Free Final Sail by Elaine Viets

workingmen. Helen remembered the photo of the vital Arthur on horseback and wondered if they were ranch hands.
    She recognized Fran. The housekeeper’s gray curls were topped with a small, flat black hat. She’d tucked herself in the back where Blossom couldn’t see her. Fran was not going to risk a scene at her beloved Mr. Z.’s funeral.
    Helen scanned the crowed for the troublemaking Uncle Billy. Violet had warned her about him. “Uncle Billy is not my father’s brother,” she’d explained. “He is Daddy’s best friend. The uncle title is honorary. He and my father were in college together and he introduced Daddy to my mother. Uncle Billy drinks too much. I know he’ll have a snootful and say something embarrassing at Daddy’s funeral.”
    “Can we sort of not invite him?” Helen had asked.
    “He’ll barge in anyway, and make a bigger scene,” Violet had said. “I don’t know if I can stand it, between that woman and Uncle Billy.”
    “I’ll keep him under control,” Helen said.
    “You can’t,” Violet said, sounding hopeless. “Nobody can.”
    Helen prayed that Uncle Billy would stay away and quietly blessed the dead man for requesting a closed casket. She’d dreaded seeing Arthur’s wasted body in an open coffin.
    She opened the service with the Our Father, a prayer Violet and Blossom had both approved, then launched into a short speech.
    “Arthur Zerling was one of those rare businesspeople who cared about his family, his friends and his colleagues,” she said. “You’ve had the pleasure of knowing him longer than I have. Mrs. Zerling has asked that you share your memories of Arthur today. She will begin with hers.”
    Helen sat next to the podium where she could watch Violet. Arthur’s daughter had already refused to talk about her father. “I loved Daddy,” she said. “But I don’t think I could say anything without crying.”
    Blossom rose gracefully, took the podium’s microphone and said, “I knew my husband for less than a year. Arthur was kind, loving, generous—”
    Violet made some sort of sound—a sniffle? A snort?
    Helen wasn’t sure what it was, but she saw Margery’s gloved hand grip Violet’s wrist. Blossom did not seem to notice. She continued smoothly, “I thought that fate, which brought us together, would allow us more time. But that was not to be. I—” She stopped, dabbed her eyes with a black lace handkerchief and said, “I am too sad to say any more. But your memories of Arthur will be a comfort to me.”
    The widow glided softly back to her seat. Helen wondered if sheshould sympathize or applaud that speech. Where the heck did she get a black lace handkerchief?
    Two sober-suited businessmen followed Blossom. Bob, a portly man with a face like a slab of rare roast beef, praised Arthur’s integrity.
    Roger, the second one, said, “I agree with Bob. Arthur was a man of integrity in the boardroom—and on the golf course, where even the best men are tempted to cheat. Arthur played by the rules. You’ve seen those hospital billboards that say, ‘Outlive your golf foursome.’ Well, I’ve outlived my golfing partner of twenty years. I’ll miss you, buddy.” He slapped the casket as if it were Arthur’s back. The waxy flowers trembled.
    As Roger sat down, a man in an ill-fitting brown suit, white shirt and striped polyester tie nervously took the microphone. At first, he mumbled, but his voice grew stronger as he spoke. “Name’s Jack,” he said. “I worked for Mr. Zerling for fifteen years.”
    Jack looked nervously at the crowd, gulped twice and said, “When my missus got cancer, I was having trouble making the co-pays. I was going to sell the house to raise money for her treatment, when the cancer doctor’s office called and said not to worry about those payments. Mr. Zerling had paid for her treatment. My wife is alive today because of him. Thank you, Mr. Zerling, for saving my Leann.”
    Jack sat down next to a thin woman in a ruffled black