Half-Price Homicide (13 page)

Helen felt cooler just looking at the Coronado. The pink glow of the setting sun turned the old building the color of peach ice cream. The Coronado crowd saluted the sunset whenever possible.

Tonight, four residents were sitting by the pool—Phil, Peggy, Margery and Mark, the mechanic who lived with Jordan in 2C. Five, if you counted Peggy’s Quaker parrot, Pete, a bright green bird with sober gray feathers on his head.

Mark and Margery were stretched out on chaise lounges. Helen was relieved to see her landlady in her customary purple caftan. The timid pink polish Margery wore to the funeral home was replaced with screaming tangerine. Her brass earrings were the size of temple gongs. She was once more wreathed in Marlboro smoke. Her drink looked a little pale. That screwdriver probably had more booze than orange juice, at least the way Margery made it. Helen’s landlady was back to her colorful self.

Mark was leading-man handsome. Put him in a tux and a limo and he would turn heads with his dark good looks. Too bad he was wearing khakis with a name tag on the pocket. Mark was never quite able to remove the oil and grease from his fingers. The mechanic was too good for Jordan, but unless his work-stained hands were clutching stacks of Benjamins, she’d have no interest in Mark.

He raised his beer in greeting to Helen.

Peggy hoisted her wineglass. “Hey,” she said. “Join us.” Pete sullenly crunched a green bean.

The umbrella table was spread with potato salad, ripple chips, sliced tomatoes, onions and French bread. Phil was barbecuing chicken. Helen watched her man take a sip of Heineken, pour some on the chicken from the green bottle, then pour more into the cook. She waded through the beer-scented smoke and kissed him.

“That chicken smells luscious,” she said. “How many six-packs before dinner is ready?”

“As soon as the chicken and I finish this beer, dinner is done,” Phil said.

“What can I do?”

“Help us eat it,” Phil said. “Change into something cool. And take this to my pal Thumbs.” He handed her a paper plate with a grilled chicken neck.

“Thumbs will love that, but he’ll smear chicken grease all over my floor,” Helen said.

“Let the cat have some fun,” Phil said. “I’ll clean up if he makes a mess.”

“The floor needs to be mopped anyway,” Helen said.

Thumbs, her six-toed cat, greeted her at the door with a loud purr and a friendly forehead bump to her leg. Helen scratched his thick gray and white fur and said, “You’re only making up to me because it’s dinnertime. Phil made you a treat.”

Thumbs chomped the chicken neck while Helen filled his water bowl, poured him dry food, then changed into yellow shorts and a black top. She inspected herself in the mirror. Helen wasn’t a hard body like Vera, but she didn’t look bad for forty-one. In fact, she decided, I look darn good.

She poured herself a cold white wine, found a can of mixed nuts for an appetizer, then rejoined the party.

“Can Pete have a cashew?” Helen asked Peggy.

“Too fattening. He’s still a half ounce overweight,” Peggy said.

“I should be so lucky,” Helen said.

“That’s a lot for a bird who’s supposed to weigh six ounces tops. Pete can get hypertension, just like people. He’s limited to nutritious snacks.”

“Let me remove temptation,” Margery said, reaching for the can. “Peggy, how’s your lawyer friend, Daniel?”

“He may be a keeper,” Peggy said. “And it’s about time.” Peggy’s love life had been chaotic for almost as long as Helen had known her. Peggy had been jailed for murdering one lover. When her name was cleared, Peggy had a romance with a hunky cop from that case. But he cheated on her with a stripper. Then Peggy fell for another cheater. This one took her for twenty thousand dollars.

“For a while, I thought Pete was going to be the only man in my life,” Peggy said. “I spent my nights teaching him to talk.”

“Hello!” the little parrot said.

“Daniel is working late tonight on a contract,” Peggy said.

“Jordan has a modeling job tonight,” Mark said. He was touch-ingly proud. “She looked hot when she left here. She says she may have to stay out late while they take photos in South Beach.”

That lying little witch, Helen thought. She hoped her feelings didn’t show.

“How nice,” she said out loud.

“Your sister sent you a FedEx package, Helen.” Margery was mining the mixed nuts for cashews.

“I asked her to overnight a dress and a recent photo of Mother,” Helen said.

“Any word on your mom?” Margery crunched another cashew.

“No change. I’m sure the next call I’ll get from the nursing home will be bad news.”

“Dinner is ready,” Phil said. He carried the platter of grilled chicken to the table and the five crowded around.

