The Flower Girls (16 page)

The coffee shop was, like him, stylish, not part of a chain but a private one with pale blue linen tablecloths and sugar pots on the table. There was waitress service, the waitress wearing the same color blue as the cloths.

The waitress greeted him warmly. “Hello, Ian.”

“Would you like coffee, Poppy, or something else?”

“Oh coffee please, black.”

“Great, just like me, let’s have a cafetiere, June, please.”

He led her to a table by the window. There were other tables occupied but not close to them.

“You seem a little nervous. Don’t be,” he said kindly.

“I am a little,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know why I should be.”

“People are, sometimes with justification when dealing with the police, but this is an update, Poppy, and not a formal interview.”

“But if I did slip up I bet it would go in the murder book.”

He smiled. “But you aren’t going to slip up, Poppy, because you have nothing to slip up about, have you?”

She felt her cheeks warm but hoped it wasn’t obvious.

The girl brought their cups—pale blue—this was a matching theme she noted, and then the carafe of coffee. Feeling nervous, she insisted that Inspector Foreshaw pour. There were tiny almond biscuits on the side of the saucer, two each. She popped one into her mouth.

“Are you staying here?” he asked.

“Staying? Er, I’m not sure. I have a job, receptionist at a small hotel. I’m not really sure what I want to do.”

“I like Florida,” he said. “We took the kids to Disneyworld, it was great.”

“Oh yes, people do like that.”

He had a wife and family, somehow that made him more human. She felt herself relax just a tad.

“Look, Poppy, this isn’t going to be easy for you. I know you must be devastated about what happened to your sister. But we thought we had a suspect. We had some DNA. This person was caught in a car accident, his fault, someone almost died. It turned out his DNA matched what we had. We weren’t even looking in that direction, it was just picked up.”

“Goodness. You can’t say who it was of course.”

“No. The person was involved with Jasmine but he wasn’t involved with her murder. He’s a bit wild but not a killer.”

“I don’t follow,” she said.

“Jasmine was having an affair with him. Well a fling really.”

She didn’t mean to put her hand at the center of her chest but her heart was thumping like mad. But she wasn’t following him at all. Robert Donnington had nearly killed someone in a car accident. It didn’t make sense, or the fact that he was a bit wild. There was no way she would describe him as being wild.

“Are you all right, Poppy? You look very pale.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…Jasmine, you know, she had everything and she does that, cheats on her husband with a man who…” She blinked. Of course, he wasn’t talking about Robert Donnington, he couldn’t be. Jasmine had someone else. It hit her like a lightening bolt.

Oh, Jasmine,
she gasped to herself,
what have you been doing with your life?

“I don’t know, if the marriage was over as you say…”

“Oh it was, definitely. I mean Jasmine as much as told me that herself. That’s why I came over…”

Because she told you she was afraid, her life was spinning out of control.

Her mind flooded with things from the past. Those hysterical exchanges they had about Seth. Don’t go there, the warning came to her.

“My sister liked her own way. But anyway, this man…”

“Apparently they’d been somewhere, out towards the Moors. They had sex in the car. I don’t know why she went into his glove compartment but there were drugs in there. He says it was just a tiny packet of coke, I suspect it was more. She went hysterical, called him lots of names, really lost it. She grabbed the drugs and threw them out of the car. He lost it, shoved her out, and drove off. He says he went back but she’d gone. I doubt he did go back because where would she disappear to in the middle of nowhere?”

Poppy felt dirty and knew she had no right to even be so judgmental about Jasmine but then again she wondered how her sister, so beautiful, so full of life could hold herself so cheaply.

“That makes sense, Jasmine was so anti-drugs. I think I told you. Our mother ruined her life through drugs. Jasmine was totally against them. I can see her being really mad that someone she cared about was using or dealing or whatever.”

“The drugs were for him. He admitted being a user. He came in with his well-paid lawyer of course, but I do believe him. He’s that kind of idiot, has too much money for one so young, and doesn’t know the value of anything.”

She stiffened. “Does he play football?”

