Fortunately Dana had labeled her photos, so I was able to find her friends’ pages and learn that they lived in New Chapel. I spent an hour trying to track down phone numbers, and in the end sent friend requests to them, with a message saying I wanted to do something in Dana’s memory and thought they might have ideas. I kept it vague and, I hoped, nonthreatening.
By the time I crawled into bed, I still hadn’t heard from Marco, and when I woke in the morning, I was alone. Assuming he hadn’t forgotten about driving me to work, I showered, dressed, and played hide-and-seek with Simon. I skipped breakfast because on Mondays Lottie made her egg-skillet breakfast, a tradition she’d started when she owned Bloomers.
At seven forty-five I had already made my way down to the front door to wait when Marco pulled up. I watched through the glass pane as he got out of the car. He looked so masculine in his black jacket and slim jeans, his dark hair shining in the sunlight, that my heart swelled with love. Our last days together were slipping away too fast.
Marco caught sight of me and pushed away from the car, striding up to the door to hold it open. “Morning, Beautiful.”
I stopped to give him a kiss. “Good morning yourself, Salvare. I missed you.”
“Missed you, too, babe.” He opened the car door and tossed the Evil Ones in the backseat. “But I had a productive evening. I’ll tell you about it on the way to Bloomers.”
“I had a productive evening, too,” I said as he started the engine. “I found out what the hospital’s procedure is for administering drugs, and you wouldn’t believe how easy it would be for someone with the know-how to give a patient a lethal dose and make it look like the fault of the last nurse to administer it.”
“You’re referring to Trumble? Okay, explain the procedure for me.”
I gave him Nikki’s information, then waited as he mulled over my theory.
“I can’t deny that it’s possible,” Marco said, “but I’ve learned that it’s best to start with the most logical explanation, which is that if Trumble killed Willis, he did so because of her error. Always test the most logical first.”
At least he hadn’t told me to store it away for the future. “I also found a MySpace page for Dana Trumble and found two of her friends right here in New Chapel. I sent friend requests as a way to make contact in case we want to talk to them.”
“Good idea. I’ll let you handle that.”
“Thanks. So tell me about your evening.”
“Well, surprise of surprises, Rafe is actually hanging in there. He sat down with me last night to learn how to keep track of inventory and figure out how much to charge in order to see a profit. I was afraid it was way over his head, but he didn’t lose patience or give up in frustration. He seems genuinely eager to learn the business. I was proud of him.”
“That’s fantastic, Marco. Rafe’s finally starting to mature. I think being here with you is the best thing for him. I hope you complimented him.”
“I did. He said he wants to keep up the lessons.”
And there went our evenings together.
Marco tweaked my chin. “Don’t worry. We’re going to meet
before
the bar opens.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Buttercup, I can read your face like a book.”
I swiveled toward him. “Really? What is my face saying now?”
Marco waited until we reached a STOP sign, then glanced at me before driving again. “It’s saying”—here he switched to a falsetto voice—“ ‘How did I ever get so lucky in finding the man of my dreams?’ ”
He glanced at me again. “Now it’s saying, ‘How should I show that man how much I missed him last night?’ ”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I try. And what’s more, I talked to Vlad last night about his trip to Chicago.”
“Seriously?”
“He did go into Chicago to see Ed, not knowing that Ed was off that day, and also not in possession of Ed’s new phone number. So Vlad saw the exhibits, had lunch at a nearby restaurant, and rode the train back home late in the afternoon. He said I could call Ed and check with him to verify that he was off work that day.”
“Are you going to call Ed?”
“I don’t feel the need.” Marco glanced at me. “I will if you want me to.”
“If you’re okay with it, Marco, I am, too.”
Okay, am not.
Didn’t Marco realize that if Ed was off that day, he wouldn’t know whether Vlad was telling the truth? But Marco trusted Vlad, and if I kept tearing down Vlad’s explanations, it might seem as though I didn’t trust Marco.
“What did you think of the photos posted on the HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE Web site?” I asked.
“They’re bogus. Vlad said he’s never been to the casino boat. Whoever put up that site faked the photo to cast suspicion on him. And a casket in the living room? That’s just stupid.”
