by Elaine Viets
You could tell when Floridians first arrived in the state by the cut of their winter coats. Helen saw lots of shoulder-padded eighties styles, a few straight-line seventies numbers, even some garish sixties coats. There was also that Florida phenomenon, flip-flops and fur, a fashion statement that said, “I’m wearing the coat because it’s cold, but I have on sandals because I’m in Florida.”
Helen found a seat in the back of the church, next to an older woman in an ancient pink-and-orange coat that went oddly with her dyed red hair.
Helen thought Kiki would have been disappointed by the shortage of hunky male mourners. Helen suspected the scattering of sleek women in their fifties probably served on charity boards with Kiki. A few well-dressed older men sat by Kiki’s ex-husband, Brendan. The wedding party was also near him. The bridesmaids’ short black dresses went better with cocktails than caskets.
The bride wore black: a dowdy high-collared dress and a mourning veil. Helen had seen pictures of the First Lady in a similar veil at John F. Kennedy’s funeral. Helen couldn’t see Desiree’s face behind her crepe curtain, but she could hardly walk up the aisle. Saturday she’d marched up that same aisle, furious at her mother. Today she seemed almost paralyzed by her grief. Desiree had to be helped by her friend Emily, flapping in black fringe, and Luke. She clung to her husband as if he might escape. Luke wore a dark suit and a stunned expression.
When Desiree saw the casket, her knees buckled and she wept bitterly. Helen wondered if she cried for her mother or for the maternal love she never had.
The casket stood in the center aisle, its dark polished wood covered with dozens of red roses. It looked beautiful, if coffins could be described that way. To Helen, it also looked sinister.
“She loved her mother so,” said the red-haired old woman at her side. She laid a soft, liver-spotted hand on Helen’s arm. “Look at those gorgeous roses. There must be ten dozen on that casket.”
Helen knew that wasn’t love. It was revenge. Kiki had sneered at roses as something for shopgirls, and now she was buried under them.
“And a closed coffin. Such dignity.” The woman patted Helen again.
She would have hated that, too, Helen thought. Kiki never missed a chance to be on display. To be locked in a wooden box for her last public appearance would be hell.
“Darling Desiree. Such a sensitive child. I bet she chose her mother’s final outfit with care.”
“I bet she did, too,” Helen said.
It would be carefully chosen to annoy her mother for all eternity. What horror would Desiree pick? A cheap polyester dress? A conservative gray suit? Maybe she’d wrapped her mother in a sheet. Helen had a vision of Kiki facing her Maker with a sheet gathered around her like a large bath towel. She struggled to suppress a giggle.
“I see she asked her mother’s oldest friends to be pall-bearers,” the woman said.
Another slap. Desiree had chosen six of the oldest men in Florida—and that was saying something. The poor old dodderers were having trouble rolling out the casket, even with the help of the funeral-home employees. Kiki would have wanted six young studs to carry her body.
“It was the perfect funeral,” her companion said.
“Yes, it was,” Helen said. Perfectly malicious. She wondered if Desiree would ever bury her hatred of her mother.
Helen stepped out into the cold winter sun, eager to find the shop van and leave.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?”
Detective Janet Smith blocked Helen’s way. Helen hadn’t seen her at the funeral.
“I’m representing the shop,” Helen said, and gulped. Damn Millicent. Why did she make her come to the funeral? Helen knew her attendance looked odd. She was no friend of Kiki’s.
“Good way to see what’s going on,” Detective Smith said. “Enjoy the drama. Feed on the grief. A lot of murderers do that. That’s why we tape the mourners. You are mourning her death, aren’t you?”
“Are you accusing me of anything?” Helen said, her heart pounding.
“Should I?” Detective Smith smiled. “Have a nice day.”
She’s trying to rattle me, Helen thought as she climbed into the van and dropped her keys on the floor. She’s succeeded, too. Helen decided not to tell Millicent about the detective’s sideswipe in the parking lot. She was getting an uneasy feeling about her boss.
