Snipped in the Bud (14 page)

“Olga tanks you,” I said. Then, with dignity befitting a monarch, I held my turbaned head high and made my royal way down the aisle, pausing to check each row for Jocelyn Puffer.

Books of Olde occupied the main floor of a three-story, white frame building that hadn’t seen much remodeling in the past century of its life. As a result, the interior walls had been covered over by layers of mustard yellow paint that had bubbled and blistered in many spots, the wood trim was nearly black with age, and the ancient oak floors groaned with every step, eliminating any last chance of me quietly making my way through the shop.

I knew the store well. Having had little money in my college years to spend on items such as new books and CDs, I had become familiar with the library, used book shops, and even the Goodwill store, where bargains abounded. I’d found Books of Olde to be a cozy place to spend a few hours hunting for rare, out-of-print works, treasures that filled the crammed shelves. The scents of vanilla and cinnamon wafted from bowls of potpourri set all around the shop (to cover the mustiness of the old tomes, I suspected); an odd assortment of upholstered chairs occupied various nooks; a coffee bar and a few tall tables filled a bump-out on one side wall, and tall, multipaned windows furnished the store with ample light and a plethora of dust motes.

I found Jocelyn in the second to the last row seated on a low stool, a feather duster in her hand, carefully cleaning the books she was removing from a box on the floor and placing them on the shelf in front of her. She was looking her usual colorless self, sporting a dark brown cotton knit skirt and top, and was so completely engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice when I stopped beside her, which explained why she hadn’t been one of the gapers earlier.

“Mrs. Puffer?”

She looked up with a startled expression. “Yes?”

I knelt beside her and said quietly, “I need to talk to you about Professor Reed’s murder.”

Her expression instantly grew guarded. “I’m not giving any statements,” she said, then resumed her dusting.

Oops. The disguise.
“I’m not a reporter, Mrs. Puffer. I’m Abby Knight. I own Bloomers Flower Shop. See?” I lifted a bit of the tightly wound scarf so she could see my hair.

She took another look at me, but her expression didn’t soften, which surprised me since she’d always been cordial before. “I didn’t recognize you, Abby.”

“Considering that I’m in disguise, that’s actually a good thing.” Hoping to win her over, I leaned closer to confide, “I don’t know about you, but the reporters are driving me nuts. They’re at my shop, they follow me around town—and now they’re making me out to be some sort of vengeful killer. Even the police are treating me like a suspect, which is why I’m here. I need to convince them I’m innocent. Is there anything you can tell me about what you saw at the law school Tuesday that might help me?”

“I don’t know any more than you do. Probably less, since you were on the second floor before I was.” She gave the book in her hand a last swipe and put it on the shelf. She apparently thought she was done talking. Too bad she didn’t know me better.

“Maybe there’s one thing you can tell me, Mrs. Puffer. When you entered the law school, did you see anyone get off the elevator?”

“Since I used the elevator, I can say for sure that no one was on it.”

“That helps. Thanks. Oh, and one more thing. If you got to the school shortly before noon, why did you wait almost an hour to go upstairs?”

“You must be mistaken,” she said stiffly. “I was running errands until well past twelve thirty. Besides, my husband wasn’t supposed to be in his office until one o’clock, so why would I have gone up there early?”

Exactly what I wanted to know. I put my purse strap on my shoulder and stood up, then paused, as if another thought had just occurred to me. “So the police didn’t stop you from coming into the building?”

For a second she seemed taken aback, but she recovered her poise quickly. “I didn’t say they didn’t stop me.”

“I see. Then they
did
stop you.”

She shelved another book. “I had to identify myself, naturally. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my work.”

“Sure.” I paused again, purposely looking confused. “You still drive a white Saab, right?”

For a normally washed-out-looking woman, she certainly developed high color in her cheeks when she heard my question. “Why?”

“Because I’m sure I saw you at the school before noon.”

She bolted to her feet and said in a furious whisper, “You have a lot of nerve questioning me. I have nothing more to say to you.” Then she marched through the employee door in the back and that was the end of that.

Yeah, right. Like a dramatic exit would deter me.

I
glanced around to see whether anyone had witnessed our conversation, then strolled nonchalantly through the store toward the door.

“Didn’t find anything to read?” one of the owners called with a smile.

“Tank you, no. Luffly shop, though.” I exited the building, glanced right and left, then hurried around the corner before anyone else decided I was lost in translation. As soon as I got to Nikki’s car, I called Marco.

