Homicide In The Hydrangeas

by Leighann Dobbs

  “It’s troubling how much of the evidence Detective Hershey has managed to gather comes back around to Daisy,” she told the cats, though she was mostly just thinking out loud. “Daisy couldn’t possibly be a murderess. But that Viv girl down at the Lantern Lounge? I really do think she did it.”

  And she truly did. Vivianne was probably the one who’d crumpled up the picture of Daisy that Hershey had found in Joey’s car. She probably found out Joey had it, confronted him about it, argued, snatched it out of his hand—yes, that would explain the ripped-off corner—then crumpled it up and tossed it in the wastebasket.

  “They did have a fight that night,” she told the cats, although Arun and Sasha were too busy soaking up the delicious rays of sunlight to pay her much heed. “She said it was about Joey spending time with other women... and didn’t she mention Tony was there too?”

  Again, the cats declined to answer, but Arun did manage to slit open one brilliant-blue eye. Araminta quickly moved to another track of thinking. If Tony had been there when Vivianne and Joey had argued, maybe he knew something about Joey’s murder that could help take the focus off Daisy. But how could she—an older, distinguished woman of wealth and discriminating taste in company—possibly talk to a man like him?

  Distracted by the door opening, Araminta glanced up when Yancy came in from the garden. He had only just begun to remove his gardening gloves when Arun and Sasha decided to greet him with many tail swishes and much twining around his ankles.

  Chuckling at their attention, he bent to scratch Arun between his ears then brushed Sasha beneath her chin. “Looks like someone is taking time out from digging in the azaleas. Enjoying watching the birds while basking in the sun, are you? Yeah? Maybe being in here will distract you from the mulched areas, at least,” he admonished gently.

  The cats gave him a “we’ll do as we please” look, and Araminta grinned. With a wave of her hand, she indicated the many and varied bits of vegetation inside the solarium. “They tend to leave the potted plants alone in here, thank goodness. They don’t much like digging in those, for some reason.”

  Yancy straightened and shot the cats a look. “Well, maybe I should put a few pots around in the garden, eh?”

  “I really don’t think it would help,” Araminta told him, one eyebrow arched high as she gazed at the pair.

  He nodded. “Of course not. Your kitties are far too smart to be tricked by something as simple as that.”

  “How is the trimming coming along?” Araminta asked him. He’d spent a good portion of the last few days shaping some of the shrubbery in the garden in the shape of cat poses—the annual Moorecliff Cat Competition was happening in a few weeks, and Araminta always enjoyed having complementary landscaping on display for the event.

  “I’ve done a cat sitting, a cat with the front paw up, and one standing. I thought I’d try my hand at a couple more, unless you feel those are enough?”

  “That sounds lovely. I’ll come and look at them later today.”

  Yancy looked pleased with himself. “I hope it helps the cause.”

  Every year, monies raised by the event were donated to the local cat shelter. Last year, the Moorecliffs had donated more than any other local business. This year, Araminta hoped to top that. Luckily for them, there were so many cat lovers in town that it wasn’t too hard to draw people into the event, and…

  “Oh, that’s it!”

  Yancy gave her a questioning look, and she waved it away. “Don’t mind me, Yance. I’ve just gone off on a thought tangent again.”

  Getting back to the question at hand, she said, “Let’s do a few more sculptures, if you feel you’ve enough time?”

  Yancy nodded. “I have time, and I’ve been dying to try my hand at the classic arched-back pose on the boxwood over by the ballroom.”

  He gave the cats one last rub and headed out the door again. Araminta watched him pull on his gloves but then quickly became lost in thought again. Vivianne had said Tony loved his cat. Since the cat show was happening in just a few weeks, it gave her the perfect opportunity to speak with him. She would go on the pretense of hitting him up for a donation—he was a prominent, wealthy businessman, after all—then hopefully she would get a chance to segue into a conversation about Joey, Vivianne, and unless she could avoid it entirely, Daisy as well.

