Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (5 page)

As we stepped inside the foyer, I glanced around with growing disbelief. Could this be the same charming cottage I’d visited less than two years ago? Where had all the heavy, dark antique furniture and rugs come from? Had someone robbed a castle?

The shock continued as I looked up. In place of the large art deco, beveled-glass chandelier that used to illuminate the entrance, there now dangled an old wagon wheel from three thick, rusty chains. Chandelier bulbs tucked beneath small brown-fringed burlap shades provided illumination, which, considering the color of the shades, didn’t amount to much.

A narrow table made from thick twigs and crude wooden planks stood against the side wall, replacing the sleek, white wood, cottage-style hall commode. And instead of the large black-rimmed schoolhouse clock that had hung above it, there now was a very small, elaborately carved cuckoo clock that appeared to have come straight from the Black Forest. Not exactly a beach look.

Fearing a similar fate had befallen the living room, I gazed through the wide doorway to my left and discovered that it had fared even worse. Instead of the crisp white cottage furniture with blue and green accents, the room was now done in Queen Anne–style furniture with fancy mahogany, curved-legged tables sporting ornate, burnished brass hardware.

High-backed camel sofas and wing chairs were arranged in conversational groupings, upholstered in a mix of solids, florals, and stripes in dark green, brown, and dusty coral. In the middle, a large, worn Oriental carpet in brown, black, beige, and rust nearly blocked all
glimpses of the beautiful pale wood floor beneath. Large dark tapestries covered most of the walls, which were painted in a pretty sandy hue.

“Have a seat in the living room and I’ll let Pryce know you’re here,” Claymore told us, then headed up the hallway toward the back of the house.

“Are you sure you’ve been here before?” Marco said quietly as we entered the living room.

“It’s been redecorated,” I whispered. “Isn’t it hideous?”

“It isn’t my taste.”

Thank goodness. That might have been
our
deal breaker.

“From what I remember,” I said, as we sat on a hard brown sofa, “it’s not the Osbornes’ taste either.” I ran my hand over the rough fabric, amazed that anyone would find it comfortable, then glanced around the room. “Well,” I said, letting out my breath, “here we are.”

“You doing okay?” Marco asked. “Anger level down? Nerves under control?”

“Yep. All under control.” I let out another heavy breath. “All. Under. Con. Trol.”

He laid his hand across my shoulders, and I gave a start. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess my nerves are a little frayed.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and my stomach tensed. The last time I’d had to deal with Pryce had been at Jillian and Claymore’s wedding, and then I’d avoided him as much as possible. How was I going to greet him now? Cool and distant? Stranger-friendly?
Just please, God, not nervous-babbly.
I was at my worst when I babbled.

“Marco,” I whispered, “if I start babbling, squeeze my hand.”

The footsteps were very close now. My hands curled
into sweaty balls on my lap.
Deep breaths, Abby. In to the count of seven, out to eight.

Jillian strolled into the room, and I nearly slumped over in relief. She had on the same bright sundress as before, but had gathered her long copper locks into a twisted bun held in place with a tortoiseshell clip. Other than seeming a bit flushed, she looked model perfect.

“No one even suspected I left this morning,” she said with a twinkle in her green eyes. “I’m as stealthy as a cat.”

“That would explain why you ran into the bedroom a few minutes ago,” I said. “Fur ball.”

Jillian glared daggers at me. “Not funny.”

Marco’s phone beeped to signal a message. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, and moved to one of the tall windows, turning his back to us.

“You better not have told him about you know what,” Jillian whispered as she sat down beside me on the sofa.

“Calm down. I didn’t tell him.” I watched her whip out a wide-toothed comb and a large black hair clip. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to make you presentable, silly. What did you think I was going to do?”

She reached for my head, and I jumped up. “Stop it,” I whispered, casting a glance at the doorway. “I’m nervous enough without you fussing over me.”

“I can’t believe you’re willing to leave your hair like that in front of Pryce.”

“My hair is always like this, and I don’t care what Pryce thinks. I can’t help that it doesn’t glisten like satin or lie perfectly straight like yours does.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to switch to my brand of shampoo and conditioner? It’ll strip away that dullness and tame your locks in no time.”

“The only thing it’ll strip away is the money in my wallet, Jill. Nothing works on this hair.”

She stood up with a huff and guided me toward a gilt-edged mirror hanging over the fireplace. “Just give me two minutes,” she said to my reflection. “I can work magic on you.”

“What don’t you understand about no?” I said, stepping out of reach.

“One minute, then.”

With a defiant glare, I fluffed my hair with my fingers until it looked like tossed hay.

“Now we’re back to two minutes,” she said, and made a quick grab for my wrist. “You’ll thank me later.”

I jerked my arm away and my elbow sank into something spongy. Turning, I saw my former fiancé doubled over, grimacing in pain.

I’d wanted to do that for a long time anyway.

“G
reat Gatsby!” Claymore called melodramatically from the doorway, and hurried across the dark carpet to help his brother to the sofa. Jillian dashed to her husband’s side to see what she could do to annoy them both.

Marco ended his call and strode toward me. “What happened?”

“I punched Pryce in the gut,” I whispered. At Marco’s startled reaction, I added, “Accidentally! Jillian and I were having a—difference of opinion—and he happened to be standing in the wrong place.”

Marco eyed my hair. “Did the difference of opinion cause that?”

Oops.
I turned back to the mirror and finger combed it as best I could. Through the glass I saw Pryce gently probe his diaphragm, wince, then take some deep breaths. Obviously feeling better, he ran his palm over his hair to make sure the part was straight, then adjusted the collar of his tan silk Tommy Bahama shirt.

