by Elaine Viets
The neighbor kept her medicine in plain sight on the kitchen counter. She needed phenobarb for her seizures. Maybe Jackie took it by accident. Could the nice officer ask Jackie about it, please, when they found her?
When they found her. Now there was the question.
“We have a BOLO for her car,” Detective O’Shaughnessy said. “She’s wanted for assault, theft and double homicide.”
The words made Helen feel even more unreal. Quiet little Jackie had racked up an impressive list of crimes.
“She drives an old silver Geo,” Helen said. “I don’t think it goes very fast.”
“Doesn’t have to,” O’Shaughnessy said. “It’s twelve thirty in the morning. She’s had a six-hour start. We’d like to get a search warrant for the suspect’s apartment.”
“She tried to kill me. Can’t you just break down the door?” Helen asked.
“Doesn’t work that way,” O’Shaughnessy said. “Unless the person who has the privacy rights associated with the property has knowingly and voluntarily waived those rights, a search warrant is always needed if any evidence obtained is to be admitted in court.”
I’m still woozy, Helen thought. But I think he’s saying that he needs Jackie’s consent for a search.
“To obtain a search warrant,” O’Shaughnessy said, “one needs probable cause to believe that whatever is the object of the search is in or on the property sought to be searched.”
“Huh?” Helen said. Now she was totally lost.
“The tea,” he said. “Do you have reason to believe that she made this tea at home? What about the chocolates? Did she bring them from home? Your statement will help us get a warrant.”
“Definitely,” Helen said. “She said she got the tea as a gift. She brought it from home in a thermos. The chocolates, too. Except they didn’t come in a thermos. They were in a basket.”
The police found the chocolate Helen had dropped under her desk. It was taken for analysis.
The club doctor told her she was lucky she’d only pretended to eat it. “That’s a needle mark on the bottom,” he said. “That chocolate has been injected with something. I suspect there were sleeping pills in that tea. You were supposed to eat the chocolate, drink the tea, pass out and die. You’re lucky you didn’t aspirate your own vomit and choke.”
Now Helen felt really sick.
“You need to go to the hospital and have your stomach pumped,” the doctor said.
“No, I don’t,” Helen said. “I didn’t eat the chocolate. I just drank some tea and threw up. I’m fine.”
“Then you’ll have to sign a paper that you’re refusing treatment.”
The great healer is afraid I might sue, she thought.
“Thank you for caring,” Helen said.
“We prefer you go to the ER, Miss Hawthorne,” Detective O’Shaughnessy said. "We don’t know for sure what you’ve consumed or if anything is still in your system. It’s for your own safety. Also, we’ll need the hospital staff to collect urine and blood samples for testing. We need proof of what you were given to bring your assailant to justice.”
“OK, you can take me,” Helen said to the medics. “Do I have to go on that stretcher?”
“Regulations,” said a strapping young man in a blue uniform. He was too big to argue with.
As they were wheeling her away, Helen said, “Steven, my landlady’s coming to the club. Will you direct her to the hospital?”
“No problem,” Steven said.
Marshall Noote trotted alongside her, like a big friendly dog. He patted her hand, as if he really cared. Helen knew better.
“You don’t fool me,” he whispered in her ear. “I know you staged that poisoning attempt. Gave yourself just enough to get a little sick. You framed poor Jackie. She got scared and ran. She’s no killer. I knew her from the old days. Sweetest woman I ever met. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“She tried to kill me,” Helen said. “What do I have to do to convince you—die?”
“That might work,” Noote said.
CHAPTER 26
“You want tea with your toast?” Margery asked.
“You’re joking, right?” Helen said. “I never want tea as long as I live.”
“You could just say, ’No, thank you,’” Margery said. "Phil’s gone out for coffee. I thought you wouldn’t want to wait for some hot caffeine.”
She glared at Helen. So did her cigarette. Helen found all those red eyes unnerving.
It was now four in the morning, with a cold clammy mist drifting on the ground. Helen sat snug in Margery’s purple recliner with a plate of warm buttered toast in her lap.