  Chapter Twelve

  Patent leather wingtip shoes had been a thing in the 1940s, but Araminta had never expected to see a pair today—especially not in such pristine condition—although if anyone in the present would dare to wear a set of shoes as dated as those, she should have known that person would be Tony Romano.

  His were black and white and matched perfectly with the dark slacks and sports jacket he was wearing over a starched white linen shirt. She’d bet he’d even hand-tied his seven-hundred-dollar brand-name cerulean-blue tie.

  The only odd thing about his precise manner of dress was that he’d allowed a scuff to remain on those brightly polished patent leathers. Araminta couldn’t help but notice a smudge of mud on the left toe. Arun and Sasha were busily winding their way around his feet now that they’d stopped turning up their noses at the scent of stale cigar smoke—perhaps one of them was the culprit? They’d come straight from the solarium, after all. One of them might have had dirty paws. Tony would not be happy with the two cats if that was the case. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice until after she’d left.

  The man wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Araminta thought he’d be, given that he was the equivalent of a modern-day mob boss, although she also had to admit not many things had intimidated her for a while. She supposed once one reached a certain age, they’d pretty much seen it all—and maybe even done most of it, so there was not much left to fear. Least of all, she decided, would be this guy.

  Araminta had been escorted by Sal, and another man even bigger than Sal, to Tony’s office, and she took a few seconds to look around. You could tell a lot by the surroundings one preferred to stay in. His office was neat—meticulously so—with not a cat hair in sight. Was Vivianne wrong about him having a cat after all?

  But no, on his desk was a picture of a gorgeous black-and-gray Norwegian Forest cat in a silver frame. That must be the cat that Vivianne had mentioned. Tony was, indeed, a cat lover.

  When he pulled out a lint roller and began to roll it along his jacket and slacks where some errant hairs had accumulated from petting Arun and Sasha, she realized that was how he managed to have a cat without any hair on his clothes. Clearly, the man was obsessed with neatness. From the high polish of his shoes to the well-groomed tips of his hair, he exuded order, an eye for fashion, and money.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Moorecliff. The boys and me,” he said, gesturing to Sal and his friends who were standing slightly behind him on either side, “we are honored you decided to stop by. Might I know the nature of your visit, in order to serve you better?”

  Rocking back on his heels, he glanced to Sal and then the other man before offering Araminta what seemed to be a genuine smile. “The boys and me, we do aim to please.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Romano, for your warm greeting and your time.” She gestured to the cat photo on his desk. “I stopped by to speak with you about the annual Moorecliff Cat Competition. You’ve heard of it? I can see you do love your cat.”

  Tony picked up the frame, a look of adoration crossing his face. “A gorgeous creature, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And such a good companion.” Tony looked down at Sasha and Arun. “But then you must know what good companions cats are.”

  “I do. Sasha and Arun are part of my family.”

  “As is my Bear. Did you know that Norwegian Forest cats are great mousers and nearly became extinct?” He put the photo down and gave it one more fond glance. “I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.”

  “Me too,” Araminta agreed.

  After several more minutes of chatting about his cat, Araminta broached the subject she’d really com
e to speak with him about. “My condolences on the recent loss of your business associate. I can guess you must be nearly as devastated as his girlfriend.”

  “Joey? Yeah, Joey. Ah, him and Vivianne, they got into it the night before he died, you know? Then, she rushed off somewhere. Guess she wanted out of that, right?” He smiled. “I don’t have a clue what was going on between the two of them, but it must have been pretty bad, ’cause the next morning, he’s pushing up daisies, you know?”

  Araminta barely managed a nod before he changed subjects.

  “How is Ms. Daisy, by the way? I heard about Archie. She’s a nice lady. Hope she is doing well, and her garden is giving her solace.”

  Momentarily taken aback, Araminta’s gaze sharpened on his smiling eyes. How would he know about their gardens? Then, she remembered Daisy had met him in the garden—right beneath the big tree near the lily of the valley—the night she had paid off Reggie’s debt.

  “Yes, yes,” she said finally. “Daisy is doing well.”

