Shear Murder

by Cohen, Nancy J.

  “I realize the place hasn't been open long, but how is it doing? Are you getting a good crowd?”

  Falcon squared his shoulders. “Yes, we are. Fortunately, the negative publicity over opening weekend didn't prove to be a deterrent. We've just opened up a new shop adjacent to one of the greenhouses where you can buy plants. Sales have been brisk.”

  “I'm glad to hear it.” Marla shook their hands. “Thanks for seeing me, Leanne. I hope we'll run into each other again.”

  As she drove away, Marla considered Falcon's attitude. He didn't welcome her intrusion, nor was he forthcoming with information. She also got the impression he dominated his wife. She'd like to learn more about Orchid Isle's background and Eddy Rhodes's involvement in the land acquisition.

  Checking in with Dalton, she asked about his investigation but received a curt reply. “Can't talk about it now. What have you found out?”

  “I think there's some funny business going on between Falcon, Philip, and maybe Jill's Uncle Eddy,” she concluded after describing her morning's excursions.

  “You may be right.” His deep voice poured over her like warm molasses. “Where are you heading now?”

  She stopped at a traffic light on Route 1. A local commuter train zoomed by on the elevated rail to her left. Hot pink bougainvillea climbed a residential fence on her right.

  “I need to stop by the bridal shop to pick up my dress. Then I have an appointment with the builder to show him where I want the hardware on our kitchen cabinets.”

  “Oh, yeah. Todd said the plumber is coming this week. Ask him if one of us has to be there.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated. “If I have any free time, I'd like to learn more about orchids. I don't know enough about them to be able to distinguish between ordinary specimens and rarities.”

  “What for? I hope you're not planning on snooping into any greenhouses or nurseries.”

  “Who, me?” His words reminded her of Halley's office files and Griff's photos. She still had to find a way to get a sneak peek.

  “Marla,” he began.

  She laughed. “Don't worry. I'll behave.” Yeah, right.

  “By the way, I returned that faucet we bought for the guest bathroom. I decided I liked the first one we looked at better. This is your last chance to change any of the plumbing fixtures.”

  “I'm okay with our selections so far. That's more your department.”

  “No, it isn't. You're the one who insisted on having a separate spritzer for the kitchen sink.”

  “That's because I'll be spending a lot of my time there.”

  “And you won't be using the bathroom?”

  She gripped the wheel tighter. “It really doesn't matter to me. What time should I expect you for dinner?”

  He cleared his throat. “I've got to work late tonight, so don't count on me. I'll call you later. Love you.”

  Marla clicked off her phone, eyes narrowed. First his obsession with home improvement stores, and now he was staying out late again. Last week she and Brie had eaten alone at least twice. True, Dalton could get crazy when he worked a case, but why did he have so many late nights now on top of everything else? Was he getting cold feet about their wedding?

  Shrugging, she dismissed her concerns to plan the rest of her day. It was mere coincidence that at the bridal store, she overheard a woman talking about an orchid clinic being given that afternoon at a local park. And so she found herself, after stopping at her townhouse to drop off her wedding garments and to let Spooks out, at a classroom inside Secret Woods.

  Marla hadn't been to the park hidden off old Route 84 in a while, but things remained the same from what she could tell. A few buildings in need of repairs housed a natural history display and park offices, plus the spare room for classes or social events. The faded boardwalk led toward a nature trail that branched in two directions.

  She'd always favored the path on the left that wound along the mangrove wetlands to an overlook at the New River. She liked to look at the mansions with their private docks across the water and imagine what it would be like to live in a luxury home.

  Too bad she couldn't take the time to relax, sit on a bench, and enjoy the view. Sniffing the earthy aroma of decaying leaves, she watched a raccoon survey her then scurry away into the woods. Not wishing to encounter any more wildlife, she entered the designated building and took a seat.

  The room wasn't filled by any means. Two young women with notebooks, several retirees, a thin young man wearing glasses, and a jogger who'd come in for a rest occupied the other chairs.

  A middle-aged woman strode in the door. She had graying temples on her jet black hair, a purposeful expression, and a pile of handouts, which she promptly distributed.

  “Welcome to our Introduction to Orchids class,” she said, facing the assemblage. “I'm your instructor, Diane Potts.” She glanced at each one of them in turn. “How many of you are here because you'd like to learn more about orchids and how to take care of them?”

  Everyone raised their hands.

  “Good. Now how many of you've had experience cultivating your own blooms?”

  The two young women plus one of the older couples responded.

  “Very well. I'm going to give you an overview on what you'll need to know to get started. Usually, people gain an interest in orchid growing by going to an orchid show with a friend or by receiving a blooming plant as a gift and wondering how to take care of it. Then the bug bites, and you're hooked.”

  Not me, pal. Marla had received an orchid as a gift once and had killed it. Nothing green survived her black thumb. Dalton had better guard his tomato plants against her influence.

  “Let's discuss the most common types of orchids people grow. You'll be most familiar with Cattleyas, the kind you see in corsages. Phalaenopsis are delicately pretty moth orchids. Dendrobiums are long spikes of smaller flowers. Vandas are popular for their vibrant colors, and there are thousands more. It could take you years to study them. The orchid societies offer workshops, or you can attend various shows. There are lots of opportunities to create a new and absorbing hobby.”

