Moss Hysteria (4 page)

“Now you're frightening me,” Theda said.

I put my arm around her. “We have a lot of experience with these situations, Theda. We're here for you.”

I closed the door and leaned against it, watching Marco take the wineglasses to the kitchen counter. “What do you think?”

“If there was solid evidence tying her to Dirk's murder, they wouldn't have let her go.” Marco took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. “Know what else I think?”

“Tell me.”

“That since I rarely get to spend an evening at home with my wife during the week, we need to celebrate.”

“And how might we celebrate, Mr. Salvare?”

Seedy ran to the front door and scratched it with her paw, whining.

“I guess that's our answer,” I said.

“Not so fast,” Marco said, pulling me into his arms. “We'll take her for a walk, then pour a little more wine and retire to our new boudoir.”

Pleasurable tingles ran up my spine and I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his ribs. “You're sexy when you use words like
boudoir
.”

“Baby, I've got sexier words than that, but I'll save them for later.”

Tuesday

“We got a second notice about the Midwest Regional Flower Show, sweetie,” Lottie said, showing me the leaflet that had come in the morning mail. “The deadline for entering the competition is coming up.”

I put a bouquet I'd just made into the second of our two walk-in coolers and stepped out to see Lottie standing at my desk shuffling through the stack of envelopes our postal carrier had delivered. She swiveled toward me. “You're gonna compete this year, aren't you? We have a championship title to uphold.”

Lottie Dombowski had owned Bloomers before I rescued her from certain bankruptcy by assuming the mortgage. Lucky for us both, I'd had enough left of the money my grandpa had left me for college to satisfy the bank, or neither one of us would be where we were now. I had just been booted out of law school and dumped by my then-fiancé Pryce Osborne II, and Lottie's husband, Herman, had gone through open-heart surgery, which had resulted in loss of employment and sky-high medical bills. Bloomers had been our lifeline.

Lottie was in her midforties, a large-boned woman with a hearty laugh, quick wit, and short brassy curls worn Shirley Temple style. Her trademark was the color pink—from the barrettes that held her curls off her face, the T-shirt she wore with white jeans, down to the ruffled socks she wore with her hot pink tennis shoes. She said all that pink helped balance life with a husband and “the quads”—her four teenage sons.

“What is the competition for?” Rosa asked. She was lining a deep pot with wet foam.

“The one I've always entered is for the best floral arrangement using live flowers,” Lottie said.

“Did you ever win?” Rosa asked.

“Twice. Have you seen the Silver Rose trophy in the display case up front? Abby won that last year, and guess who presented it to her? Me. The past winner always presents it to the new winner.”

“If Abby wins again,” Rosa said, “will she have to give it to herself?”

Lottie laughed. “Something like that.”

“Why don't you enter, Lottie?” Rosa asked.

“Because I did it for years, and now I've passed that baton on to Abby. It's hers to win or lose.”

“Then you must enter again,” Rosa said to me. “You don't want to lose the trophy.”

“I feel bad saying this, but I really don't have time,” I said. “It takes a lot of preparation to plan a trophy-worthy arrangement, and then I'd have to give up an entire day to attend the flower show. With Bloomers' business booming and our private investigation business growing, and all the work involved in moving into a new house, I'm stretched to the limit.”

Lottie put her arm around my shoulders. “It's okay, sweetie. We'll win it back next year.”

I hoped so because I did feel guilty, just not enough to add that stress to my already burdened shoulders.

I plucked an order and went into the first walk-in cooler to pull my stems. The arrangement was for a baby shower being held at a local restaurant. The colors they wanted were purple, pink, and yellow, but they didn't want to break the bank for it. So I used a white tin toy baby carriage about half a foot long, put a tiny pink stuffed bear in it, and arranged yellow, purple and white tulips to look like the bear was holding a bountiful bouquet.

“That is
precioso
,” Rosa said when she saw me wrapping it. “And the anniversary arrangement you made before is
inspriado.
I was just looking at it in the cooler and thinking what a shame it is that you will not be entering the flower contest. Are you sure you don't have time?”

“I'm positive. I just can't afford to stress myself out. I have too much to do.”

Rosa sighed sadly.
“Qué lástima!”

“I don't know what that means.”

