Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  I kept my head down and focused on my design while Elin filled everyone in on yesterday’s developments. The thought of more coffee made my stomach gurgle in an angry warning. And these were Elin’s friends. I was still getting a lay of the land and the shop. I didn’t need to be part of the gossip. I was so intent on my project that I didn’t even notice that Kirk Jaffe had slipped in. He startled me by slapping a fifty on the workstation and saying, “Hey, Snow White, I want to place an order.”

  “Excuse me?” I looked up from my pile of blue and silver petals to see Kirk staring at me like an ogre. His slick hair was matted on his head and the way his eyes traveled up and down my body made me want to take a shower.

  “Remember me, Snow? I need some flowers for a special lady. Can you help a guy out?” His pudgy fingers had two matching class rings made of gold and adorned with red and orange stones. He didn’t strike me as particularly athletic, more like bulky. But the rings made me wonder if he had played football in high school. Defensive end, probably.

  “Yes, I remember you, Kirk, and like I told you before, my name is Britta, not Snow.” I folded my arms across my chest in my own line of defense.

  He gave me a cheesy wink. “Right, but you’re Snow to me. You’re like a beautiful queen.”

  Was this guy for real? Who talked like that? I’d never been called Snow White before and I wasn’t about to let someone as sleazy as Kirk Jaffe stick a nickname on me.

  “Who are the flowers for?” I asked, reaching for an order form and a pencil.

  “A special lady friend, although, if you want they could be for you.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, but he was too much. “You want me to make flowers for myself ?”

  “That would be a fun story to tell the kiddies one day, huh?”

  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to vomit or walk around to the front of the concrete slab and give him a swift kick in the shins. “As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass.” I tapped the pencil on the order form.

  He shrugged. “Fine, just give me fifty bucks of your best stuff.” He pushed the bill toward me.

  “We don’t really work like that here. It would be helpful to understand a bit more about your intentions. Are you wanting to send romantic flowers, an apology? Does the recipient have a favorite color, favorite scent? Any allergies?”

  “Geez, I’m not marrying the flowers. Can’t you just stick fifty bucks’ worth of roses in a vase and call it good?” He kept glancing to the front of the shop where Elin and her friends were chatting.

  “If that’s what you want.” I didn’t even try to mask the irritation in my voice.

  “Yeah. I don’t care what they look like,” he snarled and hit the fifty with his knuckles. “Just give me some flowers already.”

  What a romantic sentiment. I wondered who the unlucky lady was.

  He paid no attention as I began to gather flowers from their buckets on the wall. His gaze was focused on Elin. “Hey, what’s going on up there? Are they having a Riverfront Village meeting or something?”

  “I don’t know.” I bundled a pale purple, yellow, and white rose together. “How about something with this color combination?”

  Kirk didn’t even bother to turn around. “Sure, sure, that’s fine. I didn’t hear that there was going to be a meeting this morning. Someone should have told me.”

  “Why?” I gathered a dozen roses and began removing their thorns.

  “Because I’m in charge now. I should have been invited.” He glared in Elin’s direction.

  The sweet scent of the roses helped to keep me calm. “In charge? I don’t understand. How would you be in charge? You don’t own any property here in the village, do you?” I asked, snipping a thorn from the stem.

  A gleeful look crossed his face but he didn’t answer the question. He just shrugged.

  I wasn’t sure if it was residual anger over what had happened with Chad, pent-up frustration, or the fact that Kirk was nauseating, but I decided to push him. “I’m surprised to hear you say that you’re in charge, because I’ve heard a lot of people saying that your uncle was broke. In fact I heard that he was about to declare bankruptcy.” The latter part was an exaggeration, but Kirk didn’t need to know that.

  His smug smile evaporated. He leaned across the countertop. “Where did you hear that?” he said in a seething tone.

  I kept my composure by concentrating on snipping each thorn. Plus I figured my shears could act as protection in case things turned ugly. “Everyone’s saying that.”