It was one o’clock when she returned to the bridal shop. Helen was so tired, she felt like she’d been digging ditches. She took off her coat and flopped into a pink chair. There were no customers.
“How was the funeral?” Millicent said.
“Indecently quick. Nobody cried but Desiree. Nobody fainted. Nobody fought on the parking lot.”
“Anyone mention me?” Millicent said.
“They hardly mentioned Kiki,” Helen said. “The minister talked briefly about the brevity of life. No one else gave a eulogy. Maybe they couldn’t think of anything good to say. After some prayers, they shoved her body in the hearse. My old cat Missy had a longer funeral—and more people cried.”
“Kiki deserved better,” Millicent said. “I know you didn’t like her, Helen, but Kiki was born too soon. Today she’d be a senator or a CEO. Her family forced her into a traditional woman’s role. She wasted herself on sex and society parties.”
“In theory, I feel sorry for her,” Helen said. “In fact, she was a bitch. Things any better here?”
Helen knew she shouldn’t have asked. The empty store was answer enough.
“I haven’t sold a ribbon,” Millicent said. “Look, I should warn you. If business doesn’t pick up soon, I’ll have to let you go. I don’t want to, but I can’t make the light bill at this rate.”
At two o’clock, the doorbell chimed, and two twenty-something women came in. One was a tall, skinny blonde. The other was a short, buxom brunette. The brunette held her left hand in the newly engaged position, ready to display a diamond the size of a peach pit.
Helen stood up. Millicent surged forward, eager to sell. She never asked, “May I help you?” Millicent knew the answer would be, “Just looking.” Instead, Millicent talked about the weather until the women felt they had a friend. Then she said, “When is the wedding?”
“I’ve just got engaged!!” The bride extended her hand to show off the rock. “I’m Cassie. My best friend Toni’s going to help!!” Everything Cassie said had at least two exclamation points.
“She’s going to do it,” Toni giggled.
“I’ve already done it, silly!! Now I’m going to get married!!”
Helen’s heart sank. Newly engaged women visited every bridal shop in three counties. Many went to expensive shops like Millicent’s first, tried on the ten-thousand-dollar dresses to see what styles suited them, then bought the two-hundred-dollar knockoff at Bob’s Bridal Barn.
“When is the date?” Millicent said.
“June, 2006,” Cassie squealed. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait!!”
Another bad sign. She had eons to look for a dress. But Millicent was too desperate to discourage her. “What style do you prefer?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t tried anything on yet. Let’s try them all!!”
Oh, boy. This was going to be a long day.
Cassie had shiny black hair that curled to her shoulders, fine white skin, and a firm bust. Her figure was a little chunky by current standards, but she’d look smashing in a simple strapless A-line.
Millicent tried to steer her toward slim styles that would flatter her figure. But Cassie didn’t like those dresses. “Too plain,” she said. “It’s my day. I want to look like a princess in ribbons and lace.”
For four hours, Helen and Millicent dragged dresses back to the fitting room. Cassie settled on a white satin dress with a full skirt layered in lace. The chunky bride looked like a cotton ball. But this was the dress she’d dreamed about since her first Barbie wedding.
“I love it, I love it, I love it!!!!” Four exclamation points this time. “I know it’s the one
for me, just like I know Bernie is my man.”
“It’s perfect,” her friend Toni said.
“Does it make me look fat?” Cassie said.
“Of course not,” Toni said, loyally.
“How much would you like to put down for a deposit?” Millicent said.
“I’m almost ready to buy,” Cassie said. “But I’ll have to bring back my sister and show her.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Millicent said. “It won’t be here forever.”
It may be repossessed, Helen thought.
“She’ll come back,” Millicent said when Cassie left. “No bride buys the first time.”
“Of course,” Helen said. Like Toni, the loyal friend, she said what Millicent wanted to hear. They both knew she was telling polite lies.
Helen and Millicent were discouraged when closing time rolled around and there was no need to balance the cash register.
