Daisies for Innocence (7 page)

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Checking in on Maggie. And, er, you seemed pretty upset on the phone—” I began.

“How dare you tell the cops Ellie killed Josie Overland?” Astrid demanded.

Maggie’s fingers crept to her mouth, and her eyes widened. The group of women in the nearby booth turned their heads to look at us. Ritter’s head came up, and Cynthia twisted in her seat.

“Astrid,” I hissed. I hadn’t brought her along so she could confront him for me.

Harris’ face flushed a dangerous crimson, and his eyes narrowed. “Ellie? Now we can’t even have a
conversation without you blowing it all out of proportion to your friends?”

My heart was pounding. God, I hated conflict, and I especially hated conflict with Harris because it seemed as though I could never win.

Not this time.

“Maybe we could talk in your office?” I asked.

He gave a curt nod and stalked toward the back of the restaurant.

We followed—and every eye in the place followed us. As we went by the bar, Astrid reached over and picked up the bourbon Maggie had poured for her and offered it to me. I shook my head. Astrid slugged the shot back with a grimace and thumped the empty glass on the bar.

As I passed by, Ritter quirked an eyebrow and gave me a smile and a subtle nod. Ignoring Cynthia’s scowl, I felt my lips flutter up in a tentative smile in return.

The smells of garlic and butter increased once we were through the kitchen door, along with roasting chicken and the heady aromas of dried rosemary, thyme, and sage that a man I didn’t know was crushing with a mortar and pestle. He was all freckles and ginger hair, gangly arms and knobby joints, which gave him an air of youth. When he grinned down at me, that pang of almost homesickness for the restaurant shot through me again, followed immediately by knee-wobbling relief that I didn’t have to work twelve-hour days in this place anymore.

The office was much as I remembered it: too-big desk facing the door, antique brass lamp in need of a good buffing, and a low file cabinet with piles of paper waiting
to find a home inside. The blind over the window was gray with dust. He’d added a new guest chair, and the computer monitor had been upgraded. Somehow, he’d managed to almost kill the lonely philodendron that hung in the corner. It smelled like dust and . . . I caught a smell that was familiar, but I couldn’t quite . . .

No, wait. It was the cheap aftershave I’d smelled on Josie when I’d discovered her body. Well, that made sense, I guessed. After all, she and Harris were close. I was just glad he hadn’t started using that stuff when we’d been together. It would have driven me away faster than Wanda Simmons had.

“Who do you think you are, coming in here and embarrassing me in front of my staff and my customers?” Harris asked as he closed the door. Those pretty lips curled in a grimace as he waited for me to answer.

Beside me, Astrid rose to her full height. “Listen, you can’t bully—”

“I asked Ellie!” He glowered down at me.

“Stop it, Harris,” I said, keeping my tone firm. I had to stand up to him sometime. “You did a bang-up job of humiliating me last year. The whole town knew what you did, but apparently now you’re the one who needs to let go of the past. I’m over our failed marriage, and I’m over you.”

He let out a long, wounded sigh. “Oh, Ellie. So that’s it? You’re trying to get back at me?”

“Not at all. I’m telling you to stop spreading lies about me. I know you don’t seriously think I killed Josie.”

He shrugged.

“But you know what? Out of pure pettiness, you’ve
complicated the murder investigation,” I said, my voice rising. “You said Josie was the love of your life. What if the police waste time investigating me, and, as a result, don’t find the real killer before he gets away?”

Harris blinked.

Astrid put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed her encouragement.

A sudden crash in the kitchen drew all our attention. Swearing under his breath, Harris jerked the door open and ran out to see what the commotion was. I went to stand in the doorway.

The redhead who had been grinding the herbs stood next to an overturned pan of steaming macaroni and cheese. Gooey sauce flowed slowly from beneath it like yellow lava. He cringed as Harris approached, pointing his finger and streaming curses. I felt sorry for the poor guy; I’d done much the same thing with a vat of gravy once, and had heard about it for a week. And back then I’d supposedly worked with Harris, not for him.

“Come on,” Astrid said from behind me.

“What?” I craned my neck to look up at her.

“You’ve said your piece. You think more will help?”

“Probably not.” I wasn’t convinced anything I’d said would make a difference. For all I knew, I’d only made Harris angry enough to spread more lies and get me into even more trouble.

