Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (6 page)

“Ten minutes past six o’clock,” his younger brother said. “They would have been here on time, but they went back to retrieve a bottle of champagne. Jake came in just after we did.”

“And Lily, who’s late to everything, arrived at six thirty,” Jillian offered.

“Lily is a busy and highly successful restaurateur,” Pryce said, giving Jillian a disgruntled look. “We’re fortunate that she has any free time at all to spend with us.”

Jillian rolled her eyes at me.

As soon as I finished marking the timeline, I made a side note as to how quickly Pryce had jumped to Lily’s defense. I watched him now as he tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, staring out the window as though he wanted to get moving.

“What’s the name of Lily’s restaurant?” Marco asked.

“Beached,” Pryce replied.

“It’s a chic bistro at the Key Club marina,” I told Marco as I wrote.

“Have you ever been there?” Marco asked me.

I shook my head.

“You wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway,” Jillian said.

“Thank you for pointing that out in front of everyone,” I muttered.

“I’m just saying.”

She was right, though. Cost was half the reason I never went there.

“Lily does the cleverest things with shrimp,” Jillian said. “Doesn’t she, Claymore?”

“When it comes to shrimp,” he replied, “Lily is a genius.
Most of her menu is centered around shrimp dishes.”

Which was the other half of the reason I didn’t eat there. Not only had
Shrimp
been my nickname in middle school, but I’d seen those ugly creatures when they were alive.

“Beached is
très au courant
,” Claymore added.

I refused to put that in my notes.

“What does Jake do for a living?” Marco asked.

“He teaches spinning classes at Up and Dune Health Club,” Claymore said, “and does some acting in local theater productions.”

“He also poses,” Jillian said with a snicker.

“Poses for what?” I asked.

“Mirrors, picture windows, and anyone with a camera.” She turned in her chair to imitate a bodybuilder’s pose, flexing her arm muscles and casting a sexy glance over her shoulder.

“What do the Burches do?” Marco asked, ready to move on.

“Halston is a stockbroker and Orabell gives travelogue presentations,” Claymore said. “They own the cottage to the right of us.”

They’re old,
Jillian mouthed to me.

To Jillian, old could be forty, so I ignored her comment and wrote down the information Claymore had supplied.

The Osbornes’ short, plump housekeeper entered with a tray that she placed on a coffee table in front of the sofa. When she straightened, she saw me and her eyes widened in a pleased way. “Miss Abby, it’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m doing great, Mrs. Ambrose, and you look fantastic, by the way.”

She blushed and waved away my compliment. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Marco Salvare, Mrs. Ambrose.”

There. I’d finally worked it into the conversation. Pryce didn’t bat an eye, but the housekeeper smiled in delight. “I’m so happy for both of you. Oh, my,” she said, shaking Marco’s hand, “you’re strong.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ambrose. That will be all for now,” Pryce said tersely, dismissing her.

“Don’t you want me to pour your tea?” she asked, looking surprised.

“We’ll take care of it.” He didn’t even acknowledge her with a glance. How could I have forgotten how cold Pryce could be?

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Ambrose,” I called.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Marco added.

The housekeeper gave us a grateful smile as she left the room.

Claymore stepped around Jillian’s chair to fill the three china cups, then handed Jillian hers before taking his own to his place behind her. Pryce ignored his tea to walk to the window, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring outside.

“How well do your guests know each other?” Marco asked Pryce.

“Lily and Pryce were college classmates,” Claymore said, “and Halston Burch is the Osborne family stockbroker.”

Jillian glanced up at her husband. “Isn’t he Lily’s broker, too?”

“Yes, and also Melissa’s,” Claymore said.

“And Jake’s?” I asked, writing down the names.

“Jake doesn’t have money,” Jillian said, as though I should have known that. “He depends on Lily for everything.” She emphasized the word
everything
.

“We get together on most weekends in August,”
Pryce said without turning. “Halston has the month off and likes to entertain his clients on Saturday evenings.”

“Thinking back over this weekend,” Marco said to Pryce, “did you sense any tension between Melissa and any of the others?”

“No,” he replied, at the same time Jillian said, “Yes.”

I saw Claymore put his hand on Jillian’s shoulder, as though to stop her from answering.

