The Final Arrangement (28 page)

I found what I was looking for.  I used the phone on the desk to dial the number on the Rolodex card that said, “Derrick’s cell.”   As I listened to the dial tone the cell phone didn’t ring.  I must have been wrong.  In an attempt to replace the pile of papers to its original state of chaos, I felt something move.  The phone vibrated on top of the stack of envelopes.  The display window read, “Shaw Phone.”  My heart leapt to my throat.

“What’s going on here?” I heard directly above the back of my head.  I jumped in the seat and my legs froze.  I craned my neck to the left to see Irwin Shaw standing over me with only two inches between us. 

“Oh, I couldn’t see the sticky notes, I’m sorry if I disturbed anything.  I was just calling to retrieve my messages while the two of you finished up.”  I was almost sure the pounding in my chest would betray the fear coursing through my body.

“You’re sure you didn’t move anything on the desk?”  Irwin had an intense glare in his eyes, the eyes of someone who wanted to strangle the life out of the woman sitting in front of him.

“No!”  I stood up and my hip knocked an entire stack of papers to the floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry…I…I’ve got to go.  I just got a message from my mother, and it looks like we’ll have to postpone this meeting.  Sorry about the mess.”  I backed up slowly, feeling behind me with one hand so as not to trip over something and get knocked out only to find myself waking up on an embalming table in the basement.  “I’m so sorry, I just, have to leave.”  I had made it to the doorway between the back room and the showroom where LaDonna was still talking to the girl and her mother.

“Quincy, wait, I was just teasing.  You cant’ find anything on that desk without moving things around.  Come back.”

I rushed out of the store without saying goodbye to LaDonna and I had the van in reverse before I even realized I had started it.  Irwin Shaw had the cell phone of a dead man on his desk and I didn’t want to stick around to ask him why.

CHAPTER TWENTY

For the next two days, I kept a low profile.  I showed up at the shop, made sure the display cooler was stocked and that our hospital account was ready every day.  K.C. made sure the deliveries were made and that the people receiving them were happy. 

I had considered calling the police about the gold cell phone—for about a nano-second—and then remembered how successful all my attempts at involving the police had been before.  Besides, my only focus then had to be on the Gala. 

Pre-ordered fresh product began to arrive for the event and we spent the afternoons taking flower bunches out of their plastic wrappers, stripping the leaves and thorns, cutting the ends and then placing them in buckets of water combined with floral food.  All of the bunches would hydrate in buckets for a couple of hours and then be placed in the walk-in cooler. 

The Gala was happening in two days, and the day after that would be the Pioneer Day holiday for the State of Utah.  All the banks and stores would be closed, and I could hide out all day long and sulk.  Until then, K.C., Allie and I would get ready for the big event.  Floral foam bricks had been counted and set aside and would now be soaked.  Longer lasting flowers like carnations, orchids and chrysanthemums could be placed in arrangements a couple of days in advance, and the remainder would be placed the day before.  On the day of the Gala, we finished everything that could be done at the store, and then K.C. and I delivered the arrangements, containers and props to the conference center in three trips. 

We finished the tall cylinder arrangements with colored water and dripping crystal garlands on-site on the dinner tables in the ballroom.  Once everything was finished, we returned to the shop and closed up to get ready to attend ourselves.  Allie decided she didn’t want to go, and I wanted to join in her in the boycott, but K.C. wasn’t having any of it.  She was going to the Gala, and one of us was too, she insisted.  She was right.  I just had a sour attitude, and a green and purple eye socket, but in reality it was very important for me to go and mingle with potential new clients.  

I was on my way to lock the door and go home to shower when the phone rang.  It was a few minutes shy of closing time, so I ran back to the design room and picked up. 

“Hi, Quincy, this is Bryce.”

“Oh hey, thanks for returning my call.”  Bryce had been a floral wholesaler once upon a time, now he grew crops, floral and otherwise.

“No problem, I’ve been out of town doing some consulting.  It’s been awhile since I saw all you folks in the biz, what’s new?”

I didn’t have time to fill him in on the sordid details so I got right to the point.  “Not much.  I just ran across some information on switch grass, and I knew who to call with my questions.”

“Great.  That’s one thing I love to talk about.  That’s the consulting I just finished doing.  What kind of questions do you have?”

