Deadly Arrangements (Book Two in the Cozy Flower Shop Mystery Series) (The Flower Shop Mystery Series)

by Annie Adams

  “All-something,” I said as I stepped down from the portable stepladder. “His company makes metals or things out of metal—something like that.”

  “Allmecore?” Mom said.

  “Yeah, that’s it. How’d you know?”

  “It’s in the picture.”

  “Mom, I don’t think we should be looking at the stuff on his de…isn’t that Clint Wheeler standing next to Bruce?” I said.

  “I think so. I haven’t seen him for years—since your dad worked with Grandpa McKay on the farm.”

  The photo showed a grinning and sunburned Bruce Tanner, holding up a trophy topped with a miniature gold man swinging a golf club. Clint Wheeler stood on one side while Jacqueline shark-stared at the camera on Bruce’s other side. A banner above them read “Allmecore Metal Division Annual Golf Tournament.”

  “Since when do dairy farmers have time to golf?” I said.

  “Maybe he has someone to work the farm like your grandpa had his boys.”

  It seemed strange to me that a local dairy farmer would even know someone like Bruce Tanner, who had only recently moved to our area. Jenny had told me her mother and Bruce had moved here when his company won a government contract with the Air Force Base, which hadn’t been that long ago

  “Oh!” Mom’s shout echoed off of the walls of the nearly empty room. The echo startled her, causing her to fumble the photo. The corner of the wooden frame hit the hardwood floor, bounced, then tumbled over. The glass remained intact. We looked at each other, both of us with our hands covering our cheeks in a classic “Oh-no” pose.

  We laughed at the mirror image of red cheeks shining through the spaces between our fingers.

  “I didn’t mean to say that so loud,” she said, and bent to pick up the picture. “I was just going to say this reminds me of something Colleen Schofield told me about.”

  Colleen Schofield went to DUP meetings with my mother. She had a sharp tongue and a keen ear for stories that would make the neighborhood gossip round up. I think she’d just made the rank of captain in Mom’s underground corp.

  “She’s a big golfer, you know. President of the ladies golf association and that. She was so angry one time telling us about the expansion of the Near Lake Golf Course. They were having fundraising tournaments and things like that to help fund the expansion. But when that Jack Conway discovered his new bird, the Feds got involved.”

  We had finished our work and it felt awkward to stand there and chat in someone else’s home. I folded the ladder and carried it to the door to get her moving, but I couldn’t resist the carrot my mother had left dangling.

  “What Feds? Who are the Feds?”

  “I don’t know, just the Feds was all Colleen said. I assumed she meant the FBI. I think they’ve got Jack under surveillance. That’s probably why your father and I saw him leaving town in such a hurry the other day.”

  I stepped aside so she could open the front door. “Jack supposedly found a bird that they thought was extinct,” I said. “It was a protected species before they lost track of it.” I’d actually absorbed something other than regret from that terrible night of the lecture and the Samantha sighting. “Maybe it’s the Fish and Wildlife department she’s talking about. K.C. and Fred told me the golf course wasn’t going anywhere near the marsh. It’s federally protected land.”

  She shrugged. “Well I’m not sure. A golf course was being expanded somewhere, but then it stopped. Who knows? Colleen might have been blaming one group for the wrong thing. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  No, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time one of the MLM ladies confused their gossip with one of their own projects. Hopefully this time wasn’t one of them.

  After making sure we’d picked up everything we’d brought with us, we left the condo and made our way down the plush hallway. My mother noted the beautiful colors in the hall and actually made a joke about the Nile and Lapis we would have to use in Bruce’s condo if Jacqueline had any say—which she did. For all my mother’s annoying qualities, she had a few endearing ones as well. And she was talented in many areas too. She’d made very accurate sketches of each room, and had already made some notes about improvements we could make to the entire space.

  We’d actually had a good time together. There was no talk of church, marriage, or Alex. It felt as if we had really accomplished something.

