Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  When I finished my lunch the waitress informed me that Pete had already paid. I bundled up for a chilly wet walk back to Blomma and stored the rose in my coat pocket. I planned to revisit my flower bible (a three-inch-thick notebook I had created while attending the Floral Institute) when I got home later and see what I could find on the meaning of Deep Secret.

  As I wound my way through a small crowd gathered to hear an afternoon trio in the front lobby, I heard someone call my name. It was Mark.

  “Britta, what brings you here?” He left his post in front of the fireplace and made his way to me.

  “I was having lunch with . . .” what should I call Pete? A friend? A detective.

  Mark didn’t wait for me to land on the right word. “Excellent. I hope that your meal and the service exceeded your expectations.” He wore a Riverplace Inn pullover jacket. I wondered if he was on his way out the door.

  “Everything was wonderful.”

  “Excellent. Excellent.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear. Our priority is to offer our guests the most exquisite dining and exceptional service.”

  “You succeeded,” I assured him. Then on a whim I asked, “Hey, do you have a minute to talk?”

  For a minute I thought he might decline. He glanced at one of the arrangements that I had spruced up. “Is there something wrong with how we’re displaying your pieces?” he asked.

  “No.” I lowered my voice. “I want to ask you something personal.”

  He looked taken aback, but motioned toward the hallway. “Of course, follow me.”

  We ended up in his office which, like most other rooms in the elegant hotel, had a view of the riverfront. The walls were lined with awards and certificates touting the Riverplace Inn as a five-star venue for weddings, events, and luxury lodging. There were framed and autographed photos of celebrities and dignitaries who had stayed at the Inn, as well as thank-you notes from charity organizations and happy guests.

  I took a seat in one of the comfortable plush chairs in front of Mark’s warm pine desk. He clicked on the gas fireplace in the corner and sat behind the desk. The office reminded me more of a cozy hotel room with its Native American artwork and leather loveseat.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Mark offered, pointing to a matching pine side table that held coffee, hot chocolate, and expensive bottles of liquor.

  “No thank you.”

  Mark strummed his fingers on the desk. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous about meeting with me or if he needed to get back to work and wanted me to hurry up with whatever I had to ask.

  “Thanks for taking a minute out of your busy day. I know this might be out of line, but I’m worried about my aunt and Blomma,” I started.

  Mark’s eyes perked up with concern. “You’re worried about Elin?” he repeated.

  “Yes. She’s really upset about Frank’s murder, but I know that she’s also worried about the future of Riverplace Village.” I waited before expanding on the topic to see how Mark would respond.

  He didn’t take my bait. Instead he wrinkled his brow. “Why is she worried?”

  I decided that I didn’t have anything to lose and trying to play coy with Mark wasn’t working. “Well, she was already worried before Frank died, but I think she was pretty confident that everyone was going to stick together when it came to negotiating with him.”

  Mark nodded. “We were.”

  “But now people are saying that you and Frank were in partnership together.”

  His brow smoothed and his jaw dropped. “What? How did that get out?”

  “So it’s true?”

  He let out a long sigh and pounded his forehead with one hand. “Oh man, I can’t believe that Frank said anything. Who did you hear that from?”

  “I don’t know who said it first, but everyone in the village is talking about it,” I lied.

  “Oh no,” he sighed again. Then he stood, walked over to the side table, and poured himself a whiskey. “You sure you don’t want a drink?” he asked.

  “No thanks.”

  He returned to his chair and swirled the glass of golden whiskey. “Damn. I can’t believe that Frank talked. What an idiot. I told him we had to keep everything completely buttoned up.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you want to partner with Frank? Isn’t the hotel a major success?” I pointed to the awards plastering the far wall. “From the looks of Frank’s plans—at least what I saw—everything on the waterfront would be demolished.”

  “Yes, yes.” He took a drink of the whiskey and closed his eyes for a minute. “It’s not what you think.”

  I waited for him to expand.

  He pounded his forehead again with one hand. “Damn, Frank.”

  This was not the reaction I had anticipated.

  After an awkward pause, Mark knocked back the rest of his drink and sat up. “Look, Frank was in over his head. He didn’t have the cash to develop the waterfront, but unfortunately he had me between a rock and a hard place.”

  “I’m not sure I get your meaning.”

  “He owned part of this hotel.”

  “Really?” No wonder Frank and Kirk had wandered around the Riverplace Inn like they owned the place. They actually did.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Mark tilted his head back and let out another audible sigh. “I worked my way through the ranks here. The hotel had originally been owned by a larger chain, but they opted to sell about twenty years ago. At the time I didn’t have the cash and I needed a financial backer. Frank wasn’t my first choice. In fact to be honest he was my only choice. I went to every bank in town at the time but no one wanted to invest in an unknown. I was managing the hotel at the time but owning it is another story.”

  “So Frank offered cash?”

  Mark stared at the last drop of whiskey in his glass. “Back then Frank was grabbing up any piece of property he could. Portland was not hot in terms of the real estate market in those days. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I had such a hard time getting a loan. No one wanted to invest in the waterfront. It was run-down and vacant.”

