Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (24 page)

“I wouldn’t do that to a child, Mom,” I said. “Jillian, tell them it’s actually a game you’ve been playing since you were young.”

Jillian snatched the idea and ran with it. “We’ve all played it since we were kids, Aunt Mo.” She stopped to dig for her iPhone in her extravagantly expensive Prada bag, then showed both women a short list she’d made.

“Isabell slash Izzy,” Mom read. “Jell-O?”

Jillian took her phone back. “That was a mistake.”

“Why is the list in your phone?” Lottie asked her, giving me a quick wink.

“Because I’m the Bearer of the Records,” Jillian said. “These are just the latest names we’ve come up with.” With a secretive smile, she dropped her phone back in her bag.

Mom studied her for a moment, then asked, “Jillian, is there something you want to tell us?”

My cousin folded her arms and gave Mom a stubborn stare. “No, Aunt Mo, and I take umbrage with your
antisinuation
that I’m hiding some thing.” She separated the last two words with such subtlety that Mom missed the little white lie.

Lottie hid her grin with a cough. “I’ve got to get back out front.”

Mom gazed at Jillian skeptically, then checked her watch and came over to kiss my forehead. “I’ve got to get going. Are you sure there’s nothing you need me to do for the shower?”

“It’s all under control, Mom, but thanks.”

Mom’s forehead creased. “That’s what you kept telling me when you were in law school, and we know how that turned out.” She patted my shoulder. “You know I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She hugged me, then whispered in my ear, “And please see if you can come up with a more creative way to display my masks.”

She gave Jillian a hug, seemed about ready to say something to her, then pressed her lips together and walked out of the workroom.

Jillian pulled out a stool and sat down beside me, dropping her ginormous bag on the floor. “That was close.”

“Don’t ever put me on the spot again, Jill.”

“It turned out well. So what do you think of my new baby name? Isn’t it perfect? Poinciana Ophelia Osborne,” she said in a wistful voice. “Doesn’t that have an elegant ring to it?”

“Are you sure you want to go with that name? Have you really thought about it? I mean,
really
thought about it?”

She glowered at me. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Don’t you remember that when we were kids, you insisted we go by names made from our initials? I was ACK, Jonathan was JAK, Jordan was JRK—”

“Fitting, by the way. He teased me anti-mercifully.”

“—and you were JOK?”

“You’re not using the French pronunciation.”

“Whatever. The point is, you still call my brothers JAK and JRK, don’t you?”

“I call you ACK, too, but only behind your back. Affectionately.”

“Think about it for a minute, Jill. What would Poinciana Ophelia Osborne be?”

Jillian pondered it a second; then a look of horror spread across her face. “POO!”

“I rest my case.”

She looked like she might cry, then suddenly turned pale and waved a hand in the direction of my desk. I handed her the wastebasket just in time.

“Why did you leave the cottage without saying good-bye?” Jillian asked, after her stomach had settled down. She had moved to my upholstered desk chair, slipped off her wedge sandals, and propped her bare feet on my desk.

Jillian and I came from a family that placed great significance upon the act of saying good-bye. Our big holiday get-togethers took forever to end. No one had ever come right out with the underlying fear that we’d never have another chance; it was merely implied, mainly through constant reminders of all those ditches along the roads just waiting to swallow us up.

I handed her the glass of water she’d requested, then began to lay out my supplies for the next flower order. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you.” With my cousin, the simpler the explanation, the less chance there was of flustering her.

It was just the two of us in the workroom now. Mom had taken her wounded pride home, Lottie had placed the flower order and gone back to the shop to wait on customers, and I was once again master of my space. The only good thing I could say about the frantic morning was that everyone seemed to have forgotten about my bridal shower.

“You missed the big scene,” Jillian said.

“What happened?”

“Orabell and Melissa got into a humongous argument and nearly came to blows. Halston had to drag Orabell home to keep the two apart, which was quite a sight to see considering how unsoberfied Orabell and Melissa were.”

“Again, Jillian,
unsoberfied
is not a word.”

“You know what I mean.”

