A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (16 page)

“I’ll pass along your advice. By the way, have you met his children?”

“Children? Ed has more than one? All I ever heard about was a son. Bud, I think his name was.”

“He has a daughter, too. How long ago did you speak with your brother?”

“Oh, well, let me think. Maybe six years ago?”

“That’s about how old his daughter is.”

“He never even bothered to call me and let me know.”

Hearing the regret in his voice, I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Birchman. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject. I have two brothers and can’t imagine not having any contact with them.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. Believe it or not, my brother and I were close at one time. Then our lives went in completely different directions. I only found out about Ed’s son because one day, about ten years ago, my brother showed up at my door needing a place for Sandra, him, and the baby to stay until he found an apartment. According to Ed, he had been evicted from his home in Maraville right after Bud was born. But who knows what the real story is? I’ll say it again, Mrs. Salvare, tell your client to be cautious.”

I thanked him for his help and hung up just as Seedy pawed at my leg, her leash in her mouth. “Is it time for a walk?”

She was so excited, she hobbled in a circle.

“Okay, let’s go. I need to do some thinking anyway.” I jotted down notes about the conversation and put them with the others in my floral magazine, then grabbed my jacket.

As we strolled up the sidewalk, I reviewed my conversation with Ted Birchman. If his brother was a scam artist, then judging by the beat-up van and the rentals he’d lived in, Norm/Ed clearly wasn’t a successful one. He and Sandra must have decided to teach the children at home so they could move at a moment’s notice without disrupting their schooling. At least they cared enough about the kids to want them to have an education. Still, what a terrible way to grow up.

I waited while Seedy did her business; then we started back up the street. What was I going to do about my case now? Norm had left New Chapel, and without any proof of a scam, the local police wouldn’t investigate him. So what would be the point of my continuing to poke around?

Yet I still wondered about the look Daisy had given me. Was she tired of being on the run? Had that glance been a silent plea for help? If so, was there anything I could do for her?

“I think I’ve reached the end of my project, Seedy,” I said as I let her into the apartment. “Now what can I do next?”

Tuesday

“M
aybe I should have an all-pink wedding,” my customer said as we sat at a table in the coffee parlor going through photographs of wedding bouquets. “I think my bridesmaids would look nice in pink.”

Which is what she’d said about the color blue twenty minutes earlier. I showed her several ideas for pink arrangements, but she merely sighed unhappily and took another sip of coffee. “I don’t know. Maybe yellow is the way to go.”

In the thirty minutes I’d been working with the young woman, I had learned four things: Her name was Darla Green; she was twenty-two; she worked as a receptionist at her father’s auto parts store; she had no backbone.

“What are your favorite colors?” I asked.

“Melon and aqua.”

“Then why not go with that?”

“Because my mother said she would disown me if I did.”

“Why would she disown you if you decided to use your favorite colors?”

“Because Mother hates them. She wants me to go with bright spring colors.”

“Okay, so who’s getting married here, Darla, you or your mother?”

She seemed baffled by my reaction. “Well, me, of course.”

“Then if you want melon and aqua as your colors, you should be able to have them.”

“But my parents are paying for everything. What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell your mother that you don’t want spring colors.”

“As if that were possible.” Darla sighed miserably. “What a nightmare this is turning out to be. Mother said no to beef, so we have to have chicken and polish sausage for our reception. Polish sausage! Who does that? She said no to the band we wanted, too. And forget champagne. White or red wine is it.”

“Maybe you could compromise,” I said. “I understand that your mom and dad may be working on a budget, so have a lower-cost sparkling wine instead of champagne, and maybe forgo the beef
and
polish sausage and just stick with chicken. You could use a DJ instead of a live band, and—”

“They can afford the champagne and the beef and the band, Abby. My dad makes over two million dollars a year.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“It’s Mother,” Darla said, sinking her chin onto her palm. “If she doesn’t get her way, look out. It’s just easier to give in to her.”

A bully in designer clothing. “You know what I’d do, Darla? I’d work with my fiancé to save enough money to pay for a nice little ceremony of my own.”

“A small wedding?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Believe me, you don’t need a humongous affair to start off married life, especially if it means giving in to a tyrant. You could have a cozy little ceremony in the gazebo, for instance, at Central Park.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re right.”

“You bet I’m right. That way, you can have your melon and aqua flowers and whatever else you want that fits in your budget.”

“But what do I tell Mother?”