  He stood and refilled his glass. “Frank agreed to a silent partnership. I got to run the hotel the way I wanted, but with one stipulation—he had broader visions in mind. He saw Portland’s potential before anyone else. I have to credit him with that. He predicted the boom that we are experiencing now. And part of our contract spelled out that should he ever want to sell I had to buy him out at a price three times higher than the going market rate.”

  “But I heard that Frank was having money trouble.” I crossed my legs and noticed that the lily stains from earlier had sunk into my jeans. Yet another reason that florists rarely dressed up for work.

  “He was.” Mark held his whiskey glass to the light and studied its rich flax color. “That was the problem. He needed my cash to move forward on his development plans. Like an idiot I signed my life away two decades ago. Frank wanted out of Riverplace Inn. My loan finally came due. And paying three times market value for this property would have stung twenty years ago, but now it will drain me dry. Not only will I have to pay everything I have in the bank to buy out Frank, but I’ve run the numbers a thousand ways. In buying him out the only way to survive long term would then be to turn around and agree to his development deal.”

  “Wow.” I let out a little gasp.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Mark tugged off his logoed pullover and hung it over the back of his chair.

  “I don’t understand why you needed Frank to be silent about this though?”

  He placed the whiskey glass in front of him and hung his head. “If my fellow business owners learned about this, I would lose all credibility with them. Plus I’ve been working around the clock to try to find another solution. There are a few glimmers of hope out there. Unlike when I first bought the hotel, I have a history now. Banks are much more willing to have a conversation with me, but that doesn’t mean that anyone is going to give me the funds. We
’re talking about paying millions of dollars over what the Riverplace is valued at today. I have to get someone to buy into its long-term potential. But at least they’re willing to come to the table now.”

  I tried to make sense of everything that Mark was saying. “And none of the other village owners know about this?”

  He looked up from his whiskey and met my eyes. “One of them does.”

  “Who?” I could feel my heart pulsing in my neck.

  “Nora.”

  “Nora?” I couldn’t mask my surprise.

  “I suppose it’s going to come out anyway. Nora and I have been seeing each other for a while. She wanted to keep it between us. Thought it would be better if things didn’t work out. Then it wouldn’t be awkward for everyone. No one would have to take sides, you know?”

  Nora and Mark? I couldn’t believe it. Nora was at least ten years older than Mark. Maybe more. Not that that mattered. She was young at heart and rocking her late fifties, but I would have never pictured the two of them together. Did Elin know? She and Nora had been best friends for years. If she knew, she had been extremely loyal to her friend and kept her secret—which wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “You won’t say anything, will you?” Mark asked.

  “No. I promise.”

  Mark’s intercom beeped. I took that as my cue to leave, thanking him for his time, and assuring him once again that I wouldn’t spread any more gossip.

  As I exited the hotel into a squall-like wind I wondered if Nora had actually told Elin about her secret tryst with Mark. My hand went to my pocket and felt the Deep Secret rose. Nora had a key to Blomma, and she was having a secret fling with Mark. I knew that she was my aunt’s dearest friend, but was there a chance that she had killed Frank? What if he had learned about her and Mark? What if she had killed him to protect Mark and the Riverplace Inn? What if the note I found in Frank’s pocket wasn’t for him? What if it was a note meant for Mark? I didn’t want to believe it. I had already fallen in love with Nora’s spunky personality. But keeping her love secret could make her a suspect.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I had to think about how to bring up the subject of Nora and Mark with Elin and not betray their secret. There was no need to rush the conversation. I wanted to carefully craft my questions and wait for a natural opportunity to pose them.

  Once I made it through the screaming wind and rain back to Blomma I found Elin and Serene chatting at the wine bar.

  “Britta, you look terrible!” Elin exclaimed. Then she laughed and threw her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult—you look wet.”

  “That’s because it’s a typhoon out there.” I shook off my dripping coat and hung it on the hook near the front door. I took the Deep Secret rose out of my pocket and walked it over to the workstation.

  Serene watched me as she cut open a case of wine. “Are you carrying around a dead rose?”

  I chuckled. “Sort of. It’s a research project.”

  “Is that to see how long your roses last before they die?” Serene asked.

  “Something like that.” I didn’t offer more.

  Elin caught my eye, but I gave her a look not to say more. Pete hadn’t told me not to say anything, but given what I had just learned about Nora I didn’t want to chance anything. If the Deep Secret roses were her and Mark’s signature flower I wasn’t about to share that with anyone else, except Pete or Tomo.

  Changing the subject, Elin motioned for me to join them at the bar. “Serene is going to offer a complimentary tasting for my workshop this afternoon. Isn’t that nice? I thought our clients would appreciate a bonus since we had to cancel and for braving this terrible weather.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  Serene ran her hand over a label with a water-color design of a Tuscan villa. “It’s good for me. I just got a few cases of this in from Italy. I think you’re going to be able to move this quickly. But offering a taste always speeds that process up.” She uncorked the bottle. “Speaking of tastes, who wants one? You’re going to love this. It’s a traditional Chianti—bold, fruit forward. I had it in Italy last month with . . .” she stopped in midsentence and dropped the corkscrew on the counter. It hit the distressed wood with a loud thud and then rolled onto the floor.