She stank like a Dumpster. She’d changed her smelly shirt and torn uniform, but she couldn’t shower or wash her hair yet. Helen’s damaged hands were wrapped in gauze mittens. She had to keep the salve on a little longer. Her arm had an ugly green bruise where the techs had drawn blood for the police.
“Do you know what you put me through?” Margery said.
For once, Helen’s landlady looked every day of her seventy-six years. Her wrinkles plowed furrows into her face. Her purple T-shirt was on inside out, tag in front. She must have dressed in a hurry when Helen called for help.
“First you call me up at eleven at night, croaking like a raven,” Margery said. “Then you tell me you’re buried in a tomb.”
“I said ‘sort of,’” Helen said.
“That was real cute,” Margery said. “Especially after you hung up without explaining.”
“I didn’t hang up. Help had arrived.”
“Why didn’t you say so, instead of making me wonder what happened? I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. Phil drove me down to Golden Palms, racing in and out of traffic at a hundred miles an hour. I’m surprised we didn’t wipe out on the highway—or wind up in jail.”
“Not on I-95,” Helen said. “Everyone drives like that.”
“You’re being cute again.” Margery’s eyes blazed with anger. “You don’t care what you put us through. When we finally got to the Superior Club, that Steven bird said you were in the hospital. That message took another ten years off my life. Didn’t make Phil feel too good, either. You’re lucky we didn’t let you hitchhike home.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “The police wanted my blood.”
“So do I,” Margery said. “What were you doing, drinking poison with a killer?”
Helen wasn’t sure if the smoke in the room was from her furious landlady or her cigarette. “I didn’t know she was a killer.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Margery said. “Why don’t you leave the murder investigations to the police?”
“That’s what I thought I was doing,” Helen said.
“You borrowed my skeleton key to go snooping through that guy’s desk,” Margery said.
“And I found information that proved Cam couldn’t be the killer.”
“So you turned around and blamed that poor actress,” Margery said.
“I never said anything to Jessica.”
“You didn’t get a chance to,” Margery said. “Instead you sat down to tea with a serial killer.”
“Jackie’s not really a serial killer,” Helen said. “She only killed two people.”
“Only!” Margery howled. “Gee, let’s have her over for a barbecue.”
“I mean, she’s not Jack the Ripper,” Helen said. “She just lashed out when she was cornered.”
“She beat that woman’s head in,” Margery said, “then killed another man and tried to kill you. I’d say she’s pretty violent.”
Helen couldn’t argue with that. “At least I figured out the killer worked in the club office. The police were still interviewing the doctor’s old girlfriends. That would have kept them busy for the next decade.”
“Maybe if you’d told them the truth, the cops wouldn’t have wasted their time,” Margery said.
Helen winced. That hit home. “Well, at least they’re looking for the right suspect n
ow. They think Jackie killed Brenda because she tormented her, which is true enough.” Helen still hadn’t told the police about the club information Jackie had sold Rob. She was more scared of the Black Widow than the police.
“Humph,” Margery said, and breathed out a huge cloud of smoke.
“And the police couldn’t have gotten the search warrant without me,” Helen said.
“I bet they could have figured out something to tell the judge.”
Margery wouldn’t give an inch. She ground out her cigarette and lit another. Helen quietly munched her toast. Slowly, the anger seeped out of the room. Margery had said what she needed to say.
Half a cigarette later, Margery broke the silence. “Did the police find anything to connect Jackie to the murder?”
“A few things. At least from what I overheard last night,” Helen said. She was grateful for a peaceful conversation. “The police got their warrant and Jackie’s landlord unlocked her apartment. The place looked like it had been ransacked. They found her closets open and her clothes flung everywhere. Her car was gone. The police think Jackie did a hasty packing job and fled.
“They found two things to back up my story: The neighbor’s bottle of phenobarbital was sitting on Jackie’s kitchen counter, with about half missing. They also found ant killer that contained arsenic.”
