Donovan had come to stand behind Emily. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. Looking up at us, he said, “As you can see, my wife takes her work very seriously.”
Emily frowned. “No more than you do. We’re here because of your work.”
I sensed a bit of tension between them and wondered if there was a power struggle going on as to whose job was more important. Emily was Donovan’s second wife. His first wife had been a stay-at-home mom. He’d been a rodeo announcer, keeping long hours, traveling around the country. Left alone, Donovan’s first wife had found she had more in common with her next-door neighbor, a house husband.
Natalie forked the slabs of meat, making them sizzle as fat dripped onto the hot coals. In a crabby tone, she said, “I suppose you’re here to talk about Marnie. I’d hoped to have a nice quiet meal.”
“We can have this discussion after you’ve eaten,” said Donovan. “But we will have it.”
She waved the long-handled fork. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed at her tone. “I’m not the enemy, Natalie. All this publicity about the greenhouse can’t be good for business.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know, but what are we going to do about it?”
“That’s why I’m here. Dan has all he can cope with in Oregon. It’s up to you and me to make some decisions. What I propose is that we hire a private firm to investigate Marnie’s murder.”
I quickly spoke up. “But the sheriff is spearheading the case.
Donovan shrugged. “I see his campaign posters all over town. Is he giving his all to solving this murder? I don’t think so. That’s why I’ve contacted this new detective agency.” He pulled a business card from his pocket. “I found this last night on the windshield of my car. An hour ago, I talked to the old gentleman. Hiring him seems a viable solution.”
I closed my eyes wearily. Old gentleman, indeed. It could only be my father.
chapter Eight
I didn’t sleep well that night though my hostess had seen to my every need. I’d dined on grilled steak, a baked potato, and crisp salad followed by strawberry shortcake. My room was peaceful. The bed was comfortable, the sheets faintly scented with lavender. I had everything necessary for a restful night, but I couldn’t sleep.
Knowing how I felt about his detective agency idea, my father hadn’t put my name on his business cards. Donovan had been amazed to learn of my connection to the “old gentleman.” He’d called my house, just moments after Natalie and I left, to make an appointment with my father at a local restaurant. They’d discussed the case, but not once had my father mentioned that I was his daughter.
When I enlightened Donovan about my father’s omission, Donovan was annoyed. He wanted to be made aware of all facts, and if my father had neglected to mention this glaring detail, then perhaps he wasn’t the man for the job.
Natalie had pointed out that I was already involved, and the subject was dropped. I knew my father would be crushed, but it was better to have his feelings hurt than for him to suffer physical pain because he’d gotten in over his head.
My thoughts kept me awake well into the wee hours before weariness kicked in and I slept. I don’t set an alarm. My inner clock usually tells me when it’s time to get up, but instead of waking at my regular hour, I dozed on. When I finally opened my eyes, bright sunshine highlighted the room.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand brought me out of bed in a hurry. Eight-thirty! The flower shop opened at nine, and I still had to dress and make the twenty-minute drive into River City.
Grumbling under my breath, I jumped into a green split skirt, added a white top, and slipped my feet into a pair of white sandals. As I combed my hair I went into the hall and dialed the shop. After three rings, Lois picked up the receiver.
“The Flower Shop,” she said in a nasal tone.
“Hi. It’s me. Sounds like you still have a sinus problem.”
“It’s getting better. At least I can stand up without getting dizzy.”
“I’m gonna be late. I overslept.”
“Looks like a quiet day, so take your time. From what I read in yesterday’s paper, you had a tragic experience on Saturday. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll fill you in when I get to the shop. See you as soon as I can.”
I hung up and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Fifteen minutes later, I was perfumed, powdered, and prepared for my workday. I galloped down the stairs with my handbag flopping against my hip.
Taking a moment, I stuck my head around the kitchen doorway. Natalie was seated at the table picking at a fried egg. She looked like hell. Her hair was matted on one side. She hadn’t dressed but wore an old nightgown that had been washed so many times the print was faded and the lace frayed at the neckline.
