“Arthur’s cuff links, watches and other jewelry are in these cases,” Blossom said, patting the tall chest under the Russell bronze.
Helen opened the top drawer and saw four watches on velvet. From her years in retail, she guessed she was looking at more than a hundred thousand dollars in timepieces.
“These are good quality,” Helen said. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep them or give them as mementos to Arthur’s friends?”
“No, give them to charity,” Blossom said. “I would appreciate a receipt for taxes. Please take them away today.”
Blossom paused, then said, “Arthur’s clothes and things could help people if they went to a charity. I’d like them put to good use. I know Arthur would, too.”
“Any particular charity?” Helen asked.
“No, I’m new to Lauderdale,” Blossom said. “You’re a minister. You must know some good ones.”
Helen eyed the floor-to-ceiling rows and racks of clothes and shoes. “There’s a lot for me to carry,” she said.
“I’ll send my man,” Blossom said. “He’s taking a break in the kitchen. I had him get packing boxes. He can carry them out for you. His name is Phil.”
“Good,” Helen said. Phil and I can search this room together, she thought.
“May I make a donation to your church?” Blossom asked.
“No, thank you,” Helen said. “I’m happy to do this for Arthur.” And I’m already paid by his daughter, she thought. The ethics of this situation made her a bit queasy.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Blossom said. “I have to get back to my guests.” She held out her exquisitely manicured hand and shook Helen’s. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “I know you’ve had a long day. Please find a good home for Arthur’s clothes.”
Blossom paused, then said, “I don’t want you to think I’m getting rid of Arthur.”
Helen said nothing.
Blossom kept talking. “Every time I walk by this room, I seem to see him. Not the smart, strong man I first met, but the dying Arthur. I don’t want to think of him that way. I don’t want to face what I lost one more day.”
Face what you lost—or what you did? Helen wondered.
CHAPTER 12
Helen could see Blossom’s dressing room on the other side of the bedroom. Arthur’s wife had barred the housekeeper from that room. Now Fran was fired and Arthur was dead and Blossom boldly left the door open.
It was an invitation to snoop. That’s what Helen was, and she knew it: a paid snoop. A professional investigator. I really shouldn’t do this, she thought. I’ve just buried the owner of this house.
Who may have been killed by his wife. Helen quickly tossed aside her few reservations, like a stripper’s flimsy costume. She stalked across the half acre of posh rug and stood in the doorway to Blossom’s dressing room.
I could get caught, she told herself. But I don’t expect Blossom back soon. She has her duties at Arthur’s funeral reception.
Helen slipped into Blossom’s dressing room. It was as organized as Arthur’s, but definitely feminine. Helen caught the scent of some light, spicy perfume. The walls were a flattering pale peach and the well-lit full-length mirror was slimming. The only art was a gold-framed photo of Blossom as a bride carrying that lush white bouquet.
Helen would love to have these finely crafted shelves in pale, golden wood. She’d like to have the clothes and shoes to fill them.
Well, some of the clothes. There seemed to be two Blossoms: the sedate wife that Helen knew and a sexy woman who wore daringly cut clothes in come-hither colors—red, sapphire blue and vibrant emerald green. Helen had never seen that side of Blossom, and she examined a carousel of gaudy evening dresses.
Cocktail dresses and long gowns glittered with sequins, rhinestones and bugle beads. As the dresses whirled slowly around, Helen saw flirty ruffles and frisky feathers.
Each dress was protected by a clear plastic zipped bag. They must look spectacular on Blossom’s well-toned figure. A red velvet number with a plunging front and back looked like the fabled “gownless evening strap” worn by a Hollywood starlet.
When did Blossom wear clothes like these with her elderly husband? And where? Certainly not at any soiree given by the staid silver hairs downstairs.
Helen slowly watched the dresses on the carousel until she came to a section of subdued silver and black gowns. Some were strapless, others had long sleeves, but all were elegant and tasteful. These were suitable for Arthur’s friends. So were the two racks of black, gray and pale peach suits.
Blossom’s casual clothes showed the same split personality: risque halter tops with deep-cut necklines and V-cut backs. Blouses with sexy lace-up fronts, provocative corset styles and wisps of leopard prints with barely enough spots to cover the vital spots.
Club clothes, never meant for daylight. They contrasted oddly with schoolmarmish tailored skirts, pants and clamdiggers from Tory Burch, Brooks Brothers and Talbots, designed for a rich man’s wife.
Blossom’s shoes ranged from modest ballerina flats to an outrageous pair of purple cage sandals with six- inch stiletto heels. How did she walk in those? Helen wondered. She picked up the heel for a closer look. The strappy purple shoe weighed at least three pounds and the skinny heels looked lethal.
“Drop that weapon now,” said a voice behind her.
Helen jumped and the heel went flying across the peach carpet. She turned and saw her husband leaning against the doorframe, laughing.
“Phil!” she said. “I ought to stab you with that stiletto.”
“What are you doing in Blossom’s dressing room?” he said. “She could catch you poking around in her things.”
“She’s busy,” Helen said. “Why are you wearing white shorts and a blue polo shirt instead of your jeans?”
“The lady of the house gave me this uniform,” Phil said. He did a model’s turn in the dressing room.
“Shows off your buns nicely, Cabana Boy,” Helen said. “Where did she send you to buy that outfit?”
“She didn’t,” Phil said. “She guessed my size and had it waiting for me.”
“She’s been observing you closely,” Helen said. “When did she have time to run to the store and buy uniforms? She hired you the night her husband died.”
“Maybe she missed being at Arthur’s deathbed because she was uniform shopping,” Phil said.
“Maybe our client should suspect her stepmother,” Helen said. “Blossom said she was caught in the traffic from that accident on I-95.”
“Which isn’t on the way to the hospital,” Phil said. “But it is the fastest way to several malls. If Violet and Fran are right and Blossom poisoned Arthur, we’ve got a hell of a job. I checked out the place this morning while helping set up the reception. Besides the eight bedrooms and twelve baths, there are two dining rooms, a six-car garage and a pool house. I lost track of the halls, sitting rooms and living rooms.”
“Find any poison?”
“Lots,” Phil said. “Enough rat poison in the garage to kill everyone on Hendin Island.”
“They have rats?”
“In a big old house on the water? Sure. But I don’t think Arthur showed symptoms of that kind of poisoning. Where do I start?”
“Here,” Helen said. “The room Blossom wouldn’t let Fran enter. The housekeeper said Blossom was hiding
