The Final Arrangement (17 page)

“Did you have any deliveries at the Hansen funeral home?” He asked.

“No.  Oh wait, yes, I delivered a planter there.”

“Were there any funeral services that night?”

“No, just a viewing right before the funeral the next day—the day they found Derrick.  It was for the Jackson services,” I answered.

“Why would you take the delivery the day before if there weren’t any services?  Don’t the flowers die or something?” 

“No, a planter is a container with living plants actually growing in the soil.  I took it the day before for that reason.  That way I could save myself some stress the next morning by not having to wake up early just to deliver a single item when it’s perfectly all right sitting in the flower room over night.”

The phone started ringing just as a customer came through the door.  Cindy helped the customer in the store, while having to just let the phone ring.  The middle-aged woman tried to pretend not to glance over at the tense conversation in the corner while Cindy readied an arrangement for her.

“You know, I really need to get back to work and help Cindy out.  I don’t know what’s going on or why you are asking me these questions.  I really don’t see how it helps you to understand Derrick any better.  I didn’t even know him that well.  Besides, what does that have to do with whether I had any deliveries or not?”

“Ms. McKay,” the detective looked at me with a cold stone face, “you were the last person other than the staff to be seen at the mortuary in the late afternoon the day before they found Mr. Gibbons.”

“And…?”

“And,” he said in a loud voice, “it has been said that you didn’t like Mr. Gibbons.  In fact, it has been reported that you had an altercation with him at the mortuary.” 

Oh that.  It shouldn’t be too hard to explain.  To a normal person who didn’t have it out for me. 

The detective stood.  “You know, I’ve had enough of your playing dumb.  You’ve said to more than one person that you didn’t like what Mr. Gibbons was doing, and it’s been reported that you even admitted to wanting to kill him.  You’ve complained to the mortuary staff about the decrease in business caused by them using the services of Mr. Gibbons.  That sure sounds like a motive to me.” 

“A motive for what?”  I yelled.  Had this guy just accused me of murder?  I stood up and pointed at him.  The only trouble was, as I had been nervously sitting there, I had put my hands in the pockets of my apron to keep from wringing them in front of him.  One of my Victorionox florist’s knives had been stowed in the pocket as usual.  The florist’s knife is a part of my hand.  There are very few instances when I put it down while at work.  Of course I held the knife in my hand, slicing through the air as I pointed toward him.  I always talk with my hands.  The knife was more of a third index finger than a tool. 

“Now you listen to me,” I shouted as I pointed.  “How dare you come into…”

“Put your weapon down,” Detective Arroyo yelled.

“My weapon?”  I looked down at my knife.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I laughed, “I’m so used to holding one of these; I didn’t even realize it was in my hand.”

“Put the weapon down!”  He yelled even louder this time, and then he drew his gun on me! 

I slammed the knife down on the table.

“Mrs. McKay, I am placing you under arrest.”

“It’s not Mrs., and you’ve got to be kidding me!”  I shouted.

“I am not kidding.  I’m placing you under arrest!”

“Under arrest for what?” 

“For attempted assault on an officer with a deadly weapon.  And resisting arrest.” 

“What?”  Before I knew it Arroyo had put the gun away, pulled out the handcuffs, grabbed my wrist and whirled me around.  With my hands held behind my back he tightened the cuffs around my wrists until they squeezed tight. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

My arrival and subsequent booking at the police station constituted a ridiculous circus act, which I made sure to tell the detective at every possible moment.  Arroyo obviously had a reason to dislike me before we met.  I had no idea why, and any attempts to ask him about it in the five-minute ride to the station were completely ignored.  He definitely liked getting attention whether it was from people noticing his spiffy appearance or my customers and his co-workers seeing him arrest the most unlikely armed and dangerous criminal there ever was. 

He delivered his hardened criminal amongst stares of confusion from dispatchers and fellow officers.  The Hillside police department building is small, so pretty much everyone on shift at the time was there to watch the show.  He led me to a plastic bucket seat chair with metal legs next to a desk.  I looked over at one of the faces looking at me in bewilderment. 

“Hey, Kathy.”  I said in a shaky voice.  There was no possibility of keeping my dignity intact then, because there was no dignity to be had, but it would have been rude not to say something.  Kathy and I were in the same graduating class in high school.  I could feel the scarring that was likely occurring on the skin of my cheeks due to the bonfire going on just under their surface. 

