Daisies for Innocence (11 page)

“Yeah,” she said slowly. But I could tell she was unconvinced.

I climbed onto one of the counter stools and swiveled to face my friend. “I need to find out more about Josie. I mean,
someone
hated her enough to kill her.” I sighed. “It’s a shame about her brother. If my sister was murdered, even if we weren’t close, I’d be there in the thick of things.”

“You
aren’t
close to your sister,” my friend said.

“Half sister,” I said. “But that proves my point. If anything happened to her I’d at least show up in Los Angeles to see if I could help.”

“Would Colby?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

Astrid shrugged. “I don’t know. Men are different.” She pushed back and reached for her backpack on the floor. “Besides, Silver Wells is only forty minutes away. It’s not like Josie’s brother can’t make the trip to Poppyville if the police need him for any reason.”

“Somebody is going to have to clean out Josie’s apartment,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go see him. Offer my condolences and see if there isn’t some way I could help with that.”

“Um, I don’t think Detective Lang would like you ‘helping’ to dispose of Josie’s things,” Astrid said with a dry expression. “Not until you’re cleared as a suspect at least.”

Rubbing my hand over my face, I said, “Yeah, you’re right. But I’d still like to talk to her brother, maybe learn something about her background. I knew so little about her.” Out of nowhere, tears threatened. I blinked them away. “That’s kind of awful, when you think about it. She worked for me at the Roux Grill and then here, and I didn’t know too much about her.”

“You can’t be expected to know everything about everyone,” Astrid said.

She was trying to help, I knew. But I still felt guilty. Hopping down from the stool, I reached behind the counter and retrieved a pad of paper and a pen to make a list.

“So one thing is to talk to her brother, Vance Overland.” I looked up. “I wonder why they didn’t get along?” I jotted a note on the pad. “Who else could have had it in for Josie?”

“Harris.”

I grimaced and tapped the pen against my chin. “I thought of that. Still, I don’t think he has it in him to stab anyone. He’d yell and swear, but if he ever
really
wanted someone dead and screwed up the courage to do it—which is pretty unlikely—he’d poison them. Stabbing is . . . too messy.”

Slowly, Astrid nodded. “I see what you mean.”

“Josie moved here a few years ago from Silver Wells. I was thinking about how sometimes the past can catch up with a person. For all we know, her murderer might not even be from here. That’s one reason I want to talk to her brother.”

Astrid looked skeptical.

“Yeah. Unlikely, huh. But who in town had it in for her? Her coworkers at the Roux Grill?”

“How about her creepy apartment manager?” Astrid made a face as though she’d just squished a spider.

Pointing my finger at my friend, I nodded. “Good point. Tom Steinhart definitely disliked her.” I added him to my list. “What about her cleaning clients?” I looked up. “She was so busy that I think she only had three or four at any given time.”

“Ooh,” Astrid breathed. “But who knows what kinds of untoward secrets a housekeeper might stumble into?”

I
FELT
a frisson of excitement at her words. I might just be able to pull off finding Josie’s killer. And even if I couldn’t, I could at least expand the suspect pool beyond yours truly. My shoulders slumped. “But I don’t know who they were.” Then I brightened. “I bet Maggie can tell me.”

“Well, I know of one house Josie cleaned,” Astrid said, swinging the backpack over her shoulder. “Gene and John Trace.”

“John’s involved with the community theater, isn’t he?” I asked. “And as I recall, last year Gene helped Maria Canto with the fund-raiser to update the children’s section in the library.” From what else I knew, they were a couple of former Internet moguls from Silicon Valley who had retired to Poppyville about four years before.

“That’s them,” she said. “They live out on the south
side of town, in that Frank Lloyd Wright–style place overlooking the river. But they’re off the hook as murder suspects, because they’ve been gone a week. They won’t be back from San Francisco until this afternoon.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I take care of their German shepherd when the guys are gone. I pick her up and board her at Dr. Ericsson’s, then take her out for a run or two every day.”

“Didn’t you have to jog a German shepherd the other morning?” I asked. The morning before Josie died.

She nodded. “Yes, that’s her. Alexandra. She’s a sweetie—older, has arthritis.”

“They sound pretty wealthy. I bet they could have hired someone to kill Josie,” I mused.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Right. Because that happens all the time in real life. Besides, those guys are so nice. Philanthropists and advocates for the homeless. I can’t imagine Gene and John had any reason to dislike Josie, forget killing her.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about that house,” I said with a smile.

