Bloom and Doom (6 page)

Larry spoke first, cradling his cup of black coffee in both hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Did you know Derek well?” I asked.

Larry shook his head. “No, just . . . well, the additional greenhouse and fields I expanded to last year. I rented the facilities, hoping to buy. Derek manages the property . . . managed.”

“Not surprising,” Amber Lee added. “Old man Rawling picked up a bunch of real estate—foreclosed homes and failing businesses—at a discount when the bubble burst, and he created a job for his son in managing the properties.”

“Not that Derek does much managing,” I added, thinking about Grandma Mae’s cottage.

“Audrey,” Liv scolded.

“Sorry.” I exhaled deeply into my coffee cup, feeling the steam warm my cheeks. “I guess I forgot he was dead.”

Larry nodded, looking into his cup. “It’s no secret that some of the properties could be better cared for. Except Rawling owns so much local real estate, it’s hard to do business without him.”

The counter server wandered over with two steaming coffeepots and offered refills—which we all accepted.

Liv requested decaf.

“Since when do you go unleaded?” I asked.

“I’m jittery enough as it is. I just wonder what this is going to do to Eric’s work. I know people say that Derek was slow to make repairs, but when he did, he generally contracted with my husband. What if Rawling hires someone else to do the work?”

“And who would that be?” Amber Lee assured her, patting her hand. “Everyone knows Eric does the best work in town.”

Liv would not be consoled. “But what if he hires someone from outside of Ramble? Rawling owns a lot of property, from West Virginia all the way to the DC line.” The pitch of her voice rose and her jaw trembled. “What if he went with a bigger construction company for all of them? We can’t afford to lose income right now—”

I grabbed her other hand and held it. Perhaps too tightly. In the movies someone would have slapped her across the face to calm her. But I doubted the town of Ramble would approve of anything that dramatic. “Liv, it will be fine. Eric does great work and everyone knows it. Even if Rawling were foolish enough to hire some outsider to work in Ramble, quality always rises to the top . . . like cream.”

She squeezed my hand in return—whether to show she appreciated my attempt to encourage her or in revenge, I wasn’t sure. Florists develop strong fingers.

“I wonder how much of a shop we’ll have left when Bixby’s done.” Liv craned her neck to peek down the alley. “We might need more flowers, Larry.”

“They’re taking your flowers?” Larry asked. “Why would they . . . ?” He blanched. “You don’t think they’ll search my greenhouses, do you?”

“They’re only taking some of our flowers,” I said. “Probably like the ones they found near the body.”

“There were flowers near the body?” Amber Lee asked.

“Amber Lee, try to keep this under your hat,” I said. “But Derek was found dead in his car with the bouquet that Jenny and I made yesterday.”

“That’s not going to be good for business if that gets out.” Liv leaned forward and rubbed her temples. “Or good for Jenny.”

“Well, nobody will hear it from me.” Amber Lee was wide-eyed. “I may like to imbibe in a little gossip now and then, but I steer clear of anything that could ever harm someone—especially you two. So you think Jenny did this?”

I shook my head. “No, not in a million years. But you know that’s what Bixby is going to think . . . what Bixby
already
thinks.” I used a napkin to wipe the sticky jelly from my fingers. “And I’m afraid I’m going to be his key witness. I saw Jenny climb into the car with Derek, with both the bouquet and the knife. That’s pretty strong circumstantial evidence.”

“Maybe she broke up with Derek in the car and he got violent,” Amber Lee suggested. “Maybe she defended herself.”

“Bixby already suggested that.” I recalled how tentatively Jenny had used the knife on the flowers in the shop. I couldn’t picture her using it against a human, particularly someone she had feelings for—the breakup aside.

“Or what if,” Liv started, “she was upset and ran out of the car, leaving the bouquet and the knife behind?”

“That”—Amber Lee tapped the table—“is more like it. I can see her doing just that.”

“Then,” Liv continued, “someone saw Derek in the car. Maybe Derek offered him a ride. Maybe . . .” Liv perked up, her eyes sparkling and her tone animated. “Maybe the killer wasn’t someone from Ramble after all. Maybe it was some stranger passing through. Some psycho, serial-killing tramp.”

