Roses are Dead My Love

by Penny Clover Petersen

  “No.”

  “No what?” asked Daisy.

  “No to all that. I didn’t want to give anything away at this point, so I just asked him again where he was when the Merritt woman was killed. He still maintains he was tucked up in bed alone like a good little Neanderthal. So I kept it conversational and asked where he was last night.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Apparently umpiring a Babe Ruth game.”

  Daisy scowled, “Can he prove it?”

  “We’ll see. I’ll talk to the coach. I also asked to see the baseball card. Said I’d heard a lot about it. He seemed uncomfortable, but he showed me a card in a frame.”

  Daisy said, “That had to be a fake card. I knew it looked different the other day. The color was wrong. Isn’t there some way you can make him prove it’s the original?”

  “No. Meanwhile, I’m checking on his alibi before I go any further. I don’t want him coming after you and Rose if he really has no idea where he sent it.”

  “Okay.” Daisy reached for a shrimp only to find that Bill had eaten them all. “Well, thanks for the update. You can go now.”

  “I’m going. Bambi’s waiting for me. She’s dragging me to some country/western bar so we can line dance.”

  “Good for you! Y’all have fun now.”

  He gave her a look and said, “You all lock the doors and call me if anything turns up.”

  Daisy opened the door and shooed him out, “You bet. Now you just boot scoot on down the road now and leave us in peace.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  At about nine Sunday morning, Daisy yawned and stretched, then rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror and grimaced, “Note to self: never let mother mix the cocktails again!”

  She washed, brushed and took two ibuprofens. Then she slipped on her cotton robe and flip-flops and opened her door. The smell of fresh brewed coffee met her as she went into the hall. But she quickly drew back into her room when she saw Peter Fleming coming out of Rose’s room moving toward the stairs.

  She gave him a few minutes in which she herself put on a dab of lip gloss and blusher and changed into shorts and a tee. Then she went down to the kitchen. No one was there. She looked out the front window to see Peter driving off and Rose heading back into the house.

  Rose came into the kitchen and Daisy smirked, “Good night?”

  “Oh God, not really. You how sometimes life is trying to tell you not to bother. I think this is one of those times.”

  “I do know. That bad, huh?”

  “It started okay. We went to The Ambrose Inn in Edgewater.” The Ambrose Inn was a lovely mansion built in 1815 on a rise above the South River. It was originally home to Elias and Annabelle Ambrose. Since the death of the last Ambrose heir, it had gone through various incarnations and at present was a well-known four star restaurant.

  “Oh, that’s so beautiful!”

  Angela came into the kitchen looking like she’d just spent a day at a spa. Daisy shook her head and said, “How do you do it? You had just as many daiquiris as I did.”

  Angela laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. Alcohol seems to have no effect on me.”

  Daisy chuckled and said, “Rose is telling me about her night. Peter just left.”

  Angela put her hands over her ears and said, “BWI!”

  Rose asked, “BWI? What’s BWI?”

  “Too much information, of course.”

  “That’s TMI, Mother.”

  “Is it? Then what’s BWI?”

  Daisy rolled her eyes and said, “Baltimore Washington Airport? Boating Writer’s International? Boating While Intoxicated? Better With Ice cream? Could be anything, really.”

  “Oh, I guess you’re right. Well then, not TMI, please.”

  Rose groaned, “There is no information to have too much of.”

  “They had just gotten to The Ambrose House when you came in.”

  Angela’s eyes lit up. “The Ambrose House. How romantic!”

  “It could have been. We were seated in a candlelit alcove looking out over the river. We had cocktails in the bar first and flirted a bit. He ordered a nice bottle of Pinot Blanc when we got to the table. But then he went all dominant male and tried to order for me. ‘We’ll start with the escargot, followed by the braised veal cheeks and eggplant.”

  Rose looked like she might be sick. “I mean really. Do you think he looked at that menu and said, ‘What really revolting combination can I come up with to impress her?’

