Flowers for Her Grave

by Judy Clemons

  “To take a shower.”

  “Before your appointments? Won’t you just get all smelly again?”

  “They’re the ones who will be doing the sweating. Not me. And until I shower I’ll still feel like I have Andrea’s blood on me.”

  “I don’t see any. You changed your clothes, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I still feel dirty. It’s not a good feeling.”

  “Right. You want to be clean when you face everybody who’s after you.”

  “Thanks. That’s very reassuring.”

  “I do my best.”

  Casey went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  And locked it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Casey’s afternoon appointments were with two older residents—one man and one woman. Neither one seemed as interested in working out as they were in Casey and the events of the past sixteen hours, but Casey pushed on, refusing to talk about anything but fitness and exercise routines. She wasn’t sure if she helped or hindered her own cause by not telling them what they wanted to know, but she would have felt sleazy if she’d used the sensationalism to secure her own reputation.

  By the time four-thirty came around, she had to get out of the building. She pulled on a warm-up suit and headed downtown.

  “Where are we going?” Death wore a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, sandals, and sunglasses. All that was missing from the whole persona was a camera on a string.

  “You know you’re not supposed to wear socks with sandals. It makes you look like a clueless tourist.”

  “Of course I know that. If I look like a clueless tourist I’ll fit in. No one will think twice.”

  “You mean that one-hundredth of a percent of people who actually see you. If it’s that many.”

  “Every person matters, Casey. You know that. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Two places. First, I need to stop by the police department to sign my statement—”

  “And see Gomez.”

  “—and then I’m going to the mall. I need a phone.”

  Death gave a little clap. “Get one of those new ones, with the big touch screen and the full keyboard.”

  “I’ll get whatever’s cheapest.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Death was disappointed to find that Gomez was not at the police station, having gone home for some sleep. Binns was also gone, so Casey reviewed and signed her statement with another officer, and was out of there in twenty minutes.

  At the mall, Casey found the little booth with the phones, signed up for a two-year plan, and bought the smallest phone available. It looked like a square, but the top swiveled to make it into a rectangle.

  “Good grief,” Death said. “Are you a junior high girl? Why go for the smallest one?”

  “It has a full keyboard. I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “Yes, but look at it. It’s about as big as a matchbox.”

  “Which is great. Why do I need anything bigger?”

  “Oh, forget it. You’re never going to fit in with the ways of the world.”

  They meandered through the mall, Death pausing at every window to ooh and aah over the displays. Casey kept walking, making Death jog every so often to keep up. The only store she spent any time in was the bookstore, where she picked out a book on new yoga techniques. Death was pushing for her to get the book on tantric massage, but she refused.

  “Who am I going to perform tantric massage on? No one. So what’s the point of spending the money?”

  “I don’t know. Cops get very stressed out. I’m sure an officer could use a good massage after a hard day’s work.”

  “I don’t think Detective Binns will be asking me over to rub her shoulders.”

  “Not Binns. Gomez.”

  Casey walked faster. “Will you get off it? I’m not doing anything with Officer Gomez.”

  “Your loss, I’d say.”

  “He’s probably married, anyway, and wouldn’t have anything to do with me, even if I wasn’t involved in an investigation. Most of the good ones are.”

  “He’s completely single. And hetero. I checked.”

  Not what Casey wanted to hear.

  By the time they got back to the Flamingo, Casey’s stomach was growling. She was moving toward the stairs, head down, when she heard someone calling her name. Or Daisy’s name.

  Jack beckoned her over to the bar, where he was counting money from the cash register. When she approached he shoved it all back in and shut the drawer. “Hey. You okay? I heard about last night.” He searched her face, his own a picture of concern.

  “Just tired. Trying not to think about anything.”

  “Can’t blame you. Can I help somehow?”

  She stifled a yawn. “Can you take a nap for me?”

  “Not that I don’t want to, but…” He gave a sad smile.

  Casey perched on a stool. “Did you know her?”

  “Andrea? Sure. A little, anyway. She’d come here some evenings, mostly weekends. Hang out with her friend Krystal and whatever guys were lucky enough to sit with them.”

  “From what I hear of Krystal, it would have been a different guy every night. Was Andrea the same?”

  “The same as Krystal?” He laughed. “Hardly. I mean, she didn’t have a regular guy she hung out with, but where Krystal would take them upstairs with her on a regular basis, Andrea always left them at the elevator.”

  Exactly as Casey had figured it. “Did you ever see anything to indicate people didn’t like Andrea?”

  Jack shook his head. “Never. Some guys, I think, might have liked to get to know her better, but she really gave off the vibe of not being interested. You ask me, I think she had someone already, maybe back home in Oregon, maybe not, but she just seemed…I don’t know…taken.”

  “You know anybody who might have wanted more with her, and felt snubbed?”

  “I’m not sure about snubbed, but there were a number I could name.”

  “Del?” The guy from the weight room.

  Jack grinned. “He was one of them. He might have gotten farther than most—I’m pretty sure he took her out once or twice. But I don’t think he took it too hard. It’s not like other women wouldn’t want a well-built guy who can cook.”

