Murder With Reservations (26 page)

“This isn’t a joke,” Peggy said, and burst into tears.

“Awk!” Pete the parrot flapped his wings. He was upset, too.

Helen was stunned. Peggy never cried, not even when the cops had cuffed her and hauled her off to jail.

Margery stubbed out her cigarette and sat up in her chaise longue. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I need to quit flapping my lips for the sake of something to do.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. I’m worried.” Peggy sniffled into a crumpled Kleenex. “Glenn hasn’t returned my calls for two days.”

Ever since you gave him your twenty thousand dollars, Helen thought. But she wasn’t going to rub salt into her friend’s bruised heart. Peggy had dark circles under her eyes, and her fine porcelain skin was a sickly yellow.

“Maybe it’s time we check on him,” Margery said.

“No!” Peggy said, too quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to bother him.”

“He’s certainly bothered you,” Margery said.

“It’s not that. He could be sick or injured.”

“Exactly why we need to check on him,” Margery said. “I’m going with or without you.”

Peggy was trapped. Now she would have to confront her worst fear. “Let me take Pete home,” she said, bargaining for a little more time.

“I’ll get the car going,” Margery said. There would be no escape or excuses. “You’re coming, too,” the landlady said to Helen, as Peggy and Pete disappeared into their apartment.

“I wouldn’t leave Peggy alone at a time like this,” Helen said.

“For her sake, I hope the SOB is dead,” Margery said.

“Then I’d better stay home,” Helen said. “I’ve found enough dead people lately. The cops are starting to think it’s my hobby.”

“It’s perfectly safe for you to come along,” Margery said. “You know damn well what we’re going to find. So does Peggy.”

But Margery wouldn’t say it, and neither would Helen.

Peggy climbed into Margery’s big white Lincoln Town Car like a felon being delivered to a federal prison. The death sentence had been passed. All hope for her romance was gone. She was going to witness the final execution.

The ride to Glenn’s home was mercifully short. He lived in a row of yellow town houses that looked like they’d been put up yesterday. The paint was fresh and the ornamental palms still had the landscaper’s tags on them.

“Is his car parked on the street?” Margery said.

“I don’t think he has a car,” Peggy said. “We always rode in limos.”

Rode, Helen noticed. Past tense. There would be no more glamorous nights on Las Olas.

“Humph,” Margery snorted.

Peggy knocked politely on the door to number seventeen, a meek little tap-tap.

“You sound like a sick mouse,” Margery said. She pushed Peggy aside and hammered on the door until the windows rattled.

A head popped out of the town house next door like a gopher out of a hole. The guy even had ginger hair and buck teeth. “He moved out yesterday,” the gopher said. “Or was it today? It was after midnight. I know that much. He woke me up.”

Peggy gripped the porch railing, unable to speak. Helen patted her shoulder.

“Do you know where he went?” Margery said.

The gopher shook his head. “Some bill collector dude has been looking for him. Said he ran up a bunch of bills on a fake credit card. A limo company wanted him, too. They sounded really mad. I was surprised. He seemed like such a nice guy.”

“Yes, he did,” Peggy said. Her voice was shaky, but she squared her shoulders and walked to the car alone.

When she settled into its plush comfort, she said, “You don’t have to say I told you so. You were right. I’m a fool. I gave him twenty thousand dollars and he skipped, just like you said he would.”

“I’m not exactly infallible,” Margery said. “I think I’ve rented out 2C to another crook. Helen figured it out. I was blind as the old bat I am. She told you about Arlene. That woman is up to something. I just don’t know what it is.”

“Where is Arlene?” Helen said. “I haven’t seen her—”

“Since last night,” Peggy said. Then she started to laugh, except it sounded more like crying. “No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Please tell me she didn’t run off with Glenn. It’s bad enough that he stole my money. But if a woman thirty years older stole my man—that is too freaking much.”

“I don’t think man stealing is the crime here,” Helen said. “Maybe Arlene isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“She is and you know it,” Margery said. “She’s up to no good in those hotel lobbies.”

“I don’t think Arlene and Glenn were lovers, but did you ever wonder if there might be some connection between them?” Helen said.

“You think every crook in South Florida is connected?” Margery said.

