Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (26 page)

Pryce was wearing an ivory linen blazer over a blue shirt, open at the collar, with light brown pants and brown tasseled loafers, slightly overdressed for the college crowd that filled the bar most nights. Marco, on the
other hand, looked super sexy and casual in his black T-shirt with
Down the Hatch
printed in pale gray along the length of one sleeve, lean gray denims, and black leather Pumas.

“What can I offer you to drink?” Marco asked.

“A glass of champagne would be appreciated,” Pryce said.

He was sitting with his hands flat on the table, elbows against his sides, his spine barely touching the upholstered back of the booth. His body language telegraphed his tension, but judging by his expression alone, no one would know a thing.

I sat there silently while Marco and Pryce made small talk, and then once our microbrews and Pryce’s bubbly arrived, Marco got down to business, while I sat with notebook and pen at the ready.

“When I spoke with Dave Hammond earlier,” Marco said, “he indicated that the police are now calling Lily’s death a murder and are looking at you as a suspect because of evidence that points to you. So let’s start there. Tell me what they have.”

Pryce ran a trembling hand through his hair. “They found Lily’s car in a stand of pine trees on Elm Street a quarter of a mile up the road from my house. Inside the car, police discovered a handwritten note”—he shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe it—“asking Lily to meet me on the pier at midnight.”

“Did you give them a sample of your handwriting to disprove it was your note?” I asked.

Pryce glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in to say quietly, “That’s the thing. It
is
my note. My handwriting. My stationery.”

My goodness.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Marco said, as I jotted it down. “On the night before Lily was murdered,
you wrote her a note asking her to meet you at midnight on your pier?”

“No,” Pryce said. “I wrote the note, but gave it to her over two weeks ago.”

“How did you deliver the note?” Marco asked.

“I handed it to her before she went up to her room for the night.”

“Did she meet you?” I asked.

On a heavy sigh, he nodded, but offered no comment.

“Did Jake ever find out about this meeting?” Marco asked.

“As far as I know, he did not,” Pryce said, looking down at his hands.

“Did Jake ever drive Lily’s car?” Marco asked.

“Yes, about as often as Lily did,” Pryce said. “Sometimes he’d drop her off at work in the morning, then use the car to go back and forth between the gym and their home.”

“Is it possible that Lily placed your note in her car to make her husband jealous?” Marco asked.

“No,” Pryce said on a sigh. “She wouldn’t have done that. Lily regretted marrying Jake, but she wouldn’t have done anything that would lead to a split, because she didn’t want to divide her assets.”

That Lily had been all heart. No wonder Pryce had been attracted to her.

“She told you that?” Marco asked.

“It was a conversation we had, yes. Besides, she told me she kept all my notes in a well-hidden compartment in her overnight bag.”

“
All
your notes?” I asked.

Pryce gave me a single nod, then looked away. Who knew he had a romantic side? I sure wouldn’t have guessed it. Other than his over-the-top wedding proposal, which I’d always suspected had been orchestrated
by his parents, he’d never paid that much attention to me.

“Except for that time two weeks ago,” Marco asked, “did you write any other notes suggesting a midnight talk?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Did Lily bring this overnight bag with the hidden compartments to your cottage?” Marco asked.

“Yes,” Pryce said, reaching for his glass.

“Did Lily share a bedroom with Jake?” I asked.

Pryce nodded.

“Would anyone other than Jake have had access to their bedroom?” Marco asked.

“Anyone would during the day,” Pryce said. “The bedroom doors don’t lock from the outside.”

“Do you remember a time when any of your guests were at the cottage while the rest of you were out?” Marco asked.

Pryce thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t recall. Perhaps Mrs. Ambrose would know.”

I wrote:
Interview housekeeper about guests in cottage alone.

“How do you think that note got into Lily’s car?” Marco asked.

Pryce leaned in to say in a hushed voice, “The only thing that makes sense is that Jake planted it.”

“For what reason?” Marco asked.

“My guess is to make it appear that she died by my hand.”

