by Abby Reede
F ollowing Copeland’s pronouncement, the once busy shop began to empty quickly and Tracy felt bad about the circumstances. She was certainly no fan of Becky White nor Emily Maher, but all the same she thought it was the professional thing to do to try and lessen the impact that the customers were experiencing as they headed away. She intervened as she held the door for the crowd.
“I’m really sorry, folks. We had an unfortunate murder here in town about a week ago, and Detective Copeland just needs to get some more details from Emily who knew the victim very well. Blooming Bouquets is a wonderful place to shop for flowers. Please come back when this has all blown over.”
As the last of the customers filed past her, some looking back in disbelief while others offered up weak smiles of appreciation for her comments, Tracy let the door swing shut and went back inside. She spied the down-cast look on Emily’s assistant, Morgan Riley, and went to see what she might know about the inner working at the shop. She knew Morgan well from their high school days and was sure she could get her to talk. It might offer some insight into what had actually happened to Becky and maybe even provide Copeland a break in the case he had not yet considered.
“Are you OK, Morgan?” Tracy asked as she touched her old friend lightly on the elbow.
The woman looked up and offered a painful and forced smile and shrugged.
“Pretty quiet in here now, Morgan…” Tracy continued, “can we talk?”
She nodded slowly and pointed to a desk with two chairs where they often worked up bids for larger jobs.
“Could I ask what the working conditions are like here? Just curious…”
The woman looked around furtively, and then sighed sadly.
“Honestly, Tracy? It’s a nightmare. But we need the money. With my husband, Larry, deployed with the Army, his paycheck was just not going far enough. I just needed some extra income to feed the kids and maybe have some extra for medical bills and such.”
“You’re bright, Morgan. Surely there must be something else in Fern Grove besides this?”
“Not really. You know what it is like here now, and besides Becky gave me a schedule that let me work my kids into my day.”
“But you say it is a nightmare. How so?”
“I don’t have to tell you, of all people, what Becky is…or rather was as a person. But working for her? Multiply that by a thousand.”
Tracy nodded in sympathy as she could only imagine the scenario.
“But Emily? She makes Becky White look like Mother Teresa. I am not quite sure why she is here running things now. I cannot envision John approving, but who knows. During the part-time hours that Emily was here, before Becky got killed, she often talked behind her back of starting her own shop. Like her being here was just a way to get a plan and a strategy to use on her own. Without Becky around to temper Emily’s personality, she is acting like she owns Blooming Bouquets…super bossy and like the staff here are her personal slaves.”
“Sounds horrible, Morgan…but even so, with anything she could pick up here, I know from experience over at In Season, that that is not a trivial undertaking. Both financially and from a time commitment perspective.”
“I agree, but do you know Emily’s folks?”
“Just by name.”
“Well, they are, from what I have heard, filthy rich and have spoiled Emily her whole life. She typically gets whatever she wants in my opinion.”
“You think maybe her whole plan now is to just somehow take over Blooming Bouquets? Save her the trouble and aggravation of opening a whole new store? I’m not sure Fern Grove really needs three florists, you know?”
“Could be, Tracy. I had never thought of that, but now that you mention it, that could explain this apparent power move to come in here and act like she is the actual owner. But then, there is always John. I have no idea what his future plans for Blooming Bouquets might be, but surely he would want a substantial price to sell off a very successful business.”
Tracy nodded in agreement. She told Morgan to call on her anytime, if she needed anything and then headed for the door to go back to In Season. But just as she was leaving, speak of the devil, she bumped into John White coming by. She had been so lost in her thoughts from her conversation with Morgan, that she had not been paying attention.
“Oh, I’m sorry, John,” Tracy apologized as she stepped aside, “I just did not see you there.”
“No problem, Tracy.”
“I feel bad about never looking you up to express my condolences after Becky died, John. It was such a shock to us all and I am sure more for you than any of us.”
“Actually, Tracy, I guess it was surprising, but the fact is that Becky and I ceased being a real married couple many years ago. But because she needed this illusion of us being this happy little family as a backdrop for the shop, she would never agree to a divorce.”
Tracy looked on in true empathy, as she had always liked John, but truth be told, she had always suspected as much.
“You know, Tracy…” John went on, “I had such great promise and such great opportunities to accomplish so much more with my life. But once we settled down here in Fern Grove, it was like my dreams and desires took a backseat to Blooming Bouquets.”
Tracy knew what he meant about Fern Grove. And it was not that she would ever denigrate the little town, but it was why she had fled to Portland after her graduation. There was only so much opportunity in a place this small.
“And just between you and me?” John said as he lowered his voice, “I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but for the first time in a very long time, I truly feel free.”
