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connected to the breathing hose. It s not to be confused
with a scuba tank. Diving gear doesn t really work for
this.
54 Elaine Viets
What about those charcoal gas masks, the kind used in
Desert Storm?
We tried them, Trevor said. They don t work as well.
You need a self-contained breathing apparatus. You can buy
it at a fire-equipment place or on the Internet.
So why don t burglars use them? Margery asked.
Too expensive, Trevor said. A SCBA unit costs about
two thousand dollars a tank. If a burglar had two thousand
dollars, he wouldn t need to be a burglar.
Breaking into this place wouldn t pay for the tank. No-
body here has the Star of India on her dresser, Margery
said. All a burglar would get was some old TV sets, a
video camera or two, and Grandma s engagement ring.
Helen thought her landlady had a real talent for crime.
It s not worth the risk, Trevor agreed.
Still, Helen was glad she d taken her suitcase full of cash
to the beach.
Madame Muffy s place was as dull as its owner. The liv-
ing room was still a palm-reading parlor. The bed had a
beige comforter. Three unpacked boxes served as a night-
stand. There were no photos, pictures, or anything personal.
Helen had seen hotel rooms with more personality.
Finally, they entered the home of Phil the invisible pot-
head. This was the apartment Helen had been waiting to
see. Naturally, it reeked of pot. The sagging couch was cov-
ered with a madras throw and High Times magazines. Three
coffee-ringed pine boards on cinder blocks served as a cof-
fee table. It held a bong, a roach clip, a Clapton mug with
black coffee, and a barrette in the shape of a guitar.
What s he doing with a hair barrette? Helen said.
It holds his ponytail. That s no ordinary guitar,
Margery said respectfully. It s a Fender Strat, same as
Clapton plays, in solid silver.
You d think he d use pot metal, Helen said. Once
again, she wondered how her landlady knew these things.
MURDER BETWEEN THE COVERS 55
She examined the plastic milk crates full of albums. I d
love to help myself to these. There were original LPs from
Clapton s days with Cream, the Yardbirds, and John Mayall
and the BluesBreakers. Helen slid out one record. Oddly, it
was beautifully cared for, without the dirt and scratches
druggies inflicted on their albums.
The walls were covered with vintage posters, including
one for Cream s Goodbye album. The room s centerpiece
was on a stand: A Clapton-model Fender Strat guitar. It was
7-UP-can green, better known as stoner green.
There were no medicines in the bathroom. In the kitchen,
Trevor opened the freezer. Inside was a glass vial of clear
yellow liquid and a fat bag of pot.
Got to get rid of that, ma am, the fumigator said. The
herb will get contaminated.
Helen started to pack the pot with the bananas, but
Margery said, Throw that out. I m not driving around with
an illegal substance in my car. What if I got stopped?
Helen couldn t imagine the cops stopping Margery for a
drug bust, but she did not argue.
And what s this? her landlady asked, pointing to the
vial.
Urine sample, ma am, Trevor said. For drug tests. If
you smoke the herb, you can t pass the test. Some people
buy clean samples on the Internet. If their job requires
mandatory drug testing, they palm the sample and use it in-
stead of their own fluid. But the gas will ruin it. It should
be thrown out, too.
Why don t you throw that out while the inspector and I
walk through my place? Margery said, and Helen knew
she was not invited to look in her landlady s closets and
cabinets. Helen owed Margery a few favors, but she
thought handling a frozen urine sample canceled them all.
She found a plastic grocery bag, picked up the vial with it,
and dropped it in the Dumpster.
56 Elaine Viets
The Coronado was nearly covered with tarps. Clear plas-
tic hoses for the poison gas snaked along the sidewalks and
across the pool. The ends of the hoses were taped to floor
fans in the hallways. The fans were whirring softly. They
would dissipate the poison gas through the apartments.
The Coronado looked like a disaster scene, as if a tor-
nado or hurricane had hit. The chaise longues by the pool
no longer seemed inviting. Helen saw an abandoned pair of
flip-flops. They looked sad.
In the harsh sunlight, Helen could see the cracks that had
been cheaply patched and painted over. The Coronado was
showing its age. So was Margery. She came out of her own
apartment and suddenly looked every day of her seventy-
six years.
Helen and Margery left Trevor as he was pumping poi-
son gas into the apartments. The Coronado was wrapped
like a present.
Helen felt tired and sad. This should be a hopeful occa-
sion, she thought. The Coronado could be saved. But it
looked like death in a pretty package.
Chapter 6
g
Dr. Rich was waiting for Helen when she returned from the
Coronado. She stopped at the entrance to the motel court-
yard to admire her man. She liked his slightly shaggy blond
hair and beard, his subtle brown Tommy Bahama shirt and
khaki shorts. He looked cool and relaxed, sitting under a
striped umbrella.
How s the Lab? she asked, kissing him hello. Rich
smelled of spicy aftershave, coffee, and lime.
He lost a leg, but he ll make it. How s my buddy
Thumbs?
He s fat and happy. Want to see him? They went inside
to Helen s room. Rich sat on the sagging bed and scratched
the cat s belly until he purred. Helen began to get restless.
Was he ever going to forget his animals and remember her?
When the cat was drooling in stupefied delight, Rich
looked up and said, What do you want to do today? Sit out
on the beach?
Not really, Helen said. I burn easily.
So what do you want to do?
I could think of a few things, she said. How dense was
this man?
58 Elaine Viets
Like what? he said, scratching the cat again.
Like leaving that damn cat alone, Helen almost said.
Then she saw he was grinning. He reached out and pulled
her onto the bed and kissed her. His lips were soft and his
beard was nicely scratchy and his weight on her was just
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