A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (15 page)

“We won’t be here long,” I said, taking out the notepad and pen.

“I don’t have no chairs for you. Sorry.”

“Nice truck,” Marco said, circling around the vehicle. He paused briefly at the back to check out the license plate, then moved on around it. “Looks brand-new. Drive it much?”

“Winter mostly. I ride my Harley whenever I can.”

“Ever let any of your friends borrow it?”

Sam went back to his polishing, crouching down on one side of the bike. “My friends got their own trucks.”

“Did you have it out last Thursday evening?”

“I haven’t had it out all week. Why?”

“Truck just like this one nearly ran my wife and her pregnant cousin down as they were leaving the hospital.”

Sam swiveled to look at me. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” Marco said.

“The dude must’ve been wasted,” Sam said.

“The thing is,” I said, “the guy in the car was the same one I saw a nurse chase out of Sergio’s hospital room. Big man about your size, wearing a dark overcoat and baseball cap like those back there.” I pointed to the caps hanging by the door.

“When I heard that he had claimed to be Sergio’s brother,” I said, “I had the nurse call security.”

“So?” he said.

“Sergio doesn’t have a brother,” I said. “So maybe the guy was there to make sure Sergio never woke up.”

“Why are you telling
me
this?” Sam asked.

“Where were you Thursday evening?” Marco asked.

It took a moment for Sam to get the picture. Then he tossed down his rag and got up, his hands balling into fists as though he was about to throw a punch. “You think I was that dude?”

Marco moved between Sam and me, and I could tell by the tensing of his shoulders and the widening of his stance that he was prepared to defend me. “Are you?”

The wrestler’s neck turned an angry red and his nostrils flared. I expected him to paw the ground next. I took a step back. Hell hath no fury like a wrestler cornered.

“I
f that’s why you’re here,” Sam snarled, “you can get the hell out of my face. I don’t like Sergio, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna go after him—or run down two women. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“I don’t enjoy having to ask these kinds of questions, Sam,” Marco said calmly, “but it’s part of what I do, and I do it to the best of my ability. Isn’t that what you do?”

Sam shifted from one foot to the other. “Yeah.”

“I apologize for offending you, but I had to ask,” Marco said. “Let’s talk about work, okay?”

Sam rolled his head, as though loosening tight neck muscles. “Yeah, I guess,” he said in a subdued voice.

“Who was hauling the shingles to the roof on the day of Sergio’s accident?”

“Probably Clive, but I don’t wanna say for sure. We take different jobs every day and it’s hard to remember.”

“I’d like you to think back to when you heard Sergio call for help,” Marco said.

“You turned around and saw what?”

“Didn’t you ask me this already?”

“Bear with us,” Marco said. “We just want to make sure we have an accurate report.”

Sam gave Marco a disgruntled look. “I heard someone cry, ‘Help,’ so I turned around and saw Sergio grab his heart and then his ladder went backward.” He shook himself, as though he didn’t want to recall it.

“You’re sure he put his hand to his heart and not his stomach?” I asked.

“It was like this.” He demonstrated by putting his hand over his sternum. Then he thought about it and moved his hand down. “Or maybe here.”

“That would be your stomach,” I said.

Sam shrugged. “It happened fast, you know? I didn’t really think about that when I saw him falling.”

“What else did you notice? Where were the other roofers?”

He picked up the cloth and started to polish again. “Adrian was working on the gutter and Jericho was near me. I guess that means Clive was our supplier, so he could’ve been anywhere.”

“Shouldn’t he have had a good view of anyone who might have pushed Sergio?” Marco asked.

“Not if he was on the truck.”

The questioning was going nowhere. I felt it and I was sure Marco could feel it, because he changed subjects.

“Ever have a rat problem here?” Marco asked.

“Nah, just mice, why?”

He nodded toward a black shelving unit against the side wall. “You’ve got some rat poison there.”

I looked over and saw a box of poison sitting on the top shelf. I wouldn’t have noticed if Marco hadn’t pointed it out.

“I got it by mistake,” Sam replied.

“Where do you think the dead rat came from that Sergio found in his locker?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know nothing about that, dude.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Could’ve been anyone put the rat in the locker,” Sam said carelessly. “Sergio doesn’t have no friends there.”

“What do you think it meant?”

“Maybe that he’s a rat.”

“How about the slashed tire?” Marco asked. “What does that mean?”

“How about you ask the dude that did it?” Sam answered irritably.

