Floral Depravity (18 page)

“Ha! I know that blush.” He turned back to Nick. “We'll talk later.”

“I'll say it again,” Amber Lee said, not even trying to hide the broad smile on her face. “I love my job.”

“Well, let's get to it, then.” I pulled on my apron and started collecting the white roses we needed to make the bouquets for our latest bride. Since white roses mean
innocence
, they've been a favorite of mine for wedding bouquets. Not all brides get into the whole innocence thing. But this one had.

“I should let you get on with your work,” my father said, heading toward the door.

“No, stay, please,” I said. “There are a couple of things I'd like to ask you.”

He looked at Liv and Nick, and then at Amber Lee. “Are you sure it's the best time?”

I set my knife down on the counter. “Questions about the murder. Remember, there's a moratorium on infighting, so we won't discuss . . . anything else.”

He pushed himself up onto a stool. “Whatever you'd like to know.”

“Did you go back to the camp last night?” I asked. Then I couldn't resist one last dig. “After you got out of jail?”

“No, it was late. I found a room at a charming inn, just at the edge of town.”

“The Ashbury?”

He nodded.

Good. I could check that. “What about Chandler Hines?”

“He got a room, too, but I don't think he was happy about parting with the money. We shared a taxi back to the hotel, but I can't say I saw him after that. I draw the line at sharing rooms with people I don't know, especially when they just got out of jail. I suppose that's a double standard in this case.”

“He was seen at the camp just after dawn,” I said. “Kathleen Randolph might know when he checked out.”

“Want me to call her?” Liv said, halfway to the phone.

“No, I want to stop by and talk with her later anyway, especially since she was once married to the victim.”

“Kathleen . . . the mother of the bride?” he asked. “Wait, that was Kathleen Brooks? I thought she looked familiar.”

“She's Kathleen Randolph now, and she owns the Ashbury. Did you know her back then?”

“Saw her at company parties. Felt sorry for her at the time. She'd be standing by the wall talking with some geeky chemist and Brooks would be out on the dance floor making a fool of himself with the secretarial staff. They were divorced by the time I moved away. Wait, you don't think she could have . . .”

I sighed. “Not saying she couldn't, but if she had, I think she would have done it years ago. Did you know Raylene Quinn?”

“Not back then. I've seen her with Brooks here, though. I gather they were involved.”

“That, and she's the head of Research and Development for Brooks Pharmaceuticals.”

“Not when I was there. There was some other woman at the time. Pretty thing. Come to think of it, she always seemed chummy with Barry, too. Her name was Diane something. Diane Graham.”

“Want me to look her up?” Liv asked.

I shrugged. “I'm more curious about the people who are with him now. If Raylene was the killer, and if Raylene was the one who attacked me last night, then she had an accomplice. I'd like to know who we're dealing with.” I turned again to my father. “You've had a chance to meet the rest of his entourage?”

“Met, taken names, and”—he pulled out his phone—“taken pictures.”

Within half an hour, Liv managed to print out the pictures and tack them onto her growing murder board.

“I see I'm on here,” my father said.

“Yes,” Liv answered with her perky, dimpled smile.

I left my station and went over to take a look at the new additions to Liv's murder board.

Dean White.

My father tapped the picture of the balding gray-haired man with gray glasses. “I had a nice little chat with him over a decent piece of mutton the other day. He's their CFO. If Brooks was still involved in any crooked financial dealings, this guy would have to be in on it. Otherwise Brooks would have gotten rid of him somehow.”

The next picture was of an attractive young woman. Kayla Leonard.

“What does she do?” I asked.

“I haven't a clue,” he said. “Tried to have a talk with her. It was like talking to one of those clown heads at the drive-through. You're never quite sure if you're getting the message to a live person, and even if you do, it's kind of freaky. If she had the brains to kill anyone, then she's a very good actress.”

“Which is possible,” I said. “And she seems like Brooks's type.”

“Female?” Amber Lee asked.

“That's the type.” I turned back to my father. “How did Kayla and Raylene get along?”

“Like Clark Kent and Superman. Never seen in the same place at the same time.”

“There you go again,” I said, “destroying my childhood illusions.”

“Uh-uh,” he said. “Moratorium, remember. Your idea.”

“My bad.” I passed to the final photograph. Kenneth Grant. “What's his story?”

“Evasive little guy. As best I could tell he was in distribution. But I don't know the organization anymore. The company has grown so much since I've left it.”

“Want me to do a background?” Liv asked.

My dad's head jerked up. “You can do that?”

