Thumbs greeted Helen at the door. “So I’m forgiven, am I?” she said. “Took you long enough.” The cat flopped down on the floor and she scratched his thick fur.
While Phil dressed, Helen brewed more coffee. She took a cup into the bedroom and asked, “What will you do if you find one of the poisons at Blossom’s?”
“Call you. That triggers the next phase of the investigation,” he said.
“You can’t call me from Blossom’s house,” Helen asked. “You’re not supposed to know Arthur’s minister. What if someone overhears you? You don’t trust cell phones.”
“I’ll call you on my cell phone and pretend to order a new pool filter cartridge,” Phil said. “Then you can meet me at the post office on Las Olas.”
“The cute one with the blue awning?” she asked.
“That’s the one. The whole neighborhood goes there. I can return a broken air conditioner part.”
“I’ll be home all day,” Helen said, “catching up on my sleep and waiting for your call.”
“There’s no guarantee I’ll find any poison today,” Phil said. “I still have dozens of rooms to search.”
“I have confidence in you,” she said, and kissed him good-bye.
It felt good to be in her own bed. Thumbs curled up next to Helen and they both fell asleep. She had no idea where she was when she answered her ringing cell phone.
“This is Phil Sagemont,” he said, his voice impersonal. “Do you carry Intex type B pool filter cartridges?”
“Huh?” Helen said, still foggy with sleep.
“This is Phil,” he said, emphasizing his name. “Mrs. Zerling’s estate manager. Do you have Intex B pool filter cartridges?”
Now Helen was awake enough to remember his code. “I’m supposed to meet you at the post office, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Phil said. “I prefer the post office, not FedEx.”
“See you there in twenty minutes,” Helen said.
When she ran into the little post office, Phil was at the counter, mailing a flat-rate box. He turned and said, “Helen! Good to see you.”
“It’s been too long,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Got time for a short stroll?” he asked.
The post office was in Helen’s favorite section of Las Olas, the part she thought had personality. Helen and Phil strolled past the old Floridian diner, where locals and tourists ate huge lunches. At an outside table, a brown pup sat at his owner’s feet, accepting pats and praise.
“I know how Blossom killed her boyfriend,” Phil said. “I found the poison under the kitchen sink: a jug of water with ten cigarettes in it.”
“Why is that poison?” Helen asked.
“I think she made nicotine tea. Just add hot water to cigarettes and it creates a lethal brew. Seven drops are enough to kill a man.”
“Does Blossom smoke?” Helen asked.
“No, but she can buy cigarettes. She left a four-ounce bottle of Angostura bitters on the kitchen sink. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed it. There was a definite tobacco odor. The bottle looks like the one I thought held hot sauce.”
“So you think she put nicotine tea in Zack’s salsa?”
“It would be easy,” Phil said, “especially by the third or fourth beer.”
“Why would she keep it in the kitchen?” Helen asked.
“She fired the housekeeper,” Phil said, “and she has her meals delivered. No one else uses the kitchen. I have an idea how we can trap her, but I’ll need your spiritual guidance, Reverend Hawthorne.”
“At your service,” Helen said.
“It’s two o’clock. I want you to make a condolence call to the new widow about four this afternoon. That’s when she has a perfect manhattan. She told me to go buy more Angostura bitters. She’s been after me to make her a drink. So far, all I’ve made are excuses.
“When you’re there, she’ll suggest we have drinks. You ask for your usual white wine. I’ll start making her a manhattan and tell her I didn’t have to buy the bitters—I found a nearly full bottle on the kitchen sink.
“Then we’ll see how she reacts when I pick up that little bottle of nicotine tea and pour it in her drink. Reverend Hawthorne will be there as a witness. I’ve tipped our friend Detective Mac Dorsey that we may have more information about that food poisoning case.”
“Both of us working on the side of the angels,” Helen said.
CHAPTER 36
Lightning flashes of panic streaked through Helen as she turned into Blossom’s driveway. She and Phil were playing with fire. Worse—with a clever killer who used silent poisons. One misstep and Helen would be a widow.
This time, she had no trouble finding the Zerling mansion. Helen recognized the surreal sprawl of pink stucco towering over the tall ficus hedge. She parked the Igloo, gathered her courage and smoothed her prim gray suit. She was the Reverend Helen Hawthorne on a pastoral visit, pattering across the pink pavers in her sensible heels.
The valet and the black wreath from Arthur’s funeral reception were gone. Today, Blossom answered the massive arched door.
Helen had to force herself not to react to the new widow’s outfit. Her lacy black top clung like a cobweb and her red silk pants were tighter than a tourniquet. Red and black. Death and blood. The warning colors of a deadly spider that killed its mate. Blossom didn’t bother toning down her extravagant beauty at home. Her hair hung long, thick and free, and her false eyelashes fluttered like trapped moths.
“Reverend Hawthorne, what a nice surprise,” Blossom said, and showed a blood-rimmed smile.
“Call me Helen, please. I wanted to see how you were doing. I should have called first, but—”
“No, I’m glad you stopped by,” Blossom said. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I need your help. Come have a drink. You do drink, don’t you?”
“Definitely,” Helen said. She followed Blossom through the gloomy corridors to a room that looked like a British club in
“What a charming vase,” Helen said.
“Thank you. That’s a porcelain potpourri vase,” she said. “The shepherdess is French. Sevres. I love how she flirts with the shepherd.”
Blossom gently lifted the gold-trimmed slotted cover. “Inhale,” she said.
Could you inhale a poison and die? Helen decided to chance it. She took a deep breath and hoped it wasn’t her last. “Heavenly,” she said.
“Glad you like it,” Blossom said. “It’s lavender from Provence, cinnamon, sandalwood and more.”
Behind the table, a magnificent rosewood bar sprawled along one wall, carved with lush nymphs, busty mermaids and other boozy dreams. The mirrored back bar glittered with cut-glass decanters and liquor bottles.
Phil was behind the bar, as they’d planned. With his silver white hair and white uniform, Helen thought he looked like a ghost in that cave of a room. Her heart was cold with fear. Suddenly, the plan they’d hatched together seemed foolish. She was glad the dark velvet curtains shut out the light. She didn’t want Blossom to see her face when Helen was introduced to her own husband.