“I’m late,” I said. “I have to go.”
Natalie frowned. “Since you weren’t up at the crack of dawn, I thought you were going to spend the day with me.”
“I can’t. I have to get to work. But I’ll be back after five. Okay?”
Dispirited, she nodded and bent over her plate.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you said you would be okay during the day.”
She glanced up and gave me a weak grin. “Go. See you later.”
I hesitated for another second, then sprinted for the front door. I felt guilty for leaving her, but there wasn’t anything I could do. Once I got to the flower shop and saw how the day might go, I could possibly leave early, but I didn’t tell Natalie that. No sense getting her hopes up.
I stepped outside where the air was already hot and humid. I got in my SUV and fired up the engine. Driving down the lane, I saw a couple of deputies having coffee. I waved and zoomed by.
There was no need to speed, since Lois had the flower shop covered, but I didn’t waste time on the trip into town. I’m a creature of habit. I like to be at work early so I can enjoy a cup of coffee and ease into the day. Today my routine had been disturbed, and I was out of sorts.
Coming up behind a slow-moving vehicle, I swung out to pass. A car was headed my way. I had plenty of time to get back into my lane, but the experience left me huddled behind the steering wheel, my hands shaking.
“Slow down,” I said under my breath. “Relax.”
Just to prove I could deviate from my routine without going manic, I decided to stop for doughnuts. Merry’s Delights was located eight blocks from the flower shop and made fantastic apple fritters. I rarely indulged, but this morning I had the urge to sink my teeth into a confection dredged in cinnamon and gooey icing. No slots were available out front, so I parked in the alley. I walked around the building and met Irma coming out of Merry’s front door.
She hefted a big pastry box when she saw me. “I left you a few goodies inside, but not many. I figure morale will be low this morning at the greenhouse. Maybe something special for break will help raise spirits.”
Irma had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair didn’t have its usual crested wave of bangs.
She would have walked on to her car, but I touched her lightly on the arm. “Food is a panacea for all that ails,” I said. “I’m here for the same reason, but I don’t think doughnuts will erase the murder from either of our minds. Marnie was a sweet young lady, but she was curious, asking questions all the time. Did you notice that about her?”
A wary look crossed Irma’s face. “I heard you were staying with Natalie. With your reputation, I told Har—” She stopped and quickly amended, “I told Harman, my—uh—cat that you’d be nosing around.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your cat is interested in what I do?” I shook my head. “I’d more likely say it was Harley.” Putting a note of understanding in my voice, I said, “It’s only natural that two … uh … coworkers would discuss what happened. What was your conclusion?”
Irma’s cheeks were red and her tone flustered. “I was told by the sheriff not to d
iscuss the case, but I keep thinking that maybe Marnie had a stalker.” She looked up and down the street. In an undertone, she added, “You didn’t hear that from me and if you say I said it, I’ll deny it.” She marched off and got into her car.
Astonished, I watched Irma drive off. A stalker? I thought of Eugene and his quick temper. I’d never seen that side of him. Uneasy with my thoughts, I walked into Merry’s. The place was hopping with morning coffee drinkers and people searching for a sugar rush to jump-start their bodies. I stood in line, but my lust for sweets was gone.
Had someone been bothering Marnie? Why hadn’t Sid said anything about that? Did he even know? When it was my turn, I made my choices and returned to my vehicle carrying a bag of assorted goodies.
I was only eight blocks from the flower shop. With traffic heavy, I decided to use the alley instead of getting back on the street. It wasn’t a scenic route by any means. Delivery trucks had broken up the asphalt, leaving potholes that slowed me down. Trash cans and Dumpsters hadn’t been emptied yet. The smelly debris added to the sinister aspect of the unkempt, weed-infested lane.