“It’s beautiful—if you like Prairie School architecture.”

“I’d love to see inside,” I hinted again. “Are you taking the dog to them, or do they pick her up?”

One side of her mouth pulled back as she caught my drift. “I’m taking Alexandra back to them this evening. You want to come with?”

I grinned. “That would be great.” They might not be suspects, but perhaps they could tell me something useful about Josie.

“Okay, I’ll let you know,” she said with a smile in return. Then it dropped as she glanced toward the door and changed the subject. “So what’s the deal with Bongo Pete? Did you do something to make him angry?”

“Of course not. In fact I saw him the day before. He wanted to pet Dash—who loved it, of course. When Bongo Pete left he wasn’t any different from usual.”

“He’s just mistaken, then,” she said. “I’m sure anything he says won’t stand up in court, anyway.” She walked toward the door.

Astrid paused and shaded her eyes to peer out at the street. She turned to me and waggled her eyebrows. “Looks like you have company.”

“Who?” I asked, looking at my watch. It was nine o’clock on the dot.

“It’s Thea. And she’s not alone.” Astrid held the door open for the Nelsons. “The shop isn’t open yet, but Ellie’s here.”

“Hey, Astrid,” Thea said, stepping inside. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Ritter. He’s helping me out at the nursery—at least for a while.”

“Ellie mentioned you were back in town,” Astrid said, stepping forward to shake his hand.

I felt myself blush.

“I’m Astrid Moneypenny.”

“Astrid,” he said. “Saw you with Elliana at the Roux Grill yesterday. Nice to meet you.”

“The Roux?” Thea asked.

“Welcome to Poppyville,” Astrid said, saving me from answering. I wondered whether Thea knew Cynthia Beck had already snagged drinks with her brother.

And who knows what else . . .

“I’ve got to go, but I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. See you later, Elligator,” Astrid said.

After she’d gone, Thea turned to me. “I was showing Ritter what’s changed in Poppyville since he’s been gone, and we brought along that mushroom compost you were looking for yesterday. Ritter, go get it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with good humor. “Elliana, where would you like it?”

“Oh! Out back. Through the gate there at the end of the boardwalk.” I walked over to point it out. As I stood next to him, the top of my head didn’t even come up to his chin. He still smelled of cedar, but now it was tempered with the scent of running water, subtle and enticing.

I looked up at him. “Or just leave it out here. I can take it back to the garden.”

He looked surprised. “I won’t hear of it.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” Thea said.

Ritter smiled at me. “No doubt.”

I felt a tingle.

His grin widened, and for a moment I wondered if my face had betrayed my thoughts. Then he turned away and strode out to Thea’s step-side pickup.

“Let’s grab some coffee and meet him out there,” I said to her.

Thea raised her eyebrows at me. “I thought you said the gate was cordoned off. Is it okay to go out there now?”

“It turns out Josie was actually attacked in the park. The police released the boardwalk just before you got here,” I said. “I’ll open up the shop a bit later. And you
know I can’t resist showing off the garden. I’d like Ritter to see your handiwork.”

She harrumphed. “Mostly your handiwork, Ellie, and you know it.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t have created the Enchanted Garden without you. Besides, I have something I want to ask you about.”

We went through the shop and grabbed three mugs of coffee and some of Astrid’s ginger softies. I slid open the door, and we stepped out to the patio. Ritter had dumped the bag of compost by the hose spigot. He distractedly took the steaming mug from his sister, his head swinging back and forth as he studied the plantings, the fence line, and the flagstones.

I was pleased that there was little evidence that careless feet had tromped through the garden. I’d trimmed the lavender into a neat mound, removed the broken rose canes and snapped cone flowers, and smoothed the crushed hazelnut shells I used as mulch. I’d even had time to repair the green sea glass path that lead to the purple fairy door.

“So you found Josie out front?” Thea asked.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Her foot was caught in the gate there.”

Ritter looked over at me. “That must have been scary.”

“It was. And it sure doesn’t help that”—I licked my lips—“the police still consider me their best suspect.” I’d left out that tidbit the previous afternoon when I’d filled in the Nelsons on Josie’s murder.

Now Ritter eyed me. “You? Why?”

I ticked the reasons off on my fingers. “Because she
died here. Because I found her. And because she was dating my ex-husband.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gaze assessing. “And you still have a thing for your ex.”

“No!” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. No, I don’t. But that didn’t stop him from telling the police that I was crazy jealous, and that made them assume I wanted Josie dead.”