I asked to speak with Officer Cooper but was told he wasn’t available.  Luckily, inspiration struck at the right time with the name of a customer who also happened to be a lawyer.  Kathy looked up his number for me, probably at the risk of getting in trouble, and I made the call, balancing the phone between cuffed hands. 

After sitting in another room in another plastic chair for two hours, I was given notice I could leave.  There was no questioning, no talking, nothing during the entire two hours.  Once Arroyo led me to the chair, I never saw him again.  Kathy came and unlocked my handcuffs.  Since I had been given a “ride” to the police station, I needed to find someone to give me a lift back to the shop.  I tried Allie’s cell phone, she didn’t answer.  I didn’t call the shop; Cindy would have to leave in order to come and pick me up.  I tried Alex’s phone three times, each time the voicemail answered on the first ring.  He obviously didn’t want to be reached.  So I called someone I knew I could count on and that person was Danny Barnes. 

There was no need for anyone to tell me when Danny arrived.  I heard.  Along with the rest of the building and the court complex next door.

“Where is she?”  A high-pitched voice demanded.  “You people don’t know who you’re dealing with.  My uncle is the Mayor and I am so calling him as soon as we get out of here.”

Kathy opened the door to the room where I sat, and rolled her eyes.  “Quincy, you can go now.  Hurry up and get Danny out of here.” 

I got up and nodded at her, downtrodden and embarrassed. 

“Quincy!  Are you all right, my dear?” Danny’s arms flailed into the air as he rushed toward me.  His usually perfectly aligned dark hair fell down on his forehead, but he did remember to put on his suit jacket. Although he had forgotten to remove his apron.

“I’m fine.  Thank you so much for coming.”

“Oh, Roxie,” he started to get red in the face and fanned his hand in front of it.  “Oh,” he bit his lip and appeared to fight back tears.  “You don’t have to thank me.  Just tell me all about it when we get in the MAV.”  Danny was referring to his Chevy Suburban with the acronym for Mormon Assault Vehicle.  When the mammoth vehicles were first introduced, it became the in-thing for every large Mormon family to get rid of the tired old station wagon and buy one of these Jurassic-sized transport vehicles. 

I recounted the farce that was my arrest to Danny.  As he pulled up to my store I asked him not to tell anyone, especially not anyone in my family about what had happened.  My mother’s spy network was vast and always on the look out.  Danny promised, and then argued against just leaving me at my store.  I assured him I would close early, that I just needed to pick up my van.  He dropped me off, and then headed back to his shop.

I opened the door as quietly as I could.  I felt so humiliated; I just wanted to blend into the walls.  If I didn’t have to make sure Cindy had a replacement when her shift was over, I wouldn’t have set foot anywhere near the place where I had been arrested.  Of course as I opened the door, the chimes sounded out as loud and clear as they had ever done. 

I cringed and looked toward the front counter.  Surprisingly Allie stood there instead of Cindy.

“Hi.  What are you doing here?”

Allie looked sympathetic or embarrassed; I couldn’t tell which.  “Cindy called and told me what happened.  She said she had a date tonight.” We both rolled our eyes, since Cindy had a date every night, “She needed to leave early, so I came in for her.”

“Thanks Allie.” Exhausted, I barely eked out the words.

“Quincy,” Allie’s tone told me what she was going to say next.  “I just wanted to say I know you’re mad at me about Brad and…”

“Let’s not talk about that now, Allie.”  I was too drained to think about another jerk.  I’d had my fill in that category for the day.  “I’m so glad you could come in for Cindy.  What did she tell you about what happened?”

“When she called at first, she said you had just been hauled off to jail.  Then of course I freaked out and asked her for an explanation.  She said she heard the cop say you pulled a weapon on him.  What the heck, Quincy?"

“Yeah, I tried to jump a cop in my own store with a floral knife.”  My voice left no room for doubt that I was being sarcastic.  “He was asking me some questions about Derrick, and I was talking with my hands like usual,” I looked down and noticed my hands moving as I talked, “and my knife happened to be in my hand.”

“What?” Allie's mouth hung open.

Arms folded, I turned my head to the side and mumbled out the words, “Assault with a deadly weapon and resisting arrest.” 