  “Everyone?” He whipped his head around and stared at the group chatting in hushed tones in the front. “Are you serious right now? Are you being straight with me?”

  I plunged a yellow rose into a simple glass vase. “Yeah, why would I lie?”

  He pounded his fist on the counter. “Seriously everyone knew that my uncle Frank was broke? How can that be? He swore that no one knew.”

  My stomach flopped, but this time not because of Kirk’s unwanted advances. I couldn’t believe my lie had worked. Had Kirk just admitted that Frank was broke? If Frank Jaffe had been about to declare bankruptcy what could that mean in connection with his murder? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I had to tell Detective Fletcher.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I couldn’t believe that Kirk Jaffe had let something so important slip. Placing a lemon-colored rose in the vase, I asked, “Wait, so your uncle was having financial trouble?”

  Kirk shot a look at the Riverplace Village crew and then back to me. “Yeah, but no one was supposed to know. He was worried it would threaten his deal if it got out. He needed this deal.”

  Tucking more roses into the vase I tried to quickly think through the ramifications of Frank’s money troubles. Did this make Kirk less likely to have killed his uncle? Or more? He must have wanted—needed—the Riverplace Village deal to go through, too. Unless he wanted the deal to himself. Or maybe he stood to inherit a large sum from Frank’s life insurance? What if the only way out of bankruptcy was to murder his uncle?

  You have to stop, Britta, I told myself, pinching the top of my thigh and trying to stay in the moment.

  “I still don’t understand,” I said to Kirk. “How could the deal go through if Frank didn’t have the cash to buy out everyone? His offer was for millions of dollars. Where was he going to get the money to pay for his vision of the waterfront redevelopment?”

  Kirk’s eyes lingered on the vase, which was now brimming with roses. Their pastel hues reminded me of a collection of Easter eggs. “That’s really good. You put that together fast.”

  “Thanks.” I would take that as high praise from someone so detached from artistic endeavors like Kirk.

  He shocked me by leaning down and smelling the flowers. His jaw slackened slightly and he gave me a semi-impressed nod of acknowledgment. “Those actually smell good, too.”

  “We pride ourselves on having the freshest and most fragrant flowers at Blomma.” I finished the roses by wrapping alternating ribbons of matching purple, yellow, and white around the base until it was completely encased in satin.

  “Like I said,” Kirk continued, watching me work. “The deal was solid. Cash wasn’t going to be a problem. We have a silent partner.” He picked up one of the discarded rose stems and stabbed one of its thorns into the palm of his hand repeatedly.

  A silent partner with extremely deep pockets, I thought to myself.

  Kirk seconded my thought. “Sure, Uncle Frank hit a rocky patch when the housing market tanked. He had a few bad investments, but that’s real estate. This deal was going to put him on the map. It was worth it for him to partner up. Normally that wasn’t his style. But this development project stood to make him and his partner crazy rich. The long-term revenue from rent was insane. We’re talking millions upon millions. I mean think about it. Imagine a ten-story multiuse complex here.” He motioned to the ceiling with the rose stem. “Retail clients on the ground floor and condos the rest of the way up. That’s a lot of r
ent money.”

  I didn’t want to think about Blomma being torn down in favor of a ten-story high-rise, but Kirk had a point about the proposed development’s revenue potential.

  “Where do things stand now?” I asked, pushing the roses to his side of the tabletop. For a bouquet that started with Kirk’s “I don’t care what it looks like” attitude, I was pleased with the final product, and hoped whoever his mysterious woman was would be too.

  He tossed the stem and picked up the vase. “Nothing’s changed. I’m going to continue my uncle’s legacy, but I’m not going to be secretive about it. This deal is happening and I know it because I talked to Frank’s silent partner yesterday and he’s still fully invested in making this go.”

  “Is the silent partner anyone I know?” I’m not sure what made me ask the question, but I had the sense from Kirk’s cocky attitude that it was someone connected to Riverplace Village.

  “Yep.” He smirked. “Everyone around knows him and now they’re going to understand why I’m confident that we’ll be bulldozing the village soon.”