Helen walked home toward the Coronado. She passed the Blue Note. The little bar off Las Olas was no fashionable hangout. It was a dark hole for getting drunk, and it fit her black mood. Helen stood in the doorway breathing in Pine-Sol, bug spray, and fried food. Then she saw someone she recognized sitting at the bar.
Rod the chauffeur was drinking himself into a stupor. He didn’t seem a happy new millionaire. His face was loose, rubbery, and wet with sweat. His eyes were glassy. He was sloppy drunk.
“Rod, are you OK?”
“No, I’m not.” His words were slurred. His breath was sour with beer. He squinted at Helen in the dim light. “Do I know you?”
“I work at Millicent’s.”
“Oh, yeah. The water lady. You brought me a bottle of water when I was standing in the sun and I chased you off like a total asshole. Only human I met in that job, and I was mean to you. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
Rod’s handsome face crumpled, and he started to cry.
“Rod, it wasn’t that big a deal. What’s wrong?” Helen ordered a beer and drank it out of the bottle. It would be cleaner than the bar glasses.
“The will was read after the funeral.” He stared morosely into his beer.
“Congratulations,” Helen said. “Now that you’re a millionaire, will you get yourself a chauffeur?”
“I’m not a millionaire.” He belched. “I’m not in the goddamn will. Kiki promised me a million bucks. She said that to all the boys. I knew that. But I thought I was different. Turned out she lied. She never had any of us in her will. She wasn’t going to waste money on legal fees every time she got a new fucking chauffeur. Or a fucking new chauffeur.”
He took a drink, then looked confused. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. I’m out of the will. All that for nothing. I’m just another dumb hooker.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen said.
“Not as sorry as I am,” he said. “You didn’t stick your—”
“Uh, did she lie to everybody?” Helen interrupted quickly.
“Whadya mean, everybody?” Rod said, turning belligerent. “Who you calling everybody?”
“She was supposed to leave a hundred thousand dollars to Chauncey for his playhouse and thirty million to her daughter.”
“Chauncey got his. Never had to screw her, either. Just kiss her ass. Desiree got hers, too. That means Luke has it all—and no mother-in-law.”
“Kiki was some mother-in-law, all right.”
“Huh, you don’t know the half of it. She wasn’t going to let Luke make that movie.”
“I heard,” Helen said. “That was his big break.”
“Kiki said no son-in-law of hers was going to play a retard on the big screen. Only reason Luke was marrying that girl was to get enough money to take his career to the next phase. Luke was so mad he wanted to kill Kiki.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard them arguing. But he would have told me. We were like this.” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and stuck his shaky finger through it.
“You and Luke were lovers?”
“Yeah. We met at the theater. I decided to take this role as a chauffeur and act like I enjoyed banging an old bag. He played Romeo to the dreary daughter. We both whored for money. But he got it and I didn’t. He’s a good whore. I’m a bad one.” His self-contempt was corrosive.
“When did you hear the fight?”
He belched and stared straight ahead until Helen brought him back. “The fight, Rod. Where was it?”
“In the restaurant parking lot after the rehearsal dinner. Desiree was still inside with her bridesmaids. Luke and Kiki were out by the Dumpsters. Good place for trash like her. You know she never wore panties?”
“Yes,” Helen said.
“Me, too. The hard way. Hard way. That’s a joke.” His laughter sounded more like crying.
“About Kiki.”
“Kiki. I hope she’s somewhere hot and it isn’t Florida. You want to hear something really pathetic? I actually liked her. No, I’m drunk. I should tell the truth. In beero veritas.” He had another gulp of beer. “I started out doing it for the money, but I ended up loving her.”
Helen stared. She couldn’t imagine anyone loving Kiki.
“I’m not bullshitting you. That little woman had big balls. She made me feel like a stud.”
“We thought the two of you were having marathon sex in the Rolls the morning of the wedding,” Helen said. “What were you doing in there, anyway?” She figured Rod was drunk enough he might tell her.
