Evil In Carnations (29 page)

“We’re making some progress, Grace. We’ve got it narrowed down to three suspects. Why is Joey answering the phone?”

“Lottie mentioned the boys being off today, so I enlisted them as my assistants.”

“All four of them?”

“Yes, dear, Jimmy, Joey, Johnny, and Karl. And you needn’t worry about wages. I bartered for their help. They have free passes for a week to the bowling alley, compliments of my dear Richard.”

Richard Davis was Grace’s beau, a silver-haired Texan who owned the Mini-World Sports Center. I liked Richard, not only because he treated Grace like a princess, but also because he drove a 1971 fire-engine red El Dorado Cadillac convertible. Anyone with a car like that got high marks from me.

“Please thank Richard for me, Grace. And I really appreciate your handling everything for me today—efficiently, as usual. ”

“You’re entirely welcome, love, and I shall certainly pass along your message, but it’s nothing, really. We’re happy to help out. And you’ll be pleased to know Lottie’s boys have been perfect gentlemen, charming the ladies in the coffee shop all morning. Lottie is quite the proud mum, too. But perhaps you’d like to speak to her?”

“Lottie is there?”

“Herman brought her in just for a bit. She’s definitely on the mend, because she was bored silly at home and insisted on coming. She’s quite eager to get back to work, too. She’s in the parlor with him now. Shall I put her on?”

Lottie was back! What a relief. “Yes, in just a minute. How is business? Do I have orders waiting?”

“Well,” she said, “it’s been rather quiet.”

“So no orders or no business—or both?”

“Two orders for delivery tomorrow. We also had a customer come in to buy a silk arrangement, and another bought a pair of candlesticks. Do remember, love, it’s January. Nothing much happens until Valentine’s Day, so don’t worry about business being a bit stodgy.”

Don’t worry? Maybe Grace had money tucked away to pay her bills, but I didn’t.

“By the way, dear, your mother called only a moment ago to remind you of dinner tomorrow night, and she said to invite Marco.”

“Wait. What? Are you sure she said Marco, not markers or markdowns or—”

“No, love, she distinctly said Marco.”

I was shocked. Marco had never been invited to a Friday-night dinner. Except for one rare occasion, when she tried to arrange a reconciliation between me and my former fiancé, Mom insisted it was for family only. Knowing what a stickler she was for tradition, I couldn’t help but wonder what she had planned. The unveiling of another one of her sculptures, perhaps? Since she was also a big fan of surprises, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Luckily, Marco would be occupied with his own family, so he would be spared any potential public embarrassment that one of her pieces of art was likely to produce.

“Okay, thanks, Grace. I’ll see you around noon.”

“Hold on, love. I’ll put Lottie right on.”

“Lottie’s sons are helping out at Bloomers,” I told Marco while I waited.

“Has to be better than Jillian,” he said.

“Also my business is slowing.”

Marco glanced at me. “Are you worried?”

“Grace said it’s normal for January, but yes, I’m worried. She also said my mom called to remind me of dinner at the country club tomorrow night.”

Marco chuckled. He knew I wasn’t a fan of those dinners, during which my acclaimed doctor brothers and their übersophisticated wives got to show off their affluence, while I struggled to select the proper fork for my salad and tried to hold my wineglass by its stem without spilling the contents in my lap.

“Don’t laugh,” I warned him. “Your presence has been requested.”

He glanced at me as though I’d just spoken in Chinese. “What?”

“That’s right. You’re invited.”

“I feel honored.”

“I wouldn’t be too hasty about that. She’s got something cooking, and that’s never good.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Mom loves surprises, so who knows? My best guess is that she’s created artwork to bequeath to the country club. So don’t feel bad about missing the dinner. You’ll probably be glad you did.”

Marco gave me a puzzled glance. “Why will I miss it?”

“Your mother is in town, remember? You can’t skip one of her homemade Italian meals.”

“Not a problem. She’s supposed to leave tomorrow morning.”

In a moment, Lottie came on the line. “Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?”

“You first. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Not bad. The pain’s gone but my belly is still achy. You know me, sweetie. I’m too tough to keep down. Is Nikki doing okay? Catch me up.”

