She needed to revisit Boca Style Magazine, see if she could talk to either Rachel or Griff, and get a look at his photos from Jill's wedding.
Neither one would answer if she called them, but they might respond to Jill.
“Why is it so important?” Jill asked when she reached her friend at home. “You have enough to do with your own wedding in a week or so.”
“Yeah, but you won't be there if they cart you off to jail again. We have to solve this now.”
“And you think Griff Beasley has the answers?”
“Some of them. Don't you want to know what was going on between him and your sister?”
“I suppose.”
“And wouldn't you like to give Rachel a defense against a murder charge if she's ever arrested for Torrie's death?” Once you admit to Detective Brody that you were lying.
“Sure, but—”
“Then call Griff, tell him you know what his deal is and that you'll expose him unless he meets us.”
“Is that safe?”
“Make it a public place. And tell him you want a copy of his digital photos from the wedding. You're aware the magazine owns the rights, but you only want them for your private use.”
“Will he buy it?”
“There's only one way to find out.”
She didn't have to offer any excuses to Dalton, who was working late on his case, and Brianna, who had dance class that evening. Marla drove the teen to the studio a bit early, then hightailed it to the Seagrape Café at Sawgrass, where Griff had agreed to meet her and Jill. They got a table at the outdoor patio overlooking the lake. After ordering drinks and appetizers, they stared at each other in pregnant silence.
“Well?” Griff slumped in his seat, his hand cradling a beer.
Jill cleared her throat. She looked pale but attractive in a wrap dress and heeled sandals. Her wedding ring glinted in the light from flaming torches. The moon had risen, casting a golden glow over the water. A light breeze stirred the current, bringing a faint floral scent their way. It blew away the stench of cigarette smoke coming from another patron.
“I'd like to know what your relationship was with my sister.” Jill drummed her fingers on the table.
Griff shifted uncomfortably. “We worked together.”
“Come on, Griff, we know it was more than that.” Marla's lips compressed. She wouldn't let him dodge the darts this time. “Torrie knew you were taking photos as Grant Bosworth, didn't she? Is that why you played up to her, so she'd keep quiet?”
Griff's expression changed into a sneer. “Good work, babe. You should get a job as a journalist.”
“I saw your photos online from the party last night. Does your editor at Boca Style Magazine know you're moonlighting for a rival publication?”
“Nuh uh, and you're not gonna tell her.”
“Why shouldn't I? Two reporters are dead who worked with you. Did you kill them so they wouldn't wreck your cozy arrangement?”
He gazed at her in genuine surprise. “Are you nuts? I wouldn't murder anybody over an assignment. The worst that can happen is that I lose my job, but so what? I'm good at what I do. Someone else would hire me.”
“Then how about this.” Marla hunched forward after the waitress delivered their drinks. Jill seemed content to let her do the talking. “You and Torrie were having an affair. Maybe you truly cared about her, or maybe you just cared about preserving your job. What promises did you make? Did you say you'd marry her if she left her husband, and then you went back on your word?”
He shot her a sheepish glance. “Torrie shouldn't have taken me so seriously. We had a good thing going the way it was.”
Schmuck, Marla thought. You probably said that to get her into bed.
“Did she threaten to expose your little secret? And Hally, what about her? She liked you, too, and got jealous. Then she discovered what Torrie knew and became a threat as well.”
“I'd signed an exclusivity clause,” Griff said with a snarl. “If one of those snoops ratted on me, I'd get fired. Still, I didn't kill anybody.”
“Did you bring the photos?” Marla snapped.
He handed over a disk. “Keep this between us, okay? The magazine owns the rights.”
“Jill, is it all right if I look at these first?”
“Of course.” Jill focused her determined gaze on Griff. “Did you know I'd been arrested on the charge of murdering my sister? If there's anything in these photos that will help my defense, I intend to use it.”
He gave a curt nod, a clump of hair falling across his forehead and giving him a rakish look. “You should check out that girl who worked for Torrie. Something strange going on there.”
