Moss Hysteria (16 page)

“As long as you haven't invited your mother.”

The corners of Marco's mouth turned up impishly. “No more ambushes, I promise.”

M
arco stayed true to his word and we had an enjoyable dinner together, setting aside all talk of business for an hour to just enjoy each other's company before he had to return to his bar duties. Back home, I took advantage of the mild weather to go for a walk with Seedy, where we encountered Reagan and several women from her book club sitting on her porch with glasses of wine.

I stopped to ask if they knew what kind of car Brandon Thorne drove, and all of them did. But when I asked if they knew anyone who owned a black Ford sedan or if they had ever seen one parked in the neighborhood, I got the opposite response. No one had.

“We'll keep our eyes peeled,” Reagan promised. “If we see that car, we'll call.”

As I came back around to my house, Mitzi was standing outside her garage, waiting for her fluffy dog to do her business. When Mitzi spotted us, she scooped up her dog and headed inside her garage, as though she wanted to avoid talking to me.

“Mitzi, wait,” I called, stopping at the bottom of her driveway.

She came toward me with her dog tucked beneath her arm and a wary look on her face. Judging by her red dangle earrings and stack of red bangle bracelets, off-the-shoulder navy knit top, tight white jeans, and navy heels, I was betting she was on her way somewhere.

“Hello, Seedy,” she said, patting the top of my dog's head as though she were contaminated.

“I won't keep you,” I said. “I just wanted to ask if you've ever seen a black Ford sedan parked in the neighborhood or know anyone who drives one.”

“Sorry. I don't know anyone who owns a car like that, but I feel like I've seen it around. Why? Do you think that's the car the killer drove?”

She'd jumped to that conclusion pretty rapidly. “Theda saw it parked across the street the evening Dirk was killed.”

“Oh,
Theda
saw it.” Mitzi rolled her eyes.

“I don't know if there's a connection, but we're checking into it. Do you recall seeing Dirk behind Theda's house anytime that Friday?”

She thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “Did I see him? I
might
have. He was there one day last week, but was it
that
Friday . . . ?”

I had a feeling Mitzi wanted to say yes so she could throw more blame on Theda, but apparently her conscience wouldn't let her. “The only person I saw was Theda.”

“What was she doing?”

“Attacking the moss with her shovel.”

“What time was this?”

“After dinner. I'm not sure exactly what time but it could've been around dusk.” She put her hand over her dog's ears and whispered, “Is Theda still a suspect?”

“Unfortunately, I can't discuss an ongoing investigation. Were you out with your dog when you saw her?”

Mitzi stroked her pet's head. “Yes, for the umpteenth time. My poor little Peanut has a weak bladder. Don't you, Peanut?” She rubbed noses with her dog, then glanced at me coyly. “You know Theda hated Dirk, right?”

“
Hate
is a strong word.”

“Theda has strong opinions. Actually, she's a strong woman. Have you ever seen her carry a big bag of mulch from her garage to the back of her house? I have.”

“Your opinion of Dirk is pretty strong, too, Mitzi. At least, that was the impression I got the last time we talked.”

She put one hand on her hip. “How would you feel if someone you trusted took your most valuable jewelry? I have every right to feel strongly about him.”

“I'm not arguing that at all. In fact, I agree with you. You opened your heart to him and he betrayed you.”

She gaped at me in disgust. “Opened my heart? What are you talking about? My relationship with Dirk was completely professional.”

“It's been established that you were having an affair with him.”

“That's a lie.” She put her dog down and said angrily, “I would never,
ever
let that creep in my bed.”

I gave her the long, steady look for which Marco was famous. “Come on, Mitzi. It's all your book club could talk about last week.”

“I told you we were joking.”

“We also have a witness who saw Dirk entering and leaving your residence several times over the last few weeks, as well as seeing your car in the garage while Dirk's was in the drive—”

“Theda! She told you, didn't she? That old busybody, always at her window, spying on my comings and goings. How dare she!” Mitzi burst into noisy sobs, her hands covering her face. “I made a mistake . . . never should have . . . a momentary lapse of judgment . . . regret it for the rest of my life . . . so humiliated . . .” She grabbed my hands. “Abby, you have to believe me! I didn't kill Dirk. I hated him, but I would never hurt another human being. It was Theda. Theda killed him, and now she's trying to make me look guilty. She was furious about the moss problem, and Dirk wouldn't do anything about it.”

Before I could respond, she blurted, “Or Rye. He wanted Dirk's job. Everyone knows that, and even Dirk told me so. He said he always had to look over his shoulder when Rye was around. Have you investigated Brandon? You know Dirk was trying to blackmail him, don't you?”

“Whoa. Slow down. Dirk was blackmailing Brandon Thorne?”

“
Trying
to blackmail him.” Like turning off a spigot, the waterworks stopped and she wiped her eyes with her thumbs, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. “He told me a few days before he was killed. ‘Mitzi, sweetheart,' he said, ‘Brandon is going to have to pay big bucks to keep me quiet, and when he does, we're going to the Bahamas and never coming back.'” Mitzi started crying again, but this time it was obviously forced. “And two days later he stole my jewelry. Lying rat bastard! I'm glad he's dead.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she gasped and grabbed my hands again. “I didn't mean that, Abby. I'm not glad he's dead. I just meant that he deserved to die. No, that's not what I meant, either. He should be alive so he could go to jail for stealing my jewelry.” She searched my face pleadingly. “You understand, don't you? I'm not the murderer, Abby. I'm a victim.”