“Then you think Jake is responsible for Lily’s death?” Marco asked.

Pryce leaned in again. “Who else would be searching through Lily’s bag? Who else would have that kind of access to her car?” He sat back and reached for his champagne again.

“Did Lily keep her car locked when she stayed here?” Marco asked.

Pryce didn’t know.

“Do you know where Lily kept her keys during her stay at the cottage?”

“In her purse.”

“And where did she keep her purse?”

“In the kitchen, on a small counter I use as a desk. It’s where Melissa kept hers, too.”

“So,” Marco said, “it’s possible that any one of your guests could have slipped Lily’s keys out of her purse and back in again without anyone noticing.”

“I suppose so,” Pryce said, clearly unhappy that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

“Did any of your guests harbor any ill will against Lily?” Marco asked.

“Absolutely not,” Pryce said. “Everyone respected Lily for her accomplishments.”

I didn’t want to start an argument with Pryce, which was exactly what would happen if I were to contradict him, but Marco had asked about ill will, not respect. An enemy could have both respect and ill will, and based on what I’d seen at the cottage, I jotted down three names:
Melissa. Jake. Orabell.
I left off Halston’s name because he didn’t seem to harbor bad feelings toward anyone, other than maybe his wife. Jillian and Claymore weren’t even in the picture.

“Why do you think Jake might have wanted to kill his wife?” Marco asked.

“He operated under the fear of having his meal ticket taken away,” Pryce said.

“Is that a conclusion you drew or did Lily tell you that?” Marco asked.

“Lily had mentioned a few times that Jake viewed her as a source of money. But it was my brother who
pointed out to me just this morning that he’d witnessed Jake observing Lily and me speaking privately on a number of occasions last weekend, all of which could have fostered resentment and incited jealousy.”

I stopped writing word for word and put down instead,
Pryce just realized his behavior with Lily was wrong.

“We’ll need to interview everyone again,” Marco said.

“Jake is staying with the Burches now,” Pryce said.

“Why did Jake move from your cottage?” I asked.

“If I answered,” Pryce said, “I would be assuming. All I know is that when I got to the cottage this afternoon, his belongings had been removed. He left a note.”

“How is your relationship now with Melissa?” I asked.

“Amicable.”

“For both of you?” I asked.

“I’m making an effort,” he said stiffly.

“What was the last contact you had with Lily?” Marco asked.

“The last contact?” Pryce pulled up his calendar on his phone. “That would have been yesterday morning at breakfast.”

“Ah, here you are!” I heard, and looked up to see Marco’s mom push through people standing two deep at the bar to get to our booth. “Raphael said you were back here.
Mamma mia
, what a crowd tonight, Marco!”

Marco rose to give her a hug, then whispered something in her ear.

“I won’t stay long,” Francesca said, giving his face a pat. She leaned over to hug me next. “Abby,
bella
, how pretty. You look like a peach tonight.”

I gazed down at my short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants in dismay. If I were a peach, Francesca was bananas Foster. Looking as elegantly put together as always, she wore an ivory-colored blouse with a yellow, black, and
ivory silk scarf around her neck, gold and black hoops in her ears, and black slacks with black leather peep-toe pumps.

She turned toward Pryce. “And here we have one of your friends, Marco. Hello, I’m Francesca Salvare, Marco’s mother,” she said, offering her hand.

As Pryce squeezed her fingers, Marco said, “Mom, this is Pryce Osborne.”

Francesca withdrew her hand.
“This”
—she glanced at me in surprise—“is Pryce Osborne?”

“We’re working on a case for him,” I said, trying to signal with my eyes that it was okay. Too late.

She said to Marco in a stern voice, “Go get your mother a glass of Chianti,” then slid onto the bench beside Pryce and turned toward him, her hands folded on top of the table, a steely glimmer in her eye. “So,
Mr.
Osborne—”

“Ma,” Marco said firmly, “we’re having a meeting.”

Francesca didn’t respond. She was focused on Pryce. “—
you
are the man who broke this young woman’s heart.”

