Final Sail

by Elaine Viets

  She didn’t walk like Violet, either. She strode confidently toward them. “Phil? Helen?” she asked. “Are you okay? You look a little rocky this morning.”

  “I’ve been beat up by Blossom, then spent the night with the police,” Helen said. “You look terrific. What’s your secret?”

  “Thanks,” Violet said. “I was too upset to eat after Daddy died. I lost ten pounds and decided to keep losing weight. Now I’m working out at the gym four days a week. I feel so much better.”

  “But your hair is different and your clothes are new,” Helen said.

  “You like them?” Violet smiled. A sweet smile, with none of the old tension. “Clothes and hair were never my thing. My workout instructor sent me to a new salon. Neiman Marcus has a personal shopper. That was Blossom’s secret, you know. She had the taste of a tramp, but she used a personal shopper to buy the right clothes to mix with people like Daddy.

  “But I’m not going to waste time ranting about her. I’m seeing a counselor now. For”—she paused and lowered her eyes—“anger issues. I don’t like Blossom and never will, but I’m starting to realize that some of my problems were caused by me. I can be my own worst enemy.”

  Blossom, Helen thought. She called her stepmother Blossom. Twice.

  “But you were right,” Phil said. “Blossom did murder your father. She had a lover and she poisoned your father with something from the exotic East, just as you suspected. Now that Nancie’s here, we’ll go inside and give our report.”

  Helen and Phil helped the lawyer carry in steaming cups of hot coffee, a tub of warm bagels, whipped butter, maple-honey spread and lox and cream cheese. They arranged the food on the conference room table. Helen burned her tongue on the coffee—she was that desperate for caffeine. Phil heaped a bagel with lox and cream cheese.

  The little lawyer sat at the head of the long conference-dining table, savoring her triumph and a cinnamon-raisin bagel.

  Violet sipped black coffee and listened to Helen and Phil. She cried softly when Phil told her about the seed of the suicide tree.

  “Fran was right,” Violet said. “It was the curry. It hid the taste. I hope Blossom goes away for a long time.”

  Helen heard a flash of Violet’s old anger. But it was justified.

  “I think she will,” Nancie said, delicately picking a crumb off her brown suit. “Right now Blossom is in custody for the assault on Helen. But I expect further charges after Mr. Zerling’s body is exhumed and tests are conducted on samples from her lover, Zack. Any more questions?”

  “A couple,” Violet said. “Why did Blossom use a different poison to kill her boyfriend?”

  “I can answer that,” Phil said. “She wanted to save the suicide tree seed for you. I heard her tell Zack that it would look like you’d had a heart attack, just like your father. Blossom said she was going to try to mend fences with you. We warned Nancie, but she didn’t contact you.”

  “I might have let her, too, as part of my therapy,” Violet said.

  “She was poisoning Zack while she talked about killing you,” Phil said.

  “Awful woman,” Violet said. “Do you need to see a doctor, Helen, for your injuries?”

  Helen started in surprise. Violet hadn’t cared about anything but vengeance last time.

  “No, just a bruised shoulder,” Helen said.

  “Your suit is ruined,” she said.

  “I never liked it anyway,” Helen said.

  “Is that it, Violet?” Nancie asked.

  Violet nodded. They shook hands all around, but Nancie wouldn’t let Helen leave yet. She pulled a camera from her desk drawer. “I’m taking photos of your injuries, including that shoulder. That bruise should be nice and photogenic this morning. Take off your blouse, please.”

  Helen finished the photo session yawning with fatigue. Phil swiped an onion bagel and they left.

  The next two weeks passed in a blur of publicity and breaking news on the Blossom Zerling murders. Valerie Cannata seemed to have a new revelation on Channel Seventy-Seven nearly every day. Each time, she mentioned Coronado Investigations. Helen and Phil were the stars of the six o’clock news.

  First, a botanist confirmed that the oval seed in the potpourri vase was from the suicide tree, famous for its harvest of suicide and homicide in India and southern Asia, but hardly known in the West.

  Next, Valerie reported that the medical examiner found traces of the exotic poison in Arthur Zerling’s body during the autopsy. The samples of Zack’s blood and urine showed evidence of nicotine poison.

