Read Online Murder Between the Covers by Elaine Viets - Free Book Online

untouched tomatoes.

    Helen had a restless night, but she could not sleep in Saturday morning. She’d promised to go with Margery for the final walk-through at the Coronado before the crew put the termite tent on. Helen felt like she was visiting a sick friend in the hospital.
    Truly Nolen was doing the job. In South Florida, their bright yellow Volkswagen bugs with the mouse ears, whiskers, and tails were as common as the pests they killed. When Helen and Margery arrived at the apartments at nine, a flatbed truck was already there. George and Terrell would put the monster yellow-and-black-striped tarps on the building.
    George, thin and whiplike, threw the tarps off the truck and manhandled the long ladders. The tarps were rolled up like tacos. Also on the trucks were long strings of metal clamshell clamps, which looked like big spring clothespins. The tarp ends would be rolled together and clamped shut, forming a seal. George did most of the roof work. Terrell, big and muscular, clamped down the building’s sides.
    Signs were posted all over the Coronado: DANGER: DEADLY POISON—PELIGRO VENENO MORTAL. For those who could not read, there were skulls and crossbones.
    Trevor, the fumigator, was nailing the last sign on the gate. He was about five-eight, with powerful shoulders and a strong, square jaw. He’d dressed up his drab uniform with gold chains that gleamed against his dark skin.
    “Ah, good,” he said. “Let’s do the final inspection.”
    As they went through each apartment, Helen had a voyeur’s view of how everyone lived. All the cabinets were open. Helen saw the same things in each apartment: miscellaneous mugs, stacks of Tupperware, ugly glass vases from florists. They had a pathetic garage-sale look.
    Trevor checked the refrigerators, cabinets, and stoves for food. He looked carefully in each room, making sure no one was left behind. He was obsessive about it.
    “An old woman hid in her home once because she didn’t want to leave. Poor thing died. Happened to another company, but it’s every fumigator’s nightmare. I don’t want it to happen to me.”
    Trevor moved with assurance through other people’s homes. Helen and Margery trailed behind him. Helen felt guilty about snooping, but she also enjoyed it.
    Cal the Canadian had furniture for a colder clime: heavy velvet sofas and chairs, thick carpets, and a coffee table big as an aircraft carrier. Clothes were dumped on chairs. Books and newspapers were scattered on the floor. His rooms seemed small and crowded. Even his fridge door was cluttered with photos of his daughter and grandchild. His cupboards and refrigerator were bare of food, and there were no medicines in the bathroom. Cal’s place was safe.
    Peggy’s home looked light and airy. Bright colors and white wicker, painted wooden fish, and pretty seashells made it a pleasant place to live. Her huge four-poster bed looked like something in a magazine. Helen noticed there were no photos except for ones of Pete. In the kitchen, Peggy had left behind a box of birdseed, bananas, and a bag of rice. Helen packed them up for her friend.
    “Some people can’t follow simple instructions,” Margery grumped.
    “Peggy must have been distracted,” Helen said.
    After each apartment was inspected, the door was locked with the owner’s keys. Then the doorknob was fitted with a metal shield that had a second lock.
    “Only the company has these keys,” Trevor said as he secured the doorknob shield. “The doors are double-locked to make sure the owners don’t come back and do something stupid. Before we put in the poisonous Vikane gas, which has no odor, we have to put in Chloropicrin, which is essentially tear gas. That’s to keep people out. The tear gas makes their eyes stream. Sometimes, even that isn’t enough. People will break into their own homes because they forgot a shirt for work or left their purse behind. They think they can hold their breath long enough to get in and out, but they