Clubbed to Death (29 page)

Apartment 2C had one bedroom, a tiny bath, a decent kitchen and a comfortable living room, furnished in the same fifties furniture as Helen’s place. The turquoise couch was slightly butt-sprung and there was a cigarette burn on the coffee table. But the place was clean. Operating room clean. Helen was nearly overcome by the lemon wax and ammonia fumes.

“How did you get those crusty old windows to shine?” Margery asked.

“Scrubbed them with crumpled newspapers,” Nancy said. “My mother used to do that.”

“It works,” Margery said. “This old stove is a wonder. What did you use on that?”

“Elbow grease,” Nancy said.

The old furniture gleamed with fresh polish. The porcelain kitchen sink was bleached white again. The bathroom shelves were stacked with clean towels and bed linens. The shell mirror was dusted.

“How’d you get the dust out of all those curvy shells?” Helen asked.

“Q-tips,” Nancy said.

There were vacuum trails across the rugs. The brass teakettle was polished to a high shine. Even the flamingo salt and pepper shakers had been washed.

“It’s perfect. Ready to rent,” Margery said. “No one’s ever left it this clean.”

“And she’s been cleaned out by a lot of tenants,” Helen said.

Margery glared at her.

“May I ask a favor?” Nancy said. “Could you refund our deposit before we go?”

“Might as well,” Margery said. “Save me a stamp.”

She sat down at the kitchen table, which had been polished to a soft glow, and wrote a check for the first and last months’ security deposit.

“It’s been a plea sure,” Margery said. “Come back. And tell your friends up north.”

“Nancy, time to saddle up and ride,” George called from downstairs. “You need help carry ing anything out?”

“Just the two suitcases by the door,” Nancy said. “I can handle them. Everything else is in the car.”

She handed Margery the apartment keys. “I’d like to use the little girl’s room before we start the long drive. Last chance for a clean restroom before Ohio.”

“Be my guest,” Margery said. “Pull the front door shut behind you.”

Helen and Phil followed her outside. While they waited for Nancy, George folded his trip maps and fretted. “I’ve been married thirty-six years and I’ve never figured out why women take so long in the bathroom. What do they do in there?”

“You don’t want to know, George,” Phil said. “Some things should remain a mystery to man.”

“Let Nancy enjoy her privacy,” Margery said. “The restrooms along the road are nasty.”

The door to 2C finally opened, and Nancy struggled out with a fat leather purse and two suitcases. Phil gallantly leaped up the steps and took the luggage from her.

“Look at those things,” George said, as Phil manhandled the suitcases down the stairs. “She wore shorts and golf shirts the whole time we were here. I got my clothes in a gym bag. How does she fill two suitcases the size of Subarus?”

Phil looked a little winded as he wrestled the heavy suitcases to the couple’s car. George opened the trunk. Phil rearranged the other luggage to fit in one big suitcase. The other monster went on the backseat.

“It’s been a pleasure,” George said, and shook hands all around.

“This was a tough time, but you made it bearable,” Nancy said. She gave Margery and Helen a hug and kissed Phil chastely on the cheek.

“Have a safe trip home,” Helen said, as they waved good-bye to the Ohio couple.

When they were out of sight, Phil said, “I checked the trunk when I fitted in that big suitcase. There was nothing in the car that belonged to you.”

“I told you,” Margery said. “The curse of 2C is broken. Did you see how they cleaned the place? They left it better than when they moved in. It’s ready to rent. Except I want to paint that bathroom. It’s looking a little shabby.”

“Let me fix myself some breakfast and I’ll help you,” Helen said.

“It’s my day off.”

“Deal,” Margery said. “Come over to my place. I’ll nuke some brownies.”

“Can I help?” Phil said.

“There’s not room in that bathroom for three people,” Margery said.

“I mean, can I help eat the brownies?” Phil said.

They followed Margery into her warm kitchen. “What can I do to help?” Helen said.

“Pour yourself a cup of coffee and go sit in the living room out of my way. You want fresh orange juice?”

“It seems right, since you confiscated that juicer from a crooked tenant. We can toast the end of the curse,” Helen said.

Helen and Phil filled their cups and retreated to Margery’s living room. The roar of the juicer, as it ground up orange innards, covered their conversation.

“How are you this morning?” Phil asked.

