The Final Arrangement (30 page)

“Boss, are you okay?” K.C. whispered loudly under the table.  I crawled out and got back in my seat. 

“False alarm,” I said.  "Did anyone see me duck, do you think?

“I don't know, I was looking down here for you.”  It suddenly occurred to me that K.C. was lucky she ducked, too. The wrong someone might have assumed she was me.

The event finished with the silent auction, giving us time to tear down and load the van from a rear service entrance.  K.C.’s new acquaintance was a great help.  Not only did he help us move everything, but he became another possible witness, which would be a deterrent for a murderer who wanted to make me disappear.  We moved into the silent auction room after the crowd left and picked up the few arrangements there. 

I drove the van to the shop and K.C. and Fred rode together in his car, and then met me to help unload.   

Tearing down an event is in some ways just as difficult as producing one and getting it delivered.  Besides the special events contributing to the no life factor for the florist, usually you’re so tired at midnight or two in the morning, you just want to leave everything there and hope that the elves magically appear to clean everything up.  K.C. and I didn’t see any elves, but Fred did have a certain twinkle in his eye, and his ears were slightly pointed.

As the nose of the van reached the curb, the ache in my shoulders demanded my attention.  My legs felt like lead down to my ankles, where the lead turned to burning molten fire under my feet. I couldn’t bear the thought of working any more that night.

K.C. came over to my window.  "Let's head 'em up and move 'em out," she said.

"You know what?  I’m exhausted.  There’s nothing in here that we need to worry about keeping fresh.  We can leave it and deal with it in the morning.  Let’s just go
home
.”  I realized as soon as I said it that I couldn’t go home.  Someone had been assigned to shut me up.  I would be a sitting duck at home.  “Oh, crap.  Never mind.”  I paused to think about where I could sleep that night.

“Boss, you’ve been acting strange all night.  Tell me what’s really going on.”

I explained most of what I had overheard at the party, and told her about Camille LeFay and how she was sent to find me.  I didn’t tell K.C. I suspected Alex.  I didn’t want to hear why I was wrong about him, or that I should have known better.  Either way, it would require thinking about the times I had spent with him, and my heart just couldn’t handle it. 

“I would offer a spot at my place, kid, but my apartment’s too small.  How about I come stay over with you?  I’ve got the Enforcer and a few tools in the car.  We’ll show those pansies who they’re dealing with!”  She pumped her fist into the air and her face reddened, matching the beehive on her head.

“You know what K.C., you’re right!  This is my life and I am going to stay at my own house!  I’m not going to let a low-life dirty cop dictate what I will and won’t do.”

“Right on sister!”

Fred took us to K.C.’s apartment where she gathered some clothes and her cache of weapons.  Fred didn’t say much, but his eyes widened at every new piece of equipment that emerged, revealing how impressed he was with K.C.’s arsenal.  We drove to my place in K.C.’s car and went to bed after checking the locks and the blinds several times.

###

I won’t say it was the best rest of my life, but having K.C.’s weapons within reach at any moment made it a lot easier to relax.  I let myself sleep in, since the shop was closed for the holiday.  When I finally opened my eyes, my alarm clock said 8:47 am.  The aroma of bacon hung in the air.  I followed the scented trail to the kitchen where I found K.C., wearing one of my grandma’s frilly aprons, flipping pancakes in between shimmies with the spatula held aloft, playing air percussion.  The small radio on top of the fridge played "Rockin’ Robin."  Her red beehive still towered atop her head.  It hadn’t moved a centimeter since I picked her up at her apartment the night before.

“Morning, K.C.”

“Good morning to you, Boss.  You’re just in time for breakfast.”

“Where did you find all of this breakfast?”

“I went to the store after my morning constitutional.”

“What time did you wake up?”

“Oh I was naughty and slept in until five.”

I wiped my bleary, sleep-heavy eyes.  “Slept in?”

“Yes, Fred left so late after we necked on the couch that I allowed myself a little extra snooze time.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind that you slept in—wait, did you say you and Fred…”

“Oh yes, he’s a real tiger, that Fred.”  She giggled.  “But it wasn’t very thoughtful of me, Boss, having a gentleman caller leaving your house so late.”

