Killer Blonde (7 page)

Before I could reply, SueEllen piped up: “Jaine’s my secretary. She’s taking dictation for my book. Isn’t that right, Jaine, dear?”

Clearly, she didn’t want anyone to know she was using a ghostwriter.

I smiled and muttered a noncommital
Hmmm.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Heidi whispered. “God forbid she should give anybody credit for anything.”

“It’s okay,” I lied. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, I do.” Then she cleared her throat, and said, “Actually, Jaine’s a writer. She’s ghostwriting SueEllen’s book.”

A hush fell over the room.

Everyone looked at SueEllen to see what she would say.

“Well, yes,” she said, smiling a brittle smile, “Jaine is helping me just a tad with the writing. And doing a marvelous job, I might add. In fact, when I’m through with this book, I think I may write another. A diet book for fat teenagers.”

Accent on the
fat.

Oh, Christ. The gloves were off. To hell with the dinner guests. SueEllen was out for blood.

I looked over at Heidi, who was blushing furiously. No one (except possibly Brad, who was practically unconscious with booze) could have missed SueEllen’s dig.

And it was at that unfortunate moment that Conchi chose to wheel in Heidi’s birthday cake, a towering confection with sixteen candles and
Happy Birthday, Heidi,
emblazoned across the pink icing.

“And look what’s here,” SueEllen said. “Heidi’s birthday cake! But what will the rest of us be eating, Conchi?”

“That’s enough, SueEllen,” Hal said, his jaw clenched.

“Oh, Heidi doesn’t mind a little kidding, do you, sweetie?”

Heidi just sat there, staring down at her hands.

Then somebody started singing
Happy Birthday.
Everyone joined in, eager to fill the painful silence.

When we were all through singing, someone shouted, “Make a wish.”

“Yes,” everybody chorused. “Make a wish.”

But before Heidi could make her wish, SueEllen piped up:

“Better wish for a new nose.”

It was as if Heidi were frozen in her chair, the way she kept sitting there, eyes lowered, not moving a muscle. Oh, God, I prayed. Please don’t let her cry. Not in front of all these people.

But Heidi didn’t cry. At last, she raised her face and was surprisingly dry-eyed.

“No, SueEllen,” she said. “That’s not my wish. Here’s my wish: I wish you were dead. Too bad I said it out loud. Now it probably won’t come true.”

Then she blew out the candles, every damn one of them, and walked out of the room.

For once in her life, SueEllen Kingsley was speechless.

For once in
my
life, I didn’t stick around for birthday cake.

I hurried out into the foyer, looking for Heidi, but she was nowhere in sight. I headed upstairs, figuring she’d gone to her room. I had no idea where Heidi’s bedroom was, so I ran down the hallway opening doors at random. At last I found a room painted a hideous hot pink. Heidi was lying on her bed in her bra and panties, staring up at the ceiling, perhaps remembering the fluffy clouds her mother had once painted for her. She’d taken off her ugly party dress and tossed it carelessly on the floor.

“I wish I had a fireplace so I could burn that thing.”

“Heidi, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, sitting up.

And she was. I’d expected to find her bawling her eyes out, but she was surprisingly calm. I sat down at the edge of her bed, and smoothed her bangs away from her face.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said. “I won’t let SueEllen hurt me any more. I’m not scared of her. Or of Daddy, either. I don’t care what they do to me. They can send me away to boarding school. In fact, I hope they do.”

“I’d hate to see you go, but I think you’d be happier away from SueEllen.”

Heidi flopped back onto her pillow and sighed.

“Oh, Jaine, why couldn’t Daddy have married someone like you?”

“Because your daddy thinks with his penis, that’s why.”

Of course, I didn’t really say that. What I said was, “If I’m ever a mother, I hope my daughter turns out just like you.”

Then I kissed her on her forehead.

“It’s late. I’d better be going.”

I started for the door when she called to me.

“Jaine.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t really wish SueEllen was dead.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I just wish she was fat and broke and living in Tijuana.”

Yep, Heidi was my kind of daughter, all right.

Downstairs, the party was breaking up. People were suddenly remembering babysitters they had to pay and early morning appointments they had to get up for. Anything to make their escape.

SueEllen was busy air-kissing them all goodbye, promising to “do lunch,” floating from one to the other as if her party hadn’t just imploded into a million pieces.

