Board Stiff: A Dead-End Job Mystery (13 page)

“M
iss, are you okay?” the woman asked.

Helen stared at her young, kind face. Her startling flamingo-pink hair was oddly pretty with her creamy complexion.

“Your face is bleeding,” she said. “And I can see the bruises on your arm already. My name is Kirby, and I caught the whole thing on my iPhone.”

“What whole thing?” Helen said. She wasn’t as woozy as she pretended. How much of the confrontation with Rob had Kirby videoed?

“I was coming out of the drugstore when I saw the fight,” Kirby said. “I saw that weird dude try to steal your grocery bag and twist your arm.”

“He hurt me,” Helen said. “My face hurts, too.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kirby said. “The dude threw you against the Dumpster.”

Helen was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Did you get audio, too?”

“No, my mic’s busted,” Kirby said. “Should have never bought a refurbished one.”

“I feel dizzy,” Helen said. She was. Dizzy with relief. Kirby hadn’t caught the whole scene. Just the right part.

“Where’s Phil?”

“The dude who attacked you?” Kirby asked. “He’s dead. Seriously dead.”

“No, the man with the silver hair. He’s my husband.” Helen moved her face slightly and felt blood trickle down her neck. She saw Phil in a small knot of people clustered around Rob’s body on Manchester Road.

Let’s hope he’s doing damage control, she thought. She tried not to look at the mangled mess that was her ex-husband. Suddenly, she was shaking all over.

“I think you’re in shock,” Kirby said.

“I need to get to my car and sit down a moment,” Helen said, pointing to the Cruiser. “It’s right there.”

“You need to go to the hospital,” Kirby said, “but I’ll help you to your car. The police and ambulance are on their way. About a zillion people called 911, but I think I’m the only one who videoed the fight.”

She held up her iPhone proudly. The pink case matched her hair. “Think the police would like to see my video?”

“I’m sure they would,” Helen said. She stood up slowly, holding on to the rusty Dumpster. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Kirby was shorter than Helen, but sturdy. “Here, lean on me,” she said.

“I don’t want to get blood on your T-shirt,” Helen said.

“Hey, it will be something good to show my mom. I sneaked to the store to buy ice cream. She’s always on me about my weight. The chocolate swirl is melting.” She held up a dripping plastic bag.

“I’ll get you more,” Helen said, limping toward her car.

“No, don’t,” Kirby said. “The universe is saying I don’t need more ice cream. It sent me to this store for a purpose, and that was to help you. Do you believe that?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said. “You’re exactly what I need now. I’m still light-headed. I want to stretch out in the backseat.”

“The police are here,” Kirby said. “And a couple of ambulances. I’ll make sure they find you—and show them my video.” She ran off into the night.

“Thank you, Kirby,” Helen said. Her voice sounded weak. She didn’t have to pretend to be dizzy now. She stretched out on the backseat and wrapped her hand around her secret weapon. Emergency lights flashed on the strip mall, bleaching the brick bone white, then bloodred.

Rob is dead, she thought. Really, truly, finally dead. He can’t hurt me or Kathy or Tommy anymore. I wish I could feel sorry for him, but I don’t. He’s killed my marriage.

Maybe, she thought. Memories of the good times she’d had with Phil rushed back—their long afternoons of lovemaking, their hot honeymoon in the Keys, working together on cases, even the first time she’d met him, when she was undercover at a wild party. Well, not totally undercover. She’d been hired as a topless bartender. She’d tried to cover her chest with two one-liter soda bottles.

Usually, that memory made her smile. Now tears started in her eyes. She wiped her face with her hand and it came back smeared red.

Maybe Phil will forgive me now that Rob is dead and I’ve been hurt. Where is Phil? Did the police arrest him? Would Kirby’s video get them off the hook? Or did someone else video the whole incident—with sound?

Helen heard Kirby say, “She’s over here in her car. I think she feels pretty sick and she’s all bloody.”

“Helen!” Phil said. “You’re safe. You’re bleeding. How bad did he hurt you?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Helen said. She remembered that line from a movie and hoped it really was a scratch. She’d hate to have her face scarred.

What am I doing? she thought. A man was killed—no, my ex-husband was killed—and all I can think about is my face.

Phil opened the passenger door on the driver’s side, sat beside Helen and cradled her in his arms. She inhaled his comforting scent of coffee and sandalwood and leaned her bloody face on his chest. Maybe everything will be all right after all, she thought.

Then a uniformed officer knocked on the window. “Sir, I understand you witnessed this accident?” he asked.

