A Rose From the Dead (21 page)

“You are so full of it.”

“Wanna bet? I have a witness who saw you dressing the dummy.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping my ploy would work.

“Who?” he said.

“You think I’m going to name him and risk finding him stuffed in a coffin, too?”

Ross chortled. Boy, how I wished Eli had stuck around to hear that laugh. “If you’re so sure I killed Sybil, why didn’t you go to the detectives in the first place?”

He had me there.

“You wouldn’t be trying to blackmail me, would you, Red?”

“You’re an idiot. Why would you assume…Wait. Was
Sybil
blackmailing you?”

He straightened with a frown. “Go away. I’m tired of you.”

Jess came back dragging his casket-car, grumbling, “Thanks for the help.”

“Hey, man, it’s not my fault.” He stabbed a finger in my direction. “Blame her.”

Jess dropped the car onto the sand and took off his goggles. “Are you back at it, Red? What is it this time? Are you trying to convince Ross to say something against me?”

“Actually, he was about to tell me why Sybil was blackmailing the two of you.”

“No kidding. Was Sybil blackmailing us, Ross?”

“It’s news to me, bro. Hey, here’s an idea, Red. How about I give you the name of our lawyer, and you can ask him?”

“Oh, that’s right. Your daddy hired a mouthpiece for you, didn’t he?”

Ross held out his arms. “Hey, he insisted, and it’s his dime.”

“Everyone ready?” the man with the whistle called.

Jess pulled his brother aside to whisper something, but Ross shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Jess said, and climbed into the car. “Just remember what I told you.”

“On your marks,” the whistle blower called as the drivers readied themselves. “Get set.”

Jess adjusted his goggles and Ross braced his hands on the back of the casket-car, ready to spring forward. The man blew the whistle, and the race began.

Frustrated, I checked my watch. It was three fifteen, leaving me with only one hour and forty-five minutes to go. Out of desperation I approached Ross again. “You know that witness I mentioned? Well, guess what? He found something you dropped near the dummy.”

Ross patted his pants pocket. “Wallet’s here. Key card’s here. Wait. I know. My cell phone.” He checked his other pocket. “Nope. Got that, too. I guess you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Wanting to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, I almost showed him the petals but at the last second decided they’d be safer in my pocket. “You know the red rose Sybil wore in her hair? Well, some of the rose petals ended up in the clothes that you ran off with. They fell onto the floor when you were dressing the dummy. The witness picked them up after you left.”

I saw a sudden flash of panic in his eyes and I thought I had him at last, but then that shrewd look reappeared. “Is that supposed to scare me into confessing? Look, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a genius, but even I know that a couple of rose petals your mystery witness
claims
I dropped can’t prove a thing. A smart lawyer would tear that argument to shreds. Nice try, Red, but it would take more than that to connect me with Sybil’s death.”

Crap. Ross was more savvy than I thought.

His cell phone began to play the appropriately selected “SexyBack.” He pulled out a thin phone and flipped it open. “Isn’t this a coincidence? Here’s my lawyer now. And here come your reinforcements, ready to clap handcuffs on me and lead me away. Like that’s going to happen anytime soon. Sorry, Red. You lose.”

I swung around to see Marco, Reilly, and four county cops in full uniform striding across the parking lot. With a defeated sigh, I started toward them. I’d made a gigantic mess of things. What was I going to tell Marco?

I
was still two yards away when both men started in on me, talking over each other.

Reilly: “Where’s Eli Cotton?”

Marco: “Did he threaten you in any way? Are you okay?”

Reilly to his men: “Fan out. Comb the woods, and search inside the hotel and convention center.”

Marco: “Why didn’t you keep him talking?”

Reilly: “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been trying to reach you for almost two hours.”

Marco: “What new evidence were you talking about?”

I clapped my hands over my ears and walked right between them, heading toward the convention center. One really peeved person was all I could handle—and that was me. But I couldn’t decide what peeved me the most. Was it that I hadn’t stopped to analyze Eli’s “proof” before trying to get Ross to talk? Because if I had, I would have known that his proof was really hearsay, and not evidence at all. Or was it that the Urbans seemed to be a step ahead of me at every turn?

Maybe Marco was right. Maybe I shouldn’t be handling this without him overseeing me. He and Reilly were on either side of me at that very moment, still firing questions at me.

At the door, I finally gave in. “Okay, you want to know what happened? Eli Cotton told me he witnessed the killer drop rose petals in the exhibition hall, and I tried to use that information to force a confession from Ross. But he realized before I did that I didn’t have solid evidence, so he clammed up. It’s my fault because I took Eli’s information without analyzing it.”

I held up a hand as both men began to speak. “Eli ran away because I told him you were coming, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to be on this property. He took off to keep from going back to jail, but please believe that he isn’t dangerous. He’s just an oddball who’s passionate about natural burials.”