“I take back what I said about Jocelyn. Puffer. I’m definitely
not
crossing her off the list. She said the police let her inside after she identified herself. Ha! And did she ever have an angry reaction when I asked her to account for that hour gap.”

“That’s not surprising. Would you give an accounting of your actions if one of your customers asked for it?”

“If I had nothing to hide I would.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but in any case, I’ll call Reilly and see what he’ll tell me about her. Be ready at noon for the service. I’ll pick you up in front of your apartment building.”

“Better make that in the alley behind my building. I think I’m turning into a rodent.”

At twelve o’clock that afternoon I cautiously exited the back door of my apartment building and stepped into the alley that separated the building from the garages belonging to homes on the next street. I didn’t see any reporters or Marco’s dark green car, only a black and silver Toyota Prius with tinted windows parked beside a garage door farther down the alley. I waited five minutes, checked my watch, waited another minute, then called his cell phone. “Where are you?”

“In the alley behind your apartment building. Where are you?”

“In the alley behind my apartment building.” I eyed the Toyota, idling quietly two garages away. “Marco, are you driving a Prius, by any chance?”

Spinning its wheels in the gravel, the car spurted toward me, causing me to jump back in alarm. It jerked to a stop, then a window rolled down, and inside I could see a familiar dark head. I slid into the passenger side, arranged the silk kimono over a bared thigh, fastened my seat belt, and glanced at my chauffeur. “I hope you know you just took five years off my life.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Marco said, “but I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Now, there was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Marco’s black suit and royal blue shirt and tie really set off his dark hair and eyes—and set me off, too, making me want to lurch across the console to nibble his neck. Apparently I was ringing a few bells for him, as well. His gaze had moved to my cleavage and was inching downward.

I crossed one booted leg over the other. “What do you think? This is one of Jillian’s designer outfits from her new home-shopping venture.” I patted the turban. “Isn’t this cool? It hides my hair and changes the whole shape of my face.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His gaze had locked on my bare knees. “It’s…hot.”

“Really? So you like it?” (A question all women are compelled to ask. It’s built into our genetic code.)

“Let’s just say you’d better uncross those legs and cover your knees or we may not make it to the chapel on time.”

Oh, yeah. He liked it. What a power trip that was.

“There’s one problem,” he added. “Every male at the university is going to have the same reaction I did.”

A
maximum
power trip. I batted my mascara-coated eyelashes and tilted my head playfully. “And the bad thing about that is…”

“You’re conspicuous. An investigator never wants to draw attention to herself.”

Power off.

As I shifted to cover conspicuous body parts, Marco pulled out of the alley and headed for the university. “How do you like my new wheels?”

“This is
your
car? Wow. It’s very cool.”

Marco slid his hands over the steering wheel’s leather cover. “The green beater was totaled, and this one won’t eat up gas, so I thought I’d do my part for ecology.”

That was one of the things I liked about Marco. He was a hunk with a conscience.

We pulled into the law school parking lot at twelve thirty and found it already more than half full. Good thing Marco had suggested coming early. As we walked across campus toward the big tower that housed the chapel, I pointed out both Professor Puffer’s big black sedan and his wife’s Saab. Typically, they had not come together.

Inside the building, Marco ushered me to the staircase that led up to the semicircular balcony overlooking the beautiful chapel. Only a handful of people were upstairs, and they all appeared to be students. Marco positioned us in the front row center, and I scooted to the edge of the wooden pew to peer over the glass railing. Below me was the wide, carpeted center aisle separating the many long rows of light oak benches. At the front was the pulpit on a light oak stage, with a magnificent, soaring, stained-glass window as a backdrop.

“There’s Professor Reed’s mother,” I whispered as a woman in a wide-brimmed black hat adorned with ostrich feathers swept up the aisle, followed by a withered little man in a gray suit, carrying a box of tissues. “Her name is Hepzibah, and she’s Reed’s only living relative. His father died after joining a religious order in Nepal and falling off a mountain, and his brother moved to Paris to become a street mime and was never heard from again. No pun intended.”

Marco said quietly, “His mother looks like an actress from the 1940s.”

Hepzibah wore a dress with a long, full skirt that bounced as though she had on layers of petticoats. When she reached the first row she turned to gaze at the crowd, the back of one hand pressed to her forehead, and cried dramatically, “Thank you, good people, for coming.” Then she sank onto the pew with a sigh, blocking the view of everyone behind her enormous hat.

“Why do I want to clap?” Marco murmured.

