Catnapped! (3 page)

Monday

Z
ach had a bloody scratch on one cheek, like a dueling scar.

Even the mystery man’s flaws are attractive, Helen thought. Zach ignored the flung flowers and rose gracefully off the grass, without holding on to the umbrella table. He was in good shape for seventysomething.

He stared down the furious Margery and said, “No, I’m not going. Not till you hear me out.”

He’s her equal, too, Helen thought. Not many people would have the courage to get in a glare-down with our landlady.

“I haven’t listened to you since we divorced thirty years ago, Zach Flax,” Margery said. “It’s one of the breaks I got when we split.”

Divorced? Helen glanced at Phil. Her husband looked like he’d been walloped with the flowers. He stared bug-eyed at the warring couple. We thought Margery was a widow, Helen thought, though I wondered why I never saw any photos of her husband. Our landlady never mentioned her ex. Some private eyes we are.

The meaty red-faced guy in the hard hat whose scribbled
figures had disturbed Margery watched the scene as if it were a play put on for his entertainment.

“I understand you might be upset,” Zach said.

“Upset!” Margery said. “You understand nothing! You never did.” She reached for her pack of Marlboros and lit another one. Her hands shook so badly it took two tries.

“I understand how much you love the Coronado,” Zach said. “I knew that from the day I met you, when you were eighteen. We got married six months later.”

“Please,” Margery said. “No ancient history.”

“Nineteen fifty-five wasn’t that long ago,” Zach said. “You wouldn’t have the Coronado if it wasn’t for me. When your father had a heart attack in 1949, your family had enough money to hang on to these apartments, but not to finish them. I did most of the final work myself, with these hands.” He held them up—slender and pale with curiously coarse nails.

“You always were handy, Zach,” Margery said, and from her sarcasm, Helen knew she wasn’t talking about his construction skills.

“I dealt with the city inspectors, too,” Zach said.

“You bribed them,” Margery said. Cigarette smoke streamed from her nose and mouth. She was burning with fiery rage.

“I got the place open, didn’t I? I paid for the furniture.”

“
We
paid for it,” Margery said. “You forgot I worked in an office back then, and you tended bar during the season and in the summer took tourists on your guided
fishing
tours.”

The way Margery said “fishing” makes it sound like another f-word, Helen thought. What is going on here?

The couple was now eye to eye, two badly wounded warriors fighting a long-forgotten battle.

“We had some good years running this place, Margery,” Zach said.

“Yes, we did,” Margery said. “Until we needed a new roof in
1978. You’d lost your job at the bar, so you went into the fishing-charter business full-time. At least, that’s what you told me.”

“I made money, Margery,” he said. “I got the Coronado a new roof and a new paint job.”

“You didn’t tell me you were fishing for square grouper,” Margery said.

Drugs, Helen thought. “Square grouper” was the nickname for bales of pot, especially the ones tossed overboard when the Coast Guard was around. Zach might have been running coke, too, in the late seventies and early eighties.

“You didn’t mention your little sideline,” Margery said. “I found out when a DEA agent came here to question me in December of ’eighty-three. I didn’t believe him. Not my Zach. You wouldn’t be mixed up in that dirty business. You wouldn’t put me at risk by trafficking drugs. It was too dangerous. So I denied that you had any involvement with drugs. I said you made your money as an honest captain. The federal agent laughed at me and said, ‘Have it your way, but I’ll be back.’

“After the fed left, I got to thinking. Maybe he was right. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. Now I understood why you put all our assets, including our bank accounts, in my name.

“‘Life at sea is dangerous,’ you told me. ‘If anything happens to me, I don’t want you to have trouble paying the bills while the estate is probated.’”

She breathed out a bitter stream of smoke.

“That’s why you leased your boat instead of owning it. You didn’t give a flying fig about me, Zach. You didn’t want the feds to seize everything we had if you were arrested for drug smuggling.”

