“What can we lose?” Helen said. “If I’m not back by two o’clock, promise me you’ll call the cops. That guy is weird.”
“Are you sure you want to go?” Jeff said. “I don’t need the grooming fee that badly.”
“Definitely,” Helen said. “Let me call first and make sure he’s home.”
A young woman with a heavy Hispanic accent answered the phone.
“Hello,” Helen said. “I have a delivery from the Pampered Pet for Mr. Kent Grimsby. I’ll be bringing it over in thirty minutes.”
“
Sí,
yes,” said the housekeeper. “We are here.”
Margery had offered to drive Helen to the Grimsby home, but she was afraid her outspoken landlady might attract the wrong kind of attention. Helen was glad she’d made that decision when she got to the guard’s kiosk at the Stately Palms Country Club.
Security was much tighter since Tammie’s murder. The dozing oldster was gone, replaced by an alert, muscular woman who looked like she might be ex-military. She studied Helen’s fake driver’s license until sweat ran down Helen’s forehead, then called the Grimsby home to make sure they were expecting someone from the Pampered Pet. She and Margery would have had a hard time bluffing their way past this woman.
Helen parked the pink Pupmobile in front of the outsize Grimsby home. Both seemed outrageously exaggerated, but their styles clashed. This time the door was opened by an attractive young housekeeper. Her uniform was embroidered with the name Lourdes. Small and voluptuous, Lourdes had an engaging giggle.
“I’m Helen.” She stuck out her hand. Lourdes seemed surprised, but shook it tentatively and smiled. “I didn’t meet you on my other visits,” Helen said. “Are you new?”
“No. I work two years here.” Lourdes held up two fingers and smiled again.
Helen wondered where the housekeeper had been the day Tammie died. Maybe Kent gave her the afternoon off so he could kill his wife. Helen couldn’t ask that question. Instead she dug into her purse and pulled out a twenty.
“Lourdes, before you get Mr. Kent, could I ask you a question?”
“I don’t know,” Lourdes said. Her eyes were riveted on the twenty. “This is a very good job. I could lose it talking about Mr. Kent.”
Helen pulled out another twenty. “I won’t ask anything about Mr. Kent,” she said.
Lourdes stared at the forty dollars as if willing it to fly into her hands. “But Mr. Kent and the police both said I should not talk about Mrs. Tammie.”
Helen pulled out a ten. Fifty dollars, one quarter of Margery’s emergency wad. It was nearly a day’s pay for Helen. It was all the money she could afford to give Lourdes. It meant she’d be living on spaghetti and scrambled eggs for a month to pay Margery back. Helen was going for broke—literally.
“I just want to know if anyone visited Mrs. Tammie the afternoon she died,” Helen said.
Lourdes grabbed the money and started talking. “I run the errands,” she said. “I go to the grocery store. I go to the dry cleaner. I do not know. I only saw one person that day.”
She looked hopefully at Helen. Helen started to take back one of the twenties, but Lourdes talked faster and hung on to the cash. “It was the dog lady, Betty. I see her come here before. She tried to get Mrs. Tammie to give money to the shelter for the lost dogs again.”
“And did she?”
“Mrs. Tammie laughed at her. She said, ‘I gave you enough last time, Betty. You still feeling guilty about living off those blind rabbits?’
“Miss Betty, she got angry then. She said, ‘You have lots to feel guilty about yourself.’
“ ‘No, I don’t,’ Mrs. Tammie said. ‘That was survival of the fittest. The strongest survived. The rest didn’t deserve to live.’ I thought Miss Betty was going to hit her.”
“Did she?” Helen asked.
“I don’t know. The phone rang and I had to answer it, and then I had to leave. I no come back that day. I spend the night with my family in Hialeah. That’s all I know. Mr. Kent is home. I find him for you.”
Lourdes ran off, as if worried Helen might change her mind about the fifty dollars. Helen thought she had a bargain. Her trip was already worth it. As she waited in the foyer, she noticed that Tammie’s grand portrait was gone, replaced by gold-framed mirrors. There must have been two dozen. Some were no bigger than a compact. Others were the size of a hubcap. On one of the smaller ones Helen saw scratches and traces of a fine whitish powder. The rumors were true: Kent did serve coke at his parties.