Thea said, “Wait a minute. I thought the police figured out Josie was attacked in the park, not here.”

“That’s right. But you know what?” I held up my pinkie finger. “The fourth reason they think I killed her is because Bongo Pete says he saw me walking Dash after midnight—in Raven Creek Park.”

Ritter sat down on another rocker, his brow wrinkle deepening. “Bongo Pete?”

“Homeless guy who does odd jobs for Gessie,” Thea explained. “But . . . were you even there, Ellie?”

“See? Anyone in town would have asked the same question, given the source of the information.” I sighed, and my voice lowered. “But yeah, I was there. I couldn’t sleep, so Dash and I went out for a bit of fresh air a bit after ten.”

“What were you thinking?” She sounded scandalized. “Walking by yourself at night like that—and in a secluded area, too.”

I shrugged. “I was thinking that this is Poppyville, and taking a quick walk after dark would be fine. Dash was with me. And you know what? It
was
fine.” I turned toward where I’d found Josie. “Well, except for . . . you know. And I did hear a rustle, behind me in the trees, on my way back.”

Thea closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.

Ritter muttered, “Jeez,” under his breath.

“But Bongo Pete was wrong about when he saw me. If he saw me at all,” I said.

“The man definitely has a unique relationship with time—and reality,” Thea said, and then to Ritter. “Pete is a good guy, nice, but he has some problems.”

“When I was walking in the park that night,” I said, “Josie was still at work at the Roux Grill. But I can’t prove that.” I took a deep breath. “I feel terrible that she’s dead. Someone needs to pay for that—but not me. If Detective Lang is going to focus entirely on making the case against me, then I need to come up with a better answer for the next time Detective Garcia asks if I know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Josie.”

Thea leaned forward. “Is that what you wanted to ask me about?”

Actually, I’d wanted to ask her about the strange vine that had appeared near the birdbath. I turned toward it and opened my mouth to ask if she recognized it, but instead found myself asking, “Would you go to Silver Wells with me to talk with Josie’s
brother?”

T
HEA
and Ritter both looked surprised. He leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed up at me from under his brow. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

“I was hoping he might be able to tell me something about Josie that would help find her killer. And I thought having someone else along might be a good idea.”

Thea raised an eyebrow.

“Detective Garcia said that Josie and her brother didn’t get along. I don’t know the guy, and have no idea what he might do or say.” I glanced at Ritter. “For all I know, Vance Overland could be crazy or violent. And he might have really hated Josie.”

“Enough to kill her?” Ritter asked, getting right to the meat of what I’d been trying to say.

I lifted one shoulder and let it drop again.

“Ellie, I don’t know if going to see her brother is such
a good idea,” Thea said, looking thoughtful. “What if Max Lang finds out?”

“What if he does? He’s not interested in finding any evidence that doesn’t point to me, and he seems to be the one leading the investigation.” Never mind that Lang had also come right out and told me not to leave town.

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’m going to Silver Wells whether you come with me or not,” I heard myself say, surprised at the determination in my voice.

“You can’t just call him?” Thea tried again.

“I’ll go with you, Elliana,” Ritter said. “If you think it might be dangerous, maybe it would be better to have a guy with you.” He raised his palm. “Not that you can’t take care of yourself, or that you and my sister here wouldn’t be a formidable team. I’m just sayin’.”

Relief flooded Thea’s face. “Ritter, no one is taking offense. And honestly, it would be hard for me to get away from the nursery for a chunk of time right now—we’re busy as blazes. Still, I don’t want Ellie to go alone. I’d feel a lot better if you went with her.”

Ritter rocked forward. “What do you say, Elliana. Will I do as a fill-in for my sister?”

Boy, will you!

But I simply smiled and said, “That’d be great. Thanks for the offer.”

He tipped an imaginary hat. “My pleasure, ma’am. Just let me know when you want to go to Silver Wells. I’ll drive if Thea will let me borrow her truck.”

Thea grinned. “Sure, big brother. If you remember
how to drive in the big city after being in the field for so long.”

He stood. “I think I can manage.”

She rose, too, giving me a little wink that made me wonder if she was really as busy at Terra Green as she’d claimed, or if this was a ploy for me to spend some time with Ritter.

Either way, it was okay with me.

Ritter looked at me and said, “What do you say? This afternoon?”

“Oh, gosh,” I said, figuring timetables in my head. Lang had intimated that they had to tie up only a few loose ends before arresting me. “Sooner is better, but I should check with Astrid to see if she can watch the shop.” If I absolutely had to, though, I’d keep Scents & Nonsense closed for the rest of the day. Clearing my name was more important at the moment.

