by Nic Saint
“Yeah, who would have thunk? Anyway, like I said, he was fine when he was sober.”
“He was also a drug addict,” I said.
He cocked his index finger at me. “Hey, that’s what I discovered last night!”
“What happened last night?”
“Well, I’d never seen him do drugs in my place. I don’t condone drugs. Never have, never will. If I’d known he was an addict, I might have kicked him out a lot sooner. Last night he actually brought out this kit in my bar! Started shooting up. So I kindly asked him to leave, and he flipped out. Tried to attack me. So me and a couple of regulars finally had to subdue him and show him the door.” He shook his head. “First time I was attacked in my own place of business.”
“How did Rico react?”
“He wasn’t happy. Said he’d be back to trash the place. So I told him if he ever set foot in my bar again, I’d call the cops and have him arrested.” He shrugged. “When the cops showed up this morning, telling me he was shot dead last night, I was shocked. And when they told me his real name was Johnson Junqueras and he used to be this really famous nineties action star, even more.”
“Are you a suspect?” I asked.
“No idea. I guess I am. I’m probably the last guy to see him alive, and we didn’t part ways amicably, I can tell you that.”
“So… did you kill him?”
“Edie!” Strel cried. “What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s one of those questions neighborhood watch members ask.”
“Well, not this neighborhood watch member,” she said.
“So how would you phrase the question?”
She thought for moment, then turned to her boyfriend. “Was Rico killed by you, babe?”
“That’s the same question,” I pointed out.
“No, it’s not. It’s a completely different question.”
Dunlop chuckled. “It’s fine, babe. The cops already asked me the same thing, and I’ll tell you what I told them. I was at my bar, and dozens of folks can testify to that. No way could I have run out, murdered the sorry SOB and gotten back without anyone noticing me gone.”
“See?” asked Strel, holding up her hands. “He’s innocent. Just like I knew he was.”
“I’m a lover not a killer, babe,” said Dunlop.
“Oh, I know you are, lover,” said Strel.
Smooching ensued, and me and Stien retreated behind the counter.
“I think we should add a clause to the employee handbook to outlaw kissing during working hours,” I said.
“Estrella is not our employee,” Ernestine pointed out. “She’s our co-owner.”
“Well, I think we should take a vote. All in favor of outlawing kissing while on company time, raise your hand.” We both raised our hands, then high-fived. “Motion granted,” I said.
Chapter 12
Me and Ernestine decided to stay in the store for our lunch break, and do some more research on Johnson Junqueras, while Estrella and her new beau went out to grab a sandwich at the corner deli.
We both ordered pizza, and the moment it was delivered, we tucked in. Floret & Bloom used to be an antique shop, and before that the location of Gran’s first flower store, Flor et Bloom. The back of the store had been turned into storage space by the last owner, and we now used it to prepare arrangements and to store the flowers. We had the use of a small kitchen, and even a city garden, where we liked to sit whenever the weather permitted. We took our slices of pizza outside, sat down at the wrought-iron table and Stien opened her laptop. As I bit into my slice—pepperoni with cheesy crust, just the way I like it—she said, “Did you know that Johnson had a nemesis?”
“A nemesis? You mean like Lex Luthor and Superman?”
“Well, maybe not like Lex Luthor, but he had an enemy that he hated. Dolphus Wooler. Also an actor. They started out in the film business around the same time, and were even featured in some of the same movies, but then they had a falling-out at a certain point and became mortal enemies.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked. “Did they fight each other to the death? What?”
“I don’t think they actually fought each other to the death,” said Ernestine seriously. “At least Dolphus Wooler is still alive, so… though they could have slugged it out last night, and Dolphus won.”
“That would be hard to accomplish all the way from LA.”
“He’s not in LA. He’s right here in New York, for the Manhattan in Motion Film Festival.”
We shared a look. Now that was a genuine lead. “He’s here?”
“Yup.”
“We have to go talk to the guy.”
“That might be a tough proposition. The guy is a bona fide movie star. I don’t think they’re going to let us anywhere near him.”
Then I got an idea. “Isn’t that the same film festival Glenn is in town for?”
“Yes, it is!” Ernestine cried, her face lighting up. “You’re brilliant, Edie.”
“I have my moments.”
“All we have to do is ask Glenn to get us backstage passes, introduce us to Dolphus, and voila!”
“Do you think he did it?” I asked, taking another big bite of my pizza and savoring the taste.
She frowned again—her default expression. “I don’t know. He looks kinda scary. And when you read the reports about their feud, it looks like they really hated each other.”
“But why now? After so many years?”
“Maybe Dolphus found out where Johnson lived and decided to settle the score once and for all?”
“What was their feud about?”
“It’s not entirely clear. It might have had something to do with a woman.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
I settled back and steepled my fingers, detective style. Then I closed my eyes and gave myself up to contemplation for a moment. The birds were tweeting, Ernestine was humming a pleasant tune, and all the world was at peace. Well, except for Dolphus Wooler and Johnson Junqueras, apparently. And that’s when a loud crash sounded and we both jerked up.
