“If your family is still on the West Coast, what brought you here? I asked.
“The job. I was working in NoCal and I hated it. I saw a posting for a job in Salt Lake and I jumped at the chance. I love kayaking and rock climbing so I knew this was the place for me.” Of course he liked kayaking and rock climbing. His physique liked it too, and I loved his physique for liking it.
I felt at ease with Alex unlike anything I had experienced with another person. The awkwardness that usually accompanies a one-on-one conversation with someone you’re attracted to wasn’t there. It felt comfortable, as if we were friends from school getting reacquainted.
After eating we walked down to the stream to cross it on stones that had been placed there for that purpose. He took my hand as if to help me across but then paused and said, “After you.” I crossed first, but kept hold of his hand. We took the path on the other side of the stream and explored the surrounding area. Alex quizzed me on the names of the flowers we passed along the way. Most of them were wildflowers I didn't recognize, but I did know about the stinging nettle that looks like mint. I carefully demonstrated the way you feel the stem to see if it's square for mint or round for the nettle.
"Don't touch the leaves, this is nettle for sure." I explained. "Ooh, but there is something worth touching," I said as I pointed to my left. I walked to the other side of the path to a huge wild raspberry bush. "These are the best raspberries you'll ever taste,” I said. As I pulled, trying to coax a berry from the stem, I heard a raspy clattering sound at my feet. I pulled my hand back at the startling noise. About two feet in front of me was a rattlesnake, camouflaged in the dappled sun that reached through the trees on to the dirt trail. It was now highly alarmed and coiled.
Icy blood ran through my legs, which felt cemented to the ground.
"Quincy," Alex’s voice came quietly and calmly from behind my right shoulder, "don't move, I'm right behind you." I felt his breath on the side of my face and his arm slipped slowly around my waist.
I didn't dare swallow for fear the snake would strike. The chattering of the birds now seemed like a roar above my head. I was afraid one of the birds would fly too close and threaten the deadly viper more than it was willing to ignore. After a few seconds, which seemed more like minutes, the snake lowered its head and made its way across the path in front of me.
We stood together, frozen until the tail of the snake had long since disappeared. I made no move but exhaled heavily in relief. I felt the aftertaste of adrenaline rush on my tongue.
"That was too close." I whispered. The words were raspy as they left my dry throat. "I didn't see it at all." My fear had caused me to forget Alex’s arm wrapped around me. Just as I began to delight in my favorable position, Alex gently tugged and I followed his lead to turn around. We stood face to face.
"You really seem to attract trouble you know? Good thing I'm an adrenaline junkie."
My heart continued to thunder in my chest, but for an entirely different reason. "I don't know. You might want to keep your distance."
"Oh no. I like this distance just fine."
He gathered me even closer. With the hand that wasn't holding the small of my back, he cradled my chin and gently coaxed it upward. The pad of his thumb brushed my mouth.
I watched his perfect Cupid’s bow lips coming closer until they softly touched mine. The thrill of a first kiss with someone new, that can only be experienced once, rushed through my every cell starting at the tip of my toes and ended at my lips.
I lost myself in the perfect moment, the perfect kiss.
Too soon, it ended. Alex lifted his head then looked down into my eyes. Both of his arms embraced me and my arms encircled his neck. There were no sounds, no sights, just us.
"Wow," was my articulate reply.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The high from my date night with Alex wasn’t even close to wearing off the next morning. I woke up just before the alarm sounded, snuck in a few sit-ups (maybe a few would be an exaggeration; a couple—well one full sit-up really, but it was a good one) before leaving home, and still I arrived for work a whole fifteen minutes early.
The lock gave no resistance for a change and I balanced an iced-tea in my other hand. After setting everything down, turning on the lights and the computer, and putting the money in the cash register, I was ready to begin the day’s business.
Cindy walked in just after nine and actually started to apologize for being late. Something new was definitely in the air.
