“Can you hear her?” Helen asked.
“Not across the street,” Phil said. “Jimmy Ray can’t get too close. But I can take some pictures. She’s still talking and laughing. That’s right, Blossom, smile for the camera. Gotcha!” Helen heard the camera click.
“Oh, this is good,” Phil said. “This is major.”
“It is?” Helen said.
“Think about it,” Phil said. “Why would Blossom use a pay phone, when she has landlines in the house and a cell phone in her purse?”
“Her cell phone battery was running low?” Helen guessed.
“Then she’d make the call from home,” Phil said. “Instead, she drives to this risky place. Why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because she doesn’t want a record of this call.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Helen said. “She’s a rich widow. She doesn’t answer to anyone.”
“She doesn’t have the money yet,” Phil said. “Arthur’s estate is still in probate and will be for months. The court likes to give creditors time to collect their debts. Anybody who watches TV knows cell phone calls are easily traced. Someone could see Blossom’s phone bills and start asking questions. She knows Arthur’s daughter is looking for trouble. Blossom doesn’t want to give Violet an opening.”
“Sounds far-fetched,” Helen said.
“It’s not,” Phil said. “Blossom is smart. With ten million dollars at stake, she’s taking no chances. She’s being extra careful until she gets Arthur’s fortune. Wait! She hung up the phone. She’s hurrying back to her car. Blossom just turned onto Dixie Highway.”
“Toward her home?” Helen asked.
“Toward downtown Lauderdale. Too early to say if she’s going back to Hendin Island or somewhere else. Gotta go.”
“Wait!” Helen said.
He must have tossed his phone on the car seat. Helen heard Phil’s car crunch over gravel. Then it seemed to be traveling on a smooth road. At least he didn’t hang up.
At last he came back on the phone. “We’re at a stoplight,” Phil said. “I’m two cars behind her.”
“Phil, what if you’re still following her when it’s time for us to meet Max?” Helen asked.
“Then you’ll have to handle dinner alone,” Phil said.
“I’d better get dressed,” Helen said.
“I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” Phil said. “The light’s changed.”
Silence.
Helen hit the speaker button and carried the phone with her into the bedroom to change into her white dress uniform. Helen pulled her skort off the hanger. She hadn’t worn that skirt-shorts combination since she was a teenager.
She was brushing her long brown hair when Phil came back on the line, talking in short, excited bursts. “Helen! She’s not going home. She’s parking! In a lot off Las Olas. Jimmy Ray is going to follow her. Wait there.”
“Where am I going?” Helen said, but Phil was gone again. Judging by the muffled sounds coming from the cell phone, he’d jammed it into his (or Jimmy Ray’s) pocket.
She buttoned her white jacket. The sleeves were perfectly tailored for her long arms.
Phil was on the phone again. Now his voice was a whisper. “She’s gone into a boutique on a side street near Las Olas. A girlie place called Grisette’s.”
“Isn’t grisette a French name for a prostitute?” Helen said.
“That’s a little harsh,” Phil said. “Grisettes are generous girls. They take no money for helping their fellow men.”
“What’s the shop look like?” Helen said.
“The clothes in the window are mostly black, but they don’t look like something a new widow would wear. Blossom is pressing a buzzer… . Now a saleswoman is letting her inside. Jimmy Ray isn’t going to try getting in there. He’ll sit at the sidewalk café across the street, get himself a nice six-dollar coffee and put it on his expense account. This could take a while. Helen, I’m hanging up. I’ll call you when she comes out.”
“Phil, it’s nearly four o’clock,” Helen said. “I have to leave in half an hour to meet Max by five.”
After Phil hung up she slipped on her deck shoes, then checked that her carryall was packed for tonight’s yacht trip. She’d take it with her. Phil could drive her to the marina and Margery or Peggy could give him a ride back to his Jeep tomorrow.
She was looking for her purse when her landline rang. It was Phil.
“Blossom has left Grisette’s,” he said. “She’s carrying a pink shopping bag. Now she’s stashing it in her Porsche. Jimmy Ray is going to follow her.”
“Is she going home?” Helen asked.
“Can’t tell,” Phil said. “Jimmy Ray is behind her. The late-afternoon traffic is slow. I think she’s heading toward A1A. Looks like she wants to drive home along the ocean.”
“Are you following her?” Helen said.
“I’m not getting stuck in that traffic with the gawking tourists. I’ll stay on Federal Highway. Jimmy Ray has to hightail it back to the medical-building parking lot and disappear. I need to transform myself into an estate manager again. You go meet Max. I’ll call you as soon as I’m free. Turn on your cell phone.”
“Be careful, Phil,” Helen said. “Don’t let her catch you.”
Helen grabbed her purse and the carryall and patted Thumbs good-bye. The April evening was pleasantly warm. Margery, Peggy and Pete the parrot had assembled early by the pool for the nightly sunset salute. Peggy wore a cool green sundress that matched Pete’s feathers. Their landlady’s purple caftan floated on the evening breeze. Her nail polish was the color of the evening sun and her cigarette was an orange beacon.
Peggy whistled when she saw Helen in her dress uniform. Margery raised her wineglass and called, “Hey, sailor, can I buy you a drink?”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Helen said. “I’m meeting someone for background information. Then I report to the captain. I don’t want to have alcohol on my breath the first day on the job.”
Margery sailed over, her silver earrings and bangle bracelets jingling. “Then I’ll tell you good-bye,” she said. “And be careful.”
“You worry too much,” Helen said. “I’m cruising on a luxury yacht.”
“With people rich enough to buy their way out of trouble,” Margery said. “You’re going undercover as a nobody maid. You’ll be alone on the ocean trying to catch a smuggler.
“Remember, the easiest way to get rid of a body is dumping it over the side of a ship.”
With that warning, she blew out a ferocious cloud of Marlboro smoke.
CHAPTER 17
Helen waited for Phil outside Aruba, a beachside restaurant in Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Aruba was in a cluster of small seaside restaurants and souvenir shops.
The ocean air was a soft caress. Helen heard the soothing whoosh of the waves. She looked like she belonged near the ocean in her yacht dress uniform: white skort and short white jacket with epaulets.
Phil jumped out of his black Jeep, tossed his keys to the valet and saluted Helen.
“Where do I enlist?” he said. “I love women in uniform. Do you get a gun?”
“I get a caddy loaded with spray cleaner,” she said, laughing. “I can shoot to kill—germs.”
He took her in his arms and said, “You’ve already shot me through the heart. I’ll miss you. A whole week, huh?” He unbuttoned the top button on her uniform. “Do we have time to go back and—?”