A block from my shop, an old lady hobbled toward me, taking more than her fair share of the confined space. I pulled over as far as I could. The woman’s head was down. Her scuffed boots shuffled the dirt in a listless manner. Her hair was wispy and gray. She was of average height but as plump as a toad, her bulk draped in a floral-printed muumuu.
In my red SUV, I wasn’t difficult to see, but she kept her gaze on the ground. I had gotten over as far as I could and had come to a full stop. If she didn’t look up soon, she’d ram her nose into the hood of my car. I figured it would startle her, but I tapped my horn gently. The sound didn’t phase her. She plodded on a course that would surely bring her injury.
I put the gearshift into park and stepped out. “Ma’am,” I called. “Hello!”
She was perhaps twenty feet from me. At the sound of my voice, she stopped. Slowly she raised her head. Startled, I sucked in a breath. Her face was covered with warts. Her nose hooked like the beak of a bird. Her eyes were sunk deep in their sockets and barely visible.
I was ashamed to stare, but then it occurred to me that no one could be this hideous. She limped to the side of the alley and flung out her arm, indicating that I was to pass. I got back into my vehicle and closed the door. I engaged the transmission and let the engine idle me forward.
As I passed her, I glanced out my window. From this vantage point, I saw I’d been looking at a rubber mask. She raised a large hand that was covered with a white glove smeared with a reddish brown stain. In a playful manner she twiddled her fingers at me, then spun on her heel. I twisted around in my seat and watched her flee down the alley like a bat out of hell. In a few seconds she was out of sight.
Spooked, I gripped the steering wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. I slowed down only when I came to my parking space at the back of the flower shop. I slid to a stop and killed the engine. Grabbing the bag of pastry, I leaped out and ran up the steps. Breathing hard I flung open the back door and slammed it, twisting the lock for good measure. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves then headed for the workroom.
“You guys won’t believe what just happened,” I said coming through the doorway. My voice dwindled away. Lois, my designer, and Lew, my deliveryman, stood at the front counter. They both turned and stared at me. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with shock.
I put the bag of doughnuts on a table. “What’s wrong?”
In unison they pointed to the front of the store. From here I had an unhindered view of the front showroom. My shop is narrow but deep, the entry door squarely in the middle with a display window on each side. Both plate-glass panels were shattered. A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.
On wobbly legs I made the journey past the worktables, past the counter, past the front cooler. I stopped about midway down the room. “Have you called the police?” I asked.
Lois said, “Yes. They’re sending someone immediately.”
I nodded and looked over the destruction. Two bricks lay on the floor, their reddish brown color almost blending with the carpet. I stared at the bricks for a moment then went to a worktable and grabbed a white towel.
“What are you doing?” asked Lois.
Lew chimed in. “Shouldn’t you leave things alone until the police arrive?”
“I’m not going to disturb anything,” I said. I bent down and rubbed the white cloth across the surface of the brick. I stood up and turned the cloth toward the light.
The residue was an exact match to the smear of color on the old woman’s white gloves. Remembering how fast she’d run away, I knew she hadn’t been old, and who’s to say she was even female? Under that garb she could have been anyone.
A lump of fear twisted my gut as I revised my thoughts—not just anyone. The need for a head-to-toe disguise meant that I’d recognize the person who’d done this. In fact, chances were I’d probably talked to him or her in the last couple days.
It was after two in the afternoon before the excitement tapered off. I had to deal with the law, my insurance company, and a glass installation business that couldn’t get to my windows for another day. This delay initiated the need for a repairman to nail sheets of plywood over the gaping holes, which in turn meant that we had to post a sign outside that said: YES! WE ARE OPEN FOR BUSINESS!
The broken glass was picked up, the carpet vacuumed. Silk arrangements and plants were examined for shards. My back-to-school window decorations had been obliterated. I’d fashioned an apple, the size of a bushel basket, out of Styrofoam packing peanuts squashed into a trash bag, and covered it with crushed red velvet material. Splinters of glass had sliced the velvet fabric, allowing the peanuts to slither from the slits like white maggots feasting on a piece of decayed fruit. My display had taken a day to construct. It took two minutes to toss into the trash.