“What was that?”
“I think it came from inside,” said Ernestine.
We quickly made our way into the store, and that’s when we found the big rock someone had thrown through our front window. “Oh, my God,” I said, staring at the big star-shaped hole. The rock had sailed right through the words Floret & Bloom.
“There’s a note,” said Ernestine, kneeling down next to the rock.
“Don’t touch it,” I said quickly. “We have to call Sam.”
Five minutes later, Sam arrived. When he saw the devastation, his expression was serious. “Christ,” he muttered, kneeling down next to the rock. With the tip of his pen he carefully removed the note and placed it on the floor. It read, ‘You’re not wanted here, you filthy witches!’ Oops.
Strel, returning from her lunch break, walked in and cried, “What the heck? I leave you two for five minutes and you destroy the entire store!”
“We didn’t throw the rock,” said Ernestine. “Someone who hates witches did.”
“Witches?” Sam asked. “Why would anyone call you witches?”
“It’s just an expression,” I told him.
“Maybe they wanted to write bitches but couldn’t spell,” said Strel, darting an anxious look at me.
“I’ll take this to the lab,” said Sam, depositing the note into a plastic baggie. “Have it checked for fingerprints and DNA. Is this the first time this has happened?”
I nodded. “Yes. Nobody has ever thrown rocks at us before.”
Stien and Strel shook their heads. When all three of us looked up and stared out through the now vandalized window to the store across the street, it was obvious we were all thinking the same thing: Johnson Junqueras hadn’t been the only person locked into a feud with a colleague.
Sam left, and we cleaned up the mess as best we could.
“I just wish we still had our witchy powers,” said Strel as she swip
ed the glass shards into the dustbin. “We could repair this window in no time, and return the favor to Tisha Lockyer.”
“We don’t know that Tisha is behind this, honey,” I said. “It could have been anyone.”
”Anyone who hates us,” said Stien. “Not too many people on this block hate us like she hates us.”
That was true. I don’t think we had any enemies, really. Gran had always been well-liked, and we weren’t the kind of people to get into trouble either. “Let’s just hope it won’t happen again,” I said. I’d called a person to fix the window, and it wasn’t going to be cheap.
“What are we going to tell Gran?” asked Strel.
Stien frowned. “What do you mean? We tell her the truth, of course. She’s going to have to pay for this window, after all.”
“She’s right,” I said. “We have to tell her the truth.”
“She’s going to be livid,” Strel warned. “She might have taken our powers, but she still has hers. She might just give Tisha a mouse tail and hooves before she’s through with her. And cat whiskers.”
“Gran isn’t going to do anything rash,” I said. Though as I said it, I was having second thoughts. Gran was very attached to her flower store. She loved Floret & Bloom like a baby. She would consider the attack a personal attack against her, and since the blood of Fallon Safflower was still very much flowing through her veins, she just might wreak revenge in the worst possible way. “Maybe you’re right,” I finally told Strel. “Maybe it would be best if we simply didn’t tell her.”
“Tell me what?” asked a voice from the door. When I looked up, I saw that Gran was studying the big hole in the window curiously. “And what, for the love of Fallon, have you done to my store?!”
Chapter 13
“We didn’t do it, Gran,” I was quick to point out.
“Then who did?!” she cried, hands on hips.
“No idea. Sam just left. He took the note and the rock.”
“What note? What rock?”
I could see that diplomacy was going to be needed to steer Gran away from causing some major damage herself. “Someone threw a rock through the window.”
“And then they left a note that said, ‘You’re not wanted here, you filthy witches!’”
We watched as Gran processed this information. It was like watching a kettle going on the boil. It took a while, but soon something was bubbling at the surface, and steam was pouring from her ears. “It’s that Tisha,” she growled, pointing an accusing finger across the street. “She did this.”
“Well, there’s no way to prove that,” I pointed out.
“Yes, there is,” said Stien, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sam said he was going to have the note and the rock checked for prints and DNA.”
“I don’t need prints and DNA to tell me what I already know,” said Gran. “That Tisha Lockyer has hated me from the start. She was a pain in the ass as a manager, and she was a pain in the patootie as a competitor when she had the gall to open her own store and steal my customers!”
“Wait, Tisha used to work for you?” I asked.
“Of course she did. Didn’t I tell you? She was my first hire. She worked for me for three years, until I was satisfied she was doing a fine enough job that I could leave her in charge of the store and open a second one. Pretty soon I was juggling five stores and that’s when she decided that running one of the most successful flower stores in Brooklyn wasn’t enough for her. She opened her own flower shop, right across the street, and has been there ever since.”
“And she took your customers?”
“Yes, she did. Told them a lot of bad things about me and convinced them to buy at Pretty Petals instead of Flor et bloom.”
“She’s probably upset that we’re pulling in more customers than she is,” I said. “All morning there was a long line of customers while her store was pretty much empty.”
”Well, that’s karma for you,” said Gran grimly, and waved her hands distractedly. To my surprise, the crack in the window suddenly drew together with a soft popping sound and then was gone, the window completely restored.