Inspector Foreshaw raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes but how do you know that?”

Poppy swallowed. “I heard she used to like to go to a club called The Presidents. I went there to find out anything I could and there were quite a few footballing types there.” It was a half-truth.

“I wish you’d told me that before,” he said.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t think it was important.”

“Anything is important.” There was sharpness there beneath his words. Poppy couldn’t blame him. She should have told him and anyway why shield Robert Donnington? He’d played with fire; he should expect to get burned.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You said that before; is there anything else you aren’t telling me?”

“Not really.”

Her cheeks were hot, damn her inability to deceive. “Just that…” What was she getting herself into, could she be done for covering up things she knew? What did they call it, withholding evidence or something? “Well, a girl did say she was, Jasmine I mean, involved with an older man. That a footballer was chatting her up but she gave him the brush-off.”

“Just where is this club?” Inspector Foreshaw was firm now, the bonhomie was gone.

She told him. Biting her lower lip did not help. “The girl said he was a silver fox…I think…”

“You think?”

“I think he’s Robert Donnington.”

“Robert Donnington? Not Edward Donnington?”

“His father, but he didn’t kill Jasmine. I’m sure of that.”

“I don’t think anyone can be sure of anything, Poppy, and just how long have you known about this?”

Chapter 20

On the drive back Poppy called in at the hotel. It took some while to find the General Manager, he was on a break, but when she did speak with him he was affable and friendly.

She had a jittery feeling, stopped at a general store on the way to Heaton Grange and bought a small block of chocolate. She ate it slowly, realized she was suffering from low blood sugar from eating barely anything all day; the chocolate enabled her to just make it home.

The kitchen was deserted. Mrs. Carrington had to be away for the afternoon. She made a cup of sweet coffee and took it up to her bedroom.

The reviving effect of the coffee allowed her to pack her things. That task done she took several deep breaths before she went out to look for Seth.

He was working in his study, already typing, head down, a frown of concentration marring his brow. Her heart did a hop, skip and a jump and it was nothing to do with what she had to tell him. It had all to do with the way he still, in spite of everything that had happened to her, held an overwhelming attraction for her.

“Seth.” His name whispered out of her. He looked up, for a moment giving the impression that he’d not heard, then he saw her stepping deeper into the room. He stood.

“Hi,” he said pleasantly. “Mrs. C said you went out.”

“Yes, can I talk with you?”

“Sure.” He strolled towards her, indicating that she sit. She took the armchair and after a moment he went and sat on the sofa opposite her.

“I’m so sorry, Seth. I have to leave.”

“What’s wrong?” His expression showed nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I need time alone. I asked the manager if I could live in, at the hotel, I can…I’m going to do that. I don’t know what I want to do but I have to get away…clear my mind.”

“I can see that.” He spoke kindly. “You’ve been through a lot. Just don’t say ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ I couldn’t take that cliché and I’m certainly not going to pressure you to stay.”

“Thank you.” She folded her lips together. It would be cowardly not to tell the truth. After taking a deep breath it all spilled from her, the unvarnished truth. She told him about going to see the police inspector, what he’d told her about Jasmine. He listened, without expression; if he was really disturbed by the news the only way he showed it was by leaning back into the folds of the sofa and crossing his legs. Now and again his left foot turned inwards, as if he was tensing himself but the rest of his body remained still.

“There’s more...” she said. “I was—trapped—that’s the word, or perhaps not, I find it hard to lie, to hide things…”

She went on, now feeling a little ashamed. How it had all come out about Robert Donnington. She’d had no intention of telling Inspector Foreshaw but she was afraid, the threat of withholding important information, and also a certain cowardice on her part. She didn’t want to see Robert Donnington. She didn’t like him, and to have to listen to him talk about Jasmine was more than she could stand. Although that was not the reason she told Foreshaw.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to see him,” Seth said at last. “And I shouldn’t have asked you not to tell the police. There comes a time in life when we all have to pay for what we’ve done. Robert behaved despicably but I don’t see him as despicable and I wanted to save him from Caroline’s wrath, though why I felt I had to do that I don’t know. Really I should have wanted him punished, but you know, it takes two to tango. Jasmine would do what she wanted, we both know that. Robert should have been stronger but well…” He sighed. “She was terribly potent. I wanted to blame him, I still do, but somehow I can’t find that inside me. Perhaps if I’d been in love with her I would have punched his lights out. But you do see how it is?”