Besides the work, we had well-meaning neighbors dropping by to empathize and bemoan the destructiveness of people in our small corner of the world. It all took time and energy, commodities I was lacking. My employees and I kept up a brave front, but by midafternoon we were drained.
I put a final piece of fern in the vase of roses I’d designed. “This order doesn’t have to be delivered immediately,” I said. “Let’s take a break.”
“I’m ready,” said Lois. She pulled up a stool and sat down. “I’m pooped.”
Usually she kept her neat appearance through any and all situations, but not today. Her dark hair hung across her damp forehead in limp strands. Her cheek had a smudge of dirt, and her blouse had come untucked from the waistband of her slacks. Tenderly, she rubbed the Band-Aid on her index finger.
I nodded to the injury. “Are you sure it’s okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No. I was just careless.” She raised her husky voice. “Hey, Lew, we’re taking a break. How about getting us a couple cans of soda out of the cooler?”
“Be right there,” he called. “I’ve got to wash up.”
I looked at the grime on my hands and sighed. “I should, too, but I don’t have the energy to move.”
Lois nodded. “It’s been one helluva day. According to Josh, who has the video store next door, the old woman who tossed the bricks really had a pitching arm. She sent those chucks of clay hurling—Wham! Front and center on each of those windows. I didn’t see anything, but it sounded like someone had fired a gun. I rolled under the table. I thought we were under attack.”
Lew came into the workroom with three cans of soda. He put one in front of each of us. “We were under attack,” he said, pulling up a stool.
Like actors in a commercial, we settled back and popped the tabs on our sodas. With choreographed precision, we tipped the cans to our lips and took long, satisfying drinks.
Lois put her can down and burped. “Boy, that hit the spot,” she said, wiping the moisture from her lips onto the back of her hand.
Lew’s expression showed his disgust.
He’d worked just as hard as Lois and I, but his necktie was straight, his shirt snowy white, his trousers neatly creased. “You are so crude,” he said.
Lois narrowed her eyes and took a big gulp of her drink. This time she belched long and loud. “Now that’s crude,” she said.
Lew was straitlaced and very proper. Lois loved to irritate and provoke him. I usually ignored them, but this time I shook my head. “Come on, guys. Cut it out.”
“He started it,” said Lois, eyeing Lew expectantly.
In a haughty tone, he said, “I will not lower myself to your level.” He turned to me. “I think we need to address our present situation, boss.”
I shrugged. “What’s to discuss? The glass will be replaced tomorrow. Until then there’s nothing to do. I wondered what I could give myself for my birthday. Guess I’ll pay the insurance deductible and call it a fine celebration.”
“Not a fun gift, Bretta,” said Lois. “You need to splurge. Treat yourself to something special. There’s a new massage parlor down on Dover. Why don’t you—”
Lew stood up in such a tizzy he knocked over his stool. Waving his hands, he said, “Rubber masks. Bricks through windows. Hijinks, low blows, and dirty tricks. When I came to work here, I thought my job would be delivering flowers. Not ducking projectiles.”
Lois scoffed. “You weren’t even close to getting cold-cocked.”
“It’s the principle. I shouldn’t have to wonder what’s going to happen next.” Lew stared at me. “I read about that woman who was murdered Saturday at the Parkers’. Considering this morning’s event, I have to assume you’re involved up to your eyebrows, which in turn means that I am, too.”
Lew’s face was red. Beads of moisture glistened on his balding head. I didn’t particularly like him, but he was a good employee. He knew River City people and the streets where they lived. In a pinch he could wrap a plant, and his florist bows were well crafted. But if he was unhappy working here, I wasn’t going to beg him to stay. It would be an inconvenience to replace him, but I didn’t want anyone, especially an employee, dictating how I spent my free time.
Reap a Wicked Harvest Page 8