Final Sail (8 page)

“Told you,” the nurse said, her voice triumphant. “Do you want to see Mrs. Zerling’s
written
orders? I have them.”

Violet opened her mouth, but Helen cut her off. “That’s not necessary.”

“None of this is necessary,” Nurse Abbott said. “I have critically ill patients to care for. I’m going to do you one more favor, Ms. Zerling. I won’t call security if you leave now.”

Violet erupted into quiet tears. Helen put her arm around the weeping woman and led her out of the ICU toward the elevator.

“I wanted to say good-bye,” Violet said, sniffling and blinking back more tears. “I wanted Daddy to know I love him.”

“He already knows,” Helen said. She pressed the elevator button for Violet. “I have to go back to the ICU. You go home and rest. I’ll keep you posted.”

Nurse Abbott tried to justify herself as Helen passed her desk. “I really couldn’t let her in,” she said, popping another chocolate into her mouth. “I’d lose my job.”

Helen didn’t answer. She sat down in the visitor’s chair and took out her book. At nine seventeen, she heard Arthur’s breathing change dramatically. First it was deeper and faster—then it stopped altogether and started up again. Helen’s mother had sounded that way before she died. Arthur’s room was alive with beeping and shrieking alarms. Helen ran for Nurse Abbott, but she’d already called “Code Blue.”

“In the hall,” she commanded, shoving Helen out of her way. Staff flooded into Arthur’s room. Someone issued terse commands. The privacy blinds on Arthur’s window snapped shut, blocking Helen’s view.

Helen called Blossom’s cell phone. Still no answer. “Your husband has taken a turn for the worse,” Helen said. “Please hurry.”

With that, Helen heard footsteps running down the hall and Blossom came flying through the ICU door.

“What’s wrong?” she said, fast and frantic. “Why aren’t you with Arthur?”

“I tried to reach you,” Helen said.

“I was caught in traffic on I-95,” Blossom said. “There was a terrible accident. What’s going on?”

“I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” Helen said, trying to prepare her.

Nurse Abbott came out of the room, looking shell-shocked. She took Blossom’s arm and started to lead her to the family lounge. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Zerling. Your husband—”

Blossom screamed before the nurse finished her sentence.

CHAPTER 8

B
lossom’s scream stopped abruptly, as if someone had hit a switch. Helen found the sudden silence shocking. Blossom swayed slightly, then suddenly pitched forward.

Nurse Abbott caught the new widow before she hit the floor and held her in a strong grip. Blossom’s head drooped and her face was lily-white.

“Nice catch,” Helen said.

“Years of practice,” the nurse said. “I’m good at spotting when they’re going to drop.”

Helen realized her comment wasn’t very clerical and tried to make amends for her insensitivity with a concerned question. “Is Blossom okay?”

“I think so. Low blood sugar and stress, most likely,” the nurse said. “I’ll check her vitals. Grab that wheelchair there and we’ll take her to the family lounge. If something’s really wrong, we can wheel her straight to the ER.”

Nurse Abbott gently lowered Blossom into the chair and rolled her toward the lounge.

Helen thought its mournful shades of mauve and gray were the
perfect place to take a new widow. The blaring TV added to the depressing atmosphere. Helen found the remote and turned down the volume.

Blossom started to come around as they entered the lounge. She shook her head, then ran her fingers through her long brown hair and sighed.

“Welcome back,” Nurse Abbott said, helping her onto a mauve couch.

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Blossom said. “I know you’re busy.”

“Your husband just passed away,” Nurse Abbott said. “You don’t have to apologize for being human.” She pulled a flat hospital pillow and a thin blanket from a cabinet and settled the woman comfortably on the couch. Then she checked Blossom’s pulse and blood pressure.

“Both normal,” she reported. “How do you feel now?”

“Fine,” Blossom said. “No, I’m not fine. I feel terrible. Arthur’s dead. I should have been with him when it happened.” A single tear slid down her cheek. Her face looked like it had been dusted with flour. “Because of me, my poor husband died alone.”

