Murder Unleashed (4 page)

Jonathon flung his long hair about like a diva’s cape. “All the more reason for me to have my own room. I will return when I can work without distraction,” he said. “You have my cell phone. Call me after you take out the trash.”

He shot Todd a venomous look and slammed the door.

“
W
ho the hell was that?” The woman in the door of the grooming salon was thin and tanned. She looked wonderfully normal in chinos and a pink polo shirt. A fat, friendly bichon waddled along beside her.

“That’s Jonathon, our salon star,” Helen said.

“I am lucky. I’ve finally seen the Howard Hughes of groomers,” the woman said. “I’ll be the talk of the country club now that I’ve seen him and his Technicolor rages. You sure he’s not wanted for murder in Arizona?”

“Positive,” Helen said. But she wasn’t. She saw the way Jonathon had those scissors at Todd’s throat. She tried a clumsy change of subject. “What country club do you belong to?”

“Most of them. But I do my serious golfing at Stately Palms.”

“That’s where Tammie Grimsby lives,” Helen said. “She’s giving a big party for her Yorkie.”

“Tammie knows all about going to the dogs,” the woman said. There was acid in her voice. “I’ve never seen anyone go so far on implants and raw nerve.”

The word “raw” conjured up a perfect picture of the naked Tammie. Helen involuntarily moved her hand, as if brushing it away.

“She hit on you yet?” the woman said. “She and her husband are swingers. Don’t answer that. You don’t even know me. My name’s Betty Reichs-Martin. You’ll see me in here a lot. Today I need a bag of food for Barney. And a pound of peanut-butter treats.” Her voice grew huskier. “I’m afraid the old boy isn’t long for this world. Might as well enjoy himself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Helen said. She was, too. Betty would seem incomplete without her dog.

“That’s life,” Betty said, and shrugged. “I can say that now. When I have to take Barney to the vet to put him down, I’ll be a basket case.”

Helen thought of her own cat, Thumbs, a six-toed beauty with golden eyes. Would she have the courage to do the kind thing if the time came? She hoped so, but she didn’t want to think about it.

“Hi, there, Lulu,” Betty said, as the store’s dog came over to greet her. “Don’t you look pretty?” Lulu was working the room, modeling a yellow sundress and matching yellow-painted nails.

“That dog gets more manicures than I do,” Helen said.

Jeff came rushing out of the back room. “Betty!” he said, and air-kissed her in a way that let Helen know the woman was important.

“Betty is very generous to our favorite animal charities,” Jeff oozed, “but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty. She also cleans out the cages at the animal shelter every Friday.”

“I know how to shovel the shit,” Betty said, with a raucous laugh.

Todd came out of the grooming room. “I hate that fan. It’s too noisy,” he said, like a spoiled child.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Jeff sounded desperate. “Helen, take special care of Betty for me while I get Todd settled.” He steered Todd back inside the grooming room. Helen could hear Jeff pleading over the barking dogs. “Please, Todd, just work the cage room for a few days until Jonathon cools off.”

“Do you have this dog bed in red corduroy?” Betty asked.

“Let me check in the back,” Helen said.

The dog beds were on the upper shelves, naturally. Helen was standing on a ladder in the back of the stockroom when she realized she wasn’t alone. Todd had slipped in. He was by the door, with his back to her, punching in numbers on his cell phone. Helen froze. Should she tell him she was here? But Todd was talking on the phone. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she didn’t want to interrupt. Then Todd raised his voice. It had a hard, nasty edge Helen had never heard before.

“Listen,” Todd said. “I don’t care how you get the money, but I want it.” He paused, but the air was electric with his silent anger. “That’s your problem, not mine.” Todd snapped his cell phone shut. He stomped out of the stockroom. Helen was relieved he hadn’t seen her.

Well, well, Helen thought. Pretty Todd could be quite ugly. Did someone owe him money? Or was he shaking down one of the women who gave him those expensive presents? Or one of the men? It wasn’t any of Helen’s business. She shoved the dog beds back on the shelf and went out front to Betty.

“Sorry,” Helen said. “Nothing in red.”

Betty added the brown corduroy bed to her other purchases. Helen rang them up and helped her carry them out to the car. Barney the bichon wheezed along beside them. The parking lot was a long walk for his short legs.

