Acts of Violets (34 page)

He pressed a button and the top half of the bed brought my head up. “Sean wants to get your statement, if you’re up to it.”

“Water first,” I rasped.

Marco picked up the plastic cup from the portable stand beside the bed and held it to my lips. I swallowed a few soothing sips, then cleared my throat again. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m going to record you,” Reilly said. “All you have to do is answer my questions and speak slowly. Take your time. I’ll guide you through it.” He started the recorder, then stated his name and rank, the date and time, and our location. Then he said, “I’m here with Abigail Knight, owner of Bloomers Flower Shop in New Chapel, Indiana. Ms. Knight, would you tell me what happened this evening, starting with your reason for being at the property owned by Dennis Ryson?”

“First of all, let me state for the record that I knew right from the start that Marco—that’s Marco Salvare, owner of the Down the Hatch Bar and Grill—was not the person who killed Dennis Ryson. Marco is a good man. If he says he didn’t kill someone, he means it. Look at his face. There’s integrity written all over it. And how the prosecutor could think otherwise—”

Reilly stopped the tape. “Abby, you’re not trying to convince a jury. That’s the lawyer’s job. Just tell us what happened.”

“Don’t get testy, Reilly. I was getting to it.”

He threw me a skeptical glance as he pressed Record.

I reached for the cup to take another drink, then launched into my story, trying to make it as concise as possible. “I went to the Ryson home because I had good reason to suspect that the violets on a cake in that house had been coated with a toxin. I thought Ryson’s mother had poisoned the cake—well, actually she’s his step-mother, but what’s important is that I was totally mistaken about her. She really is the most naive person I’ve ever met. Anyway, I was certain the cake would prove Marco’s innocence, and since I had determined that it was most likely in Ryson’s refrigerator, I had to get inside—”

Instantly, Reilly hit the Pause button.

“What?” I asked.

Marco handed me the cup. “Have some more water. You sound hoarse.” He leaned close to whisper, “Skip the part where you break in, okay?”

“Did you really think I would put that on the record?”

After a sip I continued. “I found the cake but it wasn’t in the refrigerator after all. It was on the top shelf of a cabinet, which I thought was an odd place to put it.”

I saw Reilly’s hand motion for me to get on with it.

“Anyway, I’d just managed to get the cake down when Eudora Mazella attacked me and knocked me out. When I came to, my hands were tied and she was ranting about how the cake couldn’t leave the house because it kept away the evil spirits. That’s when she showed me the ground castor bean seeds she’d been adding to the frosting. You’ll find a castor bean plant in Eudora’s kitchen, by the way. The seeds contain a poisonous chemical called ricin, which would have caused Ryson—Wait. Ricin and Ryson? Is that cosmic, or what?”

Marco nudged me.

“Well, it
is
cosmic! Anyway, the ricin would have caused him to be seriously ill, and he’d never notice it in all that sugary icing.” I paused for another drink. The talking was making my throat worse.

“Eudora had been sprinkling powder on his cakes for days, so each time he ate a slice he got sicker, until the toxins built up enough to kill him. The poison would have given him terrible headaches and even hallucinations. And that’s why he acted so crazy on Sunday, Marco. He’d just had a piece of cake. He would have died whether you were there or not.”

Reilly paused the recorder again. “Talk to the tape, Abby, not to Marco.”

“Sorry.” I waited until he hit Record; then I continued. “What amazes me about this whole situation is that even with all her delusions, Eudora was shrewd enough to figure out that those cakes Ryson’s mother brought each week would be the perfect vehicle for his so-called cleansing and purging. She also showed me the key she used to get in. I’m guessing it was a spare she saw Ryson hide outside. She was always watching from her window.

“And because I removed the cake from the cabinet, she had to purge my evil spirits, too. This woman is seriously mental.” My voice cracked again. I knew it wouldn’t last much longer so I ended it with a quick wrap-up. “She started the kitchen on fire, I got my hands loose, and then you arrived. And you know the rest.”