Marco and Reilly started to talk again, but I stopped them. “Can we get some coffee first and continue the discussion afterward? I really need a double espresso with—”

I tried to open the door, but Marco put his hand on it. “Abby, would you stop talking for one minute and listen to me? Ross Urban couldn’t have killed Sybil.”

I blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Ross couldn’t have done it,” Marco said. “He’s not on the security video that covers this exit. He wasn’t the one who stashed the smock and the rose in the trash.”

“Then there must be a problem with that camera, because my gut is still telling me that Ross was involved in Sybil’s murder, and my gut doesn’t lie.”

“There was nothing wrong with the camera or the videotape,” Reilly said. “The real murderer conned you, Abby. You were suckered in by his story.”

“The real murderer? Who are you talking about?”

“Eli Cotton,” Reilly said.

“You are so wrong. Eli’s harmless, and besides, he doesn’t even have a motive. But he did see the killer—”

“Let me guess,” Reilly said. “He saw the killer drop the rose petals by the mannequin, but he can only identify the man by his shoes, his slacks, his laugh, and a tune he can’t remember.”

The petals in my pocket felt suddenly warm against my thigh. “Why don’t you believe him?”

“Because Eli Cotton
was
on the security video,” Marco said.

“You watched it?” I asked. “When?”

“I didn’t watch it. The detectives did.” Marco’s gaze shifted briefly toward Reilly, but neither of them said anything more on the subject. Obviously Reilly had given him that info.

“Well, of course Eli is on the video,” I argued. “We know he sneaked inside. I’m sure there were other people on that video, too.”

“But none with a motive,” Reilly said. “Discounting Delilah’s, of course. Cotton had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.”

“Motive? Are you talking about that little confrontation he had with Sybil out in front of the convention center yesterday?”

“Sunshine, Eli used to work for Billingsworth and Blount. He was their chief embalmer until Sybil had him fired.”

Damn. Eli hadn’t told me that. He’d made it sound like he left because his conscience bothered him. Why had he lied?

“The camera caught Eli entering around six o’clock and leaving around six-thirty,” Marco said, “then later being escorted out around ten, when we saw him.”

I rubbed my temples, starting to feel a headache coming on. “Okay, back up a minute. The camera caught him entering once, but leaving twice? That doesn’t make sense. How did he get in the second time?”

“It doesn’t matter how he got in, only that he
was
in,” Reilly said. “It’s called opportunity. The current theory is that when Cotton snuck inside the convention center last night through the rear exit, he saw Sybil waiting for her date in the storage room. They argued about him being banned from the convention, he shoved her in the casket, wiped off his prints with the smock, stuck her rose inside the smock, and dumped them in the trash.”

“Then he came back inside the convention center through the front entrance and hid under a table?” I asked. “Why would he do that? And why would he keep the rose petals?”

“Because he’s a wack job,” Marco said.

I rubbed my aching head. “Could you please not ever use that term again?”

“Cotton probably kept the petals as a souvenir,” Reilly said. “Sickos do that, you know. Keep something that belonged to their victim. He probably got a thrill out of showing them to you.”

The rose petals in my pocket began to sear into my skin. I didn’t want to believe what they were telling me because my gut was telling me otherwise. But how could I convince them they were wrong? “So you think Eli was able to convince Sybil to strip off her clothes and hop into a casket?”

“She might have already stripped in anticipation of her tryst,” Marco offered. “Or he might have forced her.”

“When he was taken out of the building that evening, did he have a weapon on him?” I asked. “Gun, knife, burlap cutter, garlic press?”

“It wouldn’t have to have been by force of weapon,” Reilly countered with a scowl, meaning that Eli hadn’t been packing any kind of anything.

“What about Sybil’s date, then? If she was meeting someone, he must have shown up at some point, right? Why hasn’t he been found?”

“My guess is that he didn’t want anyone to know about his date with Sybil,” Reilly said. “If he went to the storage room and it was dark, or he didn’t see her, then he probably left. And now he doesn’t want to come forward because he’ll be found out.”

I still wasn’t buying it, but I couldn’t think of any more arguments. “So you’re saying neither of the Urbans had anything to do with Sybil’s death?”

“That’s how it appears at this point,” Reilly said. “At any rate, the DA is convinced Cotton is the killer and will be convening a grand jury tomorrow to indict him.”

“Does this mean Delilah has been cleared?”

“Yep.” Reilly hooked his thumbs in his big leather belt, as if he were solely responsible for Delilah’s deliverance. “She’s as free as a dove. Get it? Delilah Dove?”

Got it. Threw it away.

Marco put his arm around my shoulders. “And after I meet with Billingsworth to get some answers, we can pack up your booth and get the hell out of here. I’m thinking of having a dinner celebration at the bar. A nice bottle of merlot, your favorite thick-sliced grilled ham and Swiss cheese sandwich with extra-dark french fries on the side.”

