Final Sail (15 page)

“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

H
elen 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—?”

“No,” Helen said. “We don’t. We’re supposed to meet Max. What’s he look like?”

“A short older guy with gray hair,” Phil said.

“That isn’t a good description in Florida,” Helen said. “Half the men in there have gray hair.”

They scanned the gray-haired men bellied up to the bar—literally.

“No Max,” Phil said. He checked his watch. “It’s four fifty-eight. He’ll be here.”

“What happened with Blossom?” Helen asked. “Did you transform yourself back into an estate manager before she got home?”

“With minutes to spare,” Phil said. “Well, seconds. I also carried her new clothes to her bedroom.”

“Is Blossom still sleeping alone?” Helen asked.

“So far as I can tell,” Phil said. “Arthur’s dressing room was still empty. I didn’t see another toothbrush and the seat was down on the toilet.”

“Always a giveaway,” Helen said. “What did Blossom buy at Grisette’s?”

“They sure weren’t mourning dresses,” Phil said. “They made her club clothes look like something she’d wear to tea with the queen. She bought a silky coral number with major holes—on-purpose holes.”

“Cutouts, I think they’re called,” Helen said.

“That dress will leave all her back and most of her front bare. She bought a hot pink sequin something I guess was a dress. I’ve seen bigger scarves. I left the bag on her bed.

“Blossom was waiting for me downstairs in the den in a tight black top and those painted-on jeans. She’d draped herself over the rosewood bar. Her conversation was full of innuendos. She asked me to make her a manhattan. ‘I’m not a good bartender,’ I said.

“‘I’m sure you’re good at everything, Phil,’ she said. Then she brushed against me. It didn’t feel like an accident.”

“Maybe she needs a visit from her minister,” Helen said, fighting back her fury.

“No, no,” Phil said. “I might learn something this way.”

“Like what a slut she is?” Helen asked.

“Trust me,” Phil said. “She’ll let her guard down.”

“As long as she keeps her clothes on,” Helen said.

“She’s no competition,” Phil said. “I should be worried about you in that hot uniform alone on a yacht. Some millionaire might carry you off.” He kissed her again.

“Hey, you two, stop that! Quit smooching out here in front of God and everybody!”

Helen and Phil saw a suntanned man in a Hawaiian shirt smiling and waving.

“Max, you old pirate,” Phil said. “Since when did you confuse yourself with God? Meet my wife, Helen Hawthorne.”

Max barely reached Helen’s shoulder. He was barrel-chested with short, powerful arms. Helen estimated his age at sixty-something. He wore a shark’s tooth on a thick gold chain and a chunky pinkie ring with a square-cut emerald.

The sun caught his ring and it glittered with green fire.

“Max Crutchley,” he said, crushing Helen’s hand. “Ol’ Phil got himself a babe.”

They followed a thin pale-haired hostess past tables filled with diners to a glass-topped table overlooking the wide, sandy beach.

“Best view in the house,” Helen said.

They watched a hefty, sunburned man stumble past the window with a sloshing foam cup.

“I could do without him,” Max said. “But that blonde in the bikini is easy on the eyes.”

“I meant the ocean,” Helen said.

“Sure you did,” Max said. “That’s a pretty muscular example of ocean life under the palm tree.”

Phil snickered.

“I thought we could talk private-like back here,” Max said. “My usual beer dives are okay for Phil, but not for a lady.”

Phil winked at her. Max was definitely old-school, Helen thought.

A waiter appeared and Max and Phil ordered beer and burgers. Helen wanted a club soda and the seafood stir-fry.

“Let me get you a real drink, Helen,” Max said.

“Thanks, but I have to report to the yacht right after dinner. That’s why I’m in uniform.”

“You make one hell of a sailor,” Max said.

After the waiter left, Helen said, “Phil told me you’re a diver.”

“Used to be,” Max said. “Bad ticker now. Can’t dive anymore. Felt like they cut off my arm when the doc said no more. I loved diving, the riskier the better. Had a few close encounters with sharks, but it’s beautiful down there. More honest, too. Easier to spot the sharks.”

“They wear suits on land,” Phil said.

“What do you want to know about emeralds, Helen?” Max asked. “Phil says you’re working a smuggling case. Should you let your lady do something that dangerous, Phil?”

Helen bridled at that, but Phil put his hand over hers, a warning to let him talk. “I don’t ‘let’ Helen do anything, Max. She does what she wants. She can handle herself. Our client needs a woman operative.”

“I’m hired to find a smuggler who’s part of the yacht crew,” Helen said. “The captain found a box of emeralds hidden on his ship on his last trip. By the time he went back for the stones, they were gone.”

“Cut or uncut emeralds?” Max asked.

“Cut stones.”

“Smart.” Max nodded approval. “Uncut emeralds only have potential value because they can have flaws called inclusions. I was witness to the cutting of a large emerald. Thanks to an unseen inclusion in a potential hundred-thousand-dollar gemstone, the value dropped dramatically during the procedure. Where does this yacht sail?”

“Mainly to the Bahamas and other Caribbean islands,” Helen said.

“I’m guessing this is originating in the Bahamas,” Max said. “Been a smugglers’ haven since the old pirate days. How long has this smuggling been going on?”

“The captain doesn’t know,” Helen said. “As soon as he found the stones, he hired us.”

“So he’s a straight arrow?” Max asked.

“Absolutely,” Helen said.

The waiter arrived with monster plates of food. Max covered his burger and fries with a bloodbath of ketchup. Phil poured ketchup and hot sauce on his. Helen nibbled on her stir-fry.

Max looked around to make sure there were no eavesdropping waiters and the other diners were busy with their own conversations.

“It’s likely these emeralds are transported to the Bahamas by yacht,” Max said. “Yacht traffic emerging from Latin America is monitored by the U.S. Coast Guard in Bahamian waters and by the United States Army in the Caribbean. I was aboard a treasure-hunting boat in Bahamian waters just north of Havana. We received a lot of attention from a Coast Guard cutter. Had machine guns aimed at us.”

“Any reason the Coast Guard would be interested?” Phil asked.

“Of course not,” Max said, playing with the emerald ring on his little finger. Helen thought that gave him away.