I didn’t want to point out the obvious—once again we had only Vlad’s word on it. But it seemed that was going to have to be good enough.
“The service provider won’t give me the Web site owner’s information, so I put in a call to a computer-savvy friend of mine and asked him to find out who’s behind it.”
“Do you think the person who put up the site is Lori’s killer?”
“It’s possible they’re linked. It’s also possible that someone’s taking advantage of the murder to torment Vlad.”
Marco simply refused to consider the third option—that Vlad
was
the killer.
“I’m going to meet with the nurse who was fired over her affair with Dr. Holloway at a quarter past nine this morning,” Marco said.
“Darn! I wish I could be there.”
“Your wish is my command. We’re meeting at Bloomers.”
“Thank you! Except how do I explain this meeting to Grace and Lottie?”
“If they ask, we’re working on a new case and you don’t have any of the particulars.”
“But I told them you weren’t taking any new cases.”
“You’ll think of something, Gabriella. By the way, I tried to get you off the hook for that interview with Holloway, but he wouldn’t consent to see me. All it took was one mention of Willis’s name and that was the end of our conversation.”
“I don’t mind being on the hook.”
“I don’t know, Abby. The idea of you pretending to be French doesn’t sit well with me.”
“You’re adorable when you’re in caveman mode. Don’t worry. I can handle it. You know how I love a challenge.”
Marco pulled up to the stoplight and leaned over for a kiss. “So you missed me last night?”
A horn honked behind us. I kissed him quickly. “Marco, you have the green light.”
The horn sounded again, more urgently this time. “Yeah, yeah, I see the light,” Marco said to the unknown driver as we pulled away. After a third and much longer honk, Marco glanced in the rearview mirror, then put on his turn signal and looked for a place to pull over.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, swiveling for a look.
“I don’t know, but I think we should find out. It’s your mom.”
“Oh, no. Something must have happened,” I said as we parked the car. “Hurry, Marco, go see!”
“Too late. Here she comes. Your side.”
I rolled down my window as my mom came briskly up to the car. Not one strand of her bobbed honey brown hair was out of place, thanks to a heavy coating of hair spray. She had on a tan wool coat and comfortable brown flats—her teacher shoes, as she called them. And she was smiling. Clearly, it wasn’t an emergency.
“I’m so glad I spotted you,” she said breathlessly, leaning through the window to give me a hug. “Saves me from having to lug the box to your shop myself.”
“What box?”
“Hi, Marco. How are you?”
“Just fine, Mrs. Knight.”
“And your mom? I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”
“She’s fine, too,” Marco said.
“What box?” I asked again.
“How is your ankle?” she asked me. “When do you see the doctor?”
“Ankle is fine. I see the doctor this Wednesday. What box?”
Mom checked her watch and frowned. “I’d better hurry. School will be starting soon. Marco, come with me, please.”
Marco hopped out of the car to follow.
“It’s my new piece of art,” Mom said moments later, as Marco slid a large cardboard box onto the rear seat. “You’ll be able to set it up this morning instead of waiting for me to bring it after school.”
Yippee?
She shut the back door and leaned in the front window to kiss my cheek. “There you go, honey. Be careful when you unload it. It’s fragile. I’ll see you later.” And away she went.
“What’s inside?” Marco asked, glancing at the box through the rearview mirror.
“Whatever it is, it’s not going to bite you,” I said, laughing at his expression. I cut the laugh short when I heard something shift inside the box. Maybe I’d spoken too soon.
“What’s in the box?” Lottie asked, after Marco had deposited both me and Mom’s box inside Bloomers.
“My mom’s latest art project,” I said. “Do you want to open it now or wait until after breakfast?”
“Eggs are all ready,” Lottie said. “You decide.”
Within minutes the three of us were seated at the narrow strip of counter in the galley kitchen at the far back of the shop, chowing down on Lottie’s eggs. She’d used organic brown eggs, asparagus tips, feta cheese, mushrooms, and chopped tomato, cooking them lightly in olive oil, with sea salt and black pepper added at the end.
