Slay it with Flowers (32 page)

“And the day before that, and the day before that.”

“Have you ever seen this man before?”

“Yes, at the Emperor’s Spa.”

He stopped writing. “The spa thing again?”

I planted my hands at my waist and tried to look indignant. “If your people would investigate, there would be no need for a private citizen to have to do it.”

He ignored the lecture. “Are you positive this is the same man?”

“Yes. I took photos of him.”

“You took . . .” Reilly made a strangled sound that could have been the word
photos.

“How else could I convince the newspaper to do an exposé on the spa? But then someone killed the story, which is another fishy aspect to this whole deal. Have you ever been out to the spa, Reilly? You ought to drive by sometime, like on a raid. They won’t wait on women customers, there’s paper covering the windows so you can’t see inside, their female employees are guarded by an old Chinese man, and there are no ads on the marquee, just a phone number. Now what does that sound like to you?”

He didn’t take the bait. “Let me get this straight. You were spying on the spa’s customers, one of whom you believe to be this victim, who was, in turn, tailing you.”

“That about sums it up.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “What time did you get here this morning?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Do you always get here at seven?”

“No, usually eight.”

“Why did you arrive early today?”

“Because some idiot called last night and scared me and I couldn’t sleep.”

“So today of all days you arrive early and find the man you claim has been following you dead. Behind
your
store.”

I stared at him in amazement. “What are you implying? That
I
might have strangled him? Me? Abby Knight, flower shop owner, upstanding citizen, and daughter of a cop?”

“I didn’t tell you he was strangled.”

“I found the body! Anyone who’s ever watched a cop show on TV knows what a strangled person looks like.”

Reilly looked a bit sheepish as he scratched his neck. “Well, then someone wants it to look like you killed him.”

“It’s a warning,” Marco said, walking up to us. “It’s too obvious to be a frame-up.”

Reilly gave Marco a skeptical glance. “How is it you always show up right after something happens to her?”

“I’m psychic.” He put his hand on the back of my neck and rubbed it. “How are you doing?”

“If you keep doing that, I’ll be a lot better.” I turned to Reilly. “This might be a good time to mention that the man who called me last night told me that
they
were on to me and warned me to be careful. That was all he said. Nothing about who
they
were. His phone number was blocked. Do you think the caller could have been him?” I pointed to the body in the car.

“I’ll get your records from the phone company to see where the call came from, and I’ll have them tap your line while I’m at it, in case you get any more calls. It takes about twenty-four hours to put on a tap, so you might want to let your machine pick up until then.”

“Tapping her line is fine, but it isn’t enough,” Marco told him. “Abby needs police protection.”

I glanced at Marco in surprise.

“I’ll put a detail on her.” Reilly stopped writing when one of the officers brought him a wallet and a computer printout of the license registration, along with the news that a reporter was waiting to talk to him. I glanced over and saw the photographer readying his camera, so I quickly averted my face. I didn’t want my parents to read about me in the newspaper again.

“Nothing unusual here,” Reilly said, studying the printout. “No arrests, no tickets.” He opened the wallet and pulled out an ATM card. “No license, no credit cards, insurance cards, or Federal ID.”

“The better to protect his identity,” Marco said.

“When I photographed him he was driving a rusty Chevy,” I said. “Doesn’t that sound to you like he was working undercover? Maybe the feds caught on to the spa’s illegal activities before your guys did, Reilly.”

I got a frown for that remark.

The coroner came over and spoke quietly with him. After he left, Reilly said to us, “The victim seems to have been strangled with some kind of garotte, possibly the thickness of a rope, but smooth, not rough like hemp fibers would be. We’ll know more after the autopsy.” He pointed to me. “I’ll have a detail on you within the hour. In the meantime, keep your nose clean. Don’t talk to reporters. And get that Corvette out of the way.”

With that he strode off to deal with the press.

“Why don’t you give me your keys?” Marco said. “I’ll move your car and you can go have a cup of java and destress.”

“Abby?” I heard Lottie call from inside the store. In a moment she and Grace came hurrying outside.

“Good heavens!” Grace exclaimed. “What happened?”

Marco snatched the keys from my hand. “See you later,” he said, and headed toward my Vette, leaving me to face the next round of interrogations alone.

 

We sat in the parlor drinking cappuccinos while I told Grace and Lottie what had happened. They were so sympathetic that I felt compelled to come clean about the spa investigation. I braced myself for Grace’s lecture, but nearly fell off my chair when she exclaimed angrily, “A house of prostitution! In our town! And the mayor knows about this? Let me have the name of that features editor. I want him to tell
me
why that exposé was canceled.”

Go, Grace!

She made the call, but the editor wasn’t due in until ten o’clock, so we decided the best thing to do would be to resume our normal duties and try to forget about what had happened behind the shop. Grace began her usual routine of setting out her bud vases, Lottie went to place orders to the suppliers, and I held an impromptu drawing for the “What’s My Vine?” contest.

Of the seventeen entries I’d received, only one came close to being creative. For the picture of a Swedish ivy sprouting from a tole-painted watering can, the winner had titled it, “Ivy Leak.” For that she would get a fifty-dollar arrangement of fresh flowers on the day of her choice, and hopefully I would get free publicity on local radio and in the newspaper.

I gave the information to Grace so she could notify our winner while I turned my attention to Trudee’s party. After putting together an estimate for the floral flag, I thumbed through a wholesale catalog looking for that special tropical accent for her foyer. Yet no matter how busy I kept myself, I couldn’t shake the image of that body in the car. Someone wasn’t beyond killing to make a point. But what
was
the point?