“Margery, darling, that’s not true,” Zach said. But Helen could hear his shame. His shoulders were slumped. It was true, and they all knew it.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Margery said. “I knew if I asked you, you’d tell me the truth. So after the visit from the fed, I drove
to the dock where you kept your boat, hoping you’d be back from your morning charter.

“You were back, all right, and down below. Way down with Daisy Detmer. You didn’t even hear me on the boat. I surprised you going at it with the catch of the day—Daisy.

“Daisy! A bleached blonde with bad legs and big tits,” Margery said. “The woman who held her own personal Fleet Week for every sailor she met. You cheated on me with the biggest tramp in Lauderdale.”

Helen, who’d been married to an unfaithful rat, heard Margery’s pain. Zach’s betrayal still hurt thirty years later. He’d not only had a fling, but a low-rent one. Margery considered his poor choice a reflection on herself. Zach seemed to realize the magnitude of his error. “Margery, she wasn’t worth one hair on your head,” he said softly.

“No, she wasn’t,” Margery said, her voice harsh and hard. “But that didn’t stop you from hopping on board, did it?”

Zach hung his head. Phil stood motionless. And Helen suddenly understood the bond she shared with Margery. Her landlady was not only a surrogate mother; they’d also shared similar delusions. Helen had once happily believed she’d had a perfect life in St. Louis. She was on the corporate fast track, living with her charming husband in a McMansion in the burbs. She lived this fantasy until the afternoon she came home from work early and found Rob frolicking with their next-door neighbor, Sandy.

Helen, shocked and outraged, filed for divorce. The judge awarded the unfaithful Rob half of Helen’s future income. She swore he’d never see a nickel of her money. Helen fled St. Louis and wound up in Fort Lauderdale, working dead-end jobs for cash under the table. Rob began a relentless search for his money that ended with his death a few months ago.

Now Margery stood face-to-face with her cheating ex-husband and their disappointed dreams.

“Our fine life together was nothing but lies,” Margery shrieked. “You repaired the Coronado with your filthy cash. I made the only honest money working in an office.

“As soon as I found out what you’d done, I told you to pack up and get out. And you did. You sailed away with Daisy, and that’s the last time I saw you until today.”

Helen was confused. If Margery never saw Zach again, how did they divorce?

“Now you show up out of the blue, wanting to come back to me. I’ll tell you now what I said thirty years ago: I won’t live with a drug smuggler. I won’t even have you on this property.”

“Margery, sweetheart, I’ve changed. Can’t you see that?”

“I can see you’re a hell of a lot older, Zach Flax. Well, so am I. Older and wiser. Smart enough to know that people don’t change. We just find out more about them. I know all I need to know about you.”

“No, I’ve really changed,” he said. Helen could hear his desperation. “I’ve reformed. I don’t have anything to do with drugs anymore. I’m legit. I’m in the lucrative business of pet furniture. I make custom-made cat houses.”

“Figures!” Margery said. Her contempt should have wilted the battered bouquet.

“I mean those kitty towers that cats like to roost in,” he says. “Some call them cat condos. The ones with all the shelves and a cat-sized hidey-hole. I always was a good carpenter. I did solid work on the Coronado. Now I custom-make Zen Cat Towers for rich cat owners. They sell for seven hundred dollars each. I use the finest mahogany, sisal for the scratching pads, and real wool carpet.”

At the mention of Zen Cat Towers, Helen and Phil looked at each other. Justine the show cat had a Zen tower. Someone had brained Mort Barrymore with it. Was Justine’s cat tower made by Zach?

Helen and Phil could both testify that Zach’s work was well built and expensive, but they weren’t wading into this argument.

“Margery, my business is doing so well, I bought a beachfront condo in Snakehead Bay,” Zach said.

Phil raised one eyebrow. That community was as upscale as Palm Beach.

“Hah! Only a tourist thinks that name is cute,” Margery said.

