A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (12 page)

“I didn’t get his drift,” I said to Marco as we headed up the sidewalk that ran in front of the long chain of rooms. “Is Clive throwing parties?”

Marco put his arm around my shoulders and said with a smile, “Think about it.”

We stopped at the third door from the end and Marco knocked. In a moment, Clive opened the door. In white stockings, with his big toe poking through the left sock, he wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. His eyes looked bloodshot and his hair was ruffled as though he hadn’t yet put a comb to it.

“I don’t see you carrying a six-pack,” he said with a wry grin, “so you blokes must be here on official business. Have you come to tell me that Sergio didn’t make it?”

“No. He’s holding his own,” Marco said. “We just wanted to talk to you without the other men present. I’ve found that people are often more open without someone listening in. Have you got ten minutes for a few questions?”

“Still on the hunt for your guilty party, mate?”

“On the hunt for information, is all,” Marco said as I tried to peer discreetly around Clive to see into his room.

“I’d invite you in,” he said, “but I’m not exactly set up to entertain more than one person at a time, so how about that picnic table across the way? I’ll grab my jacket and meet you there.”

He shut the door, blocking any further view.

“Well, Miss Obvious,” Marco said as we crossed a sparse grassy area behind the motel, “what did you see?”

“Not much. A dirty white wall, an unmade bed, and a brown recliner beside the bed. Looked like a pretty depressing place to live.”

“You missed the sack of empty beer bottles just inside the door.”

“But I caught the bloodshot eyes.”

After checking for spiders and ants, I sat down on a narrow bench beside Marco at a splintering wooden picnic table that had weathered to a dirty gray. As Clive limped across the grass, one hand on his lower back, clearly in pain, Marco said, “He must have been on quite a bender last night.”

I readied the notepad and pen as Clive took a seat on the opposite side.

“I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us,” Marco said. “I have just a few questions, so this shouldn’t take long.”

Clive spread his arms. “Ask away, mate.”

“How much do you trust the men you work with?” Marco asked.

“One ’undred percent. They’re good blokes.”

“Would you include Sergio in that statement?”

“That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?” Clive said with a smile. “Of course, I trust Sergio.”

“Do you remember everyone’s position on the roof at the time of his fall?”

Clive rubbed his forehead, grimacing as though thinking made his head hurt. “I remember that Adrian was working at the roof’s edge, and Jericho was about three yards up from there.”

“And Sam?”

“I don’t ’ave a good recollection of Sam. Sorry.”

“But you’re sure he was on the roof.”

“We’re roofers, aren’t we?”

“Could he have been on the ground getting a load of shingles?”

Clive scratched his sideburn. “Maybe.”

“But wasn’t that your job on Monday?”

“Can’t really remember. We change jobs from site to site.”

“Can you remember what you were doing when Sergio fell?”

Now he rubbed his forehead again. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got a killer of an ’eadache. I want to say I was nailing shingles.” He mimed pulling the trigger of a gun.

“Jericho said you were hauling shingles to the roof.”

Clive shrugged. “Maybe I was, then.”

As I wrote out Clive’s answer, Marco changed subjects. “I understand that Jericho does oil paintings.”

“And a good painter he is, too.”

“Then you’ve seen some of his work?”

“A few things.”

“What does he paint?”

Clive scratched the sideburn again. “A bit of this, a bit of that. You know, a mix.”

“Such as landscapes?” I cut in.

“Landscapes, sure.”

“People?” Marco asked.

“Not that I remember. What are you getting at?”

“You work closely with these guys,” Marco said. “You must get to know each other pretty well.”

Clive shrugged. He seemed almost jolly. “Can’t be ’elped, can it? We talk while we work.”

“So when one of you has a girlfriend, the others know?” Marco asked.

“Like I said, we’re mates.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Marco asked.

“A number of them.” He winked at Marco.

“Pay-by-the-hour variety?”

Clive grinned.

The drift just came in. I scowled to let him know I was disgusted.

“How about Sam?” Marco asked.

