Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (29 page)

“We need another interview with him.”

“First let’s find out whether Melissa lied about being at the Grand.” Marco took his smart phone out of his pocket and held it out. “Want to make a call to the hotel?”

I loved Marco’s new phone. While he drove to Bloomers, I pulled up the Internet, did a search on
Grand Hotel
,
Mackinac Island
,
Michigan
, and waited. Within seconds, a list appeared. I clicked on the first one and it took me to the Grand Hotel’s home page. Then I searched prices and availability for the next weekend.

“Just as I guessed,” I said. “There’s nothing available, and if there were, the smallest, least expensive room is five hundred fifty-eight dollars per night. Melissa would’ve had to have over twelve hundred dollars on her, plus ferry fare, cab fare—since cars aren’t allowed on the island—and incidentals. I don’t believe for a minute that she went there, Marco.”

“Call the reservations desk.”

I clicked on the link for the phone number and waited while it rang. In a few seconds, a friendly woman came on the line. “Now what?” I whispered.

Marco took the phone, whispering back, “Watch and learn.”

He explained that he was a PI working on a murder case and just needed to verify that a person had indeed been a guest. There was a loud click on the other end.

“So what exactly was my lesson?” I asked.

He held out the phone. “Call Reilly and ask him what he can do to help.”

“Yeah, like he’ll talk to me. Last time I asked him for a favor, he said I was trouble waiting to happen.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll talk to you. Use your charm. And ask him if he’ll get us Lily’s autopsy results, too.”

“You’re the one with the charm,” I said. “All I have are freckles and an Irish temper—and I believe Reilly was the one who pointed that out.”

I scrolled through Marco’s contacts until I came to the
R
s, which took about three seconds. Marco kept his phone number list short and to the point. Me, Bloomers, Down the Hatch, various Salvares, our favorite pizza place, and Reilly.

Sean Reilly and I went way back. Well, actually only a year, but he had trained as a rookie under my dad when he first joined the New Chapel PD, so it felt like we’d been friends forever. Anyway, he’d helped us out on several murder cases, always under the radar, of course. He’d lose his job otherwise.

I found Reilly’s number, pressed it, and listened to the rings.

“You’ve got my voice mail,” said a deep male voice. Then it beeped. Just like Reilly, it was to the point.

“Hey, Sarge, it’s your fave florist,” I said cheerfully. “Marco asked me to call you, so give him a call back. Bye.”

I handed the phone to Marco. “There you go.”

“And here you go,” he said, pulling up in front of Bloomers.

“Thanks. Wish me luck for tomorrow. I don’t have a clue as to what your mother is planning.”

“Then just focus on having dinner with me tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should just eat sandwiches on our way to the lake. It’ll give us more time there.”

“Sounds like a better plan. I’m going to head back to
the bar to help Rafe. Give me a call when you get home tonight. I want to know you’re safe.”

My phone rang, so I dug it out of my purse and checked the screen. And groaned.

“My mom, your mom, or Jillian?” Marco asked.

“The latter,” I said, putting the phone to my ear. “If she has another baby name, I’m going to hang up.” I assured Marco I’d call later, then got out of the car and started walking toward Bloomers’ bright yellow door. “Hello, Jillian.”

“I’ve got the perfect solution for your shower outfit dilemma. Since you won’t accept the dress as a gift from your mom, I’ll pay for the dress and you can reimburse me over the next year, ten dollars a week. How’s that?”

“First of all, no,” I said, stepping inside and turning off the burglar alarm. “Which means there doesn’t need to be a second of all.”

“Okay, then the dress can be an early birthday gift from me.”

“Why are you pushing that dress so hard?”

“We want you to look—modern.”

“You don’t think I’m modern now?”

“Not if you wear that ugly brown print dress. Please, Abs, don’t embarrass us. Wear this cute little green dress, okay?”

“It’s not my style, Jillian.”

“How do you know if you won’t even try it on?”

