Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

Fort Lauderdale has miles of canals. Minfreda drove to a deep-water canal and dropped the heavy suitcases off a bridge. She stood on the bridge, waiting to see if the lug- gage burst open and the clothes floated to the top. Her luck held, and so did the suitcases. They sank like concrete.

Minfreda neatly folded the pink coat, gloves, and scarf into the shopping bag and took a bus back to the office. It was midnight when she got to the company parking lot and slipped into her own car.

At eight the next morning, Minfreda put on the pink coat, scarf, and gloves one last time. She stopped at the bank and withdrew all Vicki's money. Minfreda planned to use the money to maintain her blond hair. She would never be called Mouse again.

She dropped the pink coat, scarf, and gloves in an apart- ment Dumpster on the way to work. Minfreda tucked the pink bundle under an old carpet, which gave her a sense of completion.

Minfreda was at the office at nine A.M., looking refreshed and rested.

And why not? She'd gotten away with murder. Chapter 9

Suddenly, there was silence.

Helen realized it was not 1970. She was back in the pres- ent, sitting by the pool at the Coronado. Her wineglass was empty. Margery's cigarette glowed in the darkness, like an alien eye.

``That's it?'' Helen said. ``How did you know Vicki was dead? Or that Minfreda killed her? Did Minfreda confess?''

``Oh, no,'' Margery said, refilling the glasses. ``She never said a word.''

Helen felt woozy from the wine, and oddly cheated.

Margery seemed to read her mood. ``This blonde got away with murder, remember? People who get away with crimes don't go around bragging that they killed someone.''

Right, Helen thought. I've been on the run for more than two years, and I haven't exactly announced it to the world. Even Margery doesn't know. Then Helen thought about the afternoon she'd caught her husband with their neigh- bor, Sandy, and how she'd picked up a crowbar and smashed her world. And I'd do it again.

Helen shrugged. ``Makes sense that Minfreda wouldn't talk,'' she said. ``But how did you figure it out? Did you see her hit Vicki''

``No, I missed the dramatic moment.'' Margery stopped then, and her silence was louder than anything she'd said. Helen saw the slow burn of her cigarette. She wished she could see Margery's face.

``I put it together from the evidence I found,'' her land- lady said. ``First, there was the resignation letter in Vicki's typewriter. I saw it when I got to the office the next morn-

145 146 Elaine Viets ing. I knew there was something off about it. Vicki was a terrible typist.

``Minfreda, on the other hand, was excellent. She'd tried to type in a clumsy manner, but the letter looked like a good typist trying to be a bad one. She had a steadiness to her touch that bad typists don't have. The letter had to be Minfreda's work.

``I also found a shard of the WORLD'S BEST BOSS coffee cup under Vicki's desk. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Minfreda saw me do it, but said nothing.

``Plus my plastic typewriter cover was missing. And there was a dime-sized spot of blood on Vicki's desk. I wiped it up.''

Helen was shocked. ``You removed evidence of a murder.''

``She could have had a nosebleed.'' Margery blew smoke, which Helen thought was appropriate.

``The ripped-up carpet and the old curtains were in the back hall when I left work that night. The next morning I got there before the construction crew came on, but the curtains and a huge pile of debris were gone. The janitor didn't throw things down that chute. It wasn't his job.''

``No one reported that the trash was gone?'' Helen said.

Margery gave one of her Seabiscuit snots. ``You can't steal trash. Dumping debris is hot, sweaty work. Who's going to complain because someone did his work for him?

``I talked to the night guard, Sam, and got some interest- ing information. Sam told me that Vicki left about twenty to nine, before the cleaners arrived. Sam was a fat old guy, who slept at his desk most nights, but he kept an eye on the pretty women.

`` `Queen Vicki was her usual snobby self,' he said. `Didn't bother saying good-night to me. I'm not important enough to notice--but she expects me to put my ass on the line for her if she's attacked.'

`` `That's Vicki all over,' I said. `But she sure likes to get noticed. Did you see those weird earrings she was wearing?'

`` `Can't say I did,' Sam said. `Her face was hidden by that big pink scarf, like she was Julie Christie avoiding her adoring fans.' ''

Helen was confused. ``What earrings?'' she said.

``I made them up,'' Margery said. ``I wanted to see if KILLER BLONDE 147 Sam had really noticed her face. When he said that, I knew he didn't see Vicki leave. He saw her pink coat and scarf walked out the door.''

``That doesn't prove anything,'' Helen said.''

``There's more,'' Margery said. ``Sam told me Minfreda came back for her car at midnight, like it was big gossip. He couldn't wait to tell me that part. `That nifty little black suit was half-torn off her, too,' he said. He'd thought she'd had a hot date, the old lecher.''

``Date? That sounds like date rape,'' Helen said.

``You're looking at it thirty years later,'' Margery said. ``Anyway, I knew for a fact Minfreda wasn't seeing anyone. That young woman was married to her job at the time. She tore her suit hauling Vicki's body.''

``That sounds reasonable. Maybe,'' Helen said. ``But how did you know some of that stuff, like that bit about the dropped pink high heel and