Evil In Carnations (20 page)

“Nice to see you again, Carmen,” I said pleasantly.

“Same here . . . Amy, isn’t it?”

“Abby.”

“Mmm,” was her response. “Whose limo is out front?”

“My cousin hired it for the day.”

“Is your cousin someone I would know?”

“Jillian Knight Osborne. She’s a wardrobe consultant.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.” Clearly disappointed, Carmen glanced around the shop, the silver sparkles in her lipstick catching the overhead lights. “So this is where you work.”

“I own Bloomers.” How I loved saying that.

“Quaint,” she drawled. “I need to order flowers for a funeral.”

I stepped behind the counter and pulled out the order pad. “Where will they be going?”

She opened her purse, pulled out a newspaper clipping, and squinted to read it. “Happy Dreams Funeral Home.
Happy Dreams?
Is that supposed to be a joke?”

I didn’t comment. The Doves, owners of the funeral home, were good friends of mine. “And who are the flowers for?”

“Jonas Treat. T-R-E-A-T.”

That was a surprise. After the hostile looks she’d given Jonas, why would she send flowers? “Did you want an arrangement, spray, wreath, or live plant?”

“An arrangement is fine.”

“Are there any certain flowers you’d like?”

“You choose. Whatever a hundred bucks buys.”

Why was Carmen even bothering? She certainly didn’t seem to care. “What would you like the card to say?”

“Just ‘Condolences.’ ”

“From?”

“Put ‘Cloud Nine.’ I didn’t really know the man, other than for business.”

Yet she was willing to spend a hundred bucks—anonymously—for his flowers. “How did you want to pay for that?”

“Cash.” She pulled out her wallet and counted out five twenty-dollar bills.

I wrote up the receipt and handed her a copy. “It’ll be delivered tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She folded the receipt in half, tore it into pieces, and glanced around for a place to throw it. I grabbed the small wicker trash can at my feet and came around the counter.

“Carmen, would you have time for a cup of coffee?”

She glanced at me as if she couldn’t believe I’d dare ask. “I’m busy.” Then she let the pieces of paper fall into the wicker can and started toward the door.

Thinking fast, I said, “Too busy for some free publicity for Cloud Nine?”

She paused, checked her watch, then heaved a bored sigh. “I hope you have espresso.”

I hoped I had an idea for free publicity.

 

Grace made Carmen a double espresso and poured me a cup of mint tea while I gathered a tablet of paper and a pen and racked my brain for an idea. We sat at a white bistro table in the parlor with a plate of scones between us, as far as possible from a group of women having tea and chattering noisily. Since I’d eaten only a handful of nuts since breakfast, I wasted no time spreading my scone with clotted cream and raspberry jam, then chowing down. Carmen only nibbled hers, preferring to sip her espresso while gazing out the window.

Heeding Marco’s advice about not making her nervous, I started with a compliment. “I was really impressed by your event last Thursday. So well organized and professional.”

She glanced my way, giving me a conciliatory smile. “Thank you. What’s the free publicity?”

“I, um, am planning an article for a floral magazine about women like us who own businesses, so I thought I’d feature Cloud Nine in it.”

She flicked a crumb off the table. “My parents own the franchise.”

Ah. Nepotism. How lucky for Carmen. “But you run it, right? When did you start?”

“A year ago. My dad thought it would be a good career for me. I suppose it’s better than a boring nine-to-five job.” As if to prove her point, she glanced around the parlor.

I ignored the dig. “How many events have you done in the northwest Indiana region?”

“Two.”

I wrote it down, wishing she’d be a little more talkative. “Do you ever have trouble getting people to attend the events?”

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe how many people are looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right.”

“Do you do background checks on the people who sign up for the event?”

“More like a Web search, and only if we make a match. Imagine the lawsuits if we sent someone out with a criminal.”

A lawsuit wouldn’t have been my first concern.

Carmen finished her espresso, then dug through her purse. “Look, my assistant can answer these questions for you.” She slid a business card across the table. “Her name is Pamela. Give her a call.”