  Casey laughed, then choked it off. Del could cook. And he was planning on cooking for her that evening. She’d completely spaced it, with all that had happened. And maybe he wasn’t even up for it, with Andrea dying. She wasn’t sure she was up for eating anything, let alone high-fat, rich foods. But she should check in with him, either way. If nothing else, he might need somebody to talk to.

  She jumped off the stool. “Gotta go.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”

  “I forgot Del was going to cook for me tonight, if he still wants to.”

  “He got to you quick, didn’t he? Don’t blame him.” He waved her off. “Go on, then. Enjoy.”

  Casey was standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what one wears to a homemade gourmet meal the day after someone dies violently, when a knock came on her door.

  “Company!” Death said.

  “I’m not deaf.”

  Casey opened the door. Del hunched there, a basket in his hands. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his nose looked like it had been blown more than is good for anyone. Again, the standard look around the Flamingo that day. Andrea had affected more people than she probably realized.

  Once again, Casey found herself looking at the clock and feeling inadequate. “Oh, Del, I’m sorry. I was going to come up as soon as I got changed. I’m running a little behind.”

  He straightened, and plastered a smile on his face. “Figured you would be, so I brought it to you!”

  “I don’t know, Del, after what’s happened today, I’m not sure I—”

  Del’s face fell.

  “Let him in, silly,” Death said. “You’re hurting the poor man’s feelings.” Casey glanced at Death with surprise. Death was n
ow wearing a copy of Jack’s bartending uniform—dress slacks and a button-down shirt, rolled up to the elbows. A nametag on the breast pocket read Old Father Time.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said to Del. “Never mind.” She stepped to the side, and Del walked past, leaving a delicious smell in his wake. He set the basket on the kitchen counter. “If you’ll set the table for two—”

  “Oh, make it three,” Death said. “Please make it three.”

  “—I’ll take care of the food.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll need soup bowls, salad plates, dinner plates, and dessert plates. For silverware, we’ll need soupspoons, salad forks, the usual knife-fork-spoons, and dessert forks. As for drinks, we’ll need water glasses and wine goblets. I brought linen napkins.”

  Casey stared at him. “I have two settings of plastic dishes, cereal bowls, water glasses, and two sets of knife-fork-spoons.”

  Del smiled, more real this time. “That will work just fine.”

  Casey set the table with her meager dishes—Death whining all the while at not being included—then sat back and watched as Del went to work. He emptied his basket, fussed around arranging things and putting on some last minute touches, then turned to her. “Ready?”

  “Sure.” Casey was surprised at how hungry she was. With the horror of the night, she’d managed to forget to eat all day, and now that she smelled food, she was famished.

  Del flapped open a square of bright red fabric and laid it over Casey’s lap. After setting his own napkin by his plate, he brought over a pan and ladled some orange soup into Casey’s cereal bowl, and then his own. The delicious scent wafted up across Casey’s face, and she breathed it in. Death moaned, practically doing a face plant in the food. Casey waved Death away.

  “I know,” Del said. “It’s hot.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that, I just—” She stopped, realizing there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make her look like a raving lunatic. “It looks amazing.”

  He took the pan back to the kitchen before sitting across from Casey. “Bon appétit.”

  Casey dipped her spoon in the soup and sipped at it. Her taste buds exploded. “Oh, wow. What is this? It’s incredible!”

  Death whimpered.

  “Butternut Squash Soup,” Del said. “A comfort food. One of my favorites.”

  “Mine, too. Now, anyway.”

  Casey didn’t talk anymore as she finished it up, and was sad when she hit the bottom of the bowl. She scraped up every last bit, then looked up to find Del grinning at her. “What? Oh, sorry. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  “Yeah, way to go Miss Manners,” Death grumbled.

  Del kept grinning. “No problem. It’s nice to see my cooking so appreciated.”

  “Um, speaking of that…” Casey held out her bowl. “Is there more?”

  “There is, but you want to leave room for what’s coming next.”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty of room.”

  He laughed and got up, returning with the pan. He ladled more into her bowl, and this time she tried to eat in a more dignified fashion. When she was done, she sat back. “Delicious. Thank you.”

  Del finished his own soup, then rose to clear the dishes. Casey got up, too, but he waved her back down. “You sit. This is my thing. Just relax.”

  He took away the bowls, then returned to get her dinner plate. When he came back, the plate was filled with an artistic vision—the colors and shapes and smells combined to form a masterpiece. After he sat down with his own plate, Casey said, “So what is this amazing stuff?”

  “For your main course you have Ballotine of Chicken, which consists of a breast stuffed and rolled with spinach and leeks with a brandy mustard cream sauce. On the side you have Mushroom Hazelnut Salad, with sautéed Shiitake mushrooms, as well as twice-baked potatoes, with sour cream and cheese. The rolls—” he jumped up and returned with a small basket “—are my special recipe with whole wheat pastry flour and yams.”