The master of the house came into the foyer wearing a black Speedo. The man must be in deep mourning, Helen thought. She tried to stare at his forehead so she wouldn’t see that rubbery wobble when he walked toward her. Kent’s body was slick with suntan oil. He had a black silk robe over one arm. She was grateful when he pulled it on.
“I’ve spent enough time out by the pool,” he said. “I’ll look like a freaking lobster if I’m not careful. Let’s go into my TV room.”
The TV room was a windowless cave with black walls, a black leather couch, and a silver-framed plasma television. “Can’t watch TV with that damn Florida sun,” he said. “You get a glare on everything. I insisted that fruit decorator of Tammie’s do one useful thing. I had him design me a room where I could watch decent TV.”
Kent switched on the television with the biggest, blackest remote Helen had ever seen. He stared at a horse race.
“I’m so sorry about Tammie,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It was too bad.” His eyes were glued on the set.
“When is the funeral?”
“There isn’t one. I had her cremated and dropped her off the Seventeenth Street Causeway.”
Helen was too shocked to say anything. Kent kept talking. “Funerals are so damn depressing. That’s not how I wanted to remember Tammie. She always liked the view from the causeway, so I figured she’d want to go over the rail there. I kept it simple.”
He still didn’t look at Helen. “That big gray there is gonna win,” he said, pointing to the horse with his remote.
“It must have been a terrible shock when you found your wife here at the house,” Helen said.
“Oh, man. I came home and there were cops all over. I thought it was a bust. Turns out she was dead on the patio. Ruined a dynamite day. I’d spent the whole afternoon test-driving a new Porsche. Good thing, huh? Otherwise I could have been dead, too.”
“It must have been very hard for you,” Helen said.
“I had the cops crawling up my ass until they caught that killer fruit. I couldn’t take a dump without them watching me.”
The big gray horse crossed the finish line, winning by a nose. “See?” he said. “What did I tell you?”
The television was still blaring, but now Kent turned to face Helen. His legs were spread and his robe fell open, showing his hairy chest and bobbing Speedo.
Oh, Lord, Helen thought.
“You look like a broad-minded lady,” he said. “I’m giving a little party for some special friends next Saturday. Do a little coke, have a little fun. Wanna come, if you know what I mean?”
“Not particularly,” Helen said. “But I know a big spender like you won’t have a little coke. You’ll have more snow than Alaska in January. If you don’t want the cops busting you big-time, why don’t you pay the grooming and pickup fees for that sweet little Yorkie you gave away? I think a donation to the shelter would be a good idea, too. Make it in your wife’s name. It will be a nice memorial.”
“What?” Kent said. “You’re shitting me. You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” Helen said. “I saw the telltale signs all over while I waited for you. A good cop could bust you in a heartbeat.”
Kent looked wildly around the room, but didn’t see the razor-blade-scratched and coke-dusted mirrors.
“Don’t bother trying to find them. It doesn’t matter if your housekeeper tries to clean up after I leave. There’s so much white stuff in this place, the cops should go through here with a snowplow. One more thing, sport. Close your robe. I’ve seen enough of you.”
The new widower huffed and snarled, but he wrote two checks.
Helen took them both and left.
CHAPTER 25
“
H
ello, beautiful. Don’t you look good today?” Helen turned around with a smile on her face. A tall, dark, handsome man was at her feet. Too bad he was petting Lulu.
“You are such a beautiful girl,” he said.
Lulu kissed him.
That dog, Helen thought. Always that dog. Lulu flirts with every man in the store, and they all love her.
Lulu has a bigger wardrobe than I do. This week alone, Lulu had swanked around in a new fake-fur coat, a pink sweatshirt, a yellow sundress, a blue chiffon evening dress, and a sparkly turtleneck.
Lulu has more jewelry than I do. Her pearls are real.
Lulu doesn’t have a weight problem. She eats all day and never gains a pound. In the last two hours, she’s snarfed down cheese-and-bacon treats and turkey jerky, then run off to the bar for cheeseburgers and seasoned fries. That was another thing. Lulu never paid for a meal. Everyone at the Briny Irish Pub gave her treats.
I’m no match for a strawberry blonde with a big nose and bowlegs, Helen thought. But I might be smarter. Might.