I hurried out the door, hoping to beat the valet rush. But I was too late. An anxious knot of guests were already standing around waiting for their cars.

I nabbed a valet and said, “Just give me my keys. I can get my car myself. White Corolla.”

I slipped him two bucks, and he tossed me my keys.

“It’s that way,” he said, pointing vaguely down the street.

I found my car five blocks away, among a string of economy cars, obviously in the “hired hands” parking section.

Driving home that night, I made up my mind to quit my job. I didn’t care how much SueEllen was paying me. She was a dreadful woman and my tush and I simply didn’t want to work for her anymore. I’d hand in my resignation tomorrow.

When I got back to the apartment, I broke the news to Prozac.

“It looks like we’re not going to be rich, after all, lovebug.”

Prozac was so upset, she almost looked up from her genitals.

“I
’ve worked for a lot of sleazeballs in my life, SueEllen, but you hit a new low on the sleaze-o-meter. Effective immediately, I quit.”

Nice speech, isn’t it? I spent the next morning in front of the mirror rehearsing it, along with a few other choice zingers.
(I’m sickened by the way you mistreat Heidi, and I intend to file a complaint about you with county social services. From now on, you can turn on your own damned hot water.
And my personal fave:
The last time I saw boobs like yours was at a volleyball game.)

By the time I got to work, I’d mentally tried and convicted SueEllen of child (and writer) abuse, and had her sharing a jail cell with a gal named Duke.

Of course, SueEllen wasn’t the only person on my mind that morning. There was also Daddy and that ridiculous toupee of his. I didn’t blame Mom one bit for tossing it in the trash, especially after that scene at the clubhouse. It was just like Daddy to pull a stranger’s hair in the middle of a bingo game. Just like the time he punched out “the burglar” he caught on our front steps. It turned out the man was a Jehovah’s Witness who, after he regained consciousness, sued Daddy for $1,200 in small claims court and won.

Life with Daddy sure wasn’t easy, I thought, as I drove up the Kingsleys’ driveway.

I parked my Corolla next to SueEllen’s Bentley and headed for the front door. I rang the bell, but nobody answered. I rang it again. Still no answer. That was strange. Even if nobody else was home, why wasn’t SueEllen letting me in with her bathtub intercom?

Just when I was about to give up and turn away, Heidi opened the door, a walkman headset hanging from her neck.

“I thought I heard the doorbell, but I wasn’t sure. Come on in.”

I followed her inside and up the stairs.

“What’re you doing home from school?”

I hoped SueEllen hadn’t grounded her for life.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Student elections. Couldn’t bear listening to the campaign speeches so I cut out early.”

“How’s everything going?” I asked, wondering if there’d been any ugly aftermath of the Birthday Cake Affair.

“Fine. This morning at breakfast, SueEllen said I couldn’t have any pancakes. So I went into the kitchen and got them myself. SueEllen had a cow, but for once, Daddy stuck up for me and told her to let me eat ‘the goddamn pancakes.’”

“Good for you.”

“I would’ve never been able to do it without you, Jaine.”

“Me?”

“The other night, when you said you weren’t going to eat dessert if I couldn’t have any, SueEllen was really mad. But you didn’t care. You stood up to her. Not many people do. I figured if you could do it, I could, too. You gave me the courage to stick up for myself.”

Then we launched into one of those mushy hugs that were becoming part of our repertoire.

“Look, Heidi. There’s something I’ve got to tell you. I’m quitting. You said nobody ever lasted with SueEllen more than a week. And you were right. She’s impossible.”

Heidi blanched. “But you can’t quit. When will I see you?”

“We can meet after school.”

“What happens when you get another job?”

She had me there.

“Can’t you stay a little while longer, until I get used to this ‘stick up for myself’ thing?”

The thought of one more day on that damn toilet bowl made me cringe, but she looked so vulnerable, I couldn’t say no.

“Okay,” I sighed. “But just for a few more weeks.”

As it turned out, I didn’t even have to stay a few more hours. Because when I walked into the bathroom to report for work, the first thing I saw was SueEllen floating face down in the bathtub.

“SueEllen?” I called out, hoping maybe she was doing some new age water aerobics.

But she didn’t answer. Dead people rarely do.

At first I thought it was an accident; maybe SueEllen slipped in the tub. But then I saw something floating alongside SueEllen’s loofa sponge and triple-milled French soap: A hair dryer. Plugged into an electrical outlet.

Good Lord. SueEllen had been electrocuted!

