Dearly Depotted (12 page)

One thing I’ve learned about Grace: if I wanted to convince her to do something, I had to take the opposite stance. “I’m not sure I’d be of much help,” I said to Lottie. “Reilly won’t tell me a thing anymore. He gets feisty when I ask him questions.”

“Forget Reilly,” Lottie said, playing along. “You’ve got a better source—that hottie Greg Morgan in the prosecutor’s office. He owes you for standing you up at the wedding.”

Morgan hadn’t actually stood me up, but her point was well taken. Not only did he have access to police records, but he had also developed an interest in me that I milked whenever I could. It was payback for all those snubs I’d gotten from him in high school.

I looked at Grace to see how our ploy was working and thought I detected a glint of hope in her eyes. It was time to toss more fuel into the fire. “There was another person at the wedding who Jack had wronged and, as it happens, he left early, too. He’s a butcher at the Meat Market. It wouldn’t be hard to check out his story.”

“And since you’re practically family, you can pay a visit to Jillian’s uncle Josiah to fish around there,” Lottie added.

I didn’t rush to agree. It would take a better sportsman than me to pull a tuna out of that pond.

Grace finished her tea and took her cup to the sink behind the bar. She was humming a flat tune, which meant she was doing some serious deliberating. The more carefree Grace felt, the livelier her tunes became. Lottie gave me an encouraging wink.

The phone rang in the shop and Lottie went to answer it. “Abby, it’s Trudee DeWitt,” she called a moment later.

Oh, no. I’d forgotten to make arrangements to have the carnations removed from her backyard. I jumped up and ran to the other room. “Trudee? Hi. I’m so sorry I didn’t call you.”

“That’s okay,” she said in her perky voice. “I just wanted to let you know that your cute little helpers are here.”

“My cute little helpers are at your house?” I said, glancing at Lottie for confirmation, but she shrugged, as if it was news to her.

“They’re loading a pickup truck now. They want to know where to dump the flowers.”

I was amazed the quads had thought to do that all on their own. “Tell them to take the flowers to the park department’s recycling center. How was your party?”

I heard the pop of bubblegum and couldn’t help but wonder if Trudee suffered from jaw pain from all that chewing she did. “The party was super,” she said. “We had only one mishap when someone stumbled into the flag, but Karl came right over to fix it. He’s such a cutie-pie. I just want to pinch his cheek. Do you want me to send your check with him?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pick it up when I come to get my decorations in”—I checked my watch—“about an hour, okay?”

“Okay. See you then.”

I hung up and let out a loud, “Woo-hoo!” as I danced around the shop. I gave Lottie a high five. “Bring on the bills. I’m picking up Trudee’s check in an hour, and I’m taking you and Grace out for a celebration dinner—my treat.”

“Sweetie, that’s kind of you, but you don’t need to waste your hard-earned money on us,” Lottie said.

“I made you a promise when I took that job, and a promise is a promise. Are you with me?”

“Are you kidding?” She reached for the phone. “I’ll call Herman and let him know he and the boys are on their own tonight.”

Grace was being rather quiet, so I returned to the parlor to see why, claiming I needed a refill on my coffee. She was setting out bud vases and filling them with white daisies, a worried frown on her face, but when she heard me come in, she turned with a smile. “Congratulations on the check, dear. That’s wonderful news.”

“Thanks,” I said as I filled up the cup with her fragrant brew. “You’ll be able to join us for dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She put out the last vase, stuck two flowers in it, then said, “If the offer of help is still open, I’d like to take you up on it. Mind, now, I’m not entirely happy about encouraging your inquisitive nature, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

I nodded soberly. “I understand.”

She heaved a sigh, as if she were resigning herself to the inevitable. “I suppose you’ll want to get started on it right away. What will you do first?”

“Interview you. Have a seat, Grace.”

 

 

 

 

I
grabbed a tablet and a pen from under the counter and took a seat at one of the white wrought iron tables in front of the bay window. Fortunately, the shop didn’t open for another half hour, so I had some leeway. Grace poured herself another cup of tea and sat down beside me, and we began.

“First of all, what time did Richard leave the banquet hall?”

She raised her cup to her lips and took a sip, pondering my question. “He received a message on his phone as soon as he turned it back on, which would have been immediately after the ceremony as we were leaving the garden area and walking toward the building.”

I wrote it down. “What did the message say?”

“I didn’t hear it. Richard listened to it, then put the phone in his coat pocket and said a problem had come up that needed his attention. He told me he’d take care of it and join me as soon as he could. Then he started toward the parking lot and I went inside the building.”

“What time did he come back?”

“I didn’t check my watch, but it was after the police arrived.”

“Let’s make a timeline,” I said, drawing a line across the page. “The wedding started at eight ten and ended right after the fireworks show, so he would have left about eight forty-five.” I marked the line accordingly. “The reception started at nine sixteen, because that’s when Pryce began the world’s longest, dullest toast. And it was around ten o’clock that Grandma Osborne found Jack’s body.”

Grace thought a moment, then said, “I remember following everyone out of the ballroom to see what all the sirens were for, and as I stood behind the police barricade Richard came up to ask what had happened.”

“That would make it about ten fifteen, give or take a few minutes. Did he say anything about what the problem was or whether he’d solved it?”

“The only thing he said was that he had taken care of business.”

I wrote it down and looked over my notes. There was an hour and a half of time Richard would have to explain, but would he explain it to me? “Grace, what would Richard say if he knew you’d asked me to investigate?”

“Possibly something to the effect of, ‘Is that little lady at it again?’ ”

“That was a remarkable Texas accent, Grace.”

