Seed No Evil (18 page)

My cell phone rang back in the bathroom, so I dashed up the hallway to get it.

“Abby, everything okay there?” Marco asked.

“A-okay. I was just looking out the window to see if there was any damage, but except for some big branches down, it looks fine.”

“Not so fine on the north side of town. They're reporting a number of big trees uprooted from a tornado that touched down. We're okay here. We just got our power back.”

“Here, too.”

“Glad you're safe, babe. I've got to get back to the bar. We've got more business than we can handle. Seems like half the town came in seeking shelter. They're calling it a tornado party.”

I sat down on the sofa, grabbed the remote, and tuned in to the local news just as Simon came creeping out of the hallway, jerking at every little sound.

“Come here, Simon,” I said, patting the seat beside me.

His ears swiveling like twin radar towers, Simon crept up to the sofa and jumped onto my lap.

“Ouch, Simon. We need to trim those claws.”

He sat down on his haunches facing me, as if to say,
I'm here. I'm nervous. Pet me!
So I scratched him behind his ears, trying to put him at ease.

“Damage on the north side was extensive,” the newscaster was saying. “We're now getting reports of destruction in the Fairfield Park neighborhood—roofs ripped off, windows shattered, and two vehicles crushed after a large tree fell on them. A camera crew is on its way.”

A pounding on the door sent Simon running for cover and left gouges in my thighs from his claws.

“Abby, are you there?” Jillian called.

“I'm coming,” I called back. “Hold on.”

I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jillian and her husband, Claymore, standing in the hallway. They hadn't come far; they lived in a three-bedroom apartment at the other end of the hallway. And both looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine ad for Neiman Marcus clothing—with the exception of the sack of potatoes in a pink blanket that Jillian was clutching to her bosom.

“We just wanted to be sure you were safe,” Claymore said.

“I'm fine. Come on in. I was listening to the news.”

Jillian passed off the bundle to Claymore and hurried inside to sit on the sofa directly in front of the TV. Clicking through the channels with the remote, she said, “I want to see if there are any more reports about the tornado that touched down in Fairfield Park.”

“
In
the park? Are you serious?”

“That's what my mom told me,” Jillian said. “You know how she listens to her emergency radio whenever there's a storm.”

“I'll take Storm back to our apartment, darling,” Claymore said, “so you girls can visit.”

“Storm?” I said to Jillian. “What happened to Rain?”

“Live in the moment, Abs. Do you have any Vitamin Water? I'm parched.”

“How about plain water?” I asked, heading into the kitchen.

“If that's all you have,” she called.

I took two bottles from the fridge and grabbed a bag of Snikiddy baked fries, then sat down beside my cousin. “Any news?”

“Not until the camera crew gets there.” She took a handful of the crispy fries and munched on them. “How did your fitting go?”

“The dress fits perfectly.”

“Did you remember to take your high heels?”

“Jillian, how often do I forget important things?”

Jillian studied me, shaking her head sadly. “Of course you forgot. This is why you need me with you for your appointments and why I'll be there when Emily does your hair.”

“Tell me how she's going to do it.”

“No.”

“She'd better not do anything weird.”

“Would I
let
her do anything weird? This is my reputation as a fashion consultant at stake here, remem—”

With a gasp, Jillian pointed to the TV with one hand and grabbed my wrist with the cheese-covered fingers of the other. “Oh, Abby, look! Look!”

“I'm looking.” I searched the scene being shown on TV—several large trees toppled, their branches covering an expanse of green lawn—but judging by the way Jillian kept pointing to the screen, I obviously wasn't seeing what she wanted me to see.

“Look in the background,” she cried.

“I don't see anything.”

“Exactly my point, Abs. They're showing Fairfield Park. See that big tree lying across the grass? That's where your gazebo used to be.”

I
stared at the TV screen in horror. Where my cute little gazebo had once stood, all I could see was part of a raised cement base sticking out from under the tree. As the camera panned the area, I spotted a few pieces of white lumber tossed haphazardly among the numerous large branches that littered the park.

“My gazebo is gone!” I cried in disbelief.

Jillian stared at me with big saucer eyes, as sickened as I was. “I know.”

“I have nowhere to be married!”

I grabbed my cell phone and called Marco, who answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, babe,” he called over loud voices talking and laughing, “I was just going to call you. How's everything there now?”

“The gazebo, Marco, the little white gazebo at Fairfield Park—it's gone. The tornado blew it down!”

There was only bar noise on the other end.

“Marco, did you hear what I said?”

“I don't know what to tell you, Abby. I know it's bad, but these things happen. We'll have to find somewhere else to be married.”