  “So I very quietly said to the waiter, ‘Perhaps you should come back in a few minutes” and he went off and Peter just stared at me.”

  “Then he said, ‘I take it you don’t want to try something new. I thought you might want to broaden your horizons. The chef here is wonderful and now would be the time to experience fine cuisine.’

  “And I said, ‘I don’t want to experience fine cuisine. I want something regular - a Cobb salad, shrimp cocktail and crab cakes with coleslaw.’

  “He looked like he was going to cry, but I stood my ground. Then we had a lovely Bavarian with fresh berries for dessert and things started looking up. We took a drive along the waterfront in his beautiful car with the top down. He brought me home and I asked him to come up for coffee - by which I actually meant coffee, Mother. We were sitting on the couch when he bent over to pet Roscoe and his back went out. I mean he really couldn’t move. He just sat there hunched over trying not to moan.”

  Angela said, “You should have gotten me up. I have some pills in my bag.”

  “I know. I took the liberty of going into that pharmacy you call your purse and got him a muscle relaxer and a couple of Advil. We waited for the muscle relaxer to start working and then I managed to get him up the stairs to my bedroom. I couldn’t leave him on the couch in his condition. I got his shoes off and tucked him into bed.”

  Daisy said, “And did you tuck yourself in there, too?”

  “No. Daisy, you are the soundest sleeper I know. I got in with you, but you didn’t even notice. So that was my big date. As I said, I think the universe is telling me that Peter and I are not destined to be an item!”

  “Not necessarily. Many couples get off to a rough start and end up happy,” said Angela. “Your father and I had a few bumps at first, but it worked out very nicely.”

  “Mother, you caught him in bed with your real estate agent. That’s not ‘working out nicely.’”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. We had some good years after a bumpy start. It is possible. However, that’s all sailboats under the bridge. What are we doing today?”

  Daisy went to the desk and got a pad of paper and pens. “Okay, ladies. Get your coffee or whatever. We’re going to figure this whole mess out.”

  She handed them a pencil and paper and said, “Now, just like they do in mystery stories. We’re going to brainstorm and list everything we can think of. What’s first? I guess we start with the murder?”

  Rose shook her head. “I think we need to go back further – to when the blackmail started five years ago.”

  Daisy nodded. “Right. We’ll make a list of everything that’s happened, starting with blackmail.”

  Half an hour later Rose looked at her sheet of paper and said, “Holy mysterious death, Batman, we’ve got quite a mess here. Here goes:

  Five years ago Mattie Clover and Sally Henderson received extortion letters asking for small amounts of money - which they paid.

  Mattie and Sally are being blackmailed because of mistakes they made when they were teenagers.

  The letters changed two years ago. They got nastier and demanded a lot more money.

  We find a payment from Mattie in our mailbox #769. A lot of mail is being misdirected.

  Peggy Merritt is killed at the Post Office.

  The Post Office is broken into and we manage to find out that Box 768 belongs to Charlie Taylor. We don’t find anything on him.

  We get Brad Douglas’s Mickey Mantle ba
seball card in the mail. So we know he’s being blackmailed, also. We think it must be about something serious.

  Our dog house was set on fire and Roscoe was hanged in effigy.

  Someone rigged our front door, broke in, beaned me, and stole the baseball card.”

  Angela had been listening quietly, but now she sat up and said, “We can’t forget the bobber. We may laugh, but it seems like he’s always around and he’s very bold.”

  “You’re right. Ten on the list is the bobber.” Rose added it to the bottom of the page.

  “Now, first question: do we agree that there are two blackmailers? The original letters were much more benign, if you can say that about blackmail. More like someone needed some extra cash every now and then and tapped a likely source.

  “But two years ago they turned really ugly. The tone changed, the method of payment changed and the amount demanded changed.”

  Daisy said, “The first guy might have needed a lot of money all of a sudden.”

  Rose said, “I don’t think so. The second letters were a different personality. I think two blackmailers.”