“He wasn’t alone,” Helen said. “I was with him. Arthur had a peaceful passing.”

She remembered Nurse Abbott pushing her out of the way and the staff running into Arthur’s room and wondered if that was true.

“He didn’t feel any pain,” Nurse Abbott said. “He wouldn’t have known if you were there.”

“But I know,” Blossom said. “I failed my husband in his final moments.”

“Nonsense,” Nurse Abbott said. “You need some food.”

Blossom wept quietly. Helen handed her a fistful of tissues from a box on the side table, then patted Blossom’s cold hand. The silence stretched between them. Helen wished she could say something comforting but couldn’t find the right words.

She was relieved when Nurse Abbott rushed in with two packs of graham crackers and a cold container of orange juice. “Drink the orange juice,” she commanded. “It will help your blood sugar. Would you like a sandwich?”

“No, thanks,” Blossom said, and started weeping again. “I ate dinner. How could I eat when Arthur was dying?”

“You have to keep up your strength,” Nurse Abbott said. “Life goes on.”

“Can I say good-bye to Arthur now?” Blossom asked.

“We’re getting him tidied up,” Nurse Abbott said.

“Was he”—Blossom hesitated—“hurt?”

“Not at all,” Nurse Abbott said. “But we want to disconnect the IV lines and monitors and clean him up a little. As soon as he’s ready, you can be with him.”

“Thank you,” Blossom said. “You’ve been so good to me—to us.” Her voice wobbled.

“Just doing my job,” Nurse Abbott said. “Reverend, if you’ll stay with Blossom, I have to get back to my patients.”

She marched briskly out of the lounge, leaving Helen and Blossom in the gloomy room with the television. A screaming red
BREAKING NEWS
banner interrupted the ten o’clock local newscast. An aerial view of a massive traffic jam on I-95 appeared on the screen. An overturned tractor-trailer sprawled across the highway. Flames were devouring the cab as firefighters sprayed it.

“There it is,” Blossom said. “That’s the accident that kept me away from Arthur.”

She reached for the clicker on the coffee table and turned up the sound. The announcer said, “The driver of the truck escaped injury. But the highway remains blocked from Sunrise to Commercial Boulevard. The Broward County Sheriff’s Office urges drivers to seek another route until the highway is cleared. We’ll bring you more live updates on News Channel …”

Blossom turned down the TV and said, “If only there hadn’t been that accident. I was stuck for over an hour, frantic to get back to the hospital. I tried to get around the cars by driving in the breakdown lane, but the police wouldn’t let me. They forced me back in line.” Her voice seemed to fade away.

“You need to keep eating,” Helen reminded her. “Nurse’s orders.”

“Right,” Blossom said, absently. She crunched on a graham cracker, then said, “Finally, the traffic moved enough so I could get off at an exit, but then I had to drive through downtown and that took more time.”

She finished the graham cracker and struggled to open the orange juice container with shaking fingers. Helen gently took the juice from her, peeled back the foil top and handed it to her. Blossom sipped daintily.

“You did the right thing,” Helen said. “Arthur wouldn’t have wanted you to get in an accident.” She was enjoying passing out platitudes. They seemed to work when Nurse Abbott said them.

“You think so?” Blossom said, sniffling.

“Absolutely,” Helen said.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Blossom said. “Would you conduct Arthur’s funeral? I know he’d want that.”

“I’d be honored,” Helen said as she felt another stab of guilt. Arthur didn’t want Helen. He’d never met her.

“I’ll have to find out when the hospital will release Arthur’s—” Blossom teared up, then made an effort to steady her voice. “Will release Arthur.”

“Do you know where he will be buried?” Helen asked.

“Yes. My husband was so thoughtful,” Blossom said. “Arthur told me he bought a funeral plan when his first wife died. I can’t remember her name. I’m so upset.”

