“That should be easy,” Helen said. “We’ll clue in Nancie, her lawyer. Do you want to meet with both of them?”
“Not yet,” Phil said. “Zack lived in West Hills. That’s Detective McNamara Dorsey’s territory. Right now Zack’s death isn’t officially a murder. I’m hoping to give Detective Mac those poisons. I’m searching the Zerling house a few rooms at a time. I’ve done the pool house, two guest rooms and three baths. Tomorrow, I search the breakfast room and the kitchen.”
“Be careful, Phil,” Helen said. “Don’t eat anything Blossom gives you.”
“I don’t,” he said. “I bring my lunch. But she keeps asking me to have a manhattan with her. I keep telling her I’m a beer drinker.” He emptied his bottle.
“Maybe she needs a condolence visit from her spiritual adviser,” Helen said.
“Just what I was thinking,” Phil said. “But it’s not quite time to call in Reverend Hawthorne.”
“It is time to take her home,” Helen said. “And we won’t get back to the Coronado before one in the morning. Don’t forget our early appointment with the captain.”
The drive home seemed faster and the other drivers crazier—or drunker. Phil let a pushy Mustang pass him and kept well out of the way of a speeding BMW.
“We’re going seventy and that Beemer passed us like we’re standing still,” Helen said.
“He can have the road,” Phil said, and put his arm around her. “I’ve got you.”
Helen felt safe, despite the drunken drivers. “What does ‘Tacos al Carbon’ mean in Spanish?” she asked.
“I think it means the meat is grilled over hot coals,” Phil said. “A few years ago, Mexican-Americans got a chuckle over a big chain that sold ‘tacos del carbon.’ That translated as ‘tacos made of carbon.’ Another disaster was when Chevy advertised their Novas in Mexico and South America and the cars didn’t sell. Detroit didn’t realize that no va meant ‘doesn’t go’ in Spanish.”
Phil suddenly swung the Jeep into the slow lane.
“Yeow!” Helen said. “That red Chevy Corvette is sure going—way over the speed limit.”
Phil eased up on the gas and the Chevy streaked past them. Helen was relieved when they reached the Coronado.
In the moonlight, the apartment complex was a pale monument to Florida’s midcentury past. All the lights were out, and they tiptoed past Margery’s apartment. Helen stifled a shriek when she saw a tall figure step out from behind a palm tree.
It was their landlady in a purple silk robe and a small cloud of cigarette smoke.
“I’m enjoying the night,” Margery said. “I see you two finally got out of bed. Where did you go? The taco truck in Palm Beach?”
“So much for privacy,” Phil said.
CHAPTER 35
Helen heard Captain Josiah Swingle knock on the door of Coronado Investigations at precisely seven thirty the next morning. Something was different.
He was punctual as usual. But this time his knock was a polite, almost timid tap.
When Phil answered the door, Helen saw the captain’s sandy hair and sunburned face. But under his crisp white uniform, Josiah’s shoulders were bowed.
This wasn’t the same man Helen had said good-bye to at Port Everglades. Now Josiah carried a heavy burden.
Helen felt her stomach drop. Please, she thought, let me be wrong.
The captain greeted Helen and Phil, then sat in the yellow client chair. They took their black leather-and-chrome chairs opposite him. Josiah hesitated, then said, “You were right, Helen. Louise is dead.”
Helen reared back as if she’d been slapped. “No!” she said. She knew it was true, but she didn’t want it to be.
“Some Bahamian fishermen found her body yesterday,” he said. “She was wearing her uniform, including her Belted Earl polo shirt. The Bahamian authorities made a tentative identification and Louise’s dental records confirmed it.
“I’d been expecting bad news since I got back from immigration yesterday. Her boyfriend, Warren, was waiting for her at the marina. He asked me where she was and I knew then that she’d never made it home. I checked with the dockmaster at the Miami Beach Marina. They didn’t have a fishing charter called Aces High. The Bahamian officials confirmed they could not locate the charter.”
“Mira killed her,” Helen whispered.
“That’s my guess,” Josiah said.
“But there’s no way to prove it,” she said. “At least Mira will go to prison for smuggling.”
“There may still be a way to convict her for murder, too,” Josiah said. “A barrette with blond hair in it was found in Louise’s back pocket.”
“Then they may have the killer’s DNA,” Phil said.
“It’s being tested now,” the captain said.
Helen grabbed the arms of her chair as if she needed to hold something solid. “Poor Louise,” she said. “I’d hoped she’d gone over the side unconscious. But she died alone in those wild waves, without any hope of rescue.”
“She was determined to get her killer,” the captain said. “She spent her last few moments buttoning her killer’s hair and barrette into her pocket.”
I hope they were only a few moments, Helen thought. In her mind, she heard the howling wind and felt the water slam the ship.
“Do you know what the chances were of her body being found?” Josiah asked.
That’s when Helen started crying. I won’t indulge in dramatics, she told herself. I knew her less than a day. But Louise complained about her job and I felt the same way, too. She was only twenty-three. Tears are unprofessional. They won’t help her.
The harder Helen tried not to cry, the more she wept. Phil handed her his handkerchief and squeezed her hand. Helen mopped her eyes. Finally, her tears stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t apologize,” Josiah said. “You should cry for her. Louise was a brave woman who died a terrible death. Now she deserves justice.”
“I may be able to help,” Helen said. “Was that barrette two-toned silver and about four inches long?”
“Yes. How did you know?” the captain said.
“Because Mira wore one and I admired it. She told me she bought it online at Head Games. The brand is Ficcare and the barrette costs about forty bucks.”
Josiah pulled out a small notebook and wrote down the details. “Good,” he said. “If she bought it online, there should be a credit card record. That will help the investigators. This is all my fault. I should have known.”
“You should have known what?” Helen said. “That Mira was a killer? We had a nice girlie talk about hair. She helped me with the laundry and bawled me out for putting a wet bucket on a marble floor. I didn’t have a clue she was a smuggler, much less a murderer.”
“But still—” Josiah began.
“What?” Phil asked. “You didn’t read Mira’s mind? You think killers are easy to spot, Captain? The police don’t. People get away with murder because they don’t look like killers.”
Josiah refused to take that excuse. “If I’d listened to Helen—”
“You still couldn’t have saved Louise,” Helen said. “Unless you saw her fall overboard, she didn’t have a chance.”
“But I could have prepared her father,” Josiah said. “Louise is his only daughter. He’s a widower and lives in Kansas City, Missouri. He didn’t want her to work on the yacht, but she wanted adventure before she settled down. I had to break the news to him, then ask for her dental records. I’ve never heard a man cry like that before, and I hope I never do again. It was like I ripped out his heart.”