“To be honest, I’d rather talk to you. I’ll be quick, I promise.” Before she could argue, I said, “Last Thursday evening you mentioned some incidents that brought about the ‘no last name’ rule. What kinds of incidents did you mean?”

“What, are you kidding me? I don’t want that information in a magazine!”

At her shrill tone, the ladies at the other table turned to stare. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I’ll stay away from that subject.”

She rose and began to gather her things. “Forget it. I don’t need your publicity.”

Great. I’d done exactly what Marco had cautioned me not to do. “Carmen, I’m sorry. Let’s move on to something more helpful to the magazine readers, okay?”

“What don’t you understand about
forget it
?”

From the corner of my eye I saw Marco step into the parlor and glance around, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The cavalry had arrived! Apparently, Carmen saw him, too, as did the other women in the room, who stopped what they were doing to gape at him. In his black leather jacket and boots and slim jeans, with his permanent five-o’clock shadow and his dark hair waving onto his collar, Marco did look potently, excitingly male.

He spotted me and started toward our table, giving me that sexy little half grin. “I was hoping to find you here.”

As he passed the ladies at the other table, they turned to catch his rear view, while beside me, Carmen suddenly became a purring kitten. “You did?” she asked hopefully; then her face fell when she realized he meant me.

“This is my boyfriend,” I told her, as Marco put an arm around my shoulders. “Marco Salvare. Marco, this is Carmen Gold, the Cloud Nine event organizer.”

He stretched out his hand to clasp hers. “My pleasure.”

She forced a smile as she shook hands. “Mmm,” she said in a noncommittal tone, but that was until he turned on the Salvare charm, holding her spellbound with his penetrating gaze.

“You saved me a trip to Chicago, Ms. Gold.”

No female alive could resist that gaze, and it had Carmen practically drooling as she said in a throaty whisper, “Call me Carmen.”

“Carmen,” he said in a husky voice. “Pretty name.”

She blushed like a schoolgirl and dipped her head. If she batted her eyelashes any harder, she’d fly. “I was named for the opera.”

Marco widened his eyes, trying to look impressed. He wasn’t an opera fan.

A tinny tune began to play, causing everyone in the room to check their cell phones.

“I have to take this call,” Carmen told Marco, giving him an apologetic smile, then walked out of the room, her silver phone pressed to her ear.

As soon as she was gone, I whispered to Marco, “How did you know Carmen was here?”

He sat in the chair adjacent to mine and leaned close to say quietly, “I stopped by to check out the Hummer and saw you with her. I knew who she was from the description you gave me. By the looks of things, I arrived just in time.”

“Well, watch yourself, Superman. Carmen’s feisty. And so you know, she came in to order flowers for Jonas’s funeral, which is odd after those looks she gave him Thursday night.”

“I’m going to tell Carmen I’m investigating Jonas’s hit-and-run case,” Marco said, keeping one eye on the door. “If I give your hand a squeeze, play along with me . . . and here she comes.”

Rather than run the risk of annoying her again, I decided to make myself scarce, although I really wanted to stay to watch Marco work his magic. We both rose as Carmen strutted back to the table, eyes glued to Marco. I said to him, “I’ll get that coffee you wanted . . . babe.”

Since I’d never called him that before, he gave me a quick glance, as if to say,
What is that about?
Ignoring his look, I said, “More espresso, Carmen?”

She gave me a curt nod, then sat down, angling her chair and crossing her legs so Marco would have a good view of them. As I headed toward the coffee counter, I heard her say, “Did I really save you a trip to Chicago?”

From the back of the room, I saw Marco open his wallet and show her his PI license as he talked to her. But apparently the magic wasn’t happening yet, because Carmen’s face grew stony, as though he’d somehow duped her; then she slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and rose.

Instantly Marco was on his feet. As I returned with his coffee, I heard him say, “That’s really a shame you have to leave now, because I was hoping you’d tell me all about Ms. Carmen Gold—who she is, and why she’s in the dating service business instead of modeling for a fashion magazine.” Lifting an eyebrow questioningly, he held her chair for her.

