An Uplifting Murder (43 page)

“What do we do in the meantime? Live on love?”

“Find our local niche,” Phil said. “Florida has more private eyes than any other state except California.”

“Because this is such a rootless society?” Helen asked.

“Partly. Also, a lot of old cops retire down here. They live on their pensions while they start up their own agencies.”

“Makes it tough for us,” Helen said. “We don’t have their investigative skills.”

“We have our own advantages,” Phil said. “Old cops can be set in their ways. They’re used to getting what they want through the power of the badge and don’t learn how to coax information out of people. You’re a genius at getting dead-end jobs.”

“Thanks, I think,” Helen said.

“Low-paying jobs are good ways to observe subjects. The people who do the work see things the bigwigs never do. They’re more likely to talk. You’ve worked as everything from a hotel maid to a bookseller. You’re a good listener.”

“You’re good at disguises,” Helen said. “I’ve seen you look like an outlaw biker, a homeless man and a business-man. A cop looks like a cop no matter what he puts on.”

“Ray says we could try to specialize in background checks or insurance-agency work.”

“So we follow some guy suing someone because he hurt his back, and catch him mowing the lawn.”

“Something like that,” Phil said.

“Sounds boring,” Helen said.

“Could be,” Phil said. “Is it any duller than standing at a shop counter?”

“I guess not,” Helen said. “Maybe Margery has some ideas to make a more lively living. Our landlady has a stake in our future, too. Our office is in her apartment complex. Is it time for the nightly poolside gathering?”

“It’s seven-ten,” Phil said, checking the bedside clock. He pulled on his jeans. “Should be just starting.”

“Wait. We haven’t fed the cat yet,” Helen said, buttoning her blouse. “Thumbs is at my place.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to keep two apartments?” Phil asked.

“My tax attorney said no major lifestyle changes until we get the IRS settlement,” Helen said. “Besides, keeping my own apartment and sneaking into yours makes marriage seem illicit.”

A furious cat greeted Helen at her apartment door with loud yowls of protest. Thumbs was mostly white with gray-brown patches. His giant six-toed front paws gave him his name. Thumbs followed Helen into the kitchen. He flipped over his food bowl with one huge paw.

“Hey! That’s not nice,” Helen said.

Thumbs stared at her with angry green eyes.

“I should know better than to lecture a cat,” she said, pouring his dinner. Thumbs edged her hand out of the way and buried his face in his food.

Helen found a box of white wine in her fridge, rummaged for a can of cashews and headed outside.

The Coronado Tropic Apartments, built in 1949, looked like a white ocean liner. A hot breeze stirred the palm trees in the courtyard and small waves rippled the pool’s tepid water. Margery Flax and their neighbor, Peggy, were stretched out on the poolside chaise longues like Victorian maidens.

The real maidens would have fainted for sure if they’d seen Margery. Helen’s seventy-six-year-old landlady was wearing purple rompers. Her long tanned legs ended in eggplant espadrilles. Marlboro smoke veiled her face. Her sunset orange fingernails glowed through the cigarette smoke.

Margery’s face was wrinkled, but she wore her age like an exotic accessory. Her steel gray hair ended at a necklace of charms. Helen saw martini glasses, wine bottles, olives, lemons, wineglasses, drink stirrers and a small corkscrew, all about the size of a beer cap.

“Cool necklace,” Phil said.

“It’s called a statement necklace,” Margery said.

“Looks like yours says it’s time for a drink,” Phil said.

“Drink!” came a raucous voice. “Drink!”

“Pete’s learned a new word,” Peggy said. Her Quaker parrot was perched on her shoulder like a corsage. Pete was the same bright green as Peggy’s long gauzy dress. Both lived at the Coronado and gave the old apartment complex its exotic color.

“And a useful word it is,” Margery said. She raised her wineglass in a salute to the gray-headed parrot. “Let’s drink.”

“Good boy,” Peggy said. “Here’s your reward.” She gave the bird a bit of broccoli. The parrot dropped it on the pool deck.

“Poor Pete,” Helen said. “That’s some celebration when all you get is broccoli. Can he have a cashew?”

“Sorry. That’s on his no-fly list,” Peggy said. “He’s still two ounces overweight.”

Helen closed the lid on the can of nuts and stuck them under her chair.

“Bye,” Pete said, sadly.

“We came here for help,” Phil said dragging a chair over to the group. “Coronado Investigations needs to specialize to succeed. Any suggestions?”

Peggy said, “Based on my past experience with men, you should investigate potential spouses and lovers. Right now, I’m dating a good guy, but my friend Shelby from work is looking for a detective. She’s having problems with her husband, Bryan. About a year ago, she bought him a gym membership. Bryan has lost twenty-five pounds. He works out seven days a week. He’s got a killer body.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Helen asked.

“Shelby hasn’t had sex with him since he started looking good. She’s convinced he has buffed himself up for another woman.”

“Or man,” Phil said. “Fort Lauderdale may have more gays than San Francisco.”

“Whoever it is, Shelby needs an answer,” Peggy said.

“Sounds promising,” Phil said.

“I think you should help families,” Margery said. “The average person can afford you better than they can a big agency. You can investigate when the family can’t—or won’t—go to the police.”

“Like finding runaways and deadbeat dads?” Phil said.

“Partly,” Margery said. “My mechanic has a problem. Gus thinks his brother’s suicide was a murder. He wants to hire an investigator to prove his brother was killed. He died in the eighties.”

“Opening a cold case can cost a lot of money,” Phil said.

“He’s got it,” Margery said. “Gus charges me eighty bucks an hour to work on my car. He specializes in vintage restorations.”

“I thought your Lincoln Town Car was fairly new.”

“Then I’m the vintage restoration,” Margery said. “You want the job or not?”

“What’s his number?” Phil asked.

“I have him on speed dial.” Margery opened her cell phone and hit a number.

“Gus?” she asked. “You still want that detective? I’ve found a good agency—Coronado Investigations.” She listened a moment, then asked, “Can you meet him at his repair shop?”

She looked at Phil. He nodded. So did Helen.

“It’s
they
, Gus,” Margery said. “You’re hiring the best team of shamuses in South Florida. They don’t come cheap, but you can afford it after my car bills. What did you do last time on my Lincoln—a heart transplant? Coronado Investigations will see you at seven tomorrow night.”

Peggy had her own cell phone out. She snapped it shut and said, “Shelby also really wants you to start looking into her husband, Bryan’s, activities. She’ll stop by at seven tomorrow morning before she goes into work.”

“Amazing,” Helen said. “We got two jobs sitting by the pool.”

“Enjoy the honeymoon,” Margery said. “It won’t ever be this easy again.”

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

Shopping Tips

Teaser chapter