“She's not the FBI, but it's amazing what she can find sometimes.” I turned to Liv. “Sure. Work your magic. By the way, do you know what happened to my copy of Bixby's witness statements?”

Liv shuffled through the files and piles of paper next to the computer and pulled it out. “Here you go.”

I handed it to Nick on the way back to my workstation. “Could you read me the statements from Brooks's people? I want to make sure we didn't miss anything. Include Raylene's, of course.”

For the next half hour, Nick read and we all listened while Amber Lee and I finished up the remaining bouquets and four boutonnieres.

Raylene had said that she was busy getting dressed and came to the wedding at the last minute. She didn't see anyone by the food. She wasn't sure where the food was, but she hadn't seen Barry since lunchtime. They ate the same thing for lunch, and she suffered no ill effects.

Dean White claimed to have left the camp to handle a business call. He was late to the wedding so he stood in the back and watched, but he had been talking to Brooks when he collapsed.

Kayla Leonard claimed to have taken a long walk with Brooks that afternoon, and he was fine.

“A walk?” my father asked. “Is that what they're calling it these days?”

“Well, some form of cardio, I'm sure,” Amber Lee teased.

The statement went on to say that she knew nothing about Brooks's death.

“Doesn't surprise me,” my father said.

And Kenneth Grant got to the wedding early and saved seats for the rest of the crew, but they never came. He thought it was a lovely wedding, but didn't see anything happen. He'd returned to his tent to retrieve his forgotten wedding present, and by the time he got back, Brooks was writhing on the ground.

“That doesn't tell us much, does it?” Liv said.

I shook my head. “You already said Kayla avoided Raylene. But did either White or Grant seem especially chummy with her?”

“Not that I saw,” he said.

“Well, those are the two most likely accomplices, then.” I turned to my father. “Were you planning on heading back to the camp?”

He sighed. “Just to get my tent. I'm not that fond of camping. But I can if you need something.”

“I was wondering if you might do some secret surveillance on these four.” I pointed at the pictures. “Especially Raylene. And maybe talk to the people at camp. See if anyone knows anything about who locked me in the stocks this morning.”

“By now they'll know me as a bounty hunter. It will be harder to get information out of any of them.”

“Isn't that what you do?”

He saluted. “You're right. I'll do my best. I did hope I was done with that stupid friar's costume. That thing itches.” And he walked out the back door.

I hung my apron on the wall.

“And where are you heading?” Liv asked.

“The Ashbury. To check on his story. Also on Chandler Hines. And hopefully Kathleen Randolph, if she's not as tipsy as she was the other day. I suppose I should see if she could tell me what she and Andrea were doing just before the wedding.”

“I thought you didn't suspect them,” Liv said.

I stuck my thumbs in my belt in a mock macho gesture. “But I'm a lawman now. Have to get the facts.”

She threw a balled-up piece of tissue paper at me, and I was out the door—with my chauffeur in tow.

Nick and I found Kathleen Randolph behind the front desk of the inn, checking in two customers wearing medieval clothing. As they disappeared up the stairs, she leaned in closer and whispered, “I always get a few deserters this time of the week. They shower. They nap. They get on the Internet to check their Facebook and flip on the TV to see what's happened in the world—or maybe to catch up on their soaps. And they always order the turkey dinner with mashed potatoes before they head back, as if to make sure New World foods haven't disappeared while they've been gone.”

“So you haven't been back to the camp since . . .”

“Not since the wedding,” she said. “I hadn't planned on it. Even before what happened to Barry. I figured I'd give Andrea and Mel some privacy, without her mother hanging around. Besides, I knew this place would be hopping with refugees.” She must have seen my smile. “Yes, refugees from the Middle Ages. That's what they look like anyway. I can't say I'm fond of the practice. If they're here for the immersion experience, why wreck it? But I do appreciate their money. How's the case coming?”

“It's coming. Do you have time for a few questions?”

“Yes, I do. If you two don't mind asking them in the kitchen. I'm a little short-staffed today, and I have to peel potatoes.”

It was my first time in the Ashbury kitchen, and I guess I was expecting it to be as quaint and historic as the rest of the inn. But instead I was greeted by a harshly lit sea of stainless steel. One other woman was already amassing a huge pile of potato peelings next to her. A television screen in the corner alternated shots of the lobby and the restaurant.

“I never knew you had cameras,” I said.

She returned from the sink, where she'd washed her hands. “I had them installed a couple of months ago, after that
Fix My Wedding
fiasco. They do double duty. This way when I'm in here, I can see if someone comes into the lobby or restaurant. And they give another level of security if something should happen.”

