Throw in the Trowel (3 page)

“Marco, that's not a twig.”

Both men leaned close to look at the object in his palm. I stood up and brushed my hands on my pants, feeling as though I'd touched something disgusting. “That's a finger bone.”

C
HAPTER THREE

“I
t came from over there.” I pointed to a small pile of dirt in the middle of the floor as both men got to their feet. Marco walked across the excavated area and crouched down a good twelve inches from Seedy's hole. He brushed away more soil and plucked something out of the dirt.

“Another finger bone,” he said, holding it up. “Abby, hand me that broom behind you.”

I glanced around and saw an old straw broom propped in one corner. I handed it to him from the sideline, and both Stan and I watched as Marco swept away a thick layer of dirt, uncovering a skeletal hand and then an arm bone. After watching him follow the bone up to the shoulder, I said, “We'd better call the police.”

“I don't believe it,” Marco muttered. “A hole in the earth.” He pulled out his cell phone and tried to hand it to me. “Phone Reilly and let him know we found human remains.”

“Right, and give him more reason to call me a trouble magnet? You'd better do it.”

Sergeant Sean Reilly was Marco's buddy from the one year he'd spent on the New Chapel police force. After graduating from college and serving with the Army Rangers for two years, Marco had joined the force and trained under Reilly, who, as a rookie, had trained under my dad. But a bad sergeant and too many rules had soured Marco's taste for police work, so he quit, bought Down the Hatch, got his private investigator's license, and, in a stroke of pure serendipity, met the short, feisty, but ultimately irresistible redhead who'd just gone into hock to buy Bloomers.

While Marco talked to Reilly, I picked up Seedy and carried her upstairs to wash her paws. I didn't want to take the dog into the kitchen, so Gert brought me a handful of damp paper towels. I ducked into Marco's office to clean Seedy up and met Rafe coming out.

“Hey, hot stuff,” he said with a big smile. “Looking good! Married life agrees with you.”

“Save it, Rafe. I know I look tired.”

“I didn't want to say anything. Hey, puppy!”

Seedy buried her head under my arm. Clearly, Marco's charm hadn't rubbed off on Rafe.

Raphael (Rafe) Salvare was ten years younger than Marco and looked like Marco must have looked at twenty-two. He was broad shouldered and lean hipped, with dark, wavy hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and a faint shadow of a beard that women found sexy. After dropping out of college one semester short of graduating, Rafe had moved back to New Chapel on orders of his mother, who sent him to Marco to be straightened out. But Rafe had decided to settle permanently in his former hometown, so Mama Francesca put her Ohio home up for sale and followed. She was still in the process of selling her house, but now resided with Marco's youngest sister, Gina, so she could be close to her two grandchildren.

“How did Seedy get dirty?” Rafe asked, as I finished wiping her paws.

“You know that big hole in the basement? Seedy started digging in it and uncovered what looks like a human finger bone.”

“No kidding?” He seemed delighted.

“No kidding. There may be a whole skeleton buried under the floor. Marco's on the phone with Reilly right now.”

“So it's a good thing I didn't have it fixed,” he said, nodding as though he was quite pleased with himself.

“Stick with that story, Rafe,” I said, giving his arm a pat.

Marco came upstairs with Stan to wait for the police, but Seedy was getting antsy, so I got a sandwich to go and took her back to Bloomers. Motioning for my assistants to gather close so the customers in the shop wouldn't overhear, we huddled behind the cash counter where I shared the startling discovery.

“Was there any identification with the remains?” Grace asked quietly.

“Not that I saw,” I said in a whisper, “but we stopped looking after we realized what we'd found. Maybe the police will uncover something.”

“Could you tell how long the body's been there?” Lottie asked.

“Long enough to decompose,” I said. “Only the bones are left, and they looked pretty old.”

“Any clothing?” Grace asked.

“None that I saw,” I said, “but we uncovered only one arm.”

“I'll bet someone was murdered down there,” Lottie said. “No one's going to bury a loved one in a murky old bar basement.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” I said.

“In which case I doubt there'd be any identification or clothing to be found,” Grace said, “which leaves a mystery to be solved.”

Also what I was thinking.

“If that turns out to be true,” Grace said, “I suppose you and Marco would want to investigate.”

“You'd think so,” I said, “but Marco wants us to take a break from private investigations.”

“Considering that you're both new to marriage, that's wise of him,” Grace said.

Not what I was thinking at all.

Lottie gave me a discreet wink. She knew that a mysterious skeleton would be an irresistible draw for me, a puzzle that needed to be solved, justice that had to be served. Plus, I enjoyed investigating closely with Marco, watching his savvy mind at work. He'd taught me a lot about being a private eye, but I was still green, still learning. If the police weren't able to ID the body, a cold case like this might be just the practice I needed.

In the meantime, I had orders to fill, flowers to arrange, customers to make happy. Seeing all the gorgeous tropical flowers in Key West had made me eager to try new designs. I hadn't had time to fill my creative well that morning, so I could hardly wait to get back to my slice of paradise and dig in.

“Francesca will be in tomorrow,” Lottie reminded me, as I headed to the workroom with Seedy in the crook of my arm.

“Do we still need her?” I asked in surprise. Okay, dismay.

Marco's mom, Francesca Salvare, was a beautiful Italian woman who ate, drank, and lived with gusto. She loved her children passionately and had graciously accepted me as one of them. With that said, Francesca could also be overbearing. She was used to running things, so I'd had to struggle to keep hold of the reins of my wedding plans. Her insistence on being in control was one reason I'd balked at having her work at Bloomers. But our business had picked up to such an extent that my assistants had needed the extra help while I was away.

