Final Sail

plenty of publicity when we give her the scoop on the murder of a prominent Fort Lauderdale businessman.”

“You’re that close to a solution?” Helen asked.

“I am,” Phil said. “But I need you.”

Helen kissed him again. “And I need you,” she said. “Could your case wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I think it’s time for some undercover work,” Phil said. “Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER 33

Phil’s phone rang at nine thirty that night. Helen sat up in bed, flipped on the light and found the receiver.

“Helen! It’s Valerie.”

Helen hastily pulled the sheet up over her breasts, as if the investigative reporter could see her naked.

“I wanted to thank you and Phil for the amazing tip,” Valerie said. “The smuggling story runs at ten tonight.”

“The feds caught Mira?” Helen was still groggy.

“Did they ever,” Valerie said. “Carrying a suitcase jammed with emeralds. HSI says they have a street value of five million dollars. The feds always exaggerate, but I think she had at least three million in smuggled stones. We’re the only station with the story. Thank you, thank you, sweetie. Gotta run.”

“Phil, wake up!” Helen said, shaking her sleeping spouse. “Valerie called. The feds caught Mira. Her story runs at ten. We should call the captain so he can watch it.”

“You make the call and I’ll make a snack,” Phil said. “Scrambled eggs okay?”

“You’re going to wait on me?” Helen said. “What luxury.”

Phil gave her a long kiss. “Scrambled eggs aren’t my idea of luxury,” he said. “I’d buy you a yacht if I could.”

“Wouldn’t want it,” Helen said. “The Earl was gorgeous, but there was no privacy. I could hear the guests fighting—and their makeup sex afterward. I knew too much about them.”

Phil slipped on his white robe. A loud meow stopped his march to the kitchen. Thumbs planted himself in Phil’s path. The six-toed cat’s yellow-green eyes glowed in the low light.

“It’s also time for someone else’s dinner,” Helen said. “Come here, big boy, and say hello.”

“I already did,” Phil said. “Several times.”

“I meant the cat,” Helen said.

Thumbs turned his back on Helen and padded after Phil to the tiny kitchen.

“You still aren’t forgiven for abandoning him,” Phil said.

Captain Josiah Swingle wasn’t happy with Helen, either. “I thought we agreed to avoid publicity,” he said.

Helen felt ice forming on her phone. “We made a deal with Valerie,” she said. “If she kept you and the Earl out of this story, we promised her another scoop.”

“I’ll watch tonight to make sure she keeps her word,” Josiah said. “I don’t trust reporters. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning to settle my bill. Seven thirty?”

Helen looked at Phil’s deliciously rumpled sheets. She’d love to sleep in, but Phil had to work at Blossom’s tomorrow and Coronado Investigations couldn’t refuse a customer begging to pay.

“See you then,” she said.

Helen stumbled into the living room, still half asleep. Phil carried two plates heaped with fluffy scrambled eggs to the coffee table. His plate was buried under ketchup and hot sauce.

“White wine?” he asked.

“I must be in server heaven,” Helen said.

They sat side by side on Phil’s black leather couch. “It feels so good to sit here and enjoy my food,” Helen said, “without worrying that I’ll have to scrub heads and serve dinner at three a.m. Now, tell me what’s going on with Blossom and her boyfriend.”

“This will be show-and-tell,” Phil said. “I want to take you to the restaurant where she poisoned Surfer Dude.”

“Can’t wait to eat that food,” Helen said.

“We’ll eat somewhere else,” Phil said. “How about a midnight Mexican dinner?”

“But we’re eating now,” Helen said.

“This is a snack,” Phil said. “We missed lunch. We’ll leave right after we watch Valerie. It’s way up in Palm Beach County. You don’t want to miss the world’s best guacamole.”

Phil switched on channel seventy-seven. Donna, the blond late-night anchor, was as bland as baby food. “And now investigative reporter Valerie Cannata has the scoop on a Fort Lauderdale resident caught smuggling a fortune in jewels,” Donna said.

There was Valerie. Nothing bland about her. Valerie had the eerily youthful look of top TV pros. A red suit hugged her gym-enhanced curves, and crimson lipstick highlighted her full lips. Phil had kissed those lips, Helen thought, then reminded herself that their romance was over long before she knew her husband.

Valerie did her report with the Fort Lauderdale airport as her backdrop. Curious passengers stared as they rolled their suitcases behind the sophisticated reporter.

“Special agents for Homeland Security Investigations arrested a Fort Lauderdale woman, Mira Fedorova, as she boarded a flight for New York’s LaGuardia Airport this afternoon,” Valerie said. “Ms. Fedorova’s suitcase contained more than five million dollars in emeralds, officials said.”

The camera panned across the glittering hoard of jewels, photogenically displayed in the unzipped pink suitcase.

“Never saw a pink pirate’s chest before,” Helen said.

“Sh!” Phil said.

Mira’s mug shot flashed on the screen as Valerie continued: “Ms. Fedorova, a twenty-nine-year-old yacht stewardess, was charged with multiple counts of smuggling. She is being held without bail as a flight risk. Federal agents are still questioning her companion. We’ll have more updates on this breaking story.”

“Thank you, Valerie,” Donna the anchor said. “Remember, this story is on just one station—channel seventy- seven.”

“I knew we could trust Valerie,” Helen said. “But I still held my breath during her report.

“Josiah will be relieved his yacht wasn’t mentioned. Now, on to our other case. What do I wear to this restaurant?”

“Nothing fancy,” Phil said. “It’s a taco truck in a parking lot.”

“Very cool. Just like L.A.,” Helen said.

It was a fine night for a drive on I-95. Palm trees rustled in the light breeze. The air was soft and warm. Cars whizzed past, some weaving in and out of the traffic, others poking along in the slow lane.

“Now, where did I leave off telling you the adventures of Blossom?” Phil asked.

“In the last installment,” Helen said, “you were disguised as Bob the Cool Guy air-conditioner repairman. You followed Blossom to a Deerfield Beach bar and pretended to check the air-conditioning vents.”

“Hey, I wasn’t playing make-believe,” Phil said. “I risked my neck climbing a stepladder and heroically resisted a beer and burger while I listened to Blossom argue with Surfer Dude. His name is Zack.”

“Anything to this Zack besides his blond good looks?” Helen asked.

“Not that I could tell,” Phil said. “The man was greedy and stupid. I was around the corner from their booth, listening as hard as I could. I’d unscrewed the vent cover and heard Zack say, ‘I told you to get rid of it.’

“Blossom started arguing. ‘No. I might need it,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I have a good hiding place. It’s in plain sight.’