SAY MURDER WITH FLOWERS: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery (3 page)

“Well, I know
that
. But your father feels it was closer to home, so to speak. Call it paternal instinct.” Or paranoia.

Jennifer drew her inelegant legs beneath her chin. Her bare feet were bereft of nail varnish, just as her face was nude of visible makeup. Rex reflected once more on the vagaries of genetics. And yet her equine features were not unattractive in a singularly British way.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked, cocking his head at the pile of papers between them on the plush sofa.

“Just private stuff my sister wouldn’t have wanted anybody to see. I just want to protect her.”

“You two were close?”

“Oh, yes. We never had any secrets.”

However, Jennifer admitted to having no clue as to why Elise had gone to Presto’s unless it was to meet Gino. The phone conversation with her sister on Friday afternoon had concerned a family brunch the next day at Claridge’s, a monthly event organized by the decrepit aunts, and which the girls attended in hopes of a sizeable inheritance, being the sole viable heirs.

“Do you have a job, Miss
Howes?” Rex asked.

She regarded him blankly. “I have my allowance and still live at home, but I’m staying here for a few days to sort out
Elise’s things. I do a lot of charity work, of course. Mummy’s very much into that sort of thing. It’s the duty of the privileged class, she says, and of a politician’s wife. And why take a job away from someone who actually needs it? Elise only got into business because she couldn’t find any hats she really liked. She always was rather artistic. I’m the practical one.”

Rex smiled in spite of himself. He felt he might get somewhere with Jennifer
Howes. She came across as earnest and eager to please. “I gather Shannon Smythe is the practical one in your sister’s enterprise.”

“I suppose so. Elise could never have managed without her. No head for figures
at all!
”

“And Shannon has, I take it.”

“Oh, yes. She helped sort out Gino’s taxes, which were a dreadful mess.”

“I thought Shannon didn’t like Elise’s fiancé.” Rex saw no reason not to stir the pot a little. Ms.
Smythe had made it clear the two women did not care for each other.

Jennifer smirked. “Shows how little
you
know. I saw a bouquet of red roses on her desk. Two dozen.” She paused for dramatic effect. “They were from him.”

“From Gino?”
The girl nodded. “Was there a card?” he asked.

“Yes, and it said, ‘
Your devoted Gino.’
I just happened to notice.
”
The young woman had the decency to blush.

“Did Elise know
aboot this?”

“Unlikely. She was out of town that week.”

“Ah.”

The roses struck a discordant note in his mind. Had Shannon lied to him about her feelings for Gino? Most women, in his prosaic experience, while perhaps loath to consign a lavish bouquet of roses to the bin, would nonetheless discard the note of an unwelcome admirer. And if Shannon liked him so little, why had she helped with his finances?
As a favour to Elise? Very puzzling, he thought. One thing to ponder, however: Gino could be a man who said it—whatever the occasion—with flowers.

“Did he ever give you flowers?”

Jennifer’s hand went to her throat and fingered a string of pearls. “Me? Why?”

“I heard he received a loan from your sister for his luxury car venture. Thanks in part to you.”

“That’s right. She wrote out a cheque to him for fifty thousand pounds.”

“When was this exactly?”

“This past Friday, according to this counterfoil.” She showed it to Rex.

“Funny. I spoke to Gino and he said he hadn’t seen Elise since Sunday of the week before.”

“He might have picked it up from the receptionist. Elise had a hair appointment Friday afternoon, so he might have missed her.”

“Aye, perhaps.
One more thing, Miss Howes. Do you drive?”

“Yes, sort of.
I mean, I have my learner’s permit.”

After thanking Jennifer for her cooperation, Rex took his leave with parting words of solace, though he knew
from experience how inadequate such words could be, having lost his wife to breast cancer when his son was fifteen.

He decided, in light of Jennifer’s revelation, to take up Ms.
Smythe’s invitation. Thanking a woman with a large bouquet of red roses for helping with one’s taxes seemed to Rex an extravagant, even romantic, gesture. Retrieving the business card Shannon had given him, he arranged to meet with the
modiste
at her office suite, located in Park Lane close to where he was staying.

A cheery yellow sofa welcomed visitors to the second-floor lobby of Head Start!, where a collection of headpieces displayed on tall stands provided further flourishes of color and texture, and offset the concept of works of art in themselves. Several were adorned with exotic feathery plumes, realistic peppermint candy canes, and
glass cocktail twizzlers, frivolous affairs in Rex’s opinion. He reflected it would take a very confident woman to wear some of these fantastical creations perched on her person, although they might look not out of place on a Milan or Paris runway. As he examined them, he looked for price tags, curious as to what the cost of high fashion might be…

“Mr. Graves?” enquired a skirt-suited young woman stepping into the room. “Shannon will see you now.”

Pivoting in the direction whence she had come, she led the way to her employer’s office. Declining Ms. Smythe’s offer of a cappuccino, Rex settled into one of two comfortable bucket armchairs across from her desk and came straight to the point.

“Miss
Smythe, may I ask—do you have a special young man in your life?”

The fulsome young woman, who had changed out of mourning, blushed beneath her crimson beret. “I don’t.” She laughed unconvincingly. “Where would I find the time?”