  I wanted to snatch the roses out of his hand.

  “Don’t worry,” he continued in a demeaning tone. “In addition to a very lucrative purchase price every small business here on the waterfront will have first right of refusal on the ground floor retail space.”

  Never. I couldn’t imagine Blomma confined to a boxy, soulless high-rise.

  “Who is the partner?” I asked again.

  Kirk grinned like a creepy clown and nodded toward the front. His eyes landed on Mark.

  “Mark?” I asked.

  “Mark.”

  “Wait, Mark from the Riverplace Inn?” I repeated. No way. Why would Mark want to sell and why would he be willing to front that kind of cash?

  “That Mark.” Kirk shifted the vase.

  At that moment Detective Fletcher and Officer Iwamoto arrived. Kirk looked cagey and patted his fifty that was resting on the concrete. “We’re good, right? I have to jet.” He headed for the door, but then turned, blew me a kiss, and yelled for everyone to hear, “Catch you later, Snow.”

  Detective Fletcher nodded at Officer Iwamoto, who followed after Kirk. He greeted the Riverplace Village owners and then strolled toward me. His lanky, casual stride somehow managed to exude confidence with each step. Today he wore a pair of black slacks and a white button-down shirt. I found myself straightening my shoulders and adjusting my hair as he approached.

  “Morning, Ms. Johnston.” He gave me a short nod.

  “Good morning.” My heart pulsed in my chest. I hoped it was a natural reaction—a reminder of yesterday’s tragedy—but Detective Fletcher’s gold-flecked brown eyes made me feel slightly unsettled.

  “Snow?” He raised one eyebrow and stared at me.

  “Don’t ask. For some reason Kirk has decided that I look like Snow White and has taken it upon himself to nickname me Snow.”

  Running his fingers over the stubble on his cheek Detective Fletcher considered this for a second. Having him study my face the way he examined a crime scene made me even more nervous. I jammed my hands into my vest pockets and felt the dead bud. Could Kirk be the one leaving rotting roses?

  “Actually, that fits.” His smile stretched to his eyes, which practically sparkled under the chandelier. Was he flirting with me, or did he really agree with Kirk? I wasn’t sure that being compared with a fairy-tale character was a compliment.

  “Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.

  “No. I’m serious. You have an airy quality about you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He unbuttoned the top button on his white dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves. For a minute I thought he was going to dive in and help with my flower arrangements. But instead he sounded flustered. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. The opposite, in fact. You’re not like most people I have to interview at crime scenes. You’re very astute and yet it’s evident in everything you do that you’re an artist. Even in the way you move.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt having him dissect my personality. Suddenly I was very self-conscious. I took my hands out of the vest pocket and began snipping already trimmed hydrangeas. “How do I move?”

  “I hate to say it because I can tell that you don’t find the comparison with Snow White flattering, but you move with grace and intention. Even in the way you’re cutting the flowers right now. Most people would grab the stem and snip it off. But you’re almost cradling the flower and cutting it like a conductor directing a symphony.”

  Was I doing that? I stared at my hand. I didn’t think there was anything particularly unique about the way I was cutting the stem, and I wanted to change the subject before my neck turned as red as my plaid vest. “Have you already interviewed Kirk?” I removed the dead bud from my pocket and handed it to him. “Someone keeps leaving dead flowers at the shop. There has to be a connection with Frank’s death. Don’t you think? What if it’s Kirk?”

  Whatever moment we had just shared evaporated. Detective Fletcher’s attitude shifted. He turned to the door and then stared at the black bud in his hand. “We’ve spoken with Mr. Jaffe, but I’ll follow up again.”

  “He just told me a few things that could be connected to Frank’s death.” I piled the tips of stems into a little ball in the middle of the countertop.

  “Were you planning to elaborate?” He folded his arms across the front of his chest. I noticed that he had a small—maybe a quarter of an inch—tattoo on his left forearm. He caught me staring at it and pulled his sleeve down. “Ms. Johnston, do you have any other information pertaining to my investigation?”