“Oh. That.” Rod belched delicately. “She didn’t come home the night before. The housekeeper and I thought Kiki spent the night with some guy. She did that more and more. I drove to the church, figuring the guy already took her there. I sat in the car, getting up the courage to go inside and see if she was with her new chauffeur. I ran the air conditioning in the Rolls. I wasn’t supposed to do that if she wasn’t in the car. But I wanted to look good. I was afraid she’d lost interest in me. What a fool. She never cared in the first place. She was one hot geezer babe, too. Joke’s on me. The hot old babe left me cold. Didn’t give me a nickel. Did I tell you that?”
“Yes,” Helen said. “I’m really sorry. You were talking about a fight with Luke?”
“Oh, yeah. She told Luke no movies. Luke said then there would be no wedding. Kiki said if he didn’t marry her daughter, she’d ruin him with every agent and acting company from Miami to New York. She could do it, too.”
“And if he did marry, he’d never act again,” Helen said.
“Riiiiiiiight. Oh, he could go back to it after Desiree got her own money, but that would be ten years, and the momentum would be gone. His looks, too. Luke’s career was starting to take off. If he handled things right, he could go national. Movie parts and theater roles in national companies. If he waited ten years, he’d be doing local stuff the rest of his life. Kiki gave him one of those choices—the lady or the tiger.”
“This time, the lady was a tiger,” Helen said.
“Riiiiiight. Except he picked door number three. A dead Kiki. Solved everything for everybody, except me.”
“Do you think he killed Kiki?”
“If he didn’t”—he hiccupped—“he should have. But it could have been that other guy she had the fight with.”
“What other guy?” Helen said.
“Didn’t see him. Didn’t hear much, except he was real mad. That one was at the church. I had to take the Rolls back over there. Then she sent me home.
“She’s an evil little woman. Looking all sad and talking all soft. Had me thinking about crazy stuff I never would have considered. Almost did it, too.”
Rod suddenly stood up. “I’m gonna be sick.” He sprinted for the bathroom.
“You better go, miss,” the bartender said. “I’ll make sure Rod gets home.”
Chapter 13
The cops thought she was a killer. Her romance was on the skids. Her job was drying up. Her mother was going to marry Lawn Boy Larry.
Helen had one consolation: It wasn’t snowing.
> This morning was a sunny seventy-two degrees. Helen poured herself a cup of coffee, grabbed the paper, and sat by the pool.
A soft breeze playfully flapped the front page as she read the headlines. Kiki’s murder had been preempted by a vicious snowstorm that hit the East Coast. Like all Floridians, Helen read the reports of stranded motorists, ice-slick roads, and power outages with satisfaction.
Her life might be a mess, but she didn’t have to shovel her car out of a snowbank.
The day seemed less sunny when she read the want ads. In some ways, an arrest would solve her problems. She’d have a place to sleep and three meals. Helen knew Millicent would probably have to fire her. There was still no business.
What was she going to do? More than a quarter of Florida workers were “working poor,” people who made less than eight dollars an hour. Helen was one of them. When she lost her job, she’d be just poor. All she had was seven thousand dollars stashed in a Samsonite suitcase. That wouldn’t go far.
The want ads had plenty of high-paying jobs for exotic dancers, escorts, and lingerie models. Keeping your clothes on didn’t pay nearly as well. The best Helen could find was an ad for “medical receptionist, must be bilingual, $7 an hour.” Helen doubted her high-school Spanish counted as a second language.
A job in a dentist’s office promised “competitive pay to commiserate with experience.”
I’d like someone to commiserate with my experience, Helen thought.
Wait! This job looked promising: “Ground-floor opportunity in the advertising industry. No training required. $6.25 plus commission and meals.”
The pay was less than she made now, but free meals would make up for it. Helen wondered if the company would pay her in cash under the table. It was worth checking. She needed Margery’s phone.
Her landlady was hosing purple bougainvillea blossoms off the pool deck.
“Margery, I have a shot at an advertising job,” Helen said. “Can I use your phone to call for an interview?”
“I’ll be finished here in a minute.” Margery wore a new plum shorts set and flirty kitten-heel slides.