“Arsenic! Where did she get that?” Margery said.
“Wal-Mart. You only need a twentieth of a teaspoon to kill someone.”
“Good lord,” Margery said.
“That’s why drawing my blood and getting a urine sample was so important. If the tests find phenobarb, they’ve got Jackie for attempted murder. Ditto for the arsenic in the chocolate. There was cinnamon tea in the kitchen cabinet, so they can tie that to Jackie. But they couldn’t find the pink thermos or the cup. The chocolates were missing, too. And there’s no sign of the bloody shirt or the papers Jackie stole from my desk at the club.”
“I bet they’re long gone,” Margery said.
“Maybe, but I’m here,” Phil said. He bent down and kissed Helen. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Better than she deserves,” Margery said.
Helen felt another stab of guilt. Phil looked tired and worn. His silver hair straggled down his neck, his skin was oily, and there were deep bags under his dark blue eyes.
Margery sniffed the air. “You’ve changed your aftershave,” she said. “But I like it.”
“Hot coffee and warm Krispy Kremes,” Phil said. “The way to a woman’s heart.”
“Definitely the way to mine,” Helen said. “I’m ready for a sugar rush. Mmm. Sweet creamed coffee and warm glazed doughnuts.”
There was a respectful silence while they ate and drank. Two doughnuts later, Helen said, “You listened to me on the ride home from the club. But I never heard about your trip to Palm Beach, Phil. What happened with your trip today?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Phil said. “I’d spent days tracking down rumors of a jeweler who sold expensive items to ‘special customers.’ The shop carried new and antique jewelry—and according to the rumors, some pretty shady goods. I finally found it on the northern edge of Palm Beach County.”
More guilt, Helen thought. Phil had driven more than two hundred miles today, if you counted the trips from Palm Beach to Miami and back. No wonder he looked exhausted.
“I thought I was going to have the big news tonight.” Phil took out a blue velvet box, got down on his knees in front of Helen and opened it. Inside was a sparkling diamond ring.
“Oh, Phil, you shouldn’t have,” Helen said. She felt confusion, surprise and what she least expected—happiness.
“Of course I should,” he said.
Helen threw her arms around Phil and kissed him. He smelled of hot coffee, Krispy Kremes and slightly sweaty man. They should bottle this, she thought. There’s nothing sexier.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she said. “I never expected it.”
“Hey, I promised Elsie I’d get her diamond ring back and I did,” Phil said.
Helen pulled herself away and tried to hide her disappointment in a third doughnut.
“Right,” she said. “Elsie’s ring. I’m so happy. For her, I mean.”
“I can tell,” Margery said. Her sarcasm went right by Phil, but Helen knew her landlady had seen everything, including Helen’s disappointment that the diamond ring wasn’t for her.
“The dumb bastard had it on display in his store,” Phil said. “Can you believe that?”
“Dumb,” Helen echoed weakly. Margery knew she wasn’t talking about the ring.
“He was unbelievably arrogant,” Phil said.
“Arrogant,” Helen repeated.
“When you’re overconfident, you let yourself in for some nasty surprises,” Margery said, twisting the knife.
“Not only was Elsie’s ring on display,” Phil said, “so were Marcella’s ruby-and-diamond earrings.They were out there as appetizers, to lure in customers to buy the whole set. I asked to see the earrings. I said I was looking for a present for my fiancée. I hope you don’t mind, Helen. I needed a pretext.”
“Pretext,” Helen said.
“That’s her,” Margery said, malice lighting her old eyes.
“The shop owner said, ‘Excellent choice, sir. Would you be interested in a larger piece? I have something in the back you may want to see. We’re getting ready to ship it to New York.’
“As soon as I saw the necklace,” Phil said, “I knew it was Marcella’s, and this guy had been dealing with crooks. The rumors were true.
