Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (25 page)

As soon as I heard the bell on the front door jingle, I sat down at the desk, opened the diary, and wrote:

The curtain parted, and Jillian marched back into my space. I quickly closed my journal and slid it under a floral catalog.

Mental note: Don’t trust the bell.

Jillian pulled a velvet sack out of her gigantic Prada bag and tossed it onto my desk in front of me.

“Your heels,” she said with a glare. “And when you finally come to your senses, the dress is in my car.”

Apparently, not everyone had forgotten about the bridal shower.

I
dumped the contents of the bag onto my desk, picked up one of the shoes by its silver heel strap, and let it dangle from my fingertips. They were Jimmy Choos, with a pebbled-leather silver platform that raised the sole at least an inch, a heel that had to be nearly five inches tall, and a peep-toe leather upper covered in multicolored glitter. All I could think of was Bride of Frankenstein on steroids.

Remembering how I’d disastrously sprained my ankle the last time I’d tried to wear tall spike heels, and ended up on crutches for several weeks, I put the shoes back in their bag and set them aside. But then my curiosity got the better of me, so I logged on to the Internet and did a search for the brand.

“Six hundred dollars!” I wheezed.

“What’s six hundred dollars?” Lottie asked, coming through the curtain.

“The shoes Jillian wants me to wear to my shower. Can you imagine spending that much on a pair of shoes? On my income?”

“My first car didn’t even cost that much,” Lottie said, stepping inside the fresh-flower cooler.

“They’ll have to be returned, that’s all. Even if I felt safe walking in them, there’s no way I could afford them.”

Lottie came out with a bundle of multicolored roses in her arms and pushed the heavy door shut with one hip. “Did you see the note I left about my boys? They said they’d work up a juggling act for you.”

“Terrific.” I grabbed my list and crossed off another item. All that remained was to pick up groceries at Costco, take delivery of the pinwheels, and make sure Friday was cleared on Marco’s calendar so we could prepare food and decorate the Fraternal Order of Police hall.

Lottie was just about to step through the curtain when she paused, her mouth puckered the way it always was when she was deep in thought. “What did I want to ask you? Oh, I know. What do you want to do about Francesca? You know she’s planning to bring in more goodies tomorrow, and I could tell by your face when you came in earlier that you weren’t happy about her doing that.”

Yet another problem on my plate. I rested my chin on my hand and sighed. “How do I tell her no more food without hurting her feelings?”

“You sure you don’t want her to bring food? It was a big hit.”

“Lottie, I don’t want Bloomers known for its food. We’ll have people in here from nine until five wanting to eat.”

“Yeah, I suppose it isn’t the smartest marketing idea. Sure was good to hear that cash register ring all morning, though.”

“What can I say to Francesca?” I mused.

“As writer and professor Arthur Dobrin wrote,” Grace said, slipping into the room, “‘There is always a way to be honest without being brutal.’”

Grace had to have internal radar. “Okay,” I said, “and what way would that be?”

She pondered the topic for all of ten seconds; then, placing her feet just so, she straightened her shoulders and said, “‘Appreciation can make a day, even change a life. Your willingness to put it into words is all that is necessary.’ And in case you’re wondering, that was from the late, great author Margaret Cousins.”

Lottie clapped. “Good quotes, Gracie. Now translate for us mortals.”

“I think Abby understands what that means,” Grace said.

Great. A test. “How’s this? I should tell Francesca that I appreciate her efforts, but I’m concerned about turning the shop into an Italian café.”

“Lovely, dear,” Grace said. “As the old maxim goes, honesty is always the best policy.”

“And what do I do when Francesca tells me there’s nothing wrong with having an Italian café inside Bloomers?”

“Shall I repeat the first quote?” Grace asked.

“No need, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Grace said, and left, her mission fulfilled.

As I tagged and wrapped the arrangement, I tried to imagine myself having that heart-to-heart talk with Francesca, but every time I got to,
So, as much as we all love your cooking, I really don’t want you to bring in food anymore,
I could feel my blood pressure hit the ceiling.

Out front, the bell over the door jingled frantically, and a moment later, Jillian came rushing into the workroom. “Abs, the absolute worst has happened.” She pulled out the desk chair and eased herself into it, then fanned her face. “Water. I need water.”

“First tell me what happened.”

“I was all the way around the square when Claymore
phoned.” She drew in a few breaths. “It’s Pryce. He’s a suspect. The police want him to come in for an”—she made air quotes—“
interview
. Now, water, please!”

I grabbed a bottle from the fridge in the kitchen and hurried back, twisting the cap off as I went. “How did Pryce find out he’s a suspect?”

“It’s awful, Abs,” she said between gulps. “Pryce said the preliminary autopsy indicated that she died between eight p.m. and midnight, and there were bruises around Lily’s throat, as though someone held her underwater. How horrible would dying that way be?”

Jillian teared up, so I grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. “So, in other words, Lily was murdered.”

“That’s what the police are saying.”

“Is that all they have?”

Jillian blew her nose, then would have given the tissue back had I not held up a waste can. “Pryce didn’t tell Claymore any more than that, and even then, Claymore had to pry it out of him. Abby, my baby’s uncle is a murder suspect.” She laid her head on her arms and sobbed.

“It’s okay, Jillian. I’m sure the police are interviewing everybody involved. That doesn’t make Pryce their main suspect.”

“Right. Wink, wink.” She raised her fingers as though to make air quotes, then dropped her hands in her lap. “Pryce also asked Claymore to ask me to ask you for the name of that criminal attorney you told him about.”

“It’s Dave Hammond, Jillian. Pryce knows who Dave is.”

