I love you, too, she thought, but you can’t help me until you help yourself. I’ve been a fool, but so have you. I’ll have to save myself.
Helen wondered if Margery had talked with the homicide detectives yet. She’d better warn her. Helen knocked on her landlady’s door. It was opened by a fluffy old woman in pink hot pants. Her orange mules matched her hair. A snug green sweater bared her substantial midriff.
Helen blinked. The woman was kind of cute in a surreal way. She reminded Helen of a punked-out Miss Marple. She even had the same soft, dithery voice.
“Oh, you must want Margery,” the woman said. “I’ll get her. You just wait here.”
Margery came out in a purple bathrobe, trailing a cloud of cigarette smoke. She moved like a hibernating bear that had been awakened two months early. Last night’s champagne must have taken its toll.
“Another hard night of dancing with Warren?” Helen said. “Did you two go out on the town after I went to bed?”
“I’ve had my last dance with that old coot,” Margery said. “We’ve got problems. Elsie’s in trouble and it’s Warren’s fault.”
Elsie’s middle bulged a bit, but Helen was pretty sure she wasn’t pregnant.
“What happened?”
Elsie folded her liver-spotted hands on her pink lap and looked like a contrite schoolgirl. “I signed a bad contract,” she said in her fluttery voice. “Margery’s going to help me get out of it.”
“So far, I haven’t been much help,” Margery said.
“I should have listened to you before I signed,” Elsie said. “You were afraid Warren ran one of those dance studios that signed people up for lifetime contracts.”
“Which at our age is about six months.” Margery lit another cigarette. It glowed like a red eye. Helen felt there were enough of those in the room already.
“I checked like she told me,” Elsie said. “It was only a two-year contract. But I should have read the rest of it. I couldn’t make any sense out of that legal gobbledygook. My Jim used to do that for me. Now that he’s gone, I’m not so good at coping.”
“The contract was only for two years,” Margery said. “But the payments were two thousand dollars a month for twenty-four months.”
Helen was stunned. “Two grand a month for dancing lessons? That’s a mortgage payment.”
“Elsie signed a contract for forty-eight thousand dollars in dance lessons.”
“I had no idea it was so expensive until I got the first statement,” Elsie said. “I had two free lessons. Then I paid only fifty dollars for the first month. I thought I was paying fifty dollars a month for two years.”
“That’s outrageous,” Helen said.
“It’s an old scam,” Margery said. “I checked it out on the Internet.”
“You have a computer?” Helen said.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” Margery said. “Got my own Hotmail account, too. I use the library’s computers. Best time to go is early afternoon. All the old farts are napping and the kids are still in school. I did a search on the Net and found out how these phony dance schools operate. They give the victim some cheap dance lessons, sign her up for a contract, and then she learns she’s committed to thousands of dollars.”
“How do they hide those outrageous prices in the contract?” Helen asked.
“They don’t bother,” Margery said. “Con artists know people rarely read the fine print. At our age, we can’t see it without a magnifying glass. That’s how they got Elsie for nearly fifty grand.”
“I don’t have that kind of money any more,” Elsie said. “I made some bad investments.” She dropped her voice and said the dreaded words: “Enron. And World-C om.”
Helen shuddered. She’d done the same thing. “That’s terrible. You need a lawyer.”
Elsie hung her head. “My son is a lawyer. That’s the problem. Milton will find out if I go to one. He knows everyone. Fort Lauderdale is such a small town. He’s been trying to get me into one of those assisted-living facilities. If Milton knew what a fool I was with those dance lessons, he’d put me in a home for sure and get power of attorney over what’s left of my money.”
Elsie’s chins trembled. Her young clothes made her seem older and more helpless.
“Milt’s a bit of a stick,” Margery said, her cigarette glaring at Helen. “He wants his mom to put on a shawl and sit in a rocking chair.”
“He’s a good boy,” Elsie said, loyally.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” Margery said. “But Milt wore pin-striped diapers.”
“Takes after his father,” Elsie said. “Except Jim enjoyed my wild side. Said I had moxie. Milton says I embarrass him.”
“I warned you about wearing that leather miniskirt to his firm’s Christmas party,” Margery said.
“The legs are the last thing to go on a girl,” Elsie said. “Mine are still worth showing off.”
They were pretty good, Helen thought, but the thighs drooped a bit.
“We’ve got to help Elsie,” Margery said. “I introduced her to that crook. I’ll get her out of this if it’s the last thing I do. Elsie, you go on home. I need to think.”
Elsie tottered out on her orange mules.
“What do you want?” Margery snarled at Helen. “I know you didn’t come over to meet Elsie.”
“Were the police by to speak with you yesterday?”
“No, I was out all day with Warren, that son of a bugger. I drank champagne with him until two. What kind of trouble are you in now?”
“None,” Helen lied. Her voice went too high and Margery looked at her sharply. “The police are checking my alibi for the night of Desiree’s rehearsal dinner, that’s all.”
“You were with Phil from eleven o’clock on. He left about seven a.m.”
“Jeez. Were you watching?”
“I know everything that goes on here,” Margery said. “Peggy’s still dating her policeman, but I think that romance is about over, thank God. Those two would sneak down to the swimming pool at midnight and wake me up. Thought if they turned off the pool lights I wouldn’t know what they were doing in the water.”
Helen’s cheeks burned at this revelation about her friend.
“Cal is currently in Canada. He says he wants to spend Christmas with his grandchild, but he’s really worried about his residence dates. He needs to spend more time in his home country. No Canadian wants to lose that national health insurance.”
“Amazing,” Helen said.
“Oh, yeah. I know everything. Except that Warren rooked my friend with his dance lessons right under my nose. Are you working today?”
“One o’clock to six,” Helen said.
“Good,” Margery said. “Warren leaves about nine thirty to open his dance studio. You can wait with me until he’s gone. I have a passkey. We need to look at his apartment.”
Margery changed into purple shorts and red tennis shoes. “The rubber soles will give me traction if I have to run for it,” she said.
“What exactly are you expecting to find?” Helen asked.
“Something that will help me nail his crooked hide to the wall.”
They drank coffee in a heavy silence. At nine thirty-three, Warren went whistling down the walk to the parking lot, golden sun shining on his silver hair.
“What a waste,” Margery said. “There aren’t many men his age with their own hair and teeth, and this one turns out to be a con artist.”
At nine forty-five, Margery used her passkey to open 2C. Helen followed her into the furnished apartment. Like many bachelors, Warren wasn’t big on dusting, but the place was tidy. There were racetrack programs on the coffeetable, a coffee maker and a can of cashews on the kitchen counter. A jai alai schedule was posted on the fridge. Helen looked inside: deli turkey, hamburger buns, mustard, hot sauce, a jar of olives, and a bottle of champagne. The freezer had two frosted champagne glasses.
“The old geezer keeps it on ice all the time,” Margery said. “So much for our special night.”
“What?” Helen said.
