Killer Cuts: A Dead-End Job Mystery (9 page)

H
elp! Save him,” the bride said.”Get him out of the water.

I can’t lift King. He’s too big.”

Jonathan, the sweaty young governor’s assistant, was the first to rip off his suit jacket and tie. He kicked off his wing tips, stripped to his blue boxers, and dove into the pool, still wearing his black executive-length socks. Helen was impressed by his quick reac tion, and wondered if his job taught him to react in a crisis.

He was followed by the E.J. the DJ, who tore off his Hawaiian shirt, scattering buttons across the deck. He stripped off his tennis shoes but kept on his khaki shorts. He had about forty pounds of belly fat.

The young assistant had long, lean muscles and looked fit. The flabby DJ seemed to add to the confusion. The two men struggled to raise King’s body out of the water, but only managed to flip him over. Now King looked like he was waving with his fat flipper paws.

Honey screamed in horror.

Someone shouted,”Call nine-one-one.” Helen saw the glint of the sun on a squadron of cell phones and BlackBerries.

Barry, the drunken best man, tore off his jacket and pants, tried to step out of his cummerbund, and fell headfirst into the water with a geyserlike splash. He wore his cummerbund like a deflated inner tube.

A dark-skinned waiter shoved his tray on a table, knocking water glasses to the ground. He pulled off his white gloves and black vest, and joined the rescue attempt. Helen thought he might be helpful. He was muscular and younger than the best man.

There were now four men flailing in the water.The governor’s as sistant tried to organize them. “Okay,” Jonathan said to Barry the best man and E.J. the DJ.”You two take King’s shoulders. I’ll take the lower right side and you, sir, take the left side. We’ll try to push him up and onto the deck.”

It didn’t work. King was too heavy. His wet, slippery body fell back into the pool. Honey cried louder,”Please save him.”

After much coughing and sputtering, the young assistant said,”Let’s each take a limb and tow him to the shallow end.”

The four half-dressed men formed a strange cortege as they carried King through the pool water.

The bride wept and wrung her hands. Wedding guests gathered to watch the spectacle, nearly pushing the front-row gawkers into the wa ter.”Back up, people,” someone said,”before we have another pool ac cident.”

At last, the makeshift rescue team reached the shallow end. They dragged King onto the concrete pool deck. If he survives, Helen thought, he’s going to have major concrete burns.

“Watch his head.Watch his head,” Honey cried.

Water streamed from King’s wedding suit in small rivers and ran down his smooth scalp.

A woman screamed,”There’s a dead rat in the pool.”

More shrieks, until another guest figured out the dark object wav ing in the drain was King’s toupee.

“Stand back,” someone else cried.”Give him air.”

Even Helen could tell the groom needed more than air. His chest wasn’t moving and his body looked like wax and rubber. Helen won dered why the bride’s gown was soaking wet. Had Honey tried to pull her husband out of the pool before she called for help? Or had she pushed him in?

“I know mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” Honey said.

“I just bet you do,” snarled King’s ex-wife, Posie. She had a wineglass in her hand and a mean look on her face.

“Daddy!” cried their daughter, Cassie. She ran surprisingly fast for someone in high heels. She pushed her mother aside. Cassie seemed terribly young as she dropped down on the pool deck and tried to hug her father. She looked like a golden water sprite.The small camera dangled like a bracelet on her right arm. She started taking pictures of Honey trying to revive King.

King’s lawyer gently guided Cassie away from her father’s body to ward an umbrella table. “You’ll help him more if you stay out of the way,” Harris said. His impeccable Armani was wrinkled and his bow tie was crooked.

“At least let me get him a pillow so he’s comfortable,” Cassie said. “He’s lying on concrete.”

“I think he’s supposed to be on a hard, flat surface,” Harris said. “It’s the best way to save him. Honey knows what she’s doing. She’s a nurse.”

The bride had bunched her shimmering skirts to form a pad so she could kneel on the wet pool deck. Honey loosened King’s brown bow tie, opened his soggy jacket, and pulled the studs out of his pleated shirt. Honey’s long, sheer veil trailed over his face. She tore it off and flung it behind her. It floated on the pool surface like an exotic sea creature.

Honey ran her fingers around the inside of King’s mouth.

“Why is she poking around in his mouth?” the drunken ex-wife, Posie, said.”Is she trying to steal his gold fillings?”

