Keely watched as Jessica skillfully wielded a minute watering can to fill the hollow stem of a delphinium and plugged the end with a piece of cotton wool.
Standing the stalk of blue flowers in a narrow vase, Jessica selected another. “Blake Caswell and her mother were in to see me yesterday.” She deftly filled and plugged the stem. “Blake’s theme is going to be ‘I’m in the Mood For Love.’ I was surprised you couldn’t make it.”
Keely’s stomach clenched. Blake’s session was one of this week’s cancellations.
“We selected flowers that sound as romantic as they look.” Jessica paused, resting her hands, palms down on the table. Her knuckles were reddened, the nails blunt and close trimmed.
Uncomfortable under Keely’s scrutiny, Jessica flexed her fingers and picked up another flower, avoiding her visitor’s gaze. “Wonderful names—bachelor’s-button, Cupid’s dart, blue passion flower, love-in-a-mist. Since the groom’s name is Bill, we decided to use Sweet William in the table arrangements. Blake wanted orange blossoms but she’ll have to make do with stephanotis like everyone else—”
“I had nothing to do with the robberies and I didn’t kill Flo Netherton.”
Jessica started. Water splashed and puddled on the plastic. “What are you talking about, Keely?”
“I know this town, Jess, and I’m aware of the speed of the grapevine in the wedding industry. Flo was murdered in my studio last night and I’m the prime suspect. I didn’t do it, and I want to clear myself. Please, help me.”
“Help you? How?” Jess tore off a piece of cotton wool and rolled it into a minuscule snowball.
“You can tell me why you’re afraid to be seen talking to me. Why Mimi’s scared of her shadow. Who’s threatening you.”
“Threatening me? Wherever did you get such nonsense?” Jess jammed a delphinium into the vase without plugging the stem and seized another stalk.
“Mimi said her store could go up in flames and there wouldn’t even be a sequin left in the ashes.”
“Mimi’s high strung.” Jessica twisted the stem. “She’s paranoid, seeing threats in ordinary conversation. She was probably talking about a meeting with her insurance agent.”
The flat explanation wouldn’t have convinced a deaf person. Keely put down her coffee mug. “I don’t blame you for being afraid, Jess. I’m scared, too. But we’ve got to stop whatever’s going on. We can’t live in fear.”
The bell rang, jarring Jessica from the paralysis caused by Keely’s last assertion. The stalk snapped between her work roughened fingers. “I’ve got a customer.” She gestured helplessly with the broken flower. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave—”
“Keely?”
The voice behind the curtain belonged to Max. “Back here!” she called.
The curtain rippled and shuddered. Max appeared.
Keely blinked. “What happened to you?”
The crisply styled clothing which he wore with such assurance was now spattered with white dots. A dark stain the shape of Australia decorated the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Gunter took offense at being disturbed during the genius of creation. He also took a vehement dislike to my face.”
“And routed you with the ammunition he had on hand?” Keely touched a dot with her index finger, transferred the creaminess to her mouth. “Gunter’s buttercream tastes like ambrosia.” She indicated the mark on his shirt pocket. “Did you hurt him? That looks like blood.”
“I never got within wrestling range.” Max tapped the stain. “Black currant liqueur. Gunter was about to pour some over a genoise sponge cake when he blew his cake top.”
Keely belatedly remembered her manners. “Jess, this is Max. You probably saw each other at the Westhaven reception—”
At Max’s entrance, Jess had frozen, one hand still clutching the damaged delphinium. Her eyes were glazed with fear.
She jerked into motion, moving awkwardly, yet swiftly, to snatch up a scissors with long pointed blades off the work table. “Get out! Both of you! Or I’ll call the police!”
Keely stepped back, her hands raised defensively. “Jess, please! We don’t want to hurt you, we want to help!”
“Help?” Jessica’s voice held the fear-curled edge of hysteria. “The only way you can help me is by leaving as fast as you can! And take your rent-a-thug with you!”
