Bindweed (13 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Bindweed
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This lame excuse seemed to satisfy Leona. She crossed her legs and unwrapped another piece of cinnamon candy. I glanced at Lois. Her hands were idle. She was soaking up this “girl talk” like a piece of floral foam absorbs water. I nodded to the orders that were her responsibility. Silently, I mouthed, “Work.” Lois rolled her eyes, but picked up a bolt of red ribbon.
The disk of candy clicked against Leona's teeth as she said, “Harmon is a sad man. He's been married three times. He loved Agnes, but didn't want Toby as part of the marriage bargain. I think he's sorry he didn't try to make things work. He's broody and moody and spends too much time alone. A man needs mental stimulation. I learned that in my own life.
“My husband, Herbert, retired about six years ago from a wonderful job in St. Joseph, Missouri. We came to River City because we loved the feel of the town, and we wanted to be close to the lakes so Herbert could fish. He tried retirement for a year, but he wasn't happy. He needed mental stimulation. I understood Herbert wanting to go back to work, but I didn't want to leave River City. I'd settled into life in this small town, and I loved it. It made me feel like I was part of an extended family. But most of all, it was here that I discovered something about myself.”
Leona shook her head. “Talk about a late bloomer. At the age of fifty-eight, I decided that I wanted my own business, serving the women who'd welcomed me when I first arrived in
town. St. Joseph was too far north for Herbert to commute each day. We decided our marriage was strong enough for him to live there through the week and come home weekends.” Her cheeks reddened. “I call him my weekend lover.”
I added three yellow roses to my arrangement. I'd never gotten so much information about so many people without leaving the flower shop. But was everything Leona said fact or fiction? I decided to put her to the test. Giving Leona a smile, I asked, “What about Bretta Solomon? What do you know about her?”
Leona didn't hesitate. “Her husband was the light of her life. When he died she was shattered, but she picked up the pieces and is carrying on very well.” Leona shot me a grin. “I understand she has a new man in her life. She loves her work to the point that she's obsessed. She's friendly, but doesn't take the time to make social contacts unless she's on the trail of a criminal. When she does that, she can be relentless in finding out the truth.”
It was an accurate assessment, though I might argue the “obsessed” part. I'd rather think of myself as dedicated.
Lois was more impressed. “Wow,” she said, eyeing Leona as if she were a soothsayer. “Do me next.”
Leona grew thoughtful. “She and her husband, Noah, are still very much in love. Their children are finally gone from home, but she's taken on the care of a niece. This young lady has given Lois trouble, but seems to have settled down, and is loved like one of her own. But that's the way Lois operates. She's outspoken and blustery but kindhearted.”
“Thanks,” said Lois. “If that's the scuttlebutt floating around town, then I'm pleased.”
I'd finished one order and moved on to the next. This one called for red roses, white snapdragons, and a touch of purple wax flower for filler. As I assembled what I'd need to make the bouquet, I asked Leona, “Did you know Agnes very well?”
“Agnes Sutton was the first friend I made in River City. I met her at the pharmacy. She was nice to me, inviting me to attend a garden-club meeting. I agreed to go though I knew nothing about plants and Agnes wasn't much better.”
I was reaching for a rose but paused at this piece of information. “Agnes didn't know anything about plants?”
“That's right. She was determined to learn, but I'm afraid I didn't have that same ambition. I don't like dirt under my fingernails.” She held out her hands so we could admire her tapered nails that were an inch long. “The deciding factor was when I almost died from an allergic reaction to some poison ivy. Anyway, getting back to Agnes. She wasn't much on flower beds, but she loved shrubs of all kinds. She had heard they were the backbone of any garden. At first she took it slow, planting lilacs and pussy willow along the fence line of her garden. Then she found out she had cancer. She received treatment and the tumors shrank. She went on working at the pharmacy during the day, and gardening in her spare time.”
I nodded. “Then the cancer came back.”