Jill's eyes iced. “You keep away from her. Give us a better reason why we shouldn't believe you're the murderer.”
“Did you ever think maybe it was something Torrie and/or Hally were investigating?”
Marla's lips parted. “A fashion reporter and a society columnist don't do investigative journalism. You're just trying to throw us off your trail.”
“Oh? Well, check this out, babe.”
Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a folded paper and tossed it to her. Although it was rumpled, she could see that it was a copy of an article from the Miami Herald.
“I don't get it.” Her brow furrowed as she scanned the print. “Carl Woods Homes is being sued in a class-action lawsuit by homeowners for using defective building materials? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Keep reading. Look whose name is mentioned.”
Her eyes scrolled down the page. “Holy highlights, Falcon Oakwood owns the company.”
Jill, leaning over her shoulder, pointed further down the page. “Isn't that the name of your housing development?”
Marla felt the color drain from her face. “Oh, no. Does this mean Carl Woods is the umbrella company for our builder? I have to tell Dalton. There's no way I'm moving into a house constructed with Chinese drywall.” Her heart sank at the implications.
Jill put a calming hand over hers. “Maybe it doesn't apply to your place. So, Griff, you're saying Torrie had been aware of Falcon's dirty dealings? She may have told Leanne.”
“Leanne said something about being free of his mother's influence. I wonder what she meant,” Marla mused.
Griff reached for a coconut shrimp when the waitress delivered the platter. “Just remember, ladies, you didn't hear any of this from me.”
Always looking out for your own skin, aren't you?
Marla glared at him, unable to think of any other questions to ask while he ate. After finishing his beer, he burped and lumbered to his feet.
“See ya around,” he said before striding away.
“I hope your house isn't affected, Marla.” Jill leaned back in her seat with a weary sigh. She'd already emptied her glass of chardonnay.
“I'll let Dalton deal with it. I have too much to do.” Her head spun with confusion and dismay.
“Assuming I'm not back in the clinker, I'll see you next week at your bachelorette party.” Jill gave her a broad smile.
“Right.” Her stomach churned at the reminder. “Twelve days to go to the Big Day.”
One week. That was all she'd give herself to find the killer and absolve Jill from guilt.
Maybe Griff's photos would shed some light on the case.
She gathered her purse, threw enough bills on the table to cover the tab, and gave Jill a farewell embrace.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
* * *
Marla squinted at the computer screen in her townhouse home office. She didn't see any evidence of a cake knife on the decorated table. Philip Canfield hadn't actually come out and said he'd put it there, but he had let her assume as much. How, then, had it ended up in Torrie's hand?
Could he have been mistaken? Had Jill entrusted it to her sister to bring to the wedding?
She viewed the photos again, looking for clues, noting who was present in the vicinity of the cake table. Shaking her hea
d, she was ready to give up when she remembered the seating charts. They'd gotten lost in the pile of papers on her desk.
Shuffling through the lot, she found the folder Jill had given her. Ah, there was the diagram. Now, who was seated at which table? There were essentially two rows, tables next to the stage and then a second tier behind them. According to the charts, Jill and Arnie's relatives held the prime spots, followed by their close friends. Marla and Dalton's table was toward the rear, the second from the end to the right facing the stage. The first ones in either row would be closest to the cake table.
She didn't recognize any guests from the back row, but the table closest to the stage was where Leanne and Falcon Oakwood sat. Their names jumped out at her.
Of course. If Falcon had for some reason accosted Torrie in the hallway, then shoved her body under the table, he could have just sauntered to his seat afterward with none the wiser. Marla still wasn't sure what he might have done with the cloth that he must have used to clean his hands. She'd have to ask Leanne if there had been any unusual stains on his tuxedo. Maybe this is what Leanne had meant when she said she'd soon be free of his mother's influence. Did she intend to turn in her husband, seek a divorce?
The phone rang, jarring Marla's senses.