Marco’s gaze flickered from Jillian to Pryce’s back, as though assessing their responses. Then he said to Pryce, “You mentioned that Melissa arrived half an hour before the others. How was her mood when you first saw her?”

“Congenial.”

“She wasn’t congenial when we got here,” Jillian said. “More like antigenial.”

“Explain,” I said. There was no point in arguing her word choice now.

“When we walked into the cottage, Melissa was coming down the stairs looking like she was ready to bite someone’s head off.” For my benefit, Jillian nodded in Pryce’s direction to indicate who that someone was. Even with his back to us, though, Pryce caught it.

“We had a disagreement over a personal matter,” he said in a brittle voice. “It has nothing to do with her disappearance.”

Jillian raised her eyebrows at me, as though to say,
Oh, really?

I took the cue and asked Pryce, “Are you certain it has nothing to do with her disappearance?”

“She stayed the weekend,” Pryce said. “That should tell you something.”

“That she was hoping to smooth things out between you?” I asked.

“I’d prefer to discuss this matter in private.”

I made a note of his reply, because it was evident to me that Pryce had not wanted to smooth things out. It also reminded me so much of the horrible breakup scene we’d had that I found myself giving his back a steely glare. Too bad he couldn’t see it.

“What did you do after your guests arrived Friday evening?” Marco asked Pryce.

“We went outside onto the back deck to have cocktails and enjoy the lake view.”

I stopped taking notes to glance at my cousin in surprise. Jillian had a cocktail? In her condition? She gave me a scowl, as though to say she wasn’t that dumb.

“Was Melissa friendly and conversing with everyone?” Marco asked.

“She was quite chatty,” Pryce said, coming back to his chair.

“I thought Melissa seemed a bit tense,” Claymore said. “Übertalkative, too.”

“And we know why,” Jillian whispered loud enough to scare snakes.

“Does Melissa normally get along with these particular guests?” Marco asked.

“Of course,” Pryce said.

“Are you serious?” Jillian asked.

“Dearest heart,” Claymore said, “let’s let Pryce answer these questions, shall we?”

“He’s not being honest,” Jillian replied in one of her infamous whispers.

“With whom doesn’t Melissa get along, Jillian?” Pryce snapped.

“You know very well with
whom
,” Jillian shot back.

“Easy, dearest,” Claymore said, patting her head. “Let’s not get worked up.”

“You’ll have a turn to answer later,” I said to Jillian.

“Does Melissa have any enemies that you’re aware of?” Marco asked Pryce.

“How about everyone she’s done any decorating for,” Jillian muttered.

“Claymore!” Pryce said sharply.

His brother snapped to attention. “Jillian, shall we go upstairs? I believe we’ve helped all we can for now.”

“No, we haven’t,” she replied. “And you know it’s true, Pryce. Your own mother said Melissa’s decorating—”

“Come, sweetness,” Claymore said, lifting her by the elbow and removing the cup from her other hand. “I want to discuss dinner plans with you.”

“I haven’t even had lunch.”

“Then let’s go to the kitchen and whip up a bite for you. I was thinking of a refreshing gazpacho, something resplendent with raw cucumbers, tomatoes, cilantro, onions, garlic—”

Jillian jerked her arm away and, pressing a hand to her mouth, fled the room.

“Another fur ball,” I murmured to Marco.

His cheeks coloring, Claymore said, “I should have remembered she’s not a fan of my gazpacho.”

As he followed in his wife’s fleeing footsteps, I whispered to Marco, “I have to get back to Bloomers.”

“I’m on it,” he murmured. “Pryce, before we head back to New Chapel, I’d like to schedule times to meet with your other guests.”

Pryce set his teacup on his saucer with a clatter. “You’re leaving so soon? You’ve barely begun.”

“We squeezed you in on short notice,” I said. “We still have businesses to run.”

“Is it possible for us to meet with everyone individually starting at five thirty?” Marco asked.

“The cottage is available for your use, certainly,”
Pryce said, “but I don’t know whether Lily will be able to make it until much later.” Shifting his gaze to me, Pryce added, “She has a business to run, too.”

That would teach me for being snippy.