  Death passed out on the couch with a gurgle, and disappeared.

  “Is there a special order for eating them?”

  “Yes. In whatever order you want.”

  Casey slathered a roll with whipped honey butter, and savored every mouthful of the feast. Del talked more this course, about his work at the insurance company, his family in Tennessee, and how he liked to go parasailing in the warmer weather. Casey just listened and ate, every now and then offering a “Wow,” or a “Really?” but spending most of her energy enjoying the food.

  When her plate was clean and she’d eaten her third roll, she sat back and stretched. “I’m going to need to do at least three extra workouts to make up for this.”

  Del nodded. “Why do you think I spend so much time in the weight room? Life’s too short to not eat well.” Immediately, he went red, and rested his fork on his plate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I was going to avoid saying anything…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “It’s okay, Del. Really. You’ve been…this has been great.”

  He opened his eyes, and she saw the pain in them. “I’ve tried not to let myself think about it since I heard.”

  Thus the incredible meal. It had to have kept him busy.

  “When did you hear?”

  “Lunchtime. A couple of my co-workers live here, too, and they got the news.”

  “I’m sorry.” She remembered Jack’s theories, and the way Del had watched Andrea down at the swimming pool. “Did you know Andrea well?”

  “No, not really. I would’ve liked to know her better.” He ducked his head, then got up to clear the table.

  So Jack was right.

  This time Casey did help with the dishes. “Do you know Krystal?”

  Del rinsed a plate in the sink. “No. Lots of other guys do, at least as much as they want to, if you know what I mean. Andrea was harder to figure out.”

  “I can see that. Krystal’s pretty much an open book.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” He grimaced. “Sorry. Women like her just aren’t my type.”

  “But Andrea was?”

  “I wasn’t sure. But she seemed like it.” He stacked the dishes and turned around, drying his hands on a towel. “I had her up for a meal one time, soon after she moved in at the beginning of the year. She said she enjoyed it, but it didn’t seem to make her want to do anything more. I mean, on later days. When I asked her out again she said she was busy, and I never got up the nerve to try a third time. I think she must’ve found someone else.” He was a full red now, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with Casey.

  “I liked her, too,” Casey said, “from the little I saw of her. She seemed smart, and nice.”

  They fell silent, until Del snapped his head up. “Ready for dessert?”

  “Dessert?” Casey considered it. “Of course. I’ve got a place reserved right here—” she pointed to the top left portion of her stomach “—for dessert.”

  “Great. Why don’t you have a seat again, and I’ll bring it out.”

  Casey could hear him washing the plates, and after a few minutes he carried in a beautiful round cake.

  “Coffee Tortoni,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you were a coffee drinker or not, so I figured I’d just make the dessert itself the coffee.”

  “Perfect.”

  It was perfect. Light and cold and delicious.

  Del just picked at his, and Casey didn’t want to ask if he was full, or if his appetite had disappeared once they’d begun talking about Andrea. From the look on his face, she figured it was grief holding him back.

  When they were finished, they washed up the dishes together, and re-packed his basket.

  “Would it be offensive to your cooking if I offered you some hot tea?” Casey asked.

  “Not at all. I’d enjoy that.”

  Casey heated up two mugs of water in the microwave, and they took their tea onto the balcony, where they sat and looked over the courtyard.

  “Did
you see the petition?” Casey asked, after a while.

  “The one about getting you kicked out?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “I didn’t see it, but I heard about it. Stupid.”

  “You don’t think I hurt Andrea? I’m new. No one knows me. Sissy’s made bad choices in the past.”

  Del took a sip of his tea. “I think if you’d done it, you’d be long gone. You’d change your name, and we’d never see or hear from you again. No, you’re the one person who I completely believe didn’t do it.”

  “Other than yourself.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Well, obviously.”

  “So there are two of us.”

  They sat there a few minutes longer, and when they’d finished their tea, they set the cups on the little table. Del reached over, his hand open. Casey looked at him for a moment, then put her hand in his.

  And they sat together and watched the sun go down.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Del stayed until the sun had completely set and he was nodding off. Casey woke him and saw him out, then stood in the middle of her living room, not even remotely sleepy. The napping she’d done during the day had completely screwed her up, and now she had no idea what to do. She turned on the television, but didn’t really care about dancing with washed-up stars, or wiping out on a large wet obstacle course, or the next crime on whichever version of Law & Order it was, so she turned it off. She sat down with her new yoga book, but wasn’t really in the mood. She paced. She cleaned. She sorted laundry.

  “So I hope your dinner was good. You know, that scrumptious food you so thoughtlessly ate in front of me.” Death was back, in the red housecoat, smoking a huge cigar.

  “Put that out.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not real smoke.”

  Casey stared at the glowing end until Death sighed and stuck it in a pocket.

  “The cops are gone,” Death said, “along with the crime scene tape.”

  “Have they cleaned the locker room?”

  “It’s sparkling. Like it never happened.”

  Casey glanced at the clock. A little after ten. “The fitness rooms are technically still open until midnight.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”