Read Online Murder Unleashed by Elaine Viets - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elaine Viets
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Florida, Dogs, Fort Lauderdale (Fla.), Divorced women, Fort Lauderdale, Murder - Investigation - Florida, Hawthorne; Helen (Fictitious Character), Pet grooming salons, Women detectives - Florida - Fort Lauderdale
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thirty tomorrow morning. I wanted to crash, but I couldn’t sleep until I told you good night.”
Helen wished he were there with her. She could feel his slightly scratchy beard on her skin, and that small tender spot at the base of his neck, and his long, soft hair. Rock-star hair, shoulder length and stark white, worn in a ponytail. It set off his startling blue eyes.
“I miss you already,” Helen said. This was no time to mention Tammie’s murder, she told herself. The man was dead tired. It would be selfish to dump her problems on him tonight.
“I love you,” Phil said.
“And I love you,” Helen said.
When he hung up, Helen was filled with regret. She should have said something. She should have told him about Tammie. She could argue that she kept quiet for Phil’s sake, but she knew better.
Her omission felt like a lie.
CHAPTER 7
H elen hated it when she got a hangover before she went to bed. She’d had two glasses of box wine on an empty stomach. Now demons pounded her head with pointed hammers and ran through her stomach in iron shoes. Her skin felt coated with chicken fat.
A mosquito stung her as Helen made her way back through the wind-shifting shrubbery to the pool, where Margery and Peggy were sitting.
Maybe she didn’t have the wine flu, she thought, as she rubbed at her bitten arm. Maybe she felt this way because she’d found a dead woman. Or she’d been dragged into a dog custody fight.
Maybe, whispered one of those iron-shod demons, it’s because you lied to the man you love.
I didn’t lie, Helen nearly shouted to no one.
Deliberately misled, whispered the little demon, and kicked her in the gut.
“Thanks for letting me talk to Phil,” Helen said, as she handed Margery her phone. “That’s the only good thing that’s happened to me today.”
“You look like forty miles of bad road. You need some food,” Margery said. “Let me fix you a sandwich.”
“I’m not hungry,” Helen said. “It’s only seven thirty, but I think I’ll crash. I’m declaring this rotten day officially over.”
But the day wasn’t finished with her. There was a screech of brakes in the parking lot and the sound of slamming doors. Margery peered through the palm trees. “There’s a big Crown Victoria blocking in all our cars. Looks like we’ve got plainclothes cops.”
“Awk!” Pete said, and flapped his wings. Green feathers flew on the wind.
Peggy’s porcelain skin lost all its color. A few months ago she’d been taken away from the Coronado in handcuffs. The memory of that night still left her shaken. Peggy hid her fear with a bad joke. “Are the cops coming to arrest the tenants in 2C already?” she said.
No one laughed. Helen knew who they were after.
Two men in dark suits moved swiftly down the Coronado’s cracked sidewalk to the pool. One was tall and skinny, with a red, acne-scarred face. His arms and legs were loose and too long, as if the factory-installed models weren’t available. He seemed in constant motion. His suit flapped, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and his no-color hair stuck straight up. He should have looked like a comical country boy. Instead he seemed full of menace.
The other man was short, solid, and very still. He was built like a Russian nesting doll, with a shiny bald head, no neck, and feral yellow-brown eyes. He kept them trained on Helen as he flashed a badge.
“Helen Hawthorne,” he said. It was a demand. “Detective Jim Crayton.” He didn’t wait for her to answer.
He knows who I am, Helen thought.
“This is my partner, Detective Skip McGoogan. We’re Stately Palms homicide. We’d like to talk to you.”
“About what?” Helen said, although she already knew. The demons were swinging their hammers relentlessly in her head. Her mouth was dry. This wasn’t a hangover. It was fear. Over by the pool gate, the dancing palm tree was doing the hurricane hula. It told Helen what she already knew: Bad things were coming.
“I’ll stay with
Helen wished he were there with her. She could feel his slightly scratchy beard on her skin, and that small tender spot at the base of his neck, and his long, soft hair. Rock-star hair, shoulder length and stark white, worn in a ponytail. It set off his startling blue eyes.
“I miss you already,” Helen said. This was no time to mention Tammie’s murder, she told herself. The man was dead tired. It would be selfish to dump her problems on him tonight.
“I love you,” Phil said.
“And I love you,” Helen said.
When he hung up, Helen was filled with regret. She should have said something. She should have told him about Tammie. She could argue that she kept quiet for Phil’s sake, but she knew better.
Her omission felt like a lie.
CHAPTER 7
H elen hated it when she got a hangover before she went to bed. She’d had two glasses of box wine on an empty stomach. Now demons pounded her head with pointed hammers and ran through her stomach in iron shoes. Her skin felt coated with chicken fat.
A mosquito stung her as Helen made her way back through the wind-shifting shrubbery to the pool, where Margery and Peggy were sitting.
Maybe she didn’t have the wine flu, she thought, as she rubbed at her bitten arm. Maybe she felt this way because she’d found a dead woman. Or she’d been dragged into a dog custody fight.
Maybe, whispered one of those iron-shod demons, it’s because you lied to the man you love.
I didn’t lie, Helen nearly shouted to no one.
Deliberately misled, whispered the little demon, and kicked her in the gut.
“Thanks for letting me talk to Phil,” Helen said, as she handed Margery her phone. “That’s the only good thing that’s happened to me today.”
“You look like forty miles of bad road. You need some food,” Margery said. “Let me fix you a sandwich.”
“I’m not hungry,” Helen said. “It’s only seven thirty, but I think I’ll crash. I’m declaring this rotten day officially over.”
But the day wasn’t finished with her. There was a screech of brakes in the parking lot and the sound of slamming doors. Margery peered through the palm trees. “There’s a big Crown Victoria blocking in all our cars. Looks like we’ve got plainclothes cops.”
“Awk!” Pete said, and flapped his wings. Green feathers flew on the wind.
Peggy’s porcelain skin lost all its color. A few months ago she’d been taken away from the Coronado in handcuffs. The memory of that night still left her shaken. Peggy hid her fear with a bad joke. “Are the cops coming to arrest the tenants in 2C already?” she said.
No one laughed. Helen knew who they were after.
Two men in dark suits moved swiftly down the Coronado’s cracked sidewalk to the pool. One was tall and skinny, with a red, acne-scarred face. His arms and legs were loose and too long, as if the factory-installed models weren’t available. He seemed in constant motion. His suit flapped, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and his no-color hair stuck straight up. He should have looked like a comical country boy. Instead he seemed full of menace.
The other man was short, solid, and very still. He was built like a Russian nesting doll, with a shiny bald head, no neck, and feral yellow-brown eyes. He kept them trained on Helen as he flashed a badge.
“Helen Hawthorne,” he said. It was a demand. “Detective Jim Crayton.” He didn’t wait for her to answer.
He knows who I am, Helen thought.
“This is my partner, Detective Skip McGoogan. We’re Stately Palms homicide. We’d like to talk to you.”
“About what?” Helen said, although she already knew. The demons were swinging their hammers relentlessly in her head. Her mouth was dry. This wasn’t a hangover. It was fear. Over by the pool gate, the dancing palm tree was doing the hurricane hula. It told Helen what she already knew: Bad things were coming.
“I’ll stay with
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