Bindweed (17 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Bindweed
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With another funeral looming on the horizon, I had flowers to order. I took a pad of paper and a pencil and went to the walk-in cooler in back to check on what I had in stock. Flowers are best kept at a holding temperature of thirty-four to thirty-six degrees. It was cold, but I was hot. Hot with anger, flushed with outrage that someone I knew was so devious, so without conscience that they could set Leona up for such a cruel death. She had prided herself on her looks. She'd taken care of her skin, using creams and oils. She'd been a businesswoman, conducting herself with honesty and integrity.
She talked too much
, said the voice in my head.
Leona's tendency to chatter was probably the reason she'd become the killer's target. Had she died knowing something that had placed her in jeopardy? Or had she already spilled the beans and none of us recognized the importance of what she'd said?
Since I was gearing up for a woman's service, I made a note to order pink roses, stargazer lilies, blue iris, golden solidago, calla lilies, lavender gladiolus, and hot pink gerbera daisies.
The cold seeped into my bones, but still I lingered, trying to make sense of the information that had come my way. If the bottles of toiletries that had been left at my back door contained something toxic, then the killer must have felt that Leona had
given me some morsel of wisdom that might clue me in. What could it be?
To my growing list of cut flowers, I added baby's breath, caspia, purple waxflower, and some asparagus fern.
I stared off into space, replaying the conversation we'd had. Leona had reduced everyone's life to a neat and concise little package. She'd done it so seamlessly that I had to believe she'd said those same words to others. What word or phrase had provoked a murderous response?
Leona had said she'd witnessed Diana flirting with Toby. Phillip had misused a company's grant money, but he'd been reprimanded by being fired. I'd found out why Josh spent so much time at fast-food restaurants. Leona had said that something had bothered her about Agnes and her job at the pharmacy. I thought hard, but I couldn't remember what she'd said.
My teeth were clenched against the cold. It was time to move on. I stepped out of the cooler and came face-to-face with Lois.
“If you're going to set up camp in there,” she said, “you'll need this.” She held out a sweater.
I waved it away. “I'm fine, but thanks. At first the cold felt good, but now I'm chilled.”
As we walked back to the workroom, Lois said, “Lew and I figured you needed a quiet place to do some heavy-duty thinking. Did you come up with anything?”
I shrugged. “Just that Leona liked to talk. You heard her, Lois. Did she say anything that might give us a clue as to who's behind this?”
“If she did, I didn't pick up on it.”
Lew said, “The time element seems like it should be significant.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Who has time to go out in the woods and scout around for a
hornet's nest? Or for that matter, collect enough poison-ivy vine to get enough sap from this cold-press method Sid mentioned.”
Lois said, “It's not just the time. The act itself is insidious. What kind of person dreams up putting poison-ivy extract in bubble bath? It's so simple, and yet horrifying. When I found the basket by the back door, I figured it was the banker's wife thanking us for the fabulous job we did on the ‘lighthouse extravaganza.'”
Lighthouse?
I frowned. That word conjured up a feeling of something left undone or unresolved.
Lew interrupted my thoughts. “Bretta, we made a decision while you were ‘cooling' your heels.”
I made a face at his lame attempt at humor. “And what would that be?”
“Lois and I are going to stay here instead of attending Toby's funeral service. It's raining, but more important, since Leona has passed away, we figure we'll be busy this afternoon.”
Rain? I glanced at the front window. Big, fat raindrops splattered against the plate glass. “Great,” I muttered. “Just great.” I sat down at my workstation. Propping my chin up with an elbow on the table, I sighed. “You're probably right. I'm sure some of the businesses along Hawthorn Street will be closed. I could do that, but life goes on. Since both of you have this place covered, I'm going home. I didn't bring a change of clothes with me, and I don't have an umbrella. I was in too much of a hurry to get to the hospital this morning to talk to Sid.”
Lois chuckled. “That's not the way I'd want to start the day.”
I would have come to Sid's defense, but to my surprise Lew beat me to it. “He's not so bad.” Lew's face reddened. “What I mean is, he could have ripped into me, but he listened, asked some questions, and then thanked me for coming forward.”
“Sid thanked
you?”
said Lois in wide-eyed wonder. “He must have been tripping on a morphine drip.”
Lew shot her a sharp glare. “He was on pain medication, but he was rational. He understood what I told him and responded like a professional. In a calm, reasonable manner he reprimanded me for not going to him sooner.”
Lois snickered. “Sid might have behaved like a professional, but he won't forget. He'll keep digging at you like he did earlier when he asked if you were holding out on him—again.”
“You're going to bring up this subject over and over, aren't you?”
A customer came in the front door. Lois went forward to help the woman, but before she rounded the front counter, she looked back over her shoulder. “If it suits my purposes,” she said.
Lew grumbled, “That woman is the most—”
The phone rang. I waited for Lew to pick it up. When he grabbed an order form, I knew it was flower shop business. I took advantage of the opportunity and headed out the back door.
By the time I unlocked my SUV, I was soaked. I put the vehicle in motion, switching on the windshield wipers. Rain filled the gutters and dumped in abundance on asphalt. With nowhere to go, the water pooled in low spots, creating miniature lakes and streams. Lightning flashed in the distance. I counted the seconds. The thunder rumbled at seven. According to folklore, that was supposed to mean the main part of the storm was seven miles away. I grimaced. My surroundings didn't corroborate that old prophecy. Rain was falling as if it was being poured out of a bucket.
