Murder With Reservations (15 page)

“I don’t want to leave you alone with all this work.”

Cheryl looked at the oily film on the dresser mirror. “No offense, Helen, but I’ll finish faster working alone.

Room 323 has the
Do Not Disturb
sign up, so I won’t have to clean it.”

Helen started to go, but hesitated. Cheryl had too much to do on her own.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Cheryl said. “When Angel gets a tummy ache at school, I’ll have to leave you in the lurch. You’ve had a bad fright. Go on, get out before your ex comes back. I’ll clear it with Denise.”

Helen felt more relieved than guilty. She left her stained smock in the laundry room and slunk home like a felon, watching for Rob as she rounded every corner and passed every clump of trees. She kept away from Las Olas, in case he was lunching at a sidewalk cafe.

She saw no sign of her ex, but she did see a pale, skinny figure with long orange-red hair strolling along the sidewalk.

“Rhonda!” Helen said, surprised but happy.

The woman turned around. She looked nothing like the murdered maid.

“Sorry,” Helen mumbled.

When someone died suddenly, you saw them everywhere for a while, Helen thought. That’s natural. Then why did it feel so unnatural?

Margery met her with a screwdriver in an iced tea glass. Helen figured it held nearly a pint of vodka and orange juice.

“Drink,” her landlady said. “You’re a wreck.”

Helen took a stiff swig. Margery handed Helen a ham sandwich and a bag of chips.

“Where’s the black-bean-mango salsa and vanilla-rum butter?” Helen said.

“I can slap on some French’s mustard,” Margery said.

“I prefer the indigenous local products,” Helen said.

“Good. You’ve got your sense of humor back. Come on out by the pool, where we can talk.Arlene and Peggy are both gone.”

Her landlady clip-clopped back to the pool in purpleheeled sandals. There weren’t many seventy-six-year-olds who could wear a lavender halter top, but Margery had smooth, tanned shoulders. She artfully lit a cigarette and took a deep draw that would have left Helen choking on the smoke. Margery looked sophisticated.

It was one of those perfect afternoons that made Flo-ridians realize why they endured the roasting summers. The fine weather was wasted on Helen. She’d turned cold at the thought of Rob. He’d been here at her home. He’d probably sat on this very chaise.

“He really thinks he’s slick,” Margery said. “He thought he was conning me the whole time, pouring on the charm for an old lady who’d be grateful for a man’s attention, no matter how phony.

“I batted my eyelashes and told him you’d moved out. I said you went to Sarasota, on the other side of the state. Two can play the lying game. Well, I did tell the truth, sort of. I said you were short of money, and couldn’t even afford a car. I made it clear he wasn’t going to get much out of you, even if he did find you.”

“Didn’t Rob say he could solve all my problems with that million-dollar inheritance?” Helen said.

“He’s smart enough to know that wouldn’t work on me,” Margery said. “He looks about as much like a lawyer as I do. Rob claimed that he was dating someone else and only wanted to reassure you there were no hard feelings. He wanted to make amends.”

“He’s a lying scumbag,” Helen said.

“I know that. I could see it in his eyes. He’s eaten up with greed and anger. It’s ruining his looks. I said I’d try to get a message to you, but I couldn’t promise anything. It would take time.”

“Do you think he believes you?”

“I don’t know,” Margery said. “Waiting will cost him money, and I don’t know how much he has. I’ll keep an eye out for him. If I find him hanging around here, I’ll call the police and report him as suspicious. That should take care of him.”

“Do you really think he’ll go away?” Helen said, unable to hide her hope.

Margery stared into the turquoise pool, then said, “No. The man is obsessed with you. He was used to cheating on you, and then you fooled him. The biter got bit. He can’t stand it. You need to get rid of him. I may have a solution.”

“What?” Helen said. “I wish he was dead, but I can’t kill him.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Margery said. “Your ex thinks he’s quite the ladies’ man, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Helen said. “He’s made a career of living off women. I mean, besides me.”

“Then we may be able to get rid of him easier than you think.”

“How?” Helen asked.