Tracy had never had this kind of honest, from-the-heart conversation with John White before, but she guessed he had really needed someone he felt he could trust to unburden his soul.
“Anyway Tracy, I really do have to run. Thanks for listening to me. I’ve got this volunteering gig over at Jenny’s Pet Store and I’m running late.”
Tracy waved goodbye and watched as John White sauntered down the street. The normal downtrodden or hang-dog cloud that she was used to seeing around him was gone. In fact, there seemed to be a spring in his step that she had never seen before. It seemed as if he had a new lease of life. And then the real horror of it hit her as Tracy wondered… had she just been chatting with Becky’s killer!
10
A few days later, Tracy went out for her regular evening jog and as she ran along, she began to mull over all the events in her head since Becky had been killed. At times it had been like trying to sip water from a fire hose, and as she ran, all the various aspects buzzed in her head. However, even with all the things she had come across, none of them seemed to come together or coalesce into a picture of who might actually be responsible. Sure, John’s offhand comment about “finally feeling free for the first time in a long time” could be considered semi-confessional, but it just did not square with the man she knew. But who then? Even though it might be a dark fantasy in her mind, Tracy could not even lay the murderer tag on Emily Maher. The woman was apparently conniving and devious as well, but it seemed a long stretch to think she would kill Becky just to have her own shop.
As the last gradual incline came up in her route, Tracy shoved away all the noise in her mind about the murder to focus on the push up the hill. Her heart was pounding as she neared the summit, but once she topped out, she regained her breath and fell back into a more relaxed rhythm and stride. However, as she moved along the ridgeline, Tracy could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. It was nothing concrete, but more along the lines of stories she had heard elsewhere about the invisible feel of eyes on her back. In the movies, she remembered actors using the expression of how the “hairs on the back of my neck stood up” in such situations, but for Tracy this was not the case. It was just this creepy feeling that there was someone out there watching.
Between the fatigue of her workout and getting distracted by this feeling of a voyeur, Tracy had not been as observant of her path as she shoul
d have, and her toe caught on a protruding root from some nearby shrubs and she tripped and fell. Fortunately, the path was well-covered with grasses and a few inches of dirt, so the only thing injured in her tumble was her ego. As she arose to check for any cuts or scrapes, Tracy looked up to see the bright lights of a car coming in her direction, and then heard the sound of scurrying feet behind her. She looked back to see the vague and indistinct figure of a man, outlined in the glare of the headlights, racing off in the opposite direction. Once the car had gone on its way, Tracy’s eyes adjusted to the dark light again when she was startled to come face to face with Detective Copeland.
“What brings you up here at this time of night, Miss Adams?”
“Out for my normal daily run, Detective. Remember from my interrogation?”
“That’s a bit strong, don’t you think? Interrogation?”
“Perhaps so. But at the time it sure felt that way.”
“Sorry if I came on a little strong. It’s just my way in doing my job.”
“Any new leads in the case?”
“You know I cannot answer that.”
“Just curious, seeing as how I know I am innocent. And my gut tells me you don’t think I did it either.”
“Really? Why would you think I have given up on you?”
Tracy shrugged.
“Just a feeling. Call it a woman’s intuition if you like. But when you came by Blooming Bouquets the other day and had nothing to say or ask of me it gave me that impression. Also, I never heard anything further on matching up my shoe treads to the footprints your team found at the edge of Lawson Cliff. I’m no professional investigator, but if there had been even a partial match, I am guessing I would not be out running around Fern Grove unfettered.”
Copeland did not reply, just grinned at how her mind worked.
“You seemed to be more focused on Emily Maher that day, as well.”
“These cases can often take a lot of twists and turns, Miss Adams. Don’t let one incident color your impressions. Miss Maher was a close confidant of Becky White, and as such I am still trying to get her unique insight into anything useful. Do not think you are no longer in the picture is all I would say on that.”
“Fair enough, Detective. So, I still need to stay in town, then?”
“You planning a trip?”
“Not at all. I was just, as they say down in the southwest, tugging on your lariat, Detective Copeland.”
He smiled briefly and Tracy was again struck by his good looks and how his smile—though he did not seem to show it a lot—added to his allure and attractiveness to her. However, she supposed in doing the work he did, a serious countenance was more appropriate.
“You sure being up here is such a good idea, Miss Adams?”
“Why? I run up here all the time.”
“Just that it being the site of the murder and you still being a person of interest, I am not sure that is in your best interests.”
Tracy got what he was saying, and quite frankly, she never thought of the conflict. She supposed that she was so confident of her innocence and that Copeland would eventually ferret out the real killer, that it had just not occurred to her.