If Mitzi wanted sympathy, she wasn't getting it from me. “Did Dirk tell you how he was going to blackmail Brandon?”

“No, just that it was going to be a lot of money.”

“So you don't know whether he actually contacted Brandon?”

She scooped up Peanut and began backing toward her garage. “Oh, I think he contacted Brandon. Dirk was brash like that. He didn't fear anyone.” She hit the button to close her garage door, then called, “Will we see you tomorrow night at book club?”

“I'll be there.”

“Great,” she said with forced enthusiasm.

How about that? I wasn't dreading her book club meeting. In fact, I couldn't wait to hear what the Bees would be talking about this week.

•   •   •

Marco made it home by eleven o'clock that night. He'd texted me earlier that he wouldn't be late, so I waited up, eager to share my new information.

“How's my favorite female?” he asked, kissing me on the cheek.

“Feeling idiotic. I took Seedy for a walk and forgot all about my pedicure appointment this evening.” I was propped up in bed reading, with Seedy stretched out beside me. At his entrance she rose and wagged her tail, waiting for her turn.

“Yes, I'm happy to see you, too,” he said, giving her a good rub behind the ears. “Can you reschedule your appointment?”

“I did. It's Thursday evening.”

He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and stuffed it in the hamper in our closet. “Guess who came to see me this evening.”

“Your mom?”

“No. Your friendly car salesman. He found the perfect vehicle for a busy private investigator.” Marco unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them.

“Are you serious?”

“Those were my exact words to him. I almost kicked him out of the bar.”

“I'm sorry, Marco. I'll go see him tomorrow and tell him to leave you alone.”

“No, Sunshine.
I
will go see him tomorrow and tell him to leave me alone.” He pulled on his pajama bottoms and flopped down beside me. “You've done enough.”

“Okay, then.”

He tweaked my chin. “I just mean I need to take care of my own problems.”

“Duly noted. Want to hear how my evening went?”

“Other than forgetting to get your toes painted?” He propped up his pillow and relaxed beside me. “Go for it.”

I told him about my discussion with the neighbors concerning the black Ford. I also told him about my chat with Mitzi but I left out the part about her seeing Theda because I didn't believe her. “The more Mitzi tells me, Marco, the more strongly I feel she's our killer. She was throwing everyone under the bus tonight, including Brandon.”

“Sounds like we need to have another talk with Brandon Thorne.”

“That's your takeaway from my conversation?”

“Blackmailing someone, or even attempting to, isn't something to take lightly.”

“No one is taking it lightly, Marco, but Mitzi admitted to being behind her house the night Dirk was killed, not at her salon for a spa treatment like she claimed. She was right here when the murder happened.”

“As was Theda.”

“But Mitzi got her stylist to lie for her and back up her alibi. Don't you think that's a tad more damning? And what about her assertion that Dirk tried to blackmail Brandon? For all we know, she might have lied about that, too.”

Marco rolled off the bed. “I get it, Abby. Question her stylist again when you go for your pedicure. It's possible Mitzi went for a late appointment.”

He paused at the door. “Want some ice cream? I've got a taste for that chocolate coconut milk you bought last week.”

“My gut doesn't lie, Marco.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

As he walked out, I called, “I mean about the case, not the ice cream.”

Wednesday

White delphinium, perhaps? Or would the Casablanca lilies be better?

“Abby?”

I glanced over at Marco as he pulled into the parking lot. “Yes?”

“I asked if you were coming back to the house with me at noon for delivery of our new dining table, but I guess you were somewhere else.”

I
had
been somewhere else—inside my head designing that flower entry for the contest I was not going to enter. “I can't. We've got to finish the bridal shower arrangements and get them to the banquet center before noon, then do two funerals before four o'clock. Text me photos of the table. I can't wait to see it in our dining room.”

When we reached Bloomers, Seedy and I walked into the shop only to find both the parlor and the salesroom empty. Hearing voices coming from the back, I parted the purple curtain and saw Grace, Lottie, and Rosa around the big slate table working on the bridal shower centerpieces.

“Look! We're almost finished,” Rosa called buoyantly when she saw me.

I spotted a row of completed arrangements sitting on the back counter. “You must have come in pretty early to get so many done.”

“Petey had to be at school early, so I thought, why not get a head start? We have so much to do today.”

“And I was totally on board with it,” Lottie said. “I'm up early anyway to get my four eating machines off to school.”

“Rosa had everything efficiently organized assembly line style when I got here,” Grace said, “so I was able to help, too.”

“All of you came in early?”

“We thought it would give you more time to work on the investigation, sweetie,” Lottie said, as she placed another finished centerpiece on the back counter.

“And now that you're here, I'll go set up the parlor.” Grace washed her hands at the sink, got one of her special biscuits out of her pocket for Seedy, who was waiting patiently at her feet, and headed toward the curtain.

“I'll start loading the van,” Lottie said to Rosa.

“I just have this last one to finish,” Rosa replied.

I glanced at her arrangement from the corner of my eye as I went to sit at the computer. It looked perfect, an exact replica of the design I'd made yesterday. “Thanks for getting them finished, Rosa.”

“Abby,” she said, putting her arms around my neck, “you don't have to thank me. I was just doing what needed to be done. Now we don't have to worry about having time for the funeral arrangements.”

It was true. The rush—and the stress—were gone. Now I could enjoy creating new arrangements all morning and afternoon and still have time to go back to the house with Marco. Yet I felt deficient, like I had fallen asleep at the wheel. Why hadn't I thought of coming in early?

Maybe Rosa
would
make a better boss.

•   •   •