“I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon.”

“You are so consternable.”

“That is not a word. Bye.”

Thursday

I put in two hours at Bloomers, then went home and crashed—and was up again in seven hours, ready to get
right back to it. Unfortunately, Francesca was also ready to get back to my paradise, and was waiting at the front door, equipped with pans of food, when we opened at nine.

“
Bella
,” she said, coming through the purple curtain, “I did just what you asked and made less food.”

That was less?

“See? Only lasagna bites and sweet creamy cannoli.”

Huge amounts of them. So she’d interpreted
less
to mean fewer choices. I wondered what it would take to make her understand that I wanted to see no more food at all.

The day passed quickly as Lottie and I prepared one arrangement after the other in order to be ready for the evening viewing at the funeral home. I had to admit that having Francesca there was proving helpful. Not only did she give us the time we needed to do all the orders, but she kept customers coming into the shop, and both factors were great for business.

When Francesca left at two o’clock, Lottie returned to the cashier’s desk, grumbling. Grace came in later with a glass of iced tea for me and a surprising announcement.

“As motivational speaker Brian Tracy says, ‘There is never enough time to do everything, but there is always enough time to do the most important thing.’”

“And that means?”

“Lottie and I think it might be a good idea to hire Francesca part-time.”

“T
hey actually want me to hire your mother, Marco,” I complained between bites of a thinly sliced, marinated roast beef sandwich that Marco had supplied for our journey up to the lake.

“For Grace and Lottie to come to you with that request, Abby, I’m guessing they feel they need more help.”

I held Marco’s sandwich up to his mouth so he could take a bite. “But I can’t afford another person on the payroll.”

He swallowed the juicy mouthful, then took a swig of bottled water. “You just said you’ve had your best day yet.”

“Are you taking their side?”

“Abby, look at me. Whose side am I on? How about yours? How about thinking about Grace’s quote for a minute. Did you catch the words ‘the most important thing’?”

“Lottie and Grace are feeling swamped.”

“That’s what they’re trying to tell you, sweetheart. You’re used to handling a bunch of things at once, but that doesn’t mean they are. True, Lottie owned Bloomers
before you did, but I’ll bet she wasn’t dealing with someone’s mom selling crazy art projects, or someone needing to take time out to help someone’s fiancé investigate murder cases.”

“Your mom lives in Ohio, Marco. If we hired her, she’d have to move permanently to New Chapel.”

“Believe it or not, I wouldn’t mind that. I know your mom gets on your nerves with her art projects, but think about how it would be if she moved away, and you saw her and your dad only a few times a year.”

“You’re the one who sent Francesca back to Ohio the last time she came to town.”

“And I’m not proud of it, Abby. New Chapel was her home at one time. She still has friends here. Maybe she’s lonely in Ohio. And maybe, just maybe, Lottie and Grace sense that not only will my mom be a moneymaker at Bloomers, but she’ll also free you up to help me out more, just like Rafe taking over some of my work at the bar will free me up.”

Before I could reply, Marco held up his hand. “Before you start defending yourself, just think about how nice it would be to know Bloomers was making money and that you were free to come and go as you please. It’s a place where most shop owners would love to be.”

I took another bite of my sandwich. It wasn’t that I disliked Marco’s mom, or resented her bringing in more customers. It was that I didn’t want her interfering in my career. I’d already dealt with one set of interfering almost-in-laws, and it wasn’t something I was prepared to go through again.

Yet how could I hurt Marco’s feelings? I loved him. I couldn’t reject his mom. And how could I disappoint Lottie and Grace when they seemed to need Francesca’s help?

“I’ll think about it,” was all I said.

Marco reached over to squeeze my shoulder and give me a smile. “That’s all I ask.”

I had just taken the last bite of my sandwich when my phone rang and Jillian’s name popped up on the screen. “Here we go again,” I said. “It’s Jillian.”

“What?” I said into the phone. I wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods.

