“Do you know where he will be buried?” Helen asked.
“Yes. My husband was so thoughtful,” Blossom said. “Arthur told me he bought a funeral plan when his first wife died. I can’t remember her name. I’m so upset.”
“Honeysuckle,” Helen said.
“That’s right,” Blossom said. “He wanted to be buried next to Honeysuckle. He asked me if I’d mind. Wasn’t that sweet? I told him that was fine. She had him longer than I did and she is the mother of his child. Did you conduct Honeysuckle’s funeral service?”
“That was before I knew Arthur,” Helen said, truthfully.
“He bought the plan at the Dignity Forever Funeral Home on Federal Highway. The one with the white columns.”
Helen thought all Fort Lauderdale funeral homes had white columns, but she nodded.
“Then you’ll do it?” Blossom said. “Please?”
“On one condition,” Helen said. “Violet must be allowed to attend her father’s funeral.”
“But—” Blossom started to object.
“I will not be a party to a family feud,” Helen said. “I know you and Violet have had your differences, but you must set them aside for Arthur’s sake. Violet can be difficult. I won’t deny that. But I think she can help you.”
“Help me how?” Was there a slightly surly sound in Blossom’s voice—or did grief give it an edge? Helen couldn’t tell.
“Arthur Zerling was a successful man,” Helen said. “He lived in Fort Lauderdale all his life. Do you know how to contact all his friends, family and business associates?”
“I have his address book,” Blossom said.
“But do you know which ones are family and which are friends? Do you know his colleagues and his staff?” Helen asked.
“No,” Blossom said.
“Violet will,” Helen said. “We can put her to work contacting them.”
“She’s impossible!” Blossom said. “We can’t be together two minutes before she starts a fight.”
“You won’t have to deal with her,” Helen said. “You won’t even see her. She can make the calls from my office.”
Blossom took a deep breath and blotted her eyes. “Okay, I’ll do what you want. But what if she makes a scene at Arthur’s funeral? You can’t believe how she carried on here in the ICU.”
“I will personally guarantee her good behavior,” Helen said. “I’ll watch her myself.”
“How can you?” Blossom asked. “You’ll be conducting the service.”
Blossom was right. Helen knew asking Phil to accompany Violet was out of the question. The Reverend Hawthorne wasn’t supposed to know Mrs. Zerling’s new estate manager. And Blossom wasn’t supposed to know Coronado Investigations was hired to prove she’d murdered her husband. Helen needed someone strong to keep Violet in line, but she couldn’t insult their client by hiring a muscle head in a black suit.
Then she thought of the perfect solution: someone strong who could look dignified and blend in as an ordinary mourner. Helen thought her idea was inspired.
“I’ll make sure she attends the funeral with a family friend, Margery Flax,” Helen said.
“Is this Flax woman a bodyguard?” Blossom asked.
“Better,” Helen said. “And far more forceful.”
CHAPTER 9
Arthur Zerling was buried under white flowers. His polished dark wood casket was heaped with washed-out lilies, waxy camellias and rubbery roses. The sweet sickly scent of the hothouse blooms made the Reverend Helen Hawthorne slightly dizzy. The newly minted minister prayed she wouldn’t pass out. This was her first time presiding at a funeral. She wanted Arthur to have the solemnity he deserved.
Helen steadied herself at the funeral home podium and surveyed the mourners. The room’s candy-box colors—pink walls and spindly gold chairs—were overwhelmed by the dark tide of mourners.
Arthur’s wife and his daughter sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Blossom looked like a noir widow in a black high-collared suit and dramatic wide-brimmed hat. Helen thought she needed a cigarette holder to complete the outfit.
Violet was upholstered in some shiny, lumpy black material. Her heavy black veil couldn’t hide her glare. She aimed it with laserlike intensity at the woman she’d accused of killing her father. Margery sat at Violet’s side, her face half-hidden by the glamorous swoop of her lavender hat. She rested one purple-gloved hand lightly on Violet’s arm, as if she was comforting Arthur’s grieving daughter. Helen knew Margery’s hand would clamp down if Violet acted on her hostility.
She wished Phil were there, but Blossom didn’t want her new estate manager attending the funeral. His job was to prepare the funeral reception. Phil would deal with the caterers, bartenders, valet service and florists while Helen handled the funeral.
Helen gave Violet credit. After Blossom agreed to let her attend her father’s funeral, she worked hard to give Arthur a proper service. She still refused to speak to Blossom. Instead, Nancie had to act as mediator. The lawyer conveyed Violet’s information to Blossom’s attorney, who passed it on to the widow. Helen couldn’t begin to calculate what this diplomacy-at-a-distance cost, but it kept the peace.
Violet had done a good job of assembling Arthur’s friends and colleagues at the Dignity Forever Funeral Home. They filled every gilded chair in the massive room, lined the walls and spilled into the hall. Most were white-haired men and women. Helen saw a sprinkling of sun-blasted workingmen. Helen remembered the photo of the vital Arthur on horseback and wondered if they were ranch hands.
She recognized Fran. The housekeeper’s gray curls were topped with a small, flat black hat. She’d tucked herself in the back where Blossom couldn’t see her. Fran was not going to risk a scene at her beloved Mr. Z.’s funeral.
Helen scanned the crowed for the troublemaking Uncle Billy. Violet had warned her about him. “Uncle Billy is not my father’s brother,” she’d explained. “He is Daddy’s best friend. The uncle title is honorary. He and my father were in college together and he introduced Daddy to my mother. Uncle Billy drinks too much. I know he’ll have a snootful and say something embarrassing at Daddy’s funeral.”
“Can we sort of not invite him?” Helen had asked.
“He’ll barge in anyway, and make a bigger scene,” Violet had said. “I don’t know if I can stand it, between that woman and Uncle Billy.”
“I’ll keep him under control,” Helen said.
“You can’t,” Violet said, sounding hopeless. “Nobody can.”
Helen prayed that Uncle Billy would stay away and quietly blessed the dead man for requesting a closed casket. She’d dreaded seeing Arthur’s wasted body in an open coffin.
She opened the service with the Our Father, a prayer Violet and Blossom had both approved, then launched into a short speech.
“Arthur Zerling was one of those rare businesspeople who cared about his family, his friends and his colleagues,” she said. “You’ve had the pleasure of knowing him longer than I have. Mrs. Zerling has asked that you share your memories of Arthur today. She will begin with hers.”
Helen sat next to the podium where she could watch Violet. Arthur’s daughter had already refused to talk about her father. “I loved Daddy,” she said. “But I don’t think I could say anything without crying.”
Blossom rose gracefully, took the podium’s microphone and said, “I knew my husband for less than a year. Arthur was kind, loving, generous—”
Violet made some sort of sound—a sniffle? A snort?
Helen wasn’t sure what it was, but she saw Margery’s gloved hand grip Violet’s wrist. Blossom did not seem to notice. She continued smoothly, “I thought that fate, which brought us together, would allow us more time. But that was not to be. I—” She stopped, dabbed her eyes with a black lace handkerchief and said, “I am too sad to say any more. But your memories of Arthur will be a comfort to me.”