Passage on Hawthorn moved at a crawl. I figured if I kept my eyes on the car in front of me, I could safely let my mind
wander. Since today was Toby's funeral service, it seemed only appropriate that I use this unexpected downtime to think about him. I didn't want to shuffle among the facts connected with his murder. I wanted to remember his sweet nature. The naive way he had of looking at ordinary events and other things.
On the day of his death, he'd been fit and healthy. Lois had asked if he'd been working out. I grinned when I recalled Toby's response. He'd stuck out a tanned leg and said it was as “strong as a spider's web.”
I sped up as the car in front of me made a right-hand turn. Closing the gap, I pondered Toby's odd remark. It was strange that he'd use a spider's web as a comparison to something as strong as a leg muscle. And yet, according to Lew, Toby's comparison was quite accurate.
The rain was letting up and traffic was moving more quickly. I concentrated on my driving, squeezing through a couple of yellow lights and finally making a left-hand turn onto Chestnut.
Now that I was out of heavy traffic and on the road home, I resumed my thoughts, but quickly made a face. Forget the spiders. Think about Toby. But the first thing that came to mind was Melba's painting of the giant spiders dropping nets on Dorothy in the haunted forest. The painting had been a creepy rendition of a scene I'd never liked in the movie.
I turned into my driveway and idled up the lane. I was weary and glad to be home, even if it was only for a short time. I wondered how Toby felt when he came home. Did he dread going into the house? Or was he excited to have movies to watch? I wondered what kind of mood he was in when he got home the day he died. Lew had watched Toby park his bike on the porch and enter the house. I hadn't thought to ask Lew if Toby had seemed upset. But I could remedy that with a phone call.
I pulled into my garage with a flourish and hurried into the house. As always, good smells welcomed me. I sniffed as I made my way to the kitchen. DeeDee had her back to me, her gaze on the television set in the corner.
“Hi,” I said, going directly to the phone.
DeeDee jumped. “Bretta. You scared me. My mind was on the t-trinity.”
I glanced at the TV screen. No surprise there. The set was tuned to a cooking show. Curious, I asked, “What does a trinity have to do with cooking?”
DeeDee grinned. “Everything.” She held up a finger. “One is onion. Two is c-celery, and the th-third is g-green pepper.” She glanced at the television screen and then back at me. “I'm no e-expert, but I think there should be f-four because nothing says flavor like a h-hunk of garlic s-sautéed in olive oil.”
“In my book you
are
an expert, sweetie.” I matched her grin with one of my own. Pointing to the hot pan on the stove, I said, “Carry on. I have to make a phone call before I dress for Toby's funeral.”
DeeDee nodded soberly. “It's a dreary day for such a s-sad occasion. Don't forget to t-take an umbrella.”
I agreed and lifted the receiver from its resting pad. I touched the familiar numbers and after a couple of rings, Lew picked up. In a highly professional voice, he announced, “The Flower Shop. You're speaking with Lew. How can I assist you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Hi,” I said. “It's Bretta. You're just the person I need to talk to.”
The professionalism disappeared. In a dull, flat tone, Lew muttered, “Oh. What's wrong now?”
“Nothing is wrong,” I stressed impatiently. “I want to know how Toby acted when he arrived home the other evening.”
“We're kind of busy here. Is this important?”
My tone sharpened. “Lew, the faster you answer, the quicker you can get back to whatever it is you need to do.”
“I don't know. He shuffled along, parked his bike on the porch, then went inside his house.”
“Shuffled along? Like he was sad? Upset? What?”
Lew sighed. “If I had to guess, which I do, I'd say he was lost in thought. He didn't act as if he was aware of his surroundings. He parked his bike and went into the house. He didn't look around. He didn't display any passionate emotion. He didn't make any wild declaration. He simply unlocked the door and went inside. Is that it? The other line is ringing, and Lois is up front waiting on a customer.”
“Fine. 'Bye.” I hung up. That phone call had netted me nothing unless I counted the aggravation. One of these days, Lew was going to push too hard and I'd fire him on the spot. I didn't want to look for a new employee, but he was—
“—worried about Bailey.”
I turned to DeeDee. “I'm sorry,” I said. “My mind was on something else. What did you say?”
Her face was flushed. I assumed it was from the heat of the stove, but her first words let me know that wasn't the case. “Your m-mind is always on everything except B-Bailey. I'm w-worried about him. I was outside a while ago, and I saw h-him leave the cottage. He h-had a s-suitcase.”
I smiled reassuringly. “Bailey is fine. Sid has asked him to help with the investigation by taking some evidence to an agent friend in St. Louis.”
“W-What about his b-book?”
“He's still working on it, but he's taking a breather. I think deep down he misses being a federal agent. I haven't talked to him since Sid asked for his help, but I imagine Bailey jumped at
the chance to zip off to St. Louis for some male bonding with his buddies.” DeeDee still looked unconvinced. So I tried harder, putting a positive note in my voice. “He needs a break. He's been working very hard on his book.”

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