Helen saw that his name tag said GRIMES, but she couldn’t see his department’s name. Officer Grimes looked like a sandy-haired, freckled farmboy, but there was nothing friendly in his manner. He was all business.

“Yes, I did,” Phil said. “And so did my wife. She’s been injured.”

“Please step out of the car, sir,” the officer said. “Was your wife also hit by a car?”

Helen sat up and Phil opened the back door and climbed out. “No, she was attacked by the man who died,” he said. “The dead man is Rob—”

“We have his driver’s license, sir. I need your information.”

Phil opened his wallet and pulled out his license and PI credentials. “I’m Phil Sagemont and this is my wife and business partner, Helen Hawthorne. We’re Florida private eyes, up here to investigate the death of a St. Louis woman, Ceci Odell, who was murdered in Riggs Beach.”

“That the Kirkwood woman who was paddleboarding?” Officer Grimes asked. “I saw that on TV.”

“That’s the one,” Phil said.

“How did your wife come in contact with the victim?” Officer Grimes asked.

“We think he followed us here,” Phil said. “Helen and Rob divorced a couple of years ago, and it wasn’t friendly. He hounded my wife, even followed her to her new home in Florida.”

Fairly true, Helen thought. He left out the part where the court said I owed Rob half my future income. But he did come to Fort Lauderdale looking for me.

“He even watched her sister’s house,” Phil said. “Kathy lives in Webster Groves. We were at a barbecue there tonight, and Rob must have seen us. We left to go to the drugstore.”

Half-true, Helen thought. Rob was definitely watching Kathy. But now it’s time for my secret weapon.

She spoke up quickly. “Officer,” she said. “I needed some aspirin from the store here.” She held up the plastic drugstore bag.

“I also bought groceries,” she said. She pulled out her secret weapon, a cloth Schnucks shopping bag packed with bulky boxes so it resembled the money bag.

“My ex attacked me and tried to take my shopping bag. Why he’d want crackers and cookies, I have no idea.”

She wished she could see Phil’s face. Then she reminded herself not to get too clever. “He grabbed the bag and twisted my arm,” she said. “I tried to get away, but he threw me against the Dumpster and I hit my face.”

“I can see that, ma’am,” Officer Grimes said. “I’m calling the paramedics now. They can’t do anything for the victim.”

The uniform spoke into his shoulder mic, and two hulking paramedics trotted over. “Are you able to walk, ma’am?” one asked. He was twentysomething and heroically ripped. “I’d like to look at your wound in the light. If you’re not able to walk, we’ll wheel you to the ambulance parked over there.”

“I can walk,” Helen said firmly, and she did, escorted by the strapping pair. Now she could see Manchester’s snarled traffic and the cops diverting cars to detour routes. A dozen police cars and official vehicles were parked haphazardly in the strip mall lot. A CSI team was photographing Rob’s mangled body. Helen looked away.

The brawny brown-haired paramedic opened the ambulance doors and said, “Sit here.”

Helen was grateful to escape into the brightly lit interior. The paramedic dabbed gently at her bloody face with clean, damp gauze. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” she said.

“Then you’d better get a booster. That Dumpster’s rusty. This wound doesn’t look too deep, but it’s on your face. I’d suggest you have a doctor look at it. We can take you to the ER.”

“Will you tell my husband, please,” she said, “so he can follow in our car?”

If I wasn’t fighting with Phil, I’d ask him to drive me, Helen thought. But a little drama might help my marriage.

The paramedic jogged off to find Phil. Helen saw Officer Grimes wave to another police officer, a lanky man with graying hair. They met for a quick conference next to a police car.

“The two married PIs—Sagemont and Hawthorne—made statements that corroborate what the witnesses saw and that pink-haired girl’s video,” Officer Grimes said. “It’s a traffic fatality, Ray. An idiot ran into the street after striking his ex-wife. Neither PI pushed the victim into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

“Sagemont, the husband, wants to know if he and his wife can leave town tomorrow.”

“Don’t see why not,” Ray said. “The victim ran into the street of his own accord. If he hadn’t died, we’d be arresting him for coercion and battery. Record their statements, then the other witnesses’. Did you get the video?”

“The girl with the pink hair gave me the whole phone,” Officer Grimes said. “Said the mic was broken and she didn’t want it. Said it was her civic duty.”

“Good,” the other cop said. “Let’s wrap this up. It’s an accident. Hawthorne, the wife, is in the ambulance. Better record her before the paramedics take off. I’ll get the husband.”

Officer Grimes respectfully asked Helen for her statement, and she talked into the digital recorder, keeping to the bones of her story.