“Who just happened to be there at the right time,” I said. “And whom Derek allowed in his expensive sports car. And who just happened to find a knife in the bag left behind, plunged it precisely in the right place to kill Derek almost instantly, then managed to slip away unseen, despite being saturated in blood.”

Liv grasped her stomach. “Audrey . . .”

“Sorry, Liv,” I said. “I’d like to think some passing stranger did this. But I just don’t see how that could be.” I tried to shift the subject. “But you’re right. The knife and the flowers prove Jenny was in the car. They don’t prove that she did it.”

“So assuming Jenny didn’t do it,” Amber Lee said, “someone with a motive to kill Derek must have seen him in the car . . . someone Derek knew and trusted enough to give a ride to . . .”

I nodded. “Although . . .”

All eyes at the table turned to me.

I searched for words that wouldn’t turn Liv Martian green again. “Say someone wanted to kill Derek, and that someone even followed him to Jenny’s. If he had come to kill Derek, why not bring a weapon more reliable and less . . . messy?”

• • •

We sat in
the sun in front of the Brew-Ha-Ha for almost an hour before officers came to retrieve us, one by one, from our coffee klatch. When my turn came, I found myself facing Bixby, sitting in, of all places, my consulting nook. I found it difficult not to be distracted by the disarray and activity in the shop. I took a moment to close my eyes and focus, pretending I was running through a field of wildflowers, letting the wind billow through my hair as I twisted and belted out a song. Okay, maybe that was Julie Andrews.

“Audrey,” Bixby started, and then he barely got his tissue to his nose before he let out the loudest sneeze I’d ever heard.

I studied his face. His time in our little shop had left him red eyed and tearful, and the skin under his nose was chafing away like he was an extra in some low-budget zombie movie. I dug under the table and pulled out my box of tissues.

He grabbed one and sneezed again, shattering forever my Julie Andrews moment. The hills were alive with the sound of . . . something entirely different.

“I know you’re Jenny’s friend,” he began, his voice softer and more encouraging. “So I don’t expect you to volunteer anything that would be harmful to her.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“But what I would like you to do is tell the truth. The whole truth. Anything you can to help us solve the case and put Derek’s killer—whoever that might be—behind bars. You want that, right?”

I bobbed my head in a tentative nod. True, we both wanted the real killer caught and behind bars. Perhaps it would be best just to tell him everything I knew. I needed to give Kane Bixby more credit. The Mr. Rogers routine was working on me.

“So Jenny made an appointment to see you yesterday afternoon . . .”

“Yes.” My voice came out hoarse. I wished I’d brought my coffee with me, but four cups sat heavy on my stomach. I cleared my throat. “She called earlier in the day, and Liv told me she was coming in.”

“To discuss her wedding flowers?”

“That’s what I assumed. I hoped to get her to change her order. Jenny’s mother picked—”

“How did Jenny seem when she arrived?”

“She seemed . . .” I searched my brain for the right word. “Resolved.”

“Resolved?”

“Jenny always tended to be a bit of a people pleaser . . . and indecisive. She seemed more sure of herself.”

“But she didn’t just want to change her order, did she?”

“No, she told me to cancel it.”

“Because . . .”

I exhaled deeply. The whole truth. “Because she planned to break up with Derek.”

“Did she say why?” Bixby leaned forward. “Was he cruel to her? Abusive?”

“No,” I said. “At least not that I know of. She told me he was always kind to her.”

Bixby seemed put off by that answer. Like it wreaked havoc with his theory. He rubbed his tissue under his nose again.

“Jenny will tell you the same thing,” I added. “Just talk to her. I’m sure she can clear this whole thing up.”

“Miss Bloom, this is a murder investigation, not a misunderstanding. You can be sure Miss Whitney will receive all the due process—”

“You’ve arrested her?”

“Let’s just say we’re questioning her. Formal charges will come later if—”

I stood and rapped the table. “Listen to yourself, Bixby. ‘Miss Whitney.’ ‘Formal charges.’ You’ve known Jenny since she was a little girl. Do you honestly think she could have done this thing?”

“Miss Bloom . . . Audrey. Please sit down.”