“She’s checking to make sure the airway is clear. I had CPR train ing,” said a man in a navy blue suit.

Honey tilted King’s head back slightly, then pulled open his jaw.

“She’s trying to break his neck,” Posie said.

“No, she’s doing it the right way,” the self-proclaimed CPR expert said.

Honey ignored her critics and her defenders. She pinched King’s nose closed, put her mouth tightly over his, and gave two quick breaths. Then she stopped and studied her husband.

“What are you doing?” Posie demanded.”Why are you pinching his nose? Why did you stop? Do you want to kill him?”

Honey said nothing. The CPR expert said, “She needs to make a tight seal if she’s going to get him breathing. She stopped to see if his chest was moving.That’s standard procedure.”

“Right,” Posie said. Her sarcasm was like acid.”And if she screws up, she’s a very rich widow.”

“Let’s let Honey work without interruption, please,” King’s lawyer said. “We don’t want to slow her down. She’s a trained professional. If she does something wrong, there are plenty of witnesses.”

“And you can sue,” shouted someone from the crowd.

Honey put her mouth over her husband’s and blew two more breaths.Then she stopped and studied his chest.

“No sign yet that he’s breathing,” Honey said. “I’m going to keep trying until help arrives.”

Cassie started crying.”He’s dead. He’s dead. My daddy’s dead.”

A man who looked like one of King’s creepy sex-industry friends came up behind Cassie. “Come with your uncle Max, sweetie.” His hand moved across her shoulder like a hairy spider. Cassie flinched at his touch, but Uncle Max didn’t notice.

“Honey is a good nurse,” he said. “She’ll help him.” Uncle Max tried to lead the dazed young woman through the crowd.

“You better do the right thing,” Cassie screamed at Honey. “You better save my daddy. I’ve got pictures.”

Cassie’s wail blended with the approaching sirens. Many of the guests by the pool looked relieved at the sound. Helen thought the trouble was just beginning. How long had King been underwater? Even if the paramedics saved his life, would he be brain-dead? And where were Miguel Angel and Phoebe? Mireya, the photographer’s assistant, was also missing. But her employer, Marco Antonio, was dutifully videoing the drama.

Four sturdy paramedics rushed in through the garden gate with a stretcher and a bright orange bag. They expertly lifted King onto the stretcher. One put a mask over his mouth and nose. King didn’t move. The paramedics brought out a portable resuscitator to help him breathe. Then they practically hurled the stretcher through the crowd.

The bride tried to follow.”That’s my husband,” she said.”I have to ride in the ambulance.”

“There’s no room for you in that big dress, ma’am,” the paramedic said.

Honey started to rip off the ruined skirt, but Harris stopped her.”I’ll take her,” he said.

The doors shut and the ambulance roared off, lights flashing and sirens shrieking. Helen wondered if the lawyer was naturally thought ful or if he realized he’d just acquired a rich new client. “I’ll be right back, Honey,” the lawyer told her.”I have to get my car from the valet. We’ll follow King to the hospital.”The elegant lawyer would have been shocked to realize he really was an ambulance chaser.

The bride threw herself into a garden chair and sobbed. Honey’s pregnancy was clearly visible in her water-soaked dress.

Posie, the ex-wife, walked up to the weeping bride and said,”If he’d stayed with me, he’d still be alive.You killed him for his money, and now you don’t even have to sleep with him.”

“But I did,” Honey said.

“We can all see you slept with him,” the angry ex said.

“Why would I kill my own husband?” Honey asked.

“The same reason I divorced the bastard,” Posie said. Her face— cruel and expensively made-up—was a mask of hate.”King was crude and nasty.This way, you get his money without having to put up with him.You stole millions from my daughter, Cassie.”

“That’s not true,” Honey said.”King created a trust for his daughter.”

“But you and your new brat will get the lion’s share, won’t you?” Po sie said.”King didn’t even make you sign a prenup, the way he did me.”

At that point, Helen realized the police were pouring through the garden gate in a blue wave. They’d had time to hear the whole ugly conversation between Posie and Honey.

Helen glanced at her watch. It was four thirty.

Honey had been married an hour and a half. If King was really dead—and really worth ninety million dollars—his bride had earned a million dollars for each minute of her marriage.