  Then Valerie broke the story that Blossom Zerling was charged with first-degree murder in the deaths of her husband, Arthur Zerling, and her lover, Zachary Crinlund. Now Blossom could no longer receive funds from the Zerling estate—or afford a high-priced defense team. Blossom waited for an ambitious defense lawyer to save her for no money, but the pin-striped sharks were busy rescuing other malefactors.

  Blossom had to settle for a public defender with a bad haircut and a shiny suit. He saw Valerie’s story about Arthur’s kindness and contributions to the community, and advised Blossom to plead guilty to both murders and avoid the death penalty.

  Helen and Phil cheered when Blossom was sentenced to life in prison.

  The Zerling case ended where it began—in Nancie Hays’s neat, practical office.

  The new Violet sat in the lime green client chair. She was more attractive, less angry and definitely grateful. She examined her bill, wrote a check to Coronado Investigations with a flourish, then handed Helen and Phil a bonus check of fifty thousand dollars.

  “Rich people usually look for ways to reduce bills,” Helen said.

  “Blossom won’t get Daddy’s estate, thanks to you,” Violet said. “You’ve made me richer—and saved my life.”

  She handed Helen a pale blue envelope. “That’s for Margery Flax, the woman who accompanied me to Daddy’s funeral.”

  “We’ve already paid her,” Helen said.

  “She deserves a bonus for putting up with me,” Violet said.

  “We have something for you,” Helen said. “Blossom asked me to go through your father’s personal effects and give them to charity. I sent them to a resale shop that benefits people with AIDS. Do you want me to see if I can get his things back?”

  “No, no,” Violet said. “Daddy would be happy that his things will help people. That’s the kind of man he was.”

  “We kept two personal items for you,” Helen said. She handed Violet her parents’ wedding photo in the mother-of-pearl frame and the platinum Rolex Oyster that Honeysuckle had given Arthur.

  Violet’s expression softened as she read the engraving on the watch out loud. “To my love on our first anniversary. We have all the time in the world—HZ.”

  “They didn’t, did they?” Violet said, wiping away a tear.

  “There’s never enough time when you love each other,” Helen said.

  “Well, I’m sure you have places to go,” Violet said, suddenly turning all business. She stood up and shook hands with the partners of Coronado Investigations.

  It was five o’clock when Helen and Phil walked out together to the Igloo. “We’d better deposit our checks at the bank before they evaporate,” Phil said. “Then we have one more place to go.”

  “Where?” Helen asked.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said.

  The setting sun was turning the Fort Lauderdale beach a tender pink when Phil parked the Igloo. The beachgoers were already a deeper pink. Tired, sunburned and sandy, they were folding their chairs and packing their coolers. Toddlers crying for naps clung to their mothers. Daddies gave their little girls rides on their shoulders to the family minivans.

  Helen and Phil passed them as they walked at the edge of the ocean. Helen slipped off her shoes and let the warm water tickle her toes.

  They walked as though they were the only ones on the beach.

  “I know where we are now,” Helen said. “This is where Margery married us.”


  “That’s why I wanted to come back,” Phil said. “I know you’ve been upset with me about that business with the Angostura bitters.”

  “No—” Helen began, then realized she had been. “Yes,” she said. “You know me better than I know myself.” She turned to face him.

  “I was wrong,” he said. “I should have told you what I planned.” He kissed her forehead.

  She ran her finger lightly along the bridge of his nose. She liked his nose. Like Phil, it was both noble and slightly crooked.

  “You are my partner, Helen,” he said. “My equal partner.”

  He kissed first one eyelid, then the other, while she held him close.

  “In work and in love,” he said. “Forever.”

  And then he kissed her on the lips, the way he did the night they married.

  EPILOGUE

  “Well, well, this is a nice surprise,” Margery said as she read Violet’s check. “Green. My favorite color.”

  “I thought it was purple,” Helen said.

  “It will be,” Margery said.

  The landlady bought a magnificent gold and amethyst necklace and a purple silk hostess outfit, then wore them to a party she threw by the pool. Phil barbecued chicken and ribs, and the Coronado denizens feasted and toasted one another.