“Fine,” Helen said, kissing his warm lips. “Better now.”

“No worries about Rob? No bad dreams?”

“No, he gave me enough nightmares while he was ...” Helen started to say “alive” and changed it to “here.”

“Are you worried what Marcella will do to him?” Phil asked.

“No,” she said. “That was last time, before he came back into my life and tried to frame me for murder. He’s no good, Phil. I hope he’s far away.”

Something hard and hurting covered her heart, a little tumor of pain and betrayal that she didn’t want to think about and didn’t want to remove. Rob had made her a fool once more. She’d thought he couldn’t hurt her anymore, but she was wrong. Again.

Margery came in balancing a plate of warm brownies and three glasses of orange juice. “Drink this first,” she said, “or your brownies will taste off.”

They clinked glasses and toasted. “To the end of the curse on 2C,” Helen said.

“To no more crooks in that apartment,” Phil said.

“Amen,” Margery said.

They talked and ate for almost an hour. Then Helen changed into her paint clothes. Phil helped carry the paint, brushes, rollers and drop cloths up the stairs.

Margery unlocked the door to 2C. Once again, Helen was nearly knocked down by the odor of ammonia and lemon polish. The smell was the same, but the apartment seemed different. There was an empty double hook on the wall in the little entranceway.

“Did you take down your shell mirror so we could paint?” Helen said.

“Hell, no,” Margery said. “They took my mirror.” She ran to the bathroom and stared at the empty shelves in the linen closet. “My new towels are gone. The sheets, too. No wonder Nancy washed everything.”

Helen checked out the bare kitchen. “She took the shiny copper teakettle.”

“And the salt and pepper shakers,” Phil said.

“She cleaned me out. She even got my new purple bedspread and the throw pillows on my couch,” Margery said.

“She left the ashtray, but it’s chipped,” Phil said.

“But we saw all your things here when you did the final walk-through,” Helen said.

“The suitcases,” Margery said. “Those two big suitcases by the door were empty. Nancy went back after I gave her the refund check and stuffed everything in them. No wonder she was struggling to carry them.”

“Phil helped her,” Helen said. She started laughing. “And George distracted us with folksy conversation. Your nice normal couple from Ohio were crooks after all.”

“Not even interesting ones,” Margery said. “Plain old tourist towel thieves.”

“You want me to go after them?” Phil said. “They’ve had about an hour’s start. I could probably track them down.”

“Not worth your time or gas money,” Margery said. “I got the towels on sale at Target and the shell mirror at a garage sale. Damn, I liked it, though. That’s the last time I have anyone ordinary here.”

“Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?” a voice called from the Coronado courtyard.

“I think you got your wish,” Helen said, looking out the door. “It’s Elsie.”

“She told me she was coming over to pick up her ring,” Margery said. “I’ll go get it.” She ran to her apartment.

Elsie was standing by the pool, waving frantically. She was dressed in black leather pants, black satin bustier and biker boots. The outfit was studded with metal rings, loops and chains. Lumps of white flesh popped out of various gaps, like gophers from their holes.

“Incredible,” Phil said.

“I knew you’d like it.” Elsie beamed. Her dyed blond hair was streaked cherry red. It matched her lipstick, which crept into the cracks in her lips. Clumps of black mascara colored her light eyelashes. She batted them at Phil.

“I have a present for you.” Elsie handed Phil a foil-wrapped package.

He tore off the gold paper and said, “Glenlivet scotch.” Phil kissed Elsie’s brightly painted cheek. “My favorite.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Elsie said. “You were so nice when I was foolish. My son would have locked me away for sure. You saved me from living in a managed care facility.”

Margery came out carrying the velvet ring box. She handed it to Phil, and he gave it to Elsie. She opened the box with trembling fingers. “That’s it.” Elsie’s smile was brighter than the diamond. “That’s my mother’s ring. I never thought I’d see it again.”

She unleashed another flirtatious smile for Phil. “I never thought I’d be getting a diamond ring from such a handsome young man.”

“You aren’t the only one who was surprised,” Margery said.

Helen glared at her landlady.

CHAPTER 29

“Helen, did you hear the news?” Xaviera asked.

“Did they find Jackie?” Helen asked.

“Not yet,” Xaviera said. “She’s over the wind.”

“In the wind,” Helen corrected.

