Evil In Carnations (15 page)

Hmm.
Carmen Gold would know how to contact Aidan. And while I was at it, maybe I could persuade Carmen to reveal what had caused those hostile looks she’d aimed at Jonas.

I phoned Bloomers to ask Grace to look up Carmen’s work number, but, oddly, the machine picked up. Obviously Grace and Jillian were busy. I’d have to wait until I got back to the shop and do it myself. And of course there was the problem of finding time to visit Carmen.

I crossed my fingers and hoped that Jillian was as good at arranging as she was at imagining. That would give me the extra time I desperately needed.

 

My last delivery was to a neighborhood on the southern edge of New Chapel on the other side of a busy county highway. As I waited for the light to change at the intersection, I glanced to the left and spotted the big green-and-white sign that read: TOM’S GREEN THUMB NURSERY AND GREENHOUSE.

It reminded me that I hadn’t given Marco the name of the girl Jonas jilted. Lottie had mentioned it only in passing. But what was it? Roberta? Ramona? Rhonda? I couldn’t remember! There was one sure way to find out—stop at Tom’s and ask . . . and maybe sneak in a little sleuthing, too.

When the light changed, I turned left, then pulled into the gravel lot in front of the greenhouse. I sat for a moment remembering the last time I’d been there, when I’d had a nasty run-in with the former owner, Tom Harding, while investigating my first murder case. Thank heavens Tom was no longer there. I had no use for bullies.

I walked up the flagstone path that, in the summer, was flanked by rows of potted perennials, large containers of blooming annuals, and dozens of rosebushes. Now it was just frozen ground. Automatic glass doors whooshed open to let me into the building, where I stood for a moment taking in the view and breathing in moist air, a welcome relief from the cold, dry air outside.

The greenhouse had a high glass ceiling and wide aisles that led through rows of tables that were mostly bare now, except for some early landscaping plants and indoor tree specimens. Off to the right I saw a young woman about my age working at a computer in an office with glass windows. Since no one else was around to help me, I walked toward the window, waving to catch her attention.

She saw me and came to the doorway. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m Abby Knight. I own Bloomers Flower Shop.”

“Robin Lennox.” She shook my hand. “I’m the assistant manager.”

Robin! That was it.

She was half a head taller than me and had a heart-shaped face, brown eyes, a short nose, a small, full mouth, and a narrow chin. Her shoulder-length medium-brown hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears. She wore a gray sweatshirt with Tom’s Green Thumb on it and a pair of blue jeans with yellow work boots.

“Robin, would you have time to answer a few questions?”

“Certainly. Are you looking for plants for your flower shop or are you interested in starting a garden at home?”

“Neither. This is about Jonas Treat. I’m sure you’ve heard he was murdered.”

“So?”

“I know you have a history with Jonas. I was hoping you could fill in some details about his life.”

Robin instantly stiffened. “Pardon me, but you’re a florist. Why are you so interested in Jonas’s life?”

I debated whether to make up a story or be honest with her, and honesty won out. “My best friend went out to dinner with Jonas a few hours before he was killed . It was only their first date, but since she was allegedly the last person to see him alive, she’s become a person of interest to the police. I know she didn’t kill him and I’m trying to help her clear her name.”

“Look, I feel sorry for your friend, but it’s her problem, not mine.”

“I totally understand, but just quickly, can you think of anyone in Jonas’s life who might have had a strong grudge against him?”

“I haven’t seen Jonas in years. I don’t know who’s in his life now, and I don’t know anything about his death other than what I read in the newspaper. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

“You dated Jonas, didn’t you?”

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “A few times but, like I said, years ago.”

That wasn’t the way Lottie told it. Either she got the story wrong or Robin was lying. I decided to find out which. “Where did you meet Jonas?”

She sighed impatiently. “At a frat party back in college.”

“When was that?”

“Four years ago.”

“So you’ve known him for quite a while.”

“No, I
met
him quite a while ago. Now, if you don’t mind?” She indicated the door.

“Just one more question? Please? Why did you stop seeing him?”

