The Final Arrangement (25 page)

“He was a charitable guy?”  K.C. said.

“Doubtful,” I said.

“Blackmail?” 

“Probable.  That's what Gaylen Smith said."  I helped stack the clean, dry buckets on a shelf.  "K.C. what do we know about Derrick?”

“Let’s see.  He was a buddy with the guy that was sleeping with the secretary and the real estate developer’s wife.”

“The real estate developer who is also a powerful politician,” I added.

“Derrick was also sleeping with the politician’s girlfriend,” K.C. reminded.

“Did the politician know that his wife was doing the deed with someone?” I asked.

“That’s a good question.  If I was that mortuary I would try to keep every thing that stallion did in the stable.  It wouldn’t be good to have the guy who’s in charge of everything in this state mad at you.  The guy is a real estate tycoon.  If there’s anyone who pulls the strings in this town it’s the guy who controls the land.”  She put her wrists against her hips with elbows out and scratched at the ground with her “hoof” while making neighing sounds.

“K.C., you're right,” I said through my laughter, "a little strange, but right."

"You're probably right about that, Boss," she winked and laughed along with me.

I called Linda back.  First I asked her what Doug’s mother’s maiden name was and she confirmed it was Stanwyck.  I also asked her if the mortuary was involved in any real estate ventures.  She told me they had been working on a plan to build a brand new mortuary and a cemetery somewhere on the east end of Hillside, whenever the right piece of land came up.  She said the drawings were beautiful if they could ever get the right zoning to go through. 

“Linda, I have to apologize ahead of time for this, but it would really help me to figure something out.  Do you think Landon Powell knew anything about his wife and Doug?”

“Well I didn’t even know about it, Quincy, so I can’t imagine he did.  I’m sure she told him she was going to some church meeting every time she met up with Doug.  I’ll tell you one thing I do know.  Doug was an embarrassment to Greg.  Greg did everything he could to push Doug into the background and hide him from people.”

I thanked Linda again and apologized for bringing up such a delicate subject.  She was very gracious, but made it clear she wouldn’t be talking about Doug Stanwyck Lawson Schilling ever again.

I gathered some jewelry tools and sat at the back design table cutting lengths of decorative wire that I would later curl into funky shapes for use in the gala arrangements. K.C. grabbed a towel and some window cleaner to polish the few remaining pieces of new glassware she had unpacked.  “Well?” She blurted out.

“Well, what?”

“What did you find out?”

“Oh, sorry. I got lost in thought about what Linda told me.  Doug was Derrick’s buddy. Gaylen told me they were two peas in a pod.  They must have bragged about conquests to each other.  We can probably assume Doug bragged about sleeping with two cougars at once.  Linda, who would have been a great conquest for him because he was sleeping with his stepfather’s secretary who knew everything about the entire mortuary’s business, and Mrs. Powell, who is married to one of the most powerful men in the state.”

K.C. flipped the towel over her shoulder. “He would have crowed like the cock in a hen house to someone.”  I waited for her to put her hands on her hips again and crow.  She refrained. 

“Right.  But we also know from what Mickey at the restaurant told us, that Derrick was dating Camille LeFay at one point, who was a mistress to Landon Powell.  Why would Derrick, who had previously been dating the Shaw’s
son,
suddenly want to date the mistress of a very powerful man who must have a huge ego, and huge connections?”

“We’re back to blackmail aren’t we?”

“Yes, I think we are,” I said.  “Derrick knew Powell’s wife was sleeping with Doug.  He knew how much this would embarrass the mortuary, who probably wanted to keep good relations going with the guy who could make influential real estate deals including the space for a new cemetery.  He got a new flower shop with guaranteed customer business in trade for him not going to Landon Powell with his findings.”

“Boss, you’re one smart cookie.”

“I don’t know how smart.  I can’t figure out why Derrick would risk the sweet little business arrangement of his by dating Landon Powell’s mistress.  You’d think he’d want to lay low and make some money.”

“Unless he was completely crazy,” K.C. said.  “Or…unless there was a bigger whale to fry.”