“What a shame,” Grace translated, bringing in our midmorning tea. Grace had spent a year in Spain as a young woman. She called it her year of living dangerously. “I agree, Rosa. Abby is quite creative with her arrangements. But
lo que será, será.
”

“Sí.”
Rosa looked at me sadly and shook her head.

“Again,” I said, “I don't know what that means.”

“Whatever will be, will be,” Grace said. “Or in the modern vernacular, it is what it is. Speaking of which, I heard that Theda spent over two hours with detectives yesterday morning. Don't tell me she's a suspect.”

“Not as of yesterday evening, but I gave her Dave Hammond's name and told her to go see him ASAP.”

Grace heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Theda doesn't need more of that kind of trouble.”

“She's been a suspect before?”

“Yes, in her first husband's death. It happened somewhere in Illinois, if I remember correctly. He drowned in their swimming pool and she was the one who found him. There was never any evidence to charge her with murder, so she was released. But those detectives put her through the wringer, let me tell you.”

“This story came out while you were bowling?” I asked.

“Oh, heavens, no, love. It was during the rounds of beer afterward.”

“And now the poor woman has found another man dead in the water?” Rosa made the sign of the cross.
“Dios mio. Qué mala suerte.”

“Bad luck indeed,” Grace said. “But she wasn't left poor by any means. That was what made her such a perfect suspect.”

I returned to my work, but my thoughts were still on Grace's story. What were the odds of one person finding two bodies the same way? And why had Theda said she'd never been in a situation like that? If I wasn't so sure of my gut instincts, I might admit to being a bit suspicious of her. I just hoped the detectives hadn't unearthed that information, too.

M
arco had to work that evening, so Seedy and I met him at the bar for dinner and then we went home. As Seedy and I were returning from our evening walk, I saw Theda about to enter her house and called hello.

She turned and smiled. “Hello to you, too. Are you busy? Come have a glass of wine with me.”

I checked my watch and decided I could spare half an hour before tackling the stacks of boxes in our bedroom. “I'll take Seedy home first,” I called.

“No, bring her. There's someone I want her to meet.”

The
someone
turned out to be a beautiful male Russian Blue feline Theda was fostering. I hesitated to bring Seedy inside, fearing the cat would attack her, but Theda assured me the friendly fellow loved dogs. Nevertheless, I sat at one end of the blue sofa with Seedy at my feet and Theda sat at the other with the cat in her lap.

“I haven't named him,” Theda said, stroking the animal's silver-blue fur. “I'll leave that up to his forever family. But he answers to Kitty. Poor thing was abandoned, starving, and in very bad shape when we picked him up. I've nursed him back to health, but he still has a problem with some men—very distrustful of them. When he senses something amiss, he hisses and snaps.”

“Seedy is distrustful of most men, too, but she doesn't snap. She hides.”

“Not Kitty. Once, when I had him outside on a harness, a man going door to door through the neighborhood approached me about a magazine subscription. For some reason Kitty leaped on his back, clawing the man and biting his ears until he fled. Later I read in the paper that the man was arrested after breaking into a home in another neighborhood.”

“Kitty was protecting you.”

Theda snuggled the cat against her. “Yes, he was. He's a big sweetie, very affectionate and playful. Blues are known for their loyalty and intelligence.”

Kitty wiggled to get down, so Theda set him on the rug. A large feline, Kitty had several inches in height on Seedy, so I gathered my dog in my arms just to be on the safe side. But Kitty came up to the sofa and put his paws on it so he could sniff Seedy. And my little mutt responded by wagging her tail and giving a friendly yip. I finally set the dog on the floor, and the cat head-butted her affectionately.

“Kitty even plays fetch.” Theda picked up a cat toy and tossed it across the room. Kitty dashed over to get it, grabbed the toy, and brought it back just like a dog, with Seedy hobbling along after him.

I watched the two play while Theda went to her kitchen and returned with glasses of red wine. “Thank you for your referral to Attorney Hammond,” she said, handing me a glass. “I have an appointment to see him in the morning.”

“No further calls from the detectives?” I asked.

“None. Fingers crossed that this is over.”

Wednesday

Crossing my fingers never worked for me, and apparently it wasn't working for Theda, either. She phoned me at Bloomers around noon to say that Dave Hammond was going with her to the police station to meet with detectives later that afternoon. I was angered but not surprised by the detectives' actions, and so after delivering flowers to the New Chapel Savings Bank, I walked around the corner and up the block to the police station to have a talk with Lisa Wells to see why she was so focused on Theda.

