Seed No Evil (22 page)

“A
bby,” Lottie said, coming through the curtain, “Eve Taylor down at Icing on the Cake Bakery would like a centerpiece made using this antique cookie tin. She's having a private party at the bakery this evening and asked if we could do something up quickly. What do you think?”

She placed an eight-ounce, tall, round Barnum's Animals cookie tin on the table. It was decorated with red letters inside a yellow banner on a red background, with four small squares on the front depicting cages holding a camel, an elk, an elephant, and a rhinoceros in a sand color set against a pale blue background. The words
National Biscuit Company
ran along the bottom. As soon as I saw it, I knew exactly which flowers I'd use.

“I can do it right now.”

“Great, sweetie. She'll be delighted.”

Basing my design on the four colors of yellow, red, blue, and beige, I set to work pulling flowers. Ten minutes later, I had my blossoms spread out on the table in front of me: Crimson Glory red hybrid tea rose, Cosmic Yellow Cosmos, the beautiful blue
Delphinium belladonna
, and tall, straw-colored wheat stalks. I hummed as I cut the wet foam and placed it inside the tin. All my other cares were forgotten. When I was arranging, I was in a zone.

But I couldn't keep reality at bay for long. Sitting in the backseat of Claymore's BMW, my palms started to sweat as I tried to come up with words to describe Seedy.

“Jillian, I need to tell you a little something about this dog.”

“First of all,” she said, turning to look at me, “we're changing her name to something cute and fitting to her breed. What is she, by the way?”

I pictured the dog and tried to match her image up to the breeds I knew. “Well, I'd say she's part terrier.”

“Yorkshire?” she asked expectantly.

That wasn't what I'd pictured, but Jillian seemed to like it. “Um . . . possibly.”

“
Hmm.
A Yorkie name.” She tapped on her chin. “Let me think. What would be a cute name? Lily? Lola?”

“I like Lily,” Claymore said.

“And,” I added, “considering her coloring, let's go with part beagle.”

“Terrier and beagle mix. Okay . . . In that case, an English name would definitely be appropriate, like Molly or Sadie.”

“I still like Lily,” Claymore put in.

“And maybe some Chihuahua,” I said, “or Pomeranian.”

“Chihuahua
or
Pomeranian?”

“Or both,” I said.

Jillian stopped tapping her chin and turned again to look at me. “What are you saying?”

“Seedy is a mixed breed, Jillian. I'm not that well versed in dog breeds, so I'm not sure what all she is.”

“I'll need to know, Abs. How else will I find the right name?”

“Wait to see what she looks like, darling,” Claymore said. “Some name will speak to you.”

Yep. Probably Seedy.

My phone rang, so I checked the caller name and saw Tara on the screen.

“I set up a meeting with Kyle on Tuesday after school,” my niece said. “I could use help with my algebra anyway, and he's smart in math. So stop at my house at four o'clock and pretend you want to discuss Seedy and Seedling.”

“Got it, Tara. Thanks.” I hung up with her and saw my mom's name appear on the screen. “What's up?” I asked quietly, as the name discussion continued in the front seat.

“I just left the police station.”

“What?” I whispered. “They took you in for questioning? Why didn't you call me?”

“Is someone in trouble?” Jillian asked.

“It's nothing,” I said, waving her away.

“Abigail, calm down,” Mom said. “I'm fine. Dave Hammond met me there, so I was well protected. I answered all their questions, and they seemed satisfied with my answers. Dave doesn't think I'll be called back, but if they do ask to interview me again, he's going to say no, not unless they want to charge me with something. He told me not to worry and he said to tell you the same.”

Dave knew me too well.

“Anyway, I'm on my way home to tell your father all about it. I thought I'd better phone you so you wouldn't wonder why I hadn't stopped by with a new art project.”

Yikes. I'd forgotten all about Mom's Monday afternoon visit. “And I'm so glad you did, Mom! So you'll bring something over tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will. See you then, honey.”

The car came to a stop as I slid my phone back into my purse. We had arrived.

•   •   •

The women at the front desk recognized me at once and were ready to call Stacy, but I stopped them in time. “We're here to see one of your dogs for a potential adoption. Is Brian in the back?”

“Yeah,” one of the women said, punching two buttons on her phone. “Hey, Brian, some people are here to see a dog.” She listened a moment, then hung up. “He says to come on in.”

I led the way up the hallway to the door on the left side and knocked, setting off dozens of barking dogs. A minute later, Brian opened the door and waved us inside.

“We want to see Seedy,” I said.

He took in Jillian's and Claymore's expensive clothing, then looked at me skeptically. “You're sure?” At my nod, he shrugged and ambled down the row of cages.

Jillian and Claymore had stopped at the second cage, and Jillian was letting a medium-sized shorthaired dog lick her fingers. “This one's a Boston terrier, Claymore. I had a dog like this when I was little.”

Brian took Seedy out of her cage and set her on the tile floor, where she promptly sat on her haunches and looked around. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that my cousin was still engrossed in the terrier, so I crouched down and held out my hand, making a clicking noise with my tongue to catch the little dog's attention. She studied me for a moment, then at Brian's urging, started toward me with her awkward hobbling gate. She came up to me and sniffed my fingers, then looked into my eyes and wagged her tail as though she recognized me.

I ran my hands over her head and scratched her behind her big pointed ears. She stopped panting to lick my wrist, then gazed at me again as I smoothed down her fur, which had been brushed but still stuck up at different heights.

Behind me, I heard Jillian gasp. “Oh my God, Abs. Do not tell me this is the dog you want us to adopt!”