Sometimes I couldn’t believe Jillian and I shared the same DNA. “Sadly, I do. Go on. What was the argument about?”

“Which one of them might have pushed Lily into the lake. Can you believe that? Right in front of Jake!”

“What did Jake do?”

“He said he was heading to the gym to work out because he couldn’t stand their bickering.” Jillian cupped her hands over her abdomen as though they were headphones, and then, in a whisper, added, “He used a different
B
word, but I don’t want
you know who
to hear it coming out of my mouth.” In her normal voice, she said, “Then Jake said it was a”—she dropped her voice to a whisper again—“insert the
B
word here, too—just sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Did you ask him what shoe he was expecting to drop? And don’t remind me that he had on flip-flops, because I was being metaphorical.”

“He wasn’t speaking to me at the time, and I couldn’t exactly butt in, could I?”

I wasn’t even going to comment on that remark. “Who was he speaking to?”

“Everybody but me.”

“So he wasn’t on the phone—he just wasn’t talking to you.”

“Right. I told him he should be planning a funeral,
not a workout, and he got all bent out of shape. Abs, there’s something not right about Jake. He should be in deep mourning. Halston appeared to be in more shock over Lily’s death than Jake did.”

Wow. For the first time in recent history, Jillian and I were on the same page. “I was thinking the same thing about Jake. When Pryce informed him that Lily had drowned, Jake seemed to fall apart, but later, while we were inside, when he heard that the detectives wanted to see him, he snapped out of it. For a man who was supposedly crazy about his wife, he doesn’t seem all that fazed by her death.”

“Some of it could be explained by the shock of hearing about Lily.”

“True. People do go into shock when they lose someone close to them.”

“Still, Abs, I’ve felt for some time that Jake isn’t what he seems.”

“And that’s what?”

“A dumb gym jock. I think he’s smarter than he acts.”

“Because?”

“Because I caught him playing chess on his cell phone.”

“And that means?”

“Can you play chess?”

“Not on my cell phone.”

“Not even on a regular chessboard, Abs. Remember how we used to try and ended up bringing out the checkerboard? Playing chess takes a clever mind, which is why Claymore is so good at it. So what does that tell you about Jake? He’s smarter than he lets on.”

“That’s actually a good observation. So what happened next? Did Jake leave?”

“He left; Halston took Orabell through the trees to their cottage; I was sitting on the sofa eating my egg
salad sandwich; Claymore was cleaning the kitchen sink—you know how particular Claymore is about having a spotless kitchen. I mean, really, he couldn’t even leave it one day for Mrs. Ambrose to handle?”

“And Pryce?”

“Pryce came into the kitchen to get his car keys.”

“Did he say anything about what happened on the beach?”

“Not while I was there, but Claymore told me he’d get the scoop when Pryce got back. So that’s all I know until I hear from Claymore. May I have more water, please?”

I took her glass and headed for the kitchen. When I came back, Jillian was nodding off, her head on her arms on my desk.

“Jillian,” I said gently.

She jerked awake, took the glass, and drank thirstily. “Thanks. I don’t know why I crave so much water—and if you tell me it’s hormones, I’m going to douse you with this.”

Her phone pinged, so while she read and responded to a text message, I started prepping a pot for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary arrangement.

“Thank God,” Jillian said on an exhale. “PJ and Evelyn came back from their trip, but they’re staying away from the cottage because of the possibility of the media being there. What a handful they would’ve been.”

Just thinking about Pryce’s parents made my neck tighten.

She got up and stretched. “I’m going to call Claymore back and have him meet me somewhere for dinner. Do you and Marco want to join us?”

“Thanks, but we’ve got plans.”

Jillian blinked at me, as though she couldn’t understand why I’d pass up such a golden opportunity. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word.

While she made her call, I pulled stems. I was currently favoring simple but elegant designs, so I kept my floral choices to a minimum. Silver was the designated color for a twenty-five-year-old marriage celebration, so I chose a silver Revere Ware bowl for the vase, and
Cosmos bipinnatus
in a deep pink,
Cosmos sulphureus
in a dark red, and enough baby’s breath to form a soft cloud of white for the blossoms.