“Boca Raton means ‘mouth of the rat,’” Zach said, “and it’s exclusive.”

“It sounds better in Spanish,” Margery said. “Most gringos down here are too dumb to know what Boca Raton means. But a snakehead is a predatory fish with a big mouth that screws up its home. It’s the perfect place for you.”

“That’s harsh,” Zach said.

“But true,” Margery said. “You don’t recognize the truth when it’s right in front of you.”

“Neither do you,” Zach said. He tried to take Margery’s hand, but she fended him off with her lit cigarette. “I still love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“What about Daisy?” she said.

“She refused to move into my new condo. She stayed in Delray Beach.”

“So she wised up, too,” Margery said. “Took her long enough. And now that she’s left, you come running back to me.”

“No,” Zach said. “She said she wouldn’t live with me anymore because she knew I was still in love with you.”

“Well, I’m not and never was,” Margery said, with a fierce fervor that made Helen think there was still plenty of heat there.

“There’s not enough room in South Florida for both of us, Zach. But your timing is flawless. You picked the perfect day to return. Sal Steer there, head of Fort Lauderdale Construction, just delivered the Coronado’s death sentence.”

The slab-faced contractor gave an uneasy smile and an odd little wave.

“Sal told me that under that old stucco is rusted rebar. Rebar are the reinforcing bars.”

“I know what rebar is,” Zach said.

“Then you know that as it rusts, it expands and cracks the stucco and concrete,” Margery said. “Sixty-some years of storms and salt air have ruined it. It will cost at least a hundred grand to fix it, and there’s no point in spending more money on this old wreck. I’m tearing down the Coronado and selling the land to the developer who makes me the biggest offer.”

“No!” Zach said.

No! Helen thought. She shouted the words in her mind, but stood silently by the pool, gripping Phil’s arm. They were losing their home and their office. Margery didn’t bother breaking the news gently. Their homeless state was casually tossed out as an aside in a scathing fight.

“I can help you,” Zach said. “I have money.”

“I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you. Get out. Get out before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”

Margery looked so fierce, Zach retreated, tripping over his bedraggled bouquet.

Monday

T
he sunset salute was a Coronado tradition. Margery, Helen and Phil, Peggy and Pete, and whoever else was at the apartment complex as evening approached gathered by the pool for a drink.

Most sunset salutes were spontaneous celebrations. Margery signaled the start when she arrived with a box of cheap wine. Peggy would drift in after work, with Pete on her shoulder. Pete was a Quaker parrot with a pretty good vocabulary. Peggy was pale as an egret, with an elegant beak and a shock of red hair. They lived in apartment 1C.

Helen and Phil would either come down from their Coronado Investigations office upstairs in 2C or out of their apartments. Everyone swapped jokes, gossip and reports on their day.

But tonight’s sunset salute was a wake. When Margery didn’t show up with the wine, Helen and Phil brought out Chardonnay with a real cork, a sure sign something was off-kilter.

Peggy was confused. “Helen, where’s Margery?” she asked. “Is she sick? Who tossed two hundred bucks’ worth of flowers into the Dumpster? What’s going on?”

“Nothing good,” Helen said. Phil sipped a beer. Helen poured Peggy and herself stiff drinks and delivered the double bad news.

“Awk!” Pete said.

Peggy stayed silent a long time, trying to understand what she’d just heard. Then she reacted like her world was crumbling around her—and if the construction guy was right, it was.

“Margery is divorced?” Peggy asked, and gulped half her wine. “Our Margery? I thought she was a widow.”

“She married Zach Flax in 1955 and divorced him thirty years ago,” Helen said.

“Bad boy,” Pete the parrot said.

“According to Margery, Zach was a drug smuggler,” Helen said. “She didn’t know he was running reefer until a DEA agent showed up on her doorstep.”

“The DEA came here?” Peggy said. Another gulp of wine.

