Daisies for Innocence (9 page)

“Time to let Nabby back in,” I said.

Dash kept licking.

N
ABBY
was waiting by the back door of the shop. I let him in and checked his food bowl. Examining the betta tank, I determined that short of knocking the whole thing off the counter, Nabby couldn’t get to Leonard if he felt the need for a fishy midnight snack.

“Be nice to the little guy,” I said to the cat. “Looks like he’s ours now.”

I locked the door behind Dash and me, and turned toward a hot shower and a soft bed. My corgi had won his battle with the peanut butter, and slopped a long drink from his bowl by the rocking chairs. I waited for him to finish, my senses on super alert. As we walked on the moonlit path, I mentally sifted through the night sounds and floral essences, watching for any indication of threat. A tiny flash of brightness made me turn my head. There it was again, just a flicker, close to the ground.

What on earth? Fireflies in California? Unlikely.

Slowly, I approached the birdbath I’d righted earlier. The green and red and blue glass of the bowl glowed faintly. A soft rustling rose around me, the whisper of wordless secrets, a sigh of invitation. The ground beneath the birdbath twinkled. As I grew near, the sparks flew into the air.

Apparently not impossible,
I thought, watching the glowing insects disperse into the top of the oak tree and beyond.

But nothing I’d ever seen before. Fireflies loved humidity. Poppyville had its underground springs, but humid, it wasn’t.

“The moss below the birdbath is usually damp,” I said to Dash. “Maybe that drew them. But from where?”

He tipped his foxy head to the side.

My cell phone rang. I reached into my pocket and thumbed it off without looking, while I watched the tiny flickering lightning bugs scatter farther and farther apart.

Until they disappeared altogether.

In the darkness, a mysterious scent rose from the ground like tule fog, cool against my skin, caressing my cheek. I swayed on my feet, drinking its heady sweetness, inhaling so deeply I felt dizziness wash over me.

My eyes popped open, and I stumbled, barely managing to catch myself. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. And then the strange perfume faded. But not entirely this time. A vestige of it clung to me, soaked in through my pores to reside in my very core.

I made my way to the porch and reached for my keys.
It felt as if I was moving in slow motion. Then my cell chirped, alerting me to a text message, and the feeling faded.

Inside, I flipped on the light and checked my phone. Both the call and the text had been from my brother, Colby.

Tried to call just now, but no answer. You out on the town?

I called him back. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sis!”

“Hey, yourself. Where are you calling from this time?” Colby lived in a Westfalia van and wandered the U.S.—and sometimes Canada—with his array of horseshoeing implements, knife sharpeners, and handyman tools to support him. It was the ultimate rebellion against a brief career as an investment banker, which had not suited him in the least. I adored Colby, and in the last four years since he’d taken up the freewheeling, itinerant lifestyle, he’d never sounded happier. I missed him like crazy, though.

“I’m in Crested Butte,” he said. “You on a date?”

“Why is everyone so interested in my love life all of a sudden?”

“Sorry!” A pause. “What do you mean,
everyone
?”

“Never mind. Where’s Crested Butte?” I imagined him in his camper van, a home tinier even than my own. He’d be wearing stained jeans, a plaid shirt, and a gimme cap
from some random feed store, and had probably grown a beard by now.

“Colorado,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how pretty it is. You should come visit.”

“I’d love to, believe me. But you know I can’t leave the shop.”

“You sound grumpy, Ellie.”

“Well, it’s been one heck of a crazy day.” I sighed before I could stop myself.

I settled in on my sofa and thumbed on the jazz station with the stereo remote. Dash padded to his food dish, and the sound of crunching joined the low music.

“Does it have anything to do with finding Josie Overland dead this morning?”

I sat up. “What? How on earth did you know about that?”

“Got a call from the cops, clear out here in the Rocky Mountains.”

My forehead wrinkled. “They called you about Josie?”

“They called me about
you
.”

Dang it.

“About you and Harris, specifically. How you got along, if you ever talked about wanting to get back together with him, were you the jealous type. Stuff like that.”

“What did you tell them?” I sat up straighter, feeling the blood rising in my face.

“I said that I thought you’d established a new life after the divorce. That you were happier without Harris than
with him. That I wasn’t aware of a jealous bone in your body.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s all true.”

“I know. But why were they asking me questions like that?”

“Apparently they—or at least Detective Lang—think I’m a prime suspect in Josie’s murder. Since she technically died on my property, and it looked as if she was trying to get in my front gate when she collapsed. Then Harris went and told them I was upset about Josie dating him.”

There was a long silence, then, “That’s not good. Not good at all.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “But it turns out Josie was actually attacked in the park, not on my property. I’m hoping that means I’m off the hook.”

“Good.” My brother’s voice held heartfelt relief. “That you’re off the hook, I mean. Well, I’m going to let you get some shut-eye. I’ll check in with you in a day or so.”

He wished me a good night’s sleep, and we said good-bye.

The conversation with my brother calmed me, but it still took three cups of valerian root tea before I managed to drift off. My thoughts ping-ponged among Josie’s murder, Ritter Nelson, and the scent that had recently begun to haunt the Enchanted Garden. Could it be a night-scented flower in a neighbor’s garden that Gamma hadn’t taught me about? Could it have somehow drawn the fireflies to it as it had appealed to me?

“I need to check her journal,” I murmured to Dash, before turning over and sinking into unconsciousness.

•   •   •

I
WOKE
at dawn, slowly surfacing from the depths of slumber. The soft duvet enveloped me in a cocoon of comfort. Tendrils of a dream clung to my growing consciousness. My grandmother, kneeling in her garden, patting the dirt around a transplanted seedling, and talking softly to someone behind her that I couldn’t see, and then to me.

