Also by Elaine Viets
Dead-End Job Mystery Series
Shop till You Drop
Murder Between the Covers
Dying to Call You
Just Murdered
Murder Unleashed
Murder with Reservations
Clubbed to Death
Killer Cuts
Half-Price Homicide
Pumped for Murder
Josie Marcus, Mystery Shopper Series
Dying in Style
High Heels Are Murder
Accessory to Murder
Murder with All the Trimmings
The Fashion Hound Murders
An Uplifting Murder
Death on a Platter
A DEAD-END JOB MYSTERY
Elaine Viets
For Victoria,
who really should kill
people—on paper.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Final Sail would have been totally at sea without the help of Victoria Allman. She’s a yacht chef who writes as well as she cooks. Many of the meals aboard the fictional Belted Earl came from Victoria’s two cooking memoirs: Sea Fare: A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean and SEAsoned: A Chef’s Journey with her Captain (NorLightsPress). The recipes are fabulous.
Victoria’s captain is also her husband, Captain Patrick Allman. His help was invaluable. Gina Soacat, the yacht’s head stewardess, taught me the finer points of yacht cleaning, including running the vacuum cleaner in the tracks.
One mystery still remains: Victoria, Captain Patrick and Gina would not reveal their yacht’s owners.
A very special thanks must go to my editor, Sandra Harding, for her insights and her patience, and to the ever-helpful Elizabeth Bistrow at NAL. Writers love to complain about copy editors, but this one saved my hide. Thank you!
My agent, David Hendin, gave excellent advice, and my husband, Don Crinklaw, is my first reader and best critic.
Old salt and sailboater Barry Talley steered me across the treacherous Gulf Stream and mystery writer Marcia Talley provided photos and other information about the Bahamas.
I am deeply grateful to my friend and former newspaper editor Dick Richmond for his help.
Tom Adair, a retired forensic scientist, helped with the forensics. Enjoy his blog at forensics4fiction.wordpress.com. Mystery writer Joanna Campbell Slan told me how the rich really advertise for household help. Sue Schlueter gave wardrobe advice for my yacht-goers.
Mary Lynn Reed, when she isn’t providing Phil with fake references, is a real friend. Valerie Cannata gave me her name for my TV reporter. Nancie Hays let me turn her into a lawyer.
Suzanne Schoomer is a fine chef who generously lent her name in return for a large donation to a worthy cause.
The real Margery Flax is much younger but just as crafty as the fictional Margery—and both love purple. She does wish the Coronado landlady drove a hotter car, but it’s a Florida law that anyone over age seventy must drive a large white car.
Helen still works those dead-end jobs, but now that she and Phil have their own private eye agency, she takes them to solve cases. Private investigator William Simon gave invaluable information about this business. Detective R. C. White, Fort Lauderdale Police Department (retired), is also working on his PI license. He gave me the benefit of his insights and information.
Rick McMahan, ATF special agent and one heck of a writer, helped. MarySue Carl and author Eileen Dreyer assisted with hospital procedure. Fort Lauderdale attorney Vladimira Libansky, Esq., helped with the legal issues. Luci Zahray, internationally known poison expert, uses her powers only for good—and to help mystery writers like me.
Like the song says, I get by with a little help from my friends. They include Karen Grace, who spent many hours discussing these characters and their motivation, Alan Portman, Molly Portman, Doris Ann Norris, Kay Gordy, Jack Klobnak, Robert Levine and Janet Smith. Mary Alice Gorman gave me promotional advice. I can’t forget supersaleswoman Carole Wantz, who could sell beer at a temperance meeting.
Boynton Beach librarian Anne Watts lent me her six-toed cat, Thumbs, for this series. Once again, I am grateful to all the librarians who helped with this book, especially the staff of the St. Louis Public Library and Broward County Library. Librarians are the original search engines.
I’m grateful to the booksellers who recommend my novels to their customers.
To the sources who can’t be named, I appreciate your legal, medical and tax information.
Thank you, blog sisters. I rely on the advice and encouragement of the wise women in the Femmes Fatales (www.femmesfatales.typepad.com). You’ll enjoy what they have to say, too. Stop by our blog.
Finally, any errors are my own. You can tell me about them, or better yet, tell me you enjoyed this novel, at eviets@aol.com.
CHAPTER 1
“That woman is murdering my father,” Violet Zerling said. “We’re sitting here while he’s dying. And you—you’re letting her get away with it.”
Violet Zerling jabbed an accusing finger at attorney Nancie Hays. Violet was no delicate flower. She was twice the size of the slender lawyer and obviously upset.
Nancie wasn’t intimidated by the large woman. The lawyer was barely five feet tall, a hundred pounds and thirty years old, but tough and adept at handling difficult people. She had faced down—and successfully sued—a slipshod homicide detective and the small South Florida city that employed him. She’d fought to keep an innocent woman out of jail. Now she didn’t back away from Violet.
Nancie was all business, and so was her office. The carpet was a practical dark blue. Her plain white desk was piled with papers and folders. A workstation with a black computer, printer and fax machine was within rolling distance of her desk. Seated next to the workstation were the two partners of Coronado Investigations, Helen Hawthorne and Phil Sagemont. Nancie had called in the husband-and-wife PI team to help her new client.
Helen felt sorry for Violet, sitting rigidly in the lime green client chair. Her beige pantsuit was the same color as her short hair. The unflattering cut and drab color turned her face into a lump of dough.
Violet’s clothes and shoes said she had money and spent it badly. Despite her sturdy build, she seemed helpless. Helen thought Violet could be pretty. Why did she work to make herself unattractive?
I’m not here to solve that mystery, Helen told herself. We have to save a man’s life.
Nancie did not humor her client. “Violet, we’ve discussed this before,” she said, her voice sharp. “Your father did not leave any medical directives or sign a living will. In fact, he doesn’t have any will at all. Your stepmother—”
“That witch is not my mother,” Violet said. “She is Daddy’s second wife. She married my father for his money and now she’s killing him. She wants his ten million dollars. He’ll be dead soon, unless you do something. I need to save Daddy. Please. Before it’s too late.”