  Tony nodded and offered another seemingly genuine smile. “Good to know. Good to know.”

  “Here,” he said as he walked around the corner of his opulent desk and sat down. “Let me cut you a donation check. It will be my pleasure to do so. I pride myself on doing my part to help our furry friends.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Araminta left Tony’s office feeling accomplished and thrilled. In her bag was a nice, fat donation check for the cat shelter, given on behalf of the Lantern Lounge, and she now knew a bit more about the relationship between Joey and Vivianne than she had before. She still had no concrete evidence to support her suspicions, but she was one-hundred-percent certain Daisy was not Joey’s killer.

  As she walked past Vivianne’s office, she heard sound of a file cabinet drawer being slammed and some muttered curse words. Araminta poked her head inside. She saw Vivianne fuming as she stared down at an open ledger book on her desk. A folder lay open beside it. Her eyes narrowed. Something in that folder must be pretty bad, because the girl looked as if she wanted to rip more than the paper in front of her in half, if she could get her hands on it.

  Sasha and Arun at her heels, Araminta nudged the door open a bit more and walked inside. “Vivianne? Is everything all right?”

  “What?” Vivian snapped. Then, seeing who was there, she attempted to school her anger. “Yes, yes. Perfectly fine. How are you, Ms. Moorecliff?”

  “Very well, to be honest. Mr. Romano just gave us a hefty donation for the cat show in a few weeks. The local shelter will be able to do some much-needed upgrades, I believe, and Cynthia may even be able to look into a new feline health program as well.”

  “Congratulations,” Vivianne said. She smiled, but it was more posturing than heartfelt. Araminta could still see the fire of anger in her eyes. Pushing back from the desk, she picked up the folder and walked across the room to put it back into the filing cabinet Araminta had heard her slam a drawer on earlier. “I usually enjoy the job, too, but today—today you’ve caught me at a sensitive moment.”

  Araminta shook her head. “I understand. It has to be difficult being back at work so soon after—”

  “Joey’s death?” The drawer slammed again. Vivianne went back to her seat and dropped into it, a scowl drawing her brows together. “You would think, right? But no. I’m actually quite angry at him at the moment.”

  That much was obvious, but Araminta didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asked, “Is there anything I can get or do for you?” She did feel bad for the girl; most people needed time off after the death of a loved one, but Vivianne must be the type who liked to work through her grief.

  “If you’re a genie, maybe, and have the ability to grant me clarity.” She wrote a line in the ledger in front of her then thumped her pen onto the book. Covering her face with her hands, Vivianne shook her head. “How could I not have known he was such a cheat? How? Am I really so blind?”

  Araminta’s gaze shifted to the ledger. Vivianne was doing the accounting for Tony. Was she calling him a cheat? She walked over to give Vivianne a consoling pat on the shoulder and hopefully calm her down before her boss got wind of her accusations and... well, Araminta didn’t want to even think what might happen after that. Araminta didn’t imagine that Tony was the type of guy who took being called a cheat lightly.

  “There, there. I am sure Mr. Romano has an explanation—” Araminta started, but Vivianne cut her off.

  “Not Tony. Tony would never do such a thing. I’m talking about Joey Tuccinelli, Ms. Moorecliff. I’ve just discovered he was using company money to send another woman flowers!”

  She pushed her chair back and stared at Araminta, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “I suppose he thought no one would notice since Tony has a standing order with the florist uptown, but it’s clear these orders are from Joey. I know all of Tony’s expenditures, and these are unauthorized. He was using Tony’s account to send flowers to that floozy and thought we wouldn’t notice.”

  As if she’d just realized who she was speaking to, Vivianne bit off the rest of her retort. Araminta figured it must have been Daisy to whom Joey had been sending the flowers. He’d had a picture of her in his car—a photo that must have been the one to set Vivianne’s temper off the night before Joey had been shot.

  Thoughts of the death brought about thoughts of the murder weapon. A small-caliber gun. Not a lot of noise. Maybe the kind of gun a woman would tend to carry—a handgun. Something that would fit easily inside a purse, she thought.