Chapter 19
Jessica’s ragged breathing was the only sound in the room as Keely held out her hand, palm up. “We can leave your shop, Jess, but the fear will still be here. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, for your sake as well as mine.”
Jess’s hands shook. “My girls! I can’t—”
“Kids sense fear,” Keely said softly. “I’m sure they’re hurting, just like you.”
Jessica dropped the scissors which clattered, unnoticed, to the tiles. She stared down at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. “Sense it? They can smell it,” she said dully. “Megan asked me this morning why I don’t wear my ‘flower’ perfume any more when I come home from work.”
She heaved a sigh which travelled all the way up from her toes. “I’m sorry about the melodramatic gesture with the scissors. I wouldn’t have hurt you. I thought your friend looked like a guy I’ve seen hanging around my shop.”
“My first visit,” Max said. “Scout’s honor.”
Keely looked past Jessica’s sagging form to the table covered with blocks of florists’ foam, funnels, green gutta-percha tape, twigs, and plant misters. All harmless tools of the trade. Then her gaze moved on to the taped razor blades, the reel of fine rose wire and the scissors lying on the floor. The skin on back of her neck tingled.
“Let’s go into the conference room,” she suggested.
Jessica agreed listlessly and took the cup which Keely pushed into her nerveless fingers. They took seats in the ivory and mauve room where Jessica met with clients. After Jessica had been persuaded to drink some coffee, a chilling story emerged.
Three days after the Westhaven wedding, Jessica had received a phone call in the middle of the night. The caller was a man. She described his voice as cold, emotionless.
“His opening line was, ‘See how easy it is to ruin someone’s business? The photographer’s history. No one’s going to hire her.’ I hung up but he kept calling back until I answered.”
Keely’s arms covered in gooseflesh as she recalled the voice of her own caller. Threats made in the dark watches of the night, when his chosen victim was at her most vulnerable.
In a whispery voice, Jessica described how the man, undaunted by her hang-ups, called back every night, leaving messages on her answering machine. He claimed to possess the ability to destroy any wedding service provider. “A little negative publicity, a few ugly incidents, and you’re out of business.”
On Friday, he had proposed a solution: a healthy cash payment to be made once a month.
“I picked up the phone and told him I was going to call the police.” Jess pushed back her bangs again. “But he laughed, said a flower shop would make a nice blaze. He could manufacture enough evidence to make the police believe I’d torched my shop for the insurance money.”
After the Postwaite debacle and Flo’s printed digs at Key Shot and Feast of Italy, the caller phoned again. This time, a terrorized Jessica agreed to make the payments.
“I can’t afford to lose that much money, Keely. Maggie needs braces and I’m going to have to replace the roof on our house…” Jessica wiped her eyes and sniffed. “But I also knew you were innocent and had been made to look guilty. It could easily have been me! When I heard about Flo’s death, I’m ashamed to admit I felt enormous relief that I’d agreed to pay.”
Max said harshly, “Protection money.”
Keely gazed at starry sprays of pink London pride mixed into the bouquet of sweet peas on the center of the rosewood table. “If the thug’s getting that kind of money out of Mimi and the other service providers, he’s sitting pretty.”
“He said
the robberies were just a show of force. Some of the police were in his pocket—no one would believe me. He told me he could ruin anyone.” Jessica, ignoring scented tissues in an ivory box, blew her nose on a paper towel plucked from the pocket of her smock. “What am I going to do, Keely?”
Her round face flushed. “How selfish of me to worry about my problems when you’re in such deep trouble. Keely, are you all right? You’re as white as a trumpet lily.”
Keely forced a reassuring smile. “I suppose I should feel better, knowing I’m just being used as an example.”
Max asked sympathetically, “Would you be willing to repeat what you’ve told us to a police detective?”
Jessica shivered and massaged her forearms. “I can’t afford to lose my business, Max. Besides, I’ve already made one payment. Doesn’t that make me guilty of something?”