  “So, am I a member of Coronado Investigations?” Margery asked.

  “You’re an independent contractor,” Phil said.

  “Accent on independent,” Helen said.

  * * *

  Violet Zerling sold her father’s Fort Lauderdale mansion. “Too many sad memories,” she said. Her real estate agent introduced her to a fifty-one-year-old corporate attorney named Gordon. They dated for a year before announcing their engagement. Violet knows her fiancé isn’t marrying her for her money—Gordon is even richer than she is. She did insist that they both have wills and designated health-care surrogates. Violet and Gordon married at his Fort Lauderdale mansion and plan to live happily ever after.

  * * *

  Andrei, the fired first engineer on the Belted Earl, finally found work on a yacht called Threesome. That boat name is popular on porn sites and in XXX-rated movies. It is also used by some freethinking yachters. This particular Threesome was known to South Florida yachters as a perpetual party boat. Underage girls scampered about on the decks. Drugs were as abundant as boob jobs. Miraculously, the yacht was never boarded by the authorities. Competent crew regarded this Threesome as the last stop before the crazy train derailed. The owner made the crew miserable with his miserly pay and capricious changes.

  Helen thought a stint on the Threesome was a fitting punishment for the Bulgarian engineer. Andrei was surrounded by lush, willing beauties who never noticed him. In the port bars, even the most naive stewardess would not go home with a man who wore a Threesome crew uniform.

  * * *

  Dick, the second engineer, was promoted to Andrei’s job on the Belted Earl. Captain Swingle found replacement staff through a reputable Fort Lauderdale yacht crew agency, then hired Coronado Investigations to do background checks on the new crew.

  * * *

  HSI agents found an empty plastic tackle box and a duffel full of grimy evening gowns in a trash can near the car belonging to Mira’s boyfriend. Kevin had parked his car in the Fort Lauderdale airport garage. Kevin said he didn’t remember Mira ever having a tackle box. Mira gave him the gowns for his theater company’s production of Rain, but the dresses were too damaged to be used as costumes. The company closed before the show’s opening night.

  There was not enough evidence to charge Kevin as an accessory to Mira’s smuggling. Kevin missed his off-Broadway audition when he was detained for questioning at the airport. He went to New York three months later. He now works off Broadway—as a waiter.

  * * *

  Tests showed that the blond hair found in Louise’s pocket was a DNA match with Mira’s hair. Police produced Mira’s credit card receipt for a silver two-toned Ficcare barrette purchased from HeadGamesOnline.com three months before Louise’s death.

  Faced with this overwhelming evidence, Mira confessed that she had seen Louise leave the bosun’s locker after the head stew hid the tackle box of smuggled emeralds in there. The next time Mira checked the locker, the box was secured with a bungee cord. Mira never knew that the captain had found the emeralds and hired Coronado Investigations. She expected Louise to accuse her and Mira didn’t want to get caught with the latest load of emeralds.

  Mira saw the rough seas on the crossing as a way to end a potential problem. She lured Louise outside with a story that the boys had left a wicker sofa unsecured on the lower aft deck.

  Mira got down on the deck, peered under the canvas cover and said, “The lower bungee cord snapped.”

  “Where?” Louise asked, as the shifting sea slammed into the yacht and knocked her off balance. That’s when the much stronger Mira grabbed her ankles and tipped the hundred-pound Louise overboard.

  Mira was charged with murder one. Her public defender reminded her that Florida is a death penalty state and Louise’s cold-blooded murder would horrify a jury. Mira accepted a plea bargain for life without possibility of parole.

  * * *

  Shortly after the news of Mira’s sentence, Captain Swingle held a memorial service for Louise at sunset on the Fort Lauderdale beach. Suzanne, Dick, Matt, Carl, Sam and Helen attended the service. The captain brought a dozen white roses. Suzanne set out a buffet table with appetizers that looked like the elegant, edible art Louise had served on the yacht, as well as the boys’ favorites, pigs in a blanket and pizzas. Guests sipped champagne and drank beer.