“I’d tell her to take a—”

“Break,” Lottie said, pulling out a chair at the table, while Grace moved in to refill Darla’s coffee cup. “Take a break, sweetie. I’ll work with Darla to wrap this up.” Smiling at the young woman, Lottie slid the photo album over and said, “Let’s get you all fixed up, hon.”

I sat at the table in the workroom, my chin in my hand, while Grace explained that Darla’s mother, Edna St. Pierre, was one of our best customers. Her last name was different from Darla’s because she had remarried. The bill for wedding flowers would have been enormous and we would have been paid in cash.

“Guess I shouldn’t be giving personal advice to customers,” I said.

“Your heart was in the right place, love,” Grace said.

“I hate bullies, Grace.”

Grace put her hands on my shoulders. “And what about mothers? Isn’t there anything you’ve done for your mum that you didn’t want to do?”

Every piece of art my mom had ever created flashed through my mind.

“I’m just frustrated, Grace. We’re going in circles on Rosa’s investigation. I want to find my dream house, and that’s not happening. And I keep having disturbing dreams about little Daisy Jones. I had another one just last night.”

“Abby, listen to me,” Grace said, sitting on a stool beside me. “You’ll find that lovely little house. The one that’s meant for you hasn’t appeared yet, that’s all. And something is bound to turn up in Rosa’s case. As far as Daisy is concerned, you felt there was something about her that needed investigating, so you did. Now you know her father is a scoundrel, but you said yourself that the children seemed well cared for, so you have to let it go.”

“I’d like to do that, but the dreams haunt me.”

Grace’s brow wrinkled as she pondered my dilemma. “Try this. Imagine blowing up a balloon, and every puff you put into it is some of that worry, until it’s filled to bursting. Then imagine releasing that balloon into the stratosphere. Up and up it floats until you can’t even see it. And as the old saying goes, out of sight, out of mind.”

I closed my eyes and pictured the balloon rising farther and farther into the air. Then a bird flew past and punctured it, and there went that image.

But I didn’t want to disappoint Grace, so I thanked her for her help and plucked an order from the spindle. Twenty minutes later, I was back in my groove. Flower therapy worked every time. If only I could make arrangements in my sleep.

*   *   *

Shortly after noon Marco and I drove to the job site where the HHI roofers were working, a huge two-story residence in one of New Chapel’s priciest neighborhoods. The day was sunny and fairly warm for March, so the workers were taking advantage of it, some sitting on the low stone retaining wall surrounding a courtyard, others seated on a blanket, leaning their backs against the side of the house, their lunches on their laps.

I saw Jericho, Clive, and Sam side by side on the retaining wall, but Adrian was leaning against his pickup truck parked on the street talking on the phone. He saw us approaching and ended his call.

“Well, if it isn’t my
amigos
come to see me again,” Adrian called gregariously. He glanced over at his fellow workers, then said quietly, “It is a good thing you caught me out here. You are not popular with one of my
compañeros
.”

I turned to look and saw Jericho glaring at us.

Adrian said to me, “Is it true that you broke into his studio,
chica
?”

“No, it’s not true,” Marco said.

I would have offered a bit more explanation, such as that we had been invited into Jericho’s trailer, but Marco kept the interview moving along. “We’d like to follow up on a few things we touched on before. I know your time is limited, so we’ll be quick. Do you mind?”

He waved his arm. “Ask away.”

“Good,” Marco said. “First, think back to the morning of the accident, when you heard Sergio call for help. Would you describe where you and your coworkers were positioned?”

“I believe I have already told you that I was working
a yard or two away from where Sergio was. Jericho and Sam were on the same side of the roof, but Clive I do not remember seeing.”

“Could he have been bringing up a load of shingles?” Marco asked.

Adrian nodded. “This is possible.”

“Were you working on the gutters?” I asked, looking at the notes I had made previously.

“Yes.”

“Who was closest to Sergio?” Marco asked.

“No one was close to him.”

“If I told you there was evidence that one of the roofers pushed Sergio,” Marco said, “how would you respond?”

“I would say that’s not possible. Falling from that height is certain death. Not one man here would push Sergio no matter how he felt about him personally.”

“What if Sergio was being abusive to Rosa?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know what you have been told, but Sergio would never lay a hand on Rosa. The old
bastardo
truly loves her. And besides, I would not let that happen. There was a time when he did not treat her with the respect she deserved, so I had to straighten him out, but that is all finished.”