“And a dill pickle,” I added without feeling.

“We’ll invite Sean, too. And afterward,” he said in my ear, “we can slip back to your apartment for a little dessert. How does that sound?”

Any other time it would have sounded like an invitation to paradise, and that low husky murmur in my ear would have spiked my heart rate into the ionosphere. But at that particular moment I was bummed, so I merely circled my finger in the air. “Yippee.”

“Come on, Abby,” Reilly said. “Aren’t you relieved?”

“Of course I’m relieved. I’m very happy for Delilah, too, but I firmly believe you’ve got the wrong man. It simply doesn’t make sense that Eli would kill Sybil, dump all the evidence except for two rose petals, then return to the building to hide within shouting distance of the scene of the crime.”

“Then what do
you
think happened?” Reilly asked, folding his arms across his chest with an attitude that said,
Give it your best shot.

“Ross met Sybil in the storage room, tricked her into stripping, closed the casket, ran off with her clothes, and dropped the rose petals when he dressed the dummy. Eli was hiding under a table nearby, saw the petals fall, then scooped them up after Ross left.”

“For what reason?”

“For proof.”

“Proof of what?” Reilly asked. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t prove Eli killed Sybil, either.”

“How do you explain his coming and going?” Reilly retorted.

I said crossly, “I can’t.”

“What about the smock and the rose in the trash can?” he countered.

“I can’t explain that, either,” I muttered, “but I still don’t agree with you.”

Marco held up his hands to stop our arguing. “I think we
can
agree that Delilah is off the hook, and leave the rest up to the investigators. Okay?”

I glanced from Marco to Reilly, both stubbornly refusing to believe that Eli could be innocent, and realized that arguing with them was futile. It would take solid proof to change their minds, and all I had left was a videocassette of unknown content. I knew better than to mention it in front of Reilly, and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to remind Marco about it later. As far as he was concerned, Delilah was safe, and we were done.

But I wouldn’t believe Eli was guilty and I wasn’t about to let the poor man be railroaded. I knew that the real killer was lurking nearby, and unless someone could prove otherwise, I was determined to find him.

“I need coffee,” I told them. “You’re both still welcome to join me.”

Marco opened the door for me, and I marched up the hallway past the storage room, halting briefly when I saw the crime-scene investigators hard at work. “Why are they still here?” I asked Reilly.

“It takes a long time to process a crime scene. Everything has to be examined.” His radio squawked, so he pulled it from his belt clip and stepped away from us to answer it. He returned moments later to say, “I’ve got to go. Eli slipped under the net, so they’re bringing out the dogs.”

“Dogs? Are you kidding me?” I was so furious I spun around and stamped off toward the food court at the back of the exhibition hall.

Poor Eli. All he had wanted to do was promote his burlap-bag business. Now, because of some very thin, totally circumstantial evidence, he had a police force and search dogs on his trail, and Things One and Two were racing caskets down a sand dune. Life was so unfair.

I was the only one at the Starbucks counter, so I placed my order for a tall hazelnut-flavored coffee, loaded it with cream, and took a seat at a table. Marco joined me moments later with his standard black java. For a while I just sat and sipped the sweet beverage, thinking over my encounters with Eli and the Urbans, letting all the information settle in.

“Find the petals and a killer, too,”
Angelique had recited. Well, Eli had the petals. Did that mean he was the killer after all? Were my instincts wrong? Was it possible I’d been the victim of a clever con job?

No to all of the above, and I’d bet my beloved old Corvette on that.

Marco put his hand over mine. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You just got off track.”

“The detectives are the ones off track, Marco. They’re so caught up in all that circumstantial evidence, they can’t think logically. They’re not looking at the whole picture.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sunshine. The reason we got involved was to make sure Delilah was cleared, and that’s happened now, so you have to let it go. It’s not our problem anymore.”

Right. Like it was that easy.

He pinned me with those yummy chocolate eyes. “Let’s hear an affirmative answer.”

“I’m totally and completely satisfied that Delilah is off the hook.”

Marco studied me for a moment, then moved on, apparently deciding that was the best he would get. “I’m going to track down Billingsworth; then I have to run to New Chapel to take care of some bar business, but I’ll be back here at five o’clock to help you haul everything out to the van. Between now and then, hang tight inside the building. Eli Cotton is out there somewhere, and since he came looking for you once, he might try again. He’s going to be pretty desperate now. There’s no telling what he’ll try next.”

As Marco prepared to leave, I remembered that he still had the cassette. “Did you contact Crawford about Sybil’s envelope?”

“Why?” he asked guardedly.

I took a sip of coffee, trying to figure out how to get it from him without raising his suspicions. “Since I’ll be bored out of my mind, I might as well call him and set something up. He might want to come right over. So, where is it?”

Marco’s eyebrows drew together. “Are you positive that’s all you want it for?”