A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (5 page)

Marco would say to let it go, that I was merely being my usual nosy self, which wasn’t
untrue
. But it was much too simplistic. This was a gut feeling that something about that little girl was out of the ordinary. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I wouldn’t be able to let it go until I had satisfied myself that either I was right or my internal radar was off-kilter.

“Hi, Mr. Mallory? This is Abby Knight . . . Salvare. From Bloomers Flower Shop. I have a delivery for Sandra Jones, but I was just informed that she’s moved. Do you have a forwarding address?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t,” Mallory said.

“Well, darn,” I said. “This is such a big, beautiful arrangement. I sure hate to see it go to waste.”

“Yeah,” he said in a bored voice. “That’s a shame.”

Time to try another tactic. “Sandra is an old high school friend of mine. Did she put anything on their rental application that might help me find her?”

“Hold on while I look.” He sounded annoyed. After a moment, I heard papers shuffling; then he said, “I didn’t know flower shops were open this late.”

“I own the shop. You know how that goes.”

“Not really. Okay, I can give you Sandra’s previous address and the landlord’s phone number.”

“Great. Go ahead.” I wrote down the information, then said, “Did they list any references?”

“What does that have to do with delivering flowers?”

“In case I can’t find them, maybe a former neighbor would know how to reach them.”

“Look, miss, I have no way of knowing whether you’re on the up-and-up, so I’m not about to give other people’s information to you.”

“I totally understand, Mr. Mallory, but you can look me up on the Internet. Bloomers Flower Shop, New Chapel, Indiana, Abby Knight. So, does that application happen to say where Sandra’s husband is employed? Maybe I can find her that way.”

“Maraville School Corporation.”

“Perfect. Thank you. So how were they, the Joneses?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t seen Sandy in years. Does she appear to be happy? I know she has kids now. Did they all appear happy to you?”

“I met them in person once. They seemed like decent people. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Sandra yourself.”

Click
.

It had been a long shot, but at least I had something to go on.

I found the Maraville School Corporation’s phone number, wrote it down, tucked it in my purse, shut down the computer, and put on my pajamas. I now had a starting point for my hobby.

Wednesday

A
t seven thirty in the morning, Marco and I arrived at the Handy Home Improvements headquarters and introduced ourselves to Mr. Appleruth, a short, sturdy, curly-haired man in his sixties. We’d already dropped Seedy off at Bloomers, where Grace was setting up her coffee machines for the day.

HHI was housed in a tan brick building on Beech Street on the southeast side of New Chapel in a chain of low-lying structures that held everything from an interior lighting store to a chiropractic clinic.

“If you want to talk to Adrian Prada, he’s around back,” Appleruth said.

We were standing in a sparsely outfitted outer office painted in industrial gray, where a young female secretary sat in front of a computer sucking from a straw stuck in a huge plastic cup of soda. Since Mr. Appleruth had not invited us into his inner office, I took out the notepad and pen as Marco began to question him.

“What can you tell us about Adrian Prada?” Marco asked.

“Adrian’s a dependable worker, does a good job, but has something of a temper. I’ve had to intervene a few times to head off a fight, but that’s not unusual when you have a bunch of laborers who work together sometimes for ten hours a day.”

“That’s a long day,” I said.

“The longer the daylight hours are,” he said, “the longer they work.”

“Have you noticed any rivalry between Sergio and Adrian?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a rivalry. More like tension.”

“Did that tension ever escalate into a fight?”

“No punches thrown that I know of, if that’s what you mean. They just didn’t seem to like each other. But it never prevented them from getting the work done.”

“Were you aware that Adrian was harassing Rosa Marin while she was employed by you?” Marco asked.

Appleruth looked embarrassed as he nodded. “I spoke to Adrian about it but he swore he was only trying to be a friend to her. Ultimately, Rosa and I decided that it would be best if she worked elsewhere, so I helped find her another job.”

“I’m surprised Rosa didn’t file a sexual harassment suit,” I said.

“That was her decision,” he said.

“Why did you choose Sergio over the others as your foreman?” I asked.

“Simple. Sergio has a wife and kids to support. The others don’t.”

“So the only reason you chose Sergio is because he has a family?”

“He’s also more experienced. I go by my gut instinct on these guys, and Sergio was the obvious choice. Otherwise, their work ethics are all about the same.”

“Were you considering anyone else?” I asked.

“Seniority-wise, Adrian Prada.”

“Any hard feelings there?” Marco asked.

“You’d have to ask Adrian that.”

“What can you tell us about Sam Walker?” Marco asked.