Skirting the edge of the kitchen, we made our way to the dining room door and slipped out. I didn’t think Harris even noticed, involved in his vitriolic tirade at his employee, but the redheaded cook caught my eye as we left.

He looked utterly miserable, and I felt like a heel for taking off and leaving him there. Part of the reason my ex was reacting so badly to his simple mistake was because of me. Then the cook’s eyes flashed, and he turned back to Harris, who was still hurling insults like a monkey hurling food in its cage. Something in the set of the man’s shoulders set my mind at ease. He was a tough cookie. He’d be fine.

Ritter and Cynthia were gone, their half-finished drinks holding down a couple of ten-dollar bills. The remaining customers, along with a table of newcomers, watched Astrid and me as we made our way back through the dining room. A few murmured comments in our wake, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“What on earth happened back there?” Maggie asked.

“Just an everyday kitchen mishap,” I said. “Though you might run out of mac and cheese a bit early tonight.”

She frowned, then her face cleared, and she shook her head. “Dropped it?”

I nodded. “Just one pan.”

“That Karl. He is a clumsy one.”

“Will Harris fire him?” Astrid asked, placing money on the bar for her drink and waving away Maggie’s offer of change.

“Nah. At least he hasn’t so far, and it isn’t the first time. I think that man of yours just likes to yell sometimes.”

“Not mine, Maggie. Not for a long time.”

“Good for you, honey. Boy, he and Josie sure got into it last night . . .” she trailed off.

“They fought?” I prompted.

Maggie whispered. “By the time we closed, they weren’t even speaking to each other.”

“Come on, Ellie.” Astrid tugged on my arm.

But I leaned closer to the bartender. “When did she leave?”

Maggie shrugged. “The usual time. Around midnight.”

“And what were she and Harris arguing about?” I asked, wondering if it was because she’d told me they were dating.

The door to the kitchen banged open, and Harris filled the door. Suddenly I didn’t care what their fight had been about. I was ready to leave.

Astrid pulled at my arm again, and this time I didn’t resist. “Gotta go,” I said. “See you later,
Maggie.”

O
N
the boardwalk outside, foot traffic was increasing as the dinner hour approached. “I never got my martini,” I said ruefully.

“I have an idea,” Astrid said. She was grinning.

“What?” I asked, instantly suspicious.

“I have a key to Josie’s apartment. Let’s go over there.”

“Are you insane?” I asked.

“Listen, from what you’ve told me, the police consider you a serious suspect, Ellie. Harris only made it worse with his lies. I don’t get the feeling he’s going to retract what he said, either. So it might just come down to you finding out what happened to that poor girl yourself.”

“You
are
insane,” I said. But that didn’t mean she was wrong.

“There’s a fish,” she said.

“A . . . what are you talking about?”

“Josie had a fish,” Astrid said. “I know because she hired me to feed him when she had to be gone for a few days—which is why I have her key. Pretty little betta fish, all by his lonesome in his little acrylic tank, with no one to feed him now. He could starve to death.”

I made a face. “That’s dirty pool.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I just have to pop by my place to pick up the key. And we don’t have to look around if you don’t want to. Just grab the fish and run.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, then stopped. I looked at my watch. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to take a look. And there is that poor fish.”

“Now?” Astrid asked with a smile.

I hesitated for moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

We hurried back down Corona. I had to double step to keep up with my taller friend.

“God. I hope her apartment isn’t some love nest for those two,” I said.

Astrid made a noise of derision. “Please. It was a perfectly nice little apartment when I was there before.” Her eyes cut to me, but she didn’t break stride. “Or is Harris into something weird?”

I snorted a laugh. “Hardly.”

“Well, they probably spent all their time in your old house, anyway,” she said.

We’d reached the corner of Corona and Gilpin, and she turned right. “I’ll grab the key and ride over on my bike.”

She owned an old Peugeot, but drove it only when she had to haul her animal clients—or other people—around.
Otherwise she was always on her bicycle. I, on the other hand, was more of a walker.

“Okay. See you in a few,” I said.

She strode away, and I continued toward Scents & Nonsense.

I eyed the yellow crime-scene tape out on the boardwalk and on my gate, then let myself into the shop and locked the door behind me. As I stepped out the back door, I thought about the ranch-style home Harris and I had lived in. I’d liked it well enough, but it hadn’t been hard to give up as part of the divorce settlement. Pseudo-suburban living hadn’t really been my style, I reflected as I made my way down the path to my current abode.

