by Clare Kauter
Argh, would he ever get over that?
“Yes, and it’s not like you could afford another.”
“Wouldn’t buying a cheap car be equally as pretentious as buying an expensive one?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, if I bought a second-hand car you’d think I was doing it to try and impress people with how down to earth I was or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’d still think I was a wanker.”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly. So I might as well drive something I like.”
“I get your point,” I said. “Still, it doesn’t help us much with the ‘being inconspicuous’ thing.”
“We’re taking my car,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
Once we were in the car on our way to see the florist, the conversation kind of stalled. What now? This was the perfect opportunity for me to get more information from James. The trouble was, I had no idea how to go about it. Two days ago everything was fine. James and I were friendly – friends, even. Now, though…
The silence was mounting.
“So, what’s up?” he asked. “I didn’t really get much of a chance to talk to you yesterday.”
“Yeah.” My heart was pounding so fast I thought I was going to be sick. I needed to get a grip.
“I didn’t expect to see you there, but I guess you were doing security, right?”
I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth. I could barely control what came out of it at the best of times, and now was definitely not that.
“You OK?” he asked. I nodded again and he continued. “Harcourt thought a suspect might show up there, but nothing happened.”
Was this what Adam had meant when he said that James might try to bring up the topic of my brother’s investigation in conversation? I couldn’t tell if this was natural or if James was trying to steer the conversation in a certain direction.
“So, you work with Harcourt now?” I asked. Cool. It had come out sounding casual enough.
“Yeah,” said James. “Weird, hey?”
I nodded. Yeah, James. Fucking uncanny. “Has he ever asked you about Topher?” I asked. Oops. It just kind of slipped out. I had been hoping to bring it up it a bit more naturally than that, but it was out there now.
James, to his credit, didn’t appear flustered at all. He shook his head.
“No, never. It makes me feel weird, actually. Like, why wouldn’t he bring it up? We both know it happened. Might as well acknowledge it, you know?”
I nodded, not sure if I believed him or not. The conversation kind of died off at that point, what with me getting lost in my thoughts about whether James had engineered this friendship to get information about Topher from me or not.
“Charlie, what’s wrong?”
“What? No, nothing. Just, you know, child abduction and all.”
He paused for a second. “Did you actually think I’d believe that?”
“Um…”
“Charlie, I thought we were friends now.” That made one of us. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Not everything is about you, James. Grace is missing. We need to focus on the task at hand.”
“Charlie –”
“Is that the florist’s?”
I’d been saved by the sight of a flower shop just down the road with a sign bearing the same insignia as the business card Adam had given us.
“Don’t change the –”
“No, really,” I said.
James looked over to where I was pointing. “Oh, OK. That’s the place.” He looked around for somewhere to park. “This conversation is to be continued, just so you know.”
I groaned. Well, at least I’d have some time to come up with something to tell him. It wasn’t like I could just ask him if he was working for Harcourt. If he was, I couldn’t afford to let him know that I suspected him. If he wasn’t, then I was being unnecessarily paranoid and untrusting and would probably ruin my chances of seeing him shirtless any time soon. Either way, accusing him of anything wouldn’t help.
He found a park and we walked inside the shop. From about five metres from the door we were assaulted by the scent of every kind of flower you could imagine. It wasn’t a good smell, though – kind of like that perfume that all old ladies wear. You know, the one that smells like they took a bath in it. When we crossed the threshold into the shop (or ‘Shoppe’, as the sign outside read) and I saw the old lady manning the register, I wondered if it was the flowers I could smell or just her.
“How can I help?” she asked. “Let me guess – looking for someone to do flowers for your wedding?”
Wedding? Argh! Hearing that, I panicked.
“Not even close, Grandma,” I said.
James gave me a look of disgusted disbelief before turning back to the old lady. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “She’s – she’s an orphan. Had some developmental issues that make it hard for her to associate with others in a sociable way.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. The old lady nodded like she totally bought it. Of course she did – old ladies loved McKenzie. Well, everyone loved McKenzie. If only she knew he was a slimy narc who’d sell his best friend out for a promotion. Potentially.
“We’re not actually here for flowers,” James continued. “We received a package earlier from your company and wanted to trace who sent it.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I can help you,” she said. “I’m not meant to give out customers’ details. How do I know you’re not one of those current affairs programs trying to catch me out?”
“How about because we have no cameras?” I snapped. I’d nearly added ‘you crazy old biddy’ at the end to keep in character, but that seemed like a step too far, even for Bad Cop.
“Oh – oh, well –”
She seemed a little flustered by what I’d said.
“The thing is,” James continued, “we’re concerned about the nature of the package we received. We’re concerned that we’ve had a security breach. All I need to know is if you have any idea who placed an order for a box of flowers and a balloon to be sent to Baxter & Co.”