“He broke up with his girlfriend about a month ago. Poor bloke doesn’t understand women at all.” Clive tapped his forehead. “For a big guy, Sam’s got a tiny brain. It’s why I call ’im T-Rex.”

“How about Jericho?” Marco asked. “Any girlfriends?”

“Well, he’s my mate, so I ’ate to say anything bad about ’im, but—” He made a circular motion next to his temple.

“He’s crazy?” I asked.

“Maybe offbeat is a better way to put it. You know those artsy types. Always in their ’eads, aren’t they?”

“Give us an example,” Marco said.

“Some of the things that Jericho shares don’t always make sense. ’E’ll say ’e’s got a girlfriend and tell us ’ow beautiful she is, but won’t tell us ’er name. Or ’e’ll come in all steamed up about his latest painting, bragging that it’ll fetch a thousand dollars, it’s just that brilliant. But then ’e won’t show it to us.”

“Does Jericho have a girlfriend currently?” Marco asked.

“That’s what I mean. ’E says ’e does, but ’e won’t tell us anything about ’er.”

“Have you ever seen him out with a woman?”

“Not once in the year I’ve been ’ere. I think ’e’s just a big talker.”

“Do you ever spend time at his trailer?”

“Sure. Sometimes Sam and I’ll spend a whole weekend out in the country, mostly in the summer, though.”

“And while you’re there, does he show you his paintings?” I asked.

“Sometimes, and other times ’e’ll be dark and mysterious. When ’e’s like that, I’ll try to joke ’im out of it. ‘Girl troubles?’ I’ll ask, giving ’im a jab in the ribs. ‘Is there any other kind of trouble?’ ’e’ll say, and then ’e’ll be better.”

“Can you describe the paintings you’ve seen?” I asked.

“Back when I first hired on, ’e showed us some landscapes ’e’d done, country scenes mostly. The last painting ’e showed us was one of those really modern art pieces.” He rubbed his forehead again. “I can’t think what they’re called at the moment.”

“Abstracts?” I asked.

“That’s it.”

“How long ago was that?” Marco asked.

“Four or five months, I’d say.” Clive folded his arms across his chest. “Why all the interest in Jericho’s paintings?”

“Just part of our investigation,” Marco said. “I like to get to know people.”

“That’s a little scary, mate. What do you know about me? Or maybe I don’t want to know.”

“You’re here on a work permit visa,” Marco said. “You’re divorced, no children. A history of larceny.”

“Petty larceny,” Clive said with a smile. “You know ’ow teenagers are.”

“We don’t consider auto theft and home invasion petty larceny here in the States, Clive.” Marco had obviously been doing some homework.

“I did my time and came out a reformed man,” Clive said, still smiling.

“Any of the four roofers own a pickup truck?” Marco continued.

“All of us do,” Clive said.

“Describe them, if you would.”

“Mine’s silver, Sam’s is navy, Jericho’s and Adrian’s are black. Sam also ’as a Harley, but ’e’ll only take it out in good weather.”

As I wrote, Marco asked, “Do you remember where you were Thursday evening about eight o’clock?”

“Probably ’ome. Why?”

“A stranger was seen entering Sergio’s hospital room,” Marco explained. “Big guy, black baseball cap and overcoat, later seen riding shotgun in a black or navy pickup truck with a smaller man driving. He
claimed to be a brother but had no ID on him. Puzzling thing is, Sergio doesn’t have a brother.”

“And you think the fellow was out to hurt Sergio,” Clive said. “Look, it’s no secret I didn’t like the bloke much, but I wouldn’t ’ave tried to harm ’im. I really can’t see any of my mates doing that, either.”

“If I told you that the detectives have gathered evidence showing that Sergio’s fall was not an accident,” Marco said, “what would you say?”

“I’d be stunned, that’s all. Just stunned.”

Marco leaned forward. “If you had to pick one of your coworkers as the culprit, Clive, who would it be?”

“I can’t pick one of my mates. It’s not right.”

“Why? Are you afraid word would get back to him?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I mean I won’t pick one of them.”

