Snipped in the Bud (6 page)

Gulp.

“But she was questioned, Jeff. Our baby! That’s just not right.”

“It’s standard police procedure.”

Their debate raged on, so I finally said, “I’d love to stay and chat but I have orders to fill. Love you both,” and hung up. I’d dodged the bullet temporarily.

“Is she freaking out?” Lottie asked.

“She can’t yet. She’s at school.” I turned to get up and there was Grace, holding the lapels of her blazer—her lecture pose.

“That’s a new jacket, isn’t it?” I asked her. “I really like it over that blouse.”

I heard Lottie cough and knew she was trying to cover her laugh at my attempt to divert Grace’s attention.

“Thank you, dear. Yes, it is new. And I’d like to share something that William Shakespeare wrote in the
Second Part of King Henry the Fourth
.”

The phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” I said and turned to pick it up before Lottie could get it. No offense to Grace, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear from any of King Henry’s parts, even the more interesting ones.

It was Marco. “Are you all right? I left a message for you to call.”

“I’m fine. I just got back to the shop. Reilly put me through quite a grilling.”

“Whoa. Why would he put
you
through a grilling?”

I took a quick glance over my shoulder and saw Grace waiting patiently. “This might take a while,” I whispered to her. The bell over the door chimed, so she left.

“I found the body, Marco. Can you believe Reilly actually told me not to leave town?”

“Wait.
You
found the body?”

Marco must have been the only one in town who hadn’t heard the news, and by the tone of his voice I knew I needed to put a good spin on it. “Remember when I told you I was going back for my flower and you said to do what I had to do?”

“I’m coming down.” There was a click on the other end.

I hung up and glanced over at Lottie, who was tying a sage-colored satin ribbon at the base of the topiary. “Marco’s on his way. I guess he’d rather hear the story in person.”

“Herman is like that, too. He can’t concentrate unless he can see me; otherwise his mind wanders. Is that your stomach growling?”

“I didn’t eat lunch.”

She put down her pruning shears and headed for the tiny kitchen in back. “I’ll microwave a bag of popcorn. It’ll tide you over until supper.”

While Lottie was gone I pulled an order for an arrangement of silk flowers for the insurance agency next door and gathered supplies for it, starting with a wicker basket. The bell chimed four times while I worked, and each time I held my breath, expecting to see Marco stride through the curtain. Instead, I kept hearing what sounded like turkeys gobbling. I finally went to the curtain to take a peek.

“Here you go,” Lottie said from behind me, the buttery smell of popcorn preceding her. “What are you looking at?”

“Customers.”

“Is someone trying to steal something?”

“I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell?”

“It’s too crowded.”

“Crowded?” Lottie came up behind me for a look. “Lordy,” she whispered in an amazed voice. “It’s like a plague of locusts.”

We peered out together, watching as at least a dozen women prowled the shop, examining flower arrangements, picking up knickknacks, and checking price tags on the wreaths that hung on the brick walls.

“I haven’t seen it this busy since Valentine’s Day,” Lottie said in a whisper. “I’d better work the register so Grace can take care of the coffee parlor. I see people heading in there.”

The bell chimed, and over the top of the ladies’ heads I saw Marco step inside. He glanced around, clearly surprised by the crowd. Then he spotted me and headed my way. He didn’t look happy.

I
backed into the workroom, pinched my cheeks for color, and hurried to the table to resume my work. No need to let him think I was watching for him. How pathetic would that look? When he came in, I was perched on a stool, arranging silk flowers. I glanced up at him and couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. No matter what kind of trouble I was in, seeing Marco always strummed my heart strings.

He had thick, dark hair that was kind of curly but not too short or too shaggy. He had deep-set dark eyes that could strip away your outer layers and see into those secret places in your soul, strong Mediterranean good looks, and a body sculpted from the rigorous training of the Army Rangers and maintained through workouts at the local YMCA. But what really made him sexy was the confidence he exuded from every pore. It was like an aphrodisiac, only without the slimy oyster. Add that famous Salvare smile to the mix—a slight upturn of his mouth—and grab hold of something solid, baby. As the French would say,
ooh-la-la
.

Marco and I had been seeing each other ever since he’d come to my rescue after a hit-and-run driver smashed my Vette a few months back. It was the beginning of a beautiful and, hopefully, permanent relationship—when we’re both ready for the permanent part. I seemed to be moving toward it faster than he was, although he was starting to show glimmers of promise.

Marco wasn’t glimmering now. He had pulled up a stool and was studying me with an intense gaze, waiting for me to talk. I offered him popcorn, trying to raise his smile, but he shook his head. He wanted facts. He was in his PI persona. “Tell me what happened.”