  On the ride back to the shop, I ran through a mental list of my many relatives. There had to be at least one who could give some information on a proposed and nixed golf course. Also, maybe Fred could tell me if Jack Conway really was under federal investigation. And if so, why. I needed to find out the real benefits to sighting the Inland False Booby. Was there something to it besides notoriety, fame, and fortune? Perhaps the temptation to see something that wasn’t truly there was too great. Was there really a Booby flying around out there in the marsh?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  We returned to the shop to find Daphne and Allie trying to console a tearful K.C. She told us how the investigation of Harold Busby’s death had been declared a murder, and that they were ratcheting up their investigation of Fred as a suspect.

  “Why would they suspect Fred of anything?” I asked.

  “One of the detectives says his story doesn’t add up. It’s ridiculous,” K.C. said. “We’ve got to figure out what really happened before they blame it all on Fred. You’ve solved a murder case, Boss. Help me to solve this one, so they don’t ruin our wedding…and our lives.” She returned to tearful sobbing.

  I had only solved the murder of my competitor by being in the right place—or the wrong place—depending upon how you looked at it. “I would love to help you, K.C., but I’m probably not the most helpful person for you.”

  “Nonsense,” my mother said. “Quincy, you have a problem with selling yourself short. You always have. You made it possible for those crimes to be solved with your quick thinking. Now, I bet if we put our heads together, we can come up with some leads.”

  The last thing we needed was for my mother to become part of this investigation. There, now I was saying it too. There was no investigation.

  Despite my objections, the rest of the “team” had already started brainstorming.

  K.C. stood behind the false wall separating the customer counter from the design table. She used a marker to point at the dry erase board, where she had composed a list of bullet points. “This all started the night of the lecture. Everything was fine until then. Brock went missing and Fred and Gordon were hurt the very next morning after Jack Conway gave the lecture about the bird.”

  I couldn’t resist protesting. “That doesn’t prove anything. The crimes both happened at the marsh. That’s all.”

  “It’s kind of weird that two major crimes happen in a short amount of time at the bird refuge,” Allie said. “Maybe there is a connection. What is it about that bird discovery that would cause someone to kill Harold Busby?”

  “Harold was always blowing the whistle on something,” K.C. said. “Quincy, do you remember what I told you about the Ivory Billed Woodpecker?”

  I asked K.C. to explain the murderous story to the rest of the group.

  “I could possibly understand why Jack Conway would murder Harold. Because Harold said he could prove Mr. Conway wrong,” Daphne said. “But why would Mr. Conway want to kidnap Brock and injure Fred and his friend?”

  “He made a mistake. He thought he’d killed them both too. Thank the Big Guy upstairs he made that mistake,” K.C. said, pointing heavenward.

  “This Brock works at the marsh, and he probably knew Jack was lying about the extinct bird. Maybe Conway found out about the meeting somehow and was afraid Brock would tell on him to Fred and Gordon.” My mother looked very proud of herself. “Oh, and I almost forgot! Angus and I saw Jack Conway the other day.” She looked at me. “Your father says it sounded like Jack was trying to get out of town in a hurry. He probably felt the heat on his heels.”

  “The Heat?” I said. “Y
ou mean the Po-Po, right?”

  Mom nodded her head slowly. “I think that’s right. Whatever your father said. I took it to mean Jack’s feet had been put to the fire.”

  “You’re pretty close, Mom,” Allie said. “The Heat is a slang term for the cops. Dad must have thought he was being hip.”

  “Let’s get back to business,” K.C. said. “We were talking about the meeting. And Jack Conway fleeing the police. Too bad the meeting wasn’t really about Jack.” K.C. looked sideways at me.

  I opened my mouth in surprise. “So you do know what the meeting was about? Have you always known?”

  K.C.’s eyes lit up. “I wouldn’t keep news like that from you, Boss. Fred just told me last night. I finally got it out of him.”

  “How’d you do that? I thought there was no way he would ever tell us,” I said.