“Detective Wells is still at lunch,” the officer behind the security window said. “Leave your name and number and I can have her call you.”

“That's okay. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi. We worked on a case together once.”

“Maraville PD?” he asked, squinting at me as though he should recognize me.

“Salvare Detective Agency,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

I walked outside and looked around for a place to wait. With any luck, Lisa was at one of the eateries in town, and I could catch her upon her return. I noticed the used car lot on the opposite side of the street, so I crossed over and wandered through the rows of automobiles, keeping one eye on the police station. I saw one car with a big sign in the front window that said
HYBRID
, so I stopped to look at it.

“Got your eye on that silver beauty, I see,” a salesman called, coming out of the building at the rear of the lot, wiping his mouth with a napkin. By the glob of mustard on the front of his white shirt, I was betting he'd seen me and hastily stuffed the rest of his lunch into his mouth.

“We just got this one in two days ago.” He walked up to me and extended his hand. “My name's Randy. And yours is?”

“Abby Knight . . . Salvare.” I always forgot to add my new last name.

“Salvare. Salvare.” He rubbed his chin. “Where have I heard that?”

“My husband owns Down the Hatch.”

“Yep. That's where I've heard it.” He opened the driver's-side door. “Slip inside this baby and see how immaculate it is.”

I stuck my head inside and glanced at the interior. It really was in excellent condition, and I liked the color. Silver was easy to hide in traffic, just the kind of vehicle Marco would want.

“This is a Lexus RX four-fifty H,” Randy said. “The H stands for hybrid.”

I slid in behind the steering wheel and checked it out. “How much?”

He gave me a price, and I blanched. “Sorry. We can't afford it. We just built a house and we're kind of stretched to the limit.”

“Then let's talk a price you can afford. You're a local. We'll work with you. We like to take care of our own.”

“Okay. Cut off five thousand and then we'll talk.”

It was his turn to blanch. “Five thousand! That's a little extreme. Can we meet somewhere in the middle?”

I adjusted the rearview mirror, checked the side-view mirrors and the console controls, then got out of the car. “Forget it. This isn't the right vehicle for my husband. If he had to evade a killer, his back view is impeded because of that rear slant, and the controls are too busy. He'd have to take his eye off the road to use the mouse, and in a dangerous situation, it could cost Marco his life.”

Randy was staring at me as though I were talking in a foreign tongue.

“What he needs is a Prius, or something of similar design.” At that moment I saw Lisa Wells striding toward the police station, so I said, “Sorry, but I have to go. Thanks for your help,” and hurried toward her.

“Wait,” Randy called. “Let me see what I can find. I'm sure we can come up with something your husband will like.”

“Lisa!” I used her first name, acting as though she was an old friend I hadn't seen in ages.

A classy-looking woman in her late thirties, Lisa had on her customary black pantsuit, today with a mint green blouse and black flats. Her thick golden hair was held in a loose bun by a pair of decorative black-and-gold chopsticks, and she wore her black leather crossbody bag so that it rested on one hip.

She stopped and put her hand over her eyes so she could see me. “Abby?” She smiled as she put out her hand to shake mine. “Good to see you. I read about you in the papers all the time, Ms. Private Eye. How are you?”

“Doing well. Bloomers is busier than ever, and I got married a few months back.”

“Then congratulations are in order. To Marco, right?”

“You remembered! How have
you
been?”

“Oh, you know. A cop's life.” She knew my dad had been a New Chapel police sergeant. She checked her watch, ready to move on.

Before she could make an excuse to leave, I said, “Hey, you'll never guess where Marco and I moved. Brandywine.”

“Brandywine,” she said, as though trying to place it.

I had a feeling she knew exactly what I was talking about, but still I said, “Where they just found the body in the pond. We moved in this past Saturday. Great way to start life there, right? In fact, Marco and my next-door neighbor Theda Coros and I were the ones who discovered the body.”

“Theda Coros is your neighbor?”

“Yes,” I said, and then hesitated. Did I want her to know how much I knew? I shouldn't trust any detective one hundred percent, but I did like Lisa. I would have to play this one by ear. “I'm surprised Theda didn't mention our names.”

