by Elaine Viets
“Brenda went ballistic. The insults must have hit home. She picked up one of her golf clubs. Jackie was sure Brenda was going to hit her. She wrenched the club away and hit Brenda. Jackie said she couldn’t stop beating her. That’s when Dr. Dell walked in, hoping to pay his bill. He said, ‘What’s going on here?’
“ ‘You’re another one,’ Jackie said. ‘You cheated on your sweet wife and misled that poor girl in your office.’ Then she clubbed him, too.”
There was a sad, shocked silence when Xaviera finished.
Jessica was the first to break it. “I didn’t know the poor little mouse had it in her.”
“Even a mouse will fight when cornered,” Helen said.
“Jackie had luck on her side, if you want to call it that,” Xaviera said. “She’d walked to the club, so she avoided the gate cameras. She tried to make the murders look like Brenda had been caught by a jealous lover. That’s why she cut off Brenda’s golf shirt and took it with her. Jackie had carried her blazer when she walked to work, so she wouldn’t get it sweaty. She put it back on over her bloody shirt, walked home, showered and changed. She threw her bloody shirt and the golf top in the Dumpster at her apartment. Then Jackie went back to work. Except this time, she came in by the employee gate.”
“I guess the thirty-five hundred dollars cash she took from Dr. Dell financed her escape,” Helen said.
“That’s the funny thing,” Xaviera said. “Jackie insists she didn’t take the doctor’s money. She says she would not rob a dead man.”
“Weird,” Jessica said. “She’ll admit to a double murder, but not to stealing.”
They were still discussing this news when Steven called with another bulletin at four o’clock. They gathered around Xaviera’s desk.
“Big problem,” Xaviera announced.
Solange wrung her hands and pulled her hair. Her makeup had worn off, and she looked pale and frightened. “What now?”
“The whole deal may go south,” Xaviera said. “Jackie still refuses to admit she stole the doctor’s cash.”
“That makes no sense,” Cam said.
But something nagged at Helen. Some fragment she couldn’t quite retrieve. She tried to remember her conversations with Jackie, hoping to find it.
The office settled into a strange limbo. No one wanted to work, but the staff didn’t want to leave until they knew Jackie’s fate. Their jobs were riding on her decision.
It was four thirty when Steven called again. “Jackie confessed to taking the money,” Xaviera said. “The deal’s on.” Solange looked sick with relief. Cam and Jessica cheered.
“It’s over,” Kitty said. She looked sad.
“There’s still a lot to do,” Xaviera said. “There’s the presentence investigations—PSI—and the victim impact statements. A lot depends on them.”
“But you’re sure the deal will go through?” Solange said, her eyes big with fear.
“Pretty sure,” Xaviera said.
“I guess Dr. Dell’s wife will make sure they throw the book at Jackie,” Jessica said.
“Demi?” Xaviera said. “She’d thank Jackie, if she could. She’s rid of the philandering doctor and she gets to keep his money. She’s a rich widow.”
“What about Brenda’s family?” Jessica asked.
“What family?” Xaviera said. “Her parents are dead. No brothers or sisters.”
I’m the only victim left, Helen thought. I won’t make trouble. I want this to go away, too.
“Steven said Jackie said odd things. She wanted to know if she would get more time if she confessed to taking the money and if she had to be paroled.”
Had to be paroled? Helen wondered if that’s what Jackie said, or if it was filtered through Xaviera’s slightly warped English.
“They said if Jackie pleaded guilty, she’d probably get twenty years to life, pending the results of the PSI and the victim impact statements. Then she asked something really strange: Could they make sure she didn’t get paroled?”
“She didn’t do it,” Helen said.
“Of course she did,” Xaviera said.
“Jackie killed Brenda and the doctor,” Helen said. “She tried to kill me. But she didn’t take the doctor’s money. She wants three meals a day, medical care and no rent. If she goes to prison, she’ll spend the rest of her life being cared for.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cam said.
“You’ve never had to worry about your next meal,” Helen said, staring pointedly at Cam’s inflated midsection. Xaviera giggled. Cam’s ears turned red.