“Yeah.  I think I know who that whale is—I just need to figure out for sure why Derrick and Doug would risk messing with him.”

The bells sounded on the front door.  A seventy-ish year old woman came in.  "Hi, how can I help you?" I asked her as I approached from behind the counter.

"I'm just looking!" She shouted at me.

"Okay, well feel free to let me know if you have any questions."  I said politely then retreated to the design room.

"I don't know; I don't see anything I like."  She waited until I had reached the back counter to start talking.

I rolled my eyes, then painted a smile on my face and turned to go back to her. 

"Can I help you to find something, or would you like to look at some pictures?"

"Well I don't know how else I'm supposed to order anything."

Great.  I took a deep breath and walked over to the table with the big selection books from the wire-service companies with photographs of flower arrangements in them.

"What's the occasion?"  I asked in a sweet as molasses voice.

"I need a funeral arrangement for my neighbor.  We took up a collection from forty people in the ward and we want it to be nice."

"Okay, let's look at some of these pictures and see if there is something you like."

I opened the book and we looked at the pictures.  All the photographs of arrangements had price stickers below them. 

"How big is this one here?" The woman asked.

"It's approximately 24 inches high and 18 inches wide."  I explained, even though the dimensions were printed next to the picture.

"Is that a nice one? I don't want to send something small, I want it to look, well, you know."

What she meant to say is that she wanted it to look big.  She wanted it to look bigger and fuller than everyone else’s, but she didn't want to pay more than everyone else. 

"How much will twenty-five dollars get us?" she asked.

I showed her a very small planter that cost twenty-five dollars.

"Is that all?" she said incredulously.  "How about this one, I like this, how much would it be?" she asked, pointing to a large picture in the book.

"That floral spray would be two hundred dollars."  I told her nicely, even though she was pointing right at the price with her index finger.  I could tell by her grimace she thought the price was too high.

"How about this," I said, "since you took a collection, tell me how much you have and I'll make something that looks similar for whatever amount you collected.  It might be smaller in size, but we'll use the same colors and shapes of flowers."

"I've collected thirty-five dollars." Interesting, she collected from forty people and only came up with thirty-five dollars.

"Okay then, we'll make a spray for thirty-five dollars.  What day will you need it for?"

"Well the viewing is on Sunday, the funeral is on Monday.  Will you get it there on Sunday?"

"Yes we can get it there on Sunday for the viewing."

"Now I don't want you making this ahead and delivering it on Saturday, I want the flowers to be fresh."  Of course, none of the wholesalers are open Saturday, so no matter which day the flowers were actually put into a container, they would be the same age, and would have been sitting in the cooler for the same amount of time as the flowers I didn't use.  But it would be a waste of time for me to try and explain.

"I would be happy to deliver these flowers on Sunday afternoon for you," I said sweetly.

"Oh, I forgot.  How does that work?"

"How does what work?"  I plastered the most patient look on my face that I could come up with.

"I'm sure you don't work on Sunday, so how will you get the flowers there?"

"I'll have to come in and make them and then deliver them on Sunday," I said.

"Oh, no.  I'll not have flowers from the ward being made on the Sabbath," she shut her eyes and set her lower jaw. 

"Well ma'am, if I don't make them on Sunday, I'll need to make them on Saturday, which you asked me not to do."

"Oh.  I suppose if you make them up on Saturday, late on Saturday evening, but then you'll be working on Sunday by driving.  And I simply won't pay for something that will break the Sabbath day, I won't."

"How about this? I won't charge you for delivery, and I'll make the flowers on Saturday.  When I come down to the shop on Sunday to pick up my newspaper, I'll just run in and grab the flowers and take them to the mortuary on my way home."

"I suppose that would work.  But if anyone were to ask, you wouldn't tell them you delivered them on Sunday?"

"My lips are sealed."

"All right then."

We finally finished the transaction and I pulled the money from her cheapskate grip of steel and put it into the cash register.  I watched the customer walk all the way out to her car before I turned to K.C.

"Can you believe that?"

"Oh I can believe it.  I went to high school with that shrew."

"Why didn't you come out and talk to her? You could have rescued me."