I closed my eyes and sank back into my chair. He handed me the box of tissues and I wiped away a tear of . . . anger? Sympathy? Frustration? Even I didn’t know.

“Yes, I’ve known Jenny her entire life,” he said. “But human nature is not always so simple, and people can be capable of more than we give them credit for. Both good and evil. I have to go where the evidence leads.”

“The circumstantial evidence.”

Bixby waved off my comment. “That’s why I’m being thorough—why I want to account for all the knives, for example, and not just assume. Can you see that?”

I exhaled. How can anyone argue with Mr. Rogers? I made a mental note to send him a cardigan for Christmas.

“Now, any idea where the last knife could be? Might a customer have gotten hold of it?”

I shook my head. “Not likely. We use them in the back of the house—maybe take them on big jobs for last-minute alterations. But we just got these a couple of weeks ago.”

“So it would have to be in the possession of an employee—or someone with access to the back room.”

I nodded.

“You, Liv, Amber Lee. Larry, although he’s not an employee, still has access to the back room. You said Jenny was a new employee?”

“Not on the books yet. She’d only been back there once.”

“Any other employees?”

“Two part-time cashiers who help us out in the evenings and make some deliveries. College students. Good kids.”

“I’ll need their names and addresses.”

A lump formed in my throat thinking about the police arriving at their dorm rooms or frat houses.

“Anyone else been in the back room lately?”

“No, not that I . . . oh, wait . . . the reporter.”

“For the article in the
On
?”

“Yes, Ben Hanson and the photographer were both back there.”

Bixby nodded. “I’ll check it out.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“What for?”

“For looking into other possibilities, and not just assuming Jenny did this.”

“Audrey, I’m just dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Mr. Rogers was gone, maybe was never there. Across from me now sat the police chief who was going to railroad my friend.

He could forget that cardigan.

After retrieving my purloined shop knife for
the deputy, I concluded only one thing could salvage the day. So, despite the spring shower that had rolled in, I climbed into the Rose in Bloom CR-V and headed to Five Guys for a little bacon cheeseburger and fries. Still waiting on a call from Liv to tell me that Bixby had graciously allowed us back into our own building, I decided I could enjoy my meal in the comfort of my own apartment. Maybe get at my laundry. Yeah, right.

When I opened my apartment door, Chester flew out. At least I think that was what happened. I saw only a streak of gray fur. I set my takeout bag on the porch and managed to locate him underneath my neighbor’s pickup, rubbing his chin against one of the tires.

“Audrey, is that fur ball under my truck again?” My neighbor Tom appeared on cue, keys in hand. “I have to go to work.”

I got down on my knees on the wet pavement. “Here, kitty, kitty,” I said, more for Tom’s benefit, to impress upon him that I was making an effort. He knew as well as I did that Chester never comes when called.

Instead, Chester licked his paw, looking amused at the whole “kitty, kitty” routine. When I reached out to grab him, he darted farther under the truck.

“Chester . . .”

“Audrey, if they dock my pay, I’m going to charge you. Now get him out of there.”

I slid onto my back, feeling the cool rain work its way through the fabric of my spring jacket and pants. As I inched my way under the truck, Chester came over and sniffed my hand. I made a move to grab him but ended up with a tuft of gray fur in my fingers and scratches on my arm. Meanwhile Tom’s work boot tapped on the other side of the pickup.

“Tom, could you hand me that bag I brought home?”

“Your lunch?”

“I want to see if I can lure him out.”

Tom unceremoniously tossed my bag under the truck. I wrestled among the fries until I found my cheeseburger. I tore a little of the meat off and waved it in Chester’s direction. “Num-num?”

“Audrey!”

I ignored Tom’s impatience as Chester advanced toward me and sniffed the bit of burger. When he took the bait, I grasped him firmly under both his front legs and shimmied out from underneath the truck. When I stood up, Chester safe and sound, I shivered as the spring breeze hit the cold water that had penetrated my clothing to the skin.

“Finally!” Without so much as a “thank you,” or “sorry about your clothes,” Tom hopped into the cab of the pickup and took off, his tires narrowly missing my lunch, I might add. I’d remember that the next time I got an inkling to practice my tuba at odd hours.