Helen returned to find Jeff standing in his shop, wringing his hands. “I can’t find Todd and I can’t reach Jonathon on his cell phone. We have ten dogs waiting to be groomed, and Barkley is due in now.”

Helen had never seen Jeff so upset. “They’ll be back,” she said. “It’s good that the groomers took a break. They needed to cool off, both of them.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jeff said. “You’re friends with Jonathon. You know him.”

Helen stopped herself before she said, “I’m not a friend, exactly.” She’d never spoken to the star away from the store. Even there, she rarely exchanged more than a polite, “How are you today?” They didn’t have much in common. Jonathon was wildly emotional. Helen was quiet and dull by his standards. But Jonathon didn’t slam her with the seething contempt he saved for Todd. There seemed to be some unspoken bond between them.

Maybe it’s because we have the same attitude toward animals, Helen thought. We like them, but we don’t kiss them or do baby talk. They aren’t furry children. The bell rang and more customers poured into the shop, demanding bags of food, stainless-steel bowls, treats, and toys. She was too busy to consider her relationship with Jonathon.

By three thirty the Pampered Pet was back to normal, if Helen could use that word to describe the Saturday chaos. Todd was in the cage room, kissing his dogs. Jonathon groomed his animals in solitary splendor. Six dogs were ready to go home. The others would be finished by closing, including the priceless Barkley.

When there was a lull, Helen said, “Is Jonathon OK?”

“Yes, thank goodness.” Jeff leaned against the counter. He looked tired.

“He seems so . . . retro,” Helen said.

“You mean he acts like an old queen,” Jeff said.

Jeff was about as flamboyant as a button-down shirt. He loved khaki shorts, beer, pot roast—and a hunky interior decorator named Bill.

“The seventies queen act is a little dated, but that’s how some groomers are,” Jeff said. “They can be very emotional. The temperament goes with the talent. I know Jonathon won’t stay here much longer. But I’ll enjoy the income while I can. I can handle the problems he creates, including the jealousy. Todd has been snippy lately, and I’m not talking about his scissors.”

“I have noticed his sulks.”

“Todd will be OK,” Jeff said. “He has his own following.”

Helen wondered if Todd would take his customers to another salon. His ego was nearly as big as Jonathon’s. She didn’t envy Jeff the delicate task of dealing with temperamental groomers.

“Listen, Jeff, I was embarrassed when Tammie made those remarks about rainbow ribbons,” Helen said. “I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to listen to that.”

“And you shouldn’t feel you have to apologize for rude straights—if that’s what she is,” Jeff said.

“What do you mean?”

“People who make nasty remarks about me being gay usually have problems trying to figure out which way they swing,” Jeff said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had a lesbian episode. Or maybe she and her husband are into threesomes.”

Helen remembered Tammie’s bare chest and her husband’s wobbling Speedo. “That’s what Betty told me. Tammie and her husband are swingers.” The swingers scene was bigger, or at least more open, than in Helen’s hometown of St. Louis. Swingers clubs took out bold ads in the alternative papers. One even promised a free salad bar, although Helen never found naked people and fat-free dressing a tantalizing mix.

“In Fort Lauderdale, anything is possible,” Helen said. “But it’s getting late. I’d better deliver Prince to Miss No Stress.”

“How was Tammie at home?”

“Drunk and naked,” Helen said.

Jeff raised one eyebrow. But before he could say more, the shop was invaded by an enormous shaggy brown dog.

“I need to guard the stock,” he said. “It’s Willis.”

Willis was a lovable old bear of a dog who slyly helped himself to treats and toys. He knew how to nose open the bins to sneak bacon-and-cheese treats. He took toys from the rack and hid them in his neck fur. The shaggy shoplifter had to be watched every minute.

Helen went back to the grooming room to collect Prince, the party animal. Jonathon had done wonders with the Yorkie’s thin, flyaway hair. Now Prince had a regal coat. He was crowned with a jaunty blue bow.

“Looking good, big boy,” Helen said.

She put Prince in the soft-sided carrier with more turkey jerky. The Yorkie settled happily on the seat of the hot-pink Pupmobile. He was a sensible little animal. He deserved a better owner. Helen hoped she’d find the stressed-out Tammie sober and dressed. Or better yet, soberly dressed.