  She ran her hands down her sides. “I used my feminine wiles,” she said in a spot-on Mae West impersonation. “He told me while we were…”

  “We get it!” I cut her off before any detail slipped out. “Anyway, what did he tell you about the meeting?”

  “Brock was there to tell them about some polluting that he knew about. Fred had been tipped off by Harold Busby, of course, that Brock knew about the polluting that had been going on in the marsh. So Fred contacted Gordon, who is Brock’s boss.”

  “So,” my mother said, “Harold Busby somehow knew that Brock knew about polluting going on at the marsh, and Harold told Fred about it. Why tell Fred? And why would he need to tell on Brock about it?”

  “I forgot one thing,” K.C. said. She wrote the word “bribery” on the dry erase board and underlined it. “According to Harold, he knew that Brock was accepting bribes to look the other way.”

  “How did he know?” Daphne and Allie said in unison, then giggled.

  “An anonymous tip. Harold received an anonymous tip that Brock was accepting bribes not to report the polluting of the marsh. Harold probably told Fred because he and Fred go way back. And he was such a tattle-tell that Gordon was probably sick of hearing from him. Harold knew that Fred would be a better listener.”

  The unmistakable sound of a banjo blasted out of my mother’s purse. She dug through the enormous bag like a badger digging its den.

  “How did she get that ring tone?” I said. My mother was barely able to answer her phone, let alone download a custom ring tone.

  “I put it on there for her,” Allie said.

  After seemingly endless digging, the cell phone emerged. “It’s your father,” Mom said. She retreated to the back room to take the call.

  “We should all get back to work, anyway.” I said.

  K.C. tapped her marker on the table like a gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”

  “There are more Halloween decorations in the basement,” Allie said. “I was thinking me and Daphne could work on that today.”

  They left and went downstairs. K.C. stood staring at the dry erase board.

  “What is it, K.C.?” I said.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell the other gals. I figured we would get to it, but—it’s about our polluter—it’s someone we know. It’s Clint Wheeler. Harold told Fred that Clint Wheeler has been polluting the marsh with his farm waste, and that Brock found out about it. Instead of turning Clint in, Brock was taking money from Clint to keep quiet.”

  “That nice old farmer is committing federal crimes on his farm? You know, it seems really suspicious to me that Harold Busby knew all of this information from an anonymous tip. I don’t know what to make of everything, but it doesn’t all line up to me. Including Jack Conway trying to kill Fred and Gordon. You don’t really think he did do you?”

  K.C. screwed up her mouth, then let out a heavy sigh. “No, I don’t think Jack did anything. I’m just mad as a hornet about the sheriff investigating Fred for Harold’s murder. I’m willing to consider any other possibility.” She put the marker away and erased the bullet points from the board, then paused. “I know you don’t want to get into trouble, but I can’t stand to have anyone suspect Fred for something this terrible. I have to find out what’s really happened, and I could use some help. Whaddya say? Can you put on your detective cap with me? Just until we find a clue—then we’ll hang up our investigative hats forever.”

  I couldn’t stand hearing the hurt and worry in K.C.’s voice. And what did I have to lose? Now that Alex was gone, I didn’t have anything else going on in my life. I didn’t have any hobbies. I didn’t think we would accomplish anything anyway, but it would make K.C. feel better to know we were trying.

  “Okay,” I said. “I think we should go talk to Clint Wheeler and see what’s really going on. My grandpa was a dairy farmer, and Clint says he has a lady friend who needs flowers. We’ll go down to talk to him about flowers, and then we can slip in a little word about my grandpa and get him talking about farming. Then maybe we can work the marsh into the conversation somehow. Allie and Daphne can take care of the shop.”

  “What about your mom? I don’t think we should tell her about Clint. She knows who he is, and if Harold was wrong, I’d hate for Clint’s reputation to be ruined through gossip…” she looked over the top of her glasses. “Not that I’m accusing anyone of being a gossip—you know.”

