Wallflowers:Three of a Kind

by CP Smith

  “Your eyes are pretty spectacular,” Sienna interjected. “And unforgettable.”

  “All of you are unforgettable,” Strawn said, scanning Sienna with what looked like interest, “which is bad for undercover work. You need to blend in to go undetected, not stand out. Not to mention, none of you have a fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’. You’d end up dead right along with Stutter.”

  “So if you’re investigatin’ Maria’s disappearance now, does that mean you threw Devin off the case?” I asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation. But I’ll tell you that I’ve already had it out with Hawthorne, and if he were any other man, he’d be in jail. But he’s not. He broke the law, and he knows it but didn’t impede my case since he’s lookin’ for the killer as well. We’re short-staffed and in need of a man with his qualifications, so I let it slide. All you need to know at this point is you’re done. Don’t get near my case again, or I’ll haul you all down to the station and lock you up.”

  We nodded immediately.

  “We only wanted to help, because Devin’s on his own and needed it. Now that you’re involved, there’s no reason,” I explained.

  A sparkle of laughter lit his eyes. “If you tell Hawthorne that when he finds out what you were up to, call me. I’ll do my best to keep him from wringin’ your neck.”

  “He isn’t gonna find out,” I replied tersely. “I have no intention of speakin’ to the man again.”

  A grin broke across his face before he reached out and grabbed hold of the doorknob, opening the door. “Just so you know, I’ll be callin’ Hawthorne as soon as I leave to update him on what I found out this mornin’. That should give you about a five-minute head start.”

  I swallowed hard at that news.

  I wasn’t sure why I needed a head start. Well, I kinda did, but it didn’t make any sense, because we didn’t snoop like we’d planned, so he shouldn’t be mad.

  I asked anyway, ‘cause curiosity killed the cat and all. “Why do I need a head start?”

  He grinned even wider. “’Cause you say words like heebie-jeebies,” was his cryptic response, and then he disappeared through the door.

  “That makes no sense,” I told the girls. “Is it possible Detective Strawn is just tryin’ to scare me ‘cause I lied to him?”

  “Yep,” Poppy answered. “That bein’ said . . . I’d hide if I were you.”

  “Hide?”

  “For a day at least,” Sienna threw in.

  “For goodness sake,” I huffed. “Devin’s not gonna do anything.”

  Both women scoffed and then threw an arm around me, herding me toward the door. When we walked out, Detective Strawn was standing near the elevator with his cell phone at his ear, and my heart leapt.

  Is he talking to Devin?

  When the doors opened, he looked at the three of us and grinned before entering the elevator. We watched silently as he slid his phone into his back pocket, a look of male satisfaction on his face as he flicked a salute at us before the doors closed.

  “He looked smug,” I whispered as trepidation caused my heart to pump faster.

  “Like we said,” Sienna chuckled. “Hide.”

  “I’m not hidin’. No man is gonna—”

  My cell phone started ringing on my desk, so I walked over and picked it up.

  “Don’t answer it,” Poppy said. “It’s probably Devin.”

  “I’m not hidin’ from the man.”

  They both snorted.

  “I’m not. I’m just not speakin’ to him.”

  “Then answer it,” Sienna returned, pushing the phone toward me.

  I looked at the display and didn’t recognize the number.

  It was a Savannah area code, so I took a chance it wasn’t Devin. I doubted he’d changed his number yet, and I knew I hadn’t given him mine.

  Swiping Answer, I took a deep breath and said, “Hello?”

  “This is Carmella Espinoza. Is this Calla Armstrong?”

  I let out my breath and took another. Saved by Mrs. Espinoza.

  “Yes, this is Cali. How did you get my number?”

  “Detective Strawn told me your name, so I called your aunts and got your number.”

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Espinoza?”

  “Detective Strawn said he was pulling you off the case, but I need a favor from you if you’re willing.”