“Cards on the table, Miss Smythe. Gino declared his devotion to you with roses, did he not?”

Shannon blushed more alarmingly now, almost matching the hue of her felt cap. “That’s only because I helped him with his taxes.”

“If I may be so bold, you remind me of a young Sophia Loren, and I’m sure your charms are not lost on a hot-blooded Italian.”

“Wow
. You’re not one to beat about the bush!” Shannon chewed on her fingernail while Rex waited patiently for an admission he was sure was forthcoming. She struck him as basically a straightforward young woman. “Oh, why am I protecting the wanker?” she said at length. Sitting back in her executive chair, she took a shuddering breath. “Yes, I was having a sordid fling with Gino. And you cannot imagine the guilt I feel, especially now, with Elise dead. Some friend
I
turned out to be,” she added.

“You were with him Friday night?”

“I was. And yes, I lied to the police about staying home giving myself a pedicure. I knew he was meeting Elise for a late dinner, but we got carried away.”

“He finally went off to meet her?
On foot?”

Sh
annon nodded and looked at him full-on across the desk. “And I’ll tell you this much. I saw him pocket a container of pills as he was getting dressed. A full container, mind. When I asked what they were for, he said they were aspirin for his headache. He had certainly not been complaining of a headache just minutes before.”

“What do
you think the pills were?”

“XTC, I’m sure of it. He’d tried to get me to take it once at a party, and I recognized the bottle, which is a regular aspirin bottle. He’d got Elise hooked. I could tell he was lying about a headache, but it was like he didn’t care if I knew he was lying or not.”

Rex asked himself whether drugs had been found in Elise’s system, and, if so, that fact had been hushed up. Dick Whitmore had only told him about her alcohol intake. “You think he planned to drug Elise?” he asked. “Why?”

Shannon swiveled this way and that in her chair. “She intended to cancel the
cheque for the loan. I think that snitch of a sister told her about the roses Gino sent me.”

Perhaps this information had been imparted during the Friday afternoon phone conversation with Jennifer. Being stood up at the bistro was probably the clincher for Elise, and she had confronted her fiancé.
That same night she was killed in a hit-and-run just steps from her home. Mere coincidence?

“Did you tell him Elise was going to cancel the fifty thousand pounds?”

“He already knew. I wouldn’t have told him, in any case. He has a filthy temper.”

“
Then you most definitely should stay away from him,” Rex said in a fatherly tone.

“I know. I don’t even like him. He’s just so bloody hard to resist.”

“Resist,” he told her in no uncertain terms, warming his words with a smile.

Eyes downcast, Shannon murmured resolutely
that she would

Now, Rex thought; who had told Gino about Elise’s decision to cancel the
cheque? Three guesses it was Jennifer, trying again to get on his good side—if, in fact, he had one. After some delay getting her phone number, and a good deal of prevaricating on her part, he was able to ascertain that she had indeed warned Gino and had told Elise about the roses. He deduced this last act had been out of jealousy and spite.

Postponing his dinner plans, Rex made for Sloane Car Service to pursue his conversation with Erik Christiansen, which had been curtailed that morning at the cemetery. After the interview he would head back to Wellington House and see what Mr. Whitmore’s housekeeper had prepared for his dinner.
His last meal, a savoury steak and kidney pie coiffed in flaky pastry, had been accompanied by a bottle of rather good claret. Ignoring the rumblings in his stomach, he pursued his destination. Business before pleasure, he reminded himself, especially when the business was murder.

*

He found Erik Christiansen in a subterranean garage lined with luxury sedans polishing the chrome on the silver limo. Dressed in black livery, he straightened when he saw Rex. He was about two inches shy of the older man’s six-four without his cap, which hung from the hood ornament.

“Tell me what you know,” Rex urged the
Howes family chauffeur, sensing that a direct plea would elicit more confidence than a bribe. “I sense there’s something more than you let on earlier.”

“I really don’t know anything. And I don’t want to lose my best client.”

“Sir Howes is the one who retained my services, so we’re working for the same person. Anything you can tell me that relates to his dead daughter, however insignificant it may have appeared to you at the time, would be appreciated. And, hopefully, helpful in finding the driver who knocked her down.”

With a brief look around the garage, Christiansen nodded. “But just so you understand, this is a good gig and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Understood.”

“So, Friday night, I dropped her parents off at a dinner in Mayfair and was cruising around looking for a place to eat, when I saw her leave Presto’s. I stopped the car and she got in. She said she’d been stood up.”

“By Gino?”

“Yeah.
She was close to tears, but more angry, you know? I tried to comfort her.”

“And how did you do that?” The icy Christiansen did not strike Rex as the hugging, soothing type.

“I kissed her. She kissed me back. She was tipsy, that’s for sure. We kissed for a while. It seemed to make her feel better. Don’t tell Sir Howes any of this. She told me she was going to break off the engagement with Gino. Pride had prevented her from calling him to find out where he was, and sometimes he didn’t answer her calls. I thought this strange. Gino was on to a good thing. Why screw up? Elise was rich and beautiful, with a powerful father. Anyway, she finally told me to let her out of the car. She wanted to walk home.”