“I’ll let you know.” Margery blew out another stream of smoke. “How are you and Phil getting along?”

“Not so good,” Helen said. “We quarreled this morning.”

“Was it serious?”

“He wants me to go to St. Louis and clear my name.”

“He’s right.”

“You’re taking his side?” Helen said.

“I’m taking your side. I can think of better things to do with that man than fight.” Margery held up a liver-spotted hand. “Look at me. You’ll be as old and dried up as I am before you know it. You won’t remember the stupid fights, but you will remember the good times. You’ll need them to get you through a cold old age.”

Margery stubbed out her cigarette.

They heard the slam of a car door. Both women jumped up. Margery ran to check out the parking lot. “It’s that limo. Peggy is out with that damned four-flusher again,” she said.

“You don’t think he’s really rich, do you?” Helen said.

“He’s another user. I can smell them a mile away.”

“Why is Peggy being so stupid about this man?” Helen said.

Margery raised her eyebrows.

Why was I so stupid about Rob? Helen thought. Why is any woman dumb about a man? It’s always easy to see through someone else’s lover.

“She’s young, she’s lonely, and she wants to believe what he’s telling her,” Margery said. “How long can she hang out with a parrot?”

“Pete’s better than that guy any day,” Helen said.

“Not in bed,” Margery said. “Quiet. Here she comes.”

Peggy floated across the lawn and settled on the chaise, light as a leaf. “Another wonderful night,” she said, and sighed. “Glenn took me to dinner again at Mark’s. I felt guilty about him picking up the dinner tab, so I bought him a silver cigarette lighter.”

“Was this your idea or his?” Margery said.

Helen had the same thought.

“Mine,” Peggy said. There was a touch of defiance in her voice.

“How did you know whether to get him silver or gold?” Margery said.

“I saw him admiring a man’s lighter in the cigar bar the other night. It was a silver Cartier.”

My ex-husband used to do that, Helen thought. He admired a Cartier tank watch, a Rolex, a four-hundred-dollar Egyptian cotton shirt, a Tiffany lighter and an SUV, among other things. I bought them all, like a fool.

“Of course it was your idea,” Margery said. This time Peggy couldn’t miss the acid in her landlady’s voice.

“Don’t be that way,” Peggy said.

“What way?” Margery tried to look innocent and failed.

“So suspicious,” Peggy said. “Glenn is wonderful. He’s dynamic and smart. He’s putting together a big international deal. He talked to a London banker this evening.”

“How do you know?” Margery said. “He could have called Time and Temperature.”

“I saw the country code on his cell phone.”

“He could have called London Time and Temperature,” Margery said.

“Glenn is a successful financier. He knows money. Why do you think he has a limo?”

“Any high school kid can ride in a limo,” Margery said. “It proves nothing.”

“It tells me he has money and style,” Peggy said. “He says if I give him twenty thousand dollars, he can make me rich.”

“The only one he’ll make rich is himself—by exactly twenty thousand dollars,” Margery said.

“I can’t talk to you. You’re so cynical. You’ve forgotten how to love,” Peggy said. Her anger was fierce and heartbreaking. Peggy stood up, stumbled slightly in her sky-high heels, then ran to her apartment. She shut the door quickly, as if Margery’s doubt might creep in.

“No fool like an old fool,” Margery said. “Except a young one.”

F
inally,” Cheryl said. “The
Do Not Disturb
sign is off the door to room 323. It’s been hanging there for two days. I dread going in there.” The brown wood door looked like all the others, but it seemed to pulse as they stared at it. Helen had seen too many horrors in that room. But this morning would be different. She knew they would not have to deal with the curse of 323.

“Don’t worry.” Helen’s voice was rich with smug certainty. “There’s nothing bad waiting inside today. That room was rented by a nice suburban mom. Sondra told me. She decided we needed a break, so she put the woman in 323. She was wearing a Ralph Lauren blazer.”

“The problem isn’t what she had on,” Cheryl said. “It’s what happened when she took it off.”

