Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rest of the day breezed by, between the steady stream of customers and private floral consultations. As late afternoon approached, customers streamed in and lingered over glasses of sparkling wine and gossip at the bar. I barely had a minute to breathe, let alone simmer on Frank’s murder. Fingerprinting had been easy and painless, and our clients at the bank were as pleased with my designs as the law firm had been.

  Sometime after four Officer Iwamoto gave us the all clear. “We’re finished,” he announced as I rang up a walk-in sale. Handing the customer a pretty vase of tulips and Stargazer lilies, I gave her instructions on caring for the flowers at home and turned my attention to Officer Iwamoto. “That’s great,” I replied, brushing pollen on my jeans. Lilies are exotic and intoxicatingly fragrant, but their pollen is notorious for staining hands and clothes. “Does that mean we can resume our workshops tomorrow and that the launch party is a go?”

  “I don’t see why not.” He glanced behind him. “Fletcher tells me I can call you Britta, although word on the street is that you prefer Snow.”

  “Where did you hear that? From Pete?” I pursed my lips together.

  “No, from Kirk. He went on and on about how gorgeous you are—just like Snow White. Told me that you had to be her based on your outfit.”

  I looked down at my faded jeans spotted with yellow pollen, boots, and plaid vest. “This?” I waved one hand over my outfit. “This is about as far away from princess as it gets.”

  He grinned and elbowed me playfully in the waist. “Right, but according to Kirk you’re dressed like the huntsman. He’s convinced that it’s a secret sign.”

  “That guy is crazy.”

  “I know, but don’t you think we should play along? It would be pretty funny to go all in.” He tapped the badge on his uniform. “You know they film Grimm here in Portland. I could be an Asian American police officer by day and a ninja warrior by night. It would be kind of fitting to have a real Snow White walking around in our midst. Imagine our dynamic duo.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Think about it.” He winked. “Oh and hey, since you’re on a first-name basis with Detective Fletcher now, you can call me Tomo.”

  “Tomo, that’s a great name. Does it mean anything?”

  “It means twin. My parents chose it to represent my twin cultures—Japanese and American. And honestly because I think they thought it would be a lot easier for my friends to say. My American name is Thomas, so it’s not really a stretch to shorten it to Tomo.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “What about you? Do you know the origin of Britta?”

  “Yes, in Swedish Britta means strength or strong.”

  “That fits.”

  I wish, I thought, but smiled at Tomo. “What happens with the investigation now?”

  “Now we sort through the evidence and interviews, review our list of suspects, and wait for lab results, fingerprints, and the coroner’s report. Fletcher is old school. You should see the whiteboard that he commandeered in one of the conference rooms. It’s plastered with photos and notes.”

  “Do you have any theories on who killed Frank and why?”

  “A bunch, but we have to compile evidence and find tangible proof to back them up. This is when the real fun begins.” He winked. “We’ll keep you posted.”

  By the time the police cleared out it was time to lock up for the evening. Elin filled me in on her consultations. Not surprisingly she had landed both the wedding and the corporate party. The wedding would take place in late July at a winery that was housed in a converted barn. The bride wanted rustic arrangements and little bouquets in mason jars for each guest. The corporate party was for a local chocolatier. They wanted chocolate-themed flowers in dark browns and tans. My mind immediately began to dream up visions of chocolate sunflowers, burgundy dahlias, amber orchids, and bronze spider mums. The thought of chocolate flowers made my mouth water. Fortunately the client intended to bring us samples of their ornate truffles to weave into the designs. Perhaps Elin and I could have a tasting party for inspiration.

  I went over the completed order forms with Elin. “Hey, it’s been so busy that I never had a chance to tell you about my conversation with Kirk.”

  “Yes?” She thumbed through the stack of papers. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

  “You can say that again.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s definitely not someone I’m interested in getting to know more, but he said that Mark was planning to invest in Jaffe and Associates’ development plan.”