“You won’t say who you think might have done it?” Marco asked. “Then you do have someone in mind.”

His jolliness gone, Clive slapped his palm on the table and got up. “I’m not playing your little game. I’ll not point a finger at any of my mates.”

“It’s Sam, isn’t it?” I asked before he started away. “He’s who you’d pick.”

Clive swung around, his eyes blazing as he stabbed a finger at me. “I did not say that!” Then he limped away as fast as he could.

“I’ll bet he wanted to say that,” I said.

Marco’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen. “It’s Reilly. He must have news on the case.”

“Hey, Sean, what’s up?” he asked as we walked back
to the car. He listened a few minutes, then said, “Where is she? Okay, we’ll be right there.”

“Where is who?” I said as he unlocked the car.

“Rosa. I hope the groceries will hold. We have to go bond her out of jail.”

“Y
ou tried to break into Jericho’s trailer?” I asked Rosa in a whisper after they’d brought her out of the women’s holding cell.

“I wanted to see those paintings,” she said with an innocent shrug. “He would not open the door.”

“So you smashed the glass? What were you thinking?”

“I wanted Jericho to tell me why he did such a horrible thing. Do you see that a man who would paint naked pictures of another man’s wife would also slash his tires and leave dead rats in his locker?”

“He said you threatened to cut the paintings to ribbons,” I told her.

As we received curious stares from the people around us, Marco moved us toward the exit.

“A man like that would push Sergio’s ladder to make him fall,” Rosa concluded.

“What did you intend to do if he confessed?” Marco asked.

She looked up, thinking, then shrugged. “Call the police, I guess. And then cut the paintings.”

Marco shook his head as he opened the door for us. “She’s even more impulsive than you are,” he said quietly as I passed through behind Rosa.

“Than I
was
,” I corrected. “I’ve learned a lot of self-control over the past two years. In fact, I’ve learned a lot about investigative work in general.” And I was going to prove that to him soon.

When we were in Marco’s Prius, I asked Rosa where her son was.

“My mother is taking care of him.”

“What would Petey think if you had to sit in jail for a week?” Marco asked.

She huffed and stared out the window, her arms crossed.

“You’re lucky Jericho didn’t press charges,” Marco said, watching her in the rearview mirror.

“He would not dare,” Rosa said hotly. “If he did, I would make him take me to court and then I would demand that he produce the paintings so that everyone would know what kind of man he is. That is the kind of man who would push Sergio’s ladder.”

“Do you understand that you might have put us in jeopardy?” Marco asked.

“How?” she asked.

“Because Jericho now knows that one or both of us poked around in his house,” Marco said. “If he’s the man who tried to kill your husband, what would stop him from trying to hurt us?”

Immediately, her forehead creased. “I did not think about that. I was trying to help. I am so sorry.”

“You have to let us run the investigation,” Marco said, “or we’ll have to pull out.”

“Please don’t do that,” she implored. “I will not cause a problem again. I promise.”

She was silent until we parked in front of her house. Then she leaned between the seats, put a hand on each of our shoulders, and said, “Thank you for coming to get me and for talking the cops out of making me post a bond. I’m sorry I caused you trouble. I just want to find the man who pushed my husband.”

“That’s what we want, too,” I said.

“Good,” she said with a smile. “So what’s our next step?”

*   *   *

“What
is
our next step?” I asked Marco as we headed to the apartment.

“It’s your next step, Sunshine, because obviously Rosa wasn’t listening to me. You’ll need to have another talk with her. Make it absolutely clear that either
she
keeps out of it or
we
get out of it. I’m dead serious about that, Abby. I’m not going to let her put you in danger again.”

Marco didn’t get angry often, but he was now. I patted his arm. “I’ll talk to her. Rosa means well. She’s just impatient.” I poked his shoulder playfully. “Like me.”

“One impatient woman is all I can handle, babe.”

“It’s all you’d better
want
to handle, Salvare.”

One corner of his mouth curved up as he glanced over at me, so I knew he was softening. “Why don’t we review what we learned from Clive?”

