Final Sail dejm-11

by Elaine Viets

Mira’s mug shot flashed on the screen as Valerie continued: “Ms. Fedorova, a twenty-nine-year-old yacht stewardess, was charged with multiple counts of smuggling. She is being held without bail as a flight risk. Federal agents are still questioning her companion. We’ll have more updates on this breaking story.”

  “Thank you, Valerie,” Donna the anchor said. “Remember, this story is on just one station—channel seventy-seven.”

  “I knew we could trust Valerie,” Helen said. “But I still held my breath during her report.

  “Josiah will be relieved his yacht wasn’t mentioned. Now, on to our other case. What do I wear to this restaurant?”

  “Nothing fancy,” Phil said. “It’s a taco truck in a parking lot.”

  “Very cool. Just like L.A.,” Helen said.

  It was a fine night for a drive on I-95. Palm trees rustled in the light breeze. The air was soft and warm. Cars whizzed past, some weaving in and out of the traffic, others poking along in the slow lane.

  “Now, where did I leave off telling you the adventures of Blossom?” Phil asked.

  “In the last installment,” Helen said, “you were disguised as Bob the Cool Guy air-conditioner repairman. You followed Blossom to a Deerfield Beach bar and pretended to check the air-conditioning vents.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t playing make-believe,” Phil said. “I risked my neck climbing a stepladder and heroically resisted a beer and burger while I listened to Blossom argue with Surfer Dude. His name is Zack.”

  “Anything to this Zack besides his blond good looks?” Helen asked.

  “Not that I could tell,” Phil said. “The man was greedy and stupid. I was around the corner from their booth, listening as hard as I could. I’d unscrewed the vent cover and heard Zack say, ‘I told you to get rid of it.’

  “Blossom started arguing. ‘No. I might need it,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I have a good hiding place. It’s in plain sight.’

  “‘What is this?’ Zack said. ‘Some freaking TV detective show? Why keep it?’

  “‘Arthur’s daughter hates me,’ Blossom said. ‘She’s been to that lawyer, Nancie Hays. Hays is trouble.’

  “‘So?’ Zack said. ‘You can afford good lawyers, too. If anything happens to Violet so soon after Daddy bit the dust, it will look suspicious.’

  “Zack gulped his beer and ordered another,” Phil said. “He told her, ‘I don’t know why you offed the old guy, anyway. You could have slipped out any time to see me.’

  “‘No, I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘He was around the house all the time. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. It was horrible. He’d go to his office sometimes, but I never knew when. The one time I went to see you, that housekeeper caught me. Couldn’t wait to tell me the next day.

  “‘I wanted his money and I got it. Now the daughter’s after me. She’ll fight me every step of the way unless I do something. That’s why I kept it. They didn’t find it in him and they won’t find it in her. Most medical examiners don’t know to look for it and he didn’t have an autopsy. She won’t, either. Her death will look like a heart attack. Runs in the family.’

  “Then she laughed,” Phil said.

  “She wants to kill Violet, too,” Helen said. “That gives me chills.”

  “It made Zack hot under the collar,” Phil said. “His voice got low and threatening. ‘Don’t do it, Blossom,’ he said. ‘Be patient a little longer. Once his estate makes it through probate, we can get married.’”

  “What did Blossom say to that?” Helen asked.

  “Nothing,” Phil said. “The silence was so loud even a lunkhead like Zack realized she didn’t want to tie the knot. He was so upset he abandoned his beer and started whining. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘I thought you wanted to marry me.’

  “Blossom got real cagey. ‘I’m not sure I want to tie myself down again so soon, Zack.’

  “He got mad. He gripped his beer bottle so hard I thought it would crack. ‘It’s that new handyman, isn’t it?’ he said.”

  “Zack was jealous,” Helen said.

  “Of me,” Phil said, and grinned. “I realize I’m serious competition—”

  “Can we go back to the story?” Helen asked. “They were arguing and Zack was jealous.”

  “Right. Blossom said, ‘Keep your voice down. He’s not a handyman. He’s an estate manager.’

  “Zack started whining again. ‘It’s not fair,’ he said. ‘I do the dirty work—’

  “‘Dirty work?’ Blossom said. ‘You picked two off the ground.’

  “‘That’s two more than you picked up,’ Zack said. ‘You thought that was a mango tree. I’m the one who found out why you couldn’t eat those mangoes. I bothered to talk to the girl at the hotel.’

  “‘You must have been talking in braille,’ Blossom said, ‘the way you had your hands all over her.’