  Elin rested the papers on the countertop. “Mark? What?”

  “I know. Doesn’t that seem odd? What would Mark’s motivation be?”

  Her face clouded. “Mark?”

  I shrugged. “According to Kirk, but who knows if he’s a reliable source.”

  Elin considered my words and then returned to reviewing the paperwork. I wondered if I had made a mistake in telling her. I wasn’t sure if it was sadness or disbelief but hearing that Mark could have been in partnership with Frank Jaffe had upset her. I dropped the subject and we concentrated on mapping out a plan for the rest of the week. Now that her workshops could resume, I would be spending the bulk of the day managing the front of the shop. Elin would help between classes and workshops, and could cover if I needed to run a delivery somewhere in the village.

  We were about to decide whether to tackle the cottage tonight or save it for the morning when Nora rapped on the front door. “Hey, girls. I come bearing dinner.” She held up a bag from La Comida, the Mexican restaurant down the street. “It’s tamale Tuesday and I figured you might be famished after the craziness of . . .” she trailed off.

  “You are a dear,” Elin said welcoming her and the savory-smelling tamales in. “Britta, do you want to open a bottle of wine?”

  “Sure.” I walked to the wine wall and scanned it for something Spanish. My eyes landed on a bottle of Tempranillo with a gorgeous label of white and pink roses.

  “Britta and I were just discussing whether we should start putting the cottage back in order, and I was about to say let’s skip it and go get dinner, but now you’ve solved that problem,” Elin said to Nora.

  “I knew you couldn’t pass up La Comida’s tamales. I brought the works. Chips and guacamole, their famous chile verde salsa, and chicken and beef tamales.” She reached into her black leather jacket and pulled out her cell phone. “I’ve got some jamming tunes and two hands to help. Let’s eat and then you can put me to work.”

  “Nora, you are a godsend.” Elin’s voice cracked.

  “Don’t get all mushy on me, Elin.” Nora brushed her off. “You’d do the same for me and everyone else in the village.”

  I uncorked the earthy bottle of wine and followed them into the cottage with three glasses. The space wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it might be. Stinky fingerprint dust coated the worktop, desk, and some of the antique furniture. The chalk outline on the floor had been partially scrubbed. The evidence markers had been removed and the beheaded Deep Secret roses had been swept into a pile in the far corner of the room.

  “It’s not terrible, is it?” Elin commented, trying to brush away fingerprinting dust to make room for Nora’s tamale feast.

  Nora knew her way around the cottage. She walked to the desk and plugged her phone into a speaker. “What are you in the mood for? How about some Pink Floyd?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she clicked on a song and turned up the volume.

  Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” began to play overhead. The lyrics matched my mood. I felt comfortably numb. Being at Blomma was the most comfortable I’d been in years, and yet Frank’s murder cast a numbing shadow over everything.

  Nora returned to the workstation and removed steaming tamales and homemade chips from the brown paper bag. She scooped guacamole and green salsa into each to-go container and topped them off with handfuls of the deep-fried chips. My mouth salivated in response to the spicy scent of Nora’s
Mexican feast. The food smelled amazing and I was suddenly starving. I had forgotten to eat lunch this afternoon. This morning’s Swedish pancakes were now a distant memory.

  I poured us glasses of wine and passed them around. Elin clinked her glass to Nora’s and then mine. “To my favorite women. What would I do without either of you? Skål!”

  “Skål.” I toasted.

  “Nope.” Nora shook her head. “I said no sentimental stuff tonight. You need to eat and then we need to get this place back in business. Cheers to that, right, girls?”

  I wasn’t about to argue with Nora if it meant diving into my tamales. Elin laughed and took a bite. I followed suit, removing the corn husk from one of my tamales and then stabbing it with a plastic fork. It had been steamed to perfection with a warm doughy exterior and spicy beef interior. I polished off the first tamale, pausing only for a sip of wine.