“Do you want to teach English or hear my juicy gossip?” Xaviera tossed her long dark hair. “You’ve had two days off. You don’t know what you’ve missed.”

“It must be good,” Helen said. “I just walked in the door on a Monday morning. I didn’t even get to my desk yet. Sounds like I need to be sitting down to hear this momentous news.” She grinned at Xaviera.

“Well, don’t stand there. Hurry up.” Xaviera drummed her long fingernails on the desk. They were ten works of art. Each nail was painted yellow with an orange sun, blue water and a tiny palm tree.

“Wicked nails,” Helen said, as she passed Xaviera’s desk.

“And completely against the dress code,” Cam said.

Xaviera swiped her painted nails at his face like a cat. Cam held up his bottle of hand sanitizer for a shield. “Keep those things away from me. They’re crawling with germs.”

“They’ll crawl all over your face if you make trouble for me,” Xaviera said.

Helen was grateful for the distraction. It helped get her past the ugly landmarks in the customer care office. She still shuddered when she passed Brenda’s sealed door. Jackie’s denuded desk, with the drawers askew, haunted her. She still couldn’t believe her colleague had tried to poison her. Jackie seemed so quiet. Of course, Helen had read that phrase in a thousand newspaper interviews with a killer’s neighbors.

Helen dropped her purse in her drawer and plopped down in her parrot-print chair. Her eyes caught something outside her window. A long yacht was blocking her view of the water, a white ghost ship with cruel black windows, like a drug dealer’s limousine.

Helen thought she was hallucinating, but she could see the boat’s name.

“The
Brandy Alexander
,” she said softly.

“You heard,” Xaviera said. She sounded disappointed.

“Heard what?” Helen said.

“Michael, the club concierge, has given notice. He’s going to marry the Black Widow to night.”

“What?” Helen sat up so fast, the old chair squeaked in protest.

“Why couldn’t she marry me?” Cam moaned. “I’m younger and better-looking.”

“And she has enough money to pay your doctor bills,” Xaviera said.

“Marrying that woman is bad for your health, Cam,” Jessica said.

“She’s been widowed at least five times.”

Helen finally recovered enough to say something. “The Black Widow can’t marry the concierge. She already has a husband.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Xaviera said.

“She got her marriage to Rob annulled this fast?”

“Didn’t need to be annulled. It never took place,” Xaviera said.

“But I saw—” Helen started to say she saw Rob and Marcella getting married aboard the yacht. But she hadn’t seen them actually standing before a preacher. And she didn’t want her co-workers to know about that embarrassing episode, when she ran screaming down the Seventeenth Street Causeway.

“—where Marcella called herself Rob’s wife,” Helen finished. It sounded lame.

“And how many women who live with men say that?” Xaviera said.

“I hear it all the time,” Jessica added. “The designated users come in here and say ‘my husband’ this and ‘my husband’ that and the couple has never tied the knot.”

Helen knew that was true. Many women called themselves “wives” because they didn’t care to explain their marital status.

But Margery had said that Marcella was old-fashioned. Like Elizabeth Taylor, she always married the men she slept with. “I’m sure she’s married,” Helen insisted.

“Oh, no,” Xaviera said. “She has a paper saying all her husbands are deceased and she never married that Rob guy. My boyfriend, Steven, saw it. Michael the concierge has a copy.”

“Ex-concierge,” Jessica said.

“Was that paper prepared by Marcella’s lawyer, Gabe Accomac?”

Helen asked.

“How did you know?” Xaviera said.

“Just a hunch,” Helen said. Just a hunch that a lot of money had changed hands and a marriage had been erased.

“I thought that Rob guy was dead,” Cam said.

“He turned up alive,” Xaviera said. “Steven says he went on a bender and disappeared for several days. Had no idea where he was.

Woke up beat-up and hungover in a motel near Miami. Dumb move.

While he was gone, his rich girlfriend found herself another man. She dumped that Rob, and I don’t blame her.”

So that was the story, Helen thought. She had to admit it sounded plausible.

“Are you and Steven invited to the wedding?” Jessica asked.

“No. Michael says the ceremony is private. The Black Widow probably doesn’t want any younger women there for comparison,” Xaviera said, and wiggled her hips.

Ringing phones put an end to the good-natured whistles and catcalls.

Helen picked up her line and was surprised to find Marcella calling.