“That makes you a victim,” Keely said firmly. “You need to talk to Detective Gayla Gifford. Appeal to her womanly nature.”
“Except she’s as womanly as a she-wolf protecting her cubs,” Max muttered.
Jessica shook her head miserably. “I can’t. Keely, Max, I’m sorry, but he knows about my girls. ‘Aren’t you proud that Julie won an award at the science fair, that Megan’s so pretty?’ The other night, he said, ‘Annie’s the image of you.’”
Jessica ran her hands through her hair, which fell back into fluffy layers. “He’s been spying on me, Keely. If I go to the police, he’ll know and something terrible will happen.”
“This clown’s a real tough guy, harassing women and children over the telephone.” Max’s bruised face set in a fierce scowl. “We can’t let him get away with this. Jessica, I know your kids come first, but once you knuckle under—”
She shoved her mug away, coffee slopping onto the polished wood. “I hate being a puppet! If it was only my safety at stake, I’d help you, but I’ve got to think of my girls.”
Keely asked softly, “How did you make the payment, Jess? By mail?”
“No.” Jess blew her nose again. “I was told to give the envelope with the money to the first person who asked if I carried false dragonhead in stock.”
“False dragonhead?”
“Physostegia virginiana, to be exact.” A bitter smile creased Jessica’s pleasant face as she recited the Latin name. “Commonly know as ‘Obedience.’”
“This creep’s got a nasty sense of humor. What did the person who picked up the money look like?” Max leaned forward.
“A teenager. Nice clean cut kid. An errand boy. I didn’t ask questions, I didn’t even dare look at him too closely.” Jessica picked at the rim of soil imbedded under her thumbnail. “I’m not saying another word. I’ll pay any amount of money, I’ll sign over my shop—I’ll do anything to keep my girls safe.”
“Worrying about you and Gunter kept me distracted.”
“What did you say?” Max stuck his head out of his bedroom and Keely saw that her host was naked above faded jeans.
“Get dressed!” She made a shooing motion. “I wasted time fretting about what you were doing to Gunter when I should have been worrying what he was doing to you.”
Max grunted and vanished. He reappeared, buttoning up a blue shirt. “Before I could get a word out, that mad German pelted me with icing and hurled liqueur bottles.”
“Gunter may be a trifle volatile, but he’s not mad.” Keely paused by the French doors leading onto a balcony. “This place has the ambience of a fifties bowling alley.”
Max dropped into a black leather chair. “I’m a cook, not a decorator.” he proclaimed in a muffled voice. “At least I think I am. The moment I met you, my life turned into an episode of The Twilight Zone.”
“You think mine’s been a chair of bowlies?” Max’s apartment featured a high ceiling and walls painted pristine white. A minimum of furniture and no knickknacks. Judging by the lack of personal touches, Max was a man who travelled light. Yet, last night, he’d confessed that he desperately wanted a family…
“You haven’t got a fire-eating relative breathing down your neck,” Max muttered through his fingers. “If Feast of Italy goes into the toilet, my choices will be whittled down to joining the federal witness protection program or sticking my head in the oven and switching on the gas. I trust you’ve heard the expression, ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire’?”
“We have to keep digging until we come up with a bone to throw Gifford.”
“Agreed, but I’ve a hunch that woman’s going to need more than a bone to get her off our tail.” Max linked his hands behind his head. “The protection racket’s a potential juicy tidbit.”
“Judging by Mimi and Jessica’s reactions, the chances of anyone admitting they’re paying protection money are slim to none.” Keely gingerly sat down in the only other chair in the room, a battered recliner that looked as if its laid-back position was a permanent state. “The caller did his homework, he mentioned Jessica’s daughters by name, knew all about them…”
Keely’s voice trailed off as she grappled with an elusive thought. “Flo did a series of profiles of area service providers last winter. Jessica was one of those interviewed. What if Flo was working with this madman and she gave him the personal information he needed to terrorize these people?”