You mustn’t forget, Elliana. You have a gift. You need to . . .

I stretched and opened my eyes to the new light nudging in through the skylight, feeling the last vestiges of the dream evaporate. Early birds chirped loudly outside—the nasal call of chickadees, the liquid notes of a meadowlark, the piercing screech of a blue jay trying to imitate the red-tailed hawks that nested near the river. Dash sprawled on the bed beside me, upside down and oblivious.

A deep breath then, and with it came the flood of memory.

Josie had been murdered.

Adrenaline shot through my veins, a flight or fight response triggered by . . . what?

After all, Detective Garcia had said they were releasing the area in front of my shop, so I could open Scents & Nonsense and go back to doing what I loved best. Other than Harris being a dolt and trying to pin his girlfriend’s death on me, they had no evidence against me—because there wasn’t any.

All I had to do was ride this whole thing out. Time had healed things before. It would now, too. Right?

As long as whoever had killed Josie was caught and convicted. Really, that was what it came down to more than anything.

Justice for Josie, and freedom for me.

“Come on, Dash. Let’s get to work.”

He rolled over, instantly awake. Downstairs, he tucked into his kibble while I gnawed unenthusiastically on an apple and swigged my first cup of coffee. Twenty minutes later, I’d showered and dressed in a flowing knee-length skirt the color of flax flowers and a sleeveless ivory blouse, and Dash and I made the short trip to the day job.

At the spigot, I filled the water can and carried it to the fused-glass birdbath. After topping it off, I looked down. A swath of violet light painted the ground below: sun shining through the colored glass of the bowl. The lush carpet of verdant moss at the base of the pedestal sparkled with moisture, a result of Thea’s carefully thought out drip irrigation.

Then I saw the tiny sprout that had been pushing through the soil the previous day was now seven inches tall, and its winding, corkscrew stem supported blue-green leaves that looked as if they’d been dipped in wax. Seven fat buds roosted on top, their dark sepals still furled around the promised blooms.

Definitely not bindweed.

Slowly, I reached down and touched one with my fingertip.
What the heck is that?
I’d never seen anything like it, had never heard of such a plant in any of my
horticulture classes. Anything that grew that fast had to be invasive. Still, my curiosity wouldn’t let me pull it out until I knew what it was—and what those flowers looked—and smelled—like.

I returned the watering can and quickly rinsed my hands. Throwing a glance at the unusual plant, I called Dash and strode across the patio to the door. I deliberately turned away from the police tape still looped around the garden gate.

Soon it will be over. Or at least that stupid yellow plastic will be gone.

Astrid was letting herself in the front door as we came in the back. Today she wore flowy Thai fisherman pants in brown cotton and a black T-shirt. Her burnished copper hair was in a loose braid over one shoulder, and she carried a covered plate that broadcast ginger and molasses to my nose.

“Hey!” she greeted me.

I smiled. “Hey. What’s on the menu?”

“Ginger softies. I didn’t know if you’d even want cookies today, but I’m so much in the habit of starting my day whipping them up that I went ahead.”

“Thanks. I’m planning to open up later today, and I’m sure that plate will be empty in no time.” As she walked by I snagged one and took a bite. “Yum! These are delicious! Way better than the apple I had for breakfast.”

She grinned. “I combined two recipes to make them, and I have to say I’m pretty pleased.” She walked over to where Nabby hunkered on the counter next to Leonard’s bowl and set the cookies down. “Well, lookie here. I don’t
think I’ve ever seen Nabokov up here. He’s usually more of a window cat.”

“Me neither,” I said. “But now there’s extra entertainment on offer.”

She leaned down to the cat, who raised his chin for a scritch. “At least you didn’t eat him. Good boy, Nabby.”

He blinked at her, looking bored, and sat up to his full height. Astrid reached for the tank, rotating it on the counter for a better view of the betta fish.

Nabby growled.

Her mouth fell open, and I felt my own jaw slacken.

“Nabokov!” I said.

“He’s guarding the fish,” Astrid said in wonder. “Well, I never.”

I laughed. “I think you’re right. Nabby, do you like your new pet?”

He squinted at me, and a purr rumbled from his chest.

Mrow.

“How about if I put him down here on the end.” I lifted the bowl, watching Nabby. He followed me to the end of the counter, away from the register, and settled in next to the newly relocated fish tank.

“Weirdo,” I muttered to the cat and moved across to the coffeemaker.

Movement outside caught my eye, and I went to the front window. Detective Garcia, wearing another white shirt, only with a brown blazer this time, was unfastening one end of the tape from the back fence. Hope bloomed in my chest. Surely this was a step in the right direction.

Then Detective Lang moved into the frame.

Garcia’s phone message hadn’t said anything about her partner coming over this morning. The hope withered a little as he pointed to the ground where I’d found Josie, then toward the park. Garcia said something, and he shook his head. He jerked his chin toward the shop. She replied and pointed straight at me, standing there in the window. I hadn’t realized that she’d seen me.

Lang’s head rose, and his eyes met mine. He marched over and pushed open the unlocked door and stood in the entrance. “Ms. Allbright. You’re up early.” Sarcasm laced his tone.

“I usually am.”

“Then how is it you didn’t report Josie Overland’s body until nearly nine o’clock yesterday morning?”

“It was closer to eight thirty, actually. I told you I overslept.”

His lips thinned into a skeptical line. “Are you sure you weren’t trying to come up with a good story?”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Detective Lang, don’t you think I could come up with something better than waking up and stumbling onto my dead employee outside my gate?”

Behind him, a ghost of a smile crossed Garcia’s lips as she turned away and began rolling the tape into a messy ball.

He rolled his eyes and pushed into Scents & Nonsense.