“See? Witchcraft makes things so much easier,” said Strel.
“And more economical,” Ernestine added.
Just then, a smallish man with a pencil mustache walked in, took one look at the window, and clutched at his hair. “Where broken window? Did I come wrong address again? Mamma mia!”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Gran sweetly. “There’s no broken windows at Floret & Bloom.”
The little guy shook his hands expressively, rolled his eyes even more expressively, and let rip a long stream of curse words in Italian, then promptly walked out.
“So now what?” I asked. “If Tisha knocked out our window once, she might do it again.”
“I’ll make sure she can’t,” Gran said. “I should have taken care of her a long time ago.” And at this, she stormed out of the store.
“Gran!” I yelled after her.
“What?” she asked, turning.
“Don’t kill her. You’ll go to jail.”
“And don’t change her into a mouse either,” said Strel. “People might see you and talk.”
“I’m not going to kill anyone,” said Gran with a laugh. “Though that idea about turning her into a mouse is not a bad one. I just might do that.” She waved her hands again, and when I looked around, I saw… nothing.
“What did you do?” I asked suspiciously.
Gran smiled, rubbing her hands. “Let’s just say that the next stone that woman throws, will perform a feat of instant karma.”
“You put up a protective shield around the store, didn’t you?” asked Ernestine.
“Yes, I did. No one is going to destroy my business. And certainly not some uppity traitor like Tisha Lockyer.”
As if summoned, Tisha now walked out of her store and stood staring at us from across the street. The smile playing about her lips disappeared when she noticed the window wasn’t sporting the big hole she’d expected. Without looking left or right, she crossed the street. “Cassie! I heard what happened. What a terrible thing.”
“Happened? Nothing happened,” said Cassie.
Tisha stared at the window. “I heard someone threw a rock through the window. But…”
“Must be some other store,” Gran said. “Nobody throws rocks through my windows.”
“I-I must have been misinformed, then,” said Tisha, looking uncertain all of a sudden.
Be careful when you attack a witch, I could have told her. She just might retaliate.
“So how’s business?” asked Gran casually.
“Can’t complain,” said Tisha. She was a stately woman in her forties with long blond hair.
“I like your store,” I suddenly blurted out. “In fact when I think of what a flower shop should look like I always think of Pretty Petals.”
She nodded curtly. “Thanks. That’s a nice compliment.”
Ignoring Gran’s cold stare, I continued, “There’s absolutely no reason why there can’t be two flower shops on the same street, right? I mean, there’s enough business for the both of us.”
“Right,” said Tisha, but she didn’t seem convinced.
“People love flowers,” I went on stubbornly. I had the impression my audience was far from sympathetic. Now I knew what stand-up comics felt like when they were performing for a hostile crowd. It kinda took the zip out of your performance.
“Well, I better get back to my store,” said Tisha. “Can’t keep the customers waiting.”
We watched her stalk across the street, and Gran muttered, “That should teach her a lesson.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked in alarm.
“Nothing. For now. Though I probably should. This is the second time she’s tried to sabotage my business. Trust me, there won’t be a third.” And with these ominous words, she walked away in the direction of Safflower House. She also had a business to run, and so did we.
&
nbsp; “Phew,” said Estrella, and I think she spoke for all of us. “That went well.”
“I didn’t know Tisha used to work for Gran,” I said.
“No, I didn’t either,” said Strel. “Not very nice of her to open her own business right across the street and steal Gran’s customers.”
“It surprises me Gran never tried to put her down a peg.”
“Gran is bigger than that,” I said. “She would never do that.”
“Next time she will,” said Ernestine, but was distracted when Glenn Kerb came ambling down the sidewalk. This time he was dressed like a hobo, complete with bowler hat, filthy beard and long, matted hair. He had even plastered on a fake nose with a big wart sticking out of it. He was almost unrecognizable. “Glenn!” she cried, waving at him to draw his attention. “Over here!”
Glenn looked behind him, then pointed at himself, as if unsure if she was referring to him.
“Yeah, you,” said Ernestine happily. “He’s such a goofball,” she told us when Glenn finally started making his way over to us. “Hey, Glenn,” she said when he’d joined us. “You look beyond amazing.”
“Thanks, doll-face,” said Glenn in a raspy voice. He stuck out his hand, palm up. “Got some change for a vet?”
We all laughed. He really did look amazing. He had even managed to change his voice.
“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “You gals look like you can spare a dime on a homeless veteran. What about a Hamilton? Better yet, make it a Jackson. I’m feeling lucky.”
“Glenn!” said Ernestine, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You’re incredible!”
He stared from Stien’s hand to her face and displayed a leery grin. His teeth looked like the scene of a shooting gallery after someone has managed to snag the big prize.
Just then, a voice sounded behind us. We turned around and found ourselves staring at… Glenn Kerb, still dressed in his mustard-colored mustache, trilby hat and fake chin. “Hey, girls. Is this creep giving you grief?”
Chapter 14
“Buzz off, bozo,” said the old wino. “Go bother someone else.”