Murder Unleashed (26 page)

“He’s going toward Palm Beach,” Helen said. “That would support the rich-old-man theory.”

“He’s not there yet,” Peggy said. “There’s a lot of water in between. He could still live with his boy on the boat.”

The three cars followed Jonathon through the dense rush-hour traffic, keeping in touch by cell phone. Jonathon took them up into Palm Beach County and the car snarls of downtown Palm Beach.

“He’s trying to lose me in the traffic,” Helen said.

Jonathon’s car looped through one-way streets and cut through parking lots. Helen idled in construction traffic until the Pupmobile’s heat gauge went dangerously red.

“That boy’s done this before,” Peggy said. “He’s good.”

Jonathon drove in circles and figure eights. He’d cross U.S. 1, then zip back along the ocean to A1A and finally turn around and roar over the railroad tracks to the Dixie Highway.

“He must have spotted Helen,” Peggy reported to her cell-phone companions. “He’s trying to shake her. There’s no sign he’s noticed either of you.”

“Tell Helen to stay on his tail,” Phil instructed. “We want to rattle him.”

“Wait! Jonathon is making a left against the traffic. He’s heading south again,” Helen said.

The little car beetled through the charging cars and went back down U.S. 1. Helen followed, bulling her way into the oncoming traffic with a chorus of shrieking brakes and honking horns. Irate drivers saluted her with single digits.

Peggy gripped the armrest. “Jeez, Helen, I had no idea you drove like this,” she said. “No wonder you take the bus.”

“It’s the first time I could goose this baby,” Helen said. “Normally I have to drive like a little old lady.”

“Please do,” Peggy said. “I’d like to be one when I grow up.”

But Helen was hot on the trail of the elusive dark car as it dodged in and out of traffic and ran yellow lights, trying every trick to elude the pink Pupmobile. Peggy did not complain again. She was too busy relaying their position to Margery and Phil.

As they reached Lauderdale, Jonathon made an abrupt swing toward the beach on a yellow light. Helen followed, though the light had turned red. More horns blared. Jonathon’s car sped up as it came to a drawbridge over the Intracoastal Waterway. The bridge’s alarm bells were ringing. The yellow warning lights were on and the red-striped gates were dropping. The drawbridge was going up for a sailboat.

The little dark car slipped under the red-striped gate. Helen hit the gas and the Pupmobile followed, its long, square body swiveling on the rough metal bridge surface. The descending gate nearly clipped the taillights. The heavy car landed on the other side with a
whump!

“What the hell were you doing?” Peggy said. She was white as milk.

“That was fun,” Helen said. “There’s real power in this old Caddy. Were you really scared?”

Peggy’s cell phone rang before she could answer, and Helen heard an outraged squawk. “Right, Margery,” Peggy said. “I’m still alive, no thanks to Helen. She thinks this is a movie and she’s a stunt driver. OK. Got it. We’ll drop back out of sight so you two can tail him. Jonathon is now heading south along the beach on A1A, but he has his turn signal on. I think he’s going back up to U.S. 1 again.”

Peggy hung up the phone. “We’ve got our orders,” she said. “We’re supposed to stay at least four blocks behind him, out of sight.”

They drove past an endless parade of strip malls. Peggy’s phone rang again a few blocks later. “Jonathon’s turning off U.S. 1 at State Road 84. Wait! Now he’s going into Lester’s Diner.”

“Hope he goes inside,” Peggy said. “I could use some coffee to steady my nerves.”

“You can go in,” Helen said. “But Jonathon knows me. I’ll have to stay crouched on the floor the whole time.”

“Good,” Peggy said. “That’s where I’ve been for most of this trip.”

They passed a string of lumberyards and boat businesses before the phone rang once more. Peggy reported, “Phil says don’t go into the diner lot. Jonathon met a woman there. He’s getting into her blue minivan. Now the two of them are back on State Road 84.”

“This is getting interesting,” Helen said. “Why the change of cars and the woman driver?”

“I hope we’ll find out soon,” Peggy said. “At least they don’t suspect anything. They’re driving at a nice slow pace.”

The three cars trailed the minivan into Davie, driving past an unlovely vista of check-cashing stores, pawnshops, and tire stores.

“What’s Jonathon doing in Davie?” Helen said. “It’s not the hippest place in Broward County.”