“
You
decided that Sergio was not treating Rosa with respect?” I asked.

“As a friend of her brother, it was my duty to protect her.”

“Was it your duty to harass her, too?” I asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

Marco said, “What my wife is referring to is a
comment we heard about you flirting with Rosa when she worked at HHI.”

“Ah! Now I understand.” Adrian turned his dimpled smile on me. “When it comes to a beautiful woman, I am a hopeless flirt. I mean nothing disrespectful by it. It is just in my nature.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot. The rogue was flirting with me as he spoke! I wanted to be offended, yet I couldn’t deny his charisma.

“But believe me,” Adrian continued, “when I tried it with Rosa, she set me straight. She is a strong woman, that Rosa. Even though I know she would prefer me to that old man she is married to, she is loyal to Sergio. After all, he is the father of her son.”

“What about Rosa’s black eye?” I asked. “All of your coworkers believe Sergio hit her.”

“And what did Rosa tell you? That Sergio left his boots in the way and she fell over them? That is what happened. I asked Rosa myself, and Rosa cannot lie to me. Her face gives away everything she thinks in her head.”

Another point she and I had in common.

“The others”—Adrian glanced toward his coworkers—“they do not understand Rosa as I do.”

“Have you ever seen any of them flirt with Rosa?” I asked.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Why is this important?”

“It’s a routine question,” Marco said. Unfortunately, he said it just as I said, “We believe one of them has a crush on her.”

Oops.

Adrian got up close to Marco and said quietly, “Are you speaking of Jericho?”

When Marco said nothing, Adrian stepped back. “There is no need to answer. I have suspected him of having a passion for Rosa for many weeks now.”

“Why would you suspect that?” Marco asked.

“I saw him taking a picture of her one day when she came to pick up Sergio. He did not know I saw him.” Adrian rubbed his fist into the palm of his hand. “I can put a stop to that.”

“Hold on,
amigo
,” Marco said. “There’s no law against taking a photo, but there is against assault. Nothing that we’ve told you has been verified. Leave it at that and let us handle it.”

It was a stare-down between the two men for a long, tense moment. Then Adrian turned his fierce gaze on Jericho, sitting a good fifteen yards away. “I will leave it for now, but I will be watchful. Are we finished?”

“Just two more questions. Have you been to see Sergio in the hospital?” Marco asked.

“Why would I do that if Sergio would not want me there? We are not friends. Does Rosa
want
me to visit him?”

“The reason I ask,” Marco said, “is that someone claiming to be Sergio’s brother slipped into his room Thursday evening before being chased out by a nurse. Fortunately, no harm was done, but the man had nothing on him to prove his identity.”

“Sergio does not have a brother,” Adrian said. “What did this man look like?”

“A big man in a black overcoat with a dark baseball cap pulled down over his eyes,” Marco said. “He was spotted leaving the vicinity in the passenger seat of a
dark pickup truck being driven by a smaller man wearing a hooded sweatshirt.”

“This does not make sense to me. You have described two men who sound like Sam and Clive, but I cannot believe that either of them would sneak into a hospital to hurt Sergio, just as I refuse to believe any of them would have pushed Sergio’s ladder.”

“There’s one problem with that,” I said. “The only people near Sergio when he fell were the four of you roofers.”

“There must be another answer,” Adrian said with a shrug, his diamond insignia ring glinting in the light, “because if you are looking for a killer here,
mi amiga
, you are looking in the wrong place.”

*   *   *

“There
is
nowhere else to look, Marco,” I said as we drove back to town. “We’ve interviewed all four men twice, and in Clive’s case three times. We’ve gone through their interviews twice, and nothing new has emerged.”

“Then we’ve missed something. Let’s go back over the events of Monday morning. Tell me everything you remember.”

“First thing I remember is you, Lorelei, and me standing in front of the Victorian discussing the condition it was in. Seedy was watching Sergio, and I remember two painters on scaffolding on the right side of the house. I also remember noticing the roofers and thinking how tricky it must be for them to work on such a sharply pitched roof. Let’s see. What else?”

“Okay, back up. With all the men who were working on the house that day, why would Seedy have been watching Sergio in particular?”

“I don’t know, but I remember thinking it was odd because she doesn’t normally pay attention to men.”

“Was he doing anything that might have attracted her attention?”

“No. He was just painting the gingerbread trim.”

“Did she try to get to him after he landed on the ground?”

“No.”

“So what would have made her watch him?”