"Heck, as soon as I saw her get out of her car, I hid.  That old hypocrite.  I could hear her telling you not to break the Sabbath on her account.  That woman nearly runs me over every Sunday after church when she drives down to the grocery store to buy things for Sunday dinner."

"Speaking of hypocrites," I said, "I keep thinking about Landon Powell."

"What about him?" K.C. asked.

“We know he’s got a girlfriend on the side.”

“He’s a politician, what do you expect?”

“He’s also one of the higher ups in the church.”

“Nothing new about that either, Boss.  People can behave badly, make mistakes…sin, even, at every level of the human hierarchy.”

“There’s something missing.  What’s the connection between Powell and Derrick?”

“Oh Boss, don’t make me be vulgar.  The connection is the woman between them.  Well I don’t literally mean between them.  I couldn’t assume that they were into that kind of kinky stuff.  Anyway what I’m trying to say is they both dated the same girl.”

“Yeah, what does Camille LeFay have to do with all this? And why would Derrick risk everything and switch from a boyfriend to a girlfriend under such suspicious timing?”

My cell phone interrupted our musings.  I answered and couldn't hear anyone on the other end.

"Hello? Helloow!"  I said impatiently.

A whisper voice replied, "Quincy, can you hear me?"

"Allie? Where are you?"

She whispered again, "I'm at Brad's condo."

"Allie, why are you whispering?"  I was afraid to ask, because I knew the answer.

"You were right, Quincy," her voice sounded on the verge of crying, but there was too much fear present for her to give in, "he hasn't changed."

"Is he there in the house?"

"No he said he was leaving for 15 minutes.  He has my car keys.  He doesn't know I have this phone.  I haven't used it since we've been back together.  I hid it just in case."

Deep in her heart she’d known he wouldn't change.

"I'm coming to get you.  Try to go to a safe place and barricade yourself in."

"He said he was going down to the store for a minute.  But he said not to try anything stupid like leaving because he would catch me."

"I'll be right there."

I turned to K.C., "It's Allie.  Her boyfriend has beaten her up again.  You stay here while I go and get her."

"Hold on, Boss.  I'm not sitting here while you go running head on like a bull with a bee-sting at a wife-beater.  I'm coming with you.  I know a thing or two about his type.  My husband never laid a hand on me, but his brother used to go after his own wife, until we showed up one day and surprised him.  After that my husband made sure I knew how to take care of myself."  She hurried over and grabbed her purse.  "I'll drive, you just give me directions and get yourself ready."

"Okay," I said with uncertainty.

We hustled out and I locked the door behind us.

###

When we got into K.C.'s car she opened the glove box and reached in.  Her hand came out with a little canister.  "Here, take this and use it when the time comes."  I took it from her and read while she started the car and tore out of the parking lot.

It was a can of pepper spray.  I had the feeling things were going to get ugly.

"How will I know when the time has come?"  I held the can carefully, afraid it would spray me.

"Oh, you'll know.  Trust me, and yourself."

K.C. and I arrived at the gate in front of the "community" of condominiums where Brad lived.  We had to stop at the guard shack and tell him why we were there.  I hadn't thought about this before we left my store. 

"Afternoon, how can I help you ladies?" said the guard.

My heart jumped into my throat, I'm not a good liar and all I could think to say was,
We’re here to rescue my sister from the jerk that lives here
.  But that probably wouldn't get us through the gates.  We could ram through I supposed. 

K.C. piped up without missing a beat.  "We're here to visit my granddaughter Allie McKay.  She's staying here with her boyfriend..."

"Brad" I whispered.

"Brad.  You'll have to excuse me, I'm used to her calling him Sweetie all of the time.  I guess you don't have a Sweetie that lives here do you?"  She smiled coyly at the guard. 

He blushed and chuckled.  "Not that I know of, but I know who you're talking about.  I don't call him Sweetie though."

K.C. and I laughed along with him.

"Go on ahead.  Have a nice day ladies."  With that he waved and we waved and the automated gate slowly started to swing open. 

We pulled up to the condo and as I went to open the door, K.C. grabbed my arm.