  Marla raised her hand. “Isn't vanilla the only edible fruit of the orchid family?” She remembered her conversations on board the Tropical Sun with the French countess, a vanilla grower from Mexico.

  “That's correct, although vanilla requires a tropical climate and the proper soil. It's a very valuable crop.”

  “What kind of cost investment will I have to make to begin an orchid collection?” the thin young man asked.

  The instructor nodded her approval at his question. “To start, you'll need fertilizer to feed the plant. But then you may decide to buy another plant, or maybe a book to learn more. Soon you'll add some insecticide, fungicide, stakes and clips, potting material and pots. Often this hobby starts off slow and then expands along with your expense sheet.”

  “What kind of space would I need?” another woman said.

  “You can start small, on a windowsill. With one or two plants, you'd use about a gallon of fertilizer a week. When you add more plants, you can expand outside or onto a patio. It's easy in South Florida. North of Orlando, people need greenhouses to keep orchids warm in the winter. Here we need shade houses to protect them from the sun.”

  “If I wanted to grow orchids as an investment, where would I get the stock?” Marla thought of Philip Canfield. Did he breed his own orchids or import them?

  “You would buy seedlings from a wholesale grower and nurture the orchids from babies to blooming size. Keep in mind that plants in bloom are more expensive than out of bloom. Many growers live down in the Homestead area, and they often have retail outlets. Eventually, if you get proficient at it, you could do your own breeding.”

  “Do people buy and trade orchids as they do collectibles?” Marla persisted, after glancing through the handout and listening fifteen minutes more to a lecture on orchid varieties.

  “I wouldn't say people trade them, but rare orchids can be as valuable
as other collectibles. Most growers have Web sites and catalogs. Orchid shows are big business for them. They'll compete for awards, besides offering their plants for sale.”

  “What do you mean?” the young woman asked, busily scribbling notes.

  “Different organizations give awards. For example, the American Orchid Society grants an Award of Merit, and the orchid would be tagged accordingly. This signifies to the buyer that this orchid merits special recognition. That doesn't make it rare, but definitely more valuable. It'll be more expensive to buy.”

  Marla raised her hand again. “How can I tell a rare orchid from a regular one?”

  “Today, most orchids can be cloned, although this doesn't usually happen because then prices would fall. A few years ago in China, a new species was discovered. It was fabulously expensive and rare, but not for long. To me, a rare orchid signifies that it's in danger of being overcollected in the wild. There are laws regulating what people can take and from where. A well-known orchidist in Miami just got fined a hefty sum for illegally collecting specimens in the Philippines.”

  “Does this mean there's a black market for the more exotic blooms?” Marla folded her arms across her chest.

  The instructor's eyes gleamed. “Sure, fanatics will pay anything. Call it orchidelirium if you will, but collecting orchids can become an addiction just as strong as alcohol or drugs.”

  “So how much money flows through this illicit trade?”

  Pacing back and forth in front of the class, Diane snorted. “Trophy orchids, or rare varieties that cost thousands of dollars each, fuel a ten-billion-dollar orchid black market.” She paused to survey them. “Look at the London pharmacist arrested for having six rare orchids in his luggage. He went to jail for orchid smuggling, and that's a minor case. Murder, greed, and betrayal are not uncommon among people passionate about their plants.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  “Orchid Isle sounds like a neat park.” Brianna leaned against the kitchen counter in Dalton's house. “I'd like to go sometime. We could do lunch in Miami while we're there.”

  “Good idea.” Marla stood at the sink, scraping their dinner dishes. They'd exchanged news while they ate, enjoying the private time together. Dalton hadn't gotten home yet, so she'd been discussing the case with Brie. Already the teen had a lurid fascination with detective work, probably because that often became their main topic of dinner conversation.

  “I overheard two older women mentioning Orchid Isle in class.” Marla stuck their plates in the dishwasher. “One of them said she'd spotted a rare orchid in the greenhouse. It had been written up in one of the journals. If true, it's illogical that Falcon would display the plant so blatantly. Someone might steal it.”

  “If he's an avid collector, he may want to show off his prize, like those moose heads in his living room.” Brie's ponytail swung as she bent to pick up a crumb off the floor.

  “I suppose. One of the women wondered aloud how the land deal had gone through when that property had been contaminated.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Brianna's gaze lit with curiosity.

  “Your father checked the records as I asked and confirmed that Jill's cousin Kevin brokered the transaction. Eddy Rhodes was the attorney. They're mixed up in this somehow, along with Falcon Oakwood, but I haven't been able to get any more information on that strip of land.”

  “If Jill is going to them for advice on her property, you might warn her to be careful,” the teen suggested, her eyes wiser than her fourteen years.

  “Tell me about it.”

  After Brianna left to do homework in her room and no doubt talk on the phone with her friends, Marla let the dogs out and then glanced at the wall clock. It was eight already, and no word from Dalton. Her brow furrowed. What was he working on that could be keeping him this long? She hadn't heard of any difficult case in the news that might involve his unit.

