Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (9 page)

“You said no games, Marco, so I thought we should have some form of entertainment. I put in a call to a juggler I found in the phone book, so he should be getting back to me.”

“A juggler.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He hunched his shoulders. “Nothing.”

Great. Marco didn’t like it. What other kind of entertainment could I provide? “How about karaoke?”

Marco gazed at me with lowered eyebrows. Yet another time when words weren’t necessary.

“Then you come up with something,” I said.

“Why do we need a shower anyway?”

“I’ve already explained that, Marco. It’s traditional. Part of our culture. Women expect to be invited to them—bridal, baby, retirement, even new-home showers on occasion. I wouldn’t be surprised if they even had showers for—”

“The juggler is fine.”

“Awesome.”

Marco turned off the main highway and headed east. “Are you psyched up for this evening?”

“For another close encounter of the Osborne kind? I think so. I hope so. Make that a yes. Definitely yes. I am
psyched
, Marco.”

“Coolheaded?”

“Yes! Psyched
and
coolheaded.”

At Marco’s skeptical look, I added, “For the moment anyway. I promise to try my best not to let Pryce get under my skin.”

“You can always wait inside the cottage while I interview him.”

“No way. I’m your wingman, Marco. I’ll do Claymore’s interview solo, though, if you want to take on Jillian.”

A glance from Marco was enough to squelch that idea.

“Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll handle Jillian.”

“Will it help if I throw in a foot rub for later tonight?”

“You are so on.” I practically salivated in anticipation. Marco had the best hands in the world when it came to many things, but he was especially terrific at massages. And who knew where that might lead?

When we arrived at 5:25 p.m., Pryce was pacing the verandah as though we were an hour late. He had
changed his clothes and was wearing a blue Tommy Bahama shirt instead of a tan one, with perfectly pressed brown walking shorts and brown leather sandals. He had us sit at the long teak table at one end of the side verandah and offered us iced tea from a white ceramic pitcher.

“Thank you,” Marco said, accepting a tall glass. I merely nodded my thanks. We were sitting side by side, with Pryce opposite us.

“Will you be taping our conversation?” Pryce asked.

I held up my pen and the notepad. “This is it.”

“Did you want your interview recorded?” Marco asked. “I have the equipment in my car.”

“Whatever you deem appropriate is fine with me,” Pryce said. “I understand that my interview is merely a formality anyway.”

I glanced at Marco in surprise, but he showed no reaction, so I bit my tongue and let Pryce continue.

“Obviously I wouldn’t have called on you to investigate if I’d had anything to do with Melissa’s disappearance. Therefore I’m hoping we can move through this quickly so she can be found.”

“I’ll try to make it as expeditious as possible,” Marco said.

In the face of Pryce’s superciliousness, Marco was so calm and composed that he inspired me to be the same. I took a drink of the refreshing tea, determined to keep my cool.

“To start with, where does Melissa live?” Marco asked.

“On West Lincoln Avenue. I’m not sure of the exact address, but she has the second-floor apartment above Pisces. That’s the name of her shop.”

“I know where that is,” I said to Marco as I wrote down the information.

“Do you have any credit card information for Melissa?” Marco asked.

“No,” Pryce said.

“You stated earlier that you and Melissa had a disagreement after she arrived on Friday,” Marco said. “What was it about?”

Pryce adjusted his platinum watchband. It was either to show how insignificant he considered that question or to make sure we noticed his display of wealth—or possibly both, not that it bothered me. Gazing at Marco, with his easy manner—and his simple Timex—made my heart double in size. What a wonderful contrast he was to Pryce’s snobbishness.

“I’d prefer that to remain private,” Pryce said.

“I understand how you feel,” Marco said, “but the information helps me form a profile so I have a better feel for Melissa’s situation. Rest assured that whatever you say will remain confidential.”

I could tell immediately that my ex-fiancé didn’t appear to be convinced by Marco’s assurances. That was when my cool began to heat up. “Pryce, we’re not going to ask you anything unless it will help us find Melissa.”

“I understand that, Abigail.”

“Good, then decide now whether you’re going to cooperate—otherwise we’re out of here.”

Sensing my rising temper, Marco patted my knee under the table, while Pryce stared at me as though he’d never heard me speak before. “Of course I want to cooperate.”

“Super. Then what was your disagreement about?” I asked.

“Melissa and I were discussing our engagement.”

Snap.
Just like that, I was taken back to that horrible evening when Pryce had said to me in an offhand way,
We need to discuss our engagement
, much like a
person might say,
We need to choose entrées for our dinner party.
And then he’d pulled the rug out from under me.

Shaking off that memory, I said, “Wait a minute. You told us before that you and Melissa had a disagreement. Which was it, a discussion or a disagreement? There’s a big difference between the two.”

“Perhaps
disagreement
was a poor word choice. Let’s just say we had a discussion about our irresolvable differences.”

Did he
try
to obfuscate his answers?

“What was the outcome of your discussion?” Marco asked.

“By mutual agreement, Melissa and I decided to go our separate ways.”

I knew exactly what Pryce’s definition of a mutual agreement was: He spelled out the alleged offenses as dictated by his parents, then suggested the engagement be broken off quickly and quietly, and she reacted accordingly—with shock, disbelief, needing to cry but not wanting Pryce to know just how devastated she was, and finally with concession, ending with a tearful,
I guess it’s over, then.

Oh, yes, been there, done that, had the scars.

“That happened on Friday, and yet Melissa stayed for the weekend?” I asked.

“We weren’t able to reach an accord until Sunday morning,” Pryce said.