  Why didn’t he want me to see the tattoo? He was a hard man to read. One minute he came across as friendly, almost flirtatious, the next he was stern and nothing but business.

  “Yeah.” I stopped snipping the flowers. “He told me that Frank was having financial trouble and had taken on a silent partner who was planning on funding the waterfront development with him.”

  He didn’t respond, which I took as my cue to continue. I repeated everything that I had learned from Kirk about Frank’s money issues. Then I explained that Mark was his secret backer, and I even filled him in on my suspicions of Kirk. When I finished he simply nodded and said, “Thanks.”

  The Riverplace Village business owners began to disperse. Mark and Nora left together. Elin gathered empty coffee cups and paper plates and joined us at the workstation.

  She tossed the plates in the garbage and tied her blue and red shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Any news on the investigation, Detective?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing I’m at liberty to share. Although I am here on a formal request. I need you both to head up to the station and get fingerprinted.”

  “Today?” The creases around Elin’s eyes deepened.

  “Actually now.” Detective Fletcher tapped on his watch. “We have a few more things to finish in the cottage this morning. I was under the impression that Officer Iwamoto had already gotten your prints, but it seems we had a misunderstanding, so I need you both to get printed as soon as possible.”

  “Can we take turns so we can keep the shop open?” Elin glanced at me. I could tell that she was as confused as I was about why we were being asked to get fingerprinted.

  I decided that I might as well voice the question. I hadn’t held anything back from Detective Fletcher yet and I didn’t see any reason why to start now. “Is there a reason you need our fingerprints?”

  “Standard procedure.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white business card that looked exactly the same as the one he had left with us last night. “Here’s the address and when you get up there tell them that I sent you in. They’ll know what to do from there.”

  Elin held the card as if it might explode. “I’ll go first if you’re okay holding the fort, Britta.”

  “Of course,” I said biting my pinky, an old nervous habit that I’ve never been able to shake. “Go ahea
d. I’ll take care of everything here.”

  She picked a half dozen sunflowers from one of the buckets and tied them loosely with twine.

  Detective Fletcher tapped his watch and gave her an expectant stare.

  “If I have to go to the precinct I might as well bring something cheerful for our men and women in blue.” She wrapped the sunny flowers in brown parchment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  As she left Detective Fletcher removed the caution tape from the barn doors. “When your aunt returns be sure to go get your prints taken too, Ms. Johnston.”

  “I will, but can I ask you a favor?”

  Rolling up the yellow tape into a ball, he waited. “Yes?”

  “Can we drop the Ms. Johnston thing? Can you call me Britta?”

  The corners of his lips tugged up. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call you Snow?”

  I furrowed my brow and scowled.

  “All right, all right.” Detective Fletcher tossed the used tape into the waste basket. “I’ll call you Britta if you call me Pete.” This time he actually smiled before he opened the door and disappeared into the cottage.

  Was I imagining things or was there a little flirtation going on between us? He was so different from Chad. Chad was brooding and moody. He believed that to create true art one had to endure pain and suffering. I’d always believed the opposite, that art should feel unbound and free. Chad was serious and self-absorbed. I could tell that beneath Detective Fletcher’s competent demeanor he had a playful side. What I couldn’t tell was whether or not he was enjoying our friendly banter. Either way I was glad to drop the formality. Every time Detective Fletcher—Pete—addressed me as Ms. Johnston I felt like I was back in school.

  I put the finishing touches on the bank arrangements. They had come together nicely. The blue and silver blooms gave off a lovely luminosity. When Elin returned I could drop them off on my way to get fingerprinted. As I wrapped sheer silver organza ribbons around each vase I kept replaying my conversation with Kirk. I’d been convinced that he had to be the killer, but his revelation that Mark was funding the development project planted more than a seed of doubt in my mind. What was Mark’s motivation for joining forces with Frank? And could something have gone wrong in the partnership? So wrong that Mark could have decided to silence his boastful and brash business partner for good?