“You don’t have to worry about your rent, your credit card bills, or your car payment,” Helen said.
“Hey,” Cam said, “nobody’s rich in this office.”
“Yes, but you’re lucky, Cam. Jackie didn’t have a doting mommy hand her two hundred sixty thousand dollars.”
“You were in my desk drawer,” Cam said. “That’s private. I’m filing a complaint with HR.”
Helen crossed to Cam’s desk and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Really? Done any ‘relaxing’ lately?”
Cam swallowed hard.
“Remember,” Helen said. “They give random drug tests at the club. It takes three days to get pot out of your system. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”
“You’re calling HR!” Cam looked panicked.
“I’m going to catch a thief,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 31
“How’d you manage to shut Cam up?” Jessica whispered.
“That’s a trick I’d like to know.”
“I reminded him the club does random drug testing,” Helen said. "He’s shaking in his shoes, afraid I’ll call human resources.”
“I hope you do. I’d love to get rid of that lazy creep,” Jessica said.
“Sorry. I’m after bigger game,” Helen said. “Jackie didn’t take Dr. Dell’s cash. But I think I know who did.”
“Why are you saving the woman who wanted to kill you?” Jessica said.
“Because one day I snapped, just like she did. Only I was lucky. I beat up an SUV instead of my ex.”
“You weren’t lucky,” Jessica said. “You’re a better person than you give yourself credit for. Jackie plotted to kill you to save her own skin. She didn’t try to murder you in the heat of the moment.”
“I’m still here,” Helen said.
She couldn’t find it in her heart to condemn Jackie. Like her, Helen had fallen from a great height. Except Helen had had a softer landing—and better friends. She’d learned a bitter lesson after her divorce: You never knew who’d stand by you. Even Helen’s mother had abandoned her. Well, she wouldn’t brood about that.
Helen picked up the phone on her desk and called the offices of the late Dr. Dell. The line was busy. It took three tries to get through. The doctor’s practice seemed to be thriving without him.
She got the same chatty receptionist.
“Hi,” Helen said. “I’m a friend of Mandy’s. Is she back from her cruise yet?”
“Yes, she’s at home,” the receptionist chirped.
“And living in her husband’s house off Johnson Street, right? Except it’s her house now, too.”
“That’s the place. I hear she misses her pretty little Pembroke townhouse. No pool where she’s at now.” Helen heard it. That note of malice said this woman would dish with a little encouragement.
Helen summoned her courage to ask the next question. It was a wild guess. “So when’s the baby due? I wanted to send a gift.”
“Mandy’s almost six months,” the receptionist said.
Bingo! Helen thought. My hunch was right. She wasn’t fat. She was pregnant.
“Looks like she shoplifted a beach ball. She’s going to be big as a house.” The receptionist couldn’t hide her glee.
“I bet the baby will have Mom’s hair,” Helen said.
“If it’s smart, it will. Dad has dark hair, too. I’d say the chances it will be a brunette are good, unless someo
ne’s been playing around.”
It was hard to keep a secret in a doctor’s office, Helen thought. “I want to send Mandy a gift, but I think I wrote down her address wrong,” Helen said. “I have it as five four eight three Taney.”
“I think you sort of reversed the numbers,” the receptionist said. “It’s eight five three six. Stop by and see her. Mandy might like some company. I hear her handyman husband’s working overtime these days, trying to make enough money for the baby.” Once again, Helen heard the smug satisfaction in the receptionist’s voice.
Helen hung up the phone, sweating with relief. She’d guessed right. Mandy was pregnant. She’d bet her next paycheck the doctor was the father. Helen suspected Mandy had tried to blackmail the doctor with the baby.
Helen hoped the poor child didn’t look like Dr. Dell. She wondered if they made infant depilatories. Any baby sired by the doc would look like an orangutan.
Helen kept checking her watch. She hadn’t done any work all day, but she was exhausted. Solange, Cam, Xaviera and Jessica left the office at five. Kitty and Helen stayed until six. After what happened to Helen, Kitty decreed none of her staff would work alone in the office.