Helen listened while Mark bragged about Jordan—her beauty, her ability to photograph well from almost any angle, her unusual green eyes. The poor clueless sap, Helen thought as he recited Jordan’s charms throughout dinner.

“She doesn’t even have to wear false eyelashes,” Mark said. “I’m going to support her until she’s a supermodel. Then she’ll support me. I’m hoping to start my own repair shop. Phil, want me to take a look at your Jeep? It sounds like the timing is off.”

“The Jeep has been dying at stop signs,” Phil said. “I can pay you or give you a couple of six-packs.”

“Beer is good,” Mark said. “I like Heineken.”

Peggy, Helen and Margery shooed Mark and Phil off to work on the Jeep while they cleared the table. “You get a pass because you cooked tonight, Phil,” Helen said. “And Mark, you’re fixing the Jeep.”

When the two men were in the parking lot, Helen said, “Mark is a nice guy. He doesn’t know that his girlfriend is riding in a limo with another man.”

“You didn’t see anyone in that limo, man or woman, Helen Hawthorne,” Margery said. “Maybe Jordan was getting a ride to her job.”

“The only one being taken for a ride is Mark,” Helen said.

“Been there, done that.” Peggy tossed the paper plates in the trash. “Now, this is how I like to do dishes.”

When the table was cleared and the grill cleaned, Peggy said, “Okay, Pete, it’s bedtime. Show everyone I didn’t waste all those lonely nights.”

“Night!” Pete said.

Margery and Helen applauded, while Pete rode Peggy’s shoulder triumphantly to their apartment. Margery gave Helen the box from Kathy.

Phil appeared at the door to Margery’s kitchen. “Want to come to my place for a nightcap, Helen?”

Inside Phil’s apartment, Helen said, “The curse of 2C has struck again. Margery has rented that apartment to every kind of crook. Now Jordan is cheating on poor Mark.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked.

“Well, not exactly. But she’s been talking about dating another man.”

“At least cheating on her boyfriend isn’t illegal,” Phil said. “It may be an improvement over everyone else who’s rented 2C. Jordan is only scamming Mark instead of innocent citizens.”

“She’s a snob, like lots of pretty fashionistas,” Helen said. “She won’t get serious about a man who works with his hands.”

“Jordan thinks it’s a fair trade,” Phil said. “Mark gets high-priced arm candy and she gets pretty clothes. ‘Forever’ is not a word in Jordan’s vocabulary. But it works both ways. Soon some man will dump her because she’s no longer young and pretty.”

Helen found his words cold comfort.

“Would you like a back rub?” Phil asked. “It will get the knots out.”

The back rub turned into a long session of love. Later, Helen said, “I feel guilty enjoying myself while my mother is dying.”

“And denying yourself would help her how?” Phil asked. “You’ve done everything possible for your mother.”

Helen drifted off to sleep in his arms until a buzzing sound woke her. She sat up, slapped Phil’s alarm clock to shut it off, then realized the sound was her cell phone buzzing.

“Miss Hawthorne, this is Priscilla, the night nurse,” said a voice with a gentle Southern accent. “I’m sorry, but your mother has taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Lucre doesn’t think she’ll last till morning.”

“I’ll be right there,” Helen said.

Phil sat up in bed, looking adorably tousled. “What’s going on? What time is it?”

“It’s one oh three,” Helen said. “The nursing home says Mom may not last until morning.”

They threw on shoes, shirts and jeans. Helen picked up the dress box and they ran for the Jeep. The Coronado gleamed in the ghostly moonlight. The air was soft and flower-scented. A yellow light burned in apartment 2C. Helen wondered if Jordan was home yet or if Mark was alone there, drinking beer.

The Sunset Rest looked abandoned. The nursing home’s lights were off except at the night entrance. Helen rang the buzzer. Priscilla’s generous figure and short perm inspired confidence. The nurse led Helen and Phil through the dimly lit halls.

“We’ve moved your mother’s roommate so you can have privacy,” she said. “Dolores is fading, but she’s peaceful.”

Helen’s mother looked like a small bundle of laundry in the white bed. “She’s hardly there,” Phil whispered.

Helen sat down, held her mother’s nearly transparent hand and wished the IV could be removed. “Mom, I know you will go to a better world,” Helen said to the still form. “You’ll see Daddy again. Tommy Junior and Allison will miss you so much. They loved coming to your house.”