The lady shook her head. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I took the call, but they didn’t leave any details.”
“And there’s nothing else you remember? Was it a man or a woman? Did they have a distinctive voice?”
“A man,” she said. “I had a little trouble understanding him on the phone – I think he had an accent, although I’m not very good at placing accents, I’m afraid – and I don’t think he understood what I was telling him. I kept saying that for good luck you give white carnations, but he insisted on pink.”
“What does pink mean?” I asked.
“It’s a symbol of motherly love,” she said.
That was weird.
“What kind of accent was it?”
“Like I said, I’m not good –”
“Just a ballpark.”
“I don’t –”
“Are we talking someone who speaks English as their first language?”
“I – I –”
“Are we talking more along the lines of English or German or –”
“I don’t know!”
“Just give me a continent!”
“I’m afraid I really can’t tell you any more,” she said.
I groaned inwardly and wondered whether beating information out of an old lady was morally wrong. I mean sure, in most cases it would be, but this lady was really getting on my nerves. Maybe it was the tight-curled, blue-rinse hair. Maybe it was the floral apron. Maybe it was her scent. Or maybe it was the fact that I was angry that Gracie was missing and I wanted to bash up an old lady to relieve my frustration. I was going with the first three, though.
James nodded. “I understand.”
Oh good. I was glad he understood. His understanding was definitely going to help us get Gracie back. I was about to unleash another torrent of abuse when he spoke again.
“Certainly,” she said, handing the cordless handpiece over the counter towards him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
James smiled and walked toward the back of the shop to make the call in private. I was left to talk to the old lady.
“So,” I said, “hypothetically, how much money are we looking at for wedding flowers?”
“More than you can afford, dear. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s going to be tripping over themselves to marry you any time soon.”
“Right,” I said. “I suppose funeral flowers are more your area anyway, seeing as how you’re going to be needing those soon.”
Before the lady could respond, James returned and handed the phone back to her. He smiled and said goodbye. I stuck up my middle finger at her. She smiled at James and flipped me the middle finger too. Definitely should have beaten her up.
“What now?” I asked once we were back in McKenzie’s car.
He grinned and held up his mobile.
“Yeah, your phone’s flat. Whatever. I’m sorry Jo ruined your other one and now you have to live like a pleb.”
“That’s not what –” He stopped and shook his head, clearly deciding that arguing with me wasn’t worth the effort. “I got the number off her caller ID.”
My eyes widened. In hindsight, that ploy should have been glaringly obvious, but I had been too busy feuding with the shoppe attendant.
“Oh,” I said. “How do you know you got the right number?”
“I can’t be sure,” he said, “but the call was placed early this morning, before the flowers arrived. Judging by what the lady in the shop said, the order was placed this morning, so I think there’s a good chance this is the right number.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that was a good idea.”
He smiled again. Damn McKenzie and his stupid attractive face. I couldn’t deal with this inner turmoil.
“I’m going to call Joe and get him to tell me who the number belongs to.”
He placed the call and in a couple of minutes had the details of the phone.
“It was a pay phone,” he said.
“Who the hell still uses pay phones?”
“Pretty much only criminals, I think.”
“Don’t they buy burner phones or whatever?”
“The smart ones do.”
“So you think whoever took Grace is dumb?”
“Honestly, Charlie, I don’t think anyone with half a brain would kidnap Tim’s niece.”
That was a fair call. If he ever tracked down the person responsible… yeesh. Maybe it was a good thing that he was virtually immobile at the moment.
“Right. Do you know where this pay phone is?”
“Yeah,” said James, starting up the car. “Let’s hope they’ve left a clue behind.”
The chances were kind of slim, I thought, but I figured we should probably check it out anyway. Maybe someone in the area had seen something.
“Charlie, are you alright?”
“What?”
“You’re acting kind of weird today.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. I know you’re worried, but we can’t let ourselves get distracted. Grace needs us.”
“Sorry, I – I’m just – I’m a bit off at the moment,” I said, desperately trying to come up with a convincing lie. I wasn’t quite ready for the ‘are you just pretending to like me to glean information’ conversation. “It’s all a bit scary. I don’t feel very well.”
Not technically a lie. I felt sick with worry about Gracie, and sick at the prospect that (however slim the chance) James might not be as friendly as he seemed.
James glanced across at me, concerned. “Are you OK? Do you need to go home?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll soldier through. Like you said, Gracie needs us.”
Trust him to be insufferably nice about everything.
“Are you sure? It’s really no problem if you need to go home. Obviously I’d prefer to have your help, but if you need to leave –”
What I needed was for him to stop questioning me. It was time to pull out the big guns – the time honoured trick that would kill any conversation.
“I’m fine, really,” I said. “It’s just PMS.”
“Don’t lie to me. That was last week.”