  “Mrs. Espinoza, I promised the detective I wouldn’t get involved. He’ll lock me up if I do.”

  “It doesn’t involve Maria’s disappearance,” she rushed out.

  “What does it involve?”

  Poppy and Sienna crowded in closer, trying to hear what Mrs. Espinoza was saying.

  “I’ve been so worried about my Maria that I forgot to clean a business yesterday. They called me this mornin’, but I’ve already sent out my girls and my schedule is full.”

  “Are you askin’ if the girls and I will clean for you?”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. I can’t afford to lose this client, Ms. Calla. My company is all I have until my Maria comes home.”

  I looked at the girls to see if they’d heard, and they nodded.

  “Give me the address, and we’ll be there within the hour.”

  ✿✿✿

  Poppy’s uniform was still in her car from the night before, so we’d gone to my apartment so I could change, checking ahead of time, of course, to make sure Devin wasn’t home. I’d called Bernice, and she told me she’d seen him leave an hour before with another man, so I’d dashed up and donned my disguise to keep from being recognized.

  “You look hot as a brunette,” Poppy snorted when I climbed into the car.

  I pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. I’d chosen a wig from my aunts’ stash in Frock You that was cut sassy and short. It had plenty of bangs to hide my face, but wasn’t so bulky it looked like a wig, and I’d paired it with huge, black, Buddy Holly glasses. I looked unrecognizable, which was good since we didn’t know who we were cleaning for until we arrived. With everything else going on, the last thing I needed was a lecture from my grandfather on how an Armstrong should conduct themselves.

  “I don’t think anyone will recognize me,” I answered, adjusting the wig in the mirror. “You know this bruise gives me an edge of danger.” I chuckled looking at the yellow shading on my face.

  “We can call you Bruiser,” she laughed then put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. “So,” she asked cautiously, “you haven’t mentioned whether or not you saw Devin last night. I know you told Strawn you’re avoidin’ him an’ all, but is there a particular reason, other than him knowin’ about our plan to snoop, that is?”

  “I’m avoidin’ him, ‘cause I want to forget about the colossal mistake I made yesterday.”

  “But you haven’t seen him, so you don’t know you made a mistake.”

  I gave her a look. She was still hanging on to the silly notion that Devin was interested in me.

  “As far as I can tell, he didn’t come home until this mornin’, so no, I haven’t seen him.”

  “Never came home?” she questioned.

  “Nope. So you see, I was right. If it had mattered to him, he would have come home and confronted me,” I answered breezily as if it didn’t matter to me in the least.

  Her brows pursed in confusion.

  “I don’t understand,” she mumbled, but I didn’t think she was talking to me.

  “There’s nothin’ to understand. I told you yesterday he wasn’t interested in me, and last night proved my point. He probably didn’t come home to avoid me and any conversation that needed to be had. In fact, I bet he spent the evenin’ at his friend’s bar and then went home with some woman just so he didn’t have to run into me this mornin’.”

  I kept my face neutral on purpose. I was laidback and relaxed like everything coming out of my mouth wasn’t gutting me to say. Another reason I should have stayed in my comfort zone: if you don’t put yourself out there, you can�
�t be humiliated and forced to move to save face.

  “So, you’re really okay with the whole rejection thing?” she asked, her brows high on her forehead.

  My hand came up and I flipped my wrist, pffting air from my lungs in a whoosh. “I’m totally okay with it. I must have misunderstood his flirtin’ for somethin’ more than it was. He probably acts like that with all women, so I can hardly hold it against the man for not bein’ attracted to me,” I lied. Lied so convincingly for once that I almost believed myself.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Especially since I googled the address while you were changin’ and . . .” she looked at me and grinned.

  “And?” I asked cautiously, but I knew by her face I wasn’t going to like her answer.

  “And . . . it’s Greg Pierce, Devin’s cousin’s husband.”

  “What!”

  “Didn’t Bernice say his cousin was married to Greg Pierce, the divorce attorney?”

