“If it’s not, I haven’t a clue. Don’t you think I’d go to the police if knew? I want the killer in prison. Astrid and I will have to sneak around until Page’s murderer is convicted.”
Gayle’s voice turned soft. “If Peggy is innocent, then this is a miscarriage of justice. I’m glad you’re doing something about it. You’re looking at the wrong person, but you’re at the right place. Page Turner was his bookstore. In some way, that bookstore killed him.”
Then she turned and left them, her black clothes and bright hair vanishing into the rich darkness.
Chapter 25
“Do you think she’s innocent?” Margery asked.
“Either that, or she put on a good act of outraged innocence,” Helen said.
They were driving back to Fort Lauderdale, both grateful for the anonymous night. Their faces were crimson with shame. Helen’s still felt hot when she remembered being yanked out of the car. Both knees were bruised and she had a scrape on her hand.
“The problem is, Gayle’s good at deception,” she said.
“No one at the store knew she was having an affair with Astrid. I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw her drive up.
But did she kill Page Turner? Gayle can’t prove she didn’t leave the store that night. I can’t prove she did.”
“Stalemate,” Margery said. “So tomorrow—I mean today—you go back to the bookstore and start all over again?”
“Do you think she’ll let me work there again, after I accused her of murder? When she tells Astrid, I’ll be lucky to live in Lauderdale, much less work here. I’ll call in sick this morning and look for a new job. Gayle can fire me when I show up tomorrow.” Helen let out a yawn. “These hours are getting to me.”
“Well, it is one a.m.,” Margery said. “Got any good prospects?”
“Yeah, Down & Dirty Discounts is taking applications at ten a.m.”
“Be there or be square,” Margery said.
“That’s what the ad said.”
At nine-thirty the next morning, Helen arrived at the new discount store. Red-and-yellow flags were flying the Triple D logo. A big banner said, WELCOME TO THE FUN! Job seekers were already lined up outside the building. It was not a promising selection: skinny sunburned guys with prison tattoos, tough young women in tube tops, old men mumbling to themselves, poorly dressed people who spoke rapid Spanish and halting English. Helen, in a neat beige Ann Taylor suit and pumps, knew she was a prize.
I will get this job, she told herself. Forty hours a week at eight dollars an hour. That’s another one-hundred- nineteen dollars a week, an extra four-hundred-seventy-six a month.
It seemed like untold wealth after the bookstore salary; especially now that she was working thirty hours a week.
At ten-ten, the doors opened on a barn-like room furnished with long brown folding tables and chairs. Each table had a box of pencils and a stack of yellow job applications.
“Take a seat and fill out the application forms, people,” said a callow young corporate type. He had no-color hair that looked like a bristle brush and a smile Helen didn’t trust. “You have twenty minutes.”
Helen set to work lying about her experience, her qualifications, and her background. There was no way she could list her real degrees or her former high-paying job.
A young woman in a hot-pink blouse with a plunging neckline read her application carefully, moving her lips.
Then she asked Helen, “They want to know if we have any felony convictions. Do they count if you were a juvenile?”
“Juvenile records are sealed,” Helen said. She was planning to lie about her own run-in with the court.
“At the top of your application is a number,” Mr. Bristle Head said. “We will call it for your interview.”
Six other suits came out. Mr. Bristle Head called the first seven numbers. Nearly an hour later, Helen heard her number, sixty-three. She got Mr. B himself. “Follow me, please,” he said, and walked back to a white cubicle the size of a phone booth. There was room for a chipped brown Formica table, a leather swivel chair, and an uncomfortable orange plastic chair. Bristle Head took the good chair.
“Now, Helen, your age is forty-two, right?” He talked to her as if she were a little slow. He did not bother to tell her his name.
“Yes,” she said.
“And you work at Page Turners. That’s very good. Can you operate a cash register?”
Helen explained her bookstore duties and skills for nearly ten minutes.
“Well, we’re definitely interested,” he said.
Here goes, Helen thought. This is the big test. “I’d like to work for you. But I need to make cash only.”
There was only a momentary hesitation. Then Mr. Bristle Head said, “I think that can be arranged, although you might have to work for a little less. Maybe seven fifty an hour. We can arrange it through me. I’m the new store manager.”
Well, well, Helen thought. This definitely was a Down & Dirty store. I’ll lose about twenty dollars a week, but I can live with that.
“Fine,” she said.
“We’d like you to start next Monday. The store won’t be open for another week, but we’ll need help with the shelving, and, of course, we want to train you the Triple D way.
Are you available to start then?”
“Yes,” Helen said. Oh heck yes.
“Good. Now, there’s just one more thing. We’d like you to take a little test.” He handed her a piece of paper with an 800 number on it. “Just call this phone number. The prompt will ask for a special code. That’s this number here.”
“What’s the test for?” Helen said.
“To see how good an employee you’ll be,” he said. “You can take it anytime, night or day. It’s automated. We’ll call you within twenty-four hours after you take the test. If you pass, we’ll see you Monday morning.”
He stood up. The interview was over.
Helen should have felt happy. She almost had the job, except for that test. But it made her uneasy. What kind of test was this? She’d ask Margery, who knew all sorts of odd things. Besides, she needed to use her landlady’s phone.
Margery was sitting by the pool, painting her toenails the color of Red Hots. “Thought this color would set off my new shoes,” she said. She pointed to a pair of polka-dot slides. She wore a matching polka-dot shorts set. All those white dots were making Helen dizzy.
“Very cute,” she said. “I think I’ve got the job, but I’m supposed to take this automated phone test. Ever heard of anything like this?”
Margery studied the paper. “One of those,” she said, as if Helen had handed her a palmetto bug. “It’s an honesty test.”
“Why are they worried about my honesty? They plan to cheat the government and pay me in cash under the counter.”
“They’re afraid you’re going to steal them blind,” she said. “The test is a piece of cake, as long as you don’t follow your natural instincts. Never give a humane answer.
For instance, they’ll ask something like, If you see a starving person steal a loaf of bread, you should:
“One, call the police and have them arrested.
“Two, turn a blind eye. What is bread compared to a human life?
“The correct answer is one.”
“You’re kidding,” Helen said. “Even the nuns, who were as conservative as you could get, said it was OK to
