“You did,” Phil said. “And he’ll never get over it.”
The captain seemed to find comfort in Phil’s blunt statement. He sat back in his chair and looked a little less tense.
“There is no way to tell a family their child is murdered,” Phil said. “My first case was a young girl who ran off to South Beach and became a coke whore. I had to tell her father his daughter had OD’d. You don’t get over it, ever. But you do learn to live with it.
“You didn’t kill Louise. She’s dead because Mira killed her.”
“Is Mira going to be prosecuted in the Bahamas?” Helen asked.
“She’s already in custody here for smuggling,” the captain said. “The crime took place on a ship registered in the United States and was probably committed somewhere between Florida and the Bahamas. It will be treated as a U.S. crime.”
“When is the funeral?” Helen asked.
“It will be in Kansas City as soon as her body is sent home,” the captain said. “Her father made it clear he wants nothing to do with Fort Lauderdale. We’ll hold a memorial service for her later.”
He sighed, stood up and said, “Thank you, Helen, for catching Mira. At least she’s no longer on my ship. I want my bill. Here’s your stewardess pay.”
Josiah didn’t bother looking over Coronado Investigations’ carefully itemized bill. He simply wrote a check for the full amount. Helen didn’t charge him for the broken china cup. She figured she did more damage. She’d also dyed the crew polos pink.
Josiah shook hands with Helen and Phil. They stood at the door and watched his bowed back as he left the Coronado.
“I wonder how long he’s going to carry that weight,” Helen asked.
“A long time,” Phil said. “He’s a good man.”
He glanced at the clock on their office wall. “It’s eight oh three. Time to change into my Cabana Boy suit and work for Blossom.”
Helen and Phil walked hand in hand across the Coronado courtyard on a cool April morning. They waved at Margery, who was skimming dead leaves out of the pool with a long-handled net.
“You’re a great detective,” Helen said. “Solve this mystery for me, Phiclass="underline" How did Margery know we went to the taco truck last night?”
“Because we talked about it on the way to the Jeep,” Phil said.
“Oh,” Helen said. “That was no big deal.”
“Once I told you, the mystery is gone,” Phil said.
Thumbs greeted Helen at the door. “So I’m forgiven, am I?” she said. “Took you long enough.” The cat flopped down on the floor and she scratched his thick fur.
While Phil dressed, Helen brewed more coffee. She took a cup into the bedroom and asked, “What will you do if you find one of the poisons at Blossom’s?”
“Call you. That triggers the next phase of the investigation,” he said.
“You can’t call me from Blossom’s house,” Helen asked. “You’re not supposed to know Arthur’s minister. What if someone overhears you? You don’t trust cell phones.”
“I’ll call you on my cell phone and pretend to order a new pool filter cartridge,” Phil said. “Then you can meet me at the post office on Las Olas.”
“The cute one with the blue awning?” she asked.
“That’s the one. The whole neighborhood goes there. I can return a broken air conditioner part.”
“I’ll be home all day,” Helen said, “catching up on my sleep and waiting for your call.”
“There’s no guarantee I’ll find any poison today,” Phil said. “I still have dozens of rooms to search.”
“I have confidence in you,” she said, and kissed him good-bye.
It felt good to be in her own bed. Thumbs curled up next to Helen and they both fell asleep. She had no idea where she was when she answered her ringing cell phone.
“This is Phil Sagemont,” he said, his voice impersonal. “Do you carry Intex type B pool filter cartridges?”
“Huh?” Helen said, still foggy with sleep.
“This is Phil,” he said, emphasizing his name. “Mrs. Zerling’s estate manager. Do you have Intex B pool filter cartridges?”
Now Helen was awake enough to remember his code. “I’m supposed to meet you at the post office, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Phil said. “I prefer the post office, not FedEx.”
“See you there in twenty minutes,” Helen said.
When she ran into the little post office, Phil was at the counter, mailing a flat-rate box. He turned and said, “Helen! Good to see you.”
“It’s been too long,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Got time for a short stroll?” he asked.
The post office was in Helen’s favorite section of Las Olas, the part she thought had personality. Helen and Phil strolled past the old Floridian diner, where locals and tourists ate huge lunches. At an outside table, a brown pup sat at his owner’s feet, accepting pats and praise.
“I know how Blossom killed her boyfriend,” Phil said. “I found the poison under the kitchen sink: a jug of water with ten cigarettes in it.”
“Why is that poison?” Helen asked.
“I think she made nicotine tea. Just add hot water to cigarettes and it creates a lethal brew. Seven drops are enough to kill a man.”
“Does Blossom smoke?” Helen asked.
“No, but she can buy cigarettes. She left a four-ounce bottle of Angostura bitters on the kitchen sink. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed it. There was a definite tobacco odor. The bottle looks like the one I thought held hot sauce.”
“So you think she put nicotine tea in Zack’s salsa?”
“It would be easy,” Phil said, “especially by the third or fourth beer.”
“Why would she keep it in the kitchen?” Helen asked.
“She fired the housekeeper,” Phil said, “and she has her meals delivered. No one else uses the kitchen. I have an idea how we can trap her, but I’ll need your spiritual guidance, Reverend Hawthorne.”
“At your service,” Helen said.
“It’s two o’clock. I want you to make a condolence call to the new widow about four this afternoon. That’s when she has a perfect manhattan. She told me to go buy more Angostura bitters. She’s been after me to make her a drink. So far, all I’ve made are excuses.
“When you’re there, she’ll suggest we have drinks. You ask for your usual white wine. I’ll start making her a manhattan and tell her I didn’t have to buy the bitters—I found a nearly full bottle on the kitchen sink.
“Then we’ll see how she reacts when I pick up that little bottle of nicotine tea and pour it in her drink. Reverend Hawthorne will be there as a witness. I’ve tipped our friend Detective Mac Dorsey that we may have more information about that food poisoning case.”
“Both of us working on the side of the angels,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 36
Lightning flashes of panic streaked through Helen as she turned into Blossom’s driveway. She and Phil were playing with fire. Worse—with a clever killer who used silent poisons. One misstep and Helen would be a widow.
This time, she had no trouble finding the Zerling mansion. Helen recognized the surreal sprawl of pink stucco towering over the tall ficus hedge. She parked the Igloo, gathered her courage and smoothed her prim gray suit. She was the Reverend Helen Hawthorne on a pastoral visit, pattering across the pink pavers in her sensible heels.
The valet and the black wreath from Arthur’s funeral reception were gone. Today, Blossom answered the massive arched door.
Helen had to force herself not to react to the new widow’s outfit. Her lacy black top clung like a cobweb and her red silk pants were tighter than a tourniquet. Red and black. Death and blood. The warning colors of a deadly spider that killed its mate. Blossom didn’t bother toning down her extravagant beauty at home. Her hair hung long, thick and free, and her false eyelashes fluttered like trapped moths.