My steps faltered as my situation really hit home. If I didn’t fix this, I could go to prison. I stopped and looked around the garden I loved so much and at my dream business, closed for the day. I’d be darned if I was going to give up all that I’d worked so hard for over the last year.

I grabbed my car keys and a light jacket, then let Dash out to enjoy the garden. He followed behind me as I returned to the back patio. It would be nice when I could use the garden gate again.

“Now, will you just look at that!” I stopped and reached for the bowl of the fused-glass birdbath at the edge of the patio. Someone had knocked it askew, and it teetered precariously on its stand, on the verge of falling and shattering into a bazillion pieces. Carefully, I snugged it firmly back into place. “I’ll have to remember to refill it when I get back.”

I checked once more to make sure the birdbath was
stable and noticed a thread-thin bright green tendril breaking through the moss at its base.
Probably bindweed,
I thought.
Better pull it out before it can spread.

“I won’t be long,” I told Dash. He gazed up at me with liquid brown eyes. “I promise.”

He grinned easygoing agreement, then went to his bed on the back patio, turned around three times, and lay down with his chin on his paws to await my return.

Astrid was waiting out front, checking the messages on her phone. When I came outside, she stuck the phone in the pocket of her skirt, and we quickly walked to the Wrangler.

Once she’d climbed into the seat, she held up a key hanging from a purple beaded fob. She turned her hand so I could see the name stitched onto it.

JOSIE

Then she put it on her lap and folded her hands over it. “Do you know where she lived?” my friend asked. “Or do you need directions?”

“I took her home a couple of times when her car was in the shop,” I said.

Her car.
When I’d returned from the Roux Grill, the Fiesta hadn’t been parked down the street anymore. As I pulled away from the curb, I imagined it sitting in the police impound lot out by the fairgrounds and wondered who would end up with it. Most people her age didn’t have wills if they didn’t have children, and try as I might, I couldn’t remember Josie talking about her parents or any siblings.

•   •   •

I
PARKED
the Wrangler in the lot of a convenience store, and Astrid and I hoofed it down the block. Josie had lived in an eight-plex on the west side of Poppyville, four up and four down. Hers was an upstairs end unit. Astrid and I looked at each other.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said.

I glared at her. “This was
your
idea.”

At least to start with.

She shrugged.

Now that we were here, I was curious about what we might find in Josie’s home. Though I’d dropped her off, I’d never been inside. I could only hope we might find something to help clear my Harris-smudged name.

“Come on,” I said, and strode up the steps as if we were expected.

Astrid hurried after, then stood behind me as I worked the key into the door lock and gave it a twist. Quickly, we slipped inside.

Standing with our backs to the closed door, we surveyed the living room. Though small, it was quite a bit larger than mine, boasting a sofa and recliner, with a nondescript floor lamp between them. The carpet was sculpted, neutral beige, and the walls were painted a slightly lighter shade of the same color. To the left, a nook held a small table and four chairs, and the open kitchen farther down on the left offered additional seating at the short counter that divided it from the living room.

The walls were covered with enlarged photographs, most of which depicted nature or animals. We took a few
tentative steps into the room. The air smelled of toast. The strains of seventies rock and roll sifted through the thin wall from the adjoining apartment.

“What are we looking for?” Astrid asked.

I shot her a look. “This was your brain wave.”

But she just shook her head, her gaze sweeping the room, back and forth, eyes glistening. “God. I can’t believe she’s never coming back.”

The feelings of loss and disbelief had been circling through my psyche all day, and in that short amount of time I’d grown used to, if not comfortable with, the idea that I’d found Josie’s body that morning. Astrid had seen her for only a brief moment, though, and I realized Josie’s death had been largely theoretical to my friend until right then.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we can help find her killer.”

She sniffed and patted my hand with her own. “Right.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Clues. Look for clues.”

“That’s helpful,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t touch anything. The last thing we need is for the police to find our fingerprints in here.”

“Good point,” she said, walking to the short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. “I’ll look in here.” Using her elbow, she pushed aside the beaded curtain and went into the other room. The strings of beads clicked and rustled behind her.

I left her to the bedroom, suddenly unwilling to stumble into some blatant evidence of Harris sleeping there.

Not that I cared where he slept. It was just . . . unsettling.