I took a bite of popcorn to appease the hunger monster, then launched into my story, which was starting to suffer from too many tellings. “All in all it was a horrible experience, Marco, a terribly gruesome sight, and I hope I never have to witness anything like it again. Professor Reed had his faults, but I certainly didn’t want to see him dead. And then to have Reilly treat me like a suspect, well, that was just over the top. Dave Hammond doesn’t think it will come to anything, but I can’t help worrying a little.”

Marco didn’t bat an eye or make a sound. The only indication of his feelings was a tiny tic in his jaw muscle, and I knew exactly what it meant. “I know,” I said. “I should have taken your advice and left the college. But I had to go back for that flower or I couldn’t have lived with myself. My dignity was at stake.”

“Did Reilly actually tell you you’re a suspect?”

“Not in so many words.”

“So you’re not a suspect.”

“Officially—no. But he told me not to leave town. How would
you
read that?” I offered him popcorn again.

That time he took a handful and chewed it, looking pensive. After a few moments he said, “I agree with Dave Hammond. Reilly’s interest in you probably isn’t anything more than a formality.”

I perked up at that. “You think so?”

“I think so. But to satisfy my own curiosity I’d like to nail down a few more details about what you saw. Go back to when you found Carson Reed’s body. The eraser half of a pencil was sticking out of his neck. Did it look like there’d been a struggle?”

“No. More like he’d been taken by surprise.”

Marco pursed his lips. “If someone had stabbed me, my first reaction would be to yank out the weapon. So something must have kept him from doing so. You didn’t notice a gash, or any blood running from his head, or anything binding his hands?”

I forced myself to revisit the gruesome scene. “No on all counts.”

“Okay. You said Professor Puffer came up to the second floor on the elevator, followed shortly by his wife Jocelyn. So both of them were in the building before the police arrived?”

“Right. I didn’t see Puffer in the student commons area when I went in, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t in the law library. As for Jocelyn, I heard a cop ask her how she got inside, but I didn’t hear her answer. Why she was there at all is a puzzle. When I attended the school, she rarely set foot in the place, which wasn’t surprising given the way Puffer verbally abused her—and that was in public. I can’t imagine how he treats her in private.”

“You mentioned that you saw her before noon, then not again until twelve fifty, leaving a gap of almost an hour.” Marco drummed his fingers on the table as he pondered the matter. “When she came off the elevator, how did she look and sound?”

“Flustered, but I saw her for only a minute, then a cop took her away.”

“Did she see Reed’s body?”

“I don’t think so. There were too many people in the way.”

“Did she seem upset to find cops in her husband’s office?”

“She seemed more baffled than anything else.”

Marco took a handful of popcorn. “What was Puffer’s reaction to Reed’s death?”

“He didn’t seem upset, just angry because a cop was blocking his way. He kept insisting that he should be allowed inside because it was his office and he needed his lecture notes. Reilly had to threaten to take him to the police station to get him to back off.”

Marco absorbed the information. “What about this student—Kenny Lipinski? What was his reaction?”

“Like mine. Shock first, then sick to his stomach. Professor Reed was his adviser and had just secured a clerkship for him with a federal appellate judge. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but law students would kill for a shot at that position.”

Marco lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting way of putting it. I suppose other students were vying for it?”

“I see where you’re headed. Maybe one of them was upset over not getting that clerkship and took it out on Professor Reed.”

“It’s one possibility. You said there were other offices on the second floor. Were any of the professors in them?”

“The offices were dark and the doors were closed, so my guess would be no.”

“The secretary—Beatrice Boyd—how did she get along with Reed?”

“As I told Reilly, Bea gets along with everyone. She’s a sweetheart. All the students love her.” I reached for one of the napkins Lottie had left on the table and wiped my buttery fingers.

“Do you know of any reason Professor Puffer might have wanted Reed out of the way?”

“As much as I would love to turn the heat on Puffer, no, I don’t. But I wouldn’t rule him out, either. He had the means and the opportunity, which would seem to make him the obvious suspect, wouldn’t it? So why would Reilly order me not to leave town? All I did was discover the body. If I were the murderer, would I hang around to alert the police?”

Marco reached for more popcorn and tossed the kernels in his mouth. “So your question is, why would he throw you in the suspect pool? Well, let’s see. Did you give him straight answers?”

I brushed a daisy petal off the table. If I said yes, I’d be lying, which I didn’t like to do. If I said no, there would be the inevitable question as to why I didn’t give Reilly straight answers, and frankly, I did it because that was my nature, and yes, I knew better. So I said, “Do you mean straight, as in linear?”

Marco didn’t have to utter a word. His expressive eyes did the talking for him, and they said he knew I was dodging yet again. “Sunshine, you know Reilly likes everything quick and to the point. Why yank his chain, especially during a murder investigation?”

“I wasn’t trying to yank his chain. I simply didn’t want to be pinned down to a specific answer for fear he might misconstrue what I said.”

“In other words, you didn’t want to give him any information that might make him think you could have killed Reed.”

“Bingo.”

“But it happened anyway. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told you not to leave town.”

