Free Dying to Call You by Elaine Viets Page A

wondered? Did you go into a beauty shop and say, “I want to look like a complete frump?”
    “Our son, Fred Jr., is coming for a visit,” Ethel said. “He’s single. He’s a good Christian man, Helen. Doesn’t smoke or drink and fears the Lord.”
    “Uh, thanks, but I’m dating someone.”
    “What’s his name?” Ethel said. It was a demand and a challenge.
    “Phil,” Helen said. “Lives nearby. You must have seen him.”
    Peggy choked on her wine. “I think I’ll turn in.” Pete woke up and screeched his approval.
    “We’re tuckered out, too,” Fred said. “Think we’ll head inside.” He patted his gourd-like gut as if it were a baby. Ethel followed respectfully behind him.
    When Helen heard their apartment door slam she said, “How can you stand them?”
    “It doesn’t hurt to spend some time with normal people, Margery said.
    “Normal does not have to mean boring,” Helen said.
    She left her landlady sitting alone in the darkness. It was soothing to walk through Phil’s perpetual pot fog to her own apartment. She breathed in the sharp, oily sensimilla smell.
    Phil was too laid-back to criticize his neighbors. He was too invisible to bother them. Fred and Ethel could take a leaf from his book. A spiky green leaf.
    Thumbs, her six-toed cat, greeted her at the door. Helen scratched his gray ears until he purred. Then she found some change. It was getting harder to find a pay phone. They all seemed to be occupied by kids making drug deals or Canadians too cheap to use their hotel phones.
    It was eleven thirty when she finally called Steve. He answered on the first ring.
    “I hear you’re looking for servers for charity parties, Helen said.
    “Where’d you find out about us?” His voice was abrupt and demanding. Helen wondered if it was his New York accent, or if the guy was just rude.
    “Tammy at Gator Bill’s gave me your card,” she said.
    “Tammy has a good eye for talent,” Steve said, sounding friendlier.
    How could Tammy spot a talent for bartending by watching Helen drink club soda?
    “Ever tend bar before?” Steve said.
    “Yes,” Helen lied.
    “It’s not hard. We’ll put you on a portable bar outside by the pool. It will be just your wine, beer, liquor and your soft drinks. Your blender drinks and specialty martinis will be at the main bar. You won’t have to do those.”
    Helen relaxed. Even she could open a beer.
    “You’ll be working with your movers and shakers. We got your doctors, your lawyers, your school board members, people like that. They live in your better areas, like Brideport. They bankroll your worthy causes. Saturday night, it’s the Langley School in Lauderdale.”
    That was worthy indeed. Langley was one of the richest schools in the area.
    “Can you work then?”
    Helen could. There was no telemarketing on Saturday night.
    “Wear a white shirt and black pants. You’ll work the first party. You’ll get two hundred dollars for three hours. There’s another party after that for the heavy hitters. If we like you, we’ll ask you to work the second party next time. That pays five hundred. Cash. You keep your tips, of course.”
    This was some bartending gig. It paid almost a week’s wages to pour wine and beer. That was way too much money, especially for South Florida.
    So what exactly did Steve want her to do? Bartending couldn’t be all that was expected of her.
     

Chapter 7
    Helen did not have a car, but she treated herself to a water taxi for her well-paying bartending job Saturday night. Fort Lauderdale had more than two hundred miles of canals. For five dollars, she could ride all day on a water taxi. It made regular stops on a route like a bus.
    The little yellow boat met her at the dock behind the Riverside Hotel on Las Olas. The setting sun stained the sky a brilliant flamingo and turned the water a delicate pink, like the inside of a seashell.
    Fort Lauderdale floated on oceans of money. Billionaires’ yachts had their own helicopter