“Is there a chance her husband knew what she was up to?” Reilly asked.

“He knew something was wrong because he warned me to stay away.”

“Did Eudora admit to killing Ryson?”

“Not in those words. She blamed him for her dog’s death and said he had to pay for his sins. But the tox report will prove she poisoned him.”

Reilly turned off the tape. “Okay, that should do it for now. I’ll take this down to the station and have it transcribed, and then tomorrow you’ll have to read and sign it. You know the drill.” He patted my foot. “Take it easy.”

A moment after he’d gone I heard Nikki call, “Abby? Where are you?” Then a white blob came through the curtain. I’d forgotten Nikki was still at the hospital. Her shift didn’t end until midnight.

“I just heard what happened from the X-ray tech. Omigod, Abs, look at you! Your eyes, your hands, your wrists . . . Are you in pain? Stupid question. How could you not be in pain? Did they give you something? Wait! Don’t answer. Just nod.”

“Nikki, you’re giving me a headache,” I rasped. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

“She’s had a rough day,” Marco said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I just got so scared when I heard the news that I freaked.” Nikki burst into tears. “I mean, she’s my best friend. We grew up together. I’m not normally like this, you know. Ask Abby. Wait. Never mind. That was dumb. Don’t ask.”

Her beeper went off, so she grabbed a tissue from the box beside my bed, blew her nose, then was all business again. “Are they keeping her here overnight?”

“Depends on the X-ray,” Marco said.

“I’ll go check it out. Oh, I almost forgot. Be expecting some visitors.”

“Now?” Marco asked.

Nikki checked her watch. “Yeah, pretty much.”

I lifted my head. “Nikki, what did you do?”

She was back at my side immediately. “Abby, don’t hate me. Your mother made me swear that if anything ever happened to you I’d call her at once. I’m sorry, but I had no choice.”

I laid my head back with a groan.

“I called Lottie and Grace, too,” she added.

“I’m out of here,” Marco said.

I clutched his arm. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”

From outside the curtain I suddenly heard a woman call, “Where is she? Where is the little bambina who saved my son’s life? Stand back. Let me through, do you hear? My son’s girlfriend is here and she needs me.”

I turned my head toward the smudge that was Marco. “You called
your
mother?”

“She was there when Reilly came to get me. I had to let her know what happened.”

The curtain was swept back and a dark blur bustled toward my bed. At once I was engulfed in a cloud of Italian seasoning, which was a big improvement over sage and smoke.

“Oh, my poor bambina! What a brave thing you have done. How will I ever thank you?” She peppered my cheeks with noisy kisses. “Look how pale you are. Have they fed you? Marco, hand me my bag. Mama Francesca will take care of everything.”

She took a shopping bag from him and produced something wrapped in shiny foil. “There’s nothing my cannoli cannot fix, eh, Marco?” She swept a plate under my nose, but I couldn’t smell a thing. My nose hairs were singed.

There was more commotion outside, then Mom rushed in, Dad in his wheelchair right behind her. On their heels were Lottie and Grace, and suddenly everyone was chattering away and hugging one another and me. Behind them came the nurses, shushing their loud voices and trying to shoo them all out, but no one paid the least bit of attention. Marco whispered good-bye in my ear, then disappeared. The rat. He braved a fire to save me but cowered before a few hyperventilating middle-agers?

“My poor baby!” Mom cried, and I was hugged again. She pulled back to examine me, decided I wasn’t in any grave danger, then began to scold. “Do you have any idea the fright you’ve given us? Just wait, young lady. One of these days you’ll have a daughter who’ll scare you half to death.”

“It is always so with children, yes?” Francesca said to my parents, shaking her head at me. “They’ll rip your heart to pieces every time. Have a cannoli.”

“Don’t listen to those clucking mother hens,” my dad said. “You’ve made us proud, honey. You’re a brave woman. I hope Marco appreciates what you did for him.”

Right. He appreciated it so much, he deserted me.