Next, I pointed out Professor Puffer, who was speaking to several dark-suited men at the front of the chapel. His shoulders were back and his hands were clasped behind him as though he were addressing a platoon. When Jocelyn came up the aisle, he left the group to direct her to the second row. She slid in but put her purse on the space beside her, obviously to keep him from sitting too close. I watched as he leaned toward her and spoke. She never glanced his way.

“Jocelyn doesn’t seem happy to be here,” Marco whispered in my ear, his warm, minty breath sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.

“My guess is that she’s not happy to be here with
him,
” I whispered back, hoping those shivers were skipping along Marco’s vertebrae, too. “Puffer probably forced her to come as a show of support.”

Suddenly I caught sight of Beatrice taking a seat at the end of a pew on the left side, near the front. She wore a flowing skirt and blouse in a gauzy navy fabric shot through with threads of gold, a spidery navy and gold shawl, and gold chandelier earrings. She had gathered her long, graying hair into a loose bun, Katherine Hepburn style, and stuck gold chopsticks through it.

“There’s Bea,” I whispered, pointing her out.

Marco raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how I’d pictured her.”

Now three out of our four suspects had arrived. The only one missing was Kenny.

To my surprise, at ten minutes before one o’clock, Beatrice’s niece Hannah Boyd walked in and looked around, probably searching for her aunt. I’d met Hannah at a luncheon Bea had given in the spring, but I would have recognized her anyway from the photo on Bea’s desk. Hannah was a pretty girl with long waves of honey-colored hair that flowed around her heart-shaped face. She had on a short black skirt that hugged her curves and a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt that ended just below her navel, with a chunky black bead choker around her slender neck. To my surprise, she took a seat on the opposite side of the chapel, toward the back. She couldn’t have missed seeing Bea with those shiny chopsticks. Why hadn’t she sat with her aunt?

“There’s Bea’s niece, Hannah,” I told Marco.

“Odd that they’re not sitting together,” he remarked, echoing my thought.

Moments before the service started, Kenny and a buddy hurried up a side aisle and sat down. “Kenny Lipinski is here,” I whispered to Marco. “He’s the dark-haired guy in the brown sport coat beside the tall blond guy in the navy jacket.”

“He looks like a younger version of his father.”

“Don’t say that in Kenny’s presence. I suspect he has father issues.”

“If Kent Lipinski were my dad, I would, too.”

As the university chaplain took his place at the lectern, Kenny and his buddy kept turning around, as though searching for someone. The chaplain started the service with a prayer and a few personal anecdotes, then introduced the speaker for the first eulogy—Professor Z. Archibald Puffer. I nearly gagged when the Dragon strode up to the dais. Judging by the grumbling from the students around me, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“Puffer is going out of his way to make people think he and Reed were friends,” I whispered to Marco. I had to grit my teeth through the speech, but when Puffer called Reed a humanitarian, it was all I could do not to yell, “What a load of bull!”

Marco must have sensed my emotions, because he casually slid an arm around my shoulders and held on. When Puffer finished, we were instructed to rise for the hymn “Amazing Grace.” Afterward, as we all took our seats and the next speaker strode toward the dais, I saw Bea glance around and catch sight of Hannah. A look of dismay flashed across her face, then she picked up her purse and slipped out of the chapel. Hannah must have noticed her leave, because she instantly got up and left, too.

“Did you see that?” I asked Marco.

“Stay here and keep an eye on the others. I’ll check it out.”

He quietly got up and left the balcony, moving in that smooth, pantherlike gait that was so fascinating to watch. So I did. And as I turned back I happened to glance at the person seated around the curve of the balcony to my right—Connor Mackay.

A small shock went through me and I instantly spun away, holding up my hand to shield my face. I had to get out before he saw me. I glanced quickly in the other direction, wondering whether I could sneak out by pretending to look for something on the floor, then simply crawl away.

Oh, wait. I was in disguise. He wouldn’t recognize me. Never mind, then.

I peeked at Connor, noting that he had donned a nice-looking black pinstripe blazer and white shirt, which he paired with—casual khaki pants? Good thing Jillian wasn’t there. She’d either slap him silly or swoon in horror. I chuckled at the thought of her fainting and dropping over the balcony onto an unsuspecting person below, then noticed that Connor was smiling at me. He couldn’t know me, so what was he up to? Was he flirting with a stranger?

He pointed to his hair. Was that some new come-on?
Hey, baby, I’m not bald.
Okay, so he had hair. And?

Then he pointed to my turbaned head. Aha! He thought
I
was the baldie.

Then he winked and made the okay sign. I stared at him, dumbfounded. He knew me.