“That's right. Again Agnes received treatment, and for a time she was fine but then the tumor came back. She quit her job at the pharmacy to spend more time with Toby. I thought she needed her job, but she seemed to do okay financially.”
Here Leona paused and sucked thoughtfully on her candy. Musing, she said, “That's always bothered me, how Agnes could quit her job. Yvonne says the railroad gave Agnes a settlement when her husband was killed, but that money had been used up years ago.”
Leona gave herself a little shake before continuing, “Anyway, as I was saying, we all thought Agnes was doing well. But now that I know how short the time was before she passed
away, I can't help but wonder if the disease might not have progressed so rapidly if she'd taken better care of herself.”
I carried the rose arrangement to the back and picked up another container. For this bouquet I chose purple larkspur, red carnations, and yellow daisy pompoms. It was a “Lois” combination. She saw what I was using and flashed me a grin before saying, “Why didn't Agnes take care of herself?”
“She probably thought she was. I blame her early death on the garden. She kept digging and planting shrubs until she exhausted herself. She didn't have any spare energy to fight off the cancer.”
I asked, “I've seen the garden and I don't understand why she planted so many shrubs in such a small area.”
“She was living in the moment, I guess, never thinking about how the little bushes would grow. And she had only so much land. She told me she believed that a person who works the soil is closer to God.” Leona stood up. “I guess in a way she was right. Agnes worked herself into an early grave and right into the arms of Jesus.”
It was six o'clock before I got home from the flower shop. I needed to eat, and I still had to dress and drive back to town for Toby's visitation. DeeDee had left a salad in the refrigerator. In the microwave was a plate that held a piece of poached salmon nestled on a bed of dilled rice. While I waited for the fish to warm, I watched the seconds tic away.
Leona's visit had started me thinking, and I hadn't been able to stop. Early on in my florist's career, I'd learned that it wasn't my concern if Joe Blow ordered roses for someone other than his wife. It wasn't up to me to pass moral judgment if Cindy Lou had a baby at fourteen and wasn't married. Flowers commemorate an occasion, and when the order is placed with my shop, I'm made aware of the circumstances.
Since flowers aren't normally sent to someone who has a gambling problem or has been fired from his job or whose business is about to go belly-up or who missed the chance to marry the woman he loved, then I'd been left out of this particular informational loop.
I'd always considered myself to be in the know when it came to what was happening around town, and yet I didn't have a clue about the lives of the people I saw every day. Leona called our conversation “girl talk,” but was it as innocent as the phrase
suggested? Hadn't we actually indulged in some old-fashioned gossip?
I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't my style to spread rumors, but I willingly listened when people talked. I'd learned that during an investigation, even the smallest piece of information could be a turning point. It was a matter of taking one scenario and following it through to a possible conclusion.
The microwave beeped. I removed the plate of salmon, then juggled it back and forth between my hands because it was hot. I put the dish on the table and sat down. The food was up to DeeDee's high standards, but my appetite was gone. I poked at the salad, eating about half before I pushed back my chair. I covered the leftovers and shoved them in the refrigerator.
At the dining-room doorway, I paused to watch my father and Abigail. The table was piled with papers, books, color charts, and fabric swatches. Clearing my throat, I said, “How's it going?”
They looked up with the same distant expression. My father blinked a couple of times, as if to get me into focus. “Slow,” he said, “but it's coming along. Why don't you join us?”
“I have to go back to town for Toby's visitation.” Trying to keep my tone light, I asked, “It's surely after working hours. I'm not being billed for this extra time, am I?”
Abigail brushed a weary hand across her eyes. “Of course not. The amount stated in the contract is the amount that is due.”
“Do you always spend so much time on a job?”
“I do if it's needed.”
“What about your other clients? Don't they feel slighted?”
Abigail licked her lips before replying. “As I told you, I've cleared my schedule so I can concentrate on this job.”