“Honeysuckle,” Helen said.

“That’s right,” Blossom said. “He wanted to be buried next to
Honeysuckle. He asked me if I’d mind. Wasn’t that sweet? I told him that was fine. She had him longer than I did and she is the mother of his child. Did you conduct Honeysuckle’s funeral service?”

“That was before I knew Arthur,” Helen said, truthfully.

“He bought the plan at the Dignity Forever Funeral Home on Federal Highway. The one with the white columns.”

Helen thought all Fort Lauderdale funeral homes had white columns, but she nodded.

“Then you’ll do it?” Blossom said. “Please?”

“On one condition,” Helen said. “Violet must be allowed to attend her father’s funeral.”

“But—” Blossom started to object.

“I will not be a party to a family feud,” Helen said. “I know you and Violet have had your differences, but you must set them aside for Arthur’s sake. Violet can be difficult. I won’t deny that. But I think she can help you.”

“Help me how?” Was there a slightly surly sound in Blossom’s voice—or did grief give it an edge? Helen couldn’t tell.

“Arthur Zerling was a successful man,” Helen said. “He lived in Fort Lauderdale all his life. Do you know how to contact all his friends, family and business associates?”

“I have his address book,” Blossom said.

“But do you know which ones are family and which are friends? Do you know his colleagues and his staff?” Helen asked.

“No,” Blossom said.

“Violet will,” Helen said. “We can put her to work contacting them.”

“She’s impossible!” Blossom said. “We can’t be together two minutes before she starts a fight.”

“You won’t have to deal with her,” Helen said. “You won’t even see her. She can make the calls from my office.”

Blossom took a deep breath and blotted her eyes. “Okay, I’ll do
what you want. But what if she makes a scene at Arthur’s funeral? You can’t believe how she carried on here in the ICU.”

“I will personally guarantee her good behavior,” Helen said. “I’ll watch her myself.”

“How can you?” Blossom asked. “You’ll be conducting the service.”

Blossom was right. Helen knew asking Phil to accompany Violet was out of the question. The Reverend Hawthorne wasn’t supposed to know Mrs. Zerling’s new estate manager. And Blossom wasn’t supposed to know Coronado Investigations was hired to prove she’d murdered her husband. Helen needed someone strong to keep Violet in line, but she couldn’t insult their client by hiring a muscle head in a black suit.

Then she thought of the perfect solution: someone strong who could look dignified and blend in as an ordinary mourner. Helen thought her idea was inspired.

“I’ll make sure she attends the funeral with a family friend, Margery Flax,” Helen said.

“Is this Flax woman a bodyguard?” Blossom asked.

“Better,” Helen said. “And far more forceful.”

CHAPTER 9

A
rthur Zerling was buried under white flowers. His polished dark wood casket was heaped with washed-out lilies, waxy camellias and rubbery roses. The sweet sickly scent of the hothouse blooms made the Reverend Helen Hawthorne slightly dizzy. The newly minted minister prayed she wouldn’t pass out. This was her first time presiding at a funeral. She wanted Arthur to have the solemnity he deserved.

Helen steadied herself at the funeral home podium and surveyed the mourners. The room’s candy-box colors—pink walls and spindly gold chairs—were overwhelmed by the dark tide of mourners.

Arthur’s wife and his daughter sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Blossom looked like a noir widow in a black high-collared suit and dramatic wide-brimmed hat. Helen thought she needed a cigarette holder to complete the outfit.

Violet was upholstered in some shiny, lumpy black material. Her heavy black veil couldn’t hide her glare. She aimed it with laserlike intensity at the woman she’d accused of killing her father. Margery sat at Violet’s side, her face half-hidden by the glamorous swoop of
her lavender hat. She rested one purple-gloved hand lightly on Violet’s arm, as if she was comforting Arthur’s grieving daughter. Helen knew Margery’s hand would clamp down if Violet acted on her hostility.