The bell over the front door had been jingling all morning, although most of the business had been on the parlor side. I heard it jingle again and went up front to see if Grace needed assistance. There I found my aunt Corrine standing in the middle of the room, holding her hand over her open mouth, staring at my mother’s coatrack.

I greeted her, and she immediately gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Someone will buy it. Eventually.”

Still staring at the tree, she handed me a paper sack. “This is from Jillian. She said it would save you a trip.”

I glanced inside and saw a pair of black leather driving gloves. Either Jillian had hidden the key inside a glove or she’d misunderstood my request.
Room key. Driving gloves.
Nope. Not even Jillian could get those two mixed up. “Thank you, Aunt Corrine.”

She barely heard me. Her gaze had shifted to my mother’s footstool. “I’m so,
so
sorry,” she muttered, and hurried away.

As soon as she left, I pulled out the gloves, shook them, and a key fell to the floor. “Thank you, Jillian,” I whispered, and slipped it into my pocket. At the very least, the room search would take my mind off the scene in the alley.

I phoned Jillian at twelve thirty and learned that she was on her way to the hotel to collect the girls for their trip to Chicago. They had to finish their grand tour of the Magnificent Mile, she informed me. They had only reached the halfway mark yesterday.

“You’re sure they’re
all
going—Ursula, Sabina,
and
Onora?” I asked.

“I’m sure. Wasn’t that clever of me to hide the key in the glove?”

“Very. Just remember, not a word to anyone.”

“It’s burned into my brain.”

That and her credit card number. I grabbed a quick sandwich at the deli, giving Jillian plenty of time to round up the girls, then I took off for the hotel, automatically checking for the Crown Vic before realizing that there wouldn’t be a Crown Vic tailing me anymore. Then I remembered that there
would
be a cop, and he probably wouldn’t be too happy to find me snooping around in someone else’s hotel room. I glanced in my rearview mirror and, sure enough, there he was, two vehicles behind me. I’d have to lose him for at least an hour. But how was I to hide a bright yellow Corvette?

I scanned the streets as I drove through town, searching for a way to shake him. At the next intersection I knew there would be a large grocery store to my right, with a car wash in the side parking lot. Taking a chance that there wouldn’t be a line of dirty cars, I waited until I was almost at the corner, then I cut over a lane and made a hard right turn. The cop didn’t have time to follow and had no choice but to sail on through the intersection.

I flew down the street to the parking lot entrance, made a left turn, and drove straight up to the car wash. There was one car just starting through, so it was only a matter of seconds until I was able to pull forward. Once inside, I put the car in neutral, pulled the top up, and sat back with a chuckle. Not bad for a law school flunk-out.

A few minutes later I pulled out with a gleaming car and took off, no squad car in sight. When I reached the New Chapel Inn and Suites, I drove slowly past the parking lot to make sure Jillian’s car was gone, then I parked the Vette and went into the lobby. There was a different clerk at the reception desk, this one a middle-aged, paunchy male with a comb-over, reading a newspaper. I pretended to be a guest and walked straight to the elevators, hitting the button for the fourth floor and shooting up the hallway to the girls’ room. I let myself in, calling, “Hello? Anyone home?”

Hearing nothing, I hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob outside, shut the door, and charged through the sitting room, past the kitchenette and bath, and into the bedroom. The girls had unpacked their belongings, so I started my hunt for Onora’s clothing in the closet. Finding nothing incriminating there, I moved to the bureau drawers, then hauled out the three suitcases from of the back of the closet. Not knowing which was Onora’s, I had to go through each one, but I still found nothing. Had Onora disposed of the dress?

Acting on a hunch, I picked up the phone and punched the button for the laundry service. “Do you have any laundry for room four twelve?” I asked.

“Jus’ a meenit,” a woman said. Several minutes later she said, “Jes, I hab red dress.”

“What about gloves?”

“No glubs.”

“Has the dress been cleaned?”

“Not jet.”

“Perfect. Would you send it up, please?”

“But ees dirty.”

“Yes. That’s great. Don’t touch it.”

“Joo strange, lady.”

I’ve been called worse. While I waited for the dress I decided to look around one more time, just to be sure I hadn’t missed the gloves. I checked the bottom of the closet and under the bureau, then took a peek under Onora’s bed, finding dust bunnies large enough to warrant rabies vaccinations.

Then I spied something dangling from the mattress up near the headboard. I slid under the bed, clamped two fingers around the mystery object, gave a tug, and a long black glove fell free. I pulled it out and stood by the window to examine it. Were those blood splatters on the fingertips? It was hard to tell on dark material.

I was in the process of moving the mattress away from the headboard to hunt for the second glove when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse and answered.

“Abby,” Jillian said. “Bad news. Onora didn’t come with us.”

My stomach gave a lurch. “Where is she?”

“She went down to the hotel dining room to have breakfast. She said she had a headache and needed to eat something, then go back to bed.”

I sat down hard, clutching the glove in a hand that was growing damp. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? She could come barging in here any minute.”

“I had to wait until I could stop at the toll road oasis so I could call you in private. I’m sitting in a bathroom stall right now.”

“I think, given the circumstances, you could have managed to come up with a reason to call sooner, Jill!” I stuffed the phone and the glove in my purse and sprinted for the door.

Too late. Someone was inserting a key into the lock. I came to an abrupt halt and glanced around for a place to hide. There was no time to run back to the bedroom and jump into the closet. There was nothing to crouch behind in the sitting room, and there was no way I could squeeze into a cabinet in the kitchenette. There was simply no place to go.