I opened the notepad. “I don’t have much. It felt like we were spinning our wheels with Clive. But I did have a hard time believing he couldn’t remember what he was doing when Sergio fell. That moment should be etched in his brain.”

“I think he’s suffering from a hangover, but point taken. What else?”

“You didn’t tell me that Clive has a history of auto theft and home invasion.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spring that on you. But it does make Clive look like more of a suspect, given that he fits the description of the driver you saw at the hospital.”

“Which goes along with my next point. Three of them own dark-colored pickup trucks, and two of them—Sam and Jericho—are big enough to match the man I saw at the hospital. Did Reilly ever get back to you about the license plate number, by the way?”

“No. I’ll call him from the bar this evening.”

“Then we have Clive’s report of Jericho being secretive about both his alleged girlfriend and his paintings. I’ll bet there is no girlfriend, Marco, except in his mind.”

“If he fantasizes about Rosa, that could explain why he paints her nude.”

“Only a man would think that way,” I teased.

“Really? What would a woman do if she fantasized about a man?”

“A normal woman? She’d buy a few romance novels and continue the fantasy.”

“And if she wasn’t normal?”

“Stalk the guy.”

Marco pretended to shiver. “I think I prefer the nude paintings.”

“Of course you do, honey,” I said, patting his leg. “You’re a man.”

“Moving on,” he said.

“Clive is loyal to his friends,” I said. “If he knows who pushed Sergio, I don’t think he’ll ever say so.”

“It might be more than a matter of loyalty, Abby. Maybe Clive doesn’t want to end up like the rat in the locker.”

“Really?”

“Think about how upset he got when you called him out on Sam.”

“True.”

“What I keep noticing with the three men is that they all agree that Adrian was the closest to Sergio, and yet none of them will say much more than that. They’ll hint at things and then deny them. It makes me wonder whether it’s because they’re afraid Adrian will be their next boss, or because they know he didn’t push Sergio.”

“How do we find out?”

“By asking more questions. I’m going to start with Sam. He seems the easiest to crack.”

I clicked on my cell phone’s calendar to make the entry. “Okay, what day and time?”

“I’d like to be at his house when he gets home from work on Monday, but without you this time, Abby.”

I glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”

“Because, of all the suspects, Sam seems the most volatile, and I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

“Marco, I’m your partner. I should be there.”

“There is no
should
in this, babe. You don’t have to be with me for every interview.”

“But the interviews are the best part. How many times have we interviewed suspects together over the past two years? And how many turned out to be dangerous during the interview? One? Come on, Marco, you weren’t this nervous before we got married. The only
difference now is that I’ve got this pretty ring on my finger.” I wiggled my fingers for him to see.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He knew I was right, but he couldn’t admit it.

“Let me put it this way, Salvare. Just try to keep me away.”

*   *   *

As we carried groceries up the outside stairs into the kitchen, Marco said, “I hate to leave you alone on your Saturday off.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know it can’t be helped. Besides, I’ve got things to do.”

“Such as?”

I pretended to ponder it. “Oh, maybe take Seedy for a walk . . . Lounge on the sofa with that new mystery I picked up last month and haven’t had a chance to read. How often do I have an opportunity to do that?”

“Sounds like a relaxing afternoon. You’re probably sick of eating at the bar, so don’t feel you have to meet me for dinner.”

“Marco, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.”

He drew me into his arms for a kiss. “I was hoping you’d say that. And I’m sorry for before. You’re my life, Abby. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Don’t you think I feel the same way? We’re in this together, Marco, for better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. Till—”

He put his fingers over my lips. “Stop right there.”

On his way out the door, he stopped to rub Seedy’s head. “Keep Abby out of trouble, okay?”

She wagged her tail. She was amazingly good at keeping secrets.

*   *   *

An hour later, with Seedy on her leash, and armed with an enticing arrangement of spring flowers, I walked up to the front door of an impressively large brick home and rang the doorbell.

“Okay, Seedy, look adorable,” I said, stroking her head. “We need to charm Mr. Mallory into giving us information about the Joneses.”