“He’s slippery. He won’t take goods that the police list as stolen. But he knows there are gray areas, where the owners hesitate to call in the law: A child hooked on coke steals his mother’s diamonds and hocks them. A boy toy takes his lover’s Rolex. A fiancé runs off with the silver. The owners are too embarrassed to report the thefts.”
“So what did you do?” Helen said. She was surprised she sounded so normal.
“The shop owner said the jewelry hadn’t been reported as stolen. But he didn’t have any provenance on those pieces. He knew the kid who brought in Elsie’s antique diamond couldn’t afford a ring like that. I showed him the insurance photo of Elsie’s missing ring and he gave it back to me.”
“Just like that?” Helen said. “He just turned over a diamond ring?”
“I told him I’d have Elsie report it as stolen and the police would come down on him so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. I said I’d call the media and the TV trucks would be waiting outside his shop. He doesn’t want any attention. He gave that ring up way too quick—the sign of a guilty man.”
“And what about Marcella’s jewelry?” Margery asked.
“In exchange for me not saying anything, he promised to return it, no questions asked. He says the seller has more pieces. He’s going to get him into the shop tomorrow to deliver them. Then I’ll leave him and his store alone.”
“Is Rob the seller?” Helen asked. “Is he alive?”
“I’m not sure. It was a pretty generic description. He said the seller was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses. I thought you’d want to go with me. Now I guess you’re too sick.”
“I’m going,” Helen said. “I’d rise from the dead to be there.”
“Let’s see if Rob does,” Phil said.
CHAPTER 27
Helen put on a black Escada top that clung to her curves. It was sexy but not slutty.
Short black skirt.
Sky-high heels.
She dressed with extra care for the maybe meeting with her ex. She wanted to remind Rob what he’d lost. He’d married an older woman for her money. Let him see what money couldn’t buy.
Helen washed her hair and tamed it into lush waves with a blow-dryer. She wore it longer since their divorce, almost to her shoulders.
She couldn’t do much about her battered hands. They looked like they’d been run through a shredder. But Rob’s eyes would probably n
ever travel past her legs—they were long, lean and tanned.
Phil whistled when Helen stalked out of her apartment in her killer clothes. “Wow! I need to take you to Palm Beach more often. Is that new?”
“I bought myself some treats when I got the Superior Club job,” Helen said. Her new credit cards were already in meltdown, but she’d worry about paying them later.
“Wish I had a limo instead of a Jeep,” Phil said.
He opened the door to his dusty vehicle and admired her legs while she slid into the seat. Phil didn’t know this show was for another man.
Phil had slept off his exhaustion. This morning he looked alert and rested and way too handsome to be cooped up in a car on a sunny day. The drive up I-95 seemed endless. Conversations started and stopped.
“Do you really think Rob is dead?” Helen said.
“Don’t know,” Phil said.
“None of Marcella’s husbands has escaped before,” Helen said. “Why would she show mercy to a cheat and a thief like Rob?”
“Murder gets riskier every time you try it,” Phil said. “Marcella is smart enough to know she’ll get caught eventually, no matter how many lawyers she can buy.”
“I wonder why Margery hangs around with a notorious killer like the Black Widow?” Helen asked.
“No one ever saw Marcella kill anyone. She’s never been arrested. Ever wonder what happened to Margery’s husband?” Phil asked.
“I assume she divorced him.”
“He disappeared after Hurricane Andrew,” Phil said. “He’s presumed dead, but there’s no body. Maybe Margery and Marcella have more in common than you think.”
They rode in silence for a good ten miles after that. Phil was marshaling his thoughts for the confrontation with Rob. Helen reviewed what Phil had told her before about Marcella’s marital history.
At twenty, Marcella had married her first husband. She was a stunning natural beauty, with long wavy hair and a lush body. Her husband had his own shipping company. He was lonely, fabulously wealthy, and fifty years older than Marcella. There was even some evidence that she loved the man. He died of a heart attack ten years later. Marcella inherited half a billion dollars, four houses, a yacht and a teak sailboat. She was thirty. She wore black for six months, then married a twenty-three-year-old Chippendale.