Evil In Carnations (19 page)

“That’s a relief,” he said dryly. “Hold on. I’ve got another call. Looks like Gina’s number.”

“Wait, Marco! Before you talk to her, you should know that Gina had this crazy notion I was trying to pick up men for myself. Anyway, I hope I cleared up her misunderstanding, but if she happens to mention it, tell her you know why I went there and you’re perfectly happy with the way things stand between us.”

“Never mind. She hung up. So why do I need to explain our relationship to Gina?”

“Well, I just thought, in case she said anything about seeing me at the gym, you should know what happened. She’s very protective of you.” I didn’t go further. It was too late in the evening to get into a discussion on marriage and babies.

“I guess I’ll always be Gina’s little brother. So tell me what you learned from Kessler.”

“My impression of him was favorable. You’d like him, Marco. He’s a nice guy, and he thinks I’m plucky.”

“Hold on, Plucky. Gina’s calling again.”

I
paced from one end of the apartment to the other, crossing my fingers that Gina’s reason for phoning was something other than to lodge a complaint.

He came back on the line a few minutes later. “Sorry for the interruption. I worry when Gina calls this late. Anyway, you were about to tell me what Kessler had to say.”

I was dying to know what Gina’s call was about, but since Marco didn’t seem concerned, I thought it better not to ask. “Kessler had quite a lot to say about the history behind his partnership with Jonas. Basically, he gave Jonas his start in real estate and treated him like a son, even when Jonas was making deals behind his back. Then Jonas left the partnership and bought Miller’s land for development, after Kessler had negotiated with Hank Miller for two years for that property. Jonas became a multimillionaire selling those tracts and Kessler got zip.”

“Sounds like a strong motive for murder.”

“Don’t judge him just yet. Kessler, poor guy, was so furious with Jonas that he nearly had a heart attack. That’s why he closed his realty office and went into the fitness business. He said he had to let go of all his animosity toward Jonas or be killed by it. So he did let it go and got healthy instead. He told me he hadn’t seen Jonas in six months. So yes, there is a motive, but I don’t see Kessler as a strong suspect.”

“Kessler filed a lawsuit against Jonas two months ago. Does that sound like someone who let go of his animosity?”

That took me aback. Why hadn’t Kessler told me? “He didn’t mention the suit.”

“I’m not surprised. Kessler is a great salesman, Sunshine—that was his business—and it sounds as though he may have sold you a line of bull.”

“I don’t think so, Marco. I got good vibes from him. You’ll see when you talk”—I paused when a yawn sneaked up on me—“to him.”

“Get some rest, baby. I’ll call you tomorrow after I make the rounds of suspects, okay?”

“Sure. And Marco?”

“Hmm?”

“You
are
happy with the way things stand between us now, aren’t you?”

“I’d be happier if we could get away together soon.”

“Me, too, but that’s not what I mean.”

“Did Gina say something to make you doubt it?”

I couldn’t think how to answer. If I said yes, he’d want to know what she’d said, and that would lead to the whole marriage/baby discussion that I wasn’t prepared to have. If I said no, I’d be lying. Luckily, my silence spoke for me.

“Abby, have some faith in our relationship. And don’t worry about my sister. I can handle her.”

The first thing I saw when I walked into Bloomers the next morning was the ginormous bowling-pin man grinning at me from under his bowler as though he found me comical. “I’m having a bad-hair day,” I grumbled, trying to smooth down my static-riddled locks. “Don’t be so judgmental. You only wish you had my hair.”

Grace sailed out of the parlor with a cup of coffee for me. “Here you are, dear. Conversing with our friend Homer, are you?”

I glanced around to see who she meant. “Homer? Are you talking about
The Bowler
?”

“I find it rather unnerving to have that face staring at me, so I named him. It makes him friendly. He does resemble the cartoon character Homer Simpson, don’t you think?”

“You’re right! He does. But I wouldn’t mention that in front of my mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love. One can only hope your cousin sends someone round for Homer soon. He does try one’s patience.”

I took a sip of coffee and closed my eyes as it glided down my throat. “You make the best coffee in the world, Grace. I wish I had time to linger over it, but I suppose a stack of orders is waiting for me.”