  Daisy and Angela nodded, “Agreed. Two blackmailers.”

  Angela raised her hand, “Question. Or statement really. I think they must know each other. I can’t believe that two separate blackmailers operate here in Old Towne and both choose Mattie and Sally as victims.”

  Rose said, “I’ll add that with an asterisk. I think you’re right, Mother. But it could be something else. Maybe the second blackmailer got a payment by mistake like we did. We got two of them!”

  Daisy said, “Nope. That wouldn’t work because the earlier payments weren’t mailed.”

  “Rats! You’re right. Okay. We assume they know each other. They could be working together…”

  Angela jumped up excitedly, “Or Number One is being blackmailed by Number Two, Charlie Taylor.”

  “Exactly. Second question – how did the first blackmailer know to blackmail Mattie and Sally? They aren’t exactly obvious targets. Successful businesswomen, well-liked in town. Their current lives are squeaky clean.”

  Daisy answered, “I think that the original blackmailer must have known Mattie and Sally when they were teenagers. How else would anyone know what they had done twenty years ago?”

  Angela said, “Anyone who lived in Old Towne might have heard gossip. It’s a small town. There aren’t many secrets. And twenty years ago it was smaller. That new development wasn’t here.”

  “You’re right, Mother. So we’re looking for someone who’s lived here for at least twenty years or so,” said Daisy.

  “Or someone who could easily get information from that time–like a reporter!” cried Angela.

  “Jeff Moody? But he would only have been a little kid when Mattie and Sally were getting into trouble.”

  Rose had been pacing back and forth. She stopped and said, “And how would he know who to investigate? I can’t think this blackmailer just pulled names out of a hat and looked into their background hoping for some good dirt.

  “No. I’m afraid the original blackmailer is someone we all know. And I don’t like the thought of that.”

  Daisy said, “Third question–did the blackmailer kill Peggy Merritt and/or break into the post office later?”

  Angela raised her hand again.

  Daisy said, “Yes, Ms. Forrest. What is it?”

  “The fourth question. Why is someone trying to scare us silly by attacking our pets? And is this the same person who broke in here? And are they all this Charlie Taylor person? And where does Brad fit into all this? Is he just a victim?”

  Rose said, “Well, that about sums everything up. We have the questions. Now what do we do about them?”

  “Research.” Daisy started making notes for a computer search. “I’m going to see what I can find out about Brad Douglas and this famous baseball card of his.”

  Rose added, “We need to talk to Mattie and Sally again and see if there was a connection back then. And try to convince them to talk to Bill.”

  “It’s strange. Mattie and Sally both stopped paying, didn’t they? And the blackmailer hasn’t made anything public. I wonder why.”

  Rose thought a moment. “I think it’s all gotten out of hand. I think this Charlie person did kill Peggy, probably by mistake, and now the whole thing is snowballing. I’ll bet he just wants to get the baseball card and figure out a way to disappear without seeming obvious before the police figure it out.”

  Angela raised her hand again.

  Daisy laughed. “Ms. Forrest?”

  “I don’t think the blackmailer is as worried about the police as he is about us. I think the fire and the thing with Roscoe are a warning to us to leave it alone.”

  “How would anyone know we’re investigating?”

  “That’s simple, dear. The blackmailer knows that you got at least one blackmail payment by mistake. I don’t know how he knows, but he came in search of the card, didn’t he? And you two caught the last murderer we had here. Face it. Everyone knows we’re snoops and that we have an in with the police.”

  “And, of course, if it was the blackmailer breaking into the post office, he knew we were there, too, didn’t he?” said Rose.

  “Okay. You’re probably right. But the fire and the effigy thing just feel more childish. Like something the first blackmailer - we should call him something - would do.”

  Rose suggested “Let’s call him what he is, a blackmailing little toad. BLT, for short.”

  Daisy chuckled, but then looked seriously at her sister and said, “Why do we keep saying ‘him’?”