“No one complained about any noise,” Helen said. “Those are the worst,” Cheryl said, as she unlocked the door.

The room was black as a coal mine, but a poisonous cloud of spilled booze, vomit and cigarette smoke boiled out. Helen’s heart sank. The blazer was no protection. Mrs. Lauren must have gone on a tear.

“Brace yourself,” Cheryl said. “I’m flipping on the light.”

The room was wrecked. A broken-backed chair leaned against a crippled dresser. The mirrors were smashed. Lamp shades were torn. The headboard was split in two. The king mattress had unspeakable stains, and the sheets were dragged across the floor. All the pillows were slashed.

“Ohmigod,” Helen said. “Call the police. The woman was attacked.”

“Here’s what was attacked,” Cheryl said, throwing open the bathroom door. “Watch your shoes. Someone barfed on the floor.”

The room was crammed waist-high with cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon and boxes of booze: Smirnoff Twisted Green Apple, Twisted Mandarin Orange, Twisted Cranberry.

Helen’s stomach twisted at the thought. “She drank all that?”

“No, those are kid drinks. She rented this as a party room for her high school kids,” Cheryl said. “You’re joking,” Helen said.

“I’m dead serious. You’d be surprised how many dimwit parents want to be pals to their teens. Our hotel won’t rent a room to underage kids, so Mom or Dad gets it for them. The parents don’t want the little darlings wrecking their place. Instead they ruin ours.”

“The parents were here for this party?” Helen said.

“No, they dropped the kids off and made them promise not to drive. Usually the parents pick up the kids, too. They sneak in the partyers while the hotel is busy. As long as the kids keep the noise down, we don’t know until the damage is done and they’re gone. You could have had an army carousing in 323 and nobody would hear. It’s off by itself in the back of the hotel.”

“What happens now?” Helen said.

“I go downstairs and break the news to Sybil. If this mom is like the others, she’ll deny all knowledge of the damage. She’ll say someone else must have used the room after she checked out. We’ll have to sort through the wreckage and find proof.”

Helen looked at the shattered furniture and cigarette-burned carpet. “It’s hopeless,” she said.

“Nope, we’ll get her.” Cheryl’s brown curls bobbed confidently. “I’ll send Craig up, and he can start hauling out the booze boxes and empties. You clean up the broken glass before someone gets cut. If you find any papers or receipts, save them for me.”

Craig looked refreshingly clean-cut this morning, a poster boy for young-adult virtue. His blond hair had a golden glow. He whistled when he saw the room. “These dudes partied hearty.”

“I’ll give them references as wrecking balls,” Helen said.

“I’m supposed to carry out all the dead soldiers.”

“Take the beer and liquor bottles straight to the Dumpsters,” Helen said. “The crime-scene tape should be off them.”

Helen could hear the clank and rattle as Craig went to work. He soon left on the first of many trips with two huge bags.

Cheryl was back before Craig. “Sybil was fit to be tied,” she said. “She checked the security tapes. A blue minivan pulled up at the back entrance and let out six strapping young men, who hauled the booze up the back stairs. They arrived about the same time as that bus tour from Wisconsin.”

“Seventy oldsters sharing rooms on their AARP discounts,” Helen said. “No wonder we didn’t see the party arrive. Well, you’ve got the woman.”

“Not quite,” Cheryl said. “She gave us a fake license tag number when she registered, and we can’t see the driver of the minivan on the tape. We’ll track her down, but we need more proof. Let’s see what we can find. Be careful where you step.”

The room was booby-trapped with dozens of red plastic cups, most half-filled with booze and floating cigarettes. “I can’t believe this,” Helen said. “They used the headboard to open the beer bottles.”

Craig popped in the doorway, back from his beer-hauling expedition.”You won’t believe what I found out by the death Dumpster,” he said.

Cheryl winced. Rhonda’s murder wasn’t a joke. Craig’s eyes glittered with something. Malice? Excitement?

“Two used condoms,” he said. “Some sickos screwed by the Dumpster where they found the dead woman. Is that disgusting or what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Craig,” Cheryl said. “It’s too horrible.”