to see her husband, Larry, and we had a few beers. Larry’s not happy that your sister hijacked Dolores’s funeral, but at least Helen is paying for it.”

“My mother wanted to be buried in St. Louis,” Helen said through gritted teeth.

“I know. She told me,” Rob said. “We always got along well, Dolores and me. She liked me better than her own daughter. Not that I blame Dolores. Helen is definitely short on charm.”

“Leave, slime wad,” Helen said. She thought she heard a small sound in the house and hoped Tommy wasn’t listening.

“See what I mean?” Rob asked. “No charm.” He slurred his words slightly and swayed. “Helen, is what’s his name here?”

“Who?” Helen said.

“You sound like an owl, sweet cheeks. You know who. The guy who’s getting my secondhand goods.”

Helen stepped forward to punch his face, but she wasn’t fast enough. Rob clamped his hand on her arm. She kicked him in the crotch, but he still held on, bending her arm back and forcing Helen to her knees.

“Ah, just the way I like my women,” Rob said. “At my feet.” He was surprisingly strong for a paunchy drunk. “You’re so predictable, Helen. Remember the last time you tried to punch me? You got in a lot of trouble. You were in jail for a while, as I recall, until our friend Marcella sent a lawyer to rescue you. We have to talk. That’s the other reason I’m here.”

Rob dragged Helen over by a lawn chair and flopped into it, forcing Helen to kneel next to him. The pain in her arm was excruciating. Helen saw the long barbecue fork on the picnic table and thought she could stab him in the chest.

“Now, that’s better,” Rob said. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” Helen said. Was that a creak behind her? Were Phil and Tom coming back?

“Why, the money you still owe me,” Rob said. “I hope you didn’t spend it all shipping your mother home. You know I can still put you in jail. And—”

He never finished the sentence. A blur came from beside his head. Tommy Junior swung his aluminum bat with all his might, hitting Rob’s skull so hard the pop resounded through the yard. The swing would have done Albert Pujols proud.

Rob fell forward without a word.

Tommy stared at his unconscious uncle, then said in a small voice, “I’m sorry.”

“Tommy!” his mother cried.

“Uncle Rob was hurting Aunt Helen,” Tommy said. “He was hurting you, too.”

“Go to your room and stay there,” Kathy said. “Now.”

Rob was still out cold. Kathy slapped his face with a little too much enthusiasm. Helen found a pitcher of ice water from dinner and poured it on his head.

Rob opened one eye and said, “What the fuck?”

“Please,” Helen said. “There are children in the house.”

He rubbed his head and said, “I know you didn’t hit me. It must have been Kathy.”

Helen burst out laughing. “You were knocked silly by my ten-year-old nephew. Tommy hit you with a kid’s bat.”

“Boy’s got a powerful swing,” Rob said, rubbing his temple.

“You should go to the emergency room,” Kathy said.

“So I can tell them I was hit by a kid? No, thanks.”

“Head injuries should be taken seriously,” Kathy said. “Look what happened to that poor actress Natasha Richardson. She fell on a ski slope, said she was fine, and then she was dead from bleeding in the brain.”

“We’re not on a ski slope,” Rob said. He picked up Tommy’s bat. “This is a lightweight bat. I’m touched by your concern, but I’m fine.”

“Besides,” Helen said, “you need a brain to have brain damage.” “Rob, please go to the ER. We’ll pay for it,” Kathy said. “I’m worried.”

“Christ on a crutch! I refuse all treatment,” Rob said. “I’ll put it in writing if you want. Now, for the last time, quit yammering about the ER. Go away. I want to talk to Helen.”

“I need to talk to my son,” Kathy said. “Will you be okay, Helen, if I leave you two alone?”

“Hand me the bat,” Helen said, dragging a lawn chair near Rob. “I’ll whack him in the head again if he starts trouble.”