shorts, found two wineglasses, and pulled a new box of wine out of the refrigerator. Out by the pool, she poured them both drinks.
Peggy took a sip and made a face. “What flavor is this?”
“‘Blush pink,’ ” Helen said, reading the name on the box.
“It should blush if it’s trying to pass itself off as wine.
Tastes like Kool-Aid. Who made it—Jim Jones?”
“Guess that explains why it was on sale,” Helen said.
Peggy set her wineglass down by her cordless phone.
“I’m expecting a call,” she said. “I’ve got this great idea for winning the lottery, this special system. I’m waiting for some information so I can choose my lucky numbers.”
“Another system?” Helen asked. “Why is this one different?”
“Because I’m going to win this time. I’ve figured out what it takes. I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it before it comes true. But this phone call will change my life.”
The more she talked about the lottery, the livelier Peggy became. When the phone rang a few minutes later, both women jumped. Peggy grabbed the phone and scrambled to hit the talk button. She listened a moment, then said, “Yes, I am.” She stared at the phone for a second before she snapped it off.
“Wrong number,” she said. “Some woman asked, ‘Are you Margaret Freeton?’ When I said yes, she hung up.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If it was a wrong number, why would she know your name?” Helen said.
“You don’t suppose it’s a burglar or something, calling to see if I’m at home?”
“Could be. I’d tell Margery to be safe. She’ll keep a watch on your place when you’re not around.”
They heard car doors slamming. Lots of them. Helen couldn’t believe what happened next. A small army of police officers fanned across the yard, taking combat positions. Two men in plainclothes materialized. Helen and Peggy stared at them, openmouthed. Helen saw Margery’s door open. Their landlady looked equally shocked.
It’s a drug bust, Helen thought. The cops have finally busted Phil the invisible pothead.
The plainclothes officers were homicide detectives Clarence Jax and Tom Levinson. Helen wondered what they were doing on a drug bust.
“Margaret Freeton?” Detective Jax asked.
“Yes?” said Peggy.
“We have a warrant for your arrest.”
“What?” Peggy said. She didn’t understand what was happening. Neither did Helen. Margery was marching toward them, a purple-clad protector, demanding, “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing on my property?”
The detectives ignored her. “You are being charged with murder in the first degree in the death of Page Turner III,” Jax said. He read the Miranda warning and started to cuff Peggy’s hands. Pete bit him hard.
“Get that damned bird away from me or I’ll wring his neck.”
Peggy freed the detective’s bleeding finger and gently handed Pete to Helen. The parrot struggled, but did not fight Helen. He stayed perched on her hand and she stroked his feathers with one finger to soothe him. The detective cuffed Peggy’s hands behind her back.
“Is that necessary?” Helen said.
“It wasn’t necessary for that bird to bite me,” he said.
“I didn’t kill Page Turner,” Peggy said.
“We’ll get you a good lawyer,” Margery said. “Don’t say a word until she shows up.”
“Please take care of Pete,” Peggy cried. “His birdseed is in your cabinet. It’s the red box. Don’t overfeed him. He’s on a diet.”
“Shut up,” Margery said. “Promise me, not another word until your lawyer gets there.”
As the police took Peggy away in handcuffed shame, Helen could hear her phone ringing and ringing, with the call that was supposed to change her life. Madame Muffy’s prediction was complete. Death, destruction, and murder had buried Peggy in a dark landslide.
A dazed Helen said, “How could they arrest Peggy for murder?”
“Because she probably did it,” Margery said.
“Peggy didn’t even know Page Turner,” Helen said.
“Of course she did,” Margery said. “They were engaged.”
Helen was too stunned to say anything. The woman at the bookstore was right, she thought. I am an idiot. And I don’t know anything.
Chapter 9
“Tell me why you think Peggy did it,” Helen asked Margery.
The question had been hanging over them for the last two hours. Margery had been working the phone to find a lawyer for Peggy. She called friends and called in favors.
She asked everyone, If you were in trouble, who would you call?
It came down to two lawyers: Oliver Steinway and Colby Cox. “Both are good. But Steinway’s defended so many killers that hiring him is practically an admission of guilt,” Margery said. “Colby is a little more low- profile.
We’ll go with her.”
Then Margery called more numbers, until she found Cox at her home. It was now nine p.m. “She doesn’t live far away. She’s on the Isle of Capri. Want to come with me?”
Capri was one of several small islands connected to Las Olas by causeways. The residents were connected by lots of money. On the drive over, Margery said, “That Detective Jax is damn smart. He came back again today, batting his eyes and saying he needed to confirm the times when everyone arrived and left the barbecue Friday night. He didn’t seem interested in one particular person, but I should have known.”
“Known what?” Helen said.
“That he was after Peggy. She was the only one who came late and left early.” Margery hit the steering wheel with her hand. “I’m an old fool. I told him the times. I could have said I didn’t remember, but no, I had to prove I had such a great memory. I hope I haven’t talked that poor girl into the electric chair.”
She thinks Peggy is guilty, Helen thought, but she was too frightened to say the words. Margery swung her big white car into the driveway of Cox’s tract mansion, a pink stucco affair the size of a hotel. The small forest of royal palms sheltering it was lit like a stage set. As they drove up, the security gates swung open. Cox must be one successful lawyer.
“Wait out here,” Margery said. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Helen suspected Margery was writing a sizable check and didn’t want her to know. Waiting in the Cadillac was like sitting in a plush lounge, but Helen could not relax. It all seemed so surreal. Peggy would be on trial for murder.
The police had said first-degree murder. Was that the bad one? Florida was a death-penalty state.
She heard the front door open. Margery walked out slowly, as if she didn’t want to deliver her news. She pulled open the car door and sat down heavily on the seat. “Cox will see Peggy tonight at the jail, but there’s no way she can get a bail hearing before morning. She said Peggy may not get bail, period, because this is first-degree murder.”
“Margery, lawyers are expensive,” Helen said. “Peggy’s my friend, too. I’ve got seven thousand dollars in cash.
You’re welcome to that.” It was all the money she had in the world.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Margery said.
Helen had read somewhere that a full-blown murder trial could cost the defendant half a million dollars or more. She wondered where Peggy would get that kind of money.
She’d have to win the lottery for sure.