“Don’t they beat up people who look like Jonathon in Davie?”

“And act like him,” Helen said.

Peggy’s phone rang again. She listened, then snapped it shut. “Your mystery man gets more mysterious. The minivan pulled into a subdivision. Phil says it’s up here on the right. If we turn at the first light, we’ll see it. The van is in the driveway of a ranch house. Phil says to park around the corner where Jonathon can’t see us. Then we can walk past the house like we’re two suburban ladies going for a stroll.”

It was the sort of neighborhood where women went for strolls on nice evenings, dads walked the dogs, and kids played basketball in the driveways. Helen and Peggy walked past neat lawns and well-tended gardens.

“This is weirdly normal,” Helen said. “I can’t imagine what Jonathon is doing here.”

“There’s the minivan,” Peggy said. “I see Phil’s Jeep in the driveway of the for-sale house next door. Margery must be around the corner.”

Helen didn’t answer. She stopped on the street and stared at the tableau before her. She was looking at a pale green ranch house with a freshly mowed lawn and beds of bright flowers. Kids’ bikes were piled on the porch.

A broad-shouldered man got out of the van. He was about six feet tall with a muscular build and short brown hair. He was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt and carrying a gym bag. A chunky blonde got out of the driver’s side. The man kissed her on the forehead. Helen was close enough to see his cleft chin, chiseled Roman nose, and tiny feet, now in ordinary Nikes.

“It’s Jonathon,” Helen whispered.

“That can’t be him,” Peggy said. “He was in disco drag.”

Two little blond girls came tumbling out of the house yelling, “Daddy!” They ran up and hugged Jonathon. A golden retriever raced out with them, barking happily and running in circles. A sullen teenage boy in black sulked on the front porch. Jonathon picked up both girls and put them on his shoulders. He ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Ohmigod,” Helen said. “Jonathon is straight.”

“Worse,” Peggy said. “He’s a family man with three kids. And he lives in Davie.”

“If word of his lifestyle got out among his fashionable clientele, he’d be ruined,” Helen said.

Helen and Peggy kept walking down the street, then doubled back. Helen waited until the family was settled in the house. “Go sit with Phil,” she said. “I’m going in.”

Helen rang the doorbell. The teenage boy answered.

“Hi, can I see your father?” Helen gave her best grown-up smile.

“Dad, it’s for you!” the kid bellowed, leaving the front door wide open. Helen peeked into Jonathon’s living room. She saw a plaid sofa, wall-to-wall carpet, and two blue-velvet recliners. The surly teenager took one, flopped down, and stared glassy-eyed at a video game.

Jonathon walked into the living room with a big smile on his face—until he saw Helen.

“You!” he said.

“Me,” Helen said. She jerked her head at the boy. “We need to talk. I think it’s a nice night for a walk.”

“Let me tell my wife,” he said. “She’s fixing dinner.”

As they walked down the suburban street, Helen looked for any trace of Jonathon the flamboyant dog-grooming genius. All she saw was an ordinary man with a wife and three kids.

“So now you know,” he said.

“That’s some secret,” Helen said. “Let me guess. The long hair is a wig. Where do you get the disco suits?”

“My wife makes them. Brenda’s really good at sewing. I get most of the shoes at Goodwill.”

“Is this where you were the afternoon of the murder?”

“Yes,” Jonathon said. “Tammie had me so upset, I had to go see Brenda and the kids. The girls and I are building a dollhouse together.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police that?” Helen said.

Jonathon hung his head and spoke so softly she could hardly hear him. “I didn’t want to drag my family into a murder case. I tried to be Jonathon instead of me. By the time I got around to telling the police who I was and where I’d been, they didn’t believe me. They said I was lying. This has been a disaster. We may lose the house if I go to trial. Bail and the legal fees have already eaten up most of our savings.”

“Why do you try so hard to hide your life?” Helen said. “Most people would envy what you have.”

“Maybe. But when I look like a mechanic and live in Davie, I have no artistic authority. You won’t tell anyone at the shop, will you? I have three children to support.”

Helen didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “Do the children know about your arrest?”