The thought that I had to make that choice made me angry at Max Lang all over again.

“Forget that. I’ll call her, but let’s go ahead and make a plan,” I said. “How does one thirty sound?”

“Perfect,” Ritter said.

I saw them to the front door and locked it behind them. Given the circumstances, I wondered if it was wrong to feel such anticipation about going on this little venture with Ritter. Returning to the garden, I saw that the plant beneath the birdbath appeared to have grown a couple of inches just since that morning. And now there was a hint of purplish petals beginning to push one of the buds open.

Maybe I’d get a chance to ask Ritter about it later that day, I thought as I went in to get my wallet from the
kitchen counter. After all, he was a botanist, and probably knew as much, or more, about plants as Thea did.

I knew I wouldn’t ask, though. For some reason, that plant didn’t want to be talked about.

Stuffing my wallet in my pocket, I returned to the shop, dialing Astrid’s cell as I walked back through the Enchanted Garden. When she didn’t answer, I left a message. Since she’d left work at the veterinary clinic early the day before, my bet was she wouldn’t have time to watch the shop while I went to Silver Wells with Ritter. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

I’m going to have to find another helper. Maybe someone who can come in more often than twice a week.

I was in the office checking to see if there were any phone messages on the landline, when the sound of someone trying the front door brought Dash to his feet like a pointer. I tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. I rose and left the office to explain that the shop would be closed for a while longer.

Inga Fowler stood with her nose nearly touching the glass door, one hand cupped around her eyes to shield them from the morning glare, while the other firmly clasped the hand of a three-year-old boy. A little girl, maybe a year older than her brother, stood on her other side. Inga took a step back, frowning when she saw the hastily scribbled sign I’d placed in the window:

CLOSED DUE TO EMERGENCY

Then she saw me approaching and waved. I unlocked
the door and gestured her inside. As usual, Inga looked as if she’d fallen right off a catalog page: black yoga pants with a high-end logo on the hip, a tight tank in lime green that showed off her stick-thin arms, and she’d harnessed her long straight blond hair with a leather scrunchie at the base of her neck. Nervous energy came off her in waves.

She tugged her son forward, while the little girl trailed behind. They were also perfectly dressed and tidy. “I got your message that you had my perfume ready and thought I’d pick it up on the way to the gym.” Inga pointed to the placard taped to the glass. “Then I saw that. Is everything all right?”

Glancing down at the kids I said, “Hey guys. You want to check out the fairy gardens out back?”

“Yes, please!” the little girl said.

Inga looked surprised. “We have only a few minutes . . .” Then she saw my face, and realized I didn’t want to talk in front of the kids. “Molly, you can go on out for a little while. Take your brother with you.”

“There are some cookies by the coffee urn,” I said.

“Just one,” Inga called to Molly with a tight smile before turning to me. “I try to limit their sugar.”

Her daughter stopped by the plate and scooped up a couple of ginger softies. She glanced at her mother, handed one to her little brother, then led him outside. I heard her say, “Lookit this! I bet a whole family of fairies live in that tree. Oh! Hello, cat!” Her voice faded as she moved farther into the Enchanted Garden.

Inga and I went as far as the back door, so she could
keep an eye on them. They were stooped over now, looking at one of the tiny pathways that disappeared into a cluster of purple sage. She turned to me with a questioning look. “Is it bad?”

I took a deep breath. “You know Josie Overland, don’t you?”

A quick intake of breath, a flash of anxiety in her eyes. She nodded. “Of course. She cleans for me every two weeks.”

“Oh, gosh. I didn’t know that,” I said.
With Astrid’s Internet moguls that makes two housecleaning clients of Josie’s.
“You heard what happened to her, then.”

The skin on her face tightened with alarm, and her trademark anxiousness flashed again. “No. We’ve been in Sacramento for the last week. Just got back into town last night.”

And two for two out of town at the time of the murder.
I suppressed a sigh.

Inga was always high-strung, but today it was worse than usual. She called the concoction I made for her “perfume,” and it did smell delightful, but in truth it was an aromatherapy remedy I’d developed to help her battle the nervous worry she was so prone to. I didn’t know what caused it—perhaps the stress of feeling as if she had to be so perfect all the time. Her husband, Brock Fowler, was wealthy from several different sources, and rumor had it he had some big political aspirations. I also didn’t know whether Inga took any prescription medication to soothe her anxiety, but I did know that the blend of lavender, sweet marjoram, ylang-ylang, and rosewood helped to calm her.