I gave her a speedy rundown of everything we’d discovered since I’d last talked to her, including my visit with Mrs. Frey, my conversation with Greg Morgan, and the mysterious vehicle caught on video. Lottie followed with her assessment.

“From the sound of it, the cops ought to be hot on Hank Miller’s trail. Hank was always an ornery old coot. He once got into a fistfight with his mailman for delivering junk mail. Now, Iris Frey, there’s an odd duck, practically a copy of her mother, Dalva. I see Dalva at bingo every Sunday evening, and let me tell you, the woman never smiles, not even when she wins. Didn’t know her husband, Bill, but by the way Dalva talks about him, I didn’t miss out on anything. Had to feel sorry for the guy, though, trapped up in his bedroom when that fire broke out. He never did recover from it, probably from inhaling that smoke.

“Carmen Gold . . . well, I don’t know the woman, so I probably shouldn’t say, but if it’s true she spent her daddy’s hard-earned money on a fancy car for a younger guy—a playboy at that—she ought to get a swift kick in her heinie. It’s reckless and disrespectful behavior, which makes me think she’d be capable of other impetuous acts. I think you know what I mean by that.

“Duke Kessler—now, there’s a peach of a man, and a good husband, according to his wife, who should know. Quite a salesman, too, but he never took advantage of people. You’re right to cross him off your list. And Robin Lennox, poor thing, should have gone after Jonas with a switch for leaving her at the altar, but she wouldn’t have killed him, and she’s not brash enough to ram his car in a restaurant parking lot. Takes a hothead to pull a stunt like that.”

“We’re heading to Dunn’s Body Shop right now to see if you’re right about Robin.”

“Keep me posted,” Lottie said. “And tell Justin hi. I’m going home now. I’m plumb tuckered out.”

I was plumb tuckered out, too, just from listening to her. But it sure was good to have her back, even for a little while.

 

At Dunn’s Body Shop, we found Lottie’s nephew working on the underside of a car. He rolled out and grinned at us, his face, hands, and shirt covered in oil.

“Hey, little Abby! How’s the Vette? Still rockin’? Hey, Marco. Good to see you, man.”

It was due to Justin Dombowski that I had my beloved Corvette. The 1960 convertible had been tucked away in a barn out in the country by a farmer who indulged his lifelong dream to own one, then couldn’t bring himself to drive it for fear of looking foolish. As a result, it sat neglected for decades, becoming a home for various barn denizens until the man died.

Only last year the farmer’s wife hauled out the Vette and took it to their mechanic to see if it could be salvaged and sold. That mechanic happened to be Justin, who happened to know I was desperate for transportation and had very little money. It helped that Justin also had a crush on me. He took the Vette off the widow’s hands, got it running, painted it my favorite color, bright yellow, and sold it to me for a price that fit my meager budget. And in return, I went out to dinner with him—at a truck stop—and found a dead fly in my undercooked hamburger.

But when I was tooling down the highway with the top down and the wind in my hair, who cared about a little food poisoning?

After Marco explained our mission to Justin, he had no problem showing us Robin’s car, a 2001 dark green Hyundai with a sleek body style and no front- or rear-end damage. Apparently, Robin had hit a deep pothole and mangled the undercarriage.

“I’m moving Robin to the bottom of the list,” Marco said as we drove back to town. “Unless her name turns up on the phone records, I don’t see any reason to keep her on it.”

My cell phone buzzed and Jillian’s name appeared on the screen. “Hey, Jill, what’s up?”

“I know for certain who bought Jonas the Ferrari,” she said excitedly. “Carmen Gold. I have her address in Chicago, if you need it. I even have the name of the salesman at the car dealership who sold the car to her.”

“That’s amazing. Good job, Jillian!” I whispered to Marco, “Jillian has proof Carmen bought Jonas the Ferrari.”

Marco gave me a thumbs-up.

“How did your mom like her birthday gift?” I asked my cousin.

“Abby, she’s crazy about it! I wish you could have seen her expression when she pulled off the wrapping paper. I thought she was going to cry.”

I could believe that.

Marco’s cell phone rang. He answered it with his usual “Salvare.”

“So when do you want me back at Bloomers?” Jillian asked. “I’ve cleared my schedule for the entire afternoon.”

“As it turns out, I have help today. Lottie’s boys are there.” Lucky for me.

