Across the gulf of the open grave was Blossom, the grateful ranch hand and his rescued wife, Leann. The woman Arthur had helped save sniffled into a tissue. The housekeeper was not at the burial, but Helen had no doubt Fran was mourning the loss of her employer.
Four dark-suited undertakers stood discreetly behind lichen-covered tombstones. They had strict orders to head off Uncle Billy if he barged into the burial service. Helen didn’t think they’d have to look hard to spot him. Billy’s shirt was loud enough to wake the dead.
The funeral director handed Blossom a single white rose. She delicately tossed it into the grave. The rose landed soundlessly on the shiny casket lid. Next, the funeral director solemnly presented Violet with a sheaf of flowers the size of a shrub. Helen studied the tendrils escaping from the ribbon-wrapped bundle and realized this was a huge bouquet of honeysuckle and violets.
Violet would never be accused of subtlety.
She dropped the flowers into the grave. The heavy bouquet landed with a graceless thud, smothering Blossom’s single rose.
Helen thought if Violet could have fallen on Blossom and squashed her, she would have. Margery must have felt the same way. She laid a restraining hand lightly on Violet’s arm after the bouquet toss.
“We will conclude the burial service with the Twenty-third Psalm,” Helen said. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want… .”
As she recited the comforting words, another, secret burial in her hometown of St. Louis flashed through her mind. Helen couldn’t block out that awful scene. Death stared her in the face, reminding her of her own sins.
Helen knew that obsession, greed and blazing hatred led to misery and untimely death, but she couldn’t tell anyone, not even Margery or Phil. An innocent person’s future depended on her silence.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,” Helen read. “He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
For seventeen years, Helen had been a well-paid executive on the corporate fast track. She’d lived in suburban St. Louis and thought she had a happy marriage. Her husband, Rob, was looking for work, but couldn’t find a job equal to his talents. Then she came home early from her office and caught Rob cavorting naked with their neighbor. Blinded by rage, Helen had smashed her husband’s beloved SUV to smithereens, then filed for divorce.
“He restoreth my soul,” Helen read. “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
There was nothing right—or righteous—about the divorce judge’s decision. As Helen expected, he split the house between Helen and Rob, even though she’d bought it. But then the judge awarded half of Helen’s future income to the unfaithful louse. Helen had tossed her wedding ring into the turbulent Mississippi River and taken off in a crazy-mad journey around the country until her car died in Fort Lauderdale. She wound up living at the Coronado Tropic Apartments, with Margery as her landlady.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no eviclass="underline" for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
Helen found comfort in her friendships at the Coronado while she lived as a fugitive from the court and worked low-paying jobs to stay off the law’s radar. But Rob pursued her relentlessly, determined to get his money. She figured if her ex ever caught up with her, he wouldn’t be interested in her miserable income. She’d underestimated Rob’s greed.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies,” Helen read. “Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
When Rob sailed off with a wealthy widow, Helen thought he was gone from her life. But the widow threw Rob overboard with a million-dollar good-bye gift. Rob ran through that money and tracked Helen down at her sister Kathy’s house in St. Louis, where he de-manded the money the court had ordered her to pay. When Helen refused, Rob had grabbed her arm and twisted it. Helen’s ten-year-old nephew, Tommy Junior, saw Rob threatening his aunt and swung his ball bat so hard, the boy knocked out Rob. The dazed Rob had refused treatment, then died suddenly.
Helen was grateful that Tommy had been sent to his room after he hit Uncle Rob. The boy had no idea he’d accidentally killed the man.
Helen had wanted to go to the police and take the blame for Rob’s death, but Kathy refused. She feared Tommy would confess that he’d whacked Uncle Rob and the boy’s life would be blighted. Instead, Helen and Kathy had wrapped Rob’s body in plastic and buried him in the gravel for the foundation of the church basement. The next morning, concrete was poured over his unmarked grave.
No one looked for the missing Rob, which Helen thought said a lot about her ex-husband. But someone had seen the secret burial. So far, this person had blackmailed Helen and Kathy for fifteen thousand dollars. Helen expected more demands for cash.
She tried to live with the burden of Rob’s death. She tried to pretend the awful incident had never happened. She’d married Phil and they’d started Coronado Investigations. The two private eyes were paid to uncover other people’s secrets.
Helen had to keep hers buried. She couldn’t share her guilty secret at the expense of her nephew’s future.
She longed to tell Violet and Blossom the damage that hate and greed caused. But she couldn’t say a word. She could only pray that Rob’s body was never found.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” Helen said. “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
“Amen,” chorused the mourners.
“That was lovely,” Blossom said, patting Helen’s hand. Helen studied the widow’s pale face under the glamorous hat for signs of guilt. She saw only weariness, lightly touched with makeup. “You will come back to the house for the reception, won’t you?”
“I have another appointment at three o’clock,” Helen said.
“Then you’ll have a couple of hours,” Blossom said. “I’d like to ask you for a favor. Would you sort through Arthur’s things? I want to give them away.”
“Today?” Helen said, struggling to hide her surprise.
“As soon as possible,” Blossom said.
“I know you must think it’s too soon. I’m not getting rid of Arthur’s things because I don’t love him. It’s because I loved him too much. They’re a constant, painful reminder of my loss. I’m hoping you’ll take them to a charity for me. Arthur has some lovely clothes. They won’t do any good sitting in his dressing room.”
Helen couldn’t believe her good fortune: Blossom was letting her search Arthur’s personal possessions. She also didn’t believe the widow’s excuses. She couldn’t wait another day to get rid of her husband.
“I’m sure you’ll find something useful,” Blossom said.
“I certainly hope so,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 11
Was that a house or a hotel? The Zerling mansion was a monster even in a millionaires’ ghetto like Hendin Island. Helen hoped she was pulling into the right driveway. The wrong choice could land her in hot water. The rich regarded lost strangers as potential burglars and were quick to call the cops.
Blossom’s directions had sounded simple. “Turn right onto Hendin Island Road,” she’d said. “There’s only one road on the island. We’re the fourth house on the left with the big ficus hedge.”