“Right,” Helen said. “Margery refused to believe the fed and drove over to where Zach docked his charter boat. She caught him with a woman named Daisy. Margery told Zach to pack up and get out. He and Daisy took off, and she hasn’t seen her ex until he showed up this afternoon.”

“Woo-hoo!” Pete said.

“Wow,” Peggy said. “Just wow. Margery’s had worse luck with men than I have—I mean, had. Things are fine with Daniel now. But Margery, married to a liar and a cheat. I thought she was smarter than me.”

“Smarter than us,” Helen said. “Until Phil, I had my share of Mr. Wrongs and married the worst one. Guess we’re all sisters under the skin.

“This afternoon, Zach showed up without warning and handed her that giant bouquet of purple flowers you saw in the Dumpster. He acted like he’d never been gone and wanted to get back together.”

“He’s got nerve!” Peggy said. She finished her glass and poured herself another.

“Margery threw his flowers at him, then threw him off her property,” Helen said.

“Good for her,” Peggy said.

“Sal Steer, the construction guy, sat right where you are, Peggy, watching the whole drama like he had a box seat. She should have sold him a ticket.”

“Some people have no manners,” Peggy said.

Like Phil and me, Helen thought. We stayed and stared, too. We couldn’t tear ourselves away, but Peggy doesn’t seem to realize that. “After Zach left, Margery walked into her place and quietly shut the door. We haven’t heard from her since.”

“We thought it was best to leave her alone until she can absorb everything that landed on her,” Phil said. “The clueless construction guy finally picked up his paperwork and left.”

“After you stood over him,” Helen said.

“About that construction guy,” Peggy said. “Is he right? Does the Coronado really need all those repairs? It looks fine to me.”

Even the soft blue-shadowed evening light couldn’t hide the old building’s flaws. This afternoon had opened Helen’s eyes. “Does it?” she asked. “Have you looked at this place lately? I mean, really looked? See the turquoise paint peeling off your door—and mine? What about the rust under the window in 2C?”

“That’s from the window air conditioner, isn’t it?” Peggy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Phil said. “I looked it at from the stairs. A chunk of stucco broke off. I think that’s rust from the rebar. The stucco needs paint. If you look closely, you’ll see more cracks in the building, especially around the stairs and near the roof.”

“Oh,” Peggy said, a soft, mourning sound. “When you love something—or someone—you don’t really notice aging. I always think of my mom as a lively fiftysomething. But the last time I went home, I realized she was nearly seventy-five and starting to look older.”

“The Coronado is still beautiful,” Helen said, “even if it is showing its age.”

“Is Margery really going to tear it down?” Peggy asked, and took another long drink of wine.

“That’s what she says,” Helen said, between sips of her own wine. “The condo developers have been after this street for years.”

“They’re after all the good land in Lauderdale,” Peggy said. “Condos are going up all around us, but our street is still livable. It’s one of the last bits of Old Florida: small apartment complexes with character and pretty Caribbean cottages. If Margery sells the Coronado as a tear-down, that’s the end. This street will be one more anonymous concrete canyon.”

“She says it’s inevitable,” Helen said.

“If Margery tears down the Coronado, what happens to us?” Peggy asked, and Helen heard the cry of an abandoned child in her question.

“I don’t know,” Helen said. “This is the only place I’ve lived since I moved to Florida. If home is where they have to take you in, then this is home. My mother didn’t approve of my divorce. She thought it was a woman’s duty to stay married to an unfaithful husband, the way she had.

“But Margery protected me when my ex came looking for me, hosted my wedding, even performed the ceremony. You and Margery helped me when I was in trouble.”

“You both helped me when I dated that creep,” Peggy said. “We’re family. And now we’re going to be separated.”

“Good-bye,” Pete said.

“We’ll never find a place like this again, where we can all be together,” Peggy said. She reached for the wine bottle, but it was empty.

“More wine?” Margery asked.