  “‘Well, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had them,’ Zack said. ‘I gave you a wedding present—the way to end your marriage. A secret way. Of course it doesn’t have to stay a secret. I could tell the police what really killed Arthur.’

  “‘You’d go to prison, too,’ she said.

  “‘Not if I cut a deal,’ he said. ‘I didn’t make that curry. I just gave you some pretty seeds. I had no idea they were poison. There’s no proof I had anything to do with Arthur’s death. No one ever saw me at his house, not even that nosy housekeeper. Don’t forget, Arthur wasn’t cremated. They can still dig him up and find it.’

  “‘I couldn’t cremate him,’ Blossom said. ‘He had a prepaid burial plan.’

  “That’s when Blossom seemed to realize her hunk had his own plan. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. ‘Zack, honey, I’m grateful,’ she said, ‘but I’m not ready to get married so soon after Arthur. It wouldn’t look right. What if I gave you a gift instead?’

  “‘How big a gift?’ Zack asked. Suddenly he was sober.

  “‘Two million dollars,’ she said.

  “‘Pocket change,’ Zack said. ‘I’m not interested in a going-away present. If I marry you, I’m entitled to five million. Actually, I’m entitled to more. But I’m not greedy. Marry me and we’ll have a nice arrangement. You’ll go your way and I’ll go mine. We’ll both have enough to do whatever we want.’

  “‘I’ll think about it,’ Blossom said. Her voice could have frosted beer mugs, but Zack didn’t notice.”

  Phil turned off the highway in Lake Worth, a town near Palm Beach. Soon they were in a neighborhood of Latino working people.

  “Then what happened?” Helen asked.

  “The bar owner came by and asked me—or rather Cool Bob—if I’d look at the filters in the main unit. I looked, but it could have been run by gerbils for all I knew. I said I had new filters in the truck, ducked out the door, jumped in the truck and didn’t look back.”

  “That’s it?” Helen didn’t hide her disappointment. “You never learned the name of the poison?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said. “Later. I Googled ‘poison,’ ‘mango’ and ‘Maldives’—that’s the islands where she married Arthur. That’s how I found out about the suicide tree, Cerbera odollam. Grows in India and southern Asia. Has pretty white flowers and fruit like small mangoes. The seeds are highly poisonous. Blossom could easily mix them in spicy food—like curry—and the old man would never know what he ate. It’s a common poison in southern Asia, but not well-known here.”

  “Blossom got away with murder,” Helen said.

  “Not yet,” Phil said.

  The Jeep cruised down Military Trail, a wide street dotted with car repair shops, pawnshops and Latino supermarkets. Tucked between them were small cinder block restaurants, painted bright turquoise, yellow or red.

  “See that Mexican restaurant there?” Phil said.

  “The one with the big Closed sign?” Helen asked.

  “That’s where Blossom killed her boyfriend,” Phil said. “Right now the docs think Zack died of food poisoning after a Mexican dinner. I know Blossom poisoned him. I
saw her. I just didn’t realize it. The restaurant was unfairly shut down. I’ll give you the details over dinner. You’re going to help me prove she’s a killer.”

  “Do I get dessert?” Helen asked.

  CHAPTER 34

  Tacos al Carbon looked like a late-night fiesta. A square of asphalt behind the Jiffy Lube on Military Trail was strung with lights and packed with people. Young women in vivid clothes looked like they were finishing—or starting—a night at the clubs. They chatted and flirted with young dark-haired men. Older men and women in uniforms and scrubs had the weary look of workers heading home. Some placed orders in rapid Spanish. Others spoke slow “gringo Spanish” or English.

  All were there with one purpose—to celebrate real Mexican food.

  Helen saw yellow taco trucks with red awnings on one side of the lot and a yellow brick building on the other. A sign promised ROASTED CORN.

  Diners picked their drinks out of white plastic coolers and bellied up to the trucks to put in their orders and pay. Phil parked the Jeep in the back of the crowded lot and said, “I know what I want. What can I get you?”

  “A chicken burrito,” Helen said. “And guacamole.”

  “You want a beer?” he asked, poking through a cooler.

  “Water,” Helen said. “We have to meet the captain at seven thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Quick! That couple is leaving the picnic table at the end of the lot,” Phil said. “Snag it.”

  The young Latino couple was still gathering their trash when Helen claimed the table. She watched Phil juggle two brimming paper plates, a bottle of water, a beer and an aluminum container with a white paper bag on top. Once the food was safely on the table, Phil pulled a wad of paper napkins from his pocket.

  “You’re good enough to serve on the high seas,” Helen said.