I tossed a squirmy Chester back inside while I gathered my burger and fries. I could hear him pawing at the screen door, so I stomped on the porch before entering. I don’t know if Chester thought it was a game, or if the stomping transformed me into an abominable snowman or something fierce and dangerous, but he always scampered away and hid under the bed to gnaw on my shoes, allowing me to get inside without risking him escaping again. I hoped he wouldn’t end up with some cat neurosis, but at least he wouldn’t get run over by a car.

After changing into clean sweats, I threw my clothes on top of the overflowing laundry basket and sat down to my cold lunch and more thoughts of Jenny and Derek.

• • •

Liv rested her
head on her hands and stared at the silent telephone. The only call we’d received all afternoon—after Bixby returned the shop back to us—had been from her husband, Eric, calling to see how we were.

The deluge of business generated by the newspaper article had disappeared. Even the normal trickle of afternoon customers dried to nothing.

“Look on the bright side,” I said, “with no cutting tools, we’d have trouble filling orders anyway.”

“Are we going to survive this?” Liv massaged her temples. “All the work we put into this place”—she gestured to the shop, where Amber Lee and I were still trying to put things back to rights—“and it could come crashing down in a moment. And there’s not a blessed thing we can do about it.”

“Hey.” I crossed the room and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

She burst into tears. “And I was going to add fruit baskets,” she wailed. “Me and my dreams.” I pulled her toward me as her tears seeped through my shirt. “Maybe I should just quit and start on those grandchildren Eric’s mom keeps hinting about.”

Amber Lee stole over and rubbed Liv’s back with manicured nails. “Honey, one day does not a business ruin. I’m sure people are just waiting until the police car is gone, and then they’ll be in here by the droves. All of Ramble will want to hear more about it, and they’ll know they can come in here and talk to us. And it would only be polite to buy something in return, right?”

I bit my lower lip. “Don’t forget, we’ll get orders for flowers for the Rawlings once the news gets out.”

Liv’s eyes brightened momentarily, then she started wailing. “We prey on the dead, Audrey. What a morbid business! We should have never bought this shop. And now my stupid dream is going to cost us everything. If it weren’t for my bright ideas, you could have afforded to keep Grandma’s cottage. And Eric could have a wife who stayed home, cooked wholesome dinners, and gave him a quiverful of rug rats.”

“Pull yourself together, woman.” I was a bit taken aback. I’d never known Liv to be quite this emotional. In the privacy of the shop, unlike earlier on Ramble’s main thoroughfare, I could do something to control her uncharacteristic hysterics. I grasped both her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Liv, saying we profit on death is like saying a doctor profits on sickness. We provide a way for people to offer condolence and comfort through flowers. And we’ll do our best to respect and support the grieving.”

Liv took a deep breath and hiccupped.

“As for the rest of it, you know this shop was just as much my dream as yours. And maybe I’ll own Grandma’s cottage again someday, or maybe it’s not meant to be. But I’m happy here, working with my cousin and best friend every day, doing what we’ve always loved.”

Liv nodded through her tears.

“And as far as Eric is concerned, you can start on that collection of rug rats whenever you want. We can put in a little playpen by the gazebo. But since when did you cook?”

Liv sniffed and smiled. “I could always learn.”

“Maybe you should go home,” I suggested. “Get some rest. Amber Lee and I can put things back together here.”

Liv exhaled deeply. “No, thanks, Audrey. Let me just get my head screwed on straight. You’re right. We’re going to get calls for funeral arrangements. And people will come in to gawk and buy.” She straightened her apron. “I don’t know what came over me, but I’m all right now.” She gave us both a half smile and shooed us back to our work.

Moments later, the bell above the door tinkled. It wasn’t a customer but Shelby, one of our part-time workers, who walked in. Although he was slight in stature, muscular arms flexed as he slipped a shop apron over his pastel-tinted sports shirt.

