Sarah looked shocked. “Good Lord. That’s assault. Did you report it to the police? No? Well, I hope you at least took pictures of those bruises. Are you getting a restraining order on that man?”
Helen didn’t want Rich around, but she wanted the police even less. Sarah was overreacting. “It was an accident.
I don’t think he realized his own strength. I’m not worried about Rich. He won’t bother me. He hasn’t had the nerve to come near me since. If he does, I’ll sic Gabe on him.”
“You aren’t woman enough to do your own dirty work?”
Sarah said disapprovingly. “Who is this Gabe and where did you meet him?”
Helen told the story of how they met, as a pair of sunshine-yellow butterflies fluttered nearby. Helen saw the pretty pair as an omen.
Sarah listened, a frown creasing her smooth skin, her brown eyes serious.
“Look, Helen, I’m glad you quit seeing Rich. I don’t think those bruises were an accident. You don’t want to date any man who would do that. But I wish you weren’t getting serious about this Gabe so soon.”
“I’m not serious. And Gabe is the exact opposite of Rich.”
“An even better reason to avoid him,” Sarah said. “Do you know anything about this man except he likes books?”
“That’s a good start,” Helen said.
“Who are his friends? Where’s his family? Where does he work?”
“He has his own contracting business,” Helen said, avoiding the other questions because she couldn’t answer them.
“Contractors can be one step above drug dealers in South Florida. Shouldn’t you at least check with the Better Business Bureau?”
“Why? He’s not remodeling my kitchen.”
“No? I bet he’s got some plans for your bedroom. Be careful, Helen. Rich did more than bruise your wrist. He hurt your pride. And you aren’t letting yourself heal. Instead, you’ve run straight to another man. You’ve spun some fantasies around this Gabe. You need time to find out if he’s the real thing before you jump into another relationship.”
Helen said nothing. Sarah had never met Gabe. Once she saw his handsome, open face and easy manner, she’d change her mind. Right now, Helen would change the subject.
“Look at that,” she said. “A butterfly lounge.”
A dozen red-and-black butterflies rested on a leaf the size of a hubcap. Butterflies with stained-glass wings sailed through dappled sunlight, sipped nectar, or sat on frilly purple orchids.
It was the last place to talk about murder. It was also the best place. Page Turner’s ugly life and death seemed far away. So did Peggy’s wretched jail cell. Helen recounted her sad visit to the county jail.
“Peggy is not telling me something,” Helen said.
“Maybe she did it,” Sarah said.
“No, Peggy said she didn’t kill him. I believe her.”
Helen was grateful that Sarah did not question her judgment, at least on this subject. If Helen thought her friend was innocent, that was good enough for Sarah.
“Then who did?”
“Just about everyone wanted Page dead. Look how many people hated him at the store. Even his own wife couldn’t stand the man. Astrid must have known about all his girlfriends and that locked video cabinet in his office.”
“Maybe they had some sort of arrangement, and he got sex elsewhere,” Sarah said. “Some rich people have marriages of convenience.”
“Astrid called him a son of a bitch the day he died.
That’s an angry woman, not an indifferent one,” Helen said.
She looked up, startled, as a bright green leaf flew away.
It was an emerald swallowtail. She was sprayed with mist.
“I think we’re in the rain forest,” Sarah said.
But nothing stopped Helen’s speculations, not even indoor rain. “There’s also Madame Muffy, the preppy psychic. There’s something off about her, but I can’t figure out what it is.”
“She was at the barbecue, right?” Sarah said. “She was weird. You offered her a soda and she made a big deal about not drinking caffeine and chemicals.”
“That’s it!” Helen said. Suddenly she knew what was wrong. “The day Page died, Astrid called the store and wanted to talk with him. He wasn’t answering his page.
Rather than keep the owner’s wife on hold, I went to his office. I heard people arguing inside. I knocked on the door and guess who came out? Madame Muffy, carrying an open bottle of Bawls with a straw. Bawls is laced with caffeine.
So what was Miss I Don’t Touch Chemicals doing with that bottle?”
“Sneaking a drink?” Sarah said. “I stayed at a hotel that had a fundamentalists’ convention. All day long, they condemned dancing, fornication, and alcohol. All night long, the bar was empty, but room service went crazy delivering booze to the rooms.”
Sarah was being unusually dense. Helen tried again. “I think Muffy spiked his drink with sleeping pills or poison.
She couldn’t leave that bottle behind. The police would find it. So she took it with her. When Page left that last afternoon, he practically staggered out the door. I thought he was drunk. What if he was drugged?”
“OK, you saw Madame Muffy remove the evidence.
Then what?”
“She’s the mysterious person who picked him up after Peggy brought him back to the store. Muffy called him on his cell phone and sweet-talked him. Or offered him something he wanted.”
“You’re not suggesting ...”
“Madame Muffy wouldn’t be bad-looking if she took off those boring clothes.”
“Thanks for that mental picture,” Sarah said.
They sat on a wooden bench surrounded by palm fronds and flowers. Butterflies fluttered and darted in every direction. So did Helen’s thoughts.
“It would be easy for Muffy to lead a drugged Page Turner into Peggy’s apartment. The Coronado was closed for the tenting then, as Muffy well knew.”
“And how would Madame Muffy get into Peggy’s apartment without a key?”
“She could have crawled through an open window.”
“Could she fit through those little windows?”
“I don’t know. How about this? Madame Muffy lived at the Coronado. Peggy sat out by the pool most nights and left her house keys on the picnic table. Muffy could have made a wax impression of Peggy’s house key. Then she could have her own key made.”
“But why would Madame Muffy take Page to Peggy’s apartment?”
“To frame her. Everyone had heard the story about her threatening Page.”
“It’s plausible. Except the Coronado was pumped full of poison gas. How did Madame Muffy survive that? How did she open the locked door shield? And why did she want Page dead?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” Helen said.
It was time to leave the butterfly paradise. Outside, they walked around a lake and a fragrant rose garden. There was a tiered fountain by the closed snack bar. Helen tossed in some coins.
“Throwing your money away?” Sarah teased.
“Wishing that Peggy would go free,” Helen said.
“You don’t get that by wishing,” Sarah said. “You get that by working. Madame Muffy is your first target.”
Chapter 15