  It also made sense for Daisy to have been the floral recipient because the flowers had stopped coming the day Joey was shot. “Just curious, but... do you own a handgun, Vivianne?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. In this part of the city, pretty much every female I know carries one for protection, so yes, I own one. But I no longer have it. The thing was stolen.” She tilted her head to one side and peered questioningly at Araminta. “A strange coincidence, is it not?”

  “Yes, actually…” She was going to say something else about how it seemed rather convenient, as well, but Sasha and Arun had suddenly taken interest in the potted tree in the corner, and Araminta had a horrifying moment where she thought they were about to start digging in the thing. She pulled them away immediately. They never dug in the potted plants in the solarium at home, but she wasn’t sure the allure of new, unexplored soil would not tip their curiosity scale.

  By the time she had the cats in hand, Vivianne seemed to have recovered her composure. All mention of the handgun forgotten for the moment, she said, “I’m happy Mr. Romano gave a donation, Ms. Moorecliff. He’s always like that, you know? A very generous man—and he does so love his cat.”

  With no real reason to linger, Araminta thanked her and said her goodbyes, but as she walked away toward the elevators, she couldn’t help but think she had just received more clues in the search for Joey’s killer.

  Still, something was missing in all this hullabaloo that had led to murder, and the suspicion being cast on Daisy was the result of that. But Daisy was innocent. Araminta knew it as well as she knew her own heart.

  It made perfect sense that Joey was killed in the hydrangeas. He’d been watching Daisy. Stalking her. Taking pictures. And now it was clear: someone had figured out he’d been stalking her and followed him there to make sure he never did it again.

  Arun put his paws up on the armrest in the back of the Moorecliff limo and watched the passing scenery. He didn’t get to come into the city much and enjoyed seeing the brownstones and businesses rush past. It was a nice break from the country where the Moorecliff estate was, but he wouldn’t want to live there.

  Sasha had chosen to cuddle next to Araminta, who appeared to be deep in thought as she stroked the cat’s fur.

  “That was an interesting visit,” Arun said.

  “Yes, but I prefer to stay home and wander in the gardens. Provided there are no dead bodies, of course.” Sasha purred. “What do you make of this flower business th
at Vivianne spoke of?”

  “We’ve sniffed the flowers that come to the house and have not smelled any clues.”

  “Yes, but now that we know Joey was sending them, it lends credence to the fact that he was obsessed with Daisy,” Sasha said. “And now that we know that Vivianne knows… well doesn’t that make her more suspicious?”

  Arun thought about that for a beat. “No, actually it doesn’t. She just now found out he was sending them. She didn’t know before the murder.”

  “She’s still suspicious in my book,” Sasha huffed.

  “True. Did you see the picture of Bear? He looks like a fine feline.”

  “Sure.” Sasha groomed behind one ear. “I’d like to meet him one day.”

  Arun frowned at the tone in his friend’s voice. He though Sasha was above that sort of feline activity. “I bet he smells like cigars. Tony’s office and clothing reeked.”

  “Good point. It was noxious. I’m glad Araminta doesn’t smoke. I don’t know how Bear could stand it.” Sasha’s whiskers twitched as if she were reevaluating her desire to meet Bear. “And he doesn’t keep the cigar smoking to his office, either. I saw a cigar stub in the potted plant.”

  Arun had wondered if Sasha had picked up on that. “Too bad Araminta didn’t see it.”

  “I think she was too focused on Joey’s flower deliveries and trying to make sure we didn’t uproot the plant. But why would you want her to see it? Clearly, Tony has been in Vivianne’s office.”

  “Yes, but what if the cigar stub isn’t from Tony?”

  Sasha’s eyes widened. “You mean Vivianne? I don’t think she’s the type to smoke cigars, do you?”

  “You never know. I just find it curious that Tony would use the plant. He had several ashtrays in his office, and he is very meticulous.”

  “Vivianne doesn’t seem the type to use the plant either.”

  “Maybe. Let’s not forget the cigar butts we found on the lawn.”