He headed for the doorway, calling back, “I’ll round up the oth—”

At that moment, a tanned, square-jawed, exceptionally attractive white-haired man came striding into the room, nearly colliding with Pryce. He had on a Hawaiian-style print shirt and white shorts with black fisherman sandals. He appeared to be older than my dad, putting him in the fifty-five to sixty-five range.

Behind him was a bone-thin woman in a brightly colored gauzy dress that billowed out behind her as she moved, a big necklace made of red beads, a red-banded watch encircled with crystals, and multicolored strappy sandals. She sported a dark tan and had the leathery skin to prove it. Her hair was a shade of blond that reminded me of straw, and her eye shadow was a glittery blue that she’d swiped on in the middle of her lids, leaving a gap between her eyelashes and the color.

“Pryce, you simply must speed things up,” the man said. He had an odd way of talking without moving his jaws. “We’ve been here for
hours
and Mummy is getting dreadfully tired.”

“Pryce, darling!” the woman exclaimed dramatically, showing off three bulbous red rings and her glittering watch by raising her arms in the air. “Can’t we please go home? We’re just a stone’s throw away.”

She, too, talked without moving her jaws, and pronounced her short
a
’s as an
ah
sound.
Dahling. Cahn’t.

The man put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t get into a stew, now, Mummy.”

“You’ll be able to leave shortly, Halston,” Pryce said. “Let me introduce you to the private detective.”

“Oh, a private eye!” the woman exclaimed, pressing her hands together. “How exciting.”

“Halston and Orabell Burch,” Pryce said, “this is Marco Salvare.”

“How do you do, Mr. Salvare,” Halston said, giving his hand a firm shake.

“I’d prefer Marco,” my intended said.

“And I’d prefer Halston, so we’re good all around.”

“So pleased to meet you, Mr. Salvare,” Orabell said sweetly, taking Marco’s hand with a smile, seemingly oblivious of his request. “Do call me Orabell.”

She turned to me, hands pressed together at heart level. “And who is this de
light
ful young lady?”

“I’m Abby Knight,” I said instantly. “Marco’s fiancée and assistant.”

“Ah, his fiancée!” she repeated, eyebrows raised. “So good to meet a woman who isn’t chasing after someone else’s husband.”

A moment of silence followed her unusual comment. Then Marco stepped in.

“Abby also owns Bloomers Flower Shop,” he said, gazing at me. My heart melted at the look of pride in his eyes. I gave him a smile that said,
Thank you for that.

“How absolutely
divine
,” Orabell said with a girlish squeal.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Knight,” Halston said, taking my hand gallantly and kissing my knuckles. He was not only highly attractive for an older man, but also what my dad would have labeled
suave and debonair
.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm.

“So when are you going to release us, Marco?” Halston said. “I feel like a prisoner.”

“I’ll need just five minutes of your time,” Marco said.

The Burches sat on the sofa and Halston took Orabell’s hand in his. Marco and I sat in the two wing chairs,
leaving Pryce to either perch beside the Burches or drag over a chair from the other conversation area.

He opted for a third choice—standing against the doorjamb, arms folded, glancing repeatedly at his watch.

“How well do you know Melissa?” Marco asked the couple.

“I’m afraid not very,” Orabell said, as though it pained her to admit it.

“I know Melissa mainly through business,” Halston said. “I’m her stockbroker, as I am to everyone who was here this weekend.”

“Except for Jake,” Orabell said. Putting her hand to the side of her mouth, she whispered, “He doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. Depends on Lily for an allowance. So sad, really.”

What was sad was that Orabell thought no one could hear her but me.

In a normal voice, she said, “Wait till you meet Jake. I’m sure you’ll agree that he has untapped potential.”

I checked my watch. I was overdue at the shop. “Is Jake going to join us?”

“I’ll see what’s holding him up,” Pryce said.

As soon as he was gone, Orabell hurried to the doorway, peered out, then said to her husband in a whisper, “Shall I tell them?”

“Yes, Mummy, I think you should,” Halston said in a serious tone.

Orabell hustled to her seat on the sofa. Taking a deep breath, her hands clasped in her lap, she leaned toward us. “We believe that Pryce had something to do with Melissa’s disappearance.”

“Not something, Mummy,” Halston said. “Everything.”