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solitary soup lunches waved a newspaper clipping in
Helen s face.  Why don t you have that book? It s on the
New York Times best-seller list. He pointed out its place on
the list, as if that could make her produce it.
 Our shipment was delayed, Helen lied.
 You re supposed to be a bookstore, he said.  Where
are your books? He threw the clipping on the counter and
stormed out.
Behind him was an unhappy old hippie. His bald dome
tapered off into a pony tail. His red eyes were dilated from
weed.  Don t you have more of these music books? That s
a pathetic selection, man. The Grateful Dead biography he
handed Helen was well thumbed and sticky with spilled
whipped-cream coffee.
 That s our only copy, sir. But I can check with the man-
ager. We could sell it to you for ten percent off.
 I can t give this as a gift, he said, leaving the stained
book on the counter next to the newspaper clipping.  Hey,
no prob. I ll go to one of the chains. I just wanted to sup-
port your store.
Brad mourned the fact that the floors were no longer
strewn with subscription cards.  The new magazines come
out this week, he said.  These magazines are so old all the
cards have fallen out. That People magazine story on J.Lo
is four weeks old. I have to get my news about her on the
Internet.
 What s wrong with that?
 You can t take a computer into the bathroom, Denny
said as he passed by with a tray of abandoned café plates
and cups.
Brad glared at him.  It s not like that, he said.  J.Lo is a
lovely person. The Internet runs the same four photos of
her.
The only bright spot in Helen s depressing day was when
Sarah walked in the door. Her friend wore a long cool dress
136 Elaine Viets
the color of lemon sherbet. A shell cameo bracelet showed
off her plump, pretty arm.
 When do you get off work? she said.
 Half an hour. I m on a shortened schedule. Everyone s
hours were cut back.
 Then you need some serious cheering up. I ll be waiting
in the café.
It was two o clock when Helen finally balanced her cash
drawer. Sarah was drinking something frothy with whipped
cream.  Come on, she said.  There s still time to make it.
 Make what? Helen said.
 Butterfly World. It s better than Valium.
 Is that the butterfly preserve in Coconut Creek? How
much is admission?
 About fifteen dollars, Sarah said.
Fifteen dollars was pocket change in Helen s old life.
Now she didn t have the money, unless she wanted to skip
meals. She d learned to judge costs by how long she had to
stand behind a counter. A Butterfly World ticket was two
and a half hours on her feet.
 I can t go, Helen said.  I can t afford it.
 I ll pay for your ticket.
 I m not a charity case, Helen said huffily.
 So pay me off at a buck a week. Consider it an invest-
ment in your mental health.
The world looked different riding high in Sarah s luxuri-
ous Range Rover. She d bought it with the proceeds of
some shrewd investments. Sarah was smart, no doubt about
it. Which was why Helen downplayed the possibility of the
bookstore s closing. Sarah wanted Helen to quit her dead-
end job and get something that used her number-crunching
talents. Helen couldn t tell her friend why she needed to
steer clear of corporate and government computers. So
Sarah delicately probed and Helen dodged her questions on
the interminable trip.
MURDER BETWEEN THE COVERS 137
The long drive to Butterfly World was made longer when
they got stuck behind a car with a Quebec license plate,
going twenty miles under the speed limit.  Can he go any
slower? Why do Canadians drive like they re on ice?
Sarah grumbled.
 Why are South Floridians so prejudiced against Canadi-
ans? Helen said.
 Because they re slow on the road and slower to pull out
their wallets. You should see the anti-Canadian graffiti on
my supermarket walls:  Canadians, give us your money or
go home. 
 Every country has cheapskates, Helen said.
 You ever met a Canadian big spender?
Fortunately, Helen didn t have to answer. They d arrived
at Butterfly World.
Helen looked at the names of the buildings on the tour
map.  Isn t this a little overdone? The Paradise Adventure
Aviary. What kind of adventures can you have in an en-
closed building?
 You ll see, Sarah said.  Go inside.
Helen stood in the entrance, dazzled. She d never seen so
many butterflies. There were hundreds. No, thousands. A
big white butterfly looked like a piece of flying lace. A
huge electric-blue one fluttered past, glowing in the sun-
light. A flock of butterflies with camouflage owl eyes on
their giant brown wings feasted on bananas.
Everywhere she turned was another strange and beautiful
sight. An orange-and-brown moth the size of a dinner plate
clung to a green branch.
 You have a butterfly on your back, Sarah said.  One of
those electric-blue ones.
 He s wearing track shoes, Helen said, as the butterfly
walked up her back.  For something that looks so light, he
sure stomps around.
 You do attract the good-looking ones, Sarah said.
138 Elaine Viets
 Yeah, she said.  But they take off in a hurry. The blue
butterfly was suddenly gone.
Mozart played softly in the background. A waterfall tum-
bled into a koi pond.
 This is so romantic, Helen said.  Maybe I could take
Gabe here.
 Gabe? Sarah said.  What happened to Rich?
Helen pulled back her sleeve and showed her wrist. The
bruises were now an ugly yellow-green.
Sarah looked shocked.  Good Lord. That s assault. Did
you report it to the police? No? Well, I hope you at least
took pictures of those bruises. Are you getting a restraining
order on that man?
Helen didn t want Rich around, but she wanted the po-
lice even less. Sarah was overreacting.  It was an accident.
I don t think he realized his own strength. I m not worried
about Rich. He won t bother me. He hasn t had the nerve to
come near me since. If he does, I ll sic Gabe on him.
 You aren t woman enough to do your own dirty work?
Sarah said disapprovingly.  Who is this Gabe and where
did you meet him?
Helen told the story of how they met, as a pair of sunshine- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]