Clubbed to Death (23 page)

“Awk!” Pete said.

“I got them back,” Margery said, stiffly. “I’m so happy to have a normal couple, I’m giving George and Nancy a good-bye party.”

The umbrella table was covered with trays of party treats: raw vegetables, Doritos, dips and desserts. Pete eyed the bowl of cashews until Peggy moved away from temptation and gave him a celery stalk. The little green parrot gnawed it morosely.

Margery uncorked a bottle of Fat Bastard, another sign the celebration was serious.

“Usually when a renter leaves, you drink box wine and we try to cheer you up,” Helen said. “Of course, those renters take off in the middle of the night.”

“Shush,” Margery said. “George and Nancy’s door just opened.

The guests of honor are on their way.”

The tiki lights’ smoky flames cast a romantic glow on the turquoise pool and the purple bougainvillea. The old palm trees rustled and whispered in the dark. The partygoers wore Florida casual: shorts and sandals. Peggy’s red hair turned to fire in the torchlight. Pete perched on her shoulder like a small green demon.

Phil looked muscular and primitive in the flames. We’re not going to waste this night eating Doritos by the pool, Helen decided.

“Hey, hey,” said George. “It’s party time.” Nancy waved and smiled.

George dropped a six-pack of Grolsch beer in the cooler, opened one, and headed for the Doritos and dip like they were long-lost relatives. “I should be drinking the wine,” he said. “Fat Bastard. That’s me.” He patted his office pudge proudly.

“Where’s your colorful friend, Elsie?” George asked Helen. “She wanted financial advice at the last party, but I wasn’t much help.”

“She’s OK,” Helen said. “But I don’t think she feels like celebrating right now.” Elsie was worried sick about her lost ring. Helen hoped Phil could find it.

Nancy picked up a pretzel and dredged it through the dip. “Is Elsie getting a little funny?” she asked.

“No,” Helen said. “She’s a free spirit. Elsie is smart, but she’s not logical. It can make her seem ditzy.”

“Mom kept her marbles to the end,” Nancy said. “We were lucky.”

“Margery says you’ve wrapped up your mother’s affairs here,” Helen said.

“It’s over,” Nancy said. “Her condo was sold to a nice gay couple who adored Mom’s fifties furniture. They called it ‘retro’ and bought it all. It would make her happy to know that her years of lemon waxing were appreciated.

“I gave her clothes to charity, kept her china and photos, and sent some keepsakes to her friends and family members. We finished packing today. I’m ready to go home. I’d like to sleep in my own bed again.”

“Too bad you’re going home in January. It’s cold in Ohio,” Helen said.

“Not at my office,” George said. “Things are way too hot. I wanted a few days on the beach, but now I have to hurry back.”

“What’s wrong?” Helen said.

“I’m on the company search committee,” George said. “We’re looking for a new CFO. Our top candidate turned out to be a loose cannon. He told us he’d left his previous company for a better offer.”

“And he didn’t?” Helen asked.

“He got fired. Our boy threw a stapler at his secretary when she made a mistake in a letter. Clipped her on the shoulder.”

“You’re looking at lawsuit city,” Helen said. “Especially if he loses his temper again.”

“We can’t have someone unstable in an executive position,” George said. “It’s too dangerous. You’re right. We could get sued. Now we have to start the executive search all over again.”

“How did you find out?” Helen asked. She’d been in human resources. She couldn’t even legally say that a former employee had had a sex change operation.

“A little bird sent us copies of the secretary’s complaint,” George said. “She got an out-of-court settlement to keep her mouth shut. The incident was hushed up and he got another job.”

A little bird, Helen thought, or a big vulture?

“Would you excuse us?” Phil said.

“Certainly, certainly. Didn’t mean to monopolize the pretty lady,” George said. He went back to monopolizing the Doritos. Helen suspected they were George’s real love.

“Thanks for getting me the Black Widow as a client,” Phil said.

“She can afford to pay for me traipsing all over South Florida.”

“Any luck on Elsie’s missing ring?”

“None. But I may have a lead. I’m driving to Palm Beach County tomorrow. I’ll be gone until late.”

“Palm Beach must be prime territory for pawning dubious rocks,” Helen said.

“I hope so,” Phil said. “I’ll have my cell phone off, but don’t worry about me. I won’t be back until late tomorrow.”

