Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (27 page)

“W
ould you excuse me for a few minutes?” I said to the men, and exited the booth before I changed my mind.

Francesca was just about to leave the bar when I caught up with her. I tugged on her sleeve and when she turned, I said with a tentative smile, “Could I have a word with you?”

“Of course,
bella
,” Francesca said. “Would you like to sit inside and have a glass of wine?”

I fanned my face. “Outside, if you don’t mind. I’m a little overheated.”

We crossed the street to the courthouse lawn and sat on a cement bench facing Bloomers and Down the Hatch.

Francesca patted my hand. “What is it,
bella
? You look troubled.”

I leaned down to tear off a blade of grass, trying not to give away my nervousness. “I need to talk to you about something…personal.”

“Is it about that man who broke your heart? I know Marco doesn’t want me to interfere, but just say the word and I will go back inside to give him a piece of my mind.”

“I appreciate that, Francesca, but I need to discuss what happened today at Bloomers.”

Francesca looked alarmed. “Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“What I mean is that I need to talk to you about the customers who came in—and the goodies you made, which everyone said were delicious, not that anything you make isn’t always delicious, or that we don’t appreciate the effort it took, the hours of preparation…”

Rambling.
That
was why I should have rehearsed.
Can you hear me, voice of conscience?

“No need to thank me,
bella
. I am more than happy to help. You want me to make more appetizers for tomorrow, yes?”

“Actually,” I said, shrinking down on the bench, “less.”

“A smaller amount? You know we ran out today, don’t you?”

I realized I’d now shredded the blade of grass and quickly tossed it away. What was it about shredding that was so therapeutic? “Yes, I do.”

“Then I don’t understand,
bella
.”

“Okay, let me start over.” I took a slow breath and let it out. “What I’m trying to say is that I really appreciate the tremendous effort it took to make all those delicious Italian appetizers and then cart them down here to the square, find parking—” I paused as an ambulance raced up West Lincoln Avenue. That was followed by a fire engine, two police cars, and an emergency rescue van.

When I glanced back at Francesca, I realized she was talking.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked.

“I said I understand.” Francesca patted my hand. “No need to explain further.”

I smiled as a wave of relief washed over me. That was way easier than I’d expected. “Thank you, Francesca.”

Marco’s mom put her arm around my shoulders and leaned her head against mine. “You are like my own daughter already, Abby.” She kissed my temple, gave me another hug, and then rose. “Now you go back to my son, and I will go home and get started.”

Wait. What?

She put her cell phone to her ear and headed across the courthouse lawn toward Indiana Avenue, turning to give me a wave. “Ciao, Abby! See you tomorrow, eh?”

“Get started on what?” I called.

She waved again, then rounded the corner of the big limestone courthouse, disappearing from view.

When I returned to Down the Hatch, Marco and Pryce had just finished their meeting, and Pryce was preparing to leave.

“You’ll be in touch tomorrow?” Pryce asked, rising from the booth.

“As soon as I have some new information,” Marco said.

“Thank you.” Pryce shook his hand, nodded to me, and eased through the crowd.

“What did I miss?” I asked, scooting in beside Marco.

“Not much new except that Pryce admitted he couldn’t verify Jake’s alibi. As you almost pointed out, Jake could have slipped out of his room without Pryce knowing.” He handed me the notebook and pen. “Let me give Rafe some instructions, and then I’ll walk you back to Bloomers.”

With his hand on my shoulder to guide me through the crowd, Marco said, “By the way, where did you go earlier?”

“To talk to your mom about the food she brought to Bloomers today.”

“How did it go?”

“I’ll tell you outside.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You told her to stop bringing food—and she was okay with that?” Marco asked, as we headed up the block.

“I didn’t get that far. I was telling her how much I appreciated her appetizers when a half dozen emergency vehicles raced by us. I paused to let them pass, and the next thing I knew, she was telling me not to worry. She understood. All I know for sure is that she seemed pleased, so who knows what she’ll show up with tomorrow?”

“Want me to call her and tell her not to bring anything?”