“Marla? It's Leanne Oakwood.”
“Omigosh, I was just thinking about you. We need to talk.”
“Right.” The woman's voice sounded strained. “I heard what happened to Jill, the poor thing. I have some information that might be useful in her defense.”
Marla's breath hitched. “Sure, Leanne, go ahead. I'm listening.”
Leanne cleared her throat. “It involves Orchid Isle. I found some documents in my husband's files that are relevant. You'll know what to do with them. Do you have some free time this week for us to meet so I can hand them over? I know you're busy with your wedding and all, but it's important.”
“What did you learn, Leanne?”
“I can't take time to explain. Falcon might walk in at any moment.” Leanne lowered her voice to a hushed tone.
“Is it about the toxic waste? I know he acquired the land for Orchid Isle when it was contaminated. Did he skirt regulations? Did Torrie find out?”
“No, this involves something else. The proof is at Orchid Isle, along with these files. Let's meet there, and I'll show you everything.”
“Proof about what?” Marla persisted, unwilling to make the trip without further information.
“Oh, God, I hear footsteps. He's coming this way! Please, Marla, it's not only for Jill's sake. This will help me, too.”
Marla swallowed a sigh as she reviewed her mental schedule. “I'm free on Thursday morning. I don't go into work until one o'clock that day.”
“The park opens at ten. Come at nine, and I'll arrange for you to be let in. We'll meet inside the greenhouse. And Marla, please don't tell anyone. Word gets around, and I don't want Falcon to get wind of what I know.”
“All right. See you then.” Marla hung up, a grim smile on her face. What else could this be about besides her husband's dirty land schemes?
Increasingly nervous as the week progressed and her wedding date approached, she managed to juggle family demands, drop off the place cards and table favors at the country club, and confirm the music selections with the DJ. Luis told her the salon could reopen on Tuesday, relieving her of that problem. Meanwhile, the day spa's grand opening loomed closer and so did the holidays, making her regretful that she'd planned so much at the same time.
Finally, on Wednesday when she had a free moment, she picked up the phone to call Tally. Maybe her best friend would take a ride to Orchid Isle with her in the morning. Marla didn't think it wise to go alone. But when she remembered Tally's pregnant state, she put the receiver down. It wasn't a good idea to involve her in case the encounter with Leanne turned ugly. The thought crossed her mind that Falcon's wife could be the guilty party.
Marla finally confided her plan to Dalton that evening.
“Are you crazy?” He faced her in his kitchen, spatula in hand. “I'll go with you. You should have told me sooner.”
“Sorry, I just became involved in so many other things that it slipped my mind until now.”
“What are these files she discovered? And what's the proof at Orchid Isle?”
Marla shrugged. “Leanne wouldn't say on the phone. I'm thinking it's a ploy to be free of her husband.” She described her findings to date.
“You mean, Leanne wants a divorce and needs some leverage, so she snooped in her husband's office to get evidence against him?”
“Could be. We'll see what she has to offer.”
Thursday morning, Marla pulled her car into the empty parking lot at Orchid Isle, claimed a space, and turned off the ignition. After pocketing her wallet and cell phone, she stuck her purse under the seat.
“Shouldn't you wait here?” she asked Dalton. “Leanne thinks I'm coming alone.”
“It's a ways to the greenhouse. I'll accompany you there and then wait outside. She won't see me.” His firm tone told her arguing would be futile.
They advanced toward the front doors past a cluster of blue plumbago and white pentas. The lights were off inside the two-story white building, but when Marla twisted the doorknob, it opened. She eased inside, calling out a greeting. No one answered. Leanne must be waiting for her at the designated location.
It had been smart to wear a sweater over her knit top and jeans. The sweet-scented air felt cool against her skin as they proceeded out a side door onto the winding path. Birds twittered in the trees and leaves rustled overhead. They crossed a small arched bridge as water gurgled and danced on the rocks below.
