Dirty Rotten Tendrils (24 page)

M
arco and I left Dave’s office at eight forty-five and headed back to Bloomers together. At that time of morning, the town square was filled with the usual businesspeople hurrying to their offices and shops, in addition to the mobs of Cody Verse fans that had set up camp on the courthouse lawn.

“Can you be ready at noon to interview Darla Mae?” Marco asked.

“Sure. It’s my lunch hour. And you can fill me in on what Lipinski’s staff has to say. Just don’t turn on too much charm, okay? I don’t want to have to fend off any frisky females.”

Stopped at the corner in front of Bindstrom’s Jewelry, Marco put an arm around me and kissed my cheek. “The only fending off you’ll need to do is with me, Fireball.”

He didn’t need to worry about that happening.

Mr. Bindstrom came out the door just as we were about to kiss. “Morning,” he called.

“Morning,” we replied, putting a respectable distance between us.

The jeweler stood outside studying his display windows, so Marco and I exchanged a discreet kiss, then headed in different directions. I turned onto Franklin and went toward Bloomers, keeping a sharp eye out for McKay, while Marco headed for the public parking lot.

Back at Bloomers, I found everything in perfect order, ready to open for the day. Grace handed me a cup of coffee and pointed me toward the workroom, where Lottie was creating a huge floral arrangement for the New Chapel Savings Bank’s lobby as the bank prepared to celebrate its fiftieth year in business.

The glossy black Oriental-design vase, which had a base diameter of eighteen inches and a height of two feet, was filled with a riot of spring and summer flowers in a trio of red, orange, and pink: red amaryllis, scarlet geraniums, orange gerberas, dark pink gerberas, midpink peonies, glory lilies, magenta anemones, orange broom, and brilliant red stock, with a backdrop of green hellebores and dark green bergenias. The entire arrangement stood four feet high and nearly three feet wide, a perfect centerpiece for a large, elegantly appointed lobby.

I leaned over to inhale the fresh, sweet aromas. “Outstanding, Lottie.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Fill us in on your meeting.”

I did, quickly, because it was almost nine o’clock. And as soon as Grace turned the sign in the door to OPEN, our regular morning customers flocked in, eager to find out what kind of scones she’d made for the day.

“Raisin oatmeal,” I heard her announce. This was greeted by applause. The coffee-and-tea parlor had become Grace’s stage.

The phone rang and Lottie answered it at the desk, then took down an order. More orders waited on the spindle. Everything in my life was finally coming together. My flower shop was still afloat. My fiancé was not only extremely sexy, but also sensitive and supportive. My assistants were the best in the world. My parents were happy. I had my ring back . . .

The bell over the door jingled and a female voice called, “Abs? Yoo-hoo! Are you in the workroom? Have I got a surprise for you!”

And then there was Jillian.

She swept through the curtain and paused, turning so I could see her long, crimson wrap-sweater with one end draped over her shoulder, beneath which were a creamy white cashmere pullover and matching wool slacks, ending with glossy red ballet flats. She plunked her huge gold tote bag down on top of the worktable, scattering stray leaves and rose petals, and heaved a satisfied sigh. “I’m glad I caught you in. You, too, Lottie,” she said, catching my assistant trying to slip out of the room. “You’ll want to stay for this.”

Lottie sheepishly returned, giving me a look that said,
What is she cooking up now?

I folded my arms. “What’s the surprise?”

“Well,” she said jauntily, “as you both know, I’m Lila Redmond’s fashion consultant.”

“Jillian,” I said with a sigh, “how long are you going to keep that up?”

“As long as La Lila needs me. Anyway, I’ve decided to bring all three of you up to speed on the current fashion trends so you don’t embarrass yourselves in front of Lila or the media.”

“How are you going to do that?” I asked skeptically.

“By holding a workshop. I thought noon today would be the perfect time.”

“I have to be somewhere at noon, Jillian.”

“And I have to run the shop while Abby’s out,” Lottie said with a shrug.

Jillian clucked her tongue. “That’s too bad, Lottie, because your hair . . .”

Lottie was just about to leave, but at that she said, “What about my hair?”

“It’s so”—Jillian waved her hand in the air—“nineteen eighties.”

Lottie came back to the worktable, patting her short, brassy curls. “What’s wrong with that? The nineteen eighties were good years.”

“Have you walked down the hair aisle at the drugstore lately?” Jillian asked with as much tact as she could muster. “Have you seen all the products designed to
straighten
curls?”

Lottie seemed to deflate. “I guess I haven’t paid any attention.”

Jillian put her hands on her slender hips and gave Lottie a slow once-over, shaking her head. “And then there’s all that pink. Pink sweatshirt, pink sneakers, pink lipstick, pink earrings.” Jillian sighed. “Pink barrettes.”

Lottie stuck out her lower lip. “I like pink.”

“So do I,” Jillian said. “The trick is to use it as your accent color, not your lifestyle.”

Lottie glanced down at her outfit in dismay. “Oh.”

I couldn’t bear to witness the destruction of a good woman’s self-esteem, so I said sternly, “Jillian,” only to have her hold out a palm to halt me.

“Bup-bup, Abby.” She turned toward Lottie. “I can help you, Lottie, and I’ll do it for free. I won’t even tell you how much a private consult like that would cost.”

“Hmm,” Lottie said, as though doing a quick mental calculation.

Jillian sat Lottie on a wooden stool and pointed at some distant, imaginary place. “Imagine walking in the front door of your house with a new look, your husband stopping dead in his tracks, his eyeballs bulging. ‘Lottie? Darling? Can this gorgeous woman really be you?’ ”

Somehow I couldn’t picture salt-of-the-earth Herman, wearing his old, tattered sweat suit, parked in front of a television tuned to a basketball game, calling Lottie darling. Toots, yes.