As they approached the country club, Helen looked down at her black pants. They seemed different. More like a tweed blend. She was covered in dog hair. Terrific. Well, if Helen had to look at Tammie’s hide, Tammie could put up with Helen’s hair.

At the country club, the somnolent security guard woke up long enough to wave Helen through. Helen thought she saw Betty the animal lover leaving, golf clubs in her car. But when Helen waved, the woman looked right through her. Helen decided she must be wrong. A lot of women in Florida looked like Betty.

Helen rang the doorbell to the Grimsby mansion. No one answered. She knocked on the front door. It swung open.

“Hello?” Helen said.

Silence.

The little dog whimpered.

Enough, Helen thought. I am not going through this again.

She stood in the vast foyer and yelled, “Tammie, are you home?” The sound echoed off the marble.

That should be loud enough to get Tammie out of a drunken stupor, Helen thought. She waited five minutes, but there was no answer. The room was cold and dark as a mausoleum. Prince shivered. It felt like sun-warmed leaves moving in the breeze. The little dog seemed frightened. Helen wondered if he didn’t want to go home to his drunken owner.

Well, she couldn’t stay here all afternoon. She gave Prince a reassuring pat. Then Helen marched through the living room and straight down the hall to the master bedroom. She stopped in the bath and took the terry robe off the hook. She was not going to deal with a naked Tammie twice in one day.

On the pool deck, Helen blinked in the bright afternoon sun.

“Hello? Tammie?”

No answer. The naked legs with the bloody toes were again roasting in the sun. More flies crawled on the waxed limbs, but Tammie still didn’t shoo them away. She must be out cold, Helen thought.

Prince whimpered again and hid his head in her armpit. Could his sensitive nose pick up his owner’s alcohol? Poor little fellow. Helen wondered if the drunken Tammie had ever hurt Prince.

“It’s OK,” she said, and scratched his ears.

Helen walked around the umbrella table and saw three more drinks lined up next to the first glass. All were empty. Tammie’s head had fallen forward on her massive chest. Sure enough, she was naked. Helen was grateful that Tammie’s long blond hair covered her bare chest.

One look at that slumped figure, and Helen knew it would take gallons of strong black coffee to revive the hostess before Prince’s party. Well, it wasn’t her problem. She just had to deliver the dog.

“Tammie,” Helen said, and shook her. She needed Tammie’s signature on the delivery form. The alcohol odor nearly knocked Helen flat. Prince’s owner was dead drunk.

Then Tammie’s blond head lolled to one side.

Helen saw the ten-inch ice-tempered stainless-steel scissors sticking out of Tammie’s chest.

H
elen dropped the dog. She didn’t mean to. But those grooming scissors were driven into her mind as well as Tammie’s naked chest. The dead woman looked more than ever like an artist’s model. Now she was
Still Life with Death.
Her voluptuous body was a delicate gray-green. A dark trail of blood ran down her unnatural breasts. Tammie was frighteningly beautiful.

Helen literally lost her grip at the sight, and Prince went into a free fall.

She caught the Yorkie like a fumbled football before he hit the pool deck. Helen held him contritely to her chest and tried to soothe him. “Prince, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.

Prince made a small mewing sound, more like a cat than a dog. Then he raised his head and gave a single high-pitched howl. It was a cry of mourning. His loss hung in the air like a dark veil. Helen had no idea the pampered little animal could feel primal grief.

Helen’s own senses seemed supersharp. Everything was extra bright. She saw the sun glinting off the grooming shears in Tammie’s chest, heard the frantic buzzing flies, felt a slight breeze bring the first noxious death smells.

She saw Tammie’s long, strong hands hanging over the sides of the chaise. She was a muscular woman who could have fought death. But there were no cuts on her palms or arms. Tammie had not tried to defend herself. Death came as a surprise. She’d been stabbed by someone she did not fear and almost certainly knew. Who was it? Her husband? A friend? A lover?

Tammie’s killer had plunged the scissors through the skin and muscle just above her breasts with a single thrust. That was pure rage.

Helen was gripped with a less noble emotion than Prince. She felt raw panic. She had to get out of this death house. Tammie’s killer could still be inside.