Free Final Sail by Elaine Viets Page A

dress with a purple silk rose at the neck. She patted his hand.
    Helen felt a flutter of panic when she saw a dark-haired man push his way up front. This had to be Uncle Billy, the man Violet had warned her about. Uncle Billy looked exactly the way Violet had described him. He was five eight with suspiciously black hair, a self-important manner, a potbelly and a perpetual smile, even at a funeral.
    He was still elbowing his way to the podium. Blossom seemedoblivious to the approaching disruption. Violet leaned forward in her seat, tensed for trouble. Helen caught Margery’s eye, and the landlady gave a single nod. She was ready.
    Violet had predicted that Uncle Billy would “wear something awful like mustard golf pants or an orange plaid jacket.”
    She was right. His red Hawaiian shirt was a riot of blue parrots. His shirt matched the grog blossoms on his nose. Lime green shorts exposed knobby knees and varicose veins. Uncle Billy’s outrageous outfit seemed to shout at the somber funeral-goers.
    He grabbed the microphone and hung on to the podium as if he were seasick. Helen could smell the alcohol fumes from where she sat.
    The microphone gave a shrill blast of feedback. He waited it out, then said, “I never thought I’d see old Art lying down on the job.” Uncle Billy grinned and paused for laughter. The stony silence would have stopped a more sensitive—or sober—person. He steamrollered ahead.
    “When Art called me from India and said he was getting married, I told him, ‘Go for it.’ I’d introduced him to Honeysuckle at Florida State. He loved her. We all knew that. He took care of her when she was sick. I told him, ‘Art, Honeysuckle has been gone for two years now. Life goes on.’
    “When he got back from that cruise, I saw the new Mrs. Zerling. I had no idea Art had bagged a looker. He had to pop Viagra like popcorn to keep her happy.”
    Helen heard gasps from the audience. Blossom sat frozen. Violet started to get out of her chair, but Margery held her back.
    Helen stepped forward to pry the microphone from Uncle Billy’s hand before he said anything worse, but he was too quick.
    He gave a hideous grin, then said, “Art died riding a great little filly. No man could ask for more.”
    “Thank you, Billy,” Helen said, pushing him toward the aisle.
    Bob and Roger, Arthur’s friends and partners, stepped forwardand escorted Uncle Billy back down the aisle as if he were a felon. They shoved him into a seat, then stood next to him.
    Most of the mourners were shocked into silence, but Helen heard a few gasps. Blossom looked as if she’d been turned to stone.
    Helen ended the service with Psalm 90 and the hopeful words: “‘Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children.’”
    Margery had a comforting arm around Violet. The big woman leaned against Helen’s landlady. Blossom seemed oblivious to anything but her own grief.
    “Mr. Zerling will be buried at Evergreen Cemetery,” Helen said. “The service is private. Mrs. Arthur Zerling hopes to see you all at her home for the reception.”
    The pallbearers advanced to carry Arthur Zerling to the hearse, as the undertakers dismantled the quivering mound of flowers. Blossom followed the casket out of the room, head bowed. The mourners filed out behind her.
    Helen followed them, Margery and Violet at her side. The funeral director steered them toward the waiting limousine. Helen collapsed gratefully into her dark leather seat and closed her eyes. Her head ached from the strain and the raw emotions.
    Margery and Violet slid onto the bench seat across from her and the door closed with a quiet click. “What did I tell you?” Violet said. “I knew Uncle Billy would pull one of his stunts.”
    “Helen handled him beautifully,” Margery said.
    “And that woman—”
    “Was on her best behavior,” Margery