Shelby was only twenty-four, but a receding hairline suggested more age. The remaining dark hair was conservatively cut. He was completing his first year of studies in floral design and horticulture at Nathaniel Bacon University, located in the county seat about fifteen minutes away. He—Shelby, that is, and not Nathaniel Bacon—already displayed a gift for novel designs, 80 percent of which were executable. Unfortunately, most of our work tended to be more traditional. But when facing a customer who desired a more outside-the-box look, Shelby was already our go-to guy. As he progressed in his studies, we hoped to make him a larger part of our business—if we didn’t lose him to some big-city floral design studio.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “And why is my dad towing a police car away from the building?”

“Towing?” I looked through the large windows at the front of the shop to see Shelby’s father, Mack, hook up a police car to his tow truck cable. My curiosity got the better of me. I headed out the door.

“Hey, Mack,” I said.

“Audrey.” He stole a glance at his son in the shop. I hoped one day he would reconcile to Shelby’s career choice.

“What happened to the squad car? Nothing major, I hope.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Just that Lafferty kid leaving the lights on again. Drained the battery. Won’t even take a jump this time.”

I watched as Mack maneuvered both vehicles into traffic and toward his shop on the outskirts of town. A few townsfolk, who stopped to watch the police car being towed, turned and went about their business, after a quick glance my way. Maybe Amber Lee was right. Maybe we’d see a few of them come in later to discover what had happened.

As I turned to walk inside, our other part-timer jogged up the sidewalk. Passersby parted to give him a wide berth. Darnell’s muscular frame and shaved head made him an imposing figure, which I’m sure his college football team exploited. At least until he smiled. Then the fierce face melted into Ferdinand the Bull. And like Ferdinand, who desired nothing more than to sit under a tree smelling the flowers all day, Darnell had a gift—one he perpetually denied and refused to cultivate. We allowed him to think he’d just taken the job for the money.

He opened the door for me, and soon we were all gathered around relaying the story to our newcomers.

“So what are we supposed to tell customers when they ask about the police?” Darnell asked.

Amber Lee started. “What if we just tell them that we were supposed to provide the flowers for the upcoming wedding and that Derek was near the shop before he died? Or maybe mention that Jenny was supposed to start working here?”

My heart sank. “If we mention Jenny, it’s just going to draw attention to her—and if we mention the job, the news of the breakup is sure to follow. She’ll be vilified.”

“Then we’ll stick to the idea that we were doing the flowers for the wedding?” Liv scanned the faces for consensus. We all nodded. “Now, we’re going to have some long, difficult days ahead. There are sure to be curious customers, orders for condolence and funeral arrangements—and let’s not forget the wedding on Saturday.”

I took a deep breath. “Derek’s funeral will be held later in the week,” I said. “Hopefully not on Saturday, but even so, both events are going to be huge.” I thought of Carolyn’s lavish arrangements, which would require all of our efforts to execute.

“We’re going to need more help,” Liv said.

“There’s a few kids in my design classes who might want some professional experience for their résumés,” Shelby said. “With a little instruction . . .”

“And if you need some willing bodies,” Darnell added, “I could recruit a few of my teammates to fetch and carry. They might jump at the chance to pick up a few bucks.”

“They could be a big help delivering some of the larger arrangements,” I said. “And maybe some of the prep work and cleanup.”

Liv nodded. “We’re going to need more flowers.”

Larry poked his head in from the back room. “Did someone say more flowers? I’ve got your order still waiting in the truck, and if you need more than I can supply, I can recommend other growers nearby to supplement.”

Liv noticeably choked up and she kissed Larry on the cheek. Maybe not the most professional of greetings, but Larry, a longtime friend of Grandma Mae’s, seemed more like an uncle to us. I followed suit.

“But we’re going to need more knives and stem cutters,” Amber Lee said.

“Do you think we can make do with stuff from the hardware store?” Darnell asked.

“I could go with him and pick out some nice pruning shears,” Shelby added.

I looked at the circle of earnest faces and felt a tickle in the back of my throat. It was our own little version of
It’s a Wonderful Life
. “Now all we need is customers,” I said.

Just as Shelby and Darnell headed out to the hardware store, our first post-Derek customer arrived. Nick Maxwell, still in baker’s whites, stepped in and looked around the decimated shop. Seeing the empty cooler, he chose a potted red geranium. As I rang it up for him, I pondered its dual meaning—
comfort
or
stupidity
—and wondered which of the two, if either, the next few days held in store.