“If we stay as busy as we were last week, yes,” Lottie said. “And by the looks of the orders that came in yesterday, definitely yes.”

“I have to admit that Francesca's been an asset,” Grace added. “Quite efficient at organizing, too.”

“She's not bringing in food anymore?” I asked.

“You were clear on that subject,” Grace said.

That was a relief. When we'd first asked Francesca to help, she'd decided to ramp up our business by bringing in platters of homemade Italian food for the customers. As soon as the news got around the square, she'd drawn in people by the busload, but mostly those who came solely to eat, not to buy. The shop got so ridiculously crowded that I finally had to lay down the law and ban her food, but I had feared a revolt in my absence.

“If you want Francesca here,” I told my assistants, “I trust your judgment.” I'd just have to make sure she stayed up front. Some places were sacred, and my workroom was one of them.

“I wasn't sure how much you wanted to be at the shop during your first few weeks back,” Lottie said, “so I scheduled her for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings this week.”

“Whatever you think will help,” I said. “Seedy, it's time to get down to business. You're going to have to be a good girl this afternoon, okay?”

She licked my chin. Either that meant yes, or she liked the taste of my moisturizer.

“You might notice that a few things are different back here,” Lottie said, following me through the curtain. “Just keep in mind that what's done can be undone.”

That sounded foreboding.

I set Seedy down then scanned the room to see what had changed.
Hmm
. Not the position of the two big walk-in coolers on the right side of the room or the slate-covered worktable in the middle. Not the computer on my desk or the silk flowers that stood in tall containers next to the coolers. Nothing seemed out of place on the countertop that ran the length of the left wall either.

Then I glanced up at the shelves on the end wall and saw that my large stock of vases had been arranged by material rather than by shape and color, which went totally opposite of the system Lottie had taught me. “Why did you change them?”

“I didn't,” Lottie said sheepishly. “Francesca came in on Saturday morning to help Grace and decided to organize things. I didn't find out until yesterday morning when she showed me what she'd done. And what could I say? She thought she was being useful.”

It was the platters of Italian food all over again. Irritated, I said, “She should have asked first. It'll be a pain to change everything back.”

“I completely agree with you,” Lottie said. Then her face scrunched into a you're-not-going-to-like-this
expression. “She organized the drawers, too.” Lottie pointed to the row of tool drawers along the underside of the big table.

I opened the drawer near the spot where I always stood to create, where I kept my florist knife, stem stripper, crimper, snippers, scissors, and pruners. Instead of tools, however, I found packages of deco mesh, deco stems, enclosure cards, and envelopes.

“Why did Francesca do this?” I asked in exasperation, yanking open the next drawer. In it I found my florist's knife, along with glitter, glues, moss, mascot trinkets, and packets of preservatives. “How am I supposed to find my tools when they're mixed in with the floral supplies?”

“Francesca thought it would be easier if everything was arranged alphabetically,” Lottie said.

“She
alphabetized
my stuff?” I stalked to the far end of the table and opened the first drawer. Sure enough, there were packages of adhesive lettering, balloons, butterfly picks, clay, and my crimper. My Garden of Eden had been invaded.

I shut the drawer with a bang. How did Francesca think I could work with my tools scattered all over?

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” Lottie said. “I knew you wouldn't like it, but I didn't want to hurt Francesca's feelings by putting everything back before you saw it.”

Had Francesca thought about
my
feelings before she'd delved into my drawers?

“I'll have to put it all back before I do anything else,” I grumped. “I can't work with everything”—I gestured widely—“all over the place.”

“What's all over the place?” Marco asked, stepping into the workroom.

In as calm a voice as possible, which might have come out through gritted teeth, I said, “Your mother decided to
organize
my tools and supplies. I don't know where anything is now.”

“I'll find them for you,” Lottie said, clearly chagrined. “I know where everything goes.”

I felt bad for making Lottie feel bad, so I said, “It's not your fault. I'll take care of it, Lottie. You're needed in the shop.”

“Are you sure?” Lottie asked.

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingled. “Go,” I said lightly, motioning for her to leave. “I can handle this.”

As soon as Lottie was gone, Marco pulled me into his arms. “I'm sorry, Sunshine. I was afraid something like this would happen.”

“Your mom didn't even ask, Marco. She just did.”

“You know you're going to have to fire her.”

“How can I fire her? She's your
mother.
And Lottie and Grace think she's an asset.”

“She's not an asset when she causes extra work for you. Time to let her go, babe.”

“She'll be crushed. She'll hate me.”

“Tell her you don't have enough business.”

“That's the problem. She knows we do.”

“Then tell her to stay out of the workroom.”

Ah, if only it were that easy. Marco simply didn't understand how fragile a brand-new mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship was.

“I'll help you put everything back,” he said, rubbing my neck.

“Thanks.” I laid my head against his chest and slipped my arms around his sturdy rib cage. How good it felt to know I had someone who would always be in my corner. I closed my eyes and sighed, feeling suddenly drained. I wished I could curl up somewhere for a nap.

Before I fell asleep on my feet, I said, “Okay, time to get down to business. How about if I go through all the drawers to locate my tools and you empty out this drawer right here?”

“Whatever you need, Abby.”

As we worked, I asked, “What happened with the police?”

“They taped off the excavated area, so all work on the plumbing beneath the floor had to be halted.”

“That's a bummer. Did they dig up any more of the body?”

“They're still taking photos and soil samples, laying out a grid. When I left, they were waiting for the coroner to arrive.”