  “Lay it on me,” Nora said dipping a chip in creamy guacamole. “What’s the scoop? I can’t believe how long the police were here. They must have found something incriminating to have stayed for two days.”

  Could that be true? Having never been involved in a murder investigation I had no idea what was normal.

  Elin swirled her wine. “They haven’t said much. We had to be fingerprinted today.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Nora nodded and chomped on a chip.

  “You too?” Elin sounded surprised. “Do you think they fingerprinted everyone in the village?”

  “It looks that way. Mark and Serene both stopped by for coffee today and they said they had to be fingerprinted too.”

  That was good news given that Mark had launched himself to the top of my suspect list. Had he been asked to submit prints before or after I told Pete about his connection to the waterfront development?

  “I’ve been trying to catch as much gossip as I can,” Nora continued. “But I have to tell you murder has been good for business. Demitasse had our best day ever today. I ran out of milk at noon. I had to send one of my baristas out to get more.”

  “Frank’s murder certainly brought many more people to the village today,” Elin agreed. “I’m not sure that it is great for business though. One of my consultation clients today expressed concern about having her wedding flowers associated with a heinous crime. I can’t blame her, although I did try to reassure her that our mission is to spread love.” She focused on the deep wine in her glass and finally took a drink. “I’m hopeful that none of my customers coming to the preview workshops cancel, and I’m starting to get nervous for the launch party. What if no one comes? We’ve put in so much work. So many painstaking hours.” Her eyes drifted to the mannequin.

  “No way.” Nora shook her head knowingly. “No way will anyone cancel. This is big news in Portland and if anything I’m betting my last dollar that this place is going to be a mob scene. It’s going to be standing room only with people knocking one another out for your flowers.”

  “I don’t want that either,” Elin replied with a halfhearted chuckle. “I just want Blomma back to normal.” Frank’s murder was obviously unsettling, but again I wondered if there was something else bothering my aunt.

  “We’ll get it there,” I said, reaching over and squeezing her arm.

  “Yeah.” Nora broke a chip in half. “And no more worrying. We’re going to rock this place tonight.”

  I dove into my pile of chips, slathering them with the thick guacamole and green salsa. “What do you know about Mark?” I asked Nora between bites. “I heard that he was working with Frank on the development project.”

  Was it my imagination or did Nora flinch slightly?

  “That’s news to me,” she said helping herself to another tamale. “Frank and Mark weren’t exactly friends. In fact you might say they were the opposite. I can’t imagine any scenario that would have brought the two of them together.”

  Elin topped off our wineglasses. “I agree. I always got the impression that Mark and Frank didn’t see eye to eye, but Britta is right. I don’t understand why Mark is pushing for us to sell. How long have we known him? Twenty years? He’s never so much as mentioned the idea of selling the Riverplace Inn. If Mark is really committed to preserving Riverfront Village, why would he partner with Frank?”

  Nora choked on a bite of tamale. She coughed and clutched her narrow neck. “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” she finally said. “No, there’s no way Mark would fund anything associated with Frank’s name. I can’t believe it. There must be some kind of mistake.” She closed the lid on her to-go container and closed the subject.

  We tossed our empty dinner trays and began cleaning up the cottage. I knew that Elin and Nora had been best friends for many years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nora was hiding something. Her reaction to Mark’s involvement with Frank Jaffe had been strange. I couldn’t imagine Nora hurting anyone, especially Elin, by staging the murder at Blomma. And I couldn’t imagine what her motivation for killing Frank could be, but I was sure Nora was holding back. The question was what and why?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once the cottage had been scrubbed and wiped down we opened the windows and lit every candle we could find. Nora’s way of cleansing the negative energy from the space was to blast rock and roll as loud as the speakers would allow. Elin’s was to craft a striking white bouquet. She placed it on a distressed whitewashed armoire near the spot where I’d found Frank’s body.