“Sam used to be a wrestler but now he’s into weight training, always working out. He’s been with the company for about five years.”

“How about Clive Bishop?” Marco asked.

“Clive has been here the shortest amount of time. He came here from the UK about this time last year, no references, no relatives, just wanting to make a fresh start. He admitted that he had been charged with petty larceny as a teenager, but he seemed dependable, so I hired him as a temp to see how he performed and eventually gave him a permanent job.”

“And last is Jericho,” I said, reading from my notes.

“Ah, Jericho. An interesting guy, very quiet. Keeps to himself. A little on the peculiar side, to tell you the truth. Apparently he doesn’t have a last name because he had it legally changed to Jericho when he turned twenty-one. I think there were family problems.”

“Do you have Jericho’s original birth name?” Marco asked.

“Sorry, no.”

“Any conflicts between any of the three men and Sergio?” Marco asked.

Appleruth scratched the back of his head, as though reluctant to talk. “Look, Sergio is in bad shape right now so I hate to say much, but the truth is that he wasn’t well liked. He had a harsh tone and a sour disposition, and that led to some altercations. To put it simply, he could be a real bastard at times.”

“Then why would you make him your foreman?” I asked.

“For the reasons I named earlier. I believe in being fair to my men. They work for me for a long time, do a good job, I reward them. It’s that simple. And what foreman isn’t considered a bastard to his workers?”

“What was the reaction among those three men when you announced Sergio’s promotion?” Marco asked.

“There was some grumbling, but nothing else in my presence,” Appleruth said. “They know good jobs are hard to come by, and I do treat my employees well. Bottom line is money. It makes up for a lot of things.”

“Were you aware of several warnings Sergio received from someone in the company after he was promoted?” Marco asked.

“No. What kind of warnings?”

“Truck tires slashed, dead rat left in his locker, and red paint splashed on his spare coveralls.”

“Sergio never told me,” Appleruth said. “I wish he had. I would’ve tried to get to the bottom of it.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I hate to cut you off, but I have to do an estimate in about ten minutes. Feel free to talk to anyone here, though. If they give you any grief, tell them I said they’d better cooperate.”

Marco shook hands with him and then we headed around to the back of the building to find Adrian Prada.

He wasn’t hard to locate. There was only one laborer in the back, a broad-shouldered man with coal black hair tied back in a ponytail, a square-jawed face, and a well-proportioned body. He was standing on a ladder installing new gutters, and came down when Marco called his name.

“Adrian, I’m Marco Salvare,” my husband said. “This is my wife, Abby. We’d like to talk to you about Sergio Marin.”

“What about Sergio?” he asked warily.

“I’m a private detective,” Marco said, displaying his PI’s license. “Mrs. Marin hired us to look into the cause of Sergio’s fall.”

Adrian pressed his fingertips against his chest, displaying a huge gold insignia ring with the letter
A
in the center of a round raised bed of glittering diamond chips. It matched the pendant on a thick gold-link chain around his neck. His dark brown eyes radiating his annoyance, he asked crossly, “And she told you to come see
me
?”

“We’re interviewing everyone who was on the scene Monday morning,” Marco said.

“It was an accident,
mi amigo
. If anyone caused Sergio’s accident, it was Sergio.”

“He caused his own accident?” I asked.

“If I had a bad heart like Sergio, I would not be eating donuts for lunch or having six beers after work—you know what I mean? You want to know why Sergio fell? Because he does not take care of himself.”

“Sergio didn’t have a heart attack,” Marco said, “or any other apparent condition that might have caused his fall.”

Adrian scowled, arms folded across his chest, clearly trying to decide what to do. “What are you saying, then? That someone here pushed him?”

“I’m saying that we’re looking for the cause of his fall,” Marco said, repeating his earlier statement. “So how about answering a few questions?”

“And I am telling you to stop looking my way,” Adrian retorted.

“All I’m asking for is ten minutes of your time,” Marco said. “Your boss told us you’d be willing to help us. Should I tell him he’s wrong?”

Adrian scowled, twisting the ring on his finger back and forth as he debated what to do. Finally, he said, “What do you want to know?”

I pulled out the notepad and got ready to write.

“Does Sergio have any enemies at work?” Marco asked.

“No, not enemies,” Adrian said. “It is just that everyone hates him.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“You make war with your enemies,” he replied.

“Why is Sergio hated?” Marco asked.

“Because he is a
cabrón
.”

“Which means . . . ?” I said.

“Ah, it has many meanings. Let us just say a bastard. He criticized everything we did. Me, I am picky about what I do. I don’t appreciate someone telling me it is no good just because he is jealous of me.”

