A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (7 page)

Sam pondered it briefly, then said, “Dizzy spell maybe.”

“Have you ever known Sergio to have a dizzy spell before?” Marco asked.

“None I remember.”

“Any of the employees have a grudge against Sergio?”

Wrestler Sam paused, as though thrown by the question. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Our client believes Sergio’s fall wasn’t an accident.”

“What the hell else would it be?”

“Possibly attempted murder,” Marco said.

Sam let out a loud laugh. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

“Not at all,” Marco said.

“You seriously think someone
pushed
Sergio
over?”

“You tell me.”

I watched the wrestler’s expression go from incredulity to outrage. He put a meaty hand on his chest. “Are you talking to me because you think
I
did it?”

“We don’t think anything yet,” I said. “That’s why we’re investigating.”

“Sergio’s wife hired you, didn’t she?” Sam asked, his upper lip curling back in a sneer. “She would try to blame one of us.”

“Mrs. Marin isn’t blaming you,” I said.

“Rosa wasn’t even there, man,” he went on, as though I hadn’t said a word. “This is bullshit.” He looked around as if seeking an escape hatch, his voice rising. “I ain’t standing here taking this shit.”

The other two men were watching now.

“Look, Sam,” Marco said, “we have to interview everyone who was on the scene Monday morning, that’s all. We started with you because you seemed like you were about to take off. So let’s make this quick and painless. Just tell us what you observed right before Sergio fell.”

“What I observed,” Sam said with a sneer, “was my nail gun shooting nails through the shingles.”

Marco merely gazed at him with folded arms and waited for him to realize that smart-alecky answers weren’t going to cut it. I tapped my pen on the notepad and looked around as though bored.

Sam also glanced around to see what his coworkers were doing, saw them observing, then got serious. “I didn’t see nothing but the ladder going backward.”

“Did you hear Sergio say anything?” Marco asked.

“He yelled for help.”

“Did he say, ‘Someone help me’? or ‘Help me, please’?”

“No, just ‘Help.’”

Marco gazed at him steadily. “Are you sure it was just the one word?”

“I ain’t lying to you, man,” Sam said irritably. “I know what I heard.”

“Then you were able to hear him over the sound of your nail gun?”

“Shit, yeah,” Sam said. “I was only like a foot away.”

Amazing what Marco could get people to reveal.

“Was anyone else that close to Sergio when he fell?” Marco asked.

Sam’s thick neck turned bright red, as though he’d just realized how that admission made him look. “Sure, others were there. Clive, Jericho, Adrian . . .” He looked around at them again, running his hand along the top of his rooster spikes. “I guess that was it.”

“Were they as close to Sergio as you were?” Marco asked.

Sam lowered his voice, as though afraid of being overheard. “Okay, I might have been wrong about that. I’m gonna say I was more like three yards away.”

“That’s quite a difference,” I said as I wrote it down.

“Sometimes I exaggerate,” Sam said.

“How about the others?” I asked. “How close were they?”

“I can’t really recall, but I remember that Adrian was the closest.”

“What was Adrian doing at the time of Sergio’s fall?” Marco asked.

“I think he was attaching the gutter.”

“You can’t say for sure?” Marco asked.

“Look, I wasn’t kidding before when I said I was watching my nail gun. Take your eye off it for a second and you could do real damage, know what I mean?”

“If that’s the case,” Marco said, “then how do you know that Adrian was the closest to Sergio at the time of his fall?”

Sam looked down and didn’t reply, his neck reddening again. I made a note of his reaction, then glanced up to see the other guys approaching.

“How did you feel about Sergio being promoted to foreman?” Marco asked.

“Hell, I didn’t have no problem with it,” Sam said. “Adrian was pissed, though. Right, guys?”

“About what?” a moody-looking guy with a Clint Eastwood voice asked. He had icy-blue eyes that sank deep in hollows on either side of his thin nose, a triangular face, a pale red goatee, and long strawberry blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Is there a problem ’ere, mate?” a lanky, brown-haired man with a narrow face, curved Roman nose, and Cockney accent asked. Both men wore the same coveralls and took the same stance—arms folded over their chests, gazes curious.

“Sergio’s wife hired these PIs ’cause she thinks someone pushed him over,” Sam told them.

“No kidding?” The Brit grinned as though he found it amusing. “She thinks it’s one of us, does she?”

Displaying his PI license again, my husband offered his hand. “Marco Salvare, and my wife, Abby.”