Finally, it was five fifty-six. Helen uploaded the day’s computer data and cleaned off her desk. “You clock out, sweetpea,” Kitty said. “I’ll close up.”
Helen crawled through the highway traffic in the belching Toad, trailed by thick black smoke. She was glad Phil worked late tonight. She wanted to ask Margery for help, but she didn’t want Phil around. Her man was too straitlaced for this project.
Helen found her landlady out by the pool, hosing off the warm concrete. Margery worked with brisk, efficient movements, using the water to push leaves and dirt into the grass.
“I need you,” Helen said.
“Nobody’s said that to me in a long time,” Margery said. She grinned at Helen.
“Look, you got me into this mess, manipulating Rob to marry Marcella, and then getting Marcella to pay for my lawyer when he disappeared.”
“I saved your sorry ass,” Margery said. “You aren’t the least bit grateful.”
“You got me in deep and now you’re going to get me out.”
“By doing what?” Margery looked at her suspiciously. “Something you can’t ask true-blue Phil?”
“He won’t steal a pregnant woman’s purse.”
“I might. But I need a good reason before I stoop that low,” Margery said. She lit a cigarette and said, “Spill.”
So Helen told her about Mandy and Dr. Dell. “I think the doctor’s pregnant receptionist extorted money out of him, maybe for an abortion. I’m guessing she wanted lots more—either money or marriage. Either way, she followed the doctor to the club on the morning of his death, hoping to make an embarrassing scene.”
“How’d she get in?” Margery asked. Her cigarette winked at Helen.
“She stole the wife’s club card. When Demi got home from her retaliatory shopping spree in New York, she called the club and said her card was missing. She thought she’d left it on her dresser at home, but she couldn’t find it. I think Dr. Dell gave himself a little extra thrill by boinking his girlfriend in his wife’s bed. That’s when Mandy stole the card.”
“Men like that deserve to die.” Margery’s face looked hard in the waning light, and Helen wondered if she was talking about the not-so-good doctor.
“I gave Demi a new club card,” Helen said. “I’m an expert on adultery after working at the club. Guys who cheat often pick women who look like their wives. Mandy has dark hair. The club card picture is the size of a thumbprint. The doctor’s girlfriend could pass as his wife if anyone questioned her. But the day Mandy went to the club, the member gate was broken. She didn’t need the card.
“Here’s what I think happened: Mandy followed the doc to the customer care office. He’d just discovered Brenda’s body. He was in shock. He blurted something nasty to Jackie, who whacked him with a golf club. Mandy saw his murder, hid until Jackie fled, then robbed the dead doctor.”
“Nice people,” Margery said. “How are you going to prove it? Are you going to the police?”
“They won’t believe me at this point. I need more,” Helen said. “Besides, Jackie has already confessed to the theft.”
“So why are we stealing a pregnant woman’s purse?”
“To get Demi’s club card.”
“Which will prove nothing,” Margery said.
“Except Mandy has been in the doc’s house,” Helen said. “And could get into the Superior Club with the card. If I can pinpoint the time, the police can do a search. She may turn up on a surveillance tape somewhere, if they know when to look for her. Or she could have left hair and fibers in the customer care office.”
“Why would she keep the card?” Margery asked.
“People don’t let go of a Superior Club card. Besides, Mandy might need to get back in the club. Margery, I am not confronting her alone, even if she is pregnant. A woman who’d rob her dead lover is too scary. You need to go with me.”
“It’s almost seven,” Margery said. “What if Mandy’s husband is home? The guy works with hammers and chain saws.”
“He’s working late these days to make extra money for the baby.”
“That might not be his. The poor dumb bastard. All right,” Margery said. “I’ll pretend to be an old biddy signing up new mothers for baby gifts. Give me a few minutes to change.”
Helen’s jaw dropped when Margery came out of her apartment ten minutes later. She was wearing the most conservative outfit Helen had ever seen her in: a lavender shirtwaist dress, pearls and chunky purple heels.