  Rose hesitated a moment. “Why, indeed?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday morning Rose was absently dusting the main counter. She said, “A quiet week. That’s all I ask. No pranks, no break-ins, no police.”

  Daisy nodded, “That would be wonderful. Speaking of break-ins, did you ask Peter what his car was doing outside the other night?”

  “I did. He said he had forgotten something at his shop and ran in to get it. He was only there a few minutes.”

  Daisy was teetering high on a ladder using a feather duster on the chandelier. “Did he say what ‘something’ he’d forgotten?”

  “No. Why?” The ladder rocked a little. Rose screeched, “Careful, don’t lean so much. You’ll fall over.”

  “I’m fine. Just hold the bottom for me.”

  Rose grabbed the ladder and said, “What difference does it make what he was getting from the shop?”

  “Because we really don’t know if he was getting that something from his shop or from our house!”

  “You honestly couldn’t think it was Peter who hit me? I mean first, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to park right outside. And second, I just know it’s not him.”

  “No. I don’t really think it’s Peter either. But I think we need to be careful.” Daisy slowly backed down the ladder and Rose let go with a sigh of relief.

  Daisy looked up at the chandelier and smiled. “I love the way it sparkles! Anyway, I’m going to call Mattie and Sally a little later and invite them for lunch next Sunday. I’ll say we need to talk about the Fourth. That will give us the week to investigate a few things.”

  “Are you going to let them know they’re both being blackmailed?”

  “No. That would be betraying a trust. I think we should actually talk about the Fourth. We really do need to get a few things done soon. And if something interesting turns up in conversation, all the better!”

  Rose turned to dust a framed picture hanging on the column behind the counter. She smiled as she looked at Aunt Lucy sitting on the front porch of The Elms. It was summer and Lucy was sipping a cup of tea.

  Daisy looked over her shoulder at the picture and laughed, “You know there was no tea in that cup. It was bourbon with a couple of mint springs.”

  “Yes, it was, bless her little tea drinking heart! I guess that was one way of getting through the summer heat before air condi
tioning. But looking at this gives me an idea.”

  “What? Get them loaded?” asked Daisy.

  “No. We just bring up Old Towne back in the day when Aunt Lucy was still around. See if there’s a connection between Mattie and Sally. We might find out who they were friendly with, who their families were friendly with. Anyway, I thought if we got an idea of what the town was like when they were teenagers, we might be able to figure out who started blackmailing them.”

  “Sounds like a plan. But what about Brad? He doesn’t seem to fit into the Old Towne picture.”

  “I know. I think we have to stick with looking for BLT1. If we can find him–or her–we’ll also find number two.”

  “Do we include Mother?” asked Rose.

  “We better. We have to keep her in the loop. I know we told Tom she wouldn’t do anything stupid, but you’re never sure with Mother. She may try to confront the bobber.”

  “What we really need to do is to get her to go home.”

  “Who’s going home?” trilled Angela as she breezed in through the sunroom door with an armful of brightly colored flowers. “I do love your zinnias.”

  “Aren’t they pretty? They’re the only thing I seem to be able to grow in our one patch of sunlight,” said Daisy. “Actually, Mother, we were hoping you’d consider going home. I know you want to take care of us, but you’ve put all of your own plans on hold to do it. And Rose and I are fine. I hate to think of you missing your poker club and mystery book club and edible garden club and mystical sessions with Lolita. You have a full plate without playing watchdog for us.”

  Angela looked downcast and sighed as she arranged the flowers in a beautiful crystal rose bowl. “If you don’t want me, just say so.”

  Rose looked up to the heavens and said, “Of course we want you. It’s just that I know we’re keeping you from things you like to do and, as long as Daisy and I are together, we’re safe enough.”

  Angela looked sheepish and said, “You think I might go after that nudie-man, don’t you?”

  Rose smiled, “It crossed our minds. How about this, you go home and do your regular things. If Daisy or I have to be here alone for any length of time, we’ll call you.”