I managed to keep my cool for a whole three and a half seconds. After which I went screaming down the hallway like an extra in
Nightmare on Elm Street.

Heidi hurried out from her room, her walkman still hanging from her neck.

“Jaine, what’s wrong?”

“SueEllen,” I managed to gasp. “She’s dead. Electrocuted in the bathtub with a hair dryer.

“Oh, my God.” Heidi’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“I think it was murder.”

“Murder? Are you sure?”

“SueEllen would never have been stupid enough to use a hair dryer in a tub full of water. Besides, her vanity table was clear across the room. She would have dried her hair over there.”

Someone else tossed that dryer in the tub. Of that I was certain.

“Let’s go downstairs,” I said, wanting to put at least a staircase between me and SueEllen’s corpse, “and call the cops.”

A half hour later, the place was swarming with Beverly Hills cops. Who were, I couldn’t help noticing, an unusually attractive bunch. Clean-cut and strong-jawed, they looked like Dudley Do-Rights with suntans. Leave it to Beverly Hills to hire beautiful cops to match the beautiful houses.

The detective who questioned me bore a striking resemblance to Clint Eastwood. Lieutenant Jonathan Webb was tall and craggy, with a cleft in his chin the size of a dime. He asked me a bunch of questions about what time I’d shown up and how I knew the deceased, and if I’d seen anyone suspicious entering or leaving the premises. As I answered him, I kept staring at the cleft in his chin, wondering how he shaved around it. It’s funny what you think about when you’ve just seen a dead body in a bathtub.

Finally, when I’d answered all his questions and assured him I had no idea who could’ve possibly tossed a hair dryer in SueEllen’s tub, he let me go.

On my way out I saw Heidi huddled with Hal and Brad in the living room. Brad sat hunched over with his chin resting on his clasped hands, tapping his feet in a nervous staccato. Hal stared straight ahead, his face an impassive mask. I had no idea what he was thinking. He could’ve been overcome with grief, or simply wondering what to order for dinner.

Heidi sat between them, dazed with disbelief. I tried to make eye contact, but she didn’t see me. I figured I’d call her later, once she had a chance to let the news sink in. Meanwhile, I wanted to get the hell out of there.

Which is exactly what I did. I got in my Corolla and raced home, if you consider inching along at ten miles an hour in rush hour traffic “racing.”

Normally in times of stress I head straight for the bathtub. But after what I’d just seen, the very thought of a bath sent chills down my spine. Instead, I opted for a nice relaxing shower. Followed by an even more relaxing glass of chardonnay.

I stayed in the shower for at least twenty minutes, letting the hot water cascade down my back until my muscles were the consistency of tapioca pudding. Then I padded out to the kitchen in my ratty chenille robe and poured myself that much needed glass of wine. The whole idea of SueEllen electrocuted with her own hair dryer gave me the creeps. Sure, she was a dreadful woman, but she didn’t deserve to die. Not like that, anyway.

I sat down on my sofa and sipped (okay, gulped) my wine, trying to erase the image of SueEllen’s perfect tush bobbing in the water next to the dryer. I couldn’t help thinking about the irony of it all—that a woman like SueEllen Kingsley, obsessed with looking beautiful, had been murdered with a deadly grooming aid.

Prozac, sensing my distress and knowing how much I needed her comforting presence, began yowling for her dinner.

As I trudged back to the kitchen to open a can of gourmet beef innards, I realized I was hungry, too. I hadn’t had a thing to eat all day except six Altoids and a Whopper I’d picked up on my way over to SueEllen’s. I rummaged through the kitchen drawer where I dump all the take-out restaurant menus that are left on my doorstep. I found one for Sir Speedy Pizza—“The Fastest Pizza in the West.”

I called Sir Speedy, and ordered a medium pizza with mushroom and pepperoni. Prozac looked up from her beef innards and shot me a look.

“And throw in a few anchovies.”

Prozac purred in approval and went back to her dinner.

The folks at Sir Speedy promised the pizza would be at my doorstep, piping hot, in thirty minutes or less. I hung up and poured myself some more wine to tide me over until it showed up. Then I headed for the bedroom. I figured I’d soothe my frazzled nerves with some TV. Of course, wouldn’t you know, the first thing I saw when I turned on the television was the bathtub scene from
Fatal Attraction,
where Glenn Close gets stabbed to death in the tub. I zapped around for a while, past Lucy and Larry King and a painful looking Pilates contraption on QVC. I was just getting comfortable watching Emeril Lagasse do obscene things to a catfish, when the doorbell rang.

