still has me married to Kendra, and we’ve been divorced for years. Since you’re my trainee, Grasshopper, I will tell you a secret: No reputable investigator uses those databases.”
“You found out fast,” Helen said. “I thought you’d use the old PI standby and call a buddy on the San Diego force.”
“Can’t,” he said. “The new privacy laws killed the days when a PI could call a friend of a friend for a favor. Officers who run background checks now better have good reasons. There are internal checks, as well as outsiders looking in. I don’t know any San Diego cops I’d ask to risk their jobs. I went through the databases only licensed pros can access.”
Helen shifted restlessly. “Fascinating history, Teach, but what did you learn?”
“I’m getting there.” Phil checked the wall clock. “We’re supposed to see our lawyer at seven to meet with our client. It’s six thirty. I didn’t expect you back so late. How big is that yacht? You toured it for hours.”
“I also had to get fitted for my crew uniforms. I pick those up tomorrow,” Helen said. “I want to grow old with you, but not while you’re telling this story. What did you find?”
“Violet told us Blossom Mae was from San Diego,” Phil said. “She didn’t know her birth date, but she guessed her father’s new wife was thirty-five.”
“That’s about right,” Helen said. “Blossom has a few lines around her eyes, but her neck and her hands look young.”
“I searched a ten-year window,” Phil said. “No Blossom Mae was born in San Diego between 1970 and 1985. I did find a Mildred Mae Fennimore, born in 1976, which would make her thirty-six.”
“That age works,” Helen said.
“So does the face,” Phil said. “I saw Mildred’s booking photo. She looks madder than a wet cat and her hair is dirty blond. But it’s definitely Blossom. That was her trick name. Blossom—born Mildred Mae—was arrested and charged with soliciting sexual acts from an undercover police officer.”
“She was a prostitute?” Helen asked. “Poor Violet. She said Blossom married Arthur for his money.”
“That’s not illegal,” Phil said, “or prisons would be packed with calculating cookies.”
“Calculating cookies?” Helen said. “You sound like a shamus.”
“I am one. So are you. The police raided a massage parlor called Beautiful California Girls Body Works.”
“That explains Blossom’s wardrobe,” Helen said. “Half madam and half matron. Wonder where she learned to act like a well-bred wife? Was Blossom convicted for prostitution?”
“Dirty blond Mildred Mae skipped San Diego before her court date,” Phil said, “and forfeited a thousand-dollar bail. There’s a warrant for her arrest. I think that’s when she became brunette Blossom Mae and got a job on a cruise ship giving massages.”
“Violet suspected Blossom’s magic fingers weren’t just massaging Arthur’s back,” Helen said. “Wait till she hears this. She’ll explode.”
“That’s what worries me,” Phil said. “Our client is as unstable as a grenade with the pin pulled. That’s why I wanted to make my report at the lawyer’s office: so Nancie can defuse our client.”
“Nancie’s earning her money,” Helen said.
“So are we,” Phil said.
“After you give your report, I’ll tell her about the club clothes I saw in Blossom’s closet,” Helen said. “I won’t mention that Blossom asked me to give away Arthur’s things—or that I kept a wedding picture and a watch for her.”
“Do we still want to give Arthur’s clothes away?” Phil asked. “I’d better check with Nancie.”
“I’ll freshen up while you make the call,” Helen said. “Meet you at my car in five minutes.”
Helen’s PT Cruiser crawled through the rush-hour traffic toward the lawyer’s office while the two private eyes discussed the case. “Nancie says you should donate Arthur’s clothes, except for the keepsakes,” Phil said. “She says that’s Blossom’s legal right and there’s no evidence she killed Arthur. Also, it maintains your cover.”
“Violet knew there was something wrong about her stepmother,” Helen said, “but no one believed her. Now it’s too late.”
“For Arthur,” Phil said. “But we still might stop Blossom from spending his millions.”
Helen parked next to a shiny silver Saturn. “I think that’s our client’s car,” Phil said. As they knocked on Nancie’s office door, he whispered, “Battle stations.”
Nancie was dressed for success—and client control. Her stern navy suit and no-nonsense attitude had tamed more than one unfriendly witness.
Violet was a dark mass hunched in the lime green client chair. Arthur’s death had taken its toll on his daughter. Her silk shantung suit looked expensive and uncomfortable. Sleepless nights had etched lines into her face and sorrow had stamped dark circles under her eyes.
Helen felt a pang of sympathy. Their news would make her feel worse.
Nancie peered over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. “Violet, as I told you, Coronado Investigations has found some new information,” she said. “You may find it upsetting. Before we proceed, I’m warning that you will not act on their information without my consent. If you do, I will not keep you as my client. Do you understand?”
Violet nodded. Her face shone with hope. “What is it? What did you learn? I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Phil will make his report,” Nancie said. “Then Helen. I want you to hear all the facts before we decide how to proceed. Phil?”
“Your suspicion that Blossom has a shady past was correct,” Phil said.
“I knew it!” Violet squealed, and hugged her fat beige purse like a stuffed toy.
“Violet!” Nancie said. “You promised to listen.”
“I’m sorry,” Violet said. She folded her hands like a reprimanded schoolgirl and listened until Phil finished. “That woman is nothing but a high-class hooker.”
“Not even high-class,” Phil said.
“Alleged hooker,” Nancie corrected. “Blossom hasn’t been convicted.”
“I don’t understand,” Violet said. “How did that woman get a job with a respectable cruise line?”
“The cruise line made a mistake,” Phil said. “Or didn’t vet her properly. It happens.”
“If that woman jumped bail, we can have her arrested,” Violet said. “All we have to do is call the police. We’ll see how good she looks in handcuffs.”
“That’s exactly what we’re
Violet reluctantly agreed. “Have you found anything suspicious?” she asked.
“Haven’t had a chance to search the house,” he said. “I was too busy with the funeral reception. It’s not going to be easy, Violet. We don’t know what poison to look for and the house is fifteen thousand square feet.”
Helen jumped in with, “I found something. I searched Blossom’s closet while I was at the reception—the one she wouldn’t let anyone enter. She has two sets of clothes: a prim and proper wardrobe and club clothes that leave nothing to the imagination.”
“Fran’s right. There’s another man,” Violet said, her voice hard and flat.
“Maybe she wore those wild outfits for your father,” Phil said.
“No, I stopped by at four o’clock one afternoon when they first returned. Daddy was in a dressing gown with a silly look on his face and that woman was wearing a white frilly negligee. My father told me she was a
“You found out what she really was, Phil—a hooker. Her kind of woman needs a man. A young man. Fran saw her dressed to meet him. Follow Blossom when she leaves the house and she’ll lead you to him.”
Fran also saw poisons on the kitchen counter that turned out to be harmless spices, Helen thought. Our case is based on dislike and delusion.
Nancie was giving Violet a dose of reality. “Tailing Blossom will cost extra,” she said.
“I don’t care what it costs,” Violet said. “That woman has a lover. I know it and so does Fran. Just like I knew she was no innocent young wife. Find the man and you’ll find the poison that killed my father.”