  “A remembrance for Frank,” she said twisting the vase so that the flowers faced the front of the cottage. “I think we’ve done it. It feels much more like home in here now, doesn’t it?”

  I assessed the cozy cottage. Every surface had been polished with a natural wood oil. The floors had been mopped with lemon-scented industrial cleaner, and fragrant candles flickered beneath the warm open-timbered ceiling. I hated it but the first thought that crossed my mind as I surveyed our work was that it looked like something out of a fairy tale. No wonder Kirk had nicknamed me Snow. The cottage could easily belong to the fair-skinned princess from the fable. Not that I would ever admit that to Kirk.

  Elin’s face appeared lighter as she walked around the cottage and blew out each candle. Little puffs of smoke escaped from the windows. I felt content that with the cleaning, lingering scent of candles and the brilliant white floral homage to Frank, none of Elin’s clients would feel squeamish about working in the cottage. There was no trace that any malevolent event had occurred here.

  “Thanks for your help, and the tunes,” Elin said to Nora, rubbing her left ear. I suspected that, like me, she would have opted for classical music over Nora’s heavy guitar solos, but I knew that we both appreciated an extra set of hands and the mouth-watering Mexican feast.

  Nora unplugged her phone from the speakers and tugged on her black leather jacket. “Anytime.” She turned to Elin. “Hey, have you heard from Jon yet? He’s been radio silent, which isn’t like him.”

  “Who’s Jon?” I interjected.

  “The owner of Torch—the candle shop across the street.” Nora flipped the collar up on her jacket. “He’s been on vacation, but I thought he was supposed to be back a few days ago.”

  Elin nodded. “Yes, he was, wasn’t he? Have you emailed him?”

  Nora frowned. “Nope. But I’ll do that when I get home. You two get some sleep. I’ll catch you girls in the morning.” She flashed me a peace sign and gave Elin a kiss on the cheek.

  I closed the windows while Elin blew out the last candle. “There’s still so much to do before the launch, but what do you think?” she asked. “It’s much better, isn’t it?”

  “No question.” I popped my ears. “Nora likes her music loud.” My ears continued to hum despite the fact that there was no music playing.

  “I know.” Elin rubbed her other ear as if trying to get the sound to stabilize. “I’ve told her a thousand times that she’s not going to have any hearing left, but I don’t think she cares.”

  “My ears might be ringing for days but I have to admit that the thund
ering drums and pulsing beats in Nora’s music felt like they were pounding out all the bad vibes back here.”

  Elin laughed. “I know, but now we’ll be shouting at our customers for the next few days. That’s the running joke around the village. Demitasse is the best place to go for rich coffee and if you don’t want to hear yourself think.”

  We surveyed the cottage one last time and left arm in arm. Sleep came easily for me that night, but it wasn’t restful. I found myself waking almost every hour caught up in rambling dreams involving Snow White and an army of her seven dwarfs who were disguised as Riverplace Village owners. Kirk Jaffe was the big bad wolf who kept trying to lure me into a den tucked into Forest Park with promises of Demitasse lattes.

  I finally gave up sometime after six and padded downstairs to the kitchen. It was my turn to cook for my aunt. I rummaged through her refrigerator and decided on a standby that I used to make for Chad on Sunday mornings—roasted red potatoes with bacon and herbs. Of course Chad never appreciated that I took the time to make him a hot breakfast. He would usually scarf down a bowl of the sizzling potatoes not bothering to look up from his manuscript and then leave for the library—or his love den—without so much as a thank-you or kiss good-bye. I would clean up his breakfast dishes, and spend the rest of the day leafing through flower catalogs or reading a romance novel.

  It sounded so pathetic now. How could I have done this to myself? I took out my frustration on the red onions and green chives, chopping them into tiny shreds. I didn’t even hear Elin enter the kitchen.

  “My, someone is chopping with gusto at this early hour,” she commented and pulled me from my self-loathing.