“And make me look like I can’t handle my own problems? No way.” We stopped in front of Bloomers while I dug for my key. “The way it is now, she might think you’re marrying an ungrateful brat, but at least she won’t think I’m a chickenhearted one.”

“I don’t think anyone would call you an ungrateful brat, chickenhearted or not.”

“Hey, Marco, look across the square.” I pointed to the next corner on West Lincoln, where a sign in large bold script read
PISCES
. “Melissa’s shop has lights on. She must be working late. Why don’t we see if she’s available to talk to us? I’ve got a whole list of questions I’d like to ask her.”

“I thought you had flower arrangements to make.”

If I’d been Grace, I would have had a quote for Marco that explained why I felt we should seize the moment. Being me, I said simply, “So what? Let’s do this.”

Pisces occupied the first floor of a building on the corner of West Lincoln and Lafayette, with apartments on the
second and third floors. Melissa’s apartment was on the second floor. The facade was undergoing a major face-lift, so we had to dodge a few orange cones and stacks of new face brick to reach Pisces’s front door.

Marco tried the door and found it open, setting off a distant bell. “She must be in the back,” I whispered, pointing to a doorway at the rear.

Typical of a decorating store, Pisces was stuffed with racks of fabric samples, wallpaper books, area rugs stacked three deep under various items of display furniture, high-end lamps, paintings, large ceramic vases, and even some very large, expensive, silk floral arrangements that had not come from Bloomers.

I was checking out one of the arrangements when I heard, “Welcome to Pisces.”

I glanced around as Melissa came toward us. She wore a short, fitted black leather jacket, brown cotton tank top, blue plaid pencil skirt, Frankenstein high heels in pebbled black leather, and chunky natural stone jewelry, making me understand why Pryce felt a need to choose her outfits. Her hair was twisted in back and pinned with a comb, letting the ends fan out around her head.

She took in our faces and her smile froze in place. “Well,” she said, making a bad attempt to be casual, “look who’s here.”

“Evening,” Marco said.

“Beautiful shop,” I added, thinking that I could really go crazy in a place like that—if I were independently wealthy. “I’m surprised you’re open so late.”

“I was supposed to meet with a client,” she replied. “Unfortunately, she canceled at the last minute.”

“Is Pisces your sign?”

“Yes,” she said with forced politeness. “I’m a Pisces. So how can I help you?”

“We’d like to talk to you about Lily,” Marco said.

She gave him a perplexed frown. “I’m not sure what kind of help I can be. I didn’t know her all that well. Are you”—she shrugged, as though she were pulling the idea out of thin air—“investigating her death?”

“We’ve been hired by Pryce’s lawyer to look into it,” Marco said. “Since you don’t have any customers at the moment, is it okay if we talk?”

Melissa checked the chunky blue rubber watch on her wrist. “I’ll be closing in twenty minutes and then I have to be somewhere.”

Marco gave her one of his charming smiles. “Then would you give us just a few minutes of your time?”

She seemed ready to decline, but, in a sudden change of mood, indicated two hard-backed chairs facing a tan love seat. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

“An office or somewhere private would be better,” Marco said, “in case a customer comes in to browse.”

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “I guess we can use my office. This way, please.”

We followed her through the doorway into a small office crammed with more samples. She moved a pile of decorating books from a cherry side chair with curved arms and scooted it up to her desk beside a wicker chair with wrought iron arms.

“If you’d like coffee or tea, help yourself,” she said, pointing out a slim commode against the wall. She picked up her cell phone and headed for the door. “There’s water in the electric teakettle. Cream, sugar, and tea biscuits are in the cabinet. I’ll be back as soon as I make a phone call.”

I waited until she was gone, then walked over to make myself a cup of tea. “Any chance Melissa will take off again?”

“She won’t run,” Marco said, stretching out his legs. “It’s in her best interests to convince us of her innocence.”

I picked up a coffee mug. “Want something?”

Marco’s eyes narrowed devilishly and one corner of his mouth quirked. “Not now.”

Giggling like a teenager, I dropped a tea bag into a cup of hot water, then crouched down to find the sugar. “Didn’t Melissa say there were tea biscuits here?”