“Somewhere like
where
? We have a week, Marco.”

“Maybe it's a sign,” Jillian was saying in the background. “Maybe it means you're not supposed to get married.”

“You're not helping,” I hissed, covering the phone.

“Listen, Sunshine, we're mopping up water that got in the back door,” Marco said. “We can talk about the gazebo later.”

Sunshine? There wasn't any sunshine where I was sitting. Clearly, Marco wasn't as disturbed as I was.

I tossed the phone onto the coffee table and plopped down on the sofa, staring at the television, my chin in my hands. There went my dream of being married outdoors in a cute little white gazebo, surrounded by family and flowers. “What am I going to do now?”

Jillian put her arm around my shoulders. “There's always a solution, Abs.”

“Really?” I snapped. “Then what is it? You know nothing is available this close to the date.”

“I didn't say
I
had the solution.” She took a swig of water, then jumped up. “Let me go ask Claymore.”

“Jillian, forget it. Claymore isn't a magician. He isn't going to have an answer either.”

Jillian sat back down with a sad sigh. “I wish I could help. You always help me and now there's nothing I can do for you.”

I turned to look at her and saw her brush away a tear. “I'm sorry for snapping at you, Jill. I know you want to help. Marco and I will just have to work something out.”

“You know I'm here for you, Abs.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I think I'd like to be alone now.”

•   •   •

My phone rang as I was closing the front door. It was Mom, wanting to know if I was okay and if I'd heard the news about Fairfield Park.

I couldn't help sighing miserably. “I heard.”

“Honey, don't be sad. I know you wanted an outdoor wedding, but there's always the chapel at church.”

“Thanks, Mom. I've got another call. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Marco's mom was the next caller. She volunteered Marco's sister's backyard, which was a small space filled with a large playhouse and a swing set. After that, calls came in from both of my sisters-in-law, but I let the answering machine pick them up. I was tired of talking about my ruined wedding plans.

That mood lasted until Nikki came home at midnight, and then she had to listen to me whine for a good half hour before pleading exhaustion and escaping to her room.

•   •   •

Saturday

Marco wasn't the type to tolerate whining, so the next morning he tried to snap me out of my funk by telling me that where we got married wasn't as important as I was making it out to be. Sitting at my desk in my workroom before we opened for the day, I rested my chin on my hand and stared at the bare spindle in front of me, feeling about as low as a person, even one who'd flunked out of law school, could feel.

“I suppose,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“With your access to flowers,” he said, “we can make any place beautiful.”

He obviously didn't get it. I had my heart set on having my wedding in a little white gazebo surrounded by a bounty of blossoms in the great outdoors and nothing, not even a grand cathedral, was going to measure up to the romantic vision in my head.

“Was there any damage to Bloomers?” he asked.

“No, fortunately.”

“See? There's something to be thankful for. Now, are you ready to get on with the investigation, or would you rather sit and pout the rest of the day?”

Pouting sounded awfully good at that moment, but Marco was right. I'd wallowed in self-pity long enough to bore even myself. Mustering up about a microgram of enthusiasm, I said, “I'm ready to get on with the investigation.”

“There's my fireball. It's almost nine o'clock, so I'll see you in about three hours. We can have lunch and wait for Emma to show up.”

“Doing any better, love?” Grace asked as she came through the curtain. It was her Saturday to work. Lottie had the day off.

“On top of losing the gazebo”—I pointed to the computer screen—“a paltry two orders came in.”

“I just took a call out front,” she said, “so make that three.”

That would keep me busy for all of ninety minutes. “I thought we'd be swamped with work after my flyer went out.”

Grace cleared her throat. “As English theologian Thomas Fuller said, ‘It is always darkest just before the day dawneth.' You just have to be patient, love.” She put a cup of coffee in front of me. “This is my brand-new brew. I thought you'd find it invigorating.”

“That'll help. Thanks.” I picked up the cup, inhaled the fragrant aroma, then took a slow drink to savor the taste. “This is wonderful, Grace. Hazelnut?”

“Not today. Have you thought about getting married right here at Bloomers? We could decorate the shop in a wedding theme.”

I walked to the curtain and held it open, envisioning how I might turn the shop into an indoor gazebo. “I guess it's an option, but then I'd be getting married in a place of business. That's not exactly the romantic setting I'd imagined.”

The phone rang, so I picked it up at my desk and forced some cheer into my voice. “Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?”

“Abigail,” Mom said, “I just read in the obituaries that Bev Powers's visitation and funeral service are today. Had you heard anything about it?”

“No, I hadn't. That's really short notice, especially for people wanting to send flowers.”