  Her chicken burrito was as big as a rolled hand towel and crammed with white meat. Phil’s was the same size, but oozing brown gravy. He happily bit into it.

  “What did you get?” she asked.

  “Lengua,” he said. “That’s a tongue burrito.”

  She shuddered.

  “It’s seriously good,” he said, taking a swig of beer. “Tastes like delicately flavored, slightly chewy beef.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Helen said.

  He took the lid off the aluminum container. Thick chunks of ripe avocado were covered with drifts of queso blanco—white cheese. He dug into it with a tortilla chip from the grease-spattered bag. “Try this guacamole,” he said. “It’s like avocado fudge.”

  “It’s like avocado cream with cilantro,” Helen said. “Tell me how Blossom killed Zack before I fall into a Mexican-food stupor.”

  “Zack’s last meal wasn’t nearly as good as this one,” Phil said. “This time, I was disguised as Rasta Man. The couple drove to the restaurant I showed you. I followed Blossom in my rental car. Zack got there first and took a table outside. They ordered tacos, salsa and chips. Blossom fussed over Zack, dipping tortilla chips into the salsa and feeding him. He loved it. He drank beer and she had margaritas.

  “He excused himself to use the men’s room. While he was gone, Blossom asked for more chips and salsa. When the salsa came, she sprinkled something on it from a little bottle. I thought it was extra hot sauce. The table had a rack of hot sauce bottles. I watched her put the bottle in her purse and figured she was stealing it.”

  “When Zack came back, she kept kissing him and feeding him chips and salsa. He’d eaten most of the salsa and she was snuggled up to him.”

  “Quite a change from the furious woman in the Deerfield Beach bar,” Helen said.

  “She seemed in love with Zack,” Phil said. “That’s where I made my mistake.

  “Zack was pretty drunk by now. He put his arms around her and said, ‘Baby, I know it’s too soon, but I love you. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to rush you, but I want to marry you. I’ve known you since San Diego. You’re smart and ambitious. I’ll do anything for you. I already have. I helped you get your new identity. I followed you here and then I stayed away because you asked me, though it nearly killed me. I love you. I need you. You can pick the date, but please say yes.’

  “She hesitated a bit, then batted her eyelashes and said, ‘Yes, but on one condition.’

  “‘Name it,’” he said.

  “‘I’ll marry you after a year’s mourning for Arthur,’ she said. ‘Will you wait for me?’

  “Zack was all over her then, kissing and saying she’d made him the happiest man in Florida. He ordered more drinks. They kissed and toasted and talked about where they’d hold the ceremony. Blossom said she wanted to get married on the beach.”

  “Again?” Helen said. “Her beach marriage to Arthur didn’t work out so well for the groom.”

  “I doubt if Zack was thinking of Arthur,” Phil said. “He was sloshed. Blossom asked if he could make it home alone. Zack said he was fine. He knew which roads to take to avoid the cops.”

  “Blossom paid the bill and walked Zack to his car. He kissed her good night so hard he practically dented the car. She waved good-bye. I followed her back home.”

  “Two days later, I read a brief item in the Sun-Sentinel about a Zachary Crinlund of West Hills who was taken to the hospital at two a.m. with seizures and vomiting. He’d called 911 from his apartment. Zack lapsed into a coma and did not regain consciousness. The news said Zack’s death was probably food poisoning. I think she poisoned him. That wasn’t hot sauce Blossom sprinkled in his salsa. I watched her kill him.”

  “With the help of the suicide tree?” Helen asked.

  “Different symptoms,” Phil said. “I’m going to keep looking for that poison, too.”

  “In a fifteen-thousand-square-foot house?” Helen said. “That’s impossible. You’re also searching for the seed of the suicide tree, and you haven’t found that, either.”

  “It’s there,” he said. “Both those poisons are. I know it. Whatever she’s using, she won’t throw them away.”

  “I don’t understand why she’d keep them. That’s stupid,” Helen said.

  “Murder has been easy for her,” Phil said, “and she’s gotten away with it twice—at least that’s what she thinks. Killing anyone who gets in her way is becoming a habit. She murdered poor old Arthur for his money. She killed Zack when he tried to pressure her into marriage. Now I bet she’s setting her sights on Violet, who hired a tough lawyer. She’s going to try to make friends with Violet.”

  “It won’t work,” Helen said. “Arthur’s daughter can’t stand her. Violet can’t even say her stepmother’s name.”

  “Blossom is a convincing actress,” Phil said. “When I watched her, I thought she was in love with Zack. We need to be careful. If she makes any overtures to our client about burying the hatchet, we can’t let Violet become her friend.”

  “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.