“I really don’t like talking about it.”

No help there. I’d have to be sneakier. “Would you say Jonas was well liked?”

“Well liked?” Robin laughed sarcastically. “Tell me something: What was your friend’s opinion of him after her date?”

“A handsome jerk.”

“Most people would agree with you. Actually, I think you’d have a tough time finding anyone who had a good word to say about Jonas. Anyone who wasn’t insane, that is. Now, please, I’ve answered your questions. I need to get back to work. You’ll see yourself out?”

Not quite yet. “You must have liked something about Jonas,” I said as she walked away. “You were going to marry him.”

R
obin stopped and came back, her face bright red, though I wasn’t sure whether it was from anger or embarrassment. “I was engaged
briefly
to Jonas. Luckily, I found out what kind of man he was before I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

“What kind of man was that?”

“A lying, cheating, self-centered son of a bitch who I never wanted to see again. Believe me, after I broke off our engagement, I couldn’t even stand to drive past his signboard on the highway.”

“When you say cheating, do you mean he cheated on you?”

She pushed up her sleeves. “Oh, yeah. Many times.”

“How did you find out?”

“
Jonas
told me, the jackass. Said before we went any further with our wedding plans, he had a confession to make, like he wanted me to give him absolution. I’m so glad I didn’t spend any money on that wedding or I’d really be pissed.”

“Do you know the names of the women Jonas was seeing?”

Robin shook her head. “I didn’t want to know. Can you believe that jerk actually admitted he used our engagement as an excuse to keep other women from getting too involved with him? I knew he’d do the same thing while we were married, so I canceled the wedding and said good riddance to Jonas.”

“How did he take it?”

“It really didn’t seem to bother him.”

“How long ago was this?”

She shrugged. “I’ve lost track.

“You mentioned his signboard, so it wasn’t four years ago.”

She scowled at me. “Several months ago, okay? But I swear I have not laid eyes on that man since.”

“So you have an alibi for Sunday night?”

“I didn’t kill Jonas, if that’s what you’re implying. If you want someone with a motive, talk to Duke Kessler.”

Remarkable how quickly Robin supplied Duke’s name when I asked for her alibi. “Why should I talk to Duke?”

“You’re aware that he closed his real estate office, right? Do you know why?”

“Because of something Jonas did?”

Robin walked to the doorway of her office, then paused to say, “I think you need to get that answer from Duke.”

 

On my way to the minivan, I dug out my cell phone and called Marco to see what he’d found out. Which, as it turned out, was nothing.

“No one in Nikki’s ex-boyfriend’s neighborhood saw her or her car there,” Marco said.

“Damn! Nikki was afraid that would happen. There goes her alibi.”

“Why was she afraid that would happen?”

“Because of the way her luck has been running.”

“Abby, are you absolutely certain you believe Nikki’s latest version of events?”

“I’d give anything to be able to say yes. Did you get out to the boxing gym?

“Kessler wasn’t there. His gym manager, a guy called Borax, said Kessler would be back first thing in the morning. I tried to get a little background info on Kessler, but Borax clammed up, so I’ll stop by there again tomorrow morning.”

“The guy’s name is Borax? Is that his professional boxing name?”

“Could be a nickname—the dude looked like Mr. Clean.”

“Remember that name I was supposed to come up with, the woman Jonas was set to marry? It’s Robin Lennox. She works at Tom’s Green Thumb, and since I was out making deliveries this afternoon and happened to pass right by Tom’s, I stopped to talk to Robin.”

“You
happened
to pass by?”

“Within a hundred feet . . . I mean, the greenhouse was right there, Marco. How could I not stop? Anyway, Robin’s responses to my questions were very interesting.”

“I’m listening.”

“First of all, she claimed she hadn’t seen Jonas in years, until I called her on it and then she changed it to several months. She admitted to being engaged to him, but said she canceled the wedding when he confessed to cheating on her. She also said she didn’t spend any money on the wedding, which I find hard to believe. She would’ve had to order a wedding gown, reserve a banquet room, order invitations—something. Finally, she suggested I talk to Duke Kessler, hinting that Jonas had had a hand in closing his real estate business. I’m not sure whether she really knows something about Duke or just wanted to divert the attention away from herself.”

