He knew where Chauncey kept the spare door key as well as the key to the sword cabinet. The police found his fingerprints all over that padlock. He stole the sword cane, then took the gray wig, dress, and foam-rubber chest from the prop room.”
“That wig wound up floating in my pool,” Margery said. “I almost shot it. I thought it was a rat.”
“Speaking of rats, what happened when Luke confessed to his wife?” Peggy said.
“Desiree dumped him. Luke was stunned.”
“I am, too,” Peggy said. “Didn’t you say she was all over him at Lester’s?”
“She was,” Helen said. “But then he was a trophy, a rising movie star. Now he’s damaged goods. Nothing can save him. She can’t be seen with the man who murdered her mother. And she certainly won’t pay for his defense. She loves her precious money more than Luke.
“Desiree got all noble sounding and declared, ‘I won’t use my dear mother’s money to defend her killer.’ ”
“That young man made a serious miscalculation,” Margery said.
“Right,” Helen said. “He thought he could count on his bride because she hated her mother. He knew his father-in-law fought constantly with his ex-wife. He thought Brendan would be his trial lawyer, but he refused to represent Luke.”
“Wow. This is better than a movie. Then what happened?” Peggy said.
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “The doc came in to stitch me up and I passed out again. I hate needles.”
Peggy groaned.
“I know,” Margery said. She pulled another Marlboro out of her cigarette case, tapped it, and finally lit it. Peggy drummed her fingers impatiently while Pete patrolled her shoulder.
“I heard this from my lawyer friend, Colby Cox, the big criminal defense lawyer,” Margery said. “After his wife abandoned him, Luke still thought he could get a good lawyer cheap, because his case would make the media. But Desiree’s father made some calls, including one to Colby. Suddenly none of the top criminal lawyers were interested in defending him.
“Luke got himself a court-appointed public defender. This lawyer was so young Colby says he had Pablum on his tie. But the kid wasn’t dumb. Luke thought he was safe because his wife couldn’t testify against him. The baby lawyer said Luke was wrong: his wife could—and would—testify.
“That’s when Luke took his lawyer’s advice to cop a plea,” Margery said. “It will be awhile before he’s back on the boards. Colby says Desiree’s daddy made one more call that night—to a divorce lawyer.”
“All that money and how long did that marriage last?” Peggy said.
“Less than a month,” Helen said. “I have to thank Margery for saving my life. If she hadn’t gone on about the right way to hold a cane when we saw
“You saved yourself,” Margery said through a cloud of smoke. “It’s too bad about Luke, though. He’s a good actor.”
“His wife is better,” Helen said. “I still believe she worked on Luke. I think she slyly prodded him into killing her mother. Desiree was smart. She may have even suggested the closet was a good place to hide the body. She certainly knew her mother was dead in there. That’s why she wouldn’t let me open the door before the ceremony. That’s why she ruined the hated crystal dress afterward. She knew Kiki was dead and could no longer punish her for her coffee-throwing tantrum.
“I wonder if she talked Luke into killing me after I left their house. He only heard part of our conversation. I’ll bet you anything Desiree let him think I suspected he was the killer—not her.
“You know the worst part? Desiree will get away with it. That tape I made wound up in the bottom of the pool.”
“It probably wouldn’t have proved anything anyway,” Phil said. “You sure couldn’t use it in court.”
“Desiree got everything she wanted,” Helen said. “Her mother is dead and she has millions.”
“But she’s lost her handsome husband,” Peggy said.
“You can buy a lot of men with thirty million dollars,” Margery said.
“I like mine free, but not cheap,” Helen said.
“I’m your man,” Phil said.
“I knew that,” Helen said, and kissed him again.
Epilogue
A Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud pulled up in front of Millicent’s Bridal Salon. The vintage Rolls was the color of well-polished family silver. The driver’s door opened with an expensive
Helen watched the hunky chauffeur jog to the rear passenger door. He had the best hired buns Helen had ever seen, except for Rod’s.
The chauffeur opened the silver door with a flourish and held out his hand. A candy-pink spike heel emerged first, like a delicate flower seeking the sun. It belonged to a tiny blonde in a Chanel suit. She took the chauffeur’s hand, stood up, and pulled him toward her. Then she soul kissed him, running a slender leg along his muscular one.
“It’s the ghost of Kiki!” Helen said.
“No, it’s her daughter, Desiree,” Millicent said.
“Where did she get the chin?” Helen said.
“It’s an implant,” Millicent said. “Looks like she had other implants, too. She’s a C cup at the very least.”
“Look at the way she’s kissing her chauffeur—right on the street.”
“What body part is that?” Millicent said.
Helen laughed. Desiree dismissed the chauffeur with a pat on his shapely rump.
“Battle stations,” Millicent said. Helen felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Millicent had used the same words for Desiree’s mother not so long ago.
Desiree strutted into the store and said, “Millie, darling.”
Millicent winced. She hated being called that.
“I need a dress,” Desiree said. “But I don’t want you to show me anything right now. I want to look around. Leave me.” She waved her hand, a bored queen dismissing her lady-in-waiting.
Desiree acted as if Helen were invisible. I mean nothing to her, Helen thought. Yet I helped put on her bridal gown—and put her husband in jail.
Helen gawked as the tiny figure strutted around the salon. Breasts and chins could be implanted, mousy hair could be dyed and styled, but where did Desiree get that air of authority?
It was only two months since her husband had been arrested for Kiki’s murder, but Desiree had transformed herself. Helen still wasn’t fully recovered from Luke’s attack. The wounds on her arm and chest were raw and pink, and she had trouble lifting heavy wedding dresses with her injured hand.
Helen went back to the salon too early. Millicent had sent flowers and called twice a week. One Friday, when Helen was lounging around her apartment in cat-furred shorts, the salon owner showed up at her door.
Millicent’s white hair, red nails, and trim black suit gave her extra authority, but she didn’t use it. Instead, Millicent begged. “Please come back,” she said. “Business is booming. I’ve hired new sales staff, but they have the personalities of palm trees. I need you, Helen.”
Helen needed the money. But she didn’t miss the bridal salon. The surging emotions, the frantic family fights, and sudden tear storms were tiring. The peevish brides depressed her. The happy ones opened old wounds in Helen’s heart.
She longed to be away from the bridal business. Each night, she checked the classified ads for another job, but the search seemed hopeless. The ad inviting her to “join the team of service professionals working in a luxury resort” turned out to be for valet car parkers.
Helen was disgusted that the best-paying women’s jobs were for “gentlemen’s escorts. Earn $1000 a day, no experience required.”
I bet, thought Helen and threw the paper across the floor. One page skidded under the coffee table. Thumbs
