Free Pumped for Murder by Elaine Viets

made something out of myself. I married an executive.”
    Helen didn’t think a health insurance executive was anything to brag about, but she kept quiet.
    “Gus has never accepted Mark’s death. If you knew my brother Mark, you’d understand why his death was so hard on our family. After Mark died, I tried to get Gus in treatment, but he refused to talk to a counselor. That was Gus’s problem. Now he’s made it mine.
    “Mark shot himself. The police investigated his death and said it was suicide. The case is closed. My poor mother is dead. I’ve moved on with my life. Only Gus stays stuck in the past.”
    Bernie stopped her tirade long enough for Helen to squeeze in a question: “Why did you tell Gus that Mark shot himself in Plantation, when he really died in Sunset Palms?”
    “Is that what Gus told you?” Bernie said. “He has a bunch of weird theories about Mark’s death. My therapist said it’s guilt that makes him talk crazy.”
    “If I could just come in for a minute,” Helen said.
    Bernie blocked the door. “There’s nothing to talk about. There’s nothing to investigate. My brother Mark killed himself. The past is dead. Only Gus tries to keep it alive.”
    Her face turned as hard as the driveway pavers. “Good-bye,” she said. “I have to go to work now. If I catch you near my home again, I’ll sue you up one side and down the other.”
    She slammed the door in Helen’s face. Helen heard her turn the dead bolt.

CHAPTER 9
    T hat was some skilled interrogation, Helen told herself as she drove home from Bernie’s house. If you’d worked for the Allies during World War II, the Nazis would be goosestepping down Federal Highway.
    Every time Helen thought about her talk with Bernie, she burned with shame. She’d bragged to Phil that she would be better at getting information from the woman. Deep inside, Helen knew she’d steered her husband away from Bernie because she’d seen the opulent redhead strutting on that video. Bernie had been shockingly sexy—a quarter century ago. Bernie had grown up since then.
    Helen tormented herself all the way back to the Coronado.When she wasn’t giving herself a blistering lecture, the heat scorched her. Sweat soaked her blouse and plastered her damp hair to her neck. Even when the Jeep got rolling on the road, the air was like a burning breeze through a blast furnace.
    I need a car with air-conditioning, she told herself. A few more successes like this morning and we won’t be able to afford gas for this one. I have no business being a private detective. I couldn’t find the cap on the toothpaste. I’m lucky I found my way home.
    Helen parked the Jeep in its slot at the Coronado. Her sandal sank into the soft, melted asphalt. She pulled it out, then slogged up the stairs to the Coronado Investigations office.
    Phil greeted her with a smile. “How did the interrogation go?”
    “Bernie threw me off her property.” Helen opened a bottle of cold water from the office fridge and flopped into her desk chair. It squeaked in protest.
    “Good.” Phil looked pleased. “That means you’ve hit a nerve.”
    “I didn’t come close,” Helen said. “I couldn’t even get in her house. Bernie ordered me off the front porch. She doesn’t want us looking into Mark’s death. She implied that her brother Gus was nuts and said she’d sue us sideways if we bothered her again.”
    “Even better,” Phil said. “When a subject overreacts, it means something.”
    “It means I did a lousy job,” Helen said.
    “No, it doesn’t,” Phil said. “I see two signs of success: Bernie ordered you off her property. She said her brother Gus was crazy. We’re getting somewhere.”
    “It would help if we knew where we were going,” Helen said.
    “My turn to use the wheels,” Phil said. “I’m interviewing one of Mark’s friends, a guy named Joel who lives in Boca. Can I give you a ride into work?”
    “After I change my shirt,” Helen said. “I’ve been