Slay it with Flowers (34 page)

When I stepped into the shop the first thing I saw was Lottie trying to squeeze around the outstretched palms of my mother’s coatrack to retrieve a silk fern on a shelf behind it. “It hates me,” she grumbled, rubbing her arm where a “hand” had jabbed her. “And it doesn’t fit in this tiny corner. It needs space. Like in the basement.”

I was on my way to the workroom, but stopped instantly and turned. “What did you just say?”

“I said it needs space.”

I swung around and stared at the sculpture. “That’s it! Lottie, you’re a wonder. I’ve been searching for the perfect tropical eye-catcher for Trudee’s huge foyer and it’s been sitting right in front of me.” I stood back to admire the tree. “She’s going to love it.”

“Baby, if you try to sell her on that thing, she’s more likely to give you a Hawaiian punch than a check.”

“Trust me; it’ll fit perfectly in her foyer.”

“If I were you,” Grace said from the parlor, “I would ask Trudee to come take a look at it before you haul it out there. ’Tis better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes.”

I called Trudee on the spot and got her daughter Heather. “Hi. This is Abby. The florist. Is your mother there?”

“No.” Noncommittal tone.

“Would you leave a note that I called?”

“Yes.” No change in voice.

I didn’t even try to make further conversation. If I ever got married and had kids, I’d have to sell them off before they hit their teens. I poured myself a cup of Grace’s excellent coffee and went to the workroom to do what I loved best—arrange flowers. I pulled an order, gathered my tools, chose my theme, and began.

This was going to be spectacular. A summer feast for the eyes. A combination of scarlet pyracantha berries, apple green spider mums, yellow chili peppers, purple anemones, dusty pink hellebores and Lollo Rosso lettuce leaves. I wasn’t going to think about the missing cell phone, or Passion Flower, or the little old man, or Punch, or even Trudee’s flag. Nothing but the fresh new creation that was taking shape in front of me. Tomorrow I would resume the murder investigation and try to tie up all the loose ends.

Or so I had planned.

L
ottie and Grace waited outside while I set the alarm and locked up, then both women insisted on walking me to my car even though there was a cop parked across the street. “Go straight home and put everything that happened today out of your mind,” Lottie told me. “Don’t even think about the murder.”

Up to that moment, I
had
put it out of my mind. Now that she’d brought it up, it was firmly back in place.

“Don’t forget to lock your door,” Grace said.

I took their advice graciously because I knew they cared. I turned the radio to a rock station, put the car in Drive, waved to the cop parked behind me, and headed for home. At the apartment, Simon was parked on the coffee table licking his paw. Around him lay the scattered remains of a dried flower arrangement, which he had apparently attacked and subdued.

“Simon!” I cried. He paused in his ablutions to gaze up at me.

“Don’t give me that innocent look. Who’s going to clean up this mess?”

He resumed his bath. He knew who the cleaning crew was, and it wasn’t him. I shooed him off the table and took the decimated flowers to the trash can in the kitchen. “It’s a good thing I was going to replace this,” I called, “or you’d be next one to go.” Wherever he was, I was positive he wasn’t quaking in his boots.

The phone rang, and it was Reilly, wanting to know if I was in for the night and had locked the door. I told him yes on both counts. He said he was pulling the detail until morning, but if I had any problems to call 911.

The phone rang again while I was using the portable hand vacuum on the coffee table, but I didn’t know it until after I’d shut off the vac and saw the light flashing on the answering machine. I pushed the Play button and heard a female voice whisper, “Prease ansah.”

Could it have been Passion Flower? I replayed the message three times, certain the caller had been the same one I’d heard earlier say, “Wong numbah.” How had she known my home phone number? I dialed Punch’s cell phone, hoping that’s where the call had originated, but it rang and rang until the voice mail picked up. I hung up with a shudder.

I sat by the phone, waiting for another call, until my stomach began to growl for its supper. I put away the vac, changed into shorts and a yellow T-shirt with the
Bloomers
logo on it, fed Simon—who was still unapologetic—and made myself a quick version of huevos rancheros with the last of our eggs, tomato, chili powder, and dried onion flakes.

I took my plate to the living room and turned on the TV. Simon perched beside me, purring loudly to show that, despite my earlier behavior, he still loved me and therefore deserved a bite of egg. When the phone rang I set the plate on the coffee table and sprang to answer it.

“Hello!” I said. “This is Abby.”

“Prease,” that same voice whispered, sounding very terrified, “help me.”

“Okay. Yes. I’ll help you. Tell me who you are and what I can do for you.”

In the background, I heard a man’s voice bark a command in an Asian tongue. The caller hung up. I paced, nibbling my lower lip, remembering what the waitress had said about the girls at the spa being kept like prisoners. Was the girl on the other end trying to escape?

The phone rang and I jumped. “I’m here!” I said hurriedly.

“Abby!” Jillian wept on the other end. “I’m ruined!”

That was
not
what I wanted to hear. “What happened?” I asked irritably. “Did you break a nail?”

“Worse. The wedding is off,” she sobbed loudly.

“Did the Osbornes call it off? Damn! I should have figured they’d do it to you eventually. At least I had two month’s notice.”

“Not the Osbornes. The hotel! I just got a call from the events manager at the Peninsula. The President of the United States is coming to Chicago, so they need the ballroom. Do you believe that? I got bumped!”

“If it’s any consolation, you were bumped by the President.”

It wasn’t a consolation. She wailed louder. “For crying out loud, Jill,” I shouted over the noise, “find another place.”

“It’s too late. Everything is booked. Why did this have to happen to
me
?”

“Should it have happened to someone else?”

“Well, duh! Abs, what am I going to do?”

“What about that new banquet center, the Garden of Eden?”

She sniffled. “Is it in Chicago?”

