Broken Vows Mystery 03-In Sickness and in Death (25 page)

I laughed, the kind of laugh that said I surrendered to the gods who thought this loon belonged in my family. “Wow.”

“He’s bought a couple dish gardens before, too. Emma said they’re handmade wooden planters that looked like a wishing well with an African violet, white gerberas, prayer plants, and godseffiana. Very pretty, apparently.”

I realized my lips had parted in astonishment. My thumb was black as car grease. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded lovely—although no more unique than the roses, apparently. “I’m sure Erica will appreciate it.”

Celeste looked at me. Stared, really.

I forced myself not to squirm. “I appreciate your keeping an eye out for Erica and Maury. It was very … nice”—I almost gagged on the word—“of you to rush right over. Thank you.”

She didn’t blink. She didn’t leave, either, which is what people normally do after I thank them.

I tilted my head. “Was there something else, Celeste?”

“How’s your new friend Leslie?”

Oh, I got it. Payback time. I would have to give information if I wanted to receive it. No wonder grapevines were so tough to cut. “She’s fine. She’s having a sex change operation next month.” There—that would get her, and I didn’t feel like I was talking out of school. Leslie had been quite upfront about it.

Celeste rose and looked down her nose at me. “I know.”

____

Celeste stopped traffic on her way back across the street, too. This time I wished the oncoming car might have at least given her a nudge and soiled her perfectly creased pants.

I hadn’t given her the satisfaction of asking how she already knew Leslie Flynn was having a sex change operation. Perhaps she just surmised after her brush with Leslie’s big Willie. Or maybe Leslie had been in to Talbots to buy more clothes and shared the information as casually as she had shared it with Ray and me the other day. Or, better yet, maybe Celeste’s sister’s best friend’s brother’s wife’s child from her first marriage was slated to be the Flynn’s new bookkeeper. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

I was more annoyed with my new brother-in-law Maury. He hadn’t listened when I told him to wait to get Erica flowers. Flowers must be some kind of compulsion with him. Once again, I wondered if he’d ever sought therapy.

I dialed Ray’s phone number to fill him in on Erica and Maury.

“Hey, Darlin’. How’s Erica?”

“Married.” I read him the clergyman’s name and the names of the two witnesses.

“Did you look them up in the phone book?”

“Not yet. Hold on.” I pulled it out and thumbed through the pages. “They’re not local, but Maury said they honeymooned in Niagara Falls. He and Erica could have stopped anywhere between here and there to get married.”

“Didn’t your parents honeymoon there?”

“Yes. That’s what makes me think they really got married. Like mother, like daughter.”

“So where’s Maury now?”

“I’m not sure. I left him at his apartment, but he apparently went out and bought Erica a dish garden to be delivered to the psych center. I have it from a very reliable source that the card read, ‘Like our love, this will grow forever.’”

“I thought he was a rose man.”

“With the occasional dish garden. It sounded very nice. An African violet, white gerberas, prayer plants, and some other God-like plant.”

“An African violet?”

“Yes.”

“What are white gerberas?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure how to spell it.”

“What’s a prayer plant look like?”

“I don’t know. Hold on.” I pulled up Google and typed the words on the search line. A few clicks later, a picture of a flowerless, broad-leafed plant with pink veins appeared. I described it to Ray.

“Do you know where he bought it?”

“No, but I can call Celeste and ask if you want. She did say it was in a handmade wooden planter shaped like a wishing well.”

“A wishing well?” Ray sounded excited.

“Yes. Why?”

“Give me the number at the store. I’ll call her myself.”

I flipped through the phone book again and gave him the number at Talbots. “Why are you interested in this dish garden, Ray?”

“Because it sounds exactly like the one I saw sitting on Josie … I mean, Jessica James’ kitchen table in the apartment where she was killed.”

My fingers clenched the edge of my desk. “Are you saying Maury might have killed her?”

“That’s what I’m going to check out. Don’t hold dinner.”

I hung up the phone and rocked back in my chair. What would I tell Erica if Maury turned out to be a killer? She hadn’t discussed him with me in years, but I had to wonder if this time she had truly fallen for him. She’d been engaged on and off a half dozen times at least, always to undesirable men, always spur of the moment, often during one of her manic states. All those engagements had run out of gas almost as fast as they had begun. When she sunk into depression, had she finally joined forces with the most undesirable man of all? If that were the case, I wondered how it would affect her. Could Dr. Albert put a spin on a disaster of this proportion that would make her feel better? Or would Erica’s kind heart and bad judgment cause her to love Maury anyway? If Maury turned out to be a killer, would Ray and I be driving both Erica and Danny to weekly prisoner visits in the future like one big happy family?

I’m sure Ray would love being related to a convicted killer.

The good news was Danny’s father couldn’t be a killer if Maury was. The bad news was, either way, Danny or Erica would be hurt. It was like the age-old question, if you could only save one of your children, which one would you pick? I wanted both my “children” to be happy. I crossed my fingers that Ray wouldn’t find a connection to Maury.

Then I wondered if the partial print on the Camry’s remote had been matched to Danny’s father. If it did match, he would remain the prime suspect in Jessica James’ death, linked to the car in which her arm was found, to The Cat’s Meow where Danny’s father visited her, and to her Cadillac Escalade that he obviously stole. Not to mention the fact that they were related. Pretty substantial evidence compared to a dish garden.