“Abs, come on! The poor guy isn’t thinking clearly. I mean, how would you feel if the cops accused you of killing someone?”

“They did accuse me. Remember when one of my law professors was murdered? Remember that I had just delivered flowers to his office?”

She brushed a couple stray leaves off my desk. “Do you want to clean off the desktop now?”

That was Jillian—all sympathy. “Call Claymore and give him Dave’s name.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“Good. So here’s how we’ll leave it.
If
Pryce hires Dave, and
if
Dave feels the need for an investigator, he’ll let Pryce know, and they can work something out with some other PI.”

She folded her arms tightly in front of her. “I thought family meant something to you, and yes, I forgot to put air quotes around family. That’s how upset I am.”

The phone rang, so I reached around Jillian to pick up the receiver, then put my hand over the speaker and whispered to her, “I’ll talk to you after business hours, and yes, there should be air quotes around
after
.”

Jillian stood up with a sharp huff and put her bag’s wide leather strap over her shoulder.

“Bloomers. How may I help you?” I wiggled my fingers good-bye to my cousin, hoping she’d take the hint. Which she didn’t.

“Hey, buttercup, how’s it going?”

Just hearing Marco’s reassuring voice helped bring my blood pressure into the normal range. “Fair,” I replied.

“I know Jillian is there. I saw her rushing toward Bloomers about five minutes ago. So just listen, okay? I got a call from Dave Hammond. The cops are preparing to draw a bull’s-eye on Pryce’s forehead and he wants us on the case.”

So Pryce had contacted Dave after all. “If I say I’m not thrilled, are we going to have the same discussion we had the first time?”

“Yep.”

“Is that Marco?” Jillian asked suspiciously, hovering near the curtain.

“It’s one of my floral suppliers,” I whispered, then said into the phone, “I’m sorry. Go ahead, please.”

“I’m going to give Pryce a call,” Marco continued, “to see if we can meet with him here at the bar after dinner this evening.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mar—tin. I’m well stocked on mums right now.”

“Listen, babe, I get it that you can’t talk, so let’s just leave it that if you’re swamped with orders, I’ll meet with Pryce alone.”

“Okay, look, it’s not just that I’m well stocked….” I paused, searching for words to explain my feelings but not quite finding the ones I needed, especially with Jillian listening in. All I knew was that sitting in our special booth with Pryce that evening wasn’t on my bucket list. “It’s more that I was hoping I wouldn’t have a need for
more
mums in the near future.”

“Look at it this way, Abby. Since we’ve already interviewed Pryce’s guests, we’re way ahead of the game. Plus, think about that romantic honeymoon we want to have.”

“I don’t want this to be about money,” I said a little sharper than I’d intended.

Jillian sighed sadly. “It’s always about money, Abs. That’s what makes the world go ’round.” She put her hands on my shoulders and bent at the knees until she and I were eyeball to eyeball. “I’ve got to meet with a client,” she whispered. “Think about taking Pryce’s case. It’s the right thing to do.” She brushed a lock of hair away from my eyes. “And next time I see you, let’s try that updo.”

I counted to ten, waiting until she was gone, then sat down in my chair and rubbed my aching neck. “Jillian is gone finally. And I’m sorry about snapping at you, Marco. I’m a little on edge.”

“A
little
? What’s wrong, Sunshine? This isn’t like you. You’re always up for a challenge. Is it still about those hurt feelings you’ve been sitting on?”

“It’s more about having reservations about taking on—you know—
more Pryce
.” I tried to make that sound lighthearted, but I wasn’t fooling Marco.

“Then don’t work this case with me, sweetheart. You always have that option.”

“But don’t you see? That’s part of my dilemma. I love it when we work together.”

“Then listen to me, Abby. I’m telling you this because I love you. You’ve got too much on your plate. You’ve got to step back from something. Remember, this is just one case, okay? There’ll be more. And let your mom and my mom help with the shower details. It’ll make them happy and take the pressure off you so you can get back to what you love best—arranging flowers.”

I took a deep breath, trying to analyze my worries about taking Pryce’s case. What was I up against anyway? A little more of being around my ex? No big deal. As long as I was working with Marco, I could do that.

“Marco, trust me, I’ve got the shower under control and I’ve got two capable assistants to help me here at the shop, so get the meeting set up with Pryce and I’ll be there.”

“That’s my fireball.”

“But I’ve got a really busy day tomorrow, Marco, so would it be all right if we worked on the case after dinner? A bunch of funeral orders came in this afternoon. I’m going to have to come back to Bloomers for another two hours tonight, in fact, after our meeting with Pryce.”

“That’ll work. I have plenty to do to keep myself busy, including doing some Internet searches on our suspects, and I can always use extra time to catch up on my bookkeeping. So I’ll see you down here at five o’clock, okay?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” I looked at the reminder Lottie had left on my desk. “On a different subject, Marco, Lottie’s boys are going to perform a juggling act at our shower.”

Marco said very slowly, “Okay.”

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Lottie wasn’t nearby. “It’ll be fine. Lottie wouldn’t steer me wrong.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Sunshine. If you want jugglers, have jugglers.”

“
You
make me happy, Marco.”

“And I’m fine with that, too.”

I finished the call, then opened my diary and wrote:

By 5:50 that evening, Marco and I had not only prepared for our meeting with Pryce but also managed to polish off juicy pulled-pork sandwiches and a green salad beforehand. So when Pryce arrived—early, as usual—we had our questions ready.

Marco rose to shake his hand, then indicated the bench opposite us in our favorite booth. “Have a seat.”

I still had nervous butterflies in my stomach—being in such close proximity to Pryce did that to me—but all I had to do was reach for Marco’s hand beneath the table and the butterflies fluttered off.