She showed up wearing light mourning—pale lilac—and her strong, springy gray hair seemed wilted. Margery looks old, Helen thought, then realized, Margery
is
old. She’s seventy-six.

Their landlady poured more wine for Helen and Peggy with steady hands, but Helen noticed her tangerine nail polish was chipped.

“What about you, Phil?” Margery asked with false cheer. Phil held up his beer. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Margery lit another cigarette from her almost-finished Marlboro and stretched out in the chaise under a veil of blue smoke. “I assume Helen and Phil gave you the news, Peggy,” she said. Her glowing cigarette watched the trio like an alien eye. “Well, what do you think?”

Peggy, perhaps eager to avoid the painful subject of the Coronado’s death, said, “I was surprised to learn that you were divorced.”

“I got over it long ago,” Margery said.

Helen doubted that, judging by what she’d seen this afternoon.

“No man makes a fool out of me,” Margery said. “I kicked him out. He took off with Daisy, and that’s the last I saw of him until this afternoon.”

“How did you divorce him if he disappeared?” Phil asked.

“I got a lawyer and he hired a process server to serve Zach with divorce papers,” Margery said. “Hired a good one, too, but Zach had vanished. He still had some months left on the boat lease, and I suspected he was hiding somewhere in the Bahamas. I could have waited until he returned the boat when the lease was up, but I didn’t know if he’d default on the lease and steal the boat. I couldn’t trust him anymore. I never could, but then I realized how dumb I’d been.”

Helen knew how her landlady felt. She also knew Margery would rather have silence than sympathy.

“The lawyer declared Zach a missing spouse, meaning I had no idea how to locate the bastard to serve him with divorce papers,” Margery said. “The court requires some sort of service or legal notification, so Zach could be heard. But he was gone. So
my lawyer did service by publication. We showed that we’d made a diligent effort to locate Zach—and I had the bills prove it.

“The court agreed, and let me publish ads in the paper, notifying Zach that the divorce was in process. I only had to run them in Fort Lauderdale, but I was taking no chances. I published ads in every newspaper from Key West to Palm Beach. Cost me a bundle.”

“Did Zach leave anything behind?” Phil asked.

“A box of old papers. My lawyer published a notice saying Zach could pick them up at his office. He kept the box until he retired and closed his practice. Then the lawyer gave them back to me. I’ve got the box in a closet somewhere.

“Zach never responded after sixty days, so my divorce was granted as a default judgment. Since all the community property was in my name, that wasn’t a problem, either. I was just itching for him to say something about the property, because I’d love to tell the DEA where he got that money. He owed me the Coronado, the car, and every penny in the bank for lying and risking my reputation.

“But Zach never contested the divorce. I assumed he’d sailed away with Daisy. I heard they eventually settled in Delray Beach. Now he shows up in my backyard, and I’m so mad I can barely say his name.”

She lit yet another cigarette with trembling fingers. Once its angry orange eye glowed in the dusk, Margery said, “I’m already short a tenant. Cal moved out today. He’s no big loss, but he was quiet and he paid on time.

“After I talked to the contractor, I’d thought today couldn’t get any worse. The repairs are going to be six figures. For that much, I might as well sell the land to a developer and let him tear down the place for condos.”

“No!” Peggy said.

“Good-bye!” Pete said. “Bye!” He paced back and forth on Peggy’s shoulder and flapped his wings.

“I have money from the sale of my house in St. Louis,” Helen said. “It’s enough to cover the repairs. You can have it. No strings.”

“You need that money,” Margery said. “Even if I fix the Coronado, it will still be an old building, and something else will break down. It will need new gutters next and the sidewalk is cracked.”

“You could rent out Cal’s apartment,” Phil said. “You’d get some rent until you have to make a decision.”

“I’ve already decided,” Margery said. “It’s hurricane season. One big storm could blow the whole facade off. There will be no more new tenants.

“I can’t put you in danger, either. Start looking for a new home.”