I rocked in my chair and stared out the window of the showroom. I watched as the sun disappeared and gray clouds moved in, signaling a significant change in the weather. When the first snowflake fell a few minutes before closing time, I shook off my thoughts and fears and walked into the garage.

Cory had the hood off Brennan Rowe’s race car. The car’s engine sat on an engine stand. Cory stood in the center of the empty front end, fiddling with the wiring. Danny leaned over the right fender, handing Cory whatever tool he requested. Neither one noticed my arrival.

“It’s five o’clock guys. Let’s call it a day, okay?”

Cory nodded and dropped to the ground to slide out from under the grill. Danny’s face reflected his disappointment.

I put my hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Did you do any schoolwork today?”

“It’s all done. I just have to study for my tests. I can do that Sunday.”

“Okay. Cory, do you want to join us for dinner tonight? Ray’s working late.”

He whisked plastic gloves off his hands, removed shoe covers, and wiggled out of his mechanic’s coveralls to reveal khakis and a dark blue dress shirt. “No thanks, Jo. Brennan and I have a date.”

For a second, I thought Danny winced. But then, his expression reverted to neutral.

I continued to try to set a good example for him. “Great. Have fun. I’ll lock up.”

Cory slid his coat on. “Thanks for all your help today, Danny.” He turned to me. “I think Danny would make a great mechanic, but he says his dad wants him to go to college and become a doctor or something more professional.”

“He could be both.”

“Good point.” Cory clapped Danny on the shoulder. “See ya tomorrow, Danny. Thanks for your help today.”

Danny followed me around the garage and showroom as I shut off the lights and checked door locks.

I pulled my coat off the brass rack behind my office door and shrugged it on. “It started to snow. Where’s your coat?”

“I didn’t wear one.”

“It’s December. You better remember to take one from now on, no matter how warm outside it is.”

Danny nodded.

I walked over to the alarm box. “I’m going to punch in the code then we have two minutes to get out.”

He watched with interest as I activated the alarm.

“Okay, let’s go.” We darted out the door. I locked it. I jogged to the car with Danny by my side, wind whipping around us and blowing stray newspapers in our path. We scrambled inside. I cranked the heater. “It’ll be warm in a minute.”

Danny’s teeth chattered in lieu of a reply.

Halfway home, an odd thought popped into my head. “Danny, did your dad ever buy flowers for a girl?”

I saw his expression in the rearview mirror. It was the “yeah, right lady” expression. “No. Why?”

“I was just curious. Erica got married to this guy named Maury Boor. He buys girls flowers all the time.”

“Erica really got married?”

“It looks that way, Danny.”

“I’m never getting married.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to. I’m going to get a dog.”

I laughed. “Man’s best friend.”

The few miles to our house passed quickly and I pulled into the driveway, pleased to see that the timer had lit the Christmas lights we’d strung the night before. Now we were as festive as the rest of the neighborhood. At least our family had one thing going right for us.

Danny followed me to the front door, slipping on the fresh snow in his high-top sneakers. I unlocked the door to let him scoot inside the warm house. Then I fished the mail out of our mailbox, which was filled to overflowing.

I took off my coat and carried the mail into the kitchen to sort. A blue envelope caught my eye. It was addressed to Danny, in care of me.

I picked it up. The handwriting looked like a child’s. It had no return address. I waved it at him. “You have mail.”

His expression was stunned. “I never got mail before.” He darted over to stand next to me. “Who’s it from?”

I held it out to him then pulled it back, hesitant. What if it was something that would hurt him? “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

Danny shook his head.

“Could it be from your dad?”

“I’ve never seen my dad write.”

Of course not. If he didn’t read, he probably didn’t write, either. “Maybe someone at the jail wrote you a letter for him. Open it and see.”

Danny took the letter and flipped it over. “How?”

“Just slide your thumb in this opening here and lift the flap. Or you can rip it across.”

Danny tried, but his hands shook. “Here, you open it.”

I did. It was a card covered in footballs that said, “A Party …” I opened the card.

Jacob, Bernie Shubert’s son, was having a sleepover party for his twelfth birthday.

Danny was invited.

Danny turned the invitation
over in his hands. “Should I go?”

“Sure, why not? Ray and I know Jacob’s parents. They’re very nice. You know Jacob, right?”

“Yeah. We play football at lunch.”

“His dad told me that. He said Jacob thinks you’re pretty good.”

Danny’s face brightened. “He does?”

I pointed to the card. “Maybe you’ll play football at the party.”

“Yeah.” He looked inside the card again. “But it says to bring a sleeping bag.”

“You can use Ray’s.”

“What about a present?”

I felt like I was talking him into feeling as excited as me. “You can pick out something. I’ll pay for it.”

“Okay.” But he sounded doubtful. He set the card on the table and went into the living room to turn on the television.

I pulled ground meat out of the refrigerator to make meatballs. As I rolled the balls, I smiled. Danny was invited to his first birthday party. I couldn’t feel more delighted.

After our mother committed suicide, Erica and I didn’t get many party invitations. Those we did receive were from kids whose parents made them invite us just to be nice. I knew that because the kids made a point of telling us. My mother had never been involved in school activities and she didn’t encourage us to invite friends over. We were all she could handle, and in the end, she couldn’t handle even that. So the invitations had always been few and far between, since people generally invited the kids with the parents they knew best to their birthdays. I didn’t mind being left out, but Erica did. She’d cried many tears over it, which made me both angry and sad. I’d feared Danny’s jailed father would prevent him from blending in with the kids in much the same way. Apparently, it hadn’t.