Nick went to the sink and washed his hands.

“What did you want to talk about?” Kathleen said.

“First, I need to check if a couple of people who claimed they registered here last night were telling the truth.”

“Last night? Did something else happen?”

“The killer attacked Audrey.” Nick examined a knife before he picked up a potato and started helping.

“Well, we're thinking it might be the killer. Can't prove a connection yet.” Oh, dear. I was starting to sound like Bixby.

“Good heavens!” she said. “Who else would attack you? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. But the two people I want to check on are Chandler Hines and Richard Wilson. They would have come in later in the evening.”

“The blacksmith and the friar. Yes, they did. I was still at the desk, though. Came in together. No luggage. I thought . . . well, you probably don't want to know what I thought. But they took separate rooms.”

“Can you tell me when they checked out?”

“They both used the quick checkout, so no. But . . .” She gestured toward the screen. “If they left through the front door . . .”

It turned out that the Ashbury's cameras fed into a normal DVR, so soon I was fast-forwarding through the time-stamped footage.

Just after three, Chandler Hines left through the front door and climbed into a taxi.

“There's an eager beaver,” Nick said.

It wasn't until seven thirty that my father entered the lobby, grabbed a paper and a free cup of coffee, and headed out. I let out the breath I'd been holding and glanced up to see Nick's grim smile.

“You had to check,” he said. His voice held understanding, but I still felt guilty for needing to be sure.

Kathleen squinted at me.

“Long story,” I told her. “Hey, has Raylene Quinn stayed here at all?”

“I'd think this would be the last place she'd come,” Kathleen said. “With a former and current Mrs. Brooks both here.”

“I don't know. You and Dottie seem to get along.”

“Maybe I'm special. Or maybe we get along because we've been through some of the same things. And her relationship with Brooks began long after mine was over. At least I think it did. But the current wife and the current mistress? They'd repel like similar ends of a magnet.”

“Like polar opposites,” Nick said.

She shook her head. “Polar opposites attract. Those two would keep their distance.”

“So if Raylene Quinn and another female member of Brooks's staff were also keeping distance from each other . . .”

“Oh,” Kathleen said, setting down her knife. “That sounds promising. Things were such a whirl before the wedding that I didn't see which of his cronies were traveling with him this time. Was it a big group?”

“Just four. Two men and two women.” I listed the names for her, but she shook her head until I got to Raylene.

“She's the only one I've met,” Kathleen said. “The others may have come to the camp before, but I've been keeping my distance from Barry. But are you thinking Raylene could have done it?”

“Isn't that quite a double standard?” Nick asked. “Could a mistress be motivated to kill because she discovered the man she was having an affair with was having an affair with someone else? Why would she expect him to be faithful to her?”

“Funny how the mind plays tricks on you when you're in the middle of a bad relationship,” Kathleen said. “Maintaining a double standard is easy.”

Nick worked his jaw, like he was probing for a bad tooth. “So the scenario could be that Raylene Quinn suddenly discovered that her lover was having another affair with whom? That Kayla chick? So the not-so-good Dr. Quinn gets furious and kills him with the first thing she could get her hands on—the monkshood—hoping that it will be written off as natural causes.”

“That's pretty much the theory I've been working at the whole time,” I said. “But a couple of things still bother me. The accomplice, for one.”

“What accomplice?” Kathleen said.

“Just about the same time I was attacked, a witness heard a voice she thought was Raylene's talking with someone. But who would Raylene reach out to for help if she wanted to kill Brooks?”

“She'd look for someone who also had motive,” Nick said.

“Only there's an awful lot of those people around,” I said.

*   *   *

When I got
back to the shop, I gave my chauffeur the afternoon off. Nick didn't need to stay to babysit me, not with Liv, Amber Lee, and Opie around. When I walked in, they were surrounding a workstation covered with red roses, and Liv looked like she was making a bridal bouquet.

“New order?” I asked.

“Don't worry,” Liv told me. “We can handle this.”

“Handle what?” I said.

“You mean she didn't call you?” Amber Lee asked.

“Who?”

“Your Saturday bride,” Liv said. “It seems she now wants red roses instead of white, and could we please change it. She seemed furious at you, but I think I got her calmed down.”

“At me? Why? We didn't have any problems in the consultation. She said she was glad I worked with the language of flowers.”

“Yes, and you told her white roses meant what exactly?”

“Innocence. Purity. She's a preacher's daughter, and she said it was exactly what she was going for.”