  I groaned. “I swear if I had any luck at all, it’s bad.”

  “But you’ve never met the husband, and since Devin isn’t in the equation, then it shouldn’t matter, right?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. She was enjoying seeing me squirm.

  “Right,” I answered through my teeth. “But you’re forgettin’ my grandparents. If they find out I cleaned a house for someone, they know they’ll take it out on my aunts for raisin’ me wrong, and I don’t want them bullied by either one.”

  “You worry too much. You haven’t met the husband, and I doubt she’ll be there.”

  She had a point. And there was no reason his cousin should recognize me either way.

  “True,” I finally acknowledged. “I don’t recall seein’ her in social circles, so I doubt she knows me on sight.”

  “Then there’s nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Right,” I answered, but I had a sinking feeling this was gonna explode in my face.

  We were quiet for a moment, lost in thought, then Poppy blurted out, “Do you think Maria killed Billy Ray Stutter?”

  I considered that for a moment.

  “If she did, I’m convinced he must have been threatenin’ her life. Though, I can’t see Maria havin’ the strength to kill someone as big as Billy Ray.”

  “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe there was someone else there, and they killed Billy Ray.”

  “That’s a good theory.”

  Carmella had given us the list of jobs Maria had worked the day she disappeared, and Billy Ray wasn’t one of them. So how did Billy Ray figure into this mess?

  “Have you talked to Sienna?” I asked as I mulled over the puzzle.

  “Yeah. She said Jolene is out of the office today, so no worries there. And Alexandra is tied up in meetings all day, so she won’t notice we’re gone.”

  “So far, so good,” I mumbled.

  My phone began to ring, and Poppy and I both looked at my purse like it was a snake. I didn’t know what I expected Devin to say if he did reach me, but Detective Strawn’s answer was so cryptic he had me on edge.

  She bugged out her eyes at me and I rolled mine to continue with my charade of not giving two hoots about Devin Hawthorne. She snorted in return, telling me she didn’t buy my calm façade in the least.

  Pulling my phone from my purse, I saw my grandfather’s number on the display and groaned.

  Just what I needed.

  I sat a little straighter as I swiped Answer, conditioning from years of my grandmother exalting the reasons ladies do not slouch. “Hello?”

  “Calla!” he shouted in the phone. “Explain to me why you’re on the front page of the paper.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten about the newspaper article.

  “Granddaddy—“I began, then it hit me my name wasn’t mentioned in the article. “How’d you know it was me?”

  He paused briefly, then bit out, “The chief of police is a friend of mine and keeps me appraised when my granddaughter is involved, now explain to me what you were doin’ in the company of a private investigator.”

  His snobbery was an annoyance most of the time, but hearing the disdain in his voice concerning Devin pissed me off.

  “What’s wrong with bein’ a private investigator?” I bit back.

  “They’re bottom feeders. They make their livin’ off of destroyin’ people’s lives.”

  “That’s not true,” I defended. “The whole reason I was with him is because he’s lookin for a missin’ woman.”

  “I can read,” he returned. “He’s lookin’ for a woman who cleans for a livin’ and probably stabbed Stutter when he wouldn’t leave his wife for her.”

  I gasped. “You know, Granddaddy, your blue blood came from simple cotton farmers, so you have no room to judge anyone for their profession,” I answered then swiped Off on my phone.

  The original Armstrongs were cotton farmers, but sometime after the Civil War, my family turned from farming to shipping after Yankee soldiers burned most of our crops. My great-great-great-great-grandfather had foresight, knew that the world was getting bigger and Savannah would need goods shipped in and out of it if it was going to rebuild after the war. So Armstrong Shipping was established in 1867, and it’s been a powerhouse in the industry ever since.

  “I take it you’re not close to your grandparents?”

  “They don’t exactly do close,” I explained. “They’re more like ‘stand up straight and we’ll see you next Christmas’ kind of grandparents.”