Wow. It was only fifteen minutes since I’d called Sir Speedy. That
was
fast. I’d have to give the delivery kid a big tip. I grabbed my wallet, and opened the door.

But it wasn’t Sir Speedy.

It was Lance.

“I just heard the news on the radio. They said SueEllen Kingsley was murdered in her tub, and that a freelance writer discovered the body. Was that you?”

I nodded wearily.

“Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to tell. I showed up for work and found her dead in the tub.”

“That must’ve been awful! You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

He was probably right.

“Actually, I just ordered a pizza. Why don’t you stay and have dinner with me?”

“Fine. Just let me call Jim and cancel.”

“You have a date?”

“It’s nothing. Jim won’t mind.”

“No, no. Don’t cancel.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem. So what if I’m madly in love with the guy and can’t stand to be apart from him for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch?”

Okay, so he didn’t say the part about being madly in love with Jim, but I knew that’s what he was thinking.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

“Okay,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “We’ll talk later.” And then he dashed off.

I shuffled back to the TV and was watching Emeril slosh some shrimp into a vat of bubbling fat, when the phone rang.

“Omigod,” said Kandi. “I just heard the news. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Want to come over for pizza?”

“Oh, gee, I wish I could, but we’re working late tonight. The actress who plays Maggie the Maggot just checked herself into Betty Ford, and we have to write her out of the script. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. The pizza will calm me down.”

And it’s true. I happen to believe that pizza is one of nature’s most effective sedatives. Something in the cheese, I think.

“Well, if you need anything, just call me at the studio.”

I assured her I would, and went back to the TV. By now, Emeril had fished the shrimp out of the fryer. Gad, they looked good. Now I was hungrier than ever. Where the heck was that pizza? And at that very moment the doorbell rang. Exactly a half hour after I’d ordered it. My hero Sir Speedy had lived up to his word. I raced to the door, eager to sink my teeth in a wad of gooey cheese.

But it wasn’t Sir Speedy.

It was Heidi. Standing on my doorstep with a suitcase.

“Oh, Jaine,” she wailed. “The cops think I killed SueEllen.”

I took her suitcase and ushered her inside.

“How on earth did you get here?”

“I took a cab. I was so scared, I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Alone? But what about your dad and your brother? Aren’t they home?”

“Yes,” she said. “They’re home.”

She looked up at me from under her fringe of bangs. Her eyes were red from crying, and at that moment, I realized how very much alone she was in that big house of hers.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course you can, honey. Make yourself comfortable on the sofa. Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“I ordered a pizza for dinner. It should be here any minute. In the meanwhile, let me see what I can rustle up in the kitchen.”

The only thing I managed to rustle up were some olives that had been sitting in my refrigerator for the past three years. Heidi had the good sense to turn them down. When I got back from the kitchen, I found Prozac curled up in Heidi’s lap, doing her best to look adorable. Prozac loves to turn on the charm for guests. I get treated like a motel chambermaid, but for perfect strangers, she’s Little Miss Affectionate.

“What am I going to do?” Heidi said, wide-eyed with fear. “The police think they’ve got another Menendez case on their hands.”

“Are they sure it’s murder?” I asked.

Heidi nodded solemnly.

“But why on earth would they think you did it?”

“I was the only one home. Daddy was at work. Brad was at school. And Conchi was away on her day off. And besides,” she added miserably, “only about 90 million people at my birthday party heard me say I wished SueEllen was dead.”

Oh, jeez. I’d forgotten all about that.

“Couldn’t somebody else have gained access to the house?”

“I told the police about the blonde in the hallway, but I could tell they didn’t believe me.”

“What blonde in the hallway?”

“When I got home from school, I saw a blonde in a sweat suit going down the hallway to SueEllen’s bathroom. She was walking away from me, so I couldn’t see her face. I just assumed it was Larkspur. But it turns out Larkspur was working all day out in Santa Monica. So it couldn’t have been her.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

“The police think I’m making up the story about the blonde. I can tell by the way they look at me. Really, Jaine. I’m afraid they’re going to arrest me.”

“Heidi, honey,” I said, trying to sound far more confident than I felt. “They’re not going to arrest you.”

“I didn’t kill her. Honest, I didn’t.”