“You grow your crops for fuel not for cut crops is that right?”

“Actually both.  I started selling it at Flowertown wholesalers.  Is that where you heard about it?”

“No, not at first, although I called them for your number.  I heard about it as an alternative fuel source in a little pamphlet that I…was given.”

“Oh no.  It’s not that “Fuel of the Future” thing is it?”

“Um yeah, actually it is.”

“Quincy, I’m telling you, stay away from that Derrick Gibbons.  He is poison.  He is a rotten apple, and I mean to-the-core rotten.” 

Bryce obviously didn’t know what had happened to Derrick.  I filled him in after he told me how he knew Derrick’s father really well, and when Derrick decided to go out on his own, he came to Bryce with the idea of investing in Bryce’s farm as a backer.  The only trouble was that Derrick didn’t plan on doing any of the work, and he was really secretive about where his money was coming from. 

“I knew he didn’t have any money from his Dad and he didn’t want to share any financial details with me about where he got his money, so I told him thanks but no thanks.  A little later on I heard about a pamphlet that was circulating.  I think he went about getting investors assuming I would come around.  But I never did.  In fact, I told him that if he ever came onto my property I would shoot him for trespassing.”

“I wonder if one of his investors wanted to collect their money back and he’d already spent it.”  I said.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to do that.  He drove here in a new car every time that he came.”

I thanked Bryce for the information and told him I would say hello to Aunt Rosie when I saw her again.  The list of Derrick’s potential killers had just become substantially longer, and I think I was still being considered a member of that club. 

###

I climbed into the van wearing a full length, pewter evening gown with an empire waist and full-length sleeves. 
Eat your heart out Alex
, I had thought to myself as I donned the dress borrowed from Allie.  She’d never worn it because she had ordered it online and discovered the skirt too long and the bust too tight for her figure.  I lucked out by mentioning my lack of an outfit to wear to the gala before she sent it back.  It fit my bust and my length just perfectly, thank you very much.

I imagined I had just stepped down into a limousine rather than up, into a van.  No offense to Zombie Sue, of course.  But somehow the positive imagery didn’t change the fact that I felt like a truck driver hopping into the cab of my eighteen-wheeler.  No matter.  I wasn’t going there to show off my ride.  I was going there because I had provided the flowers for the event, and because I had a pretty good idea that Landon Powell would be there.  Bigwigs from all-around the state and surrounding areas would be attending to show off how “charitable” they were. And since this wasn’t a local family diner on a weeknight, it didn’t hurt that there would be a cash bar one hour prior to the silent auction.  It always helps to get people liquored up to open their wallets a little wider.  I was going to have a talk with Mr. Powell about his goons following me around and making threats.

When I looked in the rear view mirror of the van I caught the full view of the sickly mustard yellow and pea green skin surrounding my eye socket.  The black eye delivered courtesy of Brad was coming into full bloom just in time for the Gala.  Foundation and powder make-up could only go so far. 

I drove to K.C.’s apartment to pick her up.  I had been given two complimentary tickets to the gala, and since I wouldn’t be going with Alex, K.C. would use the other ticket.  She and I could tear down the arrangements right after it was over.  I warned her to bring a change of clothes and comfortable shoes in order to clean up the event.  She walked out of her apartment as I pulled into the driveway.  A red beehive of hair towered on top of her head.  She wore a tea-length gown of leopard print fabric with a plunging v-neck, and la piece de resistance, bright gold, glittered slippers with a wedge heel and a matching gold sequined wrap.  She also hefted a giant zebra-print shoulder bag accessorized with klunky silver hardware. 

She opened the sliding door of the van and tossed her bag onto the floor.  It landed with a thud.  Seconds later she plopped down in the seat with another thud. 

“Hello Boss!  I’m ready to par-tay!  I’m so excited for this shin-dig tonight!”

“I’m glad one of us is.” I said as I turned and looked at her.

“Holy cow that’s still some kind of shiner!” She yelled as she lurched backwards for dramatic effect.  “You should be proud a that one kid.  You showed some real moxie in earning it.”

“Not really,” I said, “I just tripped as I ran away from Brad’s.  I don’t even remember him giving me this.”  I absentmindedly reached up and touched the swollen area around my eye, which reminded me how much it still hurt. 