“I get your point, Detective. Thanks for your advice. That certainly makes sense. I can always find a new route until this thing is resolved.”
“Anything else, Miss Adams?”
“No, I…” Tracy began, but then remembered the man she had seen just before Copeland had arrived on the scene—the one who fled in the car’s headlights.
“Actually, there is one thing, Detective.”
“Yes?”
“Right before you arrived there was this other man up here.”
“Other man?”
“Yeah…I tripped on a root in the footpath. That’s when I saw this man running away in the opposite direction when a passing car’s lights illuminated him. Like he was coming up behind me and the lights spooked him or something.”
“You thinking someone is stalking you?”
Tracy shrugged.
“Who knows. I had this feeling of being watched right before I took my spill, but it seems likely based on his quick departure.”
“Unlikely, Miss Adams. Do you have any reason to believe someone would be stalking you or had any other instances of this lately?”
“Not that I can point to, no.”
“Then I guess I would just say, try another route for now. Maybe in the light of day as well just to be on the safe side. And like I said before, it will not look good as we investigate if it is discovered that you were out in the same area where the murder occurred just a few days ago.”
“That old television cop show thing about criminals returning to the scene of the crime for some twisted psychological need?”
“You’d be surprised how often that happens, Miss Adams. But with you still on our list of persons of interest, just keep it in mind. Fern Grove is a small town. Loose lips sink ships and all that.”
“Sure, Detective. Good advice.”
She was about to bid him a good night, when something about her left foot suddenly felt off. She shone the little hand-held light she carried with her and directed it at her feet. In all the talk with Detective Copeland, Tracy had not noticed that she was missing her left shoe.
11
T racy arrived at In Season the next morning to find both Rose and Tiffany hard at work already. Apparently, the association of Becky’s murder previously impacting the shop had faded, as there was a small but nice gathering of customers there as well. The three of them worked side by side for the rest of the morning and all things considered, it was a nice morning for In Season: a few personal accounts taken care of, both old and new, and two new corporate contracts signed for future ongoing work for the next three months. When the hub-bub died down, and they found themselves alone, Tracy motioned them into the back so she could fill them in on all that had happened to her last night.
Rose and Tiffany listened intently and with growing concern as Tracy described what she was suspecting as a possible stalker and then her somewhat contentious but respectful interaction with Detective Copeland.
“Think he’s got a good point about staying clear of Lawson Cliff, Tracy,” Rose offered when she was done. “No sense in muddying the waters anymore until Becky’s killer is arrested.”
Tracy nodded.
“Yeah, I agree. I was just not thinking about all that when I went out last night.”
“However,” Tiffany interjected, “if it was me, I’d be a bit more concerned about the mystery man who ran off into the night.”
“That makes two of us.” Tracy replied.
“But you say Copeland was not convinced?” Rose asked.
Tracy shook her head no.
“I think number one, until I can come up with more solid evidence of being followed, he is taking it lightly. And two, until this investigation is over, I am still in his cross-hairs.”
“First time you’ve felt this or seen anyone around that might be suspicious?”
“Yep. But then again, I have not really had my radar on for such things either. It’s Fern Grove for heaven’s sake! Who would worry about such a scenario here?”
They went silent for a few beats, but Tracy could not help picking up on the look on Tiffany’s face that something else—something maybe not so trivial—had occurred to her.
“You look like maybe you have something else on your mind, Tiffany?” Tracy asked.
“I…uh…well…”
“Go ahead honey,” Rose prodded. “Spill it!”
“Well…all I was thinking was that…and I am hesitant to bring this up considering…but is it possible that the same person who killed Becky might have been stalking around up there last night as well?”
Tracy felt a chill on her skin, as she had not gone to that possibility yet.
“I mean…let’s assume this dude was stalking you. Maybe just like you discussed with Copeland about criminals returning to the scene of
their crimes, and it was just coincidental. Or maybe…just maybe, if he is the killer, he thinks you saw something that night.”
“But I was not there that night.” Tracy replied.
“True, but most everyone in town knows you run that ridge in the evenings. Maybe he wonders if maybe you saw it all from afar. Just looking to clear up any loose ends?”
“You watch a lot of Law & Order, don’t you, Tiffany?” Rose added with a wink.
She snickered.
“Probably too much, Rose. But I’m just thinking out loud here. And as much as you might want to continue seeing Fern Grove as this nice little town far removed from the crime and danger of bigger cities, times have changed. I am not beating on Fern Grove—I grew up here and I still love it—but it is different than when I was a kid. Never hurts to consider all the possibilities don’t you think?”