a man. A woman would be turned off by a sexy dress. It wasn’t her chauffeur. Why would Kiki need to impress an employee?”
“So she wore it for a man, possibly a young one,” Sarah said. “But would a young man be impressed? You said Kiki looked like an aging movie actress around the bridesmaids. She was no match for their youth and beauty.”
“But she had one thing they didn’t,” Helen said. “Money.”
“Which young men needed money the most?”
“The chauffeur, but we’ve ruled him out,” Helen said. “Luke could get money from his wife. That leaves another actor—the handsome twit Jason. He’s in the production, too. Guess I’m a theater volunteer.”
“Unless . . .” Sarah said thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Unless Kiki wore the dress to get her ex back. Brendan might be impressed with a glamorous older woman.”
“Her ex-husband?” Helen said. “No way. He has a new trophy wife.”
“Maybe the young wife has worn him out. Young wives can be high maintenance. They need lots of money, attention, and time in the bedroom. Besides, if Brendan married Kiki again he wouldn’t have to worry about money.”
“But they fought the night before she died,” Helen said. “I heard them.”
“That fight sounds like jealousy to me, and where there’s jealousy, there’s still love. Brendan didn’t want Kiki throwing herself at some young stud.”
“I can see the advantages for him,” Helen said. “But why would Kiki want to go back with Brendan? What could he give her? She had all the money and no-strings sex she wanted. Why cater to an older man with empty pockets and a big ego?”
“Ever talk to a twenty-year-old?” Sarah said.
“I wouldn’t waste time talking to Rod,” Helen said.
“After a while, you get tired of bimbos, male or female,” Sarah said. “Chasing young studs was making Kiki look silly, and society’s opinion was important to her. Maybe she wanted to settle down and quit being a scandal. She made a play for Jason at the rehearsal dinner, but she did it to make Brendan jealous. Her ex was her real target. If she remarried Brendan, she’d get a smart, respected man and a presentable escort.”
“Do you think Brendan killed her out of jealousy?”
“That’s one possibility,” Sarah said. “Or maybe she made a promise to a younger man that she couldn’t keep if she went back with Brendan.”
“Interesting,” Helen said. “But there’s something else that bothers me. My boss, Millicent. She got in a fight with Kiki over money. She made me go to the funeral. And there’s that weird ad in the
“All it would take was a white wig and red nails,” Sarah said.
“Maybe I should get a better description of the buyer,” Helen said.
“Sounds like you have a plan,” Sarah said.
“Would you like dessert?” The beautiful waiter was back with more temptation.
“A cappuccino,” Helen said.
“Chocolate mousse cake with a scoop of vanilla on the side,” Sarah said.
“Ice cream
“Kiki died thin,” Sarah said. “Look where dieting got her.”
“I’ll take the cheesecake,” Helen said. “Hold the ice cream.” Sarah was the only person who made her feel virtuous when she pigged out.
Their conversation had been so intense that Helen had lost track of where she was. Now she saw the South Beach scene again. The old man and the young woman were gone. Sitting at their table was a quiet man carrying a long leather case with a triangular bottom.
The hair went up on the back of Helen’s neck. “What do you think he has in that case? A shotgun?”
“It’s too narrow for a shotgun,” Sarah said. “How about a pool cue and two balls?”
“It’s not wide enough for pool balls. If this was my neighborhood, I’d say he was a shuffleboard hustler. They use a long, forked stick. Maybe the waiter knows.”
The waiter was carrying Helen’s foaming cappuccino and two wicked pieces of cake.
“Pssst,” Helen said. “What’s that man got in that case?”
“His broom,” the waiter said. “He had the case custom-made.”
There was nothing more to say.
Chapter 15
Helen heard the pop of a champagne bottle near the pool, then the clink of glasses.
Peggy and her policeman must be enjoying a little afternoon delight. Their voices carried in the soft, subtropical air. Helen tried not to listen, but she couldn’t help it.
The man said, “You are so beautiful.”
The woman said, “I love it when you lie.” Her laugh was light and sophisticated. Helen heard the couple kiss.
The woman had a low, throaty voice, intimate and teasing. She didn’t sound like Peggy. Was it Kendra?
The man definitely wasn’t Phil. She’d know his voice anywhere. That was a relief. She hoped Kendra was with another man. Maybe she’d go away and forget about Phil.
Helen moved closer to listen. This was demeaning. She’d sunk to spying on a lowlife like Kendra. She had to get out of there. She had to stay. Helen stood behind the thick bougainvillea near the pool gate. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could hear better.
“I’m not lying,” the man said.
“Of course you are. I’m a wrinkled old bag.” Good God. Now Helen recognized that voice. It was Margery. The man must be Warren. Look where her jealousy landed her.
“You are a woman of experience,” Warren said. “The life you’ve lived only makes you more beautiful.”
The Margery Helen knew would have snorted. This Margery gave a sexy little chuckle.
Helen was mortified to be eavesdropping on her landlady. She backed slowly away and fell over a folding lawn chair. Helen made more racket than twelve raccoons in a trash can trying to untangle herself. She wound up flat on the grass, bruised and embarrassed.
“What the heck was that?” Margery said. Now she sounded like her old self.
Her landlady popped up behind the bougainvillea. She was holding a champagne glass. Her hair was in that elegant French twist so unlike her usual pageboy. Her royal purple off-the-shoulder blouse had slid off even farther than the designer intended, revealing good shoulders and a firm bosom.
Helen blushed and stammered. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you were there. I wanted to ask you if you’d like two tickets to
It was the first excuse that leaped into her head, and it was lame. If Margery said yes, Helen would have to buy herself a ticket for another performance. Her murder investigation was off to a great start.
“What are you doing on the ground?” Margery said. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. The answer’s yes. I’d love to see the play.”
“Good,” Helen lied. “You’ll be taking Warren, of course.”
“Nope, he’s working at the studio tonight. I’m going with you. You need a keeper.”
Warren stood up, holding a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck by the neck. The man could wear a safari jacket and not look silly. “Would you care to join us for champagne, Helen?” he said.
“Three’s company. I mean, it’s a crowd,” Helen said. “Pardon me. Alcohol and stupidity don’t mix.”
Margery and Warren laughed and toasted her, clinking their glasses again. “See you tonight at seven,” her landlady said. “We’d better go early. And I’ll drive.”