“Did you see the newspaper this morning?” she called, returning to her duties in the parlor.

“I didn’t have time. Simon batted my cell phone under the sofa during the night and it took me fifteen minutes to find it. Why? Was there more on Jonas’s murder?”

“Nothing new on that front, but I thought you’d want to know that his funeral will be Friday afternoon. Also, there’s an advert for Cloud Nine. Another speed-dating event is to be held tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. As you hadn’t mentioned whether you’d spoken with Carmen Gold, I left the ad on your desk as a reminder. Perhaps you’ll want to meet her before the event, say at six thirty? I’d be happy to set up a meeting. That would give you ample time to question her, wouldn’t it?”

Grace could have been the queen’s social secretary. “Thanks, but Marco already has plans to interview Carmen.” I didn’t say anything to Grace, but after my run-in with Gina, the last thing I wanted was to be spotted anywhere near another speed-dating event.

I took my coffee to the workroom and glanced at the spindle on my desk. No wonder Grace hadn’t said anything. There were only nine orders. I hoped the drop wasn’t a result of Jillian being on duty. The Cloud Nine ad was there, too, but, staying true to my word, I resisted the urge to contact Carmen.

By midmorning, I had finished three huge formal arrangements, a wreath, and an enormous funeral blanket, even after helping out in the parlor for the morning rush. I stowed the spray in the cooler and was about to head toward the parlor for a tea break when I heard Grace exclaim, “Good heavens!”

I hurried through the curtain and saw her standing at the bay window, her hands pressed to her face. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said as I joined her at the window.

In the street outside, a white stretch limousine had pulled alongside the curb. It wasn’t just any stretch limo. It was a gigantic Hummer limo, so long it reached from Bloomers to Down the Hatch. It was such a novel sight, a crowd had gathered, eager to catch a glimpse of the celebrity inside.

“Is anyone famous in town?” Grace asked.

The driver’s door opened, and the limo driver got out. He wore full livery—black cap, black suit and tie, white shirt, and black shoes. The throng pressed closer, many using their cell phones as cameras to snap photos as he walked around the car to the curbside and opened the door all the way at the back.

He unfolded two steps and reached inside to assist his passenger. An arm emerged clad in black leather. It was followed by a black spike-heeled boot. Then a bright copper head appeared and Jillian emerged, appearing totally shocked by the assemblage. She smiled and waved, posing for the cameras, then sashayed toward Bloomers, where she stopped to wave again.

I opened the door and nearly dragged her inside. “What in God’s name are you doing in a Hummer limo? A Hummer limo, Jillian! It barely fits on the street. Do you have any idea how much gas that thing uses?”

Jillian waved away my concern. “I can afford it.” She motioned to the driver, who removed a small dolly from the vehicle and wheeled it through the doorway. I quickly shut the door, turning my back on the curious faces outside.

“It’s right over there,” Jillian said to the driver, pointing to Homer.

“You rented a Hummer limo to deliver your mother’s birthday present?” I hissed, as the driver scooted
The Bowler
onto the base of the dolly. “Are you insane? Jillian, it’s not about whether you can afford the gas. It’s about
wasting
the gas. Haven’t you been reading about conserving energy? Greening the country? Easing our dependence on oil?”

I paused as Grace opened the door so the driver could wheel Homer out of the shop. “Jillian, you have to stop being so self-centered. So you impressed those people out there with that monster vehicle. Maybe you’ll impress your mother, too”—and wouldn’t I give anything to see her face when she got a look at Homer!—“but you have to think of the big picture.”

Jillian folded her arms and sighed. “I was thinking of the big picture. The limo is also for your deliveries. You want your customers to have their flowers, don’t you?”

“That’s why we leased the minivan.”

“Who’s going to drive it? You’ll be busy with your orders, and Grace will be working the parlor. God knows I can’t make coffee. I already told you how I feel about bugly vans, and don’t even mention the words
pickup truck
in my presence. What does that leave? A limo. And you don’t really think your big funeral arrangements would fit inside a regular limo, do you?”

It was hard to argue with her logic.