“I hate to speak ill of the dead, honey, but I'd be willing to bet not many people will be sending flowers or even attending the service, for that matter, which may be why Stacy decided to rush it.”

“What a sad statement that makes about Bev,” I said.

“I'm assuming Stacy is the one who planned the funeral. I don't think Bev had any other family in the area. According to the obituary, the visitation will be at Happy Dreams Funeral Parlor this afternoon from three to five with a service at five. I hope the PAR group thinks to send something.”

The other phone line starting blinking, so I signaled to Grace and she hurried into the shop to answer it there.

“I'm sure you're busy,” Mom said, “so I'll let you get back to work. I just thought you'd want to know.”

As soon as I'd hung up with Mom, the phone rang, but before I had a chance to answer, Grace picked it up in the other room. In a few minutes she came through the curtain holding two pink slips of paper.

“Two orders for funeral flowers,” she said, waving the slips. “Did you know Bev Powers was being buried today?”

•   •   •

By the time noon rolled around, I'd done three funeral arrangements for Bev—one from PAR, one from Stacy and her son, and one from the town council—delivered them to my friends at Happy Dreams Funeral Parlor, gone online to change my driver's license, worked on my wedding vows, reconfirmed with the photographer and bakery, and was sitting with Marco in the last booth at Down the Hatch. It was the perfect spot from which to watch the door without being noticed.

After we gave Gert our orders, I brought up the subject of our ruined wedding plans. “I called the park department to see if they would rebuild the gazebo, but they couldn't tell me when—or even if—it was going to happen.”

“I'm not surprised. Nothing happens fast when you have to go through layers of government.”

“I guess we'll have to go back to the original plan,” I said with a resigned sigh.

“Nothing wrong with the church chapel.”

“It's nice but not romantic. I really wanted something romantic.”

“Decorate it with lots of flowers.”

“I wanted something romantic
and
outdoors.”

“How about your mom's backyard?”

“Okay, romantic and outdoors and not on a patio in someone's fenced-in backyard.”

Marco waited until Gert had delivered our iced teas, then said, “I've got nothing.”

“Me, neither.” I resumed my chin-in-hand position. “It's hopeless, Marco. I mean, we might as well get married here.”

“You make Down the Hatch sound like the pits of hell.”

Compared to my little white gazebo, almost. “Is it okay if I start bringing clothing over to your apartment?”

“Of course, babe. Half the closet is empty, and you've got almost the whole dresser to yourself.” He stopped for a drink of iced tea. “I drove out to see Justin Shaw's customer this morning.”

Clearly, that was the end of the wedding discussion.

“When I showed him Justin's photo,” Marco said, “the man didn't recognize him. He did remember a lanky, long-haired guy in a red plaid shirt who had a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek.”

“Tobacco Man,” I said.

“Right. Which means Justin lied about where he was Monday evening. That means another trip to Shaw's Towing.”

“The falsehoods are piling up. That's the third suspect to lie to us.” I paused to take a drink of my iced tea. “Did you call the people on the list Dayton's secretary gave me?”

“Yep, and everyone has verified she was where she claimed to be. We can cross her off the list.”

I waited until Gert had delivered our orders; then I said, “Bloomers closes at three today. Do you want to go see Justin then?”

“He's not open on Saturday afternoons,” Marco said, peppering his stew. “We'll have to wait until Monday.”

“Speaking of Saturday afternoon,” I said, “Bev Powers's funeral service is at five o'clock. Is there any reason for us to attend?”

“It's not going to tell us anything about our suspects, so no.”

“Hey, guys,” Rafe said dejectedly, holding his cell phone. “Emma just texted that she can't make it.”

“Did she say why?” I asked.

“Only that she'd be in touch.” Rafe put his phone in his pocket. “She must be busy.”

Or maybe Emma hadn't wanted to chance running in to Marco or me.
Hmm.
I glanced through the big plate-glass window at the front of the bar. Maybe there'd been no
chance
about it.

“I'll be right back,” I said, then slid out of the booth and hurried to the door. Outside, I scanned the sidewalk in both directions and then the people across the street on the courthouse lawn, but there was no sign of Emma. I was just about to go back inside when I caught sight of her halfway across the lawn. She was practically running and glanced over her shoulder twice, looking back in my direction. There was no way I could catch up with her.

“What is it?” Marco asked, coming to stand by me.

“Emma was here, Marco. I just caught sight of her hurrying away. She must have seen us through the window. She kept glancing back at me like she expected me to come after her. If that doesn't scream
guilty of something
, nothing does.”

“Do we have her address?”

“I'm sure we can get it from Holly or John at PAR.”

“Let's do it then and stake out her home. If Emma won't come to us, we'll go to her.”