“Which town is this?” she asked. The St. Louis area was a confusing tangle of some ninety municipalities and she saw no sign saying which one she was in.

“Froxbury Heights,” Officer Grimes said. Helen relaxed. Froxbury was a West County millionaires’ ghetto. The residents didn’t like publicity. The police would wrap up Rob’s death swiftly and efficiently and hustle Helen and Phil out of town.

“Does your face hurt?” he asked.

“It’s starting to throb,” she said.

“The paramedics will take you to the hospital right away. As soon as my partner records your husband’s statement, he can join you. Good-bye and feel better.”

Helen heard the big-shouldered truck driver crying. He leaned against a car and twisted a Cardinals ball cap in his hands while saying, “He just darted out in front of me before I even saw him. I couldn’t stop.”

A woman in a server’s uniform patted his hand. “I know you couldn’t,” she said. “There was no way. We saw the whole thing from the restaurant. It’s not your fault and I told the police officer myself.”

Was that Rob’s waitress? Helen wondered. Her words had no effect. The driver said again, “He just darted out in front of me . . .”

Helen felt a stab of pity. That poor man would carry the weight of Rob’s death. She wished she could tell him he’d done her and her family a favor, but she knew that wouldn’t comfort him, either.

Then she realized this man was the only person who would cry for Rob. His parents were dead. She wasn’t wasting any tears on her ex, and neither would the Black Widow. Sandy, the woman Helen had caught him with on their back deck, wanted nothing to do with him, either.

Helen watched a stretcher with a black body bag being rolled onto the street. Four men reached down to pick up Rob’s body. That’s when Helen noticed the accident had knocked off his shoes.

Rob’s barefoot body was zipped into the bag. The sound had a horrible finality, worse than earth tossed on a coffin lid. An attendant found one of Rob’s shoes in the street and dropped it on the bag. He didn’t see the other.

But Helen did. The last bit of Rob was lying on the concrete median—a loafer.

H
elen was marooned in a hospital cubicle not much bigger than a Dumpster, but a lot cleaner. She eavesdropped on the man in the next cubicle while an ER nurse took his history. Mr. Burke said he was fifty-one, diabetic and weighed three hundred twenty pounds. “Guess I should lose some weight, huh?” he joked.

The nurse didn’t laugh. “I’m going to take your blood pressure now, Mr. Burke,” she said. “Mr. Burke? Mr. Burke?”

She stuck her head out the door and screamed, “He’s not breathing. Call a code!”

Helen saw a crowd in scrubs pile into the cubicle. One woman’s voice was unnaturally calm. “I’m the code nurse,” she said. “Get the crash cart next to the patient here. Ready the pads.”

Helen heard frantic thumps, rips and tearing sounds, while a distant siren wailed.

“Continue CPR,” said the code nurse. “Let’s start the ventilations here. You help her ventilate. Continue ventilations one every ten.”

I’m here for a long wait, Helen thought. This is life-and-death.

The fight intensified.

“One milligram of epi in,” the code nurse said. “Flushed.”

“I’m gonna open up an airway,” another voice said. “He’s got a lot of secretions.”

That’s when Phil rushed in, carrying her black purse. Now she was in the middle of another struggle to save her dying marriage.

“Nice purse,” she said. “But you don’t wear black with brown shoes.” She tried to smile, but her face hurt too much.

Phil didn’t bother. “The nurse said you’ll be okay,” he said. “She doesn’t think you’ll need stitches. I’m happy to hear that.”

Happy? Helen thought the cubicle’s white walls showed more emotion. He might have been talking to a stranger in the waiting room.

“I want you to know this doesn’t change anything between us,” he said.

“What!” Helen said, then realized she was shouting. The walls were thin. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “After I produced that substitute bag? And the aspirin to justify why we were sitting there? I saved you.”

“That was clever,” he said, a judge permitting a technical point. “I’ll give you a good recommendation when you look for another job. You’ll make a good private eye.”

Helen felt something cold reach in and freeze her heart. “I am a good private eye,” she said, each word carved in ice. “I don’t need your recommendation. But you need to remember I kept us out of jail tonight. You saw what Rob was like. How mean and sneaky he was.”

“Oh, yeah,” Phil said. “Rob’s a real master criminal. That’s why I could bluff him into thinking I was going to call the cops and tell them we had a recording. The dumb-ass forgot he’d used a voice changer. He wasn’t smart enough to hijack a kid’s Hershey bar, but you were terrified of him.”

“Oh, I get it,” Helen said. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. You hate Rob.”

“So do you,” he said. “But you invested that nitwit with brains and style and even—sex appeal.”

Sex appeal? Helen thought. Where did he get that antique phrase?