“It’s about ten miles east of New Chapel, just off the highway. I did flowers for a birthday bash there a few weeks ago, and it was very nice.”

“Nice? I don’t want
nice.
I want spectacular.”

“At this late date you’ll have to take whatever you can get. I’ll call them tomorrow to see if they have an opening on the fourth.”

“You will? Abby, I wub you.”

I heard the call-waiting beep and said quickly, “Gotta go.” I hung up on her second
wub
.

“Hello!” I almost shouted into the phone.

“Help me, prease,” came the whisper, a little louder than before. “I must leave now or he kill me.”

“Wait. Who’s going to kill you? Are you Passion Flower?”

“Yes. Come now. Behind beauty parlor.”

“You want
me
to come get you? I really think you should call the police.”

“No call police!” she said in a frantic voice. “He kill me I call police.”

I wanted to believe her, but I just wasn’t sure. “Why did you call me? You don’t know me.”

“You friend of Punch. You call his phone. I see your numbah. He say I need help, call friend.” I heard a hiss of breath, as if something had frightened her, then she ended the call.

I couldn’t remember if I’d called Punch’s number from my apartment phone or not. I stood there with the phone in my hand, trying to make a quick decision. If I called Reilly, he’d either send an officer to check out her story, which the old Chinese man would most likely deny, or he’d blow me off.
“Not the spa thing again.”

Either way, it wouldn’t help Passion Flower and might even get her killed. So I called Marco instead. His cell phone sent me directly to his voice mail. I left a message saying I needed to talk to him, then I phoned his bar.

“Hold on while I look for him,” the bartender told me.

I tapped my toe; I paced; I pulled back the curtain and stared out into the darkness. What was taking so long? I glanced over and saw Simon licking the last bits of egg from my plate. “You are so grounded.”

Simon began to wash his face, pausing to glance at me like, “Are you talking to
me
?”

“Can’t find him,” the bartender said at last. “Want to leave a message?”

Damn! “Tell him Abby has new information and needs his advice ASAP.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and stared at the phone, my insides in knots. Did I dare try to call Punch’s number again? If Passion Flower was in danger, would the ringing phone jeopardize her even more? Should I sit it out until Marco called me back? What if he didn’t call for hours? What if I ignored Passion Flower’s plea for help and she ended up dead?

I had to do something. I knew better than to go to the Emperor’s Spa, but the beauty parlor was a different story. What danger would I be in if I were to drive through their parking lot? It couldn’t hurt, and it might just save a life.

 

Traffic was light, typical for a Monday evening, so I made it to the salon in less than ten minutes. I shut off my headlights as I turned into the lot, then I slowed the Vette to a crawl. The parking lot was empty as I rolled slowly through it, and the salon was dark. The only illumination came from a street light on the opposite side of Concord Avenue and the occasional passing car. I shivered in the darkness, starting to feel creepy. My cell phone rang, startling me.

“Abby, I’m glad I reached you,” Marco said. “I’ve got some new information.”

“Just listen, Marco,” I said quietly. The top was down and I wasn’t sure how far my voice would carry in the empty lot. “I got a call from Passion Flower. She’s in danger and needs to get away from the spa.”

“Why did she called
you
? Wait a minute. Is that an engine running? Where are you? Don’t tell me you’re on your way to the Emperor’s Spa. Even you wouldn’t be that foolish.”

“I’m not
on
my way to the spa. I’m in the beauty salon parking lot
next
to the spa.”

“For God’s sake, Abby, turn that car around and get the hell out of there.”

“I can’t. The girl said someone would kill her if she didn’t leave now. She pleaded with me to come get her.”

“Listen to me,” he said in a firm voice, “I just spoke to Reilly. The dead man was a federal agent investigating a Chinese sex slave ring operating out of the spa. Somehow his cover was blown and he was killed. And you’re probably next on the list, so get out of there. Let the police come for her. I’ll call Reilly and have him send a car.”

As Marco talked, a slender figure stepped out from the shadows behind the salon, her long hair blowing in the breeze. “She’s here now, Marco,” I whispered. “I can’t leave. I’ll pick her up and drive straight to the police station. I promise.”

“Did you hear what I just said? You could be walking into a trap.”

“Stop worrying. I’ll be out of here in a minute.” I closed the phone, gave the Vette a little more gas, and inched forward until I could see the pearly complexion and shiny black dress of a Chinese woman. There was a look of distress on her face and she kept glancing back at the spa, as if she feared being followed.

I reached across and swung the passenger door open. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

She looked over her shoulder again as she started for the car, only to step wrong on one of those four-inch heels and go down in the gravel with an
oomph.
Instantly, I shifted into Park, and opened my door, ready to hop out and lend a hand. Then Marco’s warning ran through my head. Was this a trap?

“Help me,
prease
!” she sobbed, trying to stand. “He kill me! Hurry, before he come.”

There was no way I could ignore her desperate cry for help, nor could I count on the police to get there quickly. I had to trust her. Leaving the engine running for a quick get-away, I got out and did a quick visual sweep of the parking lot as I ran around the back of the car and stooped to help her up.

Just as she took my hand, I felt something silken loop around my neck from behind. I let go of her and grabbed it with both hands, struggling to free myself. The silk loop was drawn tighter, making me gasp for air as I was dragged into the shadows behind the salon. I tried to twist around to fight back and found myself on the verge of blacking out.

Surely this wasn’t how I was supposed to die. Strangled in a back alley? Cut down in my prime? I had a sudden vision of my parents receiving the news, a cop at the door, solemn faced, hat in hand. Then I saw Nikki red eyed and weeping as she hand-lettered a “Roommate Wanted” sign at the kitchen table. And Simon, sitting at her feet, head tilted to one side, with a look on his little pointed face that said,
“I miss her, too.”