“Okay, let me get this straight. You chose four pimple-faced high school boys over me? Thanks a lot. Now what am I supposed to do? I have a whole afternoon blocked off for you.”

“Go shopping. Valentine’s Day will be here in a few weeks, and I’ll bet you don’t have anything for Claymore yet.” I glanced over at Marco and saw worry lines between his brows as he closed his phone. “Jillian, I need to hang up now. Jillian? Are you there?”

“Sorry. I had another call. Your mom, as it turns out.”

“My mom? What did she want?”

“I won’t know that until I call her back, duh!”

I had a feeling Mom was rounding up the extended family for her country-club dinner surprise, but I didn’t go into it with Jill because I was concerned about Marco’s phone call. I hung up with Jillian and said to him, “Bad news?”

“That was Gina calling from the hospital. My mother slipped on the steps going out to get the mail and hurt her ankle. The ER doctor said she may have broken a bone.”

“Oh, Marco, your poor mom!”

“She’s in a lot of pain, but Rafe and Gina are with her. They’re waiting for the orthopedic surgeon, so I’ll head over there after I drop you off, to see what the surgeon has to report.”

“Did Gina say who the surgeon was?”

“No. Hey, maybe it’s your brother Jordan.”

With any luck, maybe not. My brother was a highly competent doctor, yet if anything went wrong, I didn’t want to think what it would do to the relationship between our families. “The speed-dating event starts at seven o’clock tonight. Will you still be able to make it?”

“I’ll find a way. As soon as I know something, I’ll call you from the hospital.”

“I guess your mom won’t be going home tomorrow, will she?”

“She’ll probably stick around until she’s comfortable enough to travel. Rafe will have to drive her back.”

“So . . . looks like you won’t make our family dinner tomorrow night.”

“Probably not.” Marco pulled into a parking space near Bloomers and leaned over to kiss me. “Sorry, Sunshine.”

Hmm.
That broken ankle might not be such bad news after all.

I
t was almost noon when Marco dropped me off in front of Bloomers. In spite of the worries hanging over me, I felt revved up, as if the solution to the murder were right around the corner. I attributed part of my buoyancy to the fact that whatever Mom had up her sleeve for tomorrow night’s dinner, Marco wouldn’t be there to witness it.

Inside the shop, I found Grace behind the cash register, two of the four quadruplets entertaining several tables of women by juggling oranges, and one playing waiter with a towel over his arm, sweeping around the room with a coffeepot in one hand and a teapot in the other.

“Aren’t we missing a quadruplet?” I asked Grace.

“I sent Karl to the deli to get sandwiches for lunch. Here are your messages, love. When you have time, would you give me a progress report on the murder investigation?”

“Sure.” I shuffled through the slips of paper as I headed toward the workroom. Three were from my mother, apparently believing she needed to remind me about the Friday dinner, and one was from my aunt Corrine, Jillian’s mom, asking me to call her ASAP. I dialed her cell phone number on the spot and caught her shopping with her friends in town.

“Abby,” she whispered, “I know you have a lot going on right now, but you have to help me. Jillian gave me the most ghastly gift for my birthday, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Would you please take it off my hands? Maybe sell it at your shop? Please?”

“I can’t, Aunt Corrine. Mom made it, and Jillian has been helping out at Bloomers, so both of them would spot it if I put it on display. It’s not like I can tuck it behind a plant.”

“What am I going to do?” my aunt whispered desperately. “It’s sitting right in the middle of my grand foyer, grinning at everyone who enters my front door. The UPS driver refuses to step inside to pick up a package. How can I invite guests over? What was my daughter thinking?”

“If I ever figure that one out, I’ll let you know.”

“Please, Abby, think of a way to get that thing out of my house.”

And then inspiration hit me—a way to help my aunt out of a jam and keep Jillian out of my hair without offending either my mom or my cousin. My brain was firing on all cylinders today! “There might be a way, Aunt Corrine, but you’ll have to do something for me, too.”

“Anything, Abby. Name it. Want an expensive shower? I’ll be happy to throw one for you.”

A shower? What was she talking about? “All you have to do is keep Jillian away from Bloomers for the next four days, until my assistant comes back to work, and then I’ll take
The Bowler
off your hands.”