“Oh come on now.  Cheer up!  We’re going to a gala.  Who wouldn’t be excited to go to a gala?  I feel like Cinderella going to the ball, and you look great, Boss.  All you need to do is sweep that long hair of yours across your face to cover your eye—like the Hollywood actresses do.  You’ll be right in style.  But wait until you finish driving though, you’re gonna have to cover half your face to hide that beauty.”

“Thanks for the tip.” I said sarcastically.

“Anytime.” She replied.  “So what’s got you so down little camper?”

“Sorry K.C., I don’t mean to be a downer.  It’s just that I know Landon Powell is supposed to be there and he’s…”

“He’s the snake in the grass who hired those two goons to follow your van around!”  She interrupted.  “Well don’t you worry about him.  Those politician types don’t think about anyone else, especially not at a fancy wingding like this gala.  He’ll be concentrating on shaking hands and plastering on a fake smile for all those folks he’s rubbing elbows with.  He won’t even notice you’re there.  Besides, have you ever met him, Boss?”

“No I haven’t.”

“Well there you have it.  He probably doesn’t even know who you are in person.  Just follow my lead and lay low.”

No easy task, when my dinner companion was dressed like a jungle cat in a foil candy wrapper costume.

We arrived at the venue ten minutes later.  The conference center was a brand-new building attached to a hotel in the restaurant row area of Hillside.  The theme for the event was "Moonlight Serenade." We had produced spheres made from genetically modified purple carnations and a variety of arrangements composed of various purple and silver materials.  My favorites were the Blue Vanda and Chanel Blue Dendrobium orchids imported from Thailand.  K.C. and I had come earlier and placed all of the arrangements in the large dining room and the lobbies and silent auction room.  We even put small arrangements in the bathrooms. 

The ballroom looked spectacular with the draped ceiling and suspended spheres of different sizes and materials.  We arrived early just to make sure everything remained in place.  Carol Murphy, the gala coordinator, was there to greet us as we walked in.

"Hello, Quincy and…” she paused to take in the entire picture that was K.C. Clackerton.  “You both look so…festive.”  Carol would make a good politician. 

“This is K.C., you may have seen her earlier today while we set-up.”

“Oh yes, K.C., forgive me, I didn’t recognize you.  You look—breathtaking.”  Carol was quite literally correct and K.C. beamed.  I tried to take in the view of all of our work with the perspective of a newly arriving guest.  And even though I could only see through the one eye that wasn’t covered by my sweeping hair, I felt a great sense of accomplishment.  The flowers and décor created a spectacular scene.

"The flowers look absolutely fantastic,” Carol said.  “There are a couple of ladies on the committee who have walked through already and they would love to talk to you about flowers.  One of them has a daughter who just got enDerrickd.  I'll introduce you tonight." 

"Thank you, I would appreciate that.”  I would just have to pretend that it was perfectly normal to have my hair covering half of my face.  Like an eccentric artist.  Yes, that was it.  I was an eccentric floral artist.

We stood at the entrance to the main ballroom where the catering staff buzzed around the tables.  We spoke with Carol until we were interrupted by the sound of crashing glass.  We both jumped and looked over at one of the waiters trying to right the arrangement he had just knocked over on a dining table.

"Excuse me Carol." I walked over and offered to help the waiter as he frantically tried to put everything back in place.

"I am so sorry." He said.  "I don't know what happened."

"Don't worry about it.  I know how to fix them."  I straightened the tablecloth and the dishes around the centerpiece, picking petals and pieces of purple statice off of the salt and peppershakers and the butter dishes.  He had bumped a cylinder vase enough that the water sloshed out of it.  He said he would have to go get replacement dishes from the kitchen and I asked if I could follow him to find some water and a pitcher to replace what was spilled.

When I stepped into the one-way door leading into the kitchen, it smelled like disinfectant and sour dishrag.  I followed the server into a secondary kitchen with rolling metal shelves full of dishes, carafes, rectangular metal boxes full of silverware, and rolled up napkins.  The nearest sinks had trays of glasses in them, so I walked around the corner looking for a place to fill a carafe with water.  As I walked around a brick wall partition, I heard angry whispering voices.  I stopped, thinking I was intruding on a catering staff conversation.  I quietly pivoted to find my water elsewhere when I heard a male voice say Landon.