“How do we find that dude?”

“Hell, you’re the detective. How should I know?” He dipped the cloth into the wax and started to polish again. “So what did the cops ever find out, you know, when they tested the paint on Sergio’s coveralls?”

Did someone have a guilty conscience?

“The results haven’t come back yet,” Marco said. “Do you know something about the coveralls?”

“Just wondering, is all.”

“I wonder about that, too,” Marco said. “First Sergio got the warnings; then the so-called accident happened. They’re a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

“They don’t have to be connected,” Sam muttered as he worked.

Marco squatted down on the other side of the bike so he could look Sam squarely in the face. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about the coveralls?”

“I don’t know anything. Like I said, I was just wondering.”

I saw a muscle in Marco’s jaw twitch and knew he was getting frustrated. He changed directions again. “Have you ever seen any of Jericho’s paintings?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Does he paint portraits?” I asked.

“You mean like pictures of people? I never saw none.”

“Clive said Jericho has become secretive about his paintings,” Marco said.

“Secretive,” Sam repeated, as though trying on the word for size. “I’d call it more . . . temperamental. Yeah. That’s a good word for Jer. He only shows his paintings when he’s got a good temperament.”

“Does Jericho talk about his girlfriends?” Marco asked.

“Kind of. Jer’s been mentioning this hot chick for a couple of months now but won’t tell us anything about her—well, except that she’s hot.”

Obviously Marco had found a topic that Sam could warm up to: women. “Has Jericho ever mentioned that he took his girlfriend anywhere—to dinner, to a game, the kinds of things you’d do on a date?”

“Nothing. Not even that he got her into the sack.” Sam made a circling motion next to his head to indicate he thought that was crazy.

“Maybe he won’t tell you anything because the woman is married,” I said.

Sam gave me a blank look, as though to say,
What’s that got to do with it?

“Do you think Clive is right to suspect Sergio of hitting his wife, Rosa?” Marco asked.

“I hate to say ’cause I’ve only heard stuff.”

“Didn’t you see her black eye?” I asked.

“No. That was Clive and Jer. But Jer’s the one you need to ask. He talks to Rosa.”

“Often?” I asked.

“I don’t know about that. She don’t come by much anymore. But he’ll go out to the car to talk to her when she does come.”

“Do you think Jericho could have feelings for Rosa?” I asked.

Sam snorted. “What for? He’s got a hot chick.”

“How about Adrian?” Marco asked. “Any sparks between him and Rosa?”

Sam shrugged. “They’ve known each other since they were kids, so I guess he likes her.”

“We’re talking about more than liking her,” I said.

Sam gave me a baffled glance. “Like he’s in love with her?”

“That’s what we’re asking you,” Marco said.

“I don’t hang out with Adrian,” Sam said, running his hand back and forth across the top of his Mohawk. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Doesn’t Adrian go out for drinks with the rest of you?” I asked.

“Yeah, but all he does is brag about his hookups and how much the women like him. I never heard him say anything about being in love with Rosa.”

“I’m confused,” Marco said. “Weren’t you in agreement with Clive when he said Adrian and Sergio were like two hounds after the same fox?”

Sam blinked at him as though trying to comprehend.

“The fox being Rosa Marin,” I explained.

“I thought he was talking about the foreman’s job.”

Sam was definitely not the sharpest thorn on the bush.

“Okay, let’s talk about the foreman’s job,” Marco said. I could tell his patience was just about gone. Or maybe that was my patience I felt ebbing. “Was there ever a question of who was going to get the position?”

“To me there was,” Sam said, ruffling his hair again.

“Explain,” Marco said.

“I was hoping Mr. Appleruth would choose Adrian. He would have made a better foreman.”

“Do you think it’s fair that Sergio got it because he has a family to support?” Marco asked.

Sam shrugged. “What does it matter now?” He put the lid on the can and tossed the cloth into a plastic bin. He was ready for us to leave.

“One more question,” Marco said. “Do you think it’s possible that Adrian pushed Sergio’s ladder?”

Sam sighed, as though frustrated. “Look, no one pushed Sergio’s ladder. He got dizzy or sick or something and fell, that’s all.”

*   *   *

“Not what I’d call a productive interview,” I said as Marco took me home. “It’s like we’re going in circles with these three guys. One will make a statement, the other two will agree, and then when we question them individually, they’ll modify their story. At first I thought Sam was playing dumb, but now I don’t think he’s playing.”