“How about dinner at my place when you get back?” Helen said.

“I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs.”

Actually, it was the only thing Helen knew how to make. Phil didn’t find her other culinary specialty—tuna out of the can—as exciting as Thumbs did.

“It’s a deal,” Phil said, and kissed her. “Mmmm. That was nice.

Want to come over to my apartment and look at my...”

“Etchings?” Helen said.

“Faxes,” Phil said.

“I don’t think anyone will miss us,” Helen said. They ran hand in hand through the flickering shadows to Phil’s place.

Phil had a guy apartment, with black leather, chrome and a plasma TV. A CD tower held his Clapton collection. He brought out a bottle of merlot and a can of Planters peanuts. Helen picked up the faxes of Marcella’s missing jewelry from the black-and-chrome coffee table.

“Wow. I’ve never seen jewelry like this outside a museum,” Helen said. “These rocks are so big, they look fake.”

“Marcella likes gaudy stuff,” Phil said. He popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth and sipped the wine. “I’m guessing these pieces will be broken up and the stones sold in New York.”

Helen studied a pair of delicate, dime-sized earrings. They were the only things she’d wear from the Black Widow’s treasure trove, even if she could afford them.

“It’s a shame if those ruby-and-diamond earrings are broken up,” Helen said. “They’re really lovely.”

“I’m hoping those will be sold intact,” Phil said. “There’s a good chance. They haven’t been reported as stolen, though the provenance is dubious. The jewelry is our only lead. There’s still no sign of Rob, and no activity on his credit cards or bank account.”

“Maybe he took the jewelry to New York,” Helen said.

“How?” Phil said. “Unless he has a passport and a driver’s license under another name, he can’t rent a car or buy a plane ticket.”

“He could talk some woman into driving him,” Helen said.

“It’s possible,” Phil said.

“Maybe,” Helen said. “But I still think he’s dead.”

Phil reached for his wineglass again, and the fax cover sheet slipped off the table and across the floor. Marcella’s fax and phone numbers were written on it.

“Look at her fax number,” Helen said. “It has four sevens.”

“What did you expect?” Phil said.

“Three sixes would be more like it,” Helen said. “The mark of the beast.”

“Marcella really spooks you,” Phil said.

“Yes, she does. But I wonder how much is my imagination.”

“Well, there are those dead husbands,” Phil said. “You didn’t imagine them.”

“Yes, but Marcella has never done anything violent around me.

Except when she snapped a champagne goblet and cut her hand. The blood ran down her fingers and she didn’t notice. She didn’t seem to feel anything. That gave me the shivers. Also, I’ve never seen her eat.”

“And that proves?” Phil said.

“She’s not human, Phil. She doesn’t react like other people. She lost two million dollars in jewelry and she acted like she’d misplaced her sunglasses. She said she’d wished Rob was dead, but she was so cool about it. No, she was cold. She didn’t scream, or rant or throw things.”

Helen stopped dead. “Rob,” she said. “Throw things.”

“What?” Phil said.

“To night, I was talking to George, Margery’s renter. He said they were going to have to find a new candidate for CFO at his company, because the man they originally wanted threw a stapler at his secretary. Someone slipped them confidential information about the guy.

They changed their minds about hiring him.”

“What’s that got to do with Rob?” Phil said.

“I think that’s what Rob did. He sold confidential information to corporations about potential hires or promotions. That’s safer than selling club information to art thieves and housebreakers. Companies like to know if candidates for executive positions have misbehaved.

“The Superior Club files are loaded with high-powered names and bad behavior. They’re a gold mine. All Rob would need was a little bribe money and a contact in customer care.

“Malpractice lawyers would be thrilled to learn that Doctor X was so drunk he drove his SUV into the club fountain. They could prove he had an alcohol problem and that’s why he botched the gallbladder operation.

“We have every human frailty in the club files: drug overdoses, assaults, adultery. Recently, some big executive shoplifted six golf shirts.

He didn’t realize that he’d committed grand larceny. The shirts cost two hundred fifty dollars each, and the club will prosecute him. The one thing they won’t tolerate is theft—from them.

“Marcella thought no one would care that Sawyer Winderstine was sixty days behind in his club bills. But what if he was up for, say, treasurer at his company? The fact that he couldn’t manage his own finances would be a career killer.”