“Clive Bishop,” the Brit said, shaking Marco’s hand and giving me a friendly nod.

“Jericho,” the moody guy said. His voice was so deep I had to strain to hear it. He didn’t make a move to shake Marco’s hand, just kept his gaze on him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Marco said, “the cause of Sergio’s fall hasn’t been determined. All we know is that it wasn’t a heart attack or stroke or any other apparent medical condition.”

“Probably a dizzy spell, then,” the Brit said.

“Dizzy is what I said, too,” Wrestler Sam said to me, tapping my notepad. “Make sure you put that down.”

“There was no medical reason for him to be dizzy,” I said.

“’Ere’s a reason for you,” Clive said. “Sergio liked to lift his glass a little too much at the end of the day. ’E’d come to work in the mornings with some bang-up hangovers.”

I made note of it, wondering why Rosa hadn’t mentioned Sergio’s drinking. When I looked up, Jericho’s strange eyes were fixed on me.

“How do Sergio and Adrian get along?” Marco asked.

“Like two ’ounds after the same fox,” Clive said, making Sam snicker. Clive seemed to be their self-appointed spokesman.

“And the fox is?” Marco asked.

Clive and Sam glanced at each other as though they shared a secret, but neither volunteered an answer. Jericho remained stone-faced. I had a strong hunch the fox in question was Rosa, and I was fairly certain Marco knew it, too, but he was working in his usual roundabout way to get them to explain. I wished he’d hurry, though. It was five forty-five and my stomach was growling.

“What do I need to know, guys?” Marco asked. “Why didn’t they get along?”

When the two men again shared glances, my stomach and I decided to speed things up. “Because Adrian was hitting on Sergio’s wife?”

When no one answered, I said, “Come on. It’s supper time. Do you want to be here all night?”

I got a look from Marco that said,
Be patient. Don’t rush them.

Yeah, well, tell that to my stomach.

Finally Clive said, “Why don’t you flip your question round the other way?”

Great. Now I had to do a quick mental rewind. “Sergio was hitting on Adrian’s wife? I didn’t realize Adrian was married.”

“’E’s not,” Clive said.

“Spell it out for us,” Marco said, growing impatient at last.

“Let’s just say that Adrian didn’t like the way Sergio treated Rosa,” Clive said.

“Are you telling us that Sergio mistreated
his own wife?” I asked.

The wrestler held up his meaty hands. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“We’ve only ’eard Adrian’s side of it,” Clive said. “’E’s had a thing for Rosa for a long time, and it really bothered ’im that she married the bastard.”

“Then you have no evidence of it,” Marco said.

“Just what Adrian told us,” Clive said.

“Not true,” Jericho said in his low rasp. “When Rosa came to pick Sergio up one day, she had a big purple shiner. I asked her what happened, and she pointed at Sergio and said, ‘It’s his fault. Why don’t you ask him?’”

I turned to Clive. “Was that what you meant when you said to flip my question around? That Sergio was
hitting
Rosa?”

“Now you’re getting the picture, love,” he said.

And it wasn’t pretty. Allegations were one thing, but actual physical proof was a whole new ball game. It also put Adrian’s suggestion in a new light:
Perhaps you should ask Rosa if she slipped poison in his thermos that morning.

Maybe that wasn’t such an outrageous statement after all.

I
turned to the first page of the notepad and added a fifth name to our suspect list. I didn’t want to believe that Rosa had a hand in her husband’s fall, but why had she withheld two huge pieces of information?

“Did you do as Mrs. Marin suggested and ask Sergio about her black eye?” Marco asked Jericho.

“Not my place,” he said in his weird, whispery voice.

“What was Adrian’s reaction to her black eye?” Marco asked.

Jericho shrugged, his face emotionless. I saw Clive give Sam a sly grin, so I pointed at him with my pen. “You know something.”

“Me?” he asked, trying to look innocent.

“Did Adrian say something to Sergio about the black eye?” I asked.

“You’ll want to ask Adrian that question,” Clive said.

What I wanted to do was jab him with my pen the next time he grinned at Sam.

“Did you ever witness any fistfights between Adrian and Sergio?” Marco asked all three men.

“One or two,” Clive said. He glanced at the others but only Sam nodded.

“Any trips to the ER from those fights?”

“They had a few bruises,” Wrestler Sam said. “Nothing else.”

“Did Mr. Appleruth find out?”

“It was personal,