Helen talked to her mother for what seemed like hours, while Phil alternately paced the room, then went down the hall for soda or coffee.

Suddenly, Dolores’s breathing changed. It grew loud and rapid, then seemed to stop.

“Mom?” Helen asked. “Are you there?”

No answer, except another burst of loud, almost raspy breathing.

“I’ll get the nurse,” Phil said.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Priscilla asked, running into the room.

“Her breathing is really loud and fast,” Helen said. “Then it’s almost not there. Then it starts up fast again.”

“That’s Cheyne-Stokes respiration,” Priscilla said. “It happens near the end. They say it doesn’t hurt the patient, but it sounds frightening.”

At last Dolores’s labored breathing stopped. “I believe she’s passed,” the nurse said. “I’m sorry.” Priscilla left the room and closed the door.

Phil took Helen in his arms and she cried on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, kissing away her tears.

“But we never made up,” Helen said. “She died angry at me.”

“If Dolores is in that heaven she believes in, she forgives you,” Phil said. He gave her a cup of fresh coffee.

“Thanks.” Helen wiped away her tears. She took a sip, then said, “What time is it?”

“Three fifteen,” Phil said.

“Margery said Mother would die at three in the morning,” Helen said.

It took nearly three hours for the grim formalities of death. Dr. Justin Lucre examined Dolores, declared her dead and signed the paperwork. Helen signed more papers and packed her mother’s few belongings. She called Kathy for a tearful conversation. Her sister promised to call Larry in the morning and tell him he was a widower.

The funeral home took away Dolores’s body, along with her wig, the photo and her dress.

It was six ten in the morning when Helen and Phil were ready to leave. The smokers were already puffing in the courtyard. Joe sat in his red motorized wheelchair with Rita at his side. She wore a perky pink bow today.

“What are you doing here so early?” Joe asked Helen.

Rita glared at him. “Have you smoked your brains out?” she demanded. “Why does any healthy young person come here in the middle of the night?”

“I’m an idiot,” Joe said. “Your mother passed away, didn’t she?”

Helen nodded. She was afraid she’d burst into tears if she said the words. Phil put his arm around her protectively.

“Give us a good-bye hug,” Rita said. “We’ll miss you. And you, too, big boy.”

Finally, Phil and Helen climbed into the Jeep. “It’s over,” she said.

“Now you can take the day off,” Phil said.

“I’m too keyed up to sleep,” Helen said. “I’ll get our plane tickets and hotel reservation online. The funeral home said Mom would be ready in about two days. I’ll have breakfast with Peggy by the pool if she has time. Then I’ll go into work at ten.”

“I disapprove,” Phil said. “You need rest.”

“I need a distraction,” Helen said. “I’ll leave Snapdragon’s early at two o’clock, come home and crash.”

“We’re home now,” Phil said as the Coronado rose before them. “Please take a nap.”

“You bitch!” a man shouted.

Phil slammed on the brakes at the edge of the Coronado parking lot. Jordan and Mark were screaming at each other in Phil’s parking spot. Jordan was still wearing the same sexy outfit. She carried her high heels, but looked slightly shopworn. Her makeup was gone. Mark’s handsome face was red and contorted with rage.

“I’m working my ass off while you’re sneaking around with that big-time developer,” Mark yelled.

“I told you. I was working,” Jordan shrieked back.

“On your back,” Mark said. “You’ve been sneaking out with Danny Martlet. Don’t deny it. I found his phone number on your cell phone and called it. You slut! Danny’s wife was murdered a couple of days ago. You didn’t even wait until she was buried to hop in the sack with him.”

“Danny auditioned me for his Orchid House campaign. But he wasn’t at tonight’s shoot.”

“Really?” Mark said nastily. “I bet you saw plenty of him before tonight.”

“No, I swear,” Jordan said, then went on the attack. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he said, slurring his words. “You stink like cheap beer,” Jordan said. “I had French champagne.”

Margery materialized in a purple robe. “Why are you two brawling on my property?” she demanded. “He said—” Jordan began. “That bitch—” Mark said.

“I’ve already heard it,” Margery said. “The whole street heard you. Jordan, go to your room.” Jordan went upstairs to 2C like a sulky child.

“And Mark, go to work.”

“I can’t,” Mark said. “I’ve been up all night worrying about that slut. She isn’t worth losing sleep over. I’m going to bed. Alone. She can sleep on the couch.”

He stomped up the stairs after Jordan, and slammed the apartment door.