I walked around, inspecting the pictures on the walls. There was a stunning close-up of a mariposa lily, the red spots at the base of each of the three petals like spots of blood on white linen. Another photo showed collections of new cattails and alien-looking pussy paws. I was impressed by how Josie had captured the dignity of yerba santa—blessed herb—a gummy purple-topped weed that grew nearly seven feet tall. Gamma had called it nature’s Band-Aid.

Next to it were photos of a field full of blue lupine, goldenrod, and clarkia. Another field was overrun with drifts of daisies. My breath caught, and I began to touch my finger to the frame before remembering and jerking it back. Gamma’s voice rang in my mind:

Daisies for innocence. Chestnuts for justice. Chrysanthemums for truth.

I swallowed, and moved on.

The next picture revealed a steep mountain trail I was pretty sure wound up to Kestrel Peak. Yes: I recognized Falcon Rock, its base worn away by water long rerouted by geologic time to the underground spring that now ran beneath Poppyville. The wide, swooping extensions at the top of the formation did resemble a bird if you stared at it long enough—or if you possessed the talent for photographic composition that Josie obviously had. The stone bird marked the trail halfway to the summit, and, given the flowers in bloom around it, Josie had taken the pictures in the spring.

Only two photos were portraits: one of Josie herself and one of a man wearing a dark suit and a stern expression. He looked a bit older than Josie, but there was
something about the shape of the eyes that told me she’d had at least one sibling.

I stepped back and looked at the array as a whole. There was a picture missing. The blank space off to one side in the arrangement had the hanger still protruding from the wall.

Maybe she sold whatever was there and didn’t have a chance to replace it.

I spied a shoebox of loose photo printouts sitting on the coffee table. Settling on the edge of the sofa, I carefully dumped them out, using my fingertips on the cardboard and then slipping my jacket over my hand in order to spread them out.

Most had been taken inside the Roux Grill. These weren’t arty in the least, but a record of Josie’s friends and coworkers. Most were group photos with the subjects grinning into the camera, arms slung around one another in camaraderie.

I recognized many of the waitstaff I had worked with for so many years. There was Maggie, of course, standing behind the bar while Linda and Raleigh mugged on the stools in front. Another showed two waitresses and two waiters in the same logo T-shirt and jeans combo Josie had been wearing when I found her. One of the waitresses had been hired since I’d left, though I knew Rhonda, a rabbity-looking woman who’d occasionally accompanied her mother into Scents & Nonsense. As I recalled, she had a particular fondness for Astrid’s amaretto cookies.

Then there was a picture of the new waitress and the redheaded cook who had dropped the vat of macaroni and cheese. The cook looked considerably happier than
when I’d seen him last, his arm pulling the waitress to him. There were no customers in the background, so my bet was the photo session had been after hours.

I moved some of the pictures around, revealing one of Harris alone in the office. He was looking up from his desk with an expression of surprise on his face. Josie had caught him unaware and without any of his many masks. I stared at the picture, seeing a flicker of the man I’d once fallen so hard for.

Next was one of Harris and Josie, laughing. It looked like a candid shot, and I wondered who had taken the photo. They looked shockingly happy.

Did Harris and I ever look like that?

I couldn’t remember. I shoved the photos back into the box and stood.

Shelves filled most of the back wall of the living room, and, in the middle of the unit, a drop-down desk was open. The surface was clear. I moved closer, peering at the spines of books tucked between items Josie had culled from nature: a pile of smooth pebbles, gnarled chunks of driftwood, a rock studded with pyrite and mica, and dozens of swirly snail shells piled into a glass bowl. The titles were mostly nonfiction, with lots of natural history and photography books.

On another shelf, a small acrylic tank with a blue lid held the supposed reason for our visit. The betta fish’s elaborate, blue-and-red fins waved languidly as it nosed the glass. I grabbed the jar of food granules and pinched some between thumb and forefinger to sprinkle into the water before remembering my own admonition not to
touch anything. I put the cap back on and tucked the fish food in my pocket.

Cubbyholes behind the desk held various office supplies. Leaning forward, I inspected the contents. Nothing stood out—until I realized there were no bills or paperwork. Then I saw the faint rectangular outline of dust on the surface of the desk—a shape very much like that of a laptop computer.

Straightening, I took in the room details with new eyes. Items had been shifted, and the sofa cushions were slightly out of kilter. Going into the kitchen, I saw two drawers had been left open a few inches.