  Each crew member talked about how much he or she admired Louise, and tossed a white rose into the soft silvery sea. Sam the deckhand, fortified by several brews, was the last to speak at Louise’s memorial.

  He gave a less rambling version of his good girl/bad girl speech, then said, “Louise was a good girl. No, a good woman. And we were good friends. The best. She loved life and she loved the ocean and she even loved the pelicans. She said they were what pterodactyls must have looked like. I’ll miss Louise.”

  Sam gently left a rose on the edge of the warm surf. Captain Swingle set the remaining flowers next to it. The tide carried the roses away as a squadron of pelicans glided above.

  “Yay, Louise!” Sam shouted, waving his beer.

  The crew lifted their champagne glasses in a final salute to her.

  * * *

  Helen watched the crew drift away after the service. She walked alone on the beach to the site where Margery had married her and Phil, and where her husband had pledged his love a second time. She had a pledge of her own to keep. Her sister, Kathy, had received the phone jack and the digital recorder that Helen sent her, and practiced daily, determined to catch the blackmailer. Kathy told Helen that she could slap the jack on the recorder in two seconds, even if Tommy Junior was teasing his little sister, and his father was asking if dinner was ready. Kathy felt prepared to record Rob, or whoever the blackmailer was.

  Helen stood alone in the surf, watching the sun slip into the soft silken sea and the stars come out.

  Then she said out loud, “I swear that I will trust my husband and tell him what happened to Rob. We will catch the blackmailer together. And then I hope that he will still love me.”

  * * *

  Phil was waiting for Helen in their office when she came home, her hair tossed by the sea breeze. “I’ve been going over the books,” he said. “Coronado Investigations is safely in the black. We could use Violet’s bonus as the down payment on a bigger place.”

  “Do you want a house?” Helen asked.

  “No, I like it here,” Phil said. “But you used to own a big house in St. Louis.”

  “That was another life,” Helen said. “A bigger house means more work. It would mean more cleaning. I did enough on that yacht. I can’t see you pushing a lawn mower, Phil.

  “We have enough room at the Coronado. If I need to be a
lone, I go to my apartment and shut the door. Same with you. Margery is our estate manager. If we moved, I’d miss our friends here.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “What would we do without the Coronado sunset salutes?”

  “I like our life,” Helen said. “And I love you.” She kissed his ear.

  “I already have everything. Why would I want more?”

  ALSO BY ELAINE VIETS

  ANGELA RICHMAN, DEATH INVESTIGATOR

  Brain Storm

  Fire and Ashes

  Ice Blonde (Novella)*

  DEAD-END JOB MYSTERIES

  Shop Till You Drop*

  Murder Between the Covers*

  Dying to Call You*

  Just Murdered*

  Murder Unleashed*

  Murder With Reservations*

  Clubbed to Death*

  Killer Cuts*

  Half Price Homicide*

  Pumped for Murder*

  Final Sail*

  Board Stiff*

  Catnapped!*

  Checked Out

  The Art of Murder

  Killer Blonde (Novella)

  JOSIE MARCUS, MYSTERY SHOPPER

  Dying in Style*

  High Heels Are Murder*

  Accessory to Murder*

  Murder with All the Trimmings*

  The Fashion Hound Murders*

  An Uplifting Murder*

  Death on a Platter*

  Murder is a Piece of Cake*

  Fixing to Die*

  A Dog Gone Murder*

  FRANCESCA VIERLING MYSTERIES

  Backstab

  Rubout

  The Pink Flamingo Murders

  Doc in the Box

  *Available in JABberwocky eBook editions

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Elaine Viets has written 32 mysteries in four series: the bestselling Dead-End Job series with South Florida PI Helen Hawthorne, the cozy Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper mysteries, and the dark Francesca Vierling mysteries. With the Angela Richman Death Investigator series, Elaine returns to her hardboiled roots and uses her experience as a stroke survivor and her studies at the Medicolegal Death Investigators Training Course. Elaine was a director at large for the Mystery Writers of America. She's a frequent contributor to Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine and anthologies edited by Charlaine Harris and Lawrence Block. Elaine won the Anthony, Agatha and Lefty Awards.