“Of course I don’t mind, K.C.”  At least someone in this house was getting some action.

“Well, I’ve made us a nice breakfast, so we’ll have plenty of energy to go back to the shop and clean up our mess.”

Breakfast was wonderful, and probably a shock to my system since my first meal of the day usually consisted of a piece of bread followed by the Coke that I bought on the way to the work in the mornings.

The prospect of cleaning up after a big event like the gala did not inspire enthusiasm, but K.C.’s gung-ho attitude did.  We arrived at the shop ready to get busy and get out. 

I unlocked the back door and walked through each room turning on the lights.  K.C. volunteered to take the garbage boxes to the dumpster, while I put the supplies away that were left out on the counters in our haste to finish before the gala started. 

“Boss, I’ll open the van and start putting things out on the black top, and then we can both bring everything inside.”

“Sounds good, I’ll start bleaching the buckets, and then I’ll meet you outside.”

I turned on the water and poured a little bleach and soap into each bucket.  My bruised eye twitched and I reflexively reached up to brush it with the back of my wrist.  Ouch.  It was still as sore as it was colorful.  The painful touch reminded me of the day I received the injury.  Of all the events of that day, the one that repeated over and over in my mind was that of Alex’s arms wrapped around me, comforting me after my entrapment by Brad.  I pushed that picture to the corners of my mind, knowing that the more I let myself think of Alex, the more it would sting in the realization that everything had been a nasty hoax.

“Boss!  You need to come out here.  Right now!”  K.C.’s voice was drenched in panic. 

“K.C., what’s wrong?”  It was the van.  Maybe someone had vandalized the van, or worse.

I ran outside to see the damage. 

“It’s—it's inside the van.  You have to look in the van.”

Before I leaned in, I could smell something strange.  It wasn’t familiar and it was horrible.  I started to gag and had to turn away and take a deep breath.  I leaned against the side door and peered inside.  It took time for my eyes to adjust to the change in light.  The air felt thick and hot on my skin.  Once my eyes were used to the light, I saw a glimmer in the dark where the light from the late morning sun shone past my shoulder into the van.   

I crouched down and took a step inside, kneeling next to a mirrored pedestal.  I reached toward the shiny thing, and as I touched it, I realized it was jeweled, I leaned further still and as the realization hit me that I had seen this bracelet the night before, I lost my balance and fell forward with a scream.  Tumbling glass vases clanged and crashed and I landed on a solid surface with no give.  I was lying on top of the lifeless body of Camille LeFay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As one might expect, my first instinct after discovering Camille LeFay’s dead body was not to call the cops.  I had my cell phone with me and I did what any well meaning, upstanding,
innocent
person would do—I called my lawyer.  I explained to Cal, as briefly as I could (seeing as how he would bill me by the hour, and possibly the word), why I could not call the police to report the crime that I had
not
witnessed or been any part of.  Like any great attorney and friend would do, he took care of it.  Having a well-known and respected hotel manager stay at my house most of the night before had proven to be a great alibi too. 

I left my lawyer to take care of the police and my van, which was now a crime scene.  I just hoped things would be cleared up soon and that I wouldn’t have to be involved any more than I absolutely had to regarding our gruesome discovery.  Cal told me I could leave once I had talked to the police—none of whom I knew—thank goodness.  He said he would take care of everything and let me know what the next step would be.

At home, K.C. and I went over any of the facts we knew of, which might link me in some way to the new murder and the old one. 

“We have to think about all these puzzle pieces,” K.C. said.  We have to put them together.  Find a pen and some paper.  We’re going to connect the dots.”  She put on her cat-eyed reading glasses, carefully adjusting them with the palms of both hands until they sat just-right on her nose.  “By the way, where was this Camille LeFay sitting last night?  Maybe I would remember seeing her and who she was with before she was killed,” K.C. said.

“You were preoccupied with the spilled centerpiece when I talked to her, so I don’t know if you saw her then.”

K.C. shook her head. 

“She ran to the bathroom, sick, after we spoke.  That was the last time I saw her,” I said.