For interest and height, I had tall, wispy, silver blue wild grass that would curl as it dried. I’d harvested the grass from my mother’s garden bed, and it had instantly become one of our shop favorites.

Jillian came out of the kitchen carrying another glass of water. “Claymore said Pryce wants to keep Marco on a retainer in case things get complicated.”

“What does that mean?”

She sat in my chair and tucked her long legs beneath her. “You’ll have to talk to Pryce about that.”

I pushed on that tender neck muscle and winced. “Better yet, just have Claymore tell Pryce sorry, no way. We’re out of it now. He can find another investigator to keep on retainer.”

“You are not seriously going to turn Pryce down in his hour of need.”

“His hour of need?” I asked, putting down my shears. “He hasn’t been charged with anything.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

I picked up a red cosmos stem and began to trim it. “Because I don’t feel like dealing with any more Osborne drama.”

“Of course you can deal with it, if you wanted to. But you’d rather stay angry at the Osbornes.”

“Would not.”

“Would, too. It was obvious at my wedding how you
felt about Pryce and his parents. If it wasn’t for me, you’d feel the same way about Claymore, too.”

“That’s not true. I like Claymore. And what was so obvious about my behavior at your wedding?”

“Nobody can freeze out a person with a killer glance like you can, Abs. You’ve got to let it go, wittle cuz. Grow up.”

Jillian was telling
me
to grow up? “Do not talk baby talk to me, Jill. I’ve got a lot going on right now. Do you understand how stressful it’s been trying to manage the shop, Marco’s mother, my mother, and my—” Realizing I was about to say
shower
, I stopped.

Jillian tilted her head like an Irish wolfhound listening for a fox. “And your what?”

“Finances.”

Jillian heaved a loud sigh. “Abs, you clearly don’t understand the husband’s role. The day you get back from your honeymoon, give Marco a shoulder rub, kiss his ear, hand him the passwords and user names for your bank accounts, and you’re good to go. As for your work here, that’s why you have helpers. Besides,” she continued, “all my friends think that you and Marco should stay on the case.”

“What friends? All you have are me, your social acquaintances, and your clients.”

“Excuse me? I have two hundred ninety-nine friends, and if you
friend
me, it’ll be an even three hundred.”

I turned to stare at her in disbelief. “Are you telling me you posted about what happened at the cottage on Facebook? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” she countered. “Facebook is a great place to get advice. So I took a poll, and eighteen people responded affirmatively that you and Marco should continue to help Pryce. Have you checked your
Facebook page lately? I’ll bet you’re getting the same advice.”

I held up the cosmos. “Does it look like I have time to play on the computer? The only reason that page exists is because Tara set it up for me.”

“Then I’ll show you.” Jillian swiveled toward my computer, logged on, and brought up her Facebook page. She scrolled down to show me her postings, then ran through the comments.

“See?” Jillian said, tapping the monitor. “Everyone says you should help Pryce. Here’s one that says helping him will get rid of the hostility you’re harboring and rebalance your karma.”

“You posted about Pryce dumping me?”

“How are they supposed to give advice without all the facts?” She turned around to gaze at me. “I didn’t realize your karma was unbalanced, but it makes perfect sense. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t show.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my karma, and you can poll your so-called friends all day. I’m still not taking Pryce’s case.”

“Shouldn’t Marco be in on that decision?”

“I meant we.
We
will not get sucked into another Osborne mess.”

“So,” she said slowly, “you’ve already asked Marco?”

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jillian was too perceptive. “He’ll back me up.”

Jillian’s phone signaled another incoming message, so when she began to read it, I took a deep breath and returned to the arrangement. There was nothing as soothing as working with flowers.

I focused on my arrangement for a good ten minutes before I realized I hadn’t heard one peep from Jillian behind me. I assumed she’d nodded off again until her gasp of surprise.

When I turned, she shook my diary at me. “You did that on purpose! You named your diary Euphorbia thinking that you could frighten me off because I’m superstitious! You’re playing mind games with me and that’s just cruel to do to someone in my condition. See if I help you ever again.” She slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stormed from the work space through the dividing curtain.