But Lottie straightened on the stool, her eyes wide, as though she could actually see it.

“Imagine,” Jillian said, making a frame with her hands through which to view Lottie, “walking outside and having the cameras across the street catch sight of you. ‘Hey! Someone get a shot of that stunning creature. She must be one of Lila Redmond’s actress friends.’”

“Actress friend?” Lottie asked, totally caught up in the fantasy.

“You’ve heard that Cody Verse is coming to the square tomorrow evening to judge the preliminary round of a talent contest, haven’t you? The mayor announced it this morning. And you want to be ready when those cameras turn on, right? Just think how proud your sons will be when you show up on TV looking like a model.”

Lottie sighed dreamily, sinking her chin onto her palm. “Oh, yeah.”

Jillian’s eyes twinkled gleefully as she glanced at me. “Sure you don’t want to join us?”

I motioned for her to meet me in the corner. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What’s in it for you?”

“When women see Lottie’s transformation, my business will soar.”

“Won’t it soar when they find out you’re Lila’s consultant?”

Jillian shook her head. “I had to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Right.

“Now, as for Grace . . .” Jillian said, returning to Lottie’s side.

The curtain parted and Grace stepped into the room, head held as elegantly as a queen’s. “As for Grace,” my assistant said, using her most formal English accent, “she is perfectly content fitted out like a proper sixty-two-year-old British subject, isn’t she?”

Jillian opened her mouth to argue, but at Grace’s steely gaze she backed off. “So, Lottie,” she said, turning to her willing victim, “I’ll be back with everything we need for a makeover.” She gave her a quick hug. “Won’t it be fun?”

A regular circus.

 

 

Marco picked me up in front of Bloomers at noon and we took off for Darla Mae’s, following his GPS’s route south from the town square.

“How did it go at Lipinski’s office?” I asked, applying a generic lip gloss that Jillian wouldn’t have approved of.

“I had a productive conversation with Lipinski’s secretary, Joan.”

“She was willing to talk to you?”

“Not at first. She’s a private person and still steadfastly loyal to her boss. Plus, Joan fears repercussions if Scott Hess finds out she talked to me. She needs her job. Luckily, Joan wants to see the killer caught as much as we do, so once I explained my objective, she opened up as much as she would allow herself to.”

“And just how did you explain your objective, Charm boy?” I teased.

Marco’s mouth curved into a playful grin. “By using the Salvare magic—and a little good fortune. Hess wasn’t in the office. He’s touring the three-county area with Cody Verse while Cody promotes his CD.”

“Does our envy motive bear out?” I asked.

“I asked Joan why Hess’s name wasn’t on the sign out front, and she said Lipinksi hadn’t felt Hess was ready. When I pointed out that Hess has been there for five years, she said she couldn’t answer for Lipinski. I asked if Hess had ever expressed any feelings about the exclusion, but apparently he wasn’t in the habit of discussing personal business with the staff.

“I did get Joan to allow that it was possible for Hess to stay in the office after hours without the staff knowing, but she said he drives to work—he lives too far to walk—so she would have noticed his Grand Am in the parking lot when she left. She said there were only two cars in the lot, Dave’s and the Lip’s, at closing time.”

“Hess could have returned to the office after Dave left.”

“Sure. Joan said Lipinski and Hess were the only ones who had keys to the building.”

“What about Hess having access to drugs?” I asked.

“She wasn’t able to answer that. When I asked about Dave’s meeting with her boss, she said she could hear the men arguing when she left for the day. She said it was heated but not to the point where she feared it would get violent. She said she felt terrible telling the detectives that Dave was the last one she saw in the office with Lipinski because she knew what they would think. She was upset when I told her the detectives were focusing on Dave.”

“What about Joan as a suspect?”

“Airtight alibi. And I think she actually liked working for Lipinski.”

“Did you mention Lipinski’s encounter with Lila?”

“No. I doubt she’d have any knowledge of that.”

“Secretaries know a lot more than you think. It’s worth a try.”

“I did ask if Cody had been in to see Lipinski Monday afternoon, and she said no.”

“So that lets Cody off the hook.”

“Nope. He’s on the hook until we know exactly how Lipinski’s drink was drugged. Joan verified that he kept a decanter of bourbon in his office, which means someone could have tainted it before he poured from it.”

The monotonal voice of the GPS system kicked in. “Prepare to turn left.”

“Wouldn’t the killer be taking a big risk by poisoning a whole bottle?” I asked, as Marco moved into the left lane. “What if Lipinski had poured a drink for Dave or for one of his clients? Or what if he’d given the bottle to someone on his staff?”

“An inexperienced killer might not think of that, and a sociopath wouldn’t care.”

“Then are we dealing with a sociopath? Because it seems like an inexperienced killer would be caught right away from evidence left behind.”

“Inexperience doesn’t necessarily mean stupid,” Marco said.

The GPS said, “Turn left in one hundred feet.” Marco put on his signal.

“It seems that it would have been easier for Scott Hess to slip a drug into Lipinski’s decanter than for Cody,” I said. “Hess could have gone to the office over the weekend, while Lipinski was entertaining at his lake house.”

“Hess definitely had the opportunity, and we’ve established a possible motive, but until we know what drug was in the glass, we won’t know whether he had the means.”

Marco brought the Prius to a stop, waiting for traffic to clear so he could turn. “I asked Joan if she knew what the detectives had taken from Lipinski’s office in the way of evidence. She said all she saw them remove was a gift basket, the bourbon decanter, and the empty glass found near his body. So I think it would be wise to go back to Lipinski’s office tomorrow to talk to the secretary who discovered him to see what she remembers about the crime scene. Joan said she had taken time off because of the shock of finding the body. Do you want to go along?”