Murder With Reservations by Elaine Viets Page B

Coronado tenant. He still owed her money.
    “No, Cal’s in Canada through December.”
    Helen looked at Margery. “You’ve rented 2C.”
    “Yes,” Margery said too cheerfully. “I have a nice older woman in there.”
    “What’s she do? Cheat orphans? Rip off widows? Steal from dead men?” Helen said.
    “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I admit we’ve had a few problems with the tenants in 2C.” Margery picked at her nail polish, which was an improbable tangerine.
    “A few? One’s in jail, one runs ads on late-night TV, and the rest skipped town, usually with your towels. Age is no guarantee of honesty. The old ones are as slippery as the young ones.”
    “Arlene’s different,” Margery said. Her mouth was set in a stubborn line.
    “That means she hasn’t been caught yet,” Helen said.
    “Shush,” Margery said. “Don’t let her hear you. Ar-lene is very normal.”
    Helen caught a flash of red and black, and realized Margery meant normal for South Florida. In Helen’s hometown of St. Louis, Arlene would make jaws drop. She was about sixty-five, with spiky gray hair and a short, sturdy build. Her bright red muumuu made her look like a fireplug. Swinging red earrings and flowered flip-flops completed the ensemble.
    Arlene was talking to Peggy, and the parrot lady looked like she might be enjoying the conversation. Pete was perched on Peggy’s shoulder, watching Arlene with alert eyes.
    “Arlene, meet another neighbor, Helen Hawthorne,” Margery said.
    Arlene stood up, which didn’t make her much taller than when she was sitting down, and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Have some onion dip and chips. It’s my special recipe, with olives and pimento. Can I pour you a drink?”
    Helen had to admit Arlene was a pleasant change from some 2C tenants, who disapproved of drinking. Her olive-and-onion dip was good, too.
    “Can you believe this weather?” she said, throwing out her stubby arms. “Back home in Michigan I’d be shoveling a path to my car. Here I’m sitting by the pool. This is paradise.”
    For thirty minutes, Arlene talked about the fine weather, the rotten move down here, and the impossible traffic, all polite Florida topics. Then she said, “Nice meeting you. Think I’ll turn in.” She gathered up her empty chip dish and flip-flopped to her apartment.
    “What do you think she really does?” Helen asked Peggy after Arlene closed her door.
    “It could be anything,” Peggy said. “Murder, arson and armed robbery. She has the gift of looking innocent.”
    “Awk!” Pete said.
    “Stop it, you two,” Margery said. Her cigarette looked red and irritated. “Don’t make Arlene pay for my mistakes. She’s not a crook. I checked her out. She has references. She worked at an insurance company for twenty-eight years. She’s retired now. I saw her pension check stub.”
    “And getting a pension proves she’s innocent,” Helen said.
    “It shows she held a steady job for a lot of years,” Margery said. “She is what she says she is.” But her voice lacked conviction. She knew her track record for 2C was not good.
    “Time will tell,” Peggy said. “I’d love to talk, ladies, but I have to go.”
    Helen looked closer at her friend. “Is that a new green blouse? And a very classy makeup job, including a subtle touch of eye shadow? You’ve got a date. I thought Pete was the only man for you.”
    “Awk!” Pete said.
    Peggy’s pale complexion was highlighted with the faintest pink. “He is. I’m meeting a guy for coffee on Las Olas. It’s not a date. It’s only a grande latte.”
    ” ‘This could be the start of something big,’ ” Helen sang off-key.
    Peggy glared at her.
    “So who is he?” Margery said.
    “What is this, high school?” Peggy said. She rose out of her chaise longue so fast Pete flapped his wings to stay on her shoulder. “I’m going to be late. I have to take Pete home.”
    “Coward,” Margery said. “You don’t want to