“Ma!” Marco said sharply. “Not appropriate.” Hooking his arm through hers, he lifted her from the bench and practically dragged her away from the booth.

I looked at Pryce and saw him pretending to study the bar menu, his cheeks on fire. He felt my gaze on him and darted a look at me. Was that remorse in his eyes? Or was I just wishing to see some kind of sign that he felt bad about breaking our engagement?

He gave me a weak smile, then went back to reading the menu.

Awkward! Shifting toward the bar, I began to shred my napkin beneath the table, willing Marco to hurry. After another long minute of wishing I were anywhere else, I reached for my beer just as Pryce reached for his
champagne. Our gazes met again and quickly darted away. Nope, no remorse there, only avoidance. But that was undoubtedly for the best. Now would not be a good time to delve into our past.

Thankfully, I saw Marco coming toward us, but then, with a frown, he changed directions and headed around to the inside of the L-shaped bar. I stretched my neck to see what was happening, and caught a glimpse of Rafe standing at the far end, his elbow on the counter, his chin propped on his hand, engrossed in conversation with an attractive young woman, completely ignoring the other customers.

Meanwhile, here I sat, trying to act as if the man who had privately destroyed what I thought was my future and publicly humiliated me was invisible. I sighed inwardly. The bar was noisy, but the silence at our booth was deafening.

“Look, Abigail,” Pryce said suddenly, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up.”

I froze. Where the hell was Marco? “No need,” I said in a light voice.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Look, Pryce, you don’t need to explain anything. It’s taken a while, but I’ve moved on. I’ve got a wonderful man in my life now who I wouldn’t have met if you and I had…well, you know…stayed together.”

“Whom.”

“What?”

“
Whom
you wouldn’t have met.”

He was correcting my grammar
now
? To think I had been toying with the idea of forgiving him. With great effort, I clutched my mug in both hands and brought it to my lips. Better to drink the beer than to fling it at him.

He went back to reading the drinks list. I went back to shredding my napkin.

“Sorry,” Marco said, sliding onto the bench beside me. “Little problem at the bar. I apologize for my mother’s behavior, Pryce.”

“No need for apologies,” Pryce said. “I know how impossible mothers can be. Would you excuse me?”

As Pryce headed toward the men’s room, I wrapped my arm around Marco’s arm and snuggled close. “I’m really, really glad you’re back.”

“Did something happen?”

“It’s just awkward being, you know,
alone
with Pryce.” Ye Gods, I’d almost made air quotes.

“Just awkward?” He pointed to my lap, where my paper napkin lay in shreds. I balled it up and set it aside.

“You’ve got to let go of that anger, babe.”

“I’m not angry, Marco. Seriously. It was just awkward. But you’re here now, and all is right with my world.”

He put his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry if my mom embarrassed you, sweetheart. She means well. She’s just protective of her cubs, and you’re one of the den now.”

“And I really do appreciate that, Marco.” I laid my head against his shoulder. Everything
was
fine now.

“Just so you know,” he said, “Mom is still in the bar.”

The earth tilted once again and I fought for balance. “I thought you walked her out.”

“She saw an old friend sitting in a booth up front and stopped to chat. I doubt she’ll come back here, but I wanted to prepare you, just in case.”

That little voice of conscience whispered,
Here’s your chance for that heart-to-heart talk with Francesca. Catch her before she leaves.

Stupid, annoying voice. I couldn’t speak to Francesca yet. I hadn’t had time to rehearse anything.

“Why the frown?” Marco asked.

Pryce slid onto the bench opposite us, so I just smiled at Marco and gave him a quick shake of my head to let him know it was nothing.

Are you really going to let this golden opportunity slip by?
the little voice of conscience whispered.
Francesca will be gone in a minute, and the next thing you know, it’ll be tomorrow, and you’ll be whiny and out of sorts all day because you didn’t talk to her.

I massaged my temples. I hated it when my conscience nagged.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Pryce said. “What were you about to say before I left?”

I wasn’t sure about Marco, but I was about to say something really dumb.