“It has three legs!” Claymore announced. “You didn't tell us it has three legs.”

“
It
is a she, and so what if she has three legs? She gets around just fine.” I pulled the dog into my arms and stood up. “Meet Seedy, the sweetest little dog ever.”

“But the dog has three legs!” Claymore said. He clearly could not get over it.

Jillian just stood there with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Jillian, pet her,” I urged.

Scrunching up her face, as though she found the dog distasteful, she reached out and tentatively ran her hand down the dog's back, then drew it away as though she'd been burned. “
Ew.
Bones. I can feel her bones, Abby.”

“I told you she needs to fill out.”

“But you didn't tell me”—she waved her hand over the dog from nose to tail—“all this.”

“You have to look beyond her appearance, Jill. Take a long look into her eyes and tell me your heart isn't melting.”

Jillian stared at the dog, but Seedy was watching me. Jillian put her hands on the sides of Seedy's little face and turned her head, but the dog wouldn't look at her. She wanted to look at me.

“Why don't you hold her?” I said, and held her out.

Both of them took a step back. “No, that's okay,” Jillian said.

“She seems to like you,” Claymore told me. “Why don't you adopt her?”

“Me? I couldn't. I can't. I've never owned a dog. Besides, my wedding is coming up and then I'll be on my honeymoon, and Marco's apartment isn't that large, and I don't even know if he likes dogs.” I looked around for more reasons but couldn't think of any.

Jillian wasn't paying attention. She had moved back to the Boston terrier's cage. “Now
this
dog I like. Look, Claymore. Isn't he cute?”

With a sigh, I knelt down
and set Seedy on her feet. She immediately pressed her little body against my legs and gazed up at me with big hopeful eyes.
“I'm sorry, Seedy. It looks like it won't work out this time. But I'll keep looking.”

She raised her nose into the air and gave a little yip. It broke my heart to watch Brian take her back to her cage.

“We're going to adopt the terrier!” Jillian announced, pressing her hands together.

“Are you sure you won't consider taking Seedy instead?” I asked. “She really needs a home right away.”

“Abs,” Jillian said, “I can't take a dog that doesn't
speak
to me.” She put air quotes around the word speak. “You wouldn't want me to take a dog I didn't want, would you? That would be so unfair to the animal and to us.”

For once Jillian made perfect sense. Unfortunately, it didn't help Seedy's cause.

Maybe my mom would take Seedy. She liked unusual animals.

•   •   •

At five o'clock, Marco and I headed toward Shaw's Towing. On the way, I filled him in on my upcoming meeting with Kyle, my mom's interview with the police, and my failed attempt to get Jillian to take Seedy. “I'm going to work on Mom and Dad next. They haven't had a dog since I was born.”

“They have a llama.”

“You can't cuddle a llama. You can't toss a ball or take it out for a jog. And my dad could use a companion. He's there all day by himself. He'd have to love having a little furry friend around, right?”

“He's the one you need to convince, not me.”

“How about if we stop there on the way home? You can help me talk to them.”

Marco turned a corner before answering, almost as though he needed those few seconds to think. But then all he said was, “I can't tonight, Sunshine.”

“Because of Rafe?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because of Rafe.”

Why did I sense there was more to it than that?

We turned into the gravel lot in front of Justin's building and parked. As we passed by the fenced-in lot, the two Dobermans ran up to the wire and snarled, baring their sharp teeth. What a contrast to shy little Seedy.

When we entered the shop, Tobacco Man wasn't there to greet us. Marco pressed the buzzer on the counter, and a few minutes later a man we'd never seen before came through the doorway in the back.

He wore tan work pants and a matching work shirt with a patch on the pocket that said
Bob.
He had a shaved head and a large tattoo of an eagle on his neck. He looked at Marco, ignoring me, and said, “What can I do you for?”

“We'd like to talk to Justin,” Marco said.

“He ain't here.”

“Do you know when he'll be back?” I asked.

“Hard to say. He had some police business to take care of.”

“Oh?” Marco pulled out his investigator's license and let the guy see it. “We're working with the police. Did Justin mention what his business was about?”

“He just said the cops asked him to come by. So he went by. That's all I know.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Mebbe half an hour ago. He told me to close up the shop at six in case he wasn't back.”

Marco pulled out a business card and placed it on the glass countertop. “Would you see that he gets this? Tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Sure.”

Back in the car, I said, “Sounds like the cops are finally catching up with our investigation.”

Marco had his phone out and was dialing. He put the phone to his ear, saying to me, “I'll ask Reilly to find out what's going on.”

“Hey, Sean. One of our suspects, guy by the name of Justin Shaw, was pulled in for questioning. Any info you can get on that would help.” He put the phone in the cup holder. “Let's see what he comes up with.”

Our next stop was at Luck o' the Irish bar, a half-hour drive north, near Lake Michigan. The bar was a low muddy gray cedar building with a yellow wooden sign over the door sporting the bar's name and a faded green shamrock.

We entered to the smells of stale cigarette smoke, sour beer, and the sounds of an old-fashioned jukebox playing “Satisfaction
.
” The bar itself formed a wide U shape, with wooden stools all around it. On the stools sat half a dozen patrons who seemed to be in a daze, some with their chins propped on their hands, some slumped over. Behind the bar was a former football player type with a thick neck and a buzz haircut.

With his arms folded over his massive chest, he watched us approach. “What'll you have?”

“Two drafts,” Marco said, taking a seat. I glanced at the slouched figure on the other side of me as I climbed onto a stool. He didn't even stir.