I didn’t like having to tell her Josie was dead when she was in such a state of disquiet; I was already empathically picking up on her energy to the point where I felt jittery. Nevertheless, I plunged ahead as gently as I could.

“Honey, I’m afraid she’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Her voice rose. Molly looked back at her mother from the far side of the garden.

“She was killed two nights ago,” I said.

Inga’s anxiety ratcheted way up, and I felt my own heartbeat quicken.

I put my hand on her arm. “Let me get you your perfume, and then I’ll tell you all about it.” I practically ran into the office to retrieve it. Quickly, I unscrewed the cap and took a deep whiff of it myself. Instantly, the jumpiness I’d absorbed dissipated.

Hurrying back out to where she waited, I thrust the bottle into her hand. I wanted to slather it under her nose. There was no need, however. She immediately spun the cap off and dabbed a bit behind her ears before breathing the vapor directly. Her eyes closed, and I watched her reassert control. After a moment, they snapped back open. “So what was it? Some kind of accident?”

I filled her in on the details.

“That’s horrible,” she finally whispered. Her gaze went to her children. “In Poppyville? But Brock and I moved here to get away from the big city with all its crime. We wanted to raise our kids where it was safe.”

“I know how you feel. But this is an anomaly—you know? The police will catch whoever did it, and things
will go back to normal. It’s a safe place—I’m sure of it.” I couldn’t help defending the town I loved so much.

Inga looked skeptical. “Where did it happen?”

“In the park.”

“If it happened in the park, then why are you closed?” she asked.

“I hope to open Scents and Nonsense again this afternoon,” I nonanswered.

Distracted, Inga didn’t pursue it. She gave me her credit card and called for her children as I got the charge approved. As they came inside, I was happy to see their noses were a bit pink and their hair messy. Molly had a smear of mud on her tennis shoe, just like a normal little kid. Her mother didn’t seem to notice, still preoccupied by the bad news I’d just given her.

When they left, driving west toward the gym, I locked the front door again and let Dash out to the garden. Walking down to my house, I passed the strange waxy-leaved plant by the birdbath. In the past fifteen minutes, a single bud on the interloper had unfurled into a deep plum-colored bloom: seven-petaled with a pale blue center and bright orange pollen-covered stamens that reached toward the sun. I’d never seen anything like it in any of my horticultural studies or any of my books.

My
books. But now that I could see what the flowers looked like, I seemed to remember something like that in Gamma’s nature journal.

Just because I’d decided to end my self-imposed banishment from the restaurant didn’t mean I wanted to deal with my ex again right away. I checked my watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. Harris left for the bank at eleven
thirty every day, and then he stopped by the post office before coming back to the Roux to help with the lunch rush. My guess was his routine hadn’t changed just because I wasn’t in the picture anymore.

So, I could spare a few minutes to try to identify the mystery plant.

“Come on, Dash. Let’s take a quick look.”

I retrieved the journal from under the staircase and brought it out to where the new flower had taken root. Bumblebees droned nearby as I flipped through the pages, scanning drawings and descriptions in Gamma’s flowery script. A recipe for cowslip cordial caught my eye.

To Procure Sleep and Rest.

Cowslips aka Fairy Cups.

Means Winning Grace.

Whatever “winning grace” meant, procuring sleep and rest seemed like a pretty good idea. I made a mental note and kept searching.

There! In the center of the book, I saw the plant that was growing under the birdbath. I smiled broadly and whispered. “I knew you’d know what it is, Gamma.”

The wind chimes tinkled, and I looked up. There was no breeze. They tinkled again.

Frowning, I returned my attention to the drawing. It was faded, certainly, but visible. She’d rendered it in colored pencil, yet somehow managed to capture the waxy texture of the leaves along with the whimsical corkscrew of the stem like something out of a children’s picture book. Her version showed seven blooms at the top of the
plant, just as the buds on the one in front of me promised. Each had seven petals, plum-colored and silky-looking, decorated with sky blue spots down near the stem and arrayed around brilliant orange stamens fluffy with pollen.

A notation well below the faded drawing had an arrow pointing toward the depiction of the flower. It took me a while to make out all the letters. They spelled “mnemosyne.”

My forehead squinched. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

And there was writing in a spiral around the flower as well. I squinted to make it out, turning the journal slowly in my hands to follow the circular writing, which turned out to be a kind of verse.