  What had made her stop so abruptly? I looked to Elin, who appeared to be as confused as me.

  Serene bent over and scrambled on the floor to retrieve the corkscrew. She set it on the counter and then shifted her pencil skirt back into place. “Sorry about that. I thought that branch was going to slam into the window.” She pointed to the front of the shop.

  Elin and I turned. At that moment I saw someone in a dark coat run past the window. There was no sign of a giant branch though.

  “I don’t see anything,” Elin said, voicing my thought.

  “Huh.” Serene continued to stare out the window. “It must have blown away.”

  I wasn’t sure why but I got the sense she was lying. Granted there was debris on the sidewalk. Small branches and leaves were being tossed about like small boats on rough seas. But had she really been worried about Blomma being struck by an errant tree limb, or had she actually been startled by whoever ran past the window?

  Serene poured three glasses of the Chianti. “Here, give this a try.” She thrust the glasses at us.

  Elin held her nose to the rim of her glass. “This is from Italy, you said?”

  “Yes, a charming vineyard. I had a chance to meet the family while I was there. They have been cultivating grapes on the land for five generations now. One sip and it’s obvious. You can taste the earth and the history of the soil in the grapes.” She traced the label with her finger. I got the sense that she was reminiscing about her time in Italy.

  “It’s lovely,” Elin said after tasting the wine. “I’m not sure that my palate is refined enough to be able to taste the dirt, but it’s delicious nonetheless.”

  Serene cradled her glass as if the wine was precious cargo. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll set up the tasting in the cottage.” She began loading glasses into a box and left for the cottage.

  I tasted the Chianti. Like Elin I found the wine to be smooth and bold with hints of tobacco and currants, but tasting the historic vineyard wasn’t my skill set either.

  Elin rested her glass on the table. “I should finish setting up too. Is there anything you need?”

  “Nope. I should be fine. I’ll make sure nothing blows away and be here ready to put something together for anyone who comes in in need of flowers to survive this blustery afternoon.”

  Only three customers came in for the remainder of the day. I had a feeling everyone in Portland was trying to hunker down and weather the storm from the comfort of home. The lights flickered a few times but otherwise, aside from an occasional crack of lightning or rumble of thunder overhead, Blomma stood as a sturdy safe harbor from the storm. I could hear occasional laughter from Elin’s workshop as I used the time to continue prep for the launch.

  I was about to lock up when Lawren scurried in. She was as tiny as a twig, and I was worried the gusts might sweep her away.

  “Come on in,” I said, holding the door open.

  She shivered and darted her doe-like eyes from side to side. The girl either drank way too much caffeine or had a major anxiety problem.

  “Are you still trying to find your wallet?”

  “What?” She stared at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.

  “Your wallet—remember? You were here looking for it?”

  She tousled her wiry curls. “Oh yeah, yeah. I found that. It was in the backseat of my car. I should have looked there first. My mom tells me all the time that I would forget my legs if they weren’t attached.”

  “I’m glad you found it.” I didn’t trust that she was telling the truth. Even when she had first come to Blomma in search of the missing wallet I had doubted her motives. How would she have lost a wallet on a wall of wine? Now I was convinced th
at she was looking for something else or just lying. She didn’t even remember that she’d lost her wallet? No woman has her wallet go missing and blows that off.

  “Did you need flowers?” I asked, pointing to a few bouquets that I had arranged earlier. It was important to have grab-and-go flowers ready for any customers who came in and didn’t have time to wait for a personalized design. The cooler was packed with the arrangements for the party but I had managed to squeeze in five vases of varying sizes with springtime bunches. Based on a customer’s needs and budget they could walk out with a bundle of happy rainbow-colored gerbera daisies for less than thirty dollars or a more elegant and expensive display of lavender larkspur, white gladiolas, variegated hydrangeas, and pink heather.

  “What?” she asked, biting her fingernails.

  “Flowers,” I repeated. “Are you here for a bouquet?”

  “Oh, no. No I was, um, well, I was in the village and I wanted to see how, um, everything was here. You know, with Frank.”

  Her stilted speech was another sign of her nerves.

  “I’m not entirely sure what you mean about Frank. We’re all fine, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Yeah, exactly. I just really have been worried, you know.”

  I felt motherly toward her. I wanted to sit her down with a cup of tea and try to get her to calm her breathing.

  “Can I ask you something?” She bit her bottom lip as she spoke.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Well, um, I was kind of wondering if.” She paused and stared over my shoulder. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Did she know something about the murder? Before I could respond, Lawren flinched and let out a muffled squeal when Serene opened the barn door to the cottage and stepped inside.

  “Shoot, I’m super late. I’ve got to go,” Lawren squeaked out, then she turned and booked it out the front door.

  “What was she doing here?” Serene’s tone was like ice.

  I wondered what was going on between the two of them.