bills.”
“Laredo never mentioned anything like that,” Helen said.
“Are they hiring? I could always use some extra money.”
That was the truth, at least. Helen might need another job soon, with stone-faced Penelope looking for an excuse to fire her.
“Well, she left me some cards. I’ve got one here somewhere. I’ve sent a couple girls there.” Tammy dried her hands on a blue towel, then picked through a pile of papers by the cash register.
“Here it is. You’re supposed to call and ask for Steve. It’s OK to mention my name.”
She handed Helen a business card. It was plain white, with stark black numbers. No name, no address. There was nothing on it but a phone number.
Helen thought the number looked naked and slightly sinister.
Chapter 6
It took three calls before Helen found Savannah. That meant three dashes to the lobby pay phone on her breaks, although you could hardly call them that. Helen got five minutes each hour. When she finally got Savannah, Helen was so rushed, she sounded like a telegram: “I found something. I’m off at one.”
“Me, too,” Savannah said.
She’d never noticed it before, but Savannah drawled her words. It took precious time. Helen had to clock back in in two minutes.
“Sounds like we better meet,” Savannah said, drawing out each word with irritating slowness. “I don’t have the time or money for lunch. How about we find a bench on Las Olas about one fifteen?”
“Fine.” Helen hung up and clocked in with thirty seconds to spare.
There wasn’t a bench free on the entire street. Whole families and entire offices roosted on them all. The best bet was one bench occupied by a white-haired man primly eating a tuna sandwich, but he didn’t look like he’d be moving soon.
Savannah sat down on the other end of the bench. The man glared at her and rustled his lunch bag. Savannah said loudly, “Helen, my period is really awful this month. There’s so much blood—that nasty black stuff— and I...”
The white-haired man picked up his sandwich and fled.
Helen was caught between horror and admiration. Today, Savannah looked like a dignified matron in a fussy ruffled dress and pink high heels. But she’d chased off a grown man with a few words.
“I hated to do that, but I only have ten minutes.” Savannah pulled two soda cans out of her floppy purse. “Want a Vanilla Coke?”
Helen found two slightly melted chocolate energy bars in her purse. “Chocolate, caffeine and sugar. All the major food groups are covered.”
“I don’t know. The energy bar’s a little healthy,” Savannah said. “It might throw off my system.”
The two munched and sipped, while Helen talked about Debbie the waitress and her dramatic mood change.
“Here’s what burns my buns,” Savannah said. “You figured out Debbie was lying—but the cops didn’t.”
“Were they male cops?” Helen said.
“Yep. Cute young doughnut chompers.”
“There’s your answer,” Helen said. “Debbie gives most men an instant lobotomy.”
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Savannah said.
“Which do you want first?”
“Let’s get the bad over with,” Helen said.
“Hank busted me. I followed him nearly four hours yesterday. He ran errands—the dry cleaner, the bank, the gas station and this fancy salon for a haircut. Then he stopped at Publix. I pulled into the side entrance where I could watch him go in and out, thinking I was real clever. Next thing I know, he’s standing by my car. Snuck right up on me, and I didn’t even know it till I smelled his cologne.
“He said, ‘Why are you following me in that junk heap?’ Hank’s a scary dude, Helen. Huge, too. And he’s got this one big old eyebrow all the way across his forehead. You’d think he’d get that fixed. They could’ve cut it in two when they did his hair.”
“Savannah,” Helen said. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I hemmed and hawed and said I wasn’t following him, it was just a coincidence.
“He said, ‘One more coincidence and I’ll call the cops and have you arrested for stalking.’ I think he meant it.”
“We’re stuck,” Helen said. “I can’t follow him. If he busts me, I’ll lose my job and get sued. Besides, I don’t have a car.
We’ll have to find some other way to get him. Give me the good news. I could use it.”
“I found out something interesting. It wasn’t easy. Brideport doesn’t allow solicitors. I thought of collecting for a charity door-to-door, but those rich old buzzards would have called the police the minute I rang their bells. So I made me up some flyers.”
She reached in her purse and handed one to Helen.
“SAVANNAH’S SUPER-CLEAN SERVICE,” it began.
“Is that what you do for a living? Clean houses?” I’m getting lazy, Helen thought. I never bothered asking her occupation, but it would explain the bleach odor under the flowery perfume.
“It’s one of my jobs. I have three. I’m an office manager by day. I work at a convenience store on State Road 7 four nights a week. In my spare time, I clean houses.” She said that last line with a straight face.
“Jeez, Savannah. What happened?”
“A bad divorce and some medical bills that weren’t covered by insurance.” Savannah shrugged. She was not looking for sympathy.
“A dozen flyers from Kinko’s got me all over Brideport.
Nobody turns away a cleaning woman, even if they have a housekeeper. In fact, some rich folks hire me to keep their housekeepers happy. What are these energy bars, anyway?
They’re not bad.”
“Pria bars,” Helen said. “I live on them.” She’d been trying to eat them instead of the salt-and-vinegar chips. Instead, she ate both. She’d gained another two pounds.
“Most of that stuff tastes like chocolate-covered ceiling insulation.” Savannah looked at her watch and said, “I have to get back to work. I talked with the neighbors on either side of Hank Asporth. One was a lovely saleslady, Ms. Patterson.
She sells medical equipment and travels all the time. Must make boo-coo bucks.
“We got along real well. Ms. Patterson hired me to do her heavy cleaning. I told her I saw the police cars at her neighbor’s house the other night, and I wasn’t sure it was safe to work in Brideport. She assured me it was a secure neighborhood. She wasn’t home at the time, but Mr. Asporth told her the police were called for a false alarm.”
“He would,” Helen said.
“Mr. McArthur, the old man on the other side, was eighty-two and almost deaf. He was also lonely and liked to talk. We sat in his kitchen and drank coffee and ate butter cookies. He didn’t hear a thing that night, which was no surprise. I had to practically yell at him the whole time. Hank Asporth has a lot of girls at his house, but Mr. McArthur never heard any wild parties. The old man sounded kind of disappointed. His house could use a good cleaning, but he didn’t hire me.
“There’s only one neighbor across the street, Mrs.
Kercher. She lives on a big five-acre spread. She didn’t hear anything, but she saw something. A little yellow Honda was parked in Ms. Patterson’s drive for several hours that evening. That’s the medical saleslady’s driveway —the one who was out of town.
“My sister drove an old yellow Honda.” Drove.