“Abs, you’ll never guess where I am.”

“At Neiman Marcus.”

“Nope.”

“Nordstrom.”

“Nope.”

“Windows on the Square.”

“No, silly. I’m not shopping.”

“Then I’ve got nothing.”

“I’m at the Burches’.”

“I would not have guessed that.” I held the phone away and whispered to Marco, “She’s at the Burches’.”

Marco’s turn to groan.

“Jake wanted to show off his new toy,” Jillian said, “and as soon as Claymore heard what it was, we had to come. We’re going to be leaving soon, but if you get a chance, you have to see this.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is or not?”

“Of course I am, but first, guess how Jake arrived here.”

“Drunk?”

“No.”

“Jillian, I don’t want to play a guessing game.”

“You take the joy out of everything. Okay, fine. I’ll just tell you. Jake showed up on a Goldwing. Surprise!”

“A Goldwing motorcycle?” I held my hand over the phone and whispered to Marco, “She’s talking about Jake.”

He nodded.

“It is one honking big Honda motorcycle, Abs. Black and silver and so tricked out, Claymore says it has to cost fifty grand, which everyone knows Jake doesn’t have. Correction. Didn’t have. And you’ll never guess how he bought it.”

“Jillian. Stop. No guessing games.”

She sighed wearily. “No games now. No games at your shower. Face it, Abs, you are just antisocial.”

Antisocial?
“Hey! You got it right.”

“I’m so glad you can finally admit it. That’s the first step toward recovery. Anyway, Jake told Halston he bought it with—ta da—insurance money! Seriously. Claymore did a little checking around—he has connections in this town like you wouldn’t believe—and found out that Jake took out insurance policies on himself and on Lily a few weeks ago. Now, what does that say to you?”

“That Jake wouldn’t have received insurance money already.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, silly. He probably borrowed what he needed for a down payment. What I was going to say was that he must have known Lily was going to die. Why else would he have just taken out insurance on her?”

Frighteningly, that
was
what I was thinking.

Jillian whispered, “The other thing I wanted to tell you is that I have a new name for the you-know-what.”

“Go ahead.”

“Amethyst.”

“That’s very pretty, Jillian.”

“Thank you. And we’re going to have two middle names—the middle names of each of our mothers. So the whole name will be—wait for it—Amethyst Gayle Helene Osborne. Isn’t it pretty?”

“If you use initials, it’ll sound like someone choking.”

“Using initials is so yesterday.”

“Thank you. So how do you spell amethyst?”

“A-m-y-t-h-y-s-t.”

“Nope.”

“A-m-i-t-h-i-s-t.”

“Wrong again.”

There was dead silence for a moment; then Jillian hissed, “Buzz kill.”

Click.

“Jake bought a loaded Goldwing,” I told Marco as I put away my phone. “And Jillian found out that Jake bought insurance policies on both himself and Lily a few weeks ago.”

“Sounds like a bad made-for-TV movie.”

“Almost too coincidental, though, don’t you think?”

“Anything that sounds the least bit off, we investigate.”

“Got it. Speaking of investigations, did you get any new information on our suspects today?”

“Nothing that raised any suspicions. But I did hear back from Reilly. He confirmed that no one had registered at the Grand under Melissa’s name.”

“I knew she was making that up. So the question remains, where was Melissa?”

“Reilly also said that the coroner found finger marks around Lily’s throat and back that indicated she’d been forcibly drowned.”

“Just as Jillian said. And that would take someone with strength. Lily wasn’t a tiny person.”

“If she were drugged or drunk, that probably wouldn’t matter, but the drug tests haven’t come back yet, so I’ll reserve judgment.”

I settled back to enjoy the duneland scenery and before long, we were turning onto Elm Street. We parked in Pryce’s driveway and walked through the wooded lot to the Burches’ property, where I spotted a large black
and silver motorcycle in front of their garage door. Marco headed straight for it, so I had to hurry to keep up with his long stride.