Helen had enjoyed her triumph with Kent today. But now it was three o’clock and there was no sign of Lucinda. She didn’t think the aging sex queen would be in this afternoon. Helen was half-crazed by the pointless waiting. She could hear poor Jeff on the phone saying, “But you’ve had a standing appointment with us for five years, Mrs. Richards. That’s why I put you on Jonathon’s preferred-customer list. If you cancel, I can’t promise . . .”
Time was ticking away. She had to do something. She couldn’t look for Willoughby’s dog while she waited on customers at the shop.
But there was one part of Tammie’s murder she could investigate. The police thought Jonathon was the killer. Once they arrested him, their investigation of other suspects stopped. Helen did not think Jonathon was guilty, but she had major questions about him, and she wanted them answered. Once he was cleared in her mind, she could concentrate on the others.
By three thirty she came up with a plan. Two phone calls, and she had it mostly in place. Now she needed some information from Jeff to complete it. When the customer rush died down, Helen dragged Jeff into the back room, where they couldn’t be overheard by the two dog groomers.
“I’ve got some questions about Jonathon,” she said.
“You and everybody else,” Jeff said.
“The afternoon that Tammie was killed—where did he go?” Helen asked.
“He won’t say.”
“What’s his real name? The police called him Bertram Reginald Falkner. Is that really who he is?”
“I have no idea,” Jeff said. “I’ve always called him Jonathon.”
“That’s how you make out your checks to him?”
“Yes. ‘Jonathon, Inc.’ It’s not unusual for an artist to go by one name.”
“Where does Jonathon live?” Helen asked.
“Nobody knows,” Jeff said. “Jonathon is secretive. People have tried to follow him, but he always loses them. He’s on the lookout for a tail. His real home is a closely guarded secret.”
“Why?” Helen said.
Jeff shrugged. “Jonathon is a mystery. Some say he lives in a penthouse with a very old man who pays for everything. Some say he lives on a boat with a very young boy. Boaters say they’ve seen him sailing naked near Bimini with a crew of Chippendales. That blond hair of his is distinctive.”
“What do you think?” Helen said.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “But I do know whatever the reason, he doesn’t want to be found. Jonathon sometimes stays at a gay guesthouse in Lauderdale, but it’s not his real home.”
“What if I found his house?” Helen said.
“Why would you want to do that?” Jeff said.
“Because I think it might help solve Tammie’s murder. At the very least, it could answer the question about where he was when she was killed.”
“Then do it,” Jeff said. “This is a nightmare. I’ve had two more cancellations since this morning. Word about Willoughby’s dog is getting out. When the customers do come into the shop, they see the police asking questions about Jonathon. It’s bad for business. Besides, I’d love to know.”
“Can I borrow the Pupmobile?” Helen said.
“You’re going to tail him in that?” Jeff said. “It’s bright pink. He’ll spot it a mile away.”
“That’s the idea,” Helen said. “I’m the decoy. I’ll have two other people on him. He won’t escape us with a three-car tail. But I may have to leave early today, when he goes home.”
“Go for it,” Jeff said.
Helen called Margery. “We’re on,” she said. “Jonathon’s last grooming appointment is over at four thirty. Have Peggy wait outside the store for me.”
“We’re all set,” Margery said. She sounded like she was enjoying this. “Phil’s black Jeep will be in the alley behind the store. My big white car will be on U.S. 1. We have the two most anonymous vehicles in Lauderdale. They’re perfect for tailing. We’ve all got cell phones, so we can keep in touch.”
Helen avoided Jonathon for the rest of the afternoon. Jonathon had an almost magical ability to communicate with animals. She was not sure how good he was at reading people, but she was afraid he might sense her plans for betrayal. She was relieved when Jonathon packed up his scissors at four thirty-five and left. He headed for the parking lot, long hair blowing in the breeze. His fuchsia disco suit shimmered in the sun. The rhinestones on his platforms sparkled. For all his glitter, Jonathon drove a car so anonymous, Helen couldn’t figure out what make it was. She wasn’t even sure if it was forest green or black. The small, dark vehicle seemed to melt into the traffic.
Jeff was right: Tailing Jonathon was going to be tough.
Jonathon pulled out in the traffic on U.S. 1 going north. Peggy jumped into the Pupmobile with Helen. The slender redhead looked oddly naked without Pete on her shoulder. Peggy settled into the front passenger seat and took out her cell phone. She speed-dialed Margery first, then Phil, each time with the same message: “Subject heading north on U.S. 1.”