“The first third of the contractual amount is due. Shall I write you a check?”
Abigail cast a swift glance at my father. “That can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “I understand that you're in a hurry right now.”
I was, but something kept me standing in the doorway watching Abigail and my father. She'd answered all my questions, but I had many, many more. I hesitated to put her on the hot seat with my father right there. He eyed me uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure where I would take the conversation next.
I said, “From the paperwork I've seen, you seem to have every detail nailed down. When will the actual painting and papering begin?”
“Soon,” said Abigail.
My father frowned. “Are you worried that our work won't be up to your standards?”
I lifted a shoulder casually. “Not at all. I've been impressed so far.” I glanced at my watch. “I've got to dress and head back into town.” Abigail nodded and turned her attention to the books on the table. My father followed me out into the hall.
“Are you all right, daughter?” he asked, searching my face. “I know this evening will be difficult. Would you like me to ride along with you?”
I was touched by his concern. “I'm fine,” I said. “I'm meeting Lew and Lois at the funeral home. We're going in together.” I turned to the stairs, but my father put his hand on my arm. When I faced him again, his eyes were sad.
He said, “I don't want you to think I'm fickle, that my interests change on a whim. When we worked that last case together, I felt as if I'd lost five years off my life. It was too much adventure for an old man like me. Working on this house
soothes the creative side of me, and it isn't nearly as dangerous. But if you'd like to discuss Toby's death, I'm willing to listen.” He winked. “I might even offer a suggestion or two or three.”
His last comment had been to lighten the mood, but my throat tightened at the tenderness in his voice. My emotions were fragile due to what I faced in an hour. I mumbled that I'd keep his offer in mind, then headed up to my room. I almost missed the last step as tears blurred my eyes.
 
Funeral homes are an important part of my business life. In the case of Bernard Delaney, we have a friendship that has nothing to do with my flower shop, but everything to do with trust. When my husband, Carl, passed away, Bernard handled the funeral, easing me through decisions I thought I wouldn't have to make for years and years. Bernard had seen me at my most vulnerable, hanging on to the casket, viewing my beloved husband one last time. Bernard kept confidences. He conducted himself and his business with just the right touch of solemnity, but he kept a sense of humor. I admired his integrity but worried about his failing health. When he passed on, our town would lose more than a funeral director. We would lose a man whose faith and love had eased our journey down life's darkest path.
I was relieved to see that Bernard felt well enough to be at the front door. He was tall and lean, with a high forehead and thinning hair. The circumstances called for a solemn smile, which he delivered professionally, but when he shook my hand, he gave it an extra squeeze. That gesture communicated to me that he was aware of my loss and empathized.
I hesitated, blocking the door, but I wanted to ask Bernard about Toby's appearance. If he didn't look natural, I wanted to be prepared. I gazed into Bernard's blue eyes and whispered,
“How does Toby—uh—What I mean is—does he—” I couldn't get the words out.
Bernard bent forward and put his lips near my ear. “I know what you're trying to say, Bretta. Toby looks fine. No swelling. No sting marks. He looks like he's sleeping.”
I drew a shaky breath and nodded. A line was forming behind me. It was time to move on. Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I entered the chapel, nodding to people I knew. Yvonne and Phillip were leaving. I was concerned when I saw Yvonne leaning heavily on a walker. In passing, she explained that her knees were worse tonight. She figured a storm was brewing. Melba stopped to give me a hug. I saw no sign of Leona, but in the crush of people it was possible that I'd missed her.
I dislike visitations. The atmosphere often takes on a party-like feel. People are ill at ease. Laughter is often the outlet for pent-up emotions, but the sound grates on my nerves. It doesn't seem appropriate when the individual who's being honored isn't able to participate. On the other hand, this same group of people wouldn't have come together if it hadn't been for the benefit of the person lying in his casket. It was a paradox, a contradiction of sensibilities as to what kind of behavior was expected. At the funeral service, these same people would be appalled if someone were to laugh aloud, and yet tonight the noise level was high.