“You let him have power over you,” Phil said.

“He’s dead,” Helen said. “He has no power over anyone. And until he limped across Manchester, I had no idea I was dealing with Rob. Or did you forget that, Mr. Big Brain? We had two other good suspects: a drunken kid and a desperate family man. Both could be dangerous when they were cornered. Kathy and I had good reason to be frightened. We were worried about her boy, your nephew. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Phil said. “It’s you. I thought I could trust you and now I can’t. I can’t have a partner I can’t trust. Cops know that. If you can’t trust your partner, you’re dead. Sometimes, you’re really dead.”

His whisper was a snaky hiss. So was hers, Helen realized. They’d been hissing at each other like a nest of snakes.

“There’s no point in talking to you when you’re this pigheaded,” she said. “Please leave. I’ll call my sister, Kathy. She can drive me to the hotel when the doctor finishes here.”

Helen heard a voice from next door say, “That’s it. TOD ten thirty-two.”

“No, I’ll stay,” Phil said, his voice grudging. “I’ll be in the waiting room.” He slammed the cubicle door so hard, its glass window rattled. A passing nurse frowned at him.

Now she heard a tentative voice ask, “May I spend a little time alone with my husband?” The new widow, Helen thought, as her heart-wrenching sobs tore through the wall.

She took a deep breath to calm down. I will not cry, she told herself. She pulled out her cell phone and called her sister. Kathy answered on the second ring, and Helen heard the soft hum of restaurant noises in the background.

“Helen!” Kathy said. “How are you? Where are you? Did you catch him?”

“I’m fine,” Helen said. “That man will never bother us again. You and Tommy are safe.”

“Thank God. Who was it? What happened to him?” Kathy asked.

“He’s been put away,” Helen said. In a body bag, she thought. “It’s complicated. I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Too bad you can’t join me for a raspberry cosmo,” Kathy said. “Cyrano’s is closing. I only had one drink.” She giggled, but Helen didn’t think it was a tipsy giggle, and her sister wasn’t slurring her words.

“But you took so long, I ordered a Cleopatra,” Kathy said. “I haven’t had one since Tom and I were dating. That was our favorite dessert: French vanilla ice cream with bananas, strawberries, rum sauce—”

Helen stopped her sister before she listed all the ingredients. “Kathy, I couldn’t join you even if I wanted to,” she said, her voice serious.

“Why?” Kathy asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the emergency room, but it’s minor.”

“No, it’s not,” Kathy said. “You don’t go to the ER because you scraped your knee. I’m coming over now.”

“It’s not much worse, I promise,” Helen said. “I’m at Webster General. If you see Phil in the waiting room, we’re not speaking. He’s still furious.”

“Oh, no. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Kathy said.

She was in Helen’s cubicle in eighteen minutes. “What happened?” she asked. “You’re all bloody.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Helen said. “No permanent damage.”

“It looks painful,” Kathy said.

Helen shrugged. The cubicle next door was empty now. She quickly scanned the hall, then whispered, “No one’s listening. You won’t believe who the blackmailer was.”

Kathy plopped down on the hard plastic chair when Helen told her, mouth gaping. After she finished her tale, Helen said, “Rob is really dead this time. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“It’s the best possible outcome for all of us,” Kathy whispered back.

“For you and Tommy,” Helen said. “Phil won’t forgive me.”

“Is there anything I can do to change his mind?” Kathy asked again.

“No,” Helen said. “I just hope he’ll eventually forgive me.”

“What happened to the money?” Kathy asked.

“I dropped it in the Dumpster when everyone else was watching Rob get flattened,” Helen said.

“Do you want me to swing by and get it tonight?” Kathy said.

“No, stay away from there,” Helen said. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Will it fit in your suitcase?” Kathy asked.

“I can’t carry on that much cash, and I’m sure not going to pack it,” Helen said.

“I could deposit it back in your St. Louis account,” Kathy said.

“I’d rather you didn’t call attention to yourself at the bank, now that our troubles are over,” Helen said. “I’ll FedEx it home. I might need it to start a new life in Fort Lauderdale.”

With that, her voice broke, and she started weeping. Kathy hugged Helen while she cried on her shoulder. “Sh,” she soothed. “Phil still loves you. He’ll come around. I know he will.”

Helen wasn’t sure at all, but she said nothing.

While she wiped her eyes, Kathy asked, “What if someone steals that money?”

“I can’t make myself crazy over that money when this turned out so well,” Helen said. “I expected to lose it. If I get it back, wonderful. But if anyone takes it, that person will still be more deserving than Rob.”

