Board Stiff: A Dead-End Job Mystery by Elaine Viets

accidental drowning and Daniel took his wife home, Helen hoped Coronado Investigations could investigate Ceci’s nasty husband. She’d love to destroy the hearts-and-flowers image of that photo flashed on TV. She didn’t want Daniel getting rich from Ceci’s death.
    Maybe Sunny Jim will want us to go to St. Louis, Helen thought. It would be nice to have a free trip home to see my sister, Kathy, and her family.
    No, it wouldn’t be nice. Not anymore. Not since Kathy and I buried Rob.
    Helen skidded away from the subject of her ex like a car sliding across a slippery road, and flipped on a classic rock station. Debbie Harry was singing “Eat to the Beat.” She upped the volume, but even a blast of Blondie couldn’t clear her conscience.
    Rob was buried under tons of concrete. But he might as well be sitting in her car. He never left her.
    She glanced in her rearview mirror and thought, I can almost see him. When I first met Rob, he had a kind of sexy teddy-bear cuteness. Women saw it and men didn’t. I saw it, all right. I was blinded by love. So blind I didn’t see that Rob cheated on me, starting with my own maid of honor.
    Helen steered the Igloo onto I-95 toward Riggs Beach. She didn’t notice the green Toyota behind her in her blind spot and got a well-deserved horn blast.
    Now she was safely on the highway and quickly traveling back into the past.
    I had a six-figure job in human resources and all the fast-track prizes, she thought. A closet full of pricy, sexless suits, a Lexus and a suburban McMansion I rarely saw. I worked from sunup to sundown.
    I had it all. As long as I didn’t look too closely.
    The Igloo was barreling down the fast lane, but not fast enough for the pickup behind it. The truck impatiently roared around Helen.
    I kept my eyes shut when Rob lost his job, she thought. I wanted to believe he couldn’t find work worthy of his talents. For seven years I listened to his excuses while he lived off me.
    A black Mercedes flashed its headlights at her. Helen realized she was going the speed limit—too slow for a South Florida fast lane. She switched to the middle lane.
    The wife is the last to know, she thought. That sure was true for me. I was the only one who didn’t know Rob was sneaking around. I didn’t realize it until I caught him with his pants off.
    I got my rude awakening when I was a restless forty. I bought a silly women’s magazine for its ten tips to add romance to my married life. One was: surprise your man in the middle of the day. You’ll find him ready to make love.
    Rob was ready, she thought. Just not for me.
    For the first time ever in my career, I left work early, hoping for hot honeymoon sex at three in the afternoon. Rob said he’d be working on our back deck. That’s where I found him—nailing our neighbor, Sandy. I picked up a crowbar and started swinging.
    Buck-naked Rob abandoned Sandy. He ran to his Land Cruiser, jumped in and locked the doors, while Sandy screeched behind the deck furniture.
    And I slammed that crowbar into his true love—the Land Cruiser.
    I couldn’t stop myself. While I wrecked the Land Cruiser, Sandy called the police. I didn’t see the cops enter our yard. One had to shout, “Drop the weapon, ma’am.” I did. Rob, naked and pale as a boiled egg, crawled out of the ruined SUV, while the cops tried to hide their smiles.
    Rob and Sandy refused to press charges for assault. She didn’t want her husband to find out. He did, anyway, and she lost her meal ticket.
    I filed for divorce. The judge, dumber than the crowbar but not as useful, awarded Rob half of our house. I expected that. But the judge also said Rob was entitled to one-half of my future income.
    My lawyer, that blockhead, sat there like a stuffed vulture.
    Good thing there wasn’t a crowbar in the courtroom, or I’d have attacked all three men and gone to prison for triple homicide.
    Instead, I swore on the Bible that Rob would never see another nickel of mine. Actually, I