Marco had pulled out his cell phone and was checking messages. “I thought she said they were in a cabinet. Grab one for me if you find them.”

I stood up and opened the doors of the small armoire beside the commode. Inside I found a box of English-style tea biscuits. I also saw four designer purses sitting on an upper shelf. One of them was a black patent leather hobo bag with a long thin shoulder strap, the purse she’d had with her when she’d returned to the cottage that morning.

I darted a quick glance at the doorway, then pulled the black purse off the shelf and unzipped it. Inside was a matching black wallet, a silver makeup bag, a packet of tissues, and a business card holder. I opened the wallet and took a quick peek at her driver’s license and credit cards. All were in the name of Melissa D. Hazelton, with her local address.

I tucked the purse back on the shelf and removed the next one, a Coach bag in the traditional brown and white logo pattern. The purse was empty except for a folded piece of paper at the bottom. Curious, I opened it.

It was a note from Pryce, on his stationery, in his handwriting that said simply,
I love you.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked, startling me.

“Looking for biscuits.”

Footsteps came toward the office. Quickly, I shoved the purse onto the shelf and quietly closed the armoire. With my cup in hand, I headed back to my chair just as Melissa stepped into the room.

She smoothed her short skirt underneath her as she sat down behind her desk. “So,” she said evenly, “what do you need to know?”

“I’m hoping you can provide us with some missing information,” Marco said, as I got out the notepad and pen.

“As I told you earlier,” Melissa replied, “I didn’t know Lily well.”

“Have you talked to Pryce today?”

“You’re wanting to know if I’ve heard that the police are calling Lily’s death a homicide,” Melissa said. She had a coy grin on her face, as though she thought herself one step ahead of us. “Yes, I’ve spoken with Pryce. So, does your presence here indicate that you think I’m a murderer?”

“We’re investigating a death,” Marco said. “To facilitate that, we’re interviewing everyone who was at the cottage this past weekend.”

Melissa picked up a swatch of upholstery and began to smooth the edges. Her fingernails, I noticed, looked as though she’d been biting them. “Do you think one of Pryce’s guests did it?”

“I wouldn’t make any guesses at this point,” Marco said. “Shall we get down to business?”

Melissa checked the time, as though wishing she could shoo us out now. “Ask away.”

“Did you and Pryce end your engagement last Sunday?” Marco asked.

Melissa’s hand went to her throat, as though he had caught her off guard. “We”—she drew in a breath and let it out—“decided to hold off on our plans.”

She was putting on a brave front, but I knew she was hurting inside. “Was it a mutual decision?” I asked.

She hesitated for just a second, long enough to give herself away, then said firmly, “Yes.”

“Would you give us a rundown of your movements
from Sunday morning until we met you on the deck today?” Marco asked.

“Sunday morning,” she said slowly. Then, as though reciting a memorized story, she said, “I woke up, had breakfast, and then when Pryce decided to go for a run, I took a walk in the woods. Afterward, I went back to the cottage, packed my bag, and drove home. I thought it would be beneficial to get away, so I took a road trip up the east side of Lake Michigan to Mackinac Island, stayed two days, got my head together, and came home. I felt bad about leaving Pryce without any explanation, so as soon as I could, I returned to the cottage. That’s when I met you.”

“Did you let anyone know where you were going?” Marco asked.

“My brother.”

“Before you left?”

“No, once I got there.”

“Where did you stay?” I asked.

“At the Grand Hotel.” She put up her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s impossible to get a room on short notice, which is what Jillian was on me about, but this is the truth. I had to wait a few hours until they had a cancellation, and then they found a room for me.” She shrugged, as though it was no big deal.

“Have you ever stayed there before?” I asked.

Melissa shook her head. “I’d heard how beautiful it was, though.”

“Is there anyone at the hotel who can verify your stay?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Did you charge your credit card?” Marco asked.

“No. I prefer to use cash. I keep my credit cards for business.”

“Did you have to sign in?” I asked.

She paused, looking perplexed. “You know what? I
don’t remember, but I’m sure I did. That would only make sense, right? I was under a
lot
of stress. I mean, my whole life had turned upside down. It was horrible.”