We needed to do some summer cleaning in the dreaded basement. I gave her the task of organizing everything downstairs so we could throw away the worthless stuff which had accumulated year after year. It was unlikely we’d be able to use the broken handled ceramic mug with “Happy 1999” printed on it.
I went to the phone and retrieved a message on the voicemail from the hospital reminding me they needed a refill. They asked for baby boy arrangements, no girls, ten single rose vases and six mixed bouquets—a good-sized order for the morning. I turned the radio on and got to work.
After setting out all the vases and containers I would need, then filled them with water, flower food and arranging foam. I retrieved bunches of leather leaf, salal, myrtle and Oregonia. I began each arrangement using memorized recipes, which made for assembly-line style speed.
I stepped into the walk-in. In an attempt at efficiency, I piled my arms high with flowers instead of making multiple trips in and out of the cooler. I moved to the furthest end near the fan. Of course I thought I heard the sound of the phone. I paused, but heard nothing. The cold, heavy air began to feel eerie. Having a severe fear of being locked in the cooler accidentally, I hurried to the door and popped my head out in order to take a deep, anxiety-quelling breath of dry, non-humidified air. Instead I screamed.
Only three inches separated my face from that of a stone-faced large man. I jerked back to see him better. He stood about six foot three, with a stout chest and muscular build. His hair was short cropped, like a military cut. His brown eyes were deeply set, framed with heavy but neatly kept, angled brows. He sported a dark, well-trimmed mustache that covered the slight upturn in the middle of his upper lip indicating he may have had a cleft palate at birth.
“Can I help you with something?” My voice still shook after being startled. The door to the walk-in cooler was well behind the customer counter dividing the store. He had no business being back there.
“I’m looking for Quinella Swanson.”
No "I’m sorry" or "excuse me," he just started right into using my former and never since used names. He was either from the church or the government; they’re the only ones that know my real first name besides my family.
“Excuse me.” I said as I exited the walk-in. He didn’t move an inch until I turned to shut the door and knocked him in the face with all of the flowers in my arms. I used my foot to slam the door shut. I walked over to the design table and carefully unloaded my cargo, but it was difficult to coax my arms to move. They had been frozen in place when this well-dressed stranger startled me. Although, I wasn’t sure he was a complete stranger. In fact I was fairly certain I’d seen him before.
His dark slacks and pinstriped button-down shirt coordinated well with his olive green tie. A policeman’s badge hung from his leather belt. He wore large gold cuff links, and a watch that said Rolex in huge lettering; I guess it was supposed to be obvious it was expensive.
“How do you know that name? Who are you?” I assumed we weren’t going to be exchanging pleasantries.
“I’m Detective Arroyo from Hillside City Police. I assume you
are
Quinella Swanson?”
“I’m Quincy McKay. Swanson was the name my ex-husband gave me when we got married. I gave it back.”
Then it hit me. This was the cop I had fled after visiting Derrick’s shop.
He strode slowly toward me.
“Mrs. McKay?” He asked as he approached the design table.
“Yes, that’s me.” I didn’t bother correcting him about the Mrs. and I didn’t think he would have listened anyway.
“I need to talk to you about a couple of things.”
This was the detective who ordered me to stay at the shop the morning Derrick was found dead. He had finally caught up with me. I got sick to my stomach and I could feel a ball of anxiety rising up in my throat.
“Would you like to sit down at the table?” I indicated the consultation table at the front of the store with an open palmed hand like a model at the auto expo.
“We can sit if you’d like,” he said with no emotion, his face stern.
Both of us made our way to the little table.
My behind barely made contact with the chair before I blurted out, "You know I’d really like to get something off of my chest.” The words were loud, fast and breathy as I could hardly get any air to pass into my lungs. I felt my cheeks stoking.
He arched a neatly waxed eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I just, well…first of all…” I sighed heavily. The words weren’t coming as fast as the thoughts. I’d had a couple of days of distraction in which I had forgotten Danny’s brother was probably in jeopardy of losing his job because of me. I’m sure my speechlessness sounded like a stereotypical air-headed woman to him, which made my blood boil all the more. The words come out even slower.