  My son would still be alive if it weren’t for you.

  “And your aunts?”

  “Sorry?” I asked, pulling back from the painful memory.

  “Are your aunts close to them?”

  “No. They were disowned before my parents died for bein’ rebels.”

  “That’s harsh,” Poppy gasped.

  “That’s Preston and Margaret. Toe the line, or they’ll act like you don’t exist.”

  “So you toe the line then?” she questioned.

  “I don’t see them enough to get close to the line. Though I’m sure I’m close after hangin’ up on him. Hell, if they knew what I was doin’ today, they’d have a stroke and strike me from their life. But I don’t intentionally ruffle their feathers like my aunts do, out of respect for my father.”

  And guilt.

  I turned and looked out the passenger side window as the old bitterness set in.

  Poppy must have cottoned onto the fact that I didn’t like talking about my grandparents, because we traveled in companionable silence the rest of the way to Pierce’s building.

  The old home sat across from Chippewa Square, a picturesque park that is famously known for the park bench scene in the movie Forrest Gump. Named after the Battle of Chippewa in the War of 1812, the peaceful square, with its abundance of trees and flowers, drew tourists daily, causing congestion on the street.

  I stared up at the two-story brownstone and sighed. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

  “Um. What exactly are we supposed to do?” Poppy asked.

  I turned and looked at her. “Clean,” I responded.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Poppy answered. “But isn’t there a list or something we have to follow?”

  “How hard can it be?” I asked. “We’ll just wing it. Clean anything that looks dirty and empty all the trash cans.”

  Poppy nodded then exited the car. I followed, pulling my wig further down on my head.

  Here goes nothing.

  I might not know Devin’s cousin, but I’d been in enough society pages with my grandparents that it was possible Pierce might recognize me. And the last thing I needed was Devin finding out what I was doing after the lecture we got from Strawn. He’d never believe we were actually helping, not snooping.

  Avoidance 101: Avoid confrontation at all costs lest you be noticed by one and all.

  I had a Ph.D. in avoiding life, so I should have no problems keeping my distance from the man.

  “Carmella said to go around to the back door,” Poppy said, s
o I followed her around back.

  We scanned the back of the house until we saw an oversized glass door. We walked to it and tugged. Locked.

  “Guess we should knock,” I mumbled.

  Poppy rapped on the door three times then we waited.

  Footsteps could be heard inside heading our direction. I prayed it wasn’t someone I knew.

  The door swung open, and I looked up into the face of Devin’s cousin.

  This day keeps getting better by the minute.

  “Come in,” she whispered. “We have a bit of a situation, so if you could start upstairs and give us some privacy, it would be appreciated.”

  Either my wig passed the test—she hadn’t paid that much attention to me when I’d fallen off the ladder—or she was distracted by the wailing emanating from deep in the bowels of the home.

  Poppy and I both nodded then scooted past her.

  “Carmella called to say you were new employees, so I’ll show you to the storage closet.”

  I kept my mouth shut and nodded again. The less I said, the less I could incriminate myself unwittingly.

  As we followed Devin’s cousin, a cry so mournful blasted us from the left and we stopped in our tracks. Inside an office with divided light doors that we could see through, was Billy Ray Stutter’s wife, Danielle Stutter. The always coiffed woman was a mess.

  Her makeup ran down her face in rivers of black, coating the white shirt of a good-looking man with brown hair and kind eyes I recognized from Saturday night at Jacobs’ Ladder. Greg Pierce. She wailed again, and I jumped from the impact of it. Bernice and Eunice always called her a shrew, but the woman standing in front of me was visibly distraught over her husband’s death.

  “You have to find out who murdered my husband,” she cried out.

  “Danielle,” Pierce said, patting her on the back, “I’m not the police. You need to leave it to them to find out who killed Billy Ray.”

  “No,” she argued, shaking her head in aggravation. “I need someone who will dedicate all his time to finding out who killed my Billy Ray.”