“Keep in mind that it doesn’t take a genius to kick someone’s ladder away.”

“I’ll give you that. And out of the four men who work with Sergio, Sam most closely fits the description of the man in the hospital room. Plus, it was obvious that he’s concerned about being linked to the coveralls.”

“I’m almost certain Sam was behind those warnings,” Marco said. “There’s just no way to prove it without a DNA test, damn it.”

“I’m leaning toward Sam being our number one suspect.”

“I don’t know, Abby. No matter what else the three men say about each other, they all agree that no one was close enough to push Sergio’s ladder. Maybe it was a collaborative effort.”

“True, they did all have the means, motive, and opportunity, but I don’t get any bad vibes from anyone except Jericho, and that’s only because of the paintings. And then there’s Sam, who is sticking by his story that he saw Sergio put his hand to his heart or stomach. How do we explain that when the doctors report no medical reasons for Sergio’s fall?”

“I need to call Reilly to see if those tox reports came back. That might give us an answer. And I’d like to interview Adrian Prada again. The first time we talked to him, we didn’t get to go into any great detail about what happened Monday morning. I’ll phone Appleruth first thing tomorrow to see where Adrian’s working so we can shoot over there and catch him during a lunch break.”

“I’ll make sure I’m free at noon.”

Marco hit his fist on the steering wheel. “Damn, it’s frustrating. There’s a piece of the puzzle just beyond my grasp.”

“We’ll find that piece, Marco. You haven’t earned a reputation as the best detective in town for nothing.”

“Thanks, babe.” He pulled up in front of the house, then reached over and put his hand on my knee, raising my hopes that something romantic was coming. “So
here’s what I’m thinking we’ll do when I get home tonight.”

Oh, baby. “Yes?”

“Let’s go over all the notes again. I want to see whether anything jumps out at me.” He patted my knee.

Well, that was disappointing. It appeared that if I wanted a little romance, the “anything jumping out at him” would have to be me. In the meantime, I had a few hours to kill, and I knew just how I was going to do it.

*   *   *

“Ted Birchman?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Birchman, this is Abby Knight”—oops—“Salvare from the Salvare Detective Agency, and I was wondering if I could ask you about your—”

“About my brother. I know, Ms. Salvare. My dad phoned me this morning. He was pretty rattled by your call.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Dad had to cut off communication with my brother years ago, and it still troubles him.”

“I truly didn’t mean to upset your dad, Mr. Birchman. I was just checking references for my client.”

“Ed used me as a reference? That’s hard to believe, Ms. Salvare—if that’s really your name.”

“That’s my name, Mr. Birchman. The Salvare Detective Agency is one hundred percent legit. If you’d like to see our Web site, I’ll give you the link right now.”

“Why don’t you do that.”

I waited as he checked.

“Okay,” he said. “Sorry if I doubted you, but when it comes to my brother, I’ve learned to be cautious. Now
tell me why you want to talk to me, because I know Ed didn’t use me as a reference.”

I decided to tell him as little as possible. “You’re right. He didn’t use you. But in checking the references your brother put on his rental application, I found two discrepancies. It’s our policy to investigate in those instances before the lease is signed.”

“What kind of discrepancies?”

“Before I answer that, is your brother and his family in the witness protection program?”

Ted laughed loudly. “Oh, my God. Is that the story he gave you?”

“No one gave me that story, Mr. Birchman. I found out that your brother is going by the name of a man who is now deceased, so I wondered if he had to assume another identity for security reasons.”

“If Ed assumed someone else’s identity, it was not for the witness protection program, I assure you. But it probably
was
for his own security—to keep himself out of jail. He’s a scam artist. He’s been in trouble all over the Midwest, so it’s not surprising he’s using a phony name. So what’s his latest ruse?”

“I don’t know that there is a ruse. All I know is that he’s currently holding a janitorial job in Maraville, Indiana, and before that he put on his application that he was employed as a janitor in your city.”

“Ed hasn’t lived in Bowling Green for quite some time, Mrs. Salvare. He was probably fired from his last job and didn’t want to list it on his application. That’s what he does. He gets a job, stays somewhere for a while; then, when the police get too close, he pulls up stakes and moves.”

“That’s exactly what your brother did in my town. The police were at his house because of a roofing accident, and the next day he and his family were gone.”

“Which means he’s up to his old tricks. If I were you, Mrs. Salvare, I would tell your client to rent to him by the month, because he won’t be there long.”