A few more paces ahead, they came to a fork in the path and halted.
“Do you remember which way to go?” She peered in one direction then the other.
Dalton's brow furrowed. “It's not toward the lake, so let's go the other way.”
She stepped past a red-tipped Chinese fringe plant. An airplane droned in the sky, the only sign of civilization. Its sound tapered off with the vapor trail, leaving them alone with lizards and other jungle creatures. “It's so quiet here.”
“Too quiet. I don't like it.” Dalton's shoulders hunched as they followed the trail. “Maybe I should call Brody.”
“Why? I'm meeting a friend in the park and we're exchanging information. What would you tell the detective?”
“Good point.”
A squirrel darted by in the undergrowth. Branches provided a canopy overhead that filtered the morning light. Cascades of moss trailed from the tree limbs like old men's beards. Cobwebs glistened between broad-leafed plants and prickly tree trunks.
A yellow and black butterfly soared in front of her. Banana plants grew alongside gingers, ferns, liriope, and palms. They passed through a cycad collection and entered a grove of bamboos that creaked like an unearthly chorus. If this had been a toxic waste site, Falcon had done a stupendous job in recovering the land. She could believe it had taken years to get to this level of growth. Maybe she'd been maligning his character wrongly. Maybe he had gotten the proper clearances.
Or not. Why else would Leanne be meeting her? She knew her husband was guilty. Torrie, and later Hally, must have discovered his schemes, and that's why he killed them.
“There's a sign.” Dalton pointed beyond a tall laurel fig tree.
The sign was nearly obliterated by a hanging vine, but she determined the greenhouse was in the same vicinity as a cemetery. A cemetery? Who could be buried there? She pursed her lips as she trudged on.
Dead pine needles crunched underfoot as they headed over a less-traveled path. An evergreen stand brought a fresh pine scent to her nose. It mingled with a wet earthy aroma and chased away the stench of something rotting in the shrubbery.
A cracking noise overhead made her leap aside just as a large branch fell to the ground in a gust of wind. The breeze picked up, ruffling her hair. She hastened along, aware of clouds accumulating in the wake
ning sky. Dalton remained silent, his gaze wary as they covered ground.
Straight ahead was the greenhouse, the cemetery off to their left. Marla paused to peer at a memorial plaque in front of the grassy area.
“Dear Lord, it's a pet cemetery, of sorts. Eww.” Dead animals found on the grounds were buried here in accordance with state regulations. A gruesome tribute, to be sure, but one that respected their natural habitat. With a grimace of distaste, she turned away.
The greenhouse appeared to be a series of connected domed structures with walls of white opaque glass stretching from floor to ceiling.
“I'll wait out here,” Dalton said. “If you're not back within fifteen minutes, I'm coming inside. Holler if you need me.” He leaned against a solid oak trunk and folded his arms across his chest.
“Right. Let's hope I can make this quick.”
She pushed through the main entrance and paused inside as steamy humidity hit her in the face. The moisture was so thick, you could almost cut it with a knife. Her lungs breathed it in, along with a heavy floral scent.
A rocky waterfall gushed across an expanse on her right, and on her left stretched a tropical jungle-like growth of plants alongside and in between two concrete aisles. Underfoot, winding rivulets wet her running shoes. Visibility was practically nil from one end of the greenhouse to the other, where it opened into the next big space. Leafy banana plants, spindly palms, hanging vines, and dangling blossoms obstructed the path in what she could only describe as ordered chaos. She paused to admire a variety of vividly colored orchids.
“Leanne, I'm here,” she called. “Where are you?”
A rustling noise off to the left startled her. Brushing aside branches, she plunged in that direction. She ducked through an open door into the next hothouse, dodged hanging plants from above, and stepped over a hose coiled on the ground.
She stumbled to a halt when Philip Canfield slithered into view like a garden snake. His dark hair in his usual ponytail, he grinned at the sight of her. Black seemed to be his favorite color, as his outfit matched his hair.
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