CHAPTER 15
Phil barged into Helen’s bedroom with three bulging plastic bags.
“Retail therapy?” she asked. “I know we had a tough interview with our client tonight, but you’ve never gone in for recreational shopping.”
“I’ve been working,” he said. “While you were lolling, I bought disguises to tail our suspect.”
“Ordinary detectives get their disguises at Goodwill,” Helen said. “And I wasn’t lolling. I was packing.”
“I am no ordinary detective,” Phil said, and grinned. He dropped the bags on Helen’s blue bedspread. Thumbs, attracted by the rustling and crinkling, jumped on the bed and cautiously circled the mound of bags. The cat sniffed one, then backed away. He prodded a red bag with his big six-toed paw. It crackled invitingly. Thumbs leaped on it and a shock of wild brown hair spilled out of the bag. The cat hissed, swatted the hair and disappeared under the bed.
“What’s in there?” Helen said. “It upset Thumbs.”
“Items that will render me invisible when I follow Blossom,” Phil said.
Helen reached up and ruffled his thick silver hair. “With that hair?”
“I am a master of disguise,” Phil said. “Watch.”
He disappeared into the bathroom with the bags. Helen was packing a navy canvas carryall for her yacht cruise. She folded a pink T-shirt into the carryall while Phil slipped out of the bathroom, a vision in black dreadlocks with a red, green and yellow Rasta tam plopped on top. A neon tie-dyed shirt, red board shorts and round John Lennon sunglasses completed the ensemble.
He tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. Be happy.”
Helen put her hands over her face and moaned, “My eyes, my eyes. I may go blind.”
“You have to admit this doesn’t look like me.”
“I recognize the smug look,” Helen said. “Except for that, it’s a good disguise. Where’d you get the dreads and the tam?”
Phil pulled them both off his head. The dreads were attached to the hat. “No problem, mon,” he said in a bad Jamaican accent. “All in one. They sell them in souvenir shops.”
“I’ve seen pale guys on vacation with Rasta tams and dreads,” Helen said. “I didn’t realize they were wearing wig hats.”
“It takes many beers to look this stupid,” Phil said, abandoning the accent.
“That’s good for one trip,” Helen said. “But what happens if you don’t catch Blossom the first time?”
“Wait and see,” Phil said, shutting himself back into the bathroom.
While she waited, Helen mentally inventoried the contents of her carryall: underwear, sandals, casual T-shirts and shorts, sample-sized toiletries.
“Ta-da!” Phil threw open the bathroom door. Now he sported a camo visor with a burst of wild brown hair on the crown, like a clump of dead grass. A “Guns, God and Guts” T-shirt stretched across his chest. His jeans needed a wash. Phil twirled so Helen could see the jeans’ sagging seat.
“No wonder Thumbs hissed at the hair,” Helen said. “If he sees the whole outfit, he may never come out from under the bed.”
“You don’t like Bubba?” Phil asked. “I was hoping you’d admire my new look.” He waited for a reaction.
Helen laughed.
“Laugh away. You haven’t seen Jimmy Ray,” Phil said. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
Phil shut the door while Helen zipped up the navy carryall. There would be just enough room for her uniform shorts and polo shirts.
My uniforms might be crumpled, she thought, but I’ll be ironing eighteen hours a day. I can press my own clothes, too.
The bathroom door opened again. Phil lounged in the doorway. “Wanna go to the dump and shoot rats?” he asked.
Now he wore a greasy Marlins cap with dirty-blond curls hanging down the back of his neck. He had the same saggy jeans and a smiley face T-shirt with a gray bar across the mouth. “Silence Is Golden, Duct Tape Is Silver,” the shirt read.
“What is that hairstyle?” Helen asked. “A half mullet?”
“Something fishy, darlin’,” he drawled. He gripped a tin of Skoal chewing tobacco in one hand and a Dr Pepper in the other.
“When did you start drinking Dr Pepper?” Helen asked.
“I’m recycling,” Phil said. “That’s where I spit my ’baccy juice.”
“Ew,” Helen said.
“Exactly the reaction I wanted, little lady,” he said. “Glad you appreciate my accessories.”
“There isn’t more, is there?” she asked.
“That’s how I like my women—begging for more,” he said, his fake redneck accent thickening. “You-all wait here a minute. I got another surprise.”
When the bathroom door shut, Thumbs slunk out from under the bed, looked around, then raced out of the bedroom before Phil debuted his next disguise.
This time, he had his distinctive silver hair tucked under a clean blue ball cap. He wore a fresh blue coverall that said BOB on the pocket, and carried a blue toolbox.
“What’s the problem with your air-conditioning, ma’am?” Phil asked politely.
“Nothing,” Helen said. “I am totally cool. Bob looks reliable enough to let inside my house. But how are Bob and his buddies going to tail Blossom? She must know you drive a black Jeep. You park it at her house.”
“I worked that out, too,” Phil said. “I’m having a rental car delivered to the parking lot next to the entrance of Hendin Island. It’s a medical office building. The rental stays there until I need it. If Blossom leaves the house, I run to the parking lot and follow her. With the traffic on Las Olas, it takes a while to turn out of Hendin Island Road. She won’t get far. Rental cars are anonymous. Even a great detective like me has trouble finding my own rental unless I park it by some landmark.”
“Blossom is no dummy,” Helen said. “She might catch on if the same rental keeps following her.”
“Also thought of that,” Phil said. “Once I use the rental, I exchange it for another. I have full-sized cars from Chevy Impalas to Hyundai Sonatas waiting in the wings.”
“Bob is going to drive a Chevy Impala to fix the air-conditioning?” Helen asked.
“Of course not,” Phil said. “Good catch. You’re thinking like a detective. I rented a white panel truck for Bob. The truck is in the parking lot, too. I slipped the building manager a little cash to park there and had magnetized signs made up at the copy shop for the van.”
He ducked back into the bathroom. Helen heard more rustling, then Phil returned with two plastic signs that read PALM BEACH COOL GUYS AIR-CONDITIONING SERVICE.
“Slap these on the sides, and Bob looks like the real deal,” he said. “There was an extra charge for fast service, but Violet says she doesn’t mind paying. I can keep doing this for weeks.”
“Do you think Violet and Fran are right and Blossom killed her husband, Arthur?” Helen asked.
“The more I find out about Blossom, the more I think she did,” Phil said. “At first, I discounted a lot of what Violet said as jealousy. The housekeeper may not know curry, but she knew something was off. After you discovered those wild clothes in Blossom’s dressing room, I started to think Fran did see her leaving to meet a lover. I wish I had a better idea how Blossom killed her husband.”
Helen felt uneasy. Talking about Arthur triggered her worries about her dead ex-husband and the blackmailer. Just my luck he’ll call when I’m out of the country, Helen thought.
“Where did you go?” Phil asked. “You zoned out on me.”
“Sorry,” Helen said. “Nervous about my trip. Promise me if my sister, Kathy, calls while I’m gone, you’ll contact me.”