But it wasn’t the man who owned the old Victorian who answered. It was a fiftysomething woman in a black velour jogging suit. “Oh, my gracious heavens, is that for me?”

I hadn’t even considered that Mrs. Mallory might be home. Now we’d have to charm them both. But before I could ask whether her husband was at home, she opened the storm door, talking a mile a minute.

“I can’t believe Bob actually remembered my birthday! He never does, you know, even with all the hints I drop. And he never let on at all when he left this morning to go fishing. Well, it’s a good thing he remembered—let me tell you. Who leaves his wife alone to go fishing on her birthday? Please come in!”

“I have my dog with me.”

“I don’t mind one bit. Please!”

I stepped inside but Seedy hung back, so I handed the woman the arrangement and scooped Seedy up, setting her on the carpet in the foyer. “She’s shy. She’s a rescue.”

“Well, that poor little thing. Isn’t she a dear, missing one leg. Oh, these are from Bloomers,” she said,
checking the envelope attached to the wrapping paper. “I love that little shop. Wait while I get you a tip, dear.”

“Mrs. Mallory?” I called as she hurried up the hallway. “There’s no need for that. I own Bloomers.”

“Well, then how about a cup of coffee and a piece of birthday cake? I just brewed a fresh pot and I’d love to hear more about your rescue pup.” With a big smile, she motioned for me to follow. “Come on back to the kitchen.”

Half an hour later, I was the one smiling. Not only had I eaten the most delicious dark chocolate birthday cake ever and washed it down with two cups of caramel-flavored coffee, but I also had another piece of information about the Joneses: the names and phone numbers of the two references Norm had put on his rental application. Both lived in Bowling Green, Ohio.

“See how well we work as a team?” I asked Seedy as we drove home. “Mrs. Mallory couldn’t resist us.”

My cell phone beeped to signal an incoming text, but I ignored it. It was followed by a second beep, and then a third. Just as I was pulling into a parking spot near the apartment, the phone rang.

“Oh, good,” Jillian said. “You’re there. You ignored my texts so I was afraid something had happened.”

“Nothing happened. I was driving. I’m one of those rare people who refuses to put my life on the line to see what people like you want. I would have called you back in a few minutes.”

“Whatev. Just drop what you’re doing and come get me so I can show you the perfect house. The. Perfect. House, Abs.”

“At least it’s not The. Best. House. Ever.”

“No jokes, Abby. I’m serious about this one.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

“You’ll see. It’s the model home in a new development and it’s going to sell fast. How soon can you get here?”

“I have to take Seedy home, so twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Grandma.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fine. Just hurry.”

*   *   *

“Oh, my God.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jillian asked, gleefully poking me in the shoulder. “Didn’t I?”

“I can’t believe it.”

“And you doubted my ability to find you The. Perfect. House.” She sighed dramatically. “O ye of little faith.”

I stood in the middle of the spacious living room and gazed around in astonishment. “Everything is brand-new.”

“I know! Isn’t it exciting? You’d be the first owners.”

Wow. I couldn’t believe it. A nine-foot ceiling. Tan walls with white trim. Two-tone beige carpet. Five big windows. A little over our budget, but otherwise perfect. It seemed too good to be true. “Before I step one foot out of the room, are you sure it has two bedrooms?”

She waved the listing papers in front of me. “Two bedrooms, Abs.”

“And a basement?”

“And a basement. It’s got everything on your list and more.”

“Pinch me. I think I’m dreaming.” I turned around just as Jillian pinched the soft flesh under my arm. “Ow! It’s just a saying, Jill.”

“Are you going to stand there rubbing your arm or do you want to see the other surprises this house has?”

“I’m afraid to leave here. I’m afraid that when I walk out, the rest of it will be a huge disappointment.”

Stepping behind me, Jillian put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me through the living room into the dining area and from there into the kitchen.

“Granite counters, Abs,” Jillian said, running her hands along the smooth black surface. “Stainless steel appliances. Light cherry cabinets—and look at these sleek handles.”