I retrieved something to write with, and on a fresh sheet of paper wrote Derrick’s name at the center and circled it.  I then drew lines like spokes of a wheel coming from the center circle.  “We know that Derrick had a relationship with the mortuary,” I wrote Greg Schilling at the end of one of the spokes.  “From what we’ve learned, we can draw spokes to Landon Powell, or at least Camille LeFay.  We can connect Derrick to Bryce and his switch grass farm.  We can connect him to the Shaws too because he was partners with their son and they had the switch grass pamphlet that Derrick created.  We might be able to draw a spoke to Detective Arroyo because he’s the detective over the murder case.  Of course, there’s Alex.”

K.C. tilted her head down, peering at me over the tops of her reading glasses.  “What about Alex?  Boss?”

“I have reason to suspect Alex, by something Camille said.” 

“Suspect him of what?”

I hunched over and put my head in my hands.  “Everything.”

“Quincy, are you sure?”

“I’m not sure about anything, K.C.  But think about it.  How perfect for an undercover spy to infiltrate by getting the girl to fall for him, then report back her every move to his bosses?  He has the perfect cover.”

“Boss, you’ve been watching way too much TV.”

“Trust me, K.C.  It makes me sick to think of it, but we can’t rule out any of the puzzle pieces.”

K.C. sighed.  “Okay,” she said with reluctance, “I think you’re batty, but lets just try to see where he fits.”  She took the pen from me and wrote down “Alex.”  She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, “Where exactly do I draw his spoke?”

“To Landon Powell.  I think he’s working for him.”

“Alright and how is he linked to Derrick?”

“Oh.  Well, I haven’t figured that out yet.”

K.C. peered at me and shook her head.  “Love is the pits sometimes kiddo, but lets get serious here.”

My heart ached but I knew Alex was up to something.  All of the mysterious disappearances, and then re-appearances with no good explanation were not normal.  I should never have trusted that man.

“Who else is left?”  I had to change the subject.

K.C. looked at me as if to tsk-tsk me with telepathy. I ignored it and carried on.

“We can draw a spoke to Doug Stanwyck because he and Derrick were buddies.  We’ve talked to everyone except Landon Powell and Stanwyck.  We can’t talk to the boyfriend obviously, but I’ve talked with his parents—the Shaws—and Powell…well I’m not going to be talking to him due to the fact that he tried to have me shut up.”

“Hold on a minute to them there horses, Boss.  Did you actually hear Powell telling someone to shut
you
up?”

“Well…no.  He just said her.  That ‘she knows too much.’”

“Well didn’t you say Camille LeFay was blabbing everything to everyone at the party?  I mean if anyone needed to be shut up in Powell’s eyes, it was probably her, don’t you think?”

I paused a moment to think about what K.C. had said.  “I’m an idiot.”

“Oh no kid, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Obviously he was talking about Camille.  She knew everything about Powell and Derrick and she didn’t seem to care with whom she shared that information.  Wow, what a relief we didn’t have murderers outside the house all night.  Oh, poor Fred!”

“What about Fred?”

“I got up to use the bathroom and then went out on the porch to get some air early this morning—before you were awake.  He was asleep in his car.  He must have been out there in his car all night watching out for us.”

“Oh he wasn’t out there all night.”  K.C.’s expression became coy.

“Is that so?”

“We necked on the couch for quite a long time, Quincy.  I didn’t exactly tell you the whole story about this morning before breakfast. We heard you stirring around in the bedroom and so he sneaked outside.  He must’ve been pretending to sleep like I was.  Teehee.”

“Well, well, well.  Congratulations K.C.  You kids
do
be careful won’t you?”

“Oh, Quincy!” she laughed.  “You don’t need to worry about me.  It’s you that I’m worried about.  You and Alex I mean.”

“There’s no more me and Alex.  Remember the whole pretending to be someone he’s not—in league with Landon Powell—thing?  Anyway, let’s talk about something else. 

“You know you haven’t talked to that Stanwyck character.  He was supposedly a good buddy with Derrick.  Maybe if you talked to him you could shed some light on things and see where all of these spokes are connected.”

“Good idea.  I’ll call Linda and see where I might be able to find Doug Stankwyck today.”

“Do you think I could tag along, Boss?”

“Sure.  We’ll be incognito in your car in case anyone sees us there.  Lets go.”