“Yes, you are brave, sweetie,” Lottie said, patting my foot. “You said you were going to find the killer and you did. You hung in there even when there was nothing left to hang on to. I’m so proud I could burst my buttons . . . Why, thanks, Mrs. Salvare. I
will
have one of your cannolis.”

Grace stepped up to the end of the bed. “What’s important is that you persevered, dear. As John Quincy Adams said, ‘Courage and perseverance have a magical talisman, before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish into air.’ ”

I clapped my hands over my ears. “I never want to hear about magical talismans or ghost or spirits or any other kind of supernatural gobbledygook again.”

Everyone stopped talking and stared at me. So naturally I had to explain about Eudora, which left me once again with no voice. In the half hour that followed, I was coddled and cuddled and stuffed with sweets, surrounded by everyone near and dear to me. Almost everyone, that was. Nikki was back on duty in the X-ray department, and Marco, well, I’d deal with him tomorrow for abandoning me in my true hour of need.

Still, although I loved each one of them and normally wouldn’t mind being the center of attention, after having my hands tied and my skin ripped, and then nearly suffocating in a smoke-filled kitchen, well . . . being trapped in that tiny cubicle and smothered with all that love and attention, not to mention cannoli, was enough to make anyone feel claustrophobic.

At last the curtain parted and a nurse in blue scrubs pushed a wheelchair up to the bed, scattering the clucking women. “Excuse me. We need to take her down for another X-ray.”

That was the first time in my life I actually looked forward to being zapped.

Another nurse helped shift me to the chair; then I was wheeled out of the cubicle.

“We’ll be here when you get back, Abigail,” my mother called.

Maybe I could talk a doctor into sedating me.

Down the hallway we went, into a deep elevator. Another figure in blue scrubs joined us for the ride to the ground floor. The elevator door opened and I was whisked up a hallway. But instead of stopping at the X-ray department, we moved past it, all the way to the end, where a set of automatic doors let us outside.

I sat up, blinking ointment out of my eyes so I could see. “What’s going on?”

A deep, familiar voice off to the side said, “You didn’t really think I’d abandon you, did you?”

I turned my head and there stood Marco, leaning against the hood of his car. Although he wasn’t much more than an outline to me, he couldn’t have looked sexier even viewed in high definition.

My heart expanded several times over as he uncrossed his arms and sauntered over. He gave a nod to the nurses, who slipped back inside; then he scooped me out of the chair into his arms. “Ready to go?”

“You bet I am. But what do we do about our parents? And Lottie and Grace?”

“Nikki is on her way there right now to tell them about a celebration party at my bar, and that you’ve been sent home to rest under strict orders by your physician, not to be disturbed until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“My physician?”

“Your
personal
physician.” Marco lifted a dark eyebrow, setting off tingles in places I didn’t even know
could
tingle. “Doctor Salvare, at your service.”

Whoo, boy.
Personal physician, knight in shining armor, all around great guy—what more could a girl ask for? Hmm. Well . . .

“So tell me, Dr. Salvare, do you make house calls?”

“Depends on the problem.” He slid me onto the passenger seat, then pulled my seal belt across my lap. “Want to tell the doctor about it?”

I walked two fingers up his arm as he clicked the belt into place. “Well, Doc, my symptoms started Saturday at the Pickle Fest, when this incredibly sexy guy gave me an ice cream cone. Now, whenever I think about that moment, my pulse races, my stomach flutters, and my skin becomes acutely sensitive to the touch of certain males, resulting in a disturbing sensation of melting, and I don’t mean the ice cream.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is.” My fingers reached his jaw, covered now by a trace of stubble. “And that’s not the worst of it. I also get this uncontrollable urge for something tall, dark, and—sweet.”

“An uncontrollable urge?” Marco’s mouth curved up in that wicked little way of his; then he leaned closer to kiss me, his lips making featherlight contact with mine, temptingly, playfully hinting at more tingles to come. “That’s my specialty.”