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said. The menu changes all the time. If you get a chance,
try the cracked conch with black-bean-mango salsa and
vanilla-rum butter. For a main dish, the prosciutto-
wrapped veal with wild mushroom polenta and porcini
mushrooms is spectacular.
 I don t eat veal, Arlene said, her voice heavy with
disapproval.
 He does wonderful things with yellowtail snapper,
Margery said.  I ve had it with black-bean-and-ginger
sauce, and also with clams, fennel and chorizo.
Helen looked at her limp ham slapped on dry white
Murder with Reservations ] 93
bread. She would have sworn Margery knew more about
yellow mustard than yellowtail snapper.
 When did you dine there? she asked.
 I get around, Margery said.
Helen never doubted that.
 There s Glenn s limo now, Peggy said, and her run­
way model walk turned into an excited little skip.
 Only way to go to Mark s, Helen said.
The black limo glided into the Coronado parking lot.
A uniformed chauffeur opened the door. Helen couldn t
see the man in the backseat, just his cigarette glowing in
the dark interior.
 Wow, Helen said.  A limo. I m impressed. This one
is rich.
Margery gave a sinus-busting snort.  He spends
money, she said.  That s not the same thing. If I were
Peggy, I d stick to lottery tickets.
Arlene folded her knitting into a straw bag.  Well,
you ladies always keep me entertained. But I think I ll
go watch my television. She gathered up her salsa jar
and chip basket, her earrings seesawing wildly. Helen
admired the woman s astonishing grace. She couldn t
have stood with such ease.
After Arlene closed her door, Margery said,  Okay,
tell me what happened. The whole story.
Helen did. Margery listened and smoked thought­
fully, blowing nicotine clouds toward the palms.  Who­
ever killed her had a real mean streak, she said.  He
beat that poor woman to death. You stay out of this,
Helen. This person likes to kill. Have you told Phil what
happened?
 His light isn t on, Helen said. He must be out walk­
ing. Either that or he s asleep. I don t want to bother
him.
 Hah. You don t want to tell him. You re in the soup.
You need all the help you can get. The cops are going to
be on your tail. Soon that jerk you married will be the
least of your worries.
94 ] Elaine Viets
 I didn t have anything to do with Rhonda s death,
Helen said.
 No, but you didn t tell that detective everything, and
that will piss him off.
 I couldn t, Helen said.
 Maybe not. But he s going to be running off in six
different directions, when you could have sent him the
right way the first time.
Helen handed Margery the plate with the half-eaten
sandwich.  It s been an awful day. I m tired, she said.  I
appreciate your help, but I think I ll turn in now.
 You can shut your door on me, but you can t make
this go away, Margery said. It s going to be there in the
morning.
Helen knew Margery was right, but she still wanted
to barricade herself in her apartment. She opened the
door, and Thumbs demanded a scratch and dinner. The
cat distracted her for a whole ten minutes.
The rest of the night she kept thinking of Rhonda.
The red-haired maid was now a hundred pounds of
spoiled meat. Who killed her and why? Rhonda wasn t
pretty. She wasn t exciting. She was just one of the
workaday people who kept the world running, at least
until the last day of her life. Then Rhonda had been
suddenly generous, bragging about a rich boyfriend,
though she didn t seem the kind of woman who at­
tracted rich men.
Now she was dead.
Where did Rhonda get the money and the man?
When she disappeared for three days, why didn t her
lover look for her? He should have called her mother
or the hotel.Where did Rhonda meet him? Did Sam the
biker see her with another man and beat her up? Or did
her dream lover turn into a nightmare man?
I should have said something to the police, Helen
thought, as she twisted the sheets into guilty knots. How
could the cops catch Rhonda s killer if they didn t have
the right information? Her pillow felt like a stone. Her
Murder with Reservations ] 95
covers slid off the bed, but she fell into a restless sleep
before she could retrieve them.
In her dreams she was trapped in the stinking Dump­
ster, running from the dead Rhonda. Helen slapped at
the flies and slipped in the slimy trash.
She woke up alone and shivering, drowning in guilt
and tormented by stinging questions.
$)"15&3
ound. Pound. Thud.
 Helen, wake up! It s seven thirty.
P Who was hammering on her door at this hour
of the morning? It had to be bad news. Helen shrugged
into her skimpy robe and staggered to the door, groggy
with sleep. She flung it open, then realized she should
have checked the peephole.
 Good morning, sunshine, Phil said.
Any other woman would have been delighted to
find Phil on her doorstep. He was freshly showered and
shaved. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled pre­
cisely two inches below his elbows. How did he do that
at seven thirty? Helen always had one sleeve longer
than the other.
She blinked at the bright sunlight and made a noise
somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. Phil was re­
lentlessly cheerful in the morning. He hummed, he sang,
he threw open the windows and greeted the morning.
Worst of all, he had a big, sweet smile.
 Don t you have to be at work at eight thirty? Phil
asked. He kissed her and she caught the luscious scent
of freshly ironed clothes and hot coffee. He had a paper
bag in one hand. Her traitorous cat, Thumbs, curled
around Phil s legs and begged for scratches.
Murder with Reservations ] 97
 That s right, Helen said. Which means I sleep until
seven thirty-eight.
Phil ignored her snippy tone.  Today you re going to
spend eight minutes having breakfast with me. Call it
quality time.
He barged into her tiny kitchen in two strides, reached
into the bag, and put two hot cups of coffee and a warm
apple strudel on the table. Now her kitchen was fragrant
with cinnamon. He helped himself to a pile of paper
napkins and pulled up a chair. Helen plopped down.
Thumbs jumped into Phil s lap.
 The strudel is from the Edelweiss German bakery
on East Commercial, Phil said as he stroked the cat.
 That s to remind you of your St. Louis roots. But you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]