Pumped for Murder

“Helen!” The telephone could not hide Kathy’s cry of primal fear. Helen could hear her sister’s anguish a thousand miles away in St. Louis.

“Of course it’s me,” Kathy said, but Helen could hardly understand her sister, her voice was so distorted by tears. “Tom’s taken the kids out for ice cream. Are you alone so you can talk?”

Anger spiked in Kathy’s voice. “The blackmailer, that’s who. That dirtbag—” Kathy stopped to calm herself. “The one you paid five thousand dollars a month ago. Now he wants twice as much—ten thousand dollars—or he’ll ruin Tommy’s life. He knows Tommy killed Rob. He saw it. He must have. He asked me how it would feel to be the mother of the Killer Bat Boy.”

More tears. Helen’s gut squirmed like a basket of snakes. She could see the sensational headlines now: KILLER BAT BOY WHACKS UNCLE. Tommy had swung at Helen’s worthless ex-husband with his aluminum bat, and Rob had died soon after. Rob had refused to go to the hospital. He’d laughed when Kathy had suggested it. Right before he died.

“Tommy didn’t kill Rob,” Helen said. “I did. Rob woke up again, and I bopped him with the bat.”

“I told the blackmailer that. He laughed. He said he’d tell the police he saw Tommy swing at Rob and his mother and Aunt Helen bury Uncle Rob in the church basement. He said it would make a touching story about families working together—mother, aunt and the Killer Bat Boy. The blackmailer said you could say what you wanted, but that title would stick to Tommy like Velcro. For the rest of his life, my boy will be known as the Killer Bat Boy.”

“You can’t. There isn’t time. He wants the cash tomorrow night or else. It’s eight thirty in Fort Lauderdale right now. The FedEx pickups are over.”

“No!” Kathy sounded crazed with terror. “Tom will find out. My Tom. He’ll go to the police.You know he’s a straight arrow.”

So is Phil, Helen thought. Her new husband was whistling his Clapton favorites. He’d switched to a slightly out-of-tune version of “Layla,” the Clapton song about hopeless love.

“Then I’ll hop on a plane and bring the money myself,” Helen told her sister. “I still have that St. Louis bank account. I have to tell Phil about the blackmailer, Sis. He can help us. He’s a detective. I don’t like lying to my husband.”

“You don’t like lying?” Kathy said. “What about me? What if Tom finds out his boring suburban wife buried a body in the church basement? Bringing Phil into this mess will make it worse. You promised, Helen.You promised not to tell.” Her sister’s voice rose to a panicked shriek.

“Take it easy, Kathy,” Helen said. “What if Tom and the kids walk in and hear you? Take some deep breaths. Fix yourself a soothing cup of tea.”

Helen spoke slowly, as if she were talking her sister off a ledge. “Good.You do that. Do you have a bottle open?”

“Pour yourself a big glass and take a drink. I’m going to put the phone down and check the flights to St. Louis on the Internet. I’ll be right here, Kathy. I won’t hang up. Give me just a minute.”

Helen booted up Phil’s computer and checked the flights, then got her credit card. She had one, now that she was no longer on the run from the law. It was one benefit of being a solid citizen. She couldn’t have bought a last-minute flight with cash before she’d settled her problems with the court.

Crazy, Helen wanted to answer. My little sister is going crazy. She could see her in her kitchen. Kathy was two years younger and four inches shorter. She had a generous figure, a touch of gray at her temples and a nice smile, though Helen was sure Kathy wasn’t smiling now.

“I need you to be strong for Tommy,” Helen said. “There’s a flight that leaves Fort Lauderdale at six thirty tomorrow morning and gets into St. Louis at nine twenty-five. I’ll stay overnight with you, then catch the afternoon nonstop back to Lauderdale. I can be home again by five o’clock the next day. I’m booking the flight while we talk.”

Helen could hear her husband whistling Clapton’s “The Way You Look Tonight” as he shut off the water. Whatever she told Phil, it would have to be soon.

“I’ll tell him my lawyer, Drake Upton, wants to talk to me about a possible settlement with the IRS. I’ll call Drake when I get to St. Louis. He might be able to see me on short notice.”

Helen could hear her sister sniffling, then taking a gulp of wine. Kathy’s tear storm was nearly over. “Do you think you could? Do you mind?” she asked.

“Of course I don’t mind, you little twit,” Helen said. “I want to help my nephew. Tommy doesn’t deserve to have his life ruined because I married the wrong man.”

“There’s the sister I know and love,” Kathy said. Now Helen could hear her sunshine smile. “Allison and I will pick you up at the airport tomorrow.”

Helen hung up the phone as Phil stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Wrapped in a thick terry robe, he flopped down on the bed beside Helen. “Did I hear the phone ring?”

“That was our lawyer, Drake Upton,” Helen said. “He wants me to make a quick run to St. Louis tomorrow to talk about a possible settlement with the IRS.”

“It’s only seven thirty in St. Louis,” Helen said. “This is a real shot in the dark, but I think it’s worth the risk. I can stay with Kathy. She’ll be happy to see me. So will Allison and Tommy Junior.”

There. She’d said it. She’d lied to Phil. She’d tried to tell him the truth about Rob before they married, but he thought she was having bridal jitters and kissed her fears away. And it had been so easy to forget her lies during their honeymoon. She almost convinced herself it had never happened. But this St. Louis trip was a deliberate choice. She felt numb. Is this the first sign of marital death? she wondered. Helen tried to bury her unease under more talk.

“I’ve already booked my ticket, Phil. My flight is at six thirty tomorrow. We’ll have to leave here at five in the morning. Do you mind taking me to the airport, or should I drive the Igloo and park it there overnight?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll look for more pages to Mark’s accident report. While you’re in St. Louis having fun, I’ll be going through Sunset Palms police records.”

“Let’s just say I have a strong hunch,” he said. “And I’m usually right. That search will probably take up most of tomorrow. Maybe part of the next day, too. Sounds like you’re getting back early enough that we could do some research at Granddaddy’s Bar. Have drinks and dinner.You might have to eat some french fries.”

Helen buried her face in Phil’s bathrobe, ashamed to look him in the eye. She licked a drop of water off his ear. “French fries. That’s my kind of research,” she said.

Phil pulled her closer, and she kissed him. “Glad the gym is still closed,” she said. “Derek says it won’t open for at least another two days. I’d risk losing my job if I asked for time off so soon after getting hired.”

“Nothing. I think my first case is a bust. Bryan never looks at another woman except Paula—and everyone looks at her.”

“She’s a gorgeous woman who makes dramatic, actressy entrances into the gym. She’s competing in the bikini competition at the upcoming East Coast Physique Championships. When Paula floats down the aisle, all the guys on the treadmills suck in their guts. For some of the older ones, that’s the heaviest lifting they do at Fantastic Fitness.

“It doesn’t mean Bryan is unfaithful because he stares at Paula,” Helen said. “Any man with a pulse would. I even look at her. The only other woman I’ve seen Bryan spend time with is his trainer, Jan Kurtz. She puts him through his paces five or six hours at a time. He’s only interested in her professionally.”

“Positive,” Helen said. “I watch them in the mirrors when they think no one is looking. It’s strictly business.”

“I don’t think so,” Helen said. “When the gym reopens, I’ll spend one more day, then tell Shelby what’s going on: Her husband is faithful, but he’s lost interest in her.”

“The truth hurts,” Helen said. “I get the feeling Shelby might prefer a husband who’s cheating on her to one who’s faithful but uninterested.”

Phil kissed Helen good night and was soon snoring softly. Helen stared at the ceiling, thinking about faithful husbands and painful truths.