“Remember that night Arlene rode in Glenn’s limo?” Helen said. “She came running back all excited, saying how nice Glenn was to let her ride with him. It got me thinking. Arlene’s kind of weird-looking, even for Florida. Why would a man like Glenn let a bizarro like Ar-lene ride with him unless he knew her? You don’t invite strangers into your limo. Suppose she jumped in with him so they could have a little talk in private?”

“It’s possible,” Margery said. “Your brain’s working better than mine. Now tell me why she’s videotaping those hotel lobbies. I can’t see what it is.”

“Maybe we need to see what Arlene saw. Anybody got a camcorder?” Helen said.

“I do,” Peggy said. “At home.”

“It’s still light out,” Helen said. “Let’s go to the Full Moon and shoot what Arlene did.”

Margery raced through the back streets to the Coro-nado like she had lights and sirens. Helen grabbed the seat and hung on while her landlady drove, cigarette clenched in her teeth. The Town Car screeched in front of the Coronado, and Peggy flung open her door, ready to dash inside.

“Be careful you don’t run into Arlene,” Margery said to Peggy. “One look at your face and she’ll know something is wrong.”

While Peggy sprinted across the lawn, Helen said, “Do you really think Arlene skipped with Glenn?”

“Glenn’s skipped and we haven’t seen Arlene lately.” Margery said. “That’s not quite the same thing. But I’m worried. Arlene’s car isn’t here.”

“Maybe she’s trolling another hotel lobby,” Helen said.

“Maybe,” Margery said.

They watched Peggy unlock her door and heard Pete’s welcoming squawk.

“Do you think she’ll be OK?” Helen asked.

“She’s strong,” Margery said. “Besides, Peggy is used to losing. She plays the lottery.”

“But this time she lost her money and her man,” Helen said.

“Peggy has a good job. She can make more money. That man was no loss. I’m glad she didn’t marry him. We’ll just have to make sure we have plenty of wine and time for her until she recovers. Quiet. Here she comes.”

“Got it,” Peggy said, and threw the camera bag on the car seat. Margery pulled out into the street before Peggy shut the door and forced the car through the honking, lurching traffic. The tires squealed when she pulled up at the Full Moon.

“Look at that,” Helen said. “The hotel’s parking lot is almost deserted. There’re only four cars. It should be packed to the curb.”

“Dead guests aren’t good for business,” Margery said.

Inside they found Sondra sitting at the front desk, reading a thick textbook. There was nothing for her to do.

Then Helen heard giggles and the pounding of wet feet. A little blond girl in a tiny, saggy swimsuit was running down the hall. She looked about six, with adorably wispy hair and a missing tooth.

“No running, sweetheart,” Sondra said. “Your feet are wet and you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The child flashed a jack-o’-lantern grin.

“Ma’am?” Helen said. “Does any kid say that anymore? What’s a family doing here? I thought everyone had checked out.”

“Shh,” Sondra said.”They’re from the Midwest, where people still have manners, and they obviously haven’t turned on the TV news. It’s a mom, dad, two little ones, and a sulky teenage boy who spends all day making calls on the lobby phone and listening to his iPod. The parents and little kids hang out by the pool. What are you doing here? You don’t have to be at work until tomorrow morning.”

“We’re trying to figure out why that odd lady Arlene was hanging out in the lobby the other day,” Helen said. “Can we video the same stuff she did?”

“Suit yourself,” Sondra said, “but it was pretty boring.”

A car pulled up and parked in the darkest side of the lot. A man about sixty got out, and pulled a fishing hat down low on his forehead. A woman, her face in shadow, waited in the car.

“Look how she’s keeping her head down,” Sondra said. “Bet you anything they’re sneaking around.”

“What are they doing here?” Helen said.

“They think no one else will be at the murder hotel.”

“They figured right, except for Mr. and Mrs. Midwest,” Helen said.

“And two other cheating couples who ducked in about half an hour ago.” Sondra rolled her eyes. “Now, shoo with that camera. These types are skittish enough, and every room rented keeps us in business.”

Helen found Margery and Peggy pacing by the fountain. “Could you take any longer?” her landlady grumped. “The light’s going to be gone.”

Peggy handed Helen the camcorder. “You use it. You know what Arlene shot.”

Helen put her eye to the viewfinder and waited a moment for her vision to adjust to the world in miniature. Then she walked the route that Sondra said Arlene had taken.