“So how cool would it be for your customers to have a big white Hummer pull up in front of their houses?” Jillian asked. “Wouldn’t that make the flowers all the more special, not to mention the shop where they were made? Think of the publicity, Abs. Look at the big picture.”

Hmm.
Delivery by monster limo would be kind of cool—although it meant a temporary compromise of my principles. But I
could
accept the limo as payback for all the headaches Jillian had caused over the years.

She headed for the workroom, calling over her shoulder, “Do you have any arrangements ready to go? We might as well get started.”

I stared at her for a moment, still shocked that she’d done something nice for me—two days in a row. I glanced at Grace and shrugged. “Maybe Jillian is finally growing up.”

“One can dream,” she said blithely.

While Jillian played delivery girl, I finished the remaining orders. I hated to admit my cousin had hit on a good idea, but having that monstrous Hummer stop out front had brought in a flock of customers, some for coffee and tea, and some to browse and shop, but all of them spending money. Humming happily, I worked through my lunch hour, eating mixed nuts from a can and drinking the tea Grace supplied.

“I’m back,” Jillian announced, breezing through the curtain with a white sack in her hands. “I brought you a sandwich from the deli—well, actually it’s my sandwich. I couldn’t finish it. I’ll put it in the refrigerator and you can have it later. You’ll never guess who I ran into at the bank while I was delivering that birthday bouquet to the loan officer with the handlebar mustache—who, by the way, has picked up about forty pounds of flab since he was promoted last year and is hot after a teller at least fifteen years younger than him. I mean, seriously, does
anyone
wear a handlebar mustache anymore?”

“Jillian! Stop! Who did you run into?”

“Marco’s sister.”

I nearly dropped my clippers. “Gina? What did she say? Did she ask any questions about me? How did she seem? Friendly? Angry? Catty? Downright hostile?”

Jillian thought about it. “She was a little flushed in the face. You know, like too much blush, maybe a little heavy-handed on the eye shadow. I mean, Vampira, here we come. Her hair wasn’t too bad, though, but I guess that’s one of the benefits of being preggers.”

“Jillian, what did she
say
to you?”

“Well, after the normal ‘how are you, great to see you’ whatev, she asked how your matchmaking was going for Nikki.” Jillian rolled her eyes. “ Right. Like you have time for that. I told her I didn’t know where she came up with that idea. You were way too busy running Bloomers to worry about Nikki’s love life. You barely had time for your own—always keeping late hours, having practically no time to see Marco . . . stuff like that.”

“Jillian, I
was
trying to find a date for Nikki! Oh, my God! She’s going to think I really tried to pick up those guys last night.”

“You? Pick up a guy?” Jillian laughed as she headed for the kitchen. “No one would believe that.”

“Marco’s overprotective sister would!”

Grace poked her head through the curtain. “A word, Abby, if you don’t mind?”

I walked to the curtain, where Grace whispered, “I thought you’d want to know, dear. Carmen Gold stopped in to order a funeral arrangement. It appears that the Hummer caught her eye, too. Did you want to help her? It would be the perfect opportunity to have a chat about the murder.”

I peered through the curtain, and sure enough, there was Carmen, perusing the gift items in one of my antique armoires. . . . No, make that looking at her reflection in the glass.

“I don’t know if I should, Grace. Marco wanted to interview her.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “But Marco isn’t here, is he?”

I
f the opportunity arises, of course you should make the most of it
, Marco had said.

“I’ll talk to Carmen,” I told Grace.

“What shall we do about Jillian?”

Yikes.
Grace had a point. I didn’t want my nosy cousin to barge in while I was questioning Carmen and mess up my chance to help with the murder investigation.

“We’ll have to send her out on more deliveries. There are three orders in the cooler, and if the limo driver can squeeze the Hummer into the alley, he can load them through the back door. Jillian won’t need to step foot up front.”

“Brilliant idea,” Grace said. “I’ll take care of it. You go talk to Carmen.”

 

When I stepped through the curtain, Carmen stopped primping and turned toward me, her winged eyebrows raising in recognition. She was wearing a black wool swing coat with a silver-and-black scarf around her throat, her long platinum hair pulled back with a silver clip at the nape of her neck, and short black boots with silver heels. Beneath her open coat I could see a turquoise sweater and black pencil skirt.