“How did you get out of it—I mean, why aren’t you in jail?”

“I called…”

“Alex?” Allie interrupted, her hands clasped hopefully in front of her.

“No, not Alex.  Well yes, actually.  I tried to get a hold of Alex, but he couldn’t be bothered with my little hassle of a problem.  I called Cal Denny.  He’s one of my customers and a defense attorney.  He’s good too.  I didn’t even have to see him; he just got me out of jail over the phone.

“I am so sorry, Quincy.  You need to go home.”

“I agree.  You don’t mind staying?”

“Nope, I don’t have any plans until seven.  Then Mom wants me to go to a ward barbeque with her.  She doesn’t want to go alone.”

Suddenly the fiery churning was back in my stomach.  Worse than when I was being arrested.  “Allie!” I reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders.  “Does Mother know what happened today?” 

She looked back at me; eyes wide open.  “Are you crazy?  I’d rather be drenched in soda pop and tied up to an anthill than to tell Mother any news like that.  I was in the living room when Cindy called my cell.  Mom was down in the laundry room.  I don’t think she heard anything.”

“But you’re not sure?  You don’t sound too confident.”

“Quincy, I’m sure.  She didn’t hear.”

“Okay, good.  I’ll live another day.” 

Allie took over the reigns and I took off.  I shut off my cell phone and got in the van.  I sat in the seat and stopped just short before I put the keys in the ignition.  It was so perfectly quiet and warm in the car.  I could shut my brain off for just a moment, forget all of the stress and humiliation from the day, and the frustration of not being able to talk to Alex. 

But the trouble was, I couldn’t shut off the feelings about Alex.  Why wasn’t he available?  He didn’t tell me he would be out of town.  He said nothing about being unreachable by his cell phone.  I thought he would at least check his messages at some point during the day.  But there was nothing from him.  Not a peep.  I began to worry.  What if he thought I was calling him too soon after a date?  Did he regret kissing me?  That was it.  My desperate calls from the police station had been taken as a sign of aggression after a first date.  How could I be so stupid?  Here I had been telling him how I didn’t want to get serious, how I didn’t need a man in my life, and the day after our first kiss, I go to his workplace and hound him on the phone—or so it would seem to him.  Great.  Just great.

It dawned on me that the gala for the county fundraiser was coming soon and that many important people with a lot of connections would be in attendance.  I would be doing the flowers for the gala and I needed the people who would be there to see my work and call me for their own flower needs.  They would avoid me like the plague if they knew I had been arrested and what I had been arrested for.  I turned the key in the ignition and switched on the radio.  Since I couldn’t turn my brain off, I would tune it out with some AC/DC.

When I got home, I pulled as far down the driveway as I could and headed straight for the back door.  No stopping for mail or chatting with neighbors.  I didn’t want anyone to see me.  I couldn’t bear one moment of human interaction. And heaven help the bad guy or ex-relative who might just be lying in wait with a welcoming gift. I wasn’t in the mood to do my usual security check.  If I ran into one of them I would have a real reason for going to jail when we were finished.

I entered the kitchen and walked directly to the phone that sat on a little table.  Out of habit I picked it up and heard the beeping sound that meant I had voicemail.  I hung up the phone.  I could listen to the messages later. 
Although
, I picked the phone back up; what if Alex had left a message? 

No.  I put the phone down with emphasis.  Alex could wait.  He’d made me wait all day hadn’t he?  Instead of listening to voicemail, I decided to take a shower to get the over-zealous detective stink off of me, along with a number of other things that had probably hitched a ride after my visit to jail.  Okay, so it wasn’t really jail, it was a holding cell, a room really, but it was the same difference to me.  I didn’t want to imagine all of what I could have picked up.  The possibilities were just too frightening. 

I stood under the water in the shower until the hot water completely ran out.  I took my time drying and styling my hair.  I didn’t feel much like eating dinner, but I thought I should probably have a little something.  Comfort food was in order.  I opened the cupboards and stared inside waiting for something to shout at me to pick it up and prepare it.  Nothing took the bait.  I perused a second, then a third time and finally the boxed macaroni and cheese got the nod.  I set the water to boil and thought perhaps I should go ahead and listen to the phone message so as not to watch the pot into not boiling.