“June Cleaver lives,” Helen said.
“I’m trying to look the part,” Margery said. “I’ll drive my car. Yours is a little run-down.”
“Mine is going to be shut down by the EPA,” Helen said. “It’s belching black smoke.”
“That’s what I mean,” Margery said. “We need to stop at a drugstore.”
“What for?” Helen said.
“Diapers,” Margery said. “They’ll get us in the door.”
They bought disposable diapers, a rattle, some baby wipes and a pink-and-blue gift bag. “That should do it,” Margery said. “No new parent can resist freebies.”
All the way to Hollywood, Helen kept staring at Margery’s Junior League getup.
“What are you looking at?” her landlady finally said.
“I can’t get over you in that outfit. You look so . . . trustworthy.”
“I am,” Margery said. “You can trust me to help bury the body if you ever murder Rob.”
“He’s gone,” Helen said. “Turn left here.”
“You really believe that?” Margery said.
“I really believe that’s Mandy’s house on the right,” Helen said.
Mandy’s neighborhood was a comedown for a woman who’d dreamed of a doctor’s seaside mansion in Golden Palms. She lived in a dusty concrete-block box, with faded mustard paint and rust trails dripping down the walls from the window bars. The lawn had dead brown patches, like an old dog with mange. A skinny palm tree struggled to survive near the front door. Helen wanted to put it out of its misery.
Margery parked and ground out her cigarette. “Can’t smoke around the baby,” she said.
“If Mandy’s husband is a handyman, he’s sure not doing any home improvement,” Helen said.
“Tearing it down is the only way to improve this home,” Margery said.
The dying yard was surrounded by a chain-link fence that made it look more like a detention center than a home.
“If the husband’s there, we’ll say we have the wrong address,” Margery said.
She knocked on the door five or six times. Finally, an impatient voice shouted, “I said I’m coming. Hold your horses, willya?”
The door slammed open and there stood a very pregnant Mandy. Her belly was swollen and so were her ankles. Her dark hair straggled down her neck. She wore an ove
rsized red T-shirt, an unfortunate color that emphasized her blotchy complexion. Pregnancy had not been kind to her voluptuous body. It certainly didn’t improve her temper.
“I’m not buying anything.” Mandy started to slam the door.
“I’m giving away free diapers and baby gifts,” Margery said, and managed a grandmotherly smile. She held out the gift bag.
Mandy opened the door.
There was hardly room for the three of them in the living room. Most of the space was taken up with a huge brown plush sofa. A cigarette-scarred coffee table was piled with bags of Cheetos, Doritos and Oreos—all the food groups ending in O.
The baby wasn’t the only cause of Mandy’s dramatic swelling, Helen thought.
Mandy sat down wearily and put her swollen feet on the coffee table. Margery plopped down on the edge of the couch, effectively blocking her exit.
“We have so many wonderful things for new parents,” Margery began. Mandy kept eyeing the gift bag, but Margery kept it out of reach.
Helen spotted a brown purse by the couch. It looked like it was pregnant, too.
“Excuse me,” Helen said. “May I use your bathroom?”
“Down the hall,” Mandy said, never letting the gift bag out of her sight. If she watched her baby half as well, she’d make a heck of a mom.
Margery handed over the gift bag, while Helen slipped into the tiny bathroom to examine the purloined purse. There was barely room for both of them. Helen winced when she turned on the light. Shower mold and yellow flowered linoleum were not a pretty combination.
Helen pawed through the purse and found Demi Dell’s Superior Club card in a zippered side pocket. She used a tissue to pull it out. She didn’t want to mess up any fingerprints.
“But only if you sign up today,” Margery was saying when Helen returned.
Helen gave her a nod, then held up the stolen club card. “Look familiar, Mandy?”
“What’s that?” Mandy asked.
“You know what it is,” Helen said. “A Superior Club card belonging to Demi Dell, your dead boss’s wife. I found it in your purse.”
“What are you doing in my purse, bitch?” Mandy asked.