“Flowers and trees first,” Helen said. She looked at them through the viewfinder. Nothing unusual. Just flowers and trees.

“Pool next.” Helen saw the kids splashing in the water. The little blond girl ran out of the pool, suit straps slipping off her shoulders, showing little pink breast buds. Her baby brother toddled after her, his diaper drooping to reveal a bare bottom. They were so beautiful—and so innocent. Was Arlene taking shots of naked children? Helen felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Please, let me be wrong. She swung the camera around.

“Then the lobby,” Helen said. There was the man with the fishing hat, haggling over the room rates at the front desk. His hat was pulled down so low, the top half of his head was hidden.

“Seventy dollars is our lowest senior rate,” Sondra told him.

Senior rate? Now, that was romantic. How old was Lover Boy?

“Come on, honey, you can give us a better deal than that,” he whined. “Who else is going to stay here?”

“Sixty-seven fifty,” Sondra said.

“Done,” he said, and counted out the cash. Affordable adultery.

Was that someone else’s wife waiting in the car? Helen wondered. Sondra thought the man was sneaking around, and she’d seen plenty of guilty couples. Was Ar-lene indulging in a little garden-variety blackmail?

Helen swung the camera away from the front desk before the sneaky man saw her. “Snack bar now,” she said, using the hotel’s grand name for the cluster of vending machines. Helen watched a kid wearing baggy shorts and a rumpled T-shirt try to slide a dollar bill into the soda machine. It spit the money back. Was this some sort of vending machine scam? Why video it? The kid turned the bill around, stuck the money in again, and scored a Mountain Dew. Then he slouched over to the pay phones with a calling card.

“Pay phones.” Helen swung the camera to the phones on the wall, while the surly kid punched in numbers.

He looked up, saw Helen with the camcorder, and said, “Hey, bitch, do you mind?” The kid’s hand was cupped over the calling card.

“Do I mind what?” Helen said, the video camera still trained on his face. It was blotched with anger and zits.

“Do you fucking mind not shoulder surfing?” Manners evaporated after a certain age, even in the Midwest.

“What’s shoulder surfing?” Helen asked, lowering the camera.

The kid clenched his long, skinny fingers protectively over the card face. “You know what it is. Put that camcorder down or I’ll call the fucking cops. It’s bad enough I lost my cell phone when I got grounded and I’m stuck with a fucking calling card. Now every asshole with a camcorder thinks he can steal my card numbers. I already got ripped off at a turnpike rest stop. My dad bitched me out for being careless. Drop the fucking camcorder or I’ll call 911.”

The kid’s words suddenly skidded to a halt, as if he was surprised to be saying so much. Helen suspected he communicated with adults mostly by grunts and single syllables. She turned off her camera. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

The kid stood there openmouthed, but that may have been his usual expression.

Helen ran back to Margery and Peggy, who were once more pacing the lobby.

“I’ve got it! I think Arlene was shoulder surfing.”

“What?” Peggy and Margery said together.

“She was stealing calling card and credit card numbers with a video camera.”

“I’ll be damned,” Margery said.

“It makes sense,” Peggy said. She was starting to show signs of life again. Maybe Margery’s folly made her feel better about her own mistake. “That’s why she hung around vacation hotels and cultivated that harmless-tourist act with the knitting and the video cam. She took a bunch of innocent pictures, then swung the camera toward the phone bank.”

“Well, well, it’s time to have a talk with her,” Margery said.

“Unless she’s run off with Glenn,” Peggy said. She was getting used to the idea of losing her man. “Maybe she’s at home watching TV,” Helen said.

Margery fixed her with a glare. “Do you believe that?”

“Uh, no,” Helen said.

“Then let’s quit wasting time and go home.”

Margery drove to the Coronado as if she got a bonus for running yellow lights. She stopped by her apartment just long enough to grab her passkey.

Helen and Peggy followed her up the stairs to 2C, then stood back while Margery pounded on the door. There was no answer.

Helen felt sick, and leaned against the wall.

Margery looked over at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m getting a complex,” Helen said. “Every time somebody knocks on a door, the people inside have either skipped or died.”

“If that crook Arlene skipped, she’s going to wish she was dead,” Margery growled. She banged on the door again. “No answer. I’m going in.” Margery unlocked the door with her passkey. The sharp, dizzying odor of bleach, ammonia and lemon polish poured out.