As I stood in line to pay my respects to Toby, I looked around the room. I was heartened to see that not everyone was in party mode. Apparently, Harmon had already been through the line. He was off to one side, staring into space. The skin around his eyes drooped. His mouth was turned down at the corners. He looked up, caught my gaze, and nodded a greeting.
What was in his thoughts? I wondered as I shuffled forward. Was Harmon thinking about Agnes? Did he wonder what his life might have been like if he'd accepted Toby as part of his marriage to the woman he loved? Had Harmon loved Agnes so completely that a terrible resentment toward Toby had grown over the years? Had he taken those frustrations out on Toby?
As Bailey would say, these were good questions, but where were the answers?
My gaze drifted past Harmon, to Josh. I tried to catch his eye, but Josh worked hard at ignoring me. His restless gaze dropped to his shoes. He lifted his head and smiled and nodded, but never at me. I kept my eyes on him. I had several questions I wanted to ask him, but high on my list was Leona's comment that Josh had a second job delivering fast food.
I continued to stare at Josh. I don't think he would have acknowledged me if it hadn't been for the man standing near him. He touched Josh's arm and pointed to me. Wasting no time, I motioned for Josh to join me. When he hesitated, I took a purposeful step in his direction. When he saw I was determined to have a meeting with him, regardless of my position in line, Josh strolled over.
“Good turnout,” he said. “How are you doing?”
Conscious of the people around us, I lowered my voice. “I might like a pizza or a hamburger later this evening, and I thought
you
could deliver it.” I stared at Josh long and hard. “You do that, don't you? Or do you only deliver to
certain
people?”
Color flamed in Josh's cheeks. But he kept his chin high and met my steady gaze. “I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a deliveryman. I have my own business—”
“Which is in serious financial trouble,” I finished. “Out of respect for Toby, I'm dropping this—for now. But believe me, you and I will talk.”
Josh didn't seem to know what to do. He blinked at me wordlessly, then turned and hurried away. Lois elbowed me in the ribs. Leaning closer she said, “I don't know what that was about, but you sure rattled his cage.”
I nodded. I felt that Josh was guilty, but was it of only taking advantage of Toby, or had Josh gone way beyond that?
We were about midway in our trek to the front of the chapel. I saw Mr. Barker step away from the casket, wiping his eyes. He walked to a row of chairs and sat down. A woman who I took to be his wife, Martha, sat next to him. They looked like a matched set—short and round, with gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses set on stubby noses. Martha was consoling her husband, murmuring in his ear. He nodded, took a deep breath, and rose slowly to his feet. Seeing me, he crossed the room to get to my side.
“We're not staying,” he said. “I have to get up early in the morning.” His shoulders drooped. “I haven't been sleeping very well. Toby's death has knocked the stuffing out of me. I keep thinking that if he and Elsie hadn't exchanged words, he might have told me if something had happened to bring about this horrible situation.”
“I've been wondering how Agnes went about choosing the people she wanted Toby to work for. I've heard that she was a stickler for healthful foods.” I flashed Mr. Barker a smile. “And while your pastries are the best in town, I'm surprised she asked you to let him work at the bakery.”
Martha spoke up. “We raised eight healthy, well-adjusted children. We understand kids, and Agnes knew that.”
Mr. Barker added, “When Agnes approached me about Toby doing odd jobs, she begged me to keep his diet healthy. I agreed, but I couldn't deny him a cinnamon roll now and again. My kids didn't show any adverse effects, and I knew Toby wouldn't either.”
“On the day Toby died, was there anything different about him? Did he say something to you that seemed ordinary at the time, but now might have a different meaning?”
Mr. Barker scratched his head. “Well, one thing is that normally, Toby didn't come into my shop until late afternoon. That day he came into the bakery right after lunch.”
“Did he say why he was early?”

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