“She did, but she said Mr. and Mrs. Salvare. I didn't make the connection.” Lisa checked her watch again. “Do you have time to talk?”

I took a seat in front of a cluttered desk in the cramped detectives' quarters on the second floor of the police station. Lisa got us coffees in cardboard cups then sat at her desk and picked up her pen, ready to get on with business. “I'm glad you stopped me. I need to find an alibi witness for your neighbor and was going to have to canvass your neighborhood.”

“Great timing,” I said. “Odd how the universe works, isn't it? Has the coroner made a determination yet on whether you've got a murder case?”

“He's calling it a homicide, but I think he'll be changing it to criminal homicide soon.” She clicked her pen impatiently. “So give me your version of finding the body.”

“Sure. We found it sometime after supper on Sunday. Marco and I hadn't seen all the neighborhood amenities, so Theda gave us a tour. Our last stop was the pond, and we had just reached the south end of it when we spotted a body in the water. Actually, my dog saw it first. I mean
him
first. Marco called the cops and we gave statements. End of story. So why do you need an alibi witness for Theda?”

“She was the last one to see the victim alive.”

I smiled. “Well, no, she wasn't, as I'm sure she told you. She had scheduled an appointment with Dirk, I mean the victim, to take a look at the moss problem behind her house, but he didn't show up.”

“When did you move in again?”

“Saturday.”

“And how is it you know he didn't show up Friday evening?”

She had me there, and by the tilt of her eyebrow, she knew it. “Look, Lisa, you've met Theda. She's what, seventy-ish? Works at a cat rescue shelter? Kind as can be and so helpful to us when our house was under construction. Believe me—she's not the killer type.”

“So you're saying there's a type?”

Lisa had the annoying habit of answering with a question. “Well, no, not a single type. What I'm saying is that there are other people you should be investigating. For instance, the neighbor on the other side of Theda by the name of Mitzi Kole. And the developer, Brandon Thorne, and the handyman—”

“Let me stop you for a moment, Abby. Where did you get these names?”

Once again, Lisa had me. “From Theda.”

Lisa smiled knowingly, clicking her pen. “Of course.”

“You say
of course
like Theda is some kind of murdering mastermind.”

Lisa leaned her chin on her fist. “You met her how long ago? Do you
really
know Theda Coros, Abby?”

I wondered if Lisa was referring to the suspicions around Theda's first husband's death, but I wasn't about to mention it. “Would you at least take a look at these other people?”

She studied me a moment and then, either taking me seriously or merely trying to appease me so I'd leave, pulled her yellow legal pad closer. “Okay, give me the names again.”

“First, Mitzi Kole. She had expensive jewelry stolen by Dirk—the victim.”

“
Allegedly
stolen. It hasn't been proven.”

“Okay. Also Mitzi was probably—allegedly—having an affair with Dirk, I mean the victim.”

“You can say Dirk. Next name, please.”

“Brandon Thorne, the developer.”

“Go ahead.”

“Dirk's assistant, Rye Bishop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's all.”

She finished writing, clicked her pen off, and stood up, reaching out to shake my hand again. “Thanks for your help, Abby.”

I rose. “You'll check those people out?”

She sat back down and began to write, saying with very little conviction, “Sure.”

•   •   •

“She won't, Marco. I could tell by the way she answered me. Lisa is going to pursue Theda before she looks at anyone else.”

We were sitting in the last booth at Marco's bar having dinner. I called it “our booth” because that was where much of our courtship dining had occurred. Seedy was under the table, gnawing contentedly on a beef bone.

Down the Hatch Bar and Grill was New Chapel's favorite watering hole, a gathering place for the attorneys and judges from the courthouse, as well as college kids from New Chapel University. Like my shop, the bar was housed in an old brick building, but unlike Bloomers, its charm had been buried behind dark wood paneling and a suspended ceiling popular in the 1960s.

Even the décor was outdated, with a giant carp mounted above the long, dark wood bar, a bright blue plastic anchor on the wall above the row of orange booths opposite the bar, a big brass bell hanging from a post near the cash register, and a fishing net suspended from the beamed ceiling. I constantly urged Marco to give the bar a much-needed remodel, but he wouldn't hear of it, claiming his clientele would revolt if he changed a thing.