CHAPTER 17
Helen waited for Phil outside Aruba, a beachside restaurant in Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Aruba was in a cluster of small seaside restaurants and souvenir shops.
The ocean air was a soft caress. Helen heard the soothing
Phil jumped out of his black Jeep, tossed his keys to the valet and saluted Helen.
“Where do I enlist?” he said. “I love women in uniform. Do you get a gun?”
“I get a caddy loaded with spray cleaner,” she said, laughing. “I can shoot to kill—germs.”
He took her in his arms and said, “You’ve already shot me through the heart. I’ll miss you. A whole week, huh?” He unbuttoned the top button on her uniform. “Do we have time to go back and—?”
“No,” Helen said. “We don’t. We’re supposed to meet Max. What’s he look like?”
“A short older guy with gray hair,” Phil said.
“That isn’t a good description in Florida,” Helen said. “Half the men in there have gray hair.”
They scanned the gray-haired men bellied up to the bar—literally.
“No Max,” Phil said. He checked his watch. “It’s four fifty-eight. He’ll be here.”
“What happened with Blossom?” Helen asked. “Did you transform yourself back into an estate manager before she got home?”
“With minutes to spare,” Phil said. “Well, seconds. I also carried her new clothes to her bedroom.”
“Is Blossom still sleeping alone?” Helen asked.
“So far as I can tell,” Phil said. “Arthur’s dressing room was still empty. I didn’t see another toothbrush and the seat was down on the toilet.”
“Always a giveaway,” Helen said. “What did Blossom buy at Grisette’s?”
“They sure weren’t mourning dresses,” Phil said. “They made her club clothes look like something she’d wear to tea with the queen. She bought a silky coral number with major holes—on-purpose holes.”
“Cutouts, I think they’re called,” Helen said.
“That dress will leave all her back and most of her front bare. She bought a hot pink sequin something I guess was a dress. I’ve seen bigger scarves. I left the bag on her bed.
“Blossom was waiting for me downstairs in the den in a tight black top and those painted-on jeans. She’d draped herself over the rosewood bar. Her conversation was full of innuendos. She asked me to make her a manhattan. ‘I’m not a good bartender,’ I said.
“‘I’m sure you’re good at everything, Phil,’ she said. Then she brushed against me. It didn’t feel like an accident.”
“Maybe she needs a visit from her minister,” Helen said, fighting back her fury.
“No, no,” Phil said. “I might learn something this way.”
“Like what a slut she is?” Helen asked.
“Trust me,” Phil said. “She’ll let her guard down.”
“As long as she keeps her clothes on,” Helen said.
“She’s no competition,” Phil said. “I should be worried about you in that hot uniform alone on a yacht. Some millionaire might carry you off.” He kissed her again.
“Hey, you two, stop that! Quit smooching out here in front of God and everybody!”
Helen and Phil saw a suntanned man in a Hawaiian shirt smiling and waving.
“Max, you old pirate,” Phil said. “Since when did you confuse yourself with God? Meet my wife, Helen Hawthorne.”
Max barely reached Helen’s shoulder. He was barrel-chested with short, powerful arms. Helen estimated his age at sixty-something. He wore a shark’s tooth on a thick gold chain and a chunky pinkie ring with a square-cut emerald.
The sun caught his ring and it glittered with green fire.
“Max Crutchley,” he said, crushing Helen’s hand. “Ol’ Phil got himself a babe.”
They followed a thin pale-haired hostess past tables filled with diners to a glass-topped table overlooking the wide, sandy beach.
“Best view in the house,” Helen said.
They watched a hefty, sunburned man stumble past the window with a sloshing foam cup.
“I could do without him,” Max said. “But that blonde in the bikini is easy on the eyes.”
“I meant the ocean,” Helen said.
“Sure you did,” Max said. “That’s a pretty muscular example of ocean life under the palm tree.”
Phil snickered.
“I thought we could talk private-like back here,” Max said. “My usual beer dives are okay for Phil, but not for a lady.”
Phil winked at her. Max was definitely old-school, Helen thought.
A waiter appeared and Max and Phil ordered beer and burgers. Helen wanted a club soda and the seafood stir-fry.
“Let me get you a real drink, Helen,” Max said.
“Thanks, but I have to report to the yacht right after dinner. That’s why I’m in uniform.”
“You make one hell of a sailor,” Max said.
After the waiter left, Helen said, “Phil told me you’re a diver.”
“Used to be,” Max said. “Bad ticker now. Can’t dive anymore. Felt like they cut off my arm when the doc said no more. I loved diving, the riskier the better. Had a few close encounters with sharks, but it’s beautiful down there. More honest, too. Easier to spot the sharks.”
“They wear suits on land,” Phil said.
“What do you want to know about emeralds, Helen?” Max asked. “Phil says you’re working a smuggling case. Should you let your lady do something that dangerous, Phil?”
Helen bridled at that, but Phil put his hand over hers, a warning to let him talk. “I don’t ‘let’ Helen do anything, Max. She does what she wants. She can handle herself. Our client needs a woman operative.”
“I’m hired to find a smuggler who’s part of the yacht crew,” Helen said. “The captain found a box of emeralds hidden on his ship on his last trip. By the time he went back for the stones, they were gone.”
“Cut or uncut emeralds?” Max asked.
“Cut stones.”
“Smart.” Max nodded approval. “Uncut emeralds only have potential value because they can have flaws called inclusions. I was witness to the cutting of a large emerald. Thanks to an unseen inclusion in a potential hundred- thousand-dollar gemstone, the value dropped dramatically during the procedure. Where does this yacht sail?”
“Mainly to the Bahamas and other Caribbean islands,” Helen said.
“I’m guessing this is originating in the Bahamas,” Max said. “Been a smugglers’ haven since the old pirate days. How long has this smuggling been going on?”
“The captain doesn’t know,” Helen said. “As soon as he found the stones, he hired us.”
“So he’s a straight arrow?” Max asked.
“Absolutely,” Helen said.
The waiter arrived with monster plates of food. Max covered his burger and fries with a bloodbath of ketchup. Phil poured ketchup and hot sauce on his. Helen nibbled on her stir-fry.
Max looked around to make sure there were no eavesdropping waiters and the other diners were busy with their own conversations.
“It’s likely these emeralds are transported to the Bahamas by yacht,” Max said. “Yacht traffic emerging from Latin America is monitored by the U.S. Coast Guard in Bahamian waters and by the United States Army in the Caribbean. I was aboard a treasure-hunting boat in Bahamian waters just north of Havana. We received a lot of attention from a Coast Guard cutter. Had machine guns aimed at us.”