“Mrs. McKay,” the detective said sharply.
“You can call me Quincy. And it’s Miss not Mrs.,” I corrected.
“Ms. McKay.” He paused to make sure I heard his generous correction. What a guy. “Let me help you get started,” he said. Wow he was helpful too. “You’ve been a difficult person to catch up with.”
“Really? That’s surprising. I’m here most of the time. Did you leave any messages? Maybe they weren’t delivered to me.”
“I’m sure I did.” Liar. He said it dismissively, staring at his manicure. With all of Cindy’s less desirable qualities came a few good ones, including taking phone messages. I think it stemmed from nosiness. If a police detective came in or called for me, I’m sure Cindy would have been salivating at the chance to know why. And if it weren’t Cindy it would have been Allie, who of course would have given me the messages. And then there was my voice mail. I was the only one who checked it. He hadn’t left a message there.
I ignored his attitude and forged on. “I’m glad I’ve finally got a chance to talk to you about Derrick. Well, what I mean is how I know about him. And I just wanted to let you know
how
I knew about his death before most everyone else. The person I heard it from is really a good person, and would never have shared this information with anyone else, I think he just wanted to know something about Derrick, and since I’m in the floral business, he thought I might know him, and…”
He interrupted sharply, “Ms. McKay, I don’t know what you’re going on about right now. You do know Derrick Gibbons?”
What a jerk. I just finished telling him I knew who Derrick was. He didn’t listen to a word I had just said.
“Well, I know who he is, I mean, was,” I said. “I met him at a floral conference, and he was a competitor. I didn’t really know him though. There are probably several other florists or anyone else who knew him better than me.”
“Where were you the day before Mr. Gibbons was found at the mortuary, Ms. McKay?”
“I can’t even remember where I was yesterday let alone back then.” Okay that was a bit of an exaggeration, since I did remember being with Alex last night really well, but he didn’t need to know that.
I paused to give his question some more thought, while simultaneously wondering why the heck he was asking me.
“Danny didn’t call me until the morning I talked to you on the phone.” I tried to help the detective out with his timeline. “I don’t know how you guys even know that he told me, but I swear I didn’t tell anyone, and he only called me because we both know who he is—Derrick, I mean.”
Detective Arroyo’s gaze became fierce, he could have split an atom with the pupils that aimed at mine when he said, “Ms. McKay, again, I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I find it to be very strange that you can’t answer a simple question. I asked you where you were the day before they found Derrick Gibbons’ body at the mortuary.”
My face must have looked as astonished as I felt at that moment, which is the same moment Cindy came to the front of the store. She didn’t notice the detective and me sitting there as she yelled out my name and started talking.
“Quincy what do you want me to do with this cat’s pee?” She shouted out. Cindy referred to a flower, which starts to develop a nasty, distinctive odor as it ages and dries out while it’s still in water. Its common name is Caspia. Cat’s pee is a great pneumonic device for remembering the name of the flower. She continued walking up to the front of the store when I didn’t answer her.
“What’s going on? Why is there a cop car out front?” Just then she looked over, saw us and brought her hand to her mouth and shrugged in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry,” she said, “I’ll just put it in a bucket.”
Good thing she wore another of her impressive man-finding outfits that day. He didn’t seem to mind too much, not surprisingly. The small interruption broke some of the tension in the air, but it also caused me to lose my train of thought. I started thinking about how ridiculous Cindy looked and how embarrassing it was, and thinking how unprofessional Detective Arroyo was being as he gawked. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets.
“I’m sorry, Detective where were we?”
He snapped back into the moment without missing a beat.
“Where were you, on that day?” He sighed heavily.
“Okay where was I on that day? Umm, I was here until I went on deliveries. Nick had already left because he claimed he had an appointment. It was about two o’clock I think. I remember now, a guy wanted roses delivered to his girlfriend before she got off of work at three.” I remembered looking up at the clock that day at about one forty-five and thinking I’d better get the van loaded and get a move on.