“Delicious,” I said, shoveling in a large forkful. I stopped for a swallow of Grace’s coffee, made with a touch of cinnamon and hazelnut today, then started off our morning meeting by announcing that Marco and I were going to see new clients in the parlor later that morning.
Next, Lottie reported on shipments due in, and Grace filled us in on her hunt to find an automatic door opener for under five hundred dollars. So far, she hadn’t had any luck.
“With all the business we’ve had lately,” Lottie said, “I think we should just bite the bullet and get one ordered at the best price. They’re not going to get any cheaper.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s do it. Grace, would you order one from a local retailer?”
“I know just the fellow. Perhaps I can persuade him to come down a bit more, too.”
I glanced at my watch. We were fast approaching nine o’clock. It was time to deal with the box. After taking a few deep breaths, we headed into the parlor to unpack it and see what wondrous new objet d’art Mom had thrust upon us.
“Looks like the spines of an umbrella,” Lottie said, as I held up the first part out of the container. It consisted of eight curved wire spines painted a shiny bright red, joined at the top and fanning out in a circle.
“With a brass ring on top,” Grace pointed out. “Perhaps it’s meant to be a chandelier.”
Lottie removed the next layer of newspaper and found eight brass hooks. She hung them from loops at the ends of the eight curved wires.
“It looks like a mobile,” I said.
“A mobile?” Grace asked, pronouncing it “mo-
bile
.” “For above a child’s bed?”
“No, a cell phone,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes. “Of course a child’s mobile.”
“Someone is cross today,” Grace said to me under her breath.
“If you’d had to listen to four boys rehearsing their brass instruments for their band competition till midnight,” Lottie retorted, “you’d be cross, too.”
“I’m sure you’re absolutely right, love,” Grace said. “However, keep in mind the words of Marcel Proust.” She cleared her throat and took hold of the edges of her lavender cardigan sweater. “ ‘Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.’ ”
Lottie stared at her. “Did you miss the part about them rehearsing till midnight? The only thing blossoming in my house was a big fat pounding headache.”
“Hello,” I said to them. “My arm is going numb. Could you see what else is in the box, please?”
Lottie looked at Grace and they both said, “Someone is cross.”
Lottie pulled out a bundle of newspaper and unwrapped it. We gasped in horror.
“It’s a bat!” Grace said.
She held up a brown bat made out of clay, with its wings partially unfolded, its beady black eyes staring straight ahead, as though focused on snatching up its next bug, and its mouth open, revealing tiny pointed fangs. To think I’d told Marco it wouldn’t bite.
Lottie unwrapped another bat. This one was cobalt blue, its wings folded against its chest, its eyes closed.
We unwrapped six more, all in different colors: neon yellow, bright orange, fuchsia, lime green, bright red, and royal purple. Each was in a different position and half of them displayed teeth. We fastened the critters to the wires, and then I held the object up, trying to figure out the theme.
“I’ve got it. It’s my mom’s version of the Batmobile.”
Lottie stood with her hand over her mouth. Grace whispered something that might have been a prayer.
“What are we going to do with it?” Grace asked.
“I’m telling you right now,” Lottie said, “no mother is gonna hang that thing above her kid’s crib. The poor child would never recover from the nightmares.”
“I promised Mom I’d put it in a prominent place,” I said sheepishly.
Both women gazed at the mobile as though waiting for it to turn into something else. Or fly away. “Could we hang it in a corner?” Grace asked.
“As long as it’s not near the window,” Lottie said. “We’ll scare away customers.”
We trooped into the shop to take a good look around. No one said anything for several moments, then I said, “I’ll put it in the workroom until we find a place for it.”
“I’ll take it there for you,” Lottie said, and swept it off my lap and through the curtain.
As soon as we opened the shop, the parlor filled with our regular customers coming in for their morning java fix and gossip exchange, keeping Grace busy serving coffee, tea, and freshly baked plum scones. I’d been a little concerned that she might overhear my meeting with Marco and our interviewee, but as I took a seat at a back table, I realized the loud buzz of conversation would cover anything she might pick up, if she even had a chance to listen.