“What?” I whipped my head to face him. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Because you told me.”
“I did?”
What conversation had I been trying to kill last week?
“Well, what you actually said was that Satan had moved into your uterus and decided to redecorate.”
He was right. I had said that. “It feels like a more accurate description.” I paused. What was I meant to say now? “Of course it was last week. Maybe I just ate something dodgy.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“No,” I said. “I must just be hungry.”
“We can get food after we check out the park,” he said. Apparently he’d found my explanation satisfactory.
The phone box wasn’t far from the flower shop. We pulled up by the park where the booth was located. It was right on the edge of town, in a weird place for both a park and a phone. No one was around, which I supposed was why the caller had chosen this location. The park had an eerie quality, not at all helped by the decrepit old playground equipment, paint faded and peeling, metal rusted, frames on the brink of collapse. One of the chains holding up a swing had snapped and the lopsided seat was swinging back and forth in the wind, creaking slightly. The grass was unmown and I was half expecting a Dementor to appear from the overgrown nature strip across the park. James and I exchanged looks. This place was creepy.
We walked toward the booth silently, though I imagined we were both thinking the same thing: it was definitely the kidnapper who’d called from this phone. My heart raced as we drew closer, my stomach churning. This did not bode well. I was almost hoping that there wouldn’t be any clues here.
No such luck.
As we rounded the corner and saw what was sitting atop the phone, I drew in a sharp breath. James quietly cursed.
It was a bow, pink with white spots. Well, mostly white. One of the spots was a deep crimson. Blood red.
“This is like the creepiest scavenger hunt ever.”
“I don’t know about you,” said James, “but I’m growing more and more convinced that the balloon has something to do with the kidnapping.”
“Let’s call it in,” I said, a little too enthusiastically. James looked at me, mouth open, slightly horrified. “What?”
“You seem too happy about this.”
“Of course I am! It means I don’t have a stalker.”
“Charlie, there is blood on this! Gracie could be hurt!”
“That isn’t blood,” I said.
“What?”
“Look again.”
He looked at the bow, leaning in to get a closer look. “What am I looking at?”
“The blood is fake.”
“Fake?”
“It’s too pink. Real dried blood would be a little brown. Plus it’s slightly gelatinous.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I guess it is. Wow. How did you notice that?”
“I know blood.”
“What, because of Satan’s redecorating?”
“I meant because of my propensity for injuring myself, but that too.” I paused. “Do we call it in anyway?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“I don’t think the cops are going to come running to see a hair tie with fake blood on it. Ditto Adam.”
James sighed. “You’re right, but we should tell them anyway.”
Two minutes later, James and I were both on our phones to our respective bosses, neither of whom seemed impressed.
“I know it’s a long shot, sir,” James was saying. “I still think it’s worth checking out.” Pause. “Yes, the blood is fake,
but –” Scowl. “Sir, this is where the balloon call came from.”
Adam was equally unreceptive.
“What?”
“Wow, that is not a very polite way to answer the –”
“I’m busy. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise I’m hanging up.”
“Well, James managed to track down the payphone that the call for the flowers was placed from and –”
“Payphone? Who uses payphones?”
“Pretty much only criminals,” I said. “And this one decided to leave a message. James found a bow with fake blood on it in the phone booth used to send flowers to the office.” (I’d decided it was better if I didn’t mention that I’d ditched work to go with James. That would be like trying to get myself fired.)
“And you think that it’s related to Gracie?”
“Maybe it’s her bow. I don’t know. It’s creepy.”
“Charlie, I don’t think it has anything to do with Gracie. If I had to guess, I’d say James is hot on the trail of some creep who’s stalking you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those flowers weren’t sent to Tim, Charlie. They were sent to reception. You’re the receptionist. You can see why I might think they were meant for you.”
“Yeah, but a stalker wouldn’t send carnations. They’d send roses.”
He was silent for a moment before saying, “I really have no concept of how your brain works.”
“Shouldn’t you at least look into it? Just in case it has something to do with Gracie?”
He sighed. “Fine, get James to send me a picture of the bow. I’ll see if Tim recognises it.”
“Good, OK. Will do.”
I hung up and waited a couple of moments before sending him the picture from my phone. (I figured that he’d think I’d asked James to send me the picture and then forwarded it, so I wanted to leave enough time for that to have happened.) A few seconds later Adam responded. Not Grace’s. Maybe James should stick to being a billionaire and stop trying to be a cop.
I decided not to pass that last comment along.
“Any luck?” I asked James when he hung up.
He shook his head. “No. Everyone seems pretty convinced that it’s just a random weird thing you’d find in any park, like a headless doll or a sock or whatever.”
I nodded. “Adam doesn’t think it’s related to Grace either, and according to Tim it’s not her bow.” I frowned. “You don’t think it could be someone trying to freak me out, do you?”