“Not so far. They didn’t recognize me in the photo on television. I don’t dress like that around them. And my real name, the one I use here, isn’t Jonathon. I stayed at a guesthouse to keep the cops away from my family. The staff was very kind. Some reporters are still following me, so I only come home a couple nights a week. The kids think I’m traveling for business. But I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. If the real killer isn’t found soon, it will destroy my family.”

“If I’m going to keep quiet, you have to answer some questions.”

“I’ll answer on the condition that you tell no one my secret, not even Jeff,” Jonathon said.

“I promise,” Helen said. “But I want an honest answer. Did you kill a man in Miami?”

“No, I started that rumor myself,” Jonathon said. “It added to the mystique and kept me from having to defend myself from the kind of people who like to beat up gay men.”

“Did you really blind a show dog in Tampa?”

Jonathon stopped and looked at her. “Yes,” he said. “I was stupid and the shop was crooked. I did give the shampoo to the show dog’s owner, but I thought it was special eyedrops. I’d never hurt any animal on purpose. You know I respect animals. The shop owner gave me those drops. He told me to give them to the dog’s owner as a gift. I’m sure he took money to ruin the dog’s chances for that show. He used me. The dog recovered his sight, but I quit as soon as I found out, and moved here. I invented the Jonathon persona as a disguise. No one from Tampa would recognize me in a disco suit with long hair. But my new look and personality changed everything. People took me seriously. Now I was an artist. They started bringing me their models and show dogs. I groomed a poodle who won best in show in Palm Beach, and my reputation was made. My old life and my old mistakes were gone.”

“Who do you think is the killer?” Helen asked.

“If I knew that, I’d tell the police,” he said. “I want to know even more than you do. I’ll lose everything.”

By the time they got back to Jonathon’s house, Helen could smell dinner. Jonathon breathed in deeply. “Beef stew with carrots and little onions,” he said. “My favorite.”

Helen let him go home to his family. She met Margery, Peggy, and Phil around the corner.

“Don’t that beat all,” Margery said when she heard the story.

“I have to take the Pupmobile back to work,” Helen said.

“I’ll ride with Margery,” Peggy said, a little too quickly.

“I’ll follow Helen,” Phil said, “and give her a ride home from the dog store.”

Helen drove the Pupmobile at a stately pace back to the store, mulling over what she’d seen. She thought Jonathon’s story had the ring of truth. He’d created the whole hysterical artist persona for his business. It worked until Tammie was found dead and his splendid creation turned on him.

Then she remembered what Tammie had said in the grooming room when she barged in on Jonathon: “I know what he is, just like I know what you are.”

Did Tammie know that Jonathon was a family man? If she lived in Tampa, did she know Jonathon before he adopted his artistic persona? How far would a man go to protect his family? Helen felt the sliding horror of despair again. She’d gone around in circles. She hadn’t eliminated anyone. Maybe the police were right after all and Jonathon was the killer. All the evidence pointed to him.

She would keep her promise. Until she knew more, it served her purpose to keep quiet about Jonathon.

Jeff was waiting for her when she got to the Pampered Pet.

“Well?” he said.

“I found him,” Helen said. “Jonathon is living with the most incredible ménage. It includes a boy, a dog, and a woman.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Helen said.

“What does the place look like?” Jeff said.

“Like nothing you’ve ever seen,” Helen said truthfully. “When I walked into the living room, I saw this young man stretched out in this blue-velvet chair that opened up—”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this,” Jeff said, looking deliciously shocked.

“You’re probably right,” Helen said.

“
I
gave you enough last time, Betty. You still feeling guilty about living off those blind rabbits?” Tammie had taunted Betty the animal lover with those words, at least according to her housekeeper, Lourdes. Living off blind rabbits? What did that mean? What had Betty done?

Helen could not imagine. But she had to find out. She certainly wasn’t going to ask Margery.

She spent her lunch hour at the library, looking up information on Betty Reichs-Martin. The computer had nearly a hundred newspaper and magazine stories on the woman. Some were one-paragraph mentions. Others were long features. Almost all were about her work for animal charities.

Photos showed her cleaning cages at the shelter and hauling auction donations. Her good works were chronicled in endless detail. Helen saw nothing to explain that odd remark about living off blind rabbits. The more Helen read the stories detailing Betty’s virtues, the more she’d wondered if Lourdes had heard wrong. The housekeeper’s English was a little shaky.