  Despite my mother’s good intentions, knowing about general polluting was one thing, but having a name attached to it? That would be far too tempting for her to resist sharing with the MLM.

  “I’ve got to run, dear.” Mom startled us as she walked through the door. “Your father is trying to cook. We’ll continue the investigation later.”

  She rushed toward the front door then turned back. “Oh, and K.C., thank you! I haven’t had so much fun in a long time. Let’s do this again soon.”

  Heaven help us all.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “We should take Zombie Sue to the farm,” I said as K.C. hung up her smiley face apron.

  “Don’t you want to take the fun car?” she said.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to take it…” Yes it was. I didn’t want to take her flashy car while we went to snoop around Clint Wheeler’s farm. “I’m worried about getting it dirty, down there with the dirt roads and everything.”

  K.C.’s shoulders slumped slightly and her smile disappeared. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to get my new baby all muddy.”

  We walked outside. It was sunny and clear and the perfect September day. Summertime in northern Utah meant hot dry heat with many days over one hundred degrees. But in the fall, the days were in the nineties and eighties and the nights were cool but not freezing.

  “Oh, what a fantastic day!” K.C said.

  We climbed into the van and I turned the key. “Crap. I forgot to buy gas. We’re on empty. We’ll have to stop and fill up.”

  “There’s no gas station on the way there. Besides, we don’t have time to stop. Let’s just take my car.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little…noticeable?” I said.

  K.C. looked at me with a straight face. “I suppose you’re right. It is kind of flashy.”

  “Kind of?” I said.

  “Okay, it’s very flashy. That’s what I like about it. Anyway, we’re already wasting time talking. How about I park somewhere we won’t be seen. Not that we’re doing anything bad, anyway. We’re just going to talk to Clint.” She smiled and gave me a look.

  I knew that look. It meant she intended to do everything but talk to Clint.

  “Okay, but we’re just going to talk to Clint Wheeler, right?”

  “Of course,” she said as she walked back toward the shop to get her keys.

  When she came back outside, K.C. wrapped a red silk scarf around her head and tied a knot just under her chin.

  “Couldn’t be better weather to use this rag-top like we’re supposed to,” she said. I helped her put the convertible top down. K.C. settled into her seat and slid on some slick, pink driving gloves. “Ready to roll?”

  I wasn’t, really. I h
ad a sick feeling about fishing for information from someone I hardly knew, especially when the illegal activities we suspected him of were severely punishable. If he really was involved, it could be dangerous to bring up certain subjects.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said without much enthusiasm.

  “Good. Hold on to your hootenanny!” Tires squealed, smoke appeared, and Newton’s laws of physics were proven as she peeled out of our parking lot.

  We approached Clint Wheeler’s place in record time and K.C. pulled off to the side of the road, next to a grouping of giant elms.

  “You were right about being inconspicuous,” she said as she untied her headscarf. “It’s maybe not such a bad idea. The barn’s right there, just a few extra steps.”

  “Okay, we’re just here to talk. Right?”

  “Right. But it doesn’t hurt to use good criminal detection techniques,” she said. “You never know when those skills might come in handy, so it’s good to practice.”

  I sighed. I was getting sicker to my stomach by the minute, and it wasn’t just from the bumpy rocket trip we had taken on the way to the farm. I should’ve known a fact-finding mission with K.C. would never be a simple matter of having a conversation with someone.

  I didn’t want to become proficient at investigating crimes. The only reason I was involved in this investigation was that she and Fred were my friends.

  We walked the twenty-five yards to the building connected to Clint’s office and K.C. knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  “He could be anywhere on this farm. Let’s head over to that west side, behind those sheds. I think I hear a motor running. Maybe he’s working on something over there,” I said.

  We walked down a dirt-packed drive running between the open pens where the cows stayed when they weren’t being milked, and a tall shelter full of hay bales. The cows stood in the shade made by the shelter. Their eyes followed us as we passed, and occasionally a tail would twitch.