“Why would Sergio be jealous of you?” I asked.

“Look at me,” Adrian said, posing like a matador—head up, shoulders back, chest thrust forward, legs together. “I am handsome, strong, and virile. Sergio is old,
with wrinkles and gray hair. You really think that his beautiful wife wants to stay with him when I am right here?”

Giant ego,
I wrote. Adrian was rubbing me the wrong way, and I’d only been around him for five minutes. “So,” I said, “you’re saying his wife would leave Sergio to be with you if she had the opportunity?”

“You look at me and decide,” Adrian said, sweeping me from head to toe with a smoldering glance. “Perhaps you should ask Rosa if she slipped poison in his thermos that morning.”

If I were Rosa, the poison would have gone into
this
guy’s thermos.

“How well do you know Mrs. Marin?” Marco asked.

“I went to school with Rosa. She was two years younger than me, and her brother Miguel was my best friend. I would have dated her but Miguel kept me away. He said I was too much man for his little sister.” Adrian laughed, clearly proud of himself.

“Did you have a problem with Sergio being promoted to foreman?” Marco asked.

“
Sí,
I had a problem with it. I would make a much better foreman than Sergio. I am smarter than he is, for one thing, and I have a lot of experience. And even more than that, as I said before, no one likes Sergio.” He held out his arms. “Everyone likes Adrian Prada.”

I knew two women who weren’t in that category. I underlined
Giant ego
twice.

“Who was responsible for slashing Sergio’s tires?” Marco asked.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m talking to you,” Marco said. “Who was responsible for the rat in his locker? Or the red paint on his coveralls?”

“When did this happen?” Adrian asked. He was doing a poor job of looking shocked.

“It happened after Sergio was made foreman,” I said. “Sounds like someone was jealous of Sergio.”

“Then it could not have been me,” Adrian said with a dimpled smile. “As I already told you, it was Sergio who was jealous of me. Now the others—I cannot speak for them. Maybe they will know more.”

“Where were you when Sergio fell?” Marco asked.

Adrian pointed skyward. “On the roof.”

“Near Sergio?”

“A few yards away. Please. You insult me. I do not like Sergio, but I would not push him. No one wants to fall to his death.”

“He’s not dead,” I said.

“Yet,” Adrian replied. “You do not survive a fall like that,
chica
, believe me.”

Chica?
Later I’d have to remember to ask exactly what that meant. “I hope you’re wrong,” I replied.

Adrian shrugged, as though it would be no tragedy if Sergio died.

“If Sergio can’t come back to work for any reason, who’ll be foreman?” Marco asked.

Adrian grinned. “You want me to say I will. Sorry to disappoint you, but that is up to Mr. Appleruth. And I am finished with your questions.” He strutted away as though he’d just slain a bull.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“What was your impression of Adrian?” Marco asked as we rode back to town.

“I can sum him up in four words. Giant ego, big mouth.”

“Any bad vibes?”

“You bet. I dislike men who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

“What about men who think their women are God’s gift to them?”

“What?”

One side of Marco’s mouth curved up in that devilish way of his. “Never mind. I couldn’t resist. What else did you notice?”

“Two things stuck out. No matter how much he protested otherwise, Adrian was angry that Sergio got the promotion and he didn’t. And if he had the chance, he would love to pursue Rosa. Is that enough motive to put him on our suspect list?”

“Jealousy at work and in his private life? I’d say so. We’ll need to verify that Adrian was a few yards away from Sergio before the fall.”

My cell phone rang so I checked the screen and saw my cousin’s name. “It’s Jillian,” I whispered to Marco, then put the phone to my ear and said, “What’s up, Jill?”

“Did you make a decision about the yellow ranch? If you want it, we need to get a bid in ASAP.”

“We’re not interested,” I said.

“Just because it didn’t have appliances? Wise up, Abs. It’s so much better to be able to choose your own. Seriously, do you know how smart refrigerators are now?”

“It’s not because of the appliances, Jillian. It’s because we want two bedrooms, not three, and no short sale.”

“Okay, fine,” she said in an exasperated voice, and hung up.

I slid my phone into my purse. “What does
chica
mean?”

“Not sure, but I think it’s slang for cutie.”

Huh. Adrian thought I was cute.

“I’d like to interview as many of the other men as possible when they return to HHI today,” Marco said. “Can you be ready to leave Bloomers at five p.m.?”

“I’m sure I can arrange that for
you
,” I said, then added playfully, “Hot Pockets.”