“After I go out to Jonas’s subdivision, I’ll pay Robin a visit, see if I can get more info from her. I’m hoping to get back to the bar before six o’clock. Think you’ll be able to join me for dinner?”

“It’ll depend on what Jillian gets done. With Lottie being gone, I’ve got my hands full. I’ll be so glad when she gets back. Oops. I’ve got another call. I’ll let you know about dinner.”

I saw
Bloomers
on caller ID and clicked over to the other line. “Hello?”

“Abby, dear, are you about finished with deliveries?” Grace asked. “Your mother is here with something to show you.”

“Her new art project?”

“Yes, that’s right.” By the way Grace had answered, I knew my mom was nearby.

Just what I needed to end my workday. “I’m about ten minutes away, Grace. Would you do me a favor? Do an Internet search for Cloud Nine and get a phone number where I can reach Carmen Gold?”

“Of course, dear.”

“And one more thing, Grace. Can you tell me if Mom’s new project is really bad? I want to prepare myself.”

“It will bowl you over, love.”

It was bad.

“Oh, and Abby, I should probably mention that we’ve had quite a number of customers in the coffee-and-tea parlor this afternoon, which is good for the cash register but rather limited my ability to oversee the workroom.”

I did a rapid translation in my head: Grace was tied up with customers, so Jillian had free reign with my flowers. Double bad. “Prepare me, Grace.”

“Let’s just say that your cousin’s output will bowl you over, too. And one more bit of news: Lottie called. She’s feeling better, but the soonest she’ll be back to work is next Monday.”

A trifecta of badness.

 

I walked into Bloomers at four thirty to find Grace behind the counter taking payment from a customer, and my mom standing near the parlor doorway making a sales pitch to three women she’d managed to corner.

“You’ll never lose a hat again,” Mom was telling them. “It’s a bold accent piece for an entranceway. I call it
The Bowler
, and I promise your guests will indeed be bowled over by it.”

They all laughed at her joke. Since they were standing in a semicircle in front of her creation, I still hadn’t caught a glimpse of it, but from Mom’s comment, I was betting it was a hat rack rather than a bowl.

“Does
The Bowler
come with a bowler?” one of the women asked, and again they all laughed.

“Yes, it certainly does,” Mom said. “And it has a stand for umbrellas, too.”

A bowler with a bowler? As Mom lifted her work of art onto its stand, I peered between two of the women for a look, then clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my horrified gasp. It was a ginormous, grinning bowling pin.

The five-foot-tall wooden pin was painted in sections, each one in a different bright crayon color, with various patterns applied to each section. One had bull’s-eye red circles on a black background; one had pink hearts on a green background; another had yellow polka dots on an orange background, all the way to the bottom.

Mom took an old-fashioned bowler hat out of a bag and placed it on top of the pin. The hat, with its characteristic rolled brim, was uncharacteristically covered with colorful glass beads. A smiley face on one side of the bowling pin peered out from under the hat, clearly “
The Bowler
wearing a bowler.”

Through the neck of the bowling pin, Mom had inserted pegs, also painted in bright colors, apparently designed to hold more hats. The entire creation sat on a brightly painted, two-foot-tall stand that had metal rings attached on each side, no doubt to hold umbrellas.

Dear God. It was a totem pole on drugs.

“It’s quite an, er, eye-catching piece,” one of the women said, “but it wouldn’t work in my house. It’s much too, ah, modern.”

“Same here,” her friend said immediately. The third woman nodded frantically.

I inched backward, hoping Mom hadn’t spotted me.

“Abigail! Here you are at last!” To her captive audience, Mom said, “This is my daughter, Abigail. She owns Bloomers. Honey, what do you think of my new art?”

All four women gazed at me expectantly.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said, walking around the bowling pin. “What a unique hat rack. Mom, you continually manage to outdo yourself.”