“Thank you, dear. I do have quite an ear for languages.” She leaned closer to say, “Listening to Lottie all day doesn’t hurt, either.”

“I heard that,” Lottie called from the other room. She didn’t like to be reminded of her Kentucky twang. To her ear, we were the ones who talked funny.

“Would you call Richard and ask if I can stop by to see him after I make my deliveries today?” I asked.

Grace rose and took her cup to the sink behind the counter. “I’ll do it right now.”

I cut the photo of Jack Snyder from the front page and tucked it in my purse, just in case I needed it later. Then, with my coffee cup refilled, I went to the workroom to look over the new orders: four arrangements for a funeral at the Happy Dreams Funeral Home, an anniversary bouquet, a basket arrangement for a woman’s thirty-fifth birthday, a dozen roses for another birthday, and a door wreath. I’d have time to do the basket arrangement before I left for Trudee’s house and deliver it on the way.

I took a basket made of woven reed off a shelf and put it on the worktable in front of me, then went to the cooler to select the flowers: a mixture of bright orange gerberas, yellow button spray chrysanthemums, deep pink roses, and the reddish-orange
Hypericum
berries. The round basket had a high handle, which I wrapped with tangerine-colored ribbon that I tied in a bow on one side. Into the plastic liner went green foam that had been soaked in water, followed by the flowers, forming a mound of bright colors, sweet scents, and varied textures. I wrapped it in bright birthday paper, stapled it at the top, attached a gift card, and voila! My design was done.

Lottie had already finished the anniversary bouquet, so I loaded it and the basket in her station wagon and took off. Delivering flowers was one of the high points of my job. I got a new thrill each time I saw the happiness in people’s faces when they opened their doors and found me standing there, a wrapped surprise in my arms. Today was no exception.

At my first stop, a thirtysomething woman answered the door, a fussing infant in her arms and a whining toddler hanging on a leg. I could tell she was ready to brush off whoever was complicating her life further, but as soon as she saw the wrapped bouquet, her expression changed.

“Happy anniversary!” I cried.

“Oh, my goodness!” She opened the door wider. “Would you mind bringing it in?”

I stepped inside and found myself in the compact, cluttered living room of a small ranch house. I looked around for a place to set the bouquet, but every surface was covered with plastic toys. “Would you like me to hold the baby while you—?”

I hadn’t even finished the sentence when I suddenly found myself holding a small, diaper-encased bundle of arms and legs and big eyes that didn’t know what to make of the sudden change of scenery. I was feeling the same way.

“Oh! It’s beautiful, just beautiful,” she cried, holding up the bouquet of pink and purple carnations, yellow narcissi, and white roses. “I thought he forgot.” She burst into tears, startling the baby, who screwed up his little face and began to wail, which changed the toddler’s whines to shrieks of terror.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, laughing through her tears. “I’ll take the baby. Thank you so much. This has really made my day.”

I was more than happy to hand the child back and escape to the outdoors, where even the neighbor’s lawnmower sounded peaceful by comparison. One thing the visit proved: I wasn’t ready to have children.

My second stop was much quieter but no less thrilling. The wedding basket was for a summer school teacher at the high school. I took the package to the office, explained my mission, and waited as the secretary used the intercom. I was surprised when the teacher turned out to be male, which just proved that women weren’t the only ones who could receive romantic gifts.

Next stop was Trudee’s upscale subdivision. I pulled up in front of her house and saw that my risers and other paraphernalia had been grouped outside her front door. I walked around to the backyard and found that the masses of carnations and the string borders had been removed from her lawn. Not only that, but the lawn where we’d spread out the flag had been freshly mowed.

I walked across the deck to a sliding glass door, peered through the screen, and saw one of Lottie’s quads standing with his back to the door—a bare back, actually. The rest of him was covered by long, baggy shorts and flip-flops, and by all the posturing going on, I had a strong hunch the quad in question was Karl.

He was jabbering to Trudee, who had perched on a stool at the counter and crossed one long leg over the other, her big doe eyes fixed on him as she listened intently. Trudee wore a tight, scoop-necked T-shirt—more scoop than shirt—in turquoise blue, with matching turquoise hoop earrings and a pair of white short-shorts.

“Hello,” I called through the screen.

“Abby! Come in!” Trudee said, hopping off the stool to greet me, while her guest turned in surprise, holding a glass of something cold in his hand.

“Karl was just telling me about football practice,” Trudee said, as if this were a special treat. “Did you know the coach makes them do drills in this heat?”

“We put all your stuff out front,” Karl immediately offered, sensing I wasn’t too pleased to find him bending Trudee’s ear, “and we cleaned up the backyard.”

“Karl even mowed the grass for me. Isn’t he a cutie-pie?” Trudee wrinkled her nose at him as she pinched the firm flesh of his cheek.

“Yes, he certainly is.” I patted his other cheek smartly.

As Karl scowled at me and rubbed his cheek, Trudee clicked her way across the kitchen in her high-heeled mules to a built-in desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a check. I glanced at Karl and saw his eyes bulge as he watched her lean over to sign the check. I elbowed him in the side and hissed, “Stop it.”

The phone rang and Trudee answered it, then clicked out of the room to the staircase to yell, “Hea-a-ther. Pho-o-ne!”

I massaged my ear canals. No intercom needed in that house. Trudee knew how to make her voice carry. She clicked back and handed me the check. “Here you go, Abby. Thanks for everything. Your flowers were super.”

I tucked her payment in the pocket of my navy capris. There was something I was dying to know, yet I was almost fearful to ask. I took a breath and decided to go for it. “How did the coatrack go over?”