“Would Rob be smart enough to do something like that?” Phil asked.

“Never underestimate Rob’s sneakiness,” Helen said. “You told me that.”

“Right. When he traced you down to Florida,” Phil said.

“Rob would be perfect,” Helen said. “He’d be discreet. He’d work for cash only, so there would be no awkward bills or visits from scruffy detectives.”

“Hey, watch it,” Phil said.

“I didn’t mean you,” Helen said. “Although you can look pretty scruffy when you want to. Remember when you dressed up like a biker?”

“I am a man of many talents,” Phil said.

“You’ve proved that,” Helen said, and kissed him. “Rob operated in the Superior Club world. He knew how to dress and how to act. He could pass for one of them. A potential buyer could meet him for cocktails in the club bar. Rob could pass the information and collect his money, and no one would be the wiser.”

“The question is,” Phil said, “what did Rob uncover in those files that got two people killed? And where is he now?”

“I think the Black Widow killed him when she found out her jewelry was missing,” Helen said.

“We’re back to her again,” Phil said. “You don’t have to be afraid of her.”

“Yes, I do,” Helen said.

“Not now.” He pulled Helen down on the couch and kissed her.

His lips were soft and warm and tasted of red wine. “You’re safe with me,” he said.

“You don’t feel safe,” she said, and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“Good,” he said.

CHAPTER 23

“This is Noah Plavin. I want a guest pass. My friends will be at the club gate in ten minutes. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Noah did not speak to inferiors. He commanded them.

Helen tried to remain polite. “Mr. Plavin, we’ve explained the system before. It takes half an hour to issue a guest pass. I have to fax you the paperwork, you sign it and send it back, then we type it up.”

“Any dummy can do that in five minutes,” Noah Plavin said.

“I’ll try to get it done for you in time, Mr. Plavin. What’s your member number?”

“Look it up,” he said, and slammed down the phone.

“Who was that?” Jessica asked. The actress had forgotten her blowup yesterday. Jessica’s dramatic defense of her co-workers now seemed like a scene from a play.

“Noah Plavin,” Helen said. “He wants a guest pass in ten minutes.

How many times do we have to tell him? He’s as bad as Mrs. Buchmann, who always calls for a pass two minutes before we close.”

“He won’t get it today,” Jessica said. “The fax machine is broken.”

“Again?” Helen said.

“Jammed,” Jessica said. “I’ve called the ser vice department.”

“I’ll hike over to the main office to fax this,” Helen said. “Mr. Plavin’s guests will have to wait. Maybe this will teach him.”

Helen filled out the fax cover sheet and guest pass form.

“You left his member-number space blank,” Jessica said.

“Let him look it up,” Helen said.

I’m getting as nasty as the members, she thought. All the tender feelings from her night with Phil were gone. An hour at the Superior Club had wrecked her good mood.

You’re in South Florida in January, she told herself. The rest of the country is under a foot of snow. Relax. Enjoy. This day is a gift.

Helen felt the warm sun on her back and breathed in something sweet on the soft air. Well-bred gardenias bloomed along the sidewalk.

Red impatiens rioted in the planters. Everything is beautiful here, she thought. Except the members.

The club lobby looked denuded without its throne-like chairs and ancient wrought-iron chandelier, like a forest whose old-growth trees had been chopped down.

Helen crossed the marble floor to the club concierge’s desk and stopped dead in surprise. She knew this man. He’d been drinking margaritas on Marcella’s yacht. He was even better-looking in daylight.

Nice crinkly lines around the eyes. Thick wavy hair. Bit of a tan and a devilish smile. Marcella had chosen well. Helen wondered if he was husband number seven.

His name tag said MICHAEL. He gave no hint that he’d seen Helen aboard the
Brandy Alexander
. Michael was discreet.

“May I help you?” Michael asked, and smiled that smile.

“I’m Helen in customer care. Our fax is broken. May I use yours?”

“Of course,” Michael said. “I’ll fax it for you. Do you want a transmission receipt?”

“No, thanks,” Helen said. “I have to wait here for a return fax.”

Helen paced the lobby until Michael returned with a fax signed by Noah Plavin. She took the scenic way back to the office, a path that wound under a banyan tree with a fantastic twisted trunk. White orchids bloomed in its branches. A yellow bird darted through the thick green leaves.