all his friends, family and business associates?”
“I have his address book,” Blossom said.
“But do you know which ones are family and which are friends? Do you know his colleagues and his staff?” Helen asked.
“No,” Blossom said.
“Violet will,” Helen said. “We can put her to work contacting them.”
“She’s impossible!” Blossom said. “We can’t be together two minutes before she starts a fight.”
“You won’t have to deal with her,” Helen said. “You won’t even see her. She can make the calls from my office.”
Blossom took a deep breath and blotted her eyes. “Okay, I’ll dowhat you want. But what if she makes a scene at Arthur’s funeral? You can’t believe how she carried on here in the ICU.”
“I will personally guarantee her good behavior,” Helen said. “I’ll watch her myself.”
“How can you?” Blossom asked. “You’ll be conducting the service.”
Blossom was right. Helen knew asking Phil to accompany Violet was out of the question. The Reverend Hawthorne wasn’t supposed to know Mrs. Zerling’s new estate manager. And Blossom wasn’t supposed to know Coronado Investigations was hired to prove she’d murdered her husband. Helen needed someone strong to keep Violet in line, but she couldn’t insult their client by hiring a muscle head in a black suit.
Then she thought of the perfect solution: someone strong who could look dignified and blend in as an ordinary mourner. Helen thought her idea was inspired.
“I’ll make sure she attends the funeral with a family friend, Margery Flax,” Helen said.
“Is this Flax woman a bodyguard?” Blossom asked.
“Better,” Helen said. “And far more forceful.”
CHAPTER 9
A rthur Zerling was buried under white flowers. His polished dark wood casket was heaped with washed-out lilies, waxy camellias and rubbery roses. The sweet sickly scent of the hothouse blooms made the Reverend Helen Hawthorne slightly dizzy. The newly minted minister prayed she wouldn’t pass out. This was her first time presiding at a funeral. She wanted Arthur to have the solemnity he deserved.
Helen steadied herself at the funeral home podium and surveyed the mourners. The room’s candy-box colors—pink walls and spindly gold chairs—were overwhelmed by the dark tide of mourners.
Arthur’s wife and his daughter sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Blossom looked like a noir widow in a black high-collared suit and dramatic wide-brimmed hat. Helen thought she needed a cigarette holder to complete the outfit.
Violet was upholstered in some shiny, lumpy black material. Her heavy black veil couldn’t hide her glare. She aimed it with laserlike intensity at the woman she’d accused of killing her father. Margery sat at Violet’s side, her face half-hidden by the glamorous swoop ofher lavender hat. She rested one purple-gloved hand lightly on Violet’s arm, as if she was comforting Arthur’s grieving daughter. Helen knew Margery’s hand would clamp down if Violet acted on her hostility.
She wished Phil were there, but Blossom didn’t want her new estate manager attending the funeral. His job was to prepare the funeral reception. Phil would deal with the caterers, bartenders, valet service and florists while Helen handled the funeral.
Helen gave Violet credit. After Blossom agreed to let her attend her father’s funeral, she worked hard to give Arthur a proper service. She still refused to speak to Blossom. Instead, Nancie had to act as mediator. The lawyer conveyed Violet’s information to Blossom’s attorney, who passed it on to the widow. Helen couldn’t begin to calculate what this diplomacy-at-a-distance cost, but it kept the peace.
Violet had done a good job of assembling Arthur’s friends and colleagues at the Dignity Forever Funeral Home. They filled every gilded chair in the massive room, lined the walls and spilled into the hall. Most were white-haired men and women. Helen saw a sprinkling of sun-blasted
“I have his address book,” Blossom said.
“But do you know which ones are family and which are friends? Do you know his colleagues and his staff?” Helen asked.
“No,” Blossom said.
“Violet will,” Helen said. “We can put her to work contacting them.”
“She’s impossible!” Blossom said. “We can’t be together two minutes before she starts a fight.”
“You won’t have to deal with her,” Helen said. “You won’t even see her. She can make the calls from my office.”
Blossom took a deep breath and blotted her eyes. “Okay, I’ll dowhat you want. But what if she makes a scene at Arthur’s funeral? You can’t believe how she carried on here in the ICU.”
“I will personally guarantee her good behavior,” Helen said. “I’ll watch her myself.”
“How can you?” Blossom asked. “You’ll be conducting the service.”
Blossom was right. Helen knew asking Phil to accompany Violet was out of the question. The Reverend Hawthorne wasn’t supposed to know Mrs. Zerling’s new estate manager. And Blossom wasn’t supposed to know Coronado Investigations was hired to prove she’d murdered her husband. Helen needed someone strong to keep Violet in line, but she couldn’t insult their client by hiring a muscle head in a black suit.
Then she thought of the perfect solution: someone strong who could look dignified and blend in as an ordinary mourner. Helen thought her idea was inspired.
“I’ll make sure she attends the funeral with a family friend, Margery Flax,” Helen said.
“Is this Flax woman a bodyguard?” Blossom asked.
“Better,” Helen said. “And far more forceful.”
CHAPTER 9
A rthur Zerling was buried under white flowers. His polished dark wood casket was heaped with washed-out lilies, waxy camellias and rubbery roses. The sweet sickly scent of the hothouse blooms made the Reverend Helen Hawthorne slightly dizzy. The newly minted minister prayed she wouldn’t pass out. This was her first time presiding at a funeral. She wanted Arthur to have the solemnity he deserved.
Helen steadied herself at the funeral home podium and surveyed the mourners. The room’s candy-box colors—pink walls and spindly gold chairs—were overwhelmed by the dark tide of mourners.
Arthur’s wife and his daughter sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Blossom looked like a noir widow in a black high-collared suit and dramatic wide-brimmed hat. Helen thought she needed a cigarette holder to complete the outfit.
Violet was upholstered in some shiny, lumpy black material. Her heavy black veil couldn’t hide her glare. She aimed it with laserlike intensity at the woman she’d accused of killing her father. Margery sat at Violet’s side, her face half-hidden by the glamorous swoop ofher lavender hat. She rested one purple-gloved hand lightly on Violet’s arm, as if she was comforting Arthur’s grieving daughter. Helen knew Margery’s hand would clamp down if Violet acted on her hostility.
She wished Phil were there, but Blossom didn’t want her new estate manager attending the funeral. His job was to prepare the funeral reception. Phil would deal with the caterers, bartenders, valet service and florists while Helen handled the funeral.
Helen gave Violet credit. After Blossom agreed to let her attend her father’s funeral, she worked hard to give Arthur a proper service. She still refused to speak to Blossom. Instead, Nancie had to act as mediator. The lawyer conveyed Violet’s information to Blossom’s attorney, who passed it on to the widow. Helen couldn’t begin to calculate what this diplomacy-at-a-distance cost, but it kept the peace.
Violet had done a good job of assembling Arthur’s friends and colleagues at the Dignity Forever Funeral Home. They filled every gilded chair in the massive room, lined the walls and spilled into the hall. Most were white-haired men and women. Helen saw a sprinkling of sun-blasted
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