My mouth dropped open. Did he have to make it sound like two warring countries coming together for a summit meeting?

Marco gave my knee another pat, reminding me to sit back and relax. “What were the terms of your accord?” he asked, as though this were a situation he encountered all the time.

“We agreed upon who will initiate refunds on reception reservations, notify invitees of the event correction, cancel postwedding travel arrangements, and rescind exchanges of precious metals.”

Yep, he was purposefully obfuscating. “What is an event correction?” I asked. “Is that Osborne-speak for calling off the wedding?”

“It’s not Osborne-speak,” Pryce said stiffly. “But yes, that’s what it boils down to.”

Then the metals he was rescinding had to be the engagement ring and wedding bands.

Marco’s gaze shifted my way for a split second, conveying the message,
How did you ever get mixed up with this guy?

Simple. I’d been naive and trusting and way too logical for my own good. I had learned a big lesson, though. My decision to marry had to be based on more than whether a man was financially responsible, although that was important. From Marco, I’d learned that any solid relationship had to come from love, friendship, mutual respect, and admiration. When any of those were missing, the relationship was doomed.

“Where were you and Melissa during your Sunday-morning meeting?” Marco asked.

Pryce took a drink of tea before answering. “In the kitchen.”

“Were the two of you alone?”

“I assume we’re not counting staff,” Pryce answered.

“If by staff you mean other human beings,” I said, “then count them, because on my planet we consider staff humans.”

Marco nudged me ever so subtly, so I added, “Please?”

“The caterer and his helper were in the kitchen,” Pryce said, “and Mrs. Ambrose was serving breakfast to the guests seated on the deck.”

“Who would that have been?” Marco asked.

“I believe it was just Jake and Lily. The Burches had gone home Saturday afternoon and didn’t return until lunchtime on Sunday.”

“What happened after your meeting?” Marco asked.

“It was time for my run on the beach,” Pryce said, “so I went upstairs to the bedroom to change into my running gear. While I was changing, Melissa came in for her hat and said she was going for a walk because she needed to cool down. That was the last time I saw her.”

I wrote:
Pryce broke engagement / Melissa’s heart, then went for scheduled run. Cold.

“Did you and Melissa share a bedroom?” Marco asked.

“She shared
my
room,” Pryce said, trying to see what I wrote down. I’d have to add
said the presumptuous bore
later.

“What was Melissa wearing when she left the house?” Marco asked.

Without pausing to think, Pryce said, “Coral tank top, white shorts, coral ankle socks, white sneakers, and a white panama sun hat with a straw visor.”

“That was quick,” I muttered as I wrote it down.

“I selected the outfit for her.”

I looked up in surprise. “Why would you choose her clothes?”

Marco leaned close to whisper, “It’s not relevant.”

“If you must know,” Pryce said, “it’s because Melissa has…questionable taste in clothing.”

Was that one of his deal breakers?

“Does Melissa have any family?” Marco asked.

“A brother in Chicago by the name of Harry Hazelton,” Pryce said. “I’ve been in touch with Harry and he’s heard nothing from her.”

“We’ll need his contact information,” Marco said.

“I have it in my office,” Pryce said. “I’ll get it when we’re finished, which should be shortly, shouldn’t it?”

“Should be,” Marco said. “Have you tried to call or text Melissa today?”

“Yes. Her phone goes straight to voice mail and my texts are unanswered.”

“What do you think happened to her?” Marco asked.

“As I told you this morning,” Pryce said, “she may have been abducted. She has a substantial portfolio, even with all the stock market losses she suffered.”

“Were the losses due to investment mistakes?” Marco asked.

“Yes. She got some bad advice.”

“From her broker?” I asked.

“Melissa would have to answer that.”

Pryce was being very tight-lipped about it. Had he lost money, as well? Had Halston given them both bad advice or was another broker involved?

“If Melissa had been abducted for money,” Marco said, “you or her brother would have received a ransom note or some other form of demand by now.”

“I haven’t received anything,” Pryce said, stretching his arms behind his back, as though he was tired of sitting, “and I know Harry would alert me if he did. He knows I’m frantic.”

Was that the picture of a frantic person?

“Does Harry know you broke off your engagement to his sister?” I asked.

Pryce’s arms came forward. “Is there a reason you need to know that?”

“If Harry knows,” I said, “he might not feel inclined to contact you.”

Pryce glowered. “I didn’t tell him about it. That’s up to Melissa.”

“Considering that you broke up with
her
,” I said, “isn’t it possible Melissa is cooling her heels somewhere to make you sweat?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

I’d forgotten. Osbornes never sweated. They perspired. Besides, Pryce
was
the heel.

I started anew. “Did she run away to punish you for behaving like an a—”

“I know what you’re asking,” Pryce said sharply, “and I can’t imagine her putting her family and friends through this.”

I could imagine her putting Pryce through it, though.

My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my purse and checked the screen. It was a text message from Jillian:
We R almost there.

Alert the media.

“Did you notice any animosity or tension between Melissa and any of your houseguests at all this weekend?” Marco asked.

“I did not,” Pryce said.

“Did Melissa mention any difficulties she might have been having at work?” Marco asked.

“She and I did not converse much between Friday evening and Sunday morning. We were out on the lake most of the day Saturday, with a party at the Burches’ in the evening.”

My phone vibrated again, causing both Marco and Pryce to glance my way. “Sorry,” I said, checking the screen. It was another text from Jillian:
Found prfct baby name.W8 til U hear.

Before I could reply to her to stop texting me, she sent another:
Get Xcited. We R here!

Yay.