“I think you’ve hit on something! Flo had access to the inside details about the weddings. She could have funneled the information to the leader of the Sterling Gang.” Max leaped up and began to pace. “What nerve that woman had, pointing the finger of guilt at us while all the time she was the conduit!”
Keely frowned. “Maybe we’re being too hard on Flo.”
“Excuse me? We’re talking about the woman who sliced us like veal cutlets and tossed us to the wolves.”
Keely took a perverse pride in opposing Max that had nothing to do with defending the dead woman. “Perhaps she didn’t know how this guy planned to use the information she gave him.”
“Didn’t know? The investigator’s report and Flo’s own columns show that she bore active malice towards society—”
“Depriving brides of their wedding silver is one thing, but I can’t see a socially prominent woman becoming involved with a protection racket.”
Max slid open the doors leading to the balcony and leaned through the opening to retrieve a jug of sun tea. “I’ll bet Flo was the inside contact for the Sterling Ring. She was desperate to get her hands on the videotape. She came with someone to your studio to search for it. An argument occurred, hot words were exchanged—wham! You’ve got a dead woman in your studio.”
“Maybe the person she was working with was Jackson.” Keely followed Max into the kitchen. “Don’t forget about the broken camera and lenses. He was at Key Shot last night.”
“Maybe Flo herself was the leader of the Sterling Ring.” Max poured tea into two glasses and sliced a lime into paper thin wedges. They sat at the breakfast bar which divided the kitchen and main room of the apartment, each continuing to argue theories about the murder.
“You have to concede that killing Flo was an impulse action.” Keely took another fruit wedge from the glass bowl.
“Because the murderer used the tripod to inflict the deadly blow? Granted. But what if the killer had brought along a different weapon and decided to improvise, utilizing what was available? I’ve got a hunch the goon behind the protection racket is a man we’ve met before.”
“Who?” Keely wished she had a camera to capture the earnest wrinkle of Max’s brow.
He popped two aspirin into his mouth and washed them down with a swig from his glass. “Jackson. He gave the list with the band’s name on it to the gatekeeper. He was in the ideal position to orchestrate the Postwaite burglary.”
“But he also has the videotape Flo wanted so desperately.” Keely delighted in punching a hole in Max’s theory. “Why would she threaten me if her confederate had the tape?”
“She wasn’t aware he had it.” Max tilted the glass and stared into its amber depths. “Jacks
on’s playing a deep game. When Flo found out he’d been holding out on her, she lost her cool. Maybe she threatened him with the police or pricked him one too many times with that needle sharp tongue. He lost control, grabbed the tripod and bashed her head in.”
Max’s hypothesis was as valid as anything else they’d come up with. Keely thought of another scenario. “What if he’d planned to kill her all along?”
“Using the tape as bait to lure her to your studio? He kills her and leaves you holding the bag?” Max shook his head in reluctant admiration. “No wonder he wasn’t satisfied with chauffeuring the Postwaites around. The Pentagon could use a mind like his for command central.”
Keely sucked juice from the lime wedge. Her lips puckered in a soundless whistle in reaction to the tart tang. She caught Max staring and heat surged in her cheeks.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Time for a strategy session. We need proof we can toss in Gifford’s lap.”
“Give her Jessica.” Max watched Keely closely. “Your friend will probably crack after five minutes of questioning.”
“No! If Jess talks to the police and something happens to her girls, I’d never forgive myself. She’d only deny talking to us.” Keely reached for another lime wedge and froze, her hand out-stretched. “I just had a lightning strike of inspiration. Toss me the phone, would you?”
With a puzzled look, Max complied.
Keely dialed. “Ives? This is Keely O’Brien. Wait—I don’t want to talk to Rose, I want to talk to you.”
She cut ruthlessly into his stuttering reply. “Has Jackson come back to work?”
“I don’t believe I can answer—”
“Cut the waffling, Ives. This could be a matter of life and death and I don’t think your boss will be too happy if it comes out you’ve been protecting a criminal. Just tell me if you’ve heard from Jackson.”
Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes Page 19