The door opened and a blond doctor breezed in, so pale he looked newly hatched. He checked Helen’s forehead with his gloved hands and said, “That cleaned up nicely. You’re lucky; the cut’s not deep. You won’t need plastic surgery. Don’t wear makeup and keep your hair off your forehead until it heals. The nurse will be in shortly with a booster shot and your instructions. I’ll give you an antibiotic ointment. Do you want anything for pain?”

“I have aspirin,” Helen said.

“If you need something stronger, ask your internist. Your arm may be sore for a few days after the shot. Okay?” He bustled out before Helen could answer.

After an endless half hour, Helen was discharged. Phil gave Kathy a good-bye hug. Kathy hugged her sister, then took their hands and said, “Thank you both. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have my family safe.”

She looked years younger. Helen and Phil watched her walk to her car with a light step.

Phil drove back to the hotel. The oppressive silence made Helen’s head ache—or maybe it was the battle with Rob. She dry-swallowed two aspirins and was grateful when she was back in their room. The big bed looked inviting.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Phil said, grabbing two pillows and the bedspread.

He’s going to have fun sleeping on that short, hard sofa, she thought.

The next morning, Helen was awakened by her cell phone ringing. She fished it out of her purse and answered with a groggy “Hello.”

“Helen, it’s Joan. Joan Right, the server at Cy’s on the Pier,” she said. “I sneaked out on my break to tell you. Cy’s going to give the bribe to the commissioner at the restaurant tonight, at closing time. In cash. Frank has settled for four days. Can you be here tonight about eight thirty?”

“We’re flying home today,” Helen said. “If there are no delays, we should make it.”

“Wear a disguise,” Joan said. “Cy’s acting real jumpy. Don’t take any chances.”

“You, either,” Helen said.

She hung up the phone and checked the time on her watch. Eight thirty a.m. That would make it nine thirty in Fort Lauderdale. They didn’t have to leave for the airport for nearly three hours. Phil was sitting at the round table near the window, reading the
St. Louis City Gazette
and drinking coffee.

“Phil,” she said. “Joan says that Cy’s going to bribe Commissioner Frank Gordon tonight at the restaurant with cash. We have to be there. If we catch Cy buying the commissioner’s vote, we can save Sunny Jim. Joan said I should wear a disguise. I’ll buy a cheap blond wig here and some tourist clothes at the Lauderdale airport. We should have Margery at the restaurant, too. I can call her now.”

“I’ll get Valerie Cannata at Channel Seventy-seven,” he said. “She’ll want to know Frank the Fixer is involved in a bribery attempt.”

“This is a primo setup for an investigative reporter,” Helen said.

Phil set down the
City Gazette
.

“Are we mentioned in today’s paper?” Helen asked.

“We caught a break,” he said. “The paper says Rob darted into traffic and was a pedestrian fatality. The truck driver wasn’t charged and no one else is mentioned.”

“This operation has gone incredibly well,” Helen said.

Phil grunted, dialed Valerie’s number and put her on speaker. “I’m in the editing suite,” she said, sounding slightly breathless. “Make it quick.”

Phil did.

“Shut up!” she said. “I’ve been watching Frank the Fixer for four months. I’m itching to catch him in the act. When and where?”

Phil told her.

“I’m in, but don’t meet me at the station,” Valerie said.

“There’s a Target on Riggs Beach Road near I-95. I’ll meet you there at eight tonight,” Helen said, “and we can go in your car. I think Cy knows mine. I’ll dress as a tourist in loud clothes and wear a wig.”

“Me, too,” Valerie said. “I have a really ugly T-shirt I got as a gift. Ooh, I smell another Emmy.”

Next, Helen called Margery on the room phone. “We’ve got a job for you tonight,” she said. “Are you free?”

“The big question is, Are you? Are you two still an item?” Margery asked.

“I’m still hoping,” Helen said, guardedly. She was glad Phil wasn’t listening in. “How do you feel about . . . things?”

“About you?” Margery said. “I’ve decided you were dumber than a box of hammers, but I may forgive you if you take that yowling fur ball off my hands. He gorped on Phil’s floor and I’m not cleaning it up. I assume you aren’t calling me from jail. Did you catch the blackmailer? Who was he?”

“Rob,” Helen said, and told her the story.

“So he’s dead for real?” Margery asked.

“Had to scrape him off the road,” Helen said.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Margery said.

“Good old Margery,” Helen said.

“Don’t expect me to cry crocodile tears,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Be at Riggs Pier tonight at eight thirty and go fishing.”

“And what am I catching?” Margery asked.

“A crook,” Helen said.