Carmen wavered and finally sat, unable to resist Marco’s beguiling gaze, but gave a huff of annoyance to show she wasn’t entirely pleased about it. I saw one corner of Marco’s mouth twitch in amusement as he spun his chair around and straddled it, facing her. He’d have Carmen eating out of his hand in no time.

He did, too, almost as though he’d pushed her On button. Since I couldn’t stand at their table without looking suspicious, I headed to the back counter to make more espresso. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear anything at all over the machine’s noise, but I could see Carmen’s mouth moving and imagined Marco was getting her whole life story.

I filled a clean cup with a double shot of espresso and hurried back to the table as Carmen was explaining why her parents had decided to start a speed-dating service for her.

“Daddy was hoping I’d meet my future husband at an event,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He can’t wait to see me married off. He says he’s tired of shouldering all the responsibilities. It hasn’t exactly worked out the way he wanted, though, since I’m still waiting for that special guy to come along.”

Carmen was her father’s responsibility? She had to be in her late thirties. Someone needed to cut that cord
yesterday.

With a flirtatious smile, Carmen said to Marco, “So what else would you like to know about me, besides my being available?”

I put her cup in front of her, using my arm to momentarily block her view of Marco, just to remind her I was still there. “More coffee, babe?” I asked Marco.

“In a little while.” Marco didn’t bat an eye this time.

I checked in at the other table to see if the ladies needed refills. They requested a pot of Earl Grey, so I headed to the counter to brew more tea.

When I took the pot of tea to their table, I heard Marco say, “Let’s go back to when you first learned that a car had been hit in the parking lot—and I’m assuming you’ve heard by now that the Ferrari was owned by Jonas Treat, who was later found dead.”

Carmen put on a sad face. “Isn’t it a tragedy? A man cut down in the prime of his life.”

“It
is
a tragedy,” Marco agreed. “Did you know Jonas?”

“Yes, through my dating service. What I mean is, he was a client.”

“How did you learn about the hit-and-run incident?”

“The restaurant manager made an announcement during the mixer.”

“Did you go outside to the parking lot to see what happened?”

She was ready to say no—I could see it on her lips—then she glanced around, saw me pouring tea at the table behind her, and changed her mind. “Yes, I guess I did, just about the time the police arrived.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Marco said, “but there were no witnesses to the incident itself, although someone saw a sedan and a truck leaving the vicinity. We’re not sure whether the incident was accidental or purposeful, but in the event it was purposeful, can you think of anyone attending the event who might have had an issue with Jonas?”

“There could be any number of people who had issues with him,” she said.

“What I’m asking is if you can hazard a guess as to who might have had a reason to want revenge so badly that they would damage an obviously expensive car.”

Carmen toyed with a lock of her hair. “So you don’t think it was just a simple hit-and-run, like someone backing out of a parking space?”

“Excuse me,” one of the ladies said, tugging on my sleeve. “We need more scones.”

“Coming right up.” As I hurried toward the back to refill their plate, I heard Carmen say, “Everyone knew Jonas treasured his Ferrari, so I could see how damaging it would be a good way to get back at him.”

I filled the plate and took it to the women just as Marco said, “Were any of the attendees repeat customers?”

“A few,” Carmen said. “The matches don’t always work the first time, so we give them a second event free.”

“Was Jonas Treat a repeat customer?”

Flipping her hair away from her face, she said, “I believe he might have been.”

“Would you be able to check your records?” Marco asked.

“Well, let me think. . . . Yes, Jonas did come to one other event, but that was long before Thursday night.”

“How long?”

She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Maybe ten months ago.”

“What was your impression of Jonas then?”

“What does that have to do with the hit-and-run?” Carmen asked guardedly.

Oops.
She had him there. How would Marco talk his way out of it?

“Excuse me?” one of the ladies said, so I motioned for her to wait a minute.

Marco gave Carmen his knock-your-socks-off smile. “You’d be surprised what I can find out when I have a complete picture, and with your unique perspective, how can I miss?”