“Pryce, I’m sorry,” I said as humbly as I could manage. “I didn’t know you had come into the room, let alone were standing behind me, or I would never have
elbowed you in the stomach. It wouldn’t have happened at all except that Jillian and I were having a disagreement over—well, that’s not important now—but—”

Marco squeezed my hand.

I stopped. It was exactly as I’d feared—nervous babble.

“It’s your fault for being so stubborn,” Jillian said with a sniff, folding her arms.

“No bother.” Pryce reached out to shake Marco’s hand. “Thank you for coming. Would anyone care for coffee, tea, or iced tea before we get started?”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “Can we skip—”

“Tea for me, please,” Jillian said, taking a seat on a brown and beige striped wing chair. “Claymore will have some, too.” She smiled up at her husband, who was standing behind her chair as though to catch her in case she fell out.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” I said, sitting on the end of the ugly sofa. Marco also declined, then sat down beside me.

Pryce used an intercom to put in the order, then took a seat in the other wing chair. It was a cozy conversation group with people who were anything but.

“I suppose you have a lot of questions for us,” Pryce said. His eyes had dark circles underneath them.

“I usually talk to people individually,” Marco said, “but in the interest of time, I’ll run preliminary questions by all of you, then schedule a time to see you separately.”

“Why separately?” Claymore asked. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

If I’d had coffee in my mouth, I would have spit it out. Jillian saw me holding back a laugh and squinted her eyes at me.

“It’s just how we work.” Marco pulled his small black
notebook and a pen from his pocket. “I’ll be taking notes as we talk.”

“Don’t you want me to do that, honey,” I asked, “as I usually do?”

Marco’s eyebrows drew together as he handed the pad and pen to me, so I lifted mine in response. He knew I wasn’t much into calling him endearing names in public. Today, however, I was prepared to lay it on thick, and my expression told him so. His only response was a slight flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth.

“Would you spell your fiancée’s last name?” Marco asked Pryce.

“H-a-z-e-l-t-o-n,” Pryce said.

“Where does Melissa work?” Marco asked.

“She owns a home-decorating business called Pisces,” Pryce said. “It’s on West Lincoln Avenue.”

“How many employees?” Marco asked.

“Just herself,” Pryce said. “She subcontracts.”

“Did she redo this room?” I asked. It wasn’t part of the normal round of questions. I was just being nos—curious.

I saw Pryce’s cheek twitch ever so slightly. “Yes, she did.”

In that case, Melissa should have subcontracted the job out to a real decorator.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Marco asked Pryce.

“Sunday morning when I left to go for a run.” Pryce templed his hands, fingertips under his chin. “You should know up front that it does seem I was the last one to see Melissa.”

Cue the ominous music.

“Was Sunday yesterday?” Jillian asked me, and at my nod, she said, “Then I saw her yesterday morning, too.
She was leaving the cottage and had her Louise Green Laguna in her hand.”

“What’s a Louise Green Laguna?” I asked.

“It’s a style of sun hat made by Louise Green. Duh.”

“Don’t say that like I should know, Jillian. I don’t work in fashion.”

“Obviously. Anyway, I was coming downstairs for breakfast and asked her where she was going, but she didn’t even turn around to answer. Were you with me, Claymore?”

“No, my darling, I was poaching your eggs in the kitchen. And in answer to your question, Marco, the last time I saw Melissa was yesterday morning, as well. She and Jake were on the deck having breakfast.”

“Wait. I’m confused,” I said. “Who is Jake?”

“Jake Caldwell,” Pryce said. “He and his wife, Lily, are staying with me for a few weeks while their house is being renovated.”

I noted it, then started a timeline in the notebook. “What time did you have breakfast?”

“Eight o’clock, my usual time,” Pryce said.

“So Melissa didn’t have breakfast with you?”

“No, she did not.”

“What time did you come downstairs, Jillian?” I asked.

She glanced up at Claymore, and he said, “It would have been shortly after nine, dearest.”

“Shortly after nine,” she told me, as though Claymore had been speaking Chinese.

“What time did you see Melissa having breakfast with Jake?” Marco asked Claymore.

“Let me think. I came down to make Jillian a cup of mint tea just after seven, and they were on the deck.”

“Did Melissa seem angry or upset?” Marco asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” Claymore said. “Her back was toward me.”

“Where was Lily Caldwell while Jake and Melissa were eating?” I asked.

“She had already eaten,” Claymore replied. “She came in from the deck carrying an empty plate just as I got to the kitchen.”

I tapped my watch, reminding Marco that our time was growing short. He nodded. “Will your other guests be joining us soon?” he asked.

“I alerted Jake and the Burches,” Pryce said. “They’ll be in shortly. They’ve been having coffee on the deck. Lily had to go to work.”

“Have you had any trouble with crime in this neighborhood recently?” Marco asked.

“No,” Pryce said. “This isn’t an easy area to find, so we’ve never been a target for thieves. But even so, we all have alarms and use them religiously.”

“Has Melissa mentioned whether she’s had trouble with any of her clients?” Marco asked.

“None that I’m aware of,” Pryce said.

“No dissatisfied clients?” I asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of my expression. Everyone had unhappy clients at some point. In fact, I was having a hard time believing Pryce’s parents were pleased with what Melissa had done to their cottage.

He took a moment to brush a particle of lint off his pant leg before replying. “I don’t believe she’s mentioned any.”

Jillian made a
pffft
sound. Claymore leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and she reacted by tilting her head back to give him a frown.

I wrote:
Ask J. about Melissa’s reputation.

“What day and time did each of you arrive for the weekend?” Marco asked.

“Friday at five p.m. for me,” Pryce said. “Everyone else was supposed to be here by six.”

“We arrived
promptly
at six,” Jillian said proudly. Claymore patted her shoulder.

“Melissa was here by half past five,” Pryce said. “Claymore, do you recall when the Burches arrived?”