  She'd just sat at Dalton's desk to work on their seating charts for the wedding when her cell phone rang.

  “Miss Shore? This is the alarm company. We have an alert at your salon.”

  “What?” She leapt to her feet.

  “Could be a possible break-in, plus the smoke alarm went off. The fire department has been dispatched.”

  “I'll run right over there. Thanks for notifying me.”

  Clicking off her phone, she stuck it in her jeans pocket. She'd changed earlier into denims and a knit sweater. After explaining to Brianna where she was going and refusing the teen's offer of support, she charged out the front door.

  Her heart raced. Maybe it was a false alarm, and she was panicking for nothing. But an inner voice hinted that the timing for this distraction wasn't any coincidence.

  “Someone threw a Molotov cocktail in your front window,” one of the cops said upon her arrival. “It started a fire, but that's been contained. You've got some water and smoke damage, and I'm afraid your reception desk will have to be replaced. But the guys got to it pretty quickly, so damage is minimal to the rest of the place.”

  “Thank God.” Marla's stomach sank as she gingerly stepped inside, careful not to crunch on any broken glass. More than her reception desk would need replacement. The entire waiting area was a soggy mess. Chairs, magazine tables, and display cases would all have to go. Not to mention the smell of smoke that lingered in the air, the water sloshing at her feet, and the grit that made her eyes sting. She blinked rapidly as moisture tipped her lashes. Who could have done this?

  Her burdens suddenly felt insurmountable. She didn't need this trouble, not with everything else going on in her life. Is that why this had happened? Could it have been a purposeful act, rather than the random misbehavior of some young hooligans?

  Gut instinct told her yes, she'd been targeted. But by whom? She'd rattled a few cages recently. Could it have been one of the people she'd visited in the past few days?

  “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'll need to ask you a few questions,” the officer said in a kindly tone, pulling out a notebook.

  “Of course, go ahead. I'd offer you a seat, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gestured helplessly at the ruined shop. Lord save me, who am I going to get to clean up this mess before we open tomorrow? We'll have to cancel all our appointments. We could be closed for weeks.

  Dismay paralyzed her tongue and clouded her senses. The cop had to repeat his question before she heard him.

  “Can you tell if anything valuable is missing?”

  “What? Oh, Nicole would have emptied the cash register before she closed up on Saturday. Why, do you believe this was a robbery attempt? The guy had to know he would set off an alarm.”

  “Is there another reason why someone would want to destroy your place?” His pencil poised, he watched her intently.

  Marla gave a wry chuckle. “Like, how many fingers do you have on your two hands, officer? I could give you more people than you can count who would be happy to see misfortune come my way, but many of them are in jail. Or dead, but we won't talk about them.

  “Want to give me any names?”

  She shifted feet. “Not at the moment.”

  “Does the parking lot have surveillance cameras?” He peered around. “Or the exterior of your building?”

  “You'd have to contact our landlord.” She gave him the information, then had an inspiring thought. “Maybe you can find witnesses who saw the car, if the fellow drove by and tossed the thing in my window.” Shuddering, she considered what would have happened if customers had been seated inside.

  “We'll ask around, but it's dark out. People's perception can alter. We'll check the asphalt for evidence, too, but these sort of malicious pranks often go unsolved. Usually it's teens out to prove themselves or have fun.”

  “I'll need the police report to file an insurance claim.”

  Oh, gosh, then she'd have to wait for the adjuster to come, and that could take days. Plus she'd have to get repair estimates from the contractors the insurance company recommended. She didn't have t
ime, not when she had to accomplish so many last-minute wedding details, finish her packing before their closing date, and follow up on publicity for her spa debut.

  “Are you all right, Miss?”

  She glanced up, realizing she was shaking. “Did I tell you I'm engaged to Detective Vail on the Palm Haven police force? I should notify him.”

  “Okay. There isn't much more we can do here right now.”

  “Maybe it's related to one of his cases, you know, like a warning.”

  “Then he'd be the best person to call, Miss.”

  “I'll do that.” If Dalton had been home for dinner, he would be with her now.

  Too numb to take action, she answered a few more questions from the officer, signed her statement, and stuffed the papers he gave her into her purse. After he walked away, she rubbed a hand over her face. What would she tell her clients? She'd have to notify her staff not to come in to work tomorrow and assign Luis to phone their customers from home. Lucky for them, he believed in backups. He should be able to access their client files from its online storage site.

  Realizing their computer might need replacement, too, her knees buckled. She sagged against a wall.

  In the parking lot, the firemen put away their equipment prior to departure. The smell of smoke stung her nostrils. Gathering her strength, she wandered outside. How much more could she handle? She'd need help boarding up the window until it could be replaced. Dalton would know who to hire.

  When she called the station, however, the receptionist said he'd left more than an hour ago. Marla strode back to her car. Outside, street lights cast surreal shadows on the pavement. The air had grown chilly, making her realize she could have used a jacket. No matter. Soon she'd be safely back at their house.

  Dialing Dalton's cell number, she figured he must have gone home. Brianna would have told him about the fire. So why hadn't he phoned her to find out what had happened? His house was only fifteen minutes from the police department.