Bingo.
I plopped my chin in my hand and sighed unhappily. “What should I do?”

“Nothing. You haven’t been charged, and the cops have a whole bunch of people to interview before they start narrowing down their list of suspects.” He wiped his hands on the napkin, crumpled it into a ball, and twisted around to make a perfect shot into the trash can in the corner. “I’d still recommend keeping a low profile. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself while the police are investigating.
Capisce
?”

“Yes, I understand.” Did
he
understand that he was the sexiest man who’d ever walked the planet, especially when he spoke Italian to me? Did he know how much I wanted to hop on his lap and nuzzle that hard jaw?

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, ready to slide off the seat.

“Wouldn’t you like some more popcorn before you go?” I dug in the bag and produced two buttery kernels.

“No, thanks.” Clearly he was unaware of the passion he had inspired. “I’m going to talk to Reilly before he goes off his shift and see if he’ll tell me where he’s going with this case, what his thoughts are.”

At that moment I didn’t much care what Reilly’s thoughts were because
my
thoughts had wrapped themselves around the hunk sitting almost knee to knee with me, in his leg-hugging Levis and tan T-shirt, stretched tight over those totally masculine pecs. I hopped off the stool, sidled up to Marco, and said in a seductive voice, “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

He gazed at me for all of one second, then the left side of his mouth curved up slightly—and I knew I had him in the palm of my hand, right beside those kernels. “I might be persuaded,” he said in that low, rumbling purr.

I fed him one kernel followed with the second, watching those taut throat muscles do their job. Then Marco curled his fingers around my wrist and brought my hand to his mouth. His smoldering gaze on mine, he used his tongue to flick away the last trace of butter, teasing every nerve in my body into a fever pitch of excitement, so that I had to lean against the table to steady myself. Then he put his other hand around my waist and brought me up against his hard chest, tilting his head so our lips could meet.

At the very moment of impact Lottie burst through the curtain and went straight to the radio she kept on the counter. “Sorry, kids, but I think you should hear the latest report.” She turned up the volume to bring in the newscaster’s voice.

“To repeat our breaking news story, Carson Reed, a professor at New Chapel University School of Law, was found dead shortly after noon today, the victim of a brutal attack. According to an anonymous source, Reed’s body was discovered by local businesswoman Abigail Knight, who was there to deliver a floral arrangement. Police haven’t released any details and won’t comment about potential suspects.”

“Well,” I said, trying to make light of it, “that shouldn’t raise my profile too much.”

“When asked for a comment,” the news anchor continued, “Ms. Knight, a former student of Carson Reed’s, would only say, ‘I am
not
a delivery girl. I’m a florist. I own Bloomers, on the town square.’”

A huge silence descended on the workroom. I glanced at Lottie, who was shaking her head in dismay. Marco was more verbal. “I’m surprised you didn’t offer up your Social Security number while you were at it.”

I dropped my head into my hands. Things were spinning out of control and I felt helpless to stop them. “That would explain the sudden rush of customers,” I muttered through my fingers. “I’m the new curiosity in town.”

Lottie started to turn off the radio, but Marco said, “Wait.”

With the news bulletin over, the two talk-show hosts, Rob and Rick, of the corny afternoon radio program
Rob and Rick’s Radio Schtick
resumed their banter: “Sounds like Abigail Knight is a florist with an attitude, Rob.”

“Is she ever! I remember Abby from New Chapel High School, when she took on Coach DePugh for using a live eagle as mascot at the homecoming game.”

At that I dropped my hands. “The bird was a hawk, not an eagle. And Rob was a big geek.”

“Hey, Rob,” his cohost said, “is that the same Abby Knight who was arrested last week for leading a protest march at Dermacol Labs?”

“I didn’t lead it!” I exclaimed hotly.

“She sure is, Rick, and if I remember correctly, Carson Reed was Dermacol’s spokesman. How’s that for a coincidence? Listeners? What do you make of this? Give us a call at four-six-one-two-four-six-one. Hello, who is this?”

“Uh, yeah, this is Doug. My wife works at Dermacol. Sounds mighty suspicious to us that this rabble-rouser florist has a showdown with Mr. Reed, then all of a sudden she finds him dead. She sounds like a troublemaker to me.”

“A troublemaker?” I cried. “A rabble-rouser? Do I have to listen to this?”

“It’s better to know what people are saying,” Marco told me.

“Thanks for your opinion, caller,” Rick said. “And who’s up next?”

“This is Bill, and I have to say, thank God for Dermacol Labs. They’re paying me a decent income and giving me good benefits.”

“Not to mention torturing animals,” I snapped.

“Danged activists would just as soon shut down the lab,” the caller continued, “so that people like me have to stand in soup lines because of some harmless testing.”

I was ready to tear out my hair. “Harmless? He’s insane. Why can’t he get a job somewhere else? Why does
not
working there mean standing in a soup line?”