Amber Lee chuckled. “Yes, well, it seems she came across a magazine while she was getting her hair and makeup trial that said that the white rose symbolized ‘a heart unacquainted with love' or something like that. The whole bridal party was teasing her about being frigid and she was mortified.”

“Oh, dear. I did warn her that the language of flowers can vary from dictionary to dictionary.”

“Yes, but she wasn't buying it,” Liv said. “So she now wants red roses to symbolize love. I think we have enough here to fill the order.”

I pulled on my apron and picked up one of the deep red roses. “I sure hope nobody tells her that the red rose suggests passion and the crimson rose is also a symbol of mourning.”

“Really?” Opie eyed one of the darker blooms. “Wicked.”

Amber Lee bit her lip.

“What?” I asked.

“Just thinking. Passion and mourning. A better analogy for marriage I never did hear.”

Liv playfully swatted her arm and we got working.

“So, Opie,” I said. “I'm supposed to work with Melanie and Carol tomorrow, I guess, in the stables for the tournament. Any pointers?”

“Yes,” she said. “Try not to laugh too hard.”

“Why would that be a temptation?” I asked.

“Don't expect it to look like the equestrian events at the Olympics,” she said. “Or some old Errol Flynn movie. It's more a bunch of middle-aged guys who've never been on a horse in their lives trying to perform stunts they can't do. Monty Python was never so funny.”

“I'm surprised you know who Errol Flynn is,” Amber Lee said. “I'm impressed.”

“I always liked movies with horses in them. I rode quite a bit growing up. Did some jumping. Took either first or second in all the local competitions.”

“And you gave it up?” Liv asked.

Opie focused on the flowers in her hand, but I could see her throat working to swallow. Without lifting her eyes, she said, “Horse had to be put down. I guess I took it pretty hard. Dad said he'd get me a new one, but only if my grades got better. Back then he still had hopes I'd go to law school.”

“And you weren't interested in another horse?” Amber Lee asked.

“Wouldn't be the same. You can't replace a horse like you can a car when it wears out. I told him exactly what he could do with his bribe, and that afternoon I went out and got my first tattoo. Here.” She lifted up the sleeve of her shirt to expose the rearing horse on her shoulder.

When we'd ooh'd and aah'd over the workmanship, she went on, “I do miss horses, though. That's why I thought it would be fun to work in the stables.”

“Do Melanie and Carol like horses, too?”

“Carol, not so much. I mean, she can ride, but she's not nuts for them. I think she might just want to work in a different place every year to learn the ropes.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Liv said.

“But what you should watch out for is the men,” Opie said.

“Even with Brooks dead?” I asked.

She laughed. “I didn't mean that, but yes, when he was alive, the stable girls—that's what we ended up being called—had to watch out for his advances. The other men aren't nearly so forward. But what I meant is this: these guys go out there dressed up like fierce knights of the realm, trying to look like they know what they're doing, and of course they fall, get banged up, and look like idiots. And then they go looking for someone to blame. Usually it's the horse. But it's often the stable girls.”

“Any of the stable girls Brooks was overly friendly with?”

“He was coming on to Carol pretty hard. But I guess Carol had a talk with him and he totally backed off.”

“What did she say to him?”

“No idea, but I wish I knew. Then he started asking me or Melanie to take care of his horse. We mostly avoided him, though.”

Opie then went into detail about how to treat the horse after an exertion, letting it cool down and withholding food until it was rested. “Melanie knows all that, though. She can step you through it.”

“Melanie's good with horses, too?”

“You remember when I said I took first or second in all the local competitions? Well, if I was second, guess who was first.”

We listened to Opie chat on about horses while we finished up the rest of the wedding flowers. Before an hour had passed, we were almost done, so Liv hit the computer and sent Opie out on a delivery while Amber Lee and I finished up.

Amber Lee had just stuck a large pin in her last red rose boutonniere when the bell over the door chimed and she excused herself to check on the customer. Moments later she ushered Brad back into the room. He was showered and changed and wearing street clothes instead of his Peter Pan outfit.

“What brings you to the current millennium?” I asked.

“Well, I just got good news and bad news,” he said.

“Could use some good news,” I said.

“Here goes. The National Guard got partial control of the fire and opened the road, meaning my crew is no longer trapped at that farmhouse. Good thing, because that gouger expects me to pay him rent.”

I couldn't help a smile. “I guess that is good news. They'll be here in time for the tournament, at least.”

His face fell.

“Is that the bad news?”

He nodded. “They cleared the road leading
away
from town first, and since we missed so much of this one, I made the executive decision to send the crew home.”