“Of course I do. Jasmine played with fire there but then that was what she was like. She loved danger and living on the edge but she was my sister and in spite of everything I loved her.”

“You’re a good person, Poppy.” He stood and came to stand close to her, not so close she would feel threatened. “I’d love to kiss you and hold you and beg you to stay but I won’t do that. I have to let you leave and if ever you decide to come back you won’t find any door bolted against you.”

Oh my God,
she thought, feeling a burning sensation at the back of her nose.
I don’t want to do this; I do want to do this. I’m so confused.

But she said nothing to Seth. No words could convey how she felt, she didn’t know herself.

She stood, head a little down, unable to meet his eye. Seth had stepped back. “I am so very sorry,” she said, making her way across the carpet.

“Look I’ll drive you over there…”

“No, please don’t. I need to do this, just me. I can call a taxi.”

“It will probably be that miserable sod from the station.”

She tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Poppy,” he said and then he stopped himself, straightened his shoulder and went back to his desk. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call…”

Reluctantly she slid through the door. Only when she stepped into the hall did she give reign to the tears that were burning. This wasn’t what she wanted, not really, but it was something that had to be done. She would never settle anyway. Not until Jasmine’s murderer was found. Perhaps then what she most desired from life would be clearer.

Chapter 21

Seth remembered it all that night. He lay on his bed and tried to stop his mind from racing back over time. He saw the club vividly and also felt his reluctance to go there. His colleagues were insistent—why had he become such a stick in the mud, they cajoled.

A drink in a pub was one thing, going to a noisy club where the music was too high and the drinks too expensive was another, not that the latter bothered him, but it was the idea of being ripped off that fueled his reluctance. He gave in.

“Well just for one,” he said.

It was a reunion. He’d left the paper, his third novel was due to be published, his mates wanted to celebrate with him. But that was just an excuse; they wanted to have some fun and dragged him along. It used to be a favorite spot of his; he couldn’t really blame them for recalling that.

As he’d anticipated the music was too loud and the place far too crowded. He was jostled at the bar but the jostler catching a glimpse of him—size and build–apologized. That had to be something, Seth remembered thinking.

He couldn’t say when he saw the girl. She was gorgeous. Her skimpy emerald green dress clung to her delectable body. She had lots of blonde hair; it wasn’t straight hair, but slightly kinked, natural he guessed. She was on the small side but wore very high heels; she didn’t teeter on them either. She walked like a queen.

At the bar, and on her high heels, she came up to his chest. It only took seconds for her to catch the barman’s eye.

“Diet coke, please,” she breathed, “and he’s paying.” With her thumb she indicated Seth.

“I am?”

“There should be no question. You were ogling me, that has to mean something.”

“It does?”

She sighed. “There you go with the questions. Just accept.” She held out a beautiful manicured hand, the nails a sparkling pink. “I’m Jasmine,” she said and batted long silky eyelashes at him. “And I think you’re Seth Sanderson.”

Surprised, he gave the barman money for her drink. She was looking at him, suppressing a smile. He knew that Jasmine wanted him to ask how she knew his name but he had no intention of going there. He guessed one of his pals had told her who he was, or she’d asked someone. Whatever it was he had no intention of playing games.

“Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Of course you do, everyone does after a fashion but okay, let’s get a table—there’s one over there, near the fake palm tree—isn’t it awful? See you there.”

Seth was good with predatory women. Generally he ignored them but Jasmine, with her wavy blonde hair and huge peony-like eyes was different from most. Like a lamb to the slaughter, he thought on reflection, he went and joined her—and that of course was his undoing.