“Cryptic yet catchy. What’s cryptic yet catchy?” She typed: Flower_fan.
The familiar small, blue, spinning wheel popped up on her screen and told her that the website was thinking about her request. She’d never noticed before how much the blue wheel reminded her of one of Eamon’s blue orbs.
A message replaced the wheel: Sorry, that screen name is not available.
She typed: Floral_phan.
Her phone replied: Sorry, that screen name is not available.
ILuvFlorists.
Not available.
FlowerLove.
Sorry.
A bell dinged somewhere off to her left. She tried again: FlowerShopGirl.
Sorry, not available.
She swore.
“Trouble, Dr. Brown?”
She gasped and dropped her phone.
Karl Dietrich stood next to her. The elevator doors swished shut behind him. He retrieved her phone from under the chair where it landed. “I mean, Gethsemane. I apologize if I startled you.”
“I was preoccupied. Good thing I sprung for the protective phone case.”
He glanced at the screen before handing her the phone. “A true crime website? You never know what people are into. I would have pegged you for an aficionado of fine literature or gourmet food.”
“Oh, no, I’m not—I mean, it’s not—” How could she explain? “I came across this when I was reading up on an unsolved case. I think I know one of the site’s users. I wanted to create an account so I could send her a message. But I can’t come up with a screen name. All the good ones are taken.”
“Which crime most interests your friend?”
“The Flower Shop Murders. They happened here in Dunmullach in the sixties.”
“Your name is Gethsemane which is also the name of a garden. Why not try Gethsemane’s Garden or something similar?”
No way she’d use her entire first name on the site. “How about g_gardener?” G could stand for Grennan as well as Gethsemane. She typed.
Another spin of the blue wheel and her phone congratulated her. “Success,” the screen proclaimed with a large green checkmark next to g_gardener. She created a password then put the phone away.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Karl.
“The gardaí want to ask me some questions about poor Murdoch. I don’t mind telling you, Gethsemane, I’m frightened. That could have been me run down in the street. I had agreed to bring those flowers to the theater—they were a special arrangement featuring a new rose, ‘süße Rache,’ Ellen Jacobi is testing, an attempt to help people forget ‘Lucia di Lammermoor.’ But at the last minute, the lab manager from Avar called me about a problem with an experiment. It required my immediate attention so Murdoch agreed to bring the flowers.”
“Why would anyone want to kill you or Murdoch? Jacobi and his roses were both out of the competition. Killing Murdoch doesn’t serve any purpose.”
“Other than to cancel the opening ceremony, as well as all of the other festivities. The organizers just announced all events have been canceled and prizes will be awarded privately sometime next week. Murdoch’s death also casts suspicion on your friend, Mr. Grennan. I understand his car hit Murdoch.”
“His hot-wired car. Frankie has an alibi for the time of the murder, one the gardaí confirmed. Besides, he has no motive to kill Murdoch. Or you. Maybe both murders are related to the pharmaceutical company. Avar Pharmaceuticals is one thing you, Jacobi, and Murdoch have in common.”
“It is possible. Jacobi’s death, in particular, created turmoil. Questions swirl about leadership, future directions of research. Stock prices tumbled.”
“Strange to think a company that makes medicines that save lives may have spurred someone to take lives.”
“At times like this, I wish I was back in the Amazon, hunting for specimens. Plants may be as deadly as humans but they are predictable. They behave in ways you expect. They don’t steal from you, stab you in the back, or ambush you in the street.”
Karl broke off at the sound of elevator doors. Gethsemane turned to see the Byrnes brothers step into the waiting area. Glendon started at the sight of Gethsemane and Karl, then averted his gaze and sat near the crying woman. Gerrit, however, approached them.
“Dietrich.” He greeted Karl with a nod.
Karl included his head toward Gethsemane. “You remember Dr. Brown.”
“Of course.” Gerrit nodded at her. “I’m sorry to run into you again under such—trying—circumstances.”
“The gardaí have questions for you about Mr. Collins?” she asked.
Gerrit shrugged. “Don’t know what I can tell them. Hardly knew the chap.”
Knew him well enough to try to sell him on a risky, underhanded deal. Karl’s cough and blush suggested he remembered the encounter at the Athaneum, too. Gerrit gave no hint he remembered as he joined his brother.
Sutton and Niall appeared around the corner.
Karl stood. “Inspector. You wished to speak to me.”
“Dr. Dietrich,” Sutton said, “Thank you for coming.” He turned to Niall.
“I’ll take Dr. Brown home,” Niall said. “We’ll meet you later.”
Eighteen
“You told Sutton, ‘we’ll’ meet you later.” Gethsemane followed Niall out to his car.
“Because you and I both know that if I don’t keep you with me, you’ll run off on your own and do something with a high likelihood of getting you killed.”
“And here I thought you were including me in the planning because it was my idea.”
Niall gave her a half-grin and they climbed into his car. “Bill—Inspector Sutton—and I talked about where to set up a meeting. We need someplace public but not so public we can’t hide some gardaí.”
“We need a meeting place that seems plausible. I don’t think a woman who killed two people would fall for a rendezvous at the pub. She’d suspect a set up.”
“Got someplace in mind?”
St. Dymphna’s popped into her head. As much as the idea of ever setting foot up there, the place where she was bludgeoned and nearly set on fire, again nauseated her, an abandoned, burned out insane asylum had flair that would appeal to a true crime fan and was isolated enough to appeal to a hired killer who thought she was being blackmailed.
Niall rejected the suggestion. “Too far out of the way, too many ways to sneak up on someone, and too unsafe in general. I wouldn’t think you’d want to be anywhere near that place.”
“I don’t. But if it was for the greater good…Besides, this time I’d have protection.”
“I don’t see why anyone who was the full shilling would go up to Carnock.”
She told him about Frankie’s secret rose garden. Niall sighed and shook his head.
“How about Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows? The gardens are public but not too public on the back side of the church. And if we set up a meeting at night, there won’t be many people around.”
Niall thought for a minute. “The church might work. I’m sure Father Tim would cooperate with us.”
“I’ve already set up an account on Murderphile. Screen name g_gardener. All we need is a convincing message and a bit of luck that she sees it.”
“You sound like an old pro. You’re getting good at this investigation business.”
They pulled up in front of the cottage. They met Father Tim loading Saoirse, Colm, and Ruairi O’Brien, another one of Gethsemane’s music students, into his car. Frankie stood on the porch.
“Gethsemane, Inspector,” the priest greeted them. “Everything all right?”
Niall eyed the children. “Everything’s fine, Father. But I need to discuss something with you later.”
Father Tim and the children drove off and Gethsemane, Niall, and Frankie went inside. A trace of leather and soap lingered in th
e air. Eamon lurked somewhere nearby. Gethsemane risked a peek into the music room and kitchen but didn’t see him.
“Looking for something?” Frankie asked when she returned to the study.
“Just making sure you didn’t destroy my house while I was gone.” She winked.
“Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Frankie helped himself to a drink. “Is this Waddell and Dobb as good as you say it is?” He sipped the spicy-sweet bourbon. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“I’m sorry about your car, Frankie,” Gethsemane said.
“It’s no coincidence the killer used my car, is it?”
“No coincidence,” Niall said. “Your garden, your hedge shears, your car. The killer’s either trying to frame you or send you a message. Good thing you had an alibi for Murdoch’s murder.”
Frankie nodded at Gethsemane. “Her idea.”
“Her second good one today.” Niall briefed Frankie on the plan. “We need a message to lure TheFlorist to Our Lady. Any suggestions?”
“If she’s a legit true crime aficionado,” Gethsemane said, “she won’t be able to resist something connected to the actual Flower Shop Murders case. How about offering her some of the crime scene photos?”
Niall protested. “I know the case is cold, but it’s still open. I can’t give away evidence.”
“We’re not really going to give her anything,” Gethsemane reminded him.
“True. All right, we offer crime scene photos. What if she’s a hired killer?”
“Phrase the message so she’s not sure if the photos are of the original crime scene or one of the current ones,” Frankie said. “Word it so it sounds as if someone may have taken a picture related to Jacobi’s or Collins’s murder that points the finger at her.”
“Something like, ‘Picture’s worth a thousand words? When it’s from a floral crime scene, it’s worth Euros. Meet Our Lady in the garden, midnight, and avoid Perpetual Sorrow.’”
“Have you blackmailed someone before?” Frankie asked. “That came easy for you.”
“You’ve got your snark back,” she said. “You must have recovered from your night at the garda station.”
“If you two are finished,” Niall said, “let’s get back on task. We’ve got to hurry and post the message and hope she sees it today.”
Gethsemane used her phone to log onto the site and set the trap. “Should we add another line or two? A personal message from Frankie?”
“Such as?” Niall asked.
“Wear tuberoses and forsythia, so I know it’s you,” Frankie said.
“Tuberoses and forsythia?”
“Dangerous pleasure and anticipation.”
Gethsemane tapped the “send” icon. “Done.” She displayed the post on her screen.
“Now we wait.” Niall checked his watch. “Midday. I’m heading back to the village. I’ll stop by Our Lady and talk to Father Tim, let him know what’s going on. That’ll give me a chance to stake out the gardens, figure out the best places to station our people. Then Sutton and I will coordinate getting everyone into place before our killer shows up. If she shows up.”
“For the sake of the devil’s advocate, what if she doesn’t show up?” Frankie asked.
“Then Sutton and I will have time to prepare an explanation for the Superintendent as to why we wasted gardaí resources on a—what would you call it in Virginia?”
“A snipe hunt,” Gethsemane said.
“One of those,” Niall said.
“What do Frankie and I do?”
“I’m tempted to say, stay out of it and let the gardaí handle it, but I know I’ll get nowhere with talk like that. You can monitor that website and call me right away if you get any response to the message.”
“Since my car’s out of commission until your forensics team releases it from whatever impound lot they towed it to, how about giving me a ride into the village now? That way you won’t have to come back up here to get me closer to show time,” Frankie said.
“You’ll have to come back to get me,” Gethsemane said.
Neither man answered. She repeated herself. Silence.
“What is this?” she said. “You’re planning to cut me out? This was my idea.”
Niall and Frankie stared at the floor.
She turned on Niall. “You said—”
“I know what I said. But I’d be irresponsible bringing a civilian along on a stake out to catch a multiple murderer.”
“Frankie’s a civilian.”
“I need him as bait.”
“Thanks,” Frankie said.
“Don’t complain.” Gethsemane scowled at him. “At least you’re not being left behind like a small child.”
“This isn’t a game, Gethsemane,” Niall said. “I’d leave Frankie out of it if I could.”
“Thanks, I think,” Frankie said.
Niall continued. “This is professional law enforcement work. It’s not some Agatha Christie story; it’s real. And, as much as I appreciate the help you’ve provided up to this point, you and I both know I’m not going to willingly bring you into a situation where you might get hurt or worse when it’s not necessary to expose you to risk. If I did, I should be fired for incompetence and negligence.”
“So, you just told me you’d bring me along to keep me from arguing until you got me up here with no access to a car,” she said. “You lied to me.”
Niall flushed. “Well, okay, if you want to put it like that, yes, I lied. For your—”
She crossed her arms. “So help me, if you say for your own good, I’ll—”
Frankie stepped between them. “Enough, both of you. You know he’s right, Sissy. If you were back home in Virginia, would a cop invite you to tag along to arrest a murderer?”
“No.”
“And, Niall, haven’t you known Sissy long enough by now to know that lying to her gets you nowhere?”
“I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you back at the station.”
“I’m going to this hooley because our bure won’t come out of the shadows unless she sees my charming face,” Frankie said. “Unless she’s an assassin, in which case, she’ll probably come out shooting anyone she sees. In which case, I fully intend to hide behind Sutton. He’s big and ugly and makes a much better target than I do.”
“He has small daughters,” Niall said.
“Well, damn it, now you’re making me feel bad.”
Gethsemane interrupted. “All right, I’ll stay here. And I’ll keep an eye on Murderphile and I’ll call you if there’s any response. Now both of you leave before I stop being reasonable and start being mad again.”
“Sissy, I—”
“Don’t say anything else.” She pointed to the door. “Just go.” She followed them out to Niall’s car.
She called after them as Niall put the car into gear. “And, guys, be careful.”
An angry blue Eamon awaited her when she returned to the study.
“What are you mad about?” she asked. “Not because they think your idea was mine? I couldn’t tell them the truth about that, could I?”
“Don’t be thick. I don’t give a damn whose idea they think it is.” Blue sparks sizzled and popped.
“Then what? I haven’t seen you this, literally, fired up since—” When had she seen him this angry? “Since I accused you of killing Orla.” He’d almost taken her head off with an orb then.
“I’m almost that furious. Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows? Damn near the only place in the bloody village I can’t go, and you decide to spring your trap there?”
As a suspected suicide, Eamon had been buried in unhallowed ground. As a ghost, he could travel anywhere he’d visited while he lived—except the church, its yard, and his wife’s grave in the church cemetery.
“I didn’t think—”
; “You’re right, you didn’t think. What if you’d gotten into trouble? Been hurt? I wouldn’t have been able to get to you.”
“Eamon, I,” she searched in vain for words, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you think it hasn’t bothered me, all the times you were in danger and I couldn’t help you? Do you think I didn’t care? That I didn’t feel like I’d let you down?”
She sputtered. “But, I, I mean, none of it was your fault. You were banished to limbo. Then trapped in a phone. You would’ve helped, I know. Anyway, I survived.”
“No thanks to me.”
“I never blamed you, Irish.”
Eamon faded to a morose yellow. He sank into the sofa, the patterned upholstery visible through his chest.
Gethsemane sat next to him. She laid her fingers on his arm, shivering at the buzz that zipped up her arm. “What’s brought this on?”
“Listening to you argue with O’Reilly and Grennan and knowing that twelve hours give you plenty of time to get to the churchyard on your own, it occurred to me I’d already let one woman important to me down and I don’t think I could stand it if you became the second.”
“Eamon, I’m sorry, I—” A noise outside cut her off. “Did you do that?”
“How could I do it? I’m sitting here next to you.”
Another noise, louder this time.
“Sounds like gravel against a window.” She stood.
Eamon glowed purple with fear. “How do you know?”
“One of my eldest sister’s high school boyfriends used to signal her that way. Worked great until he cracked a window. C’mon.” She started toward the rear of the cottage.
Eamon dematerialized then reappeared in front of her. The full-body buzz from passing through him made her stop. “You’re not going out there.”
“Of course, I am. A murderer would hardly signal by throwing rocks.”
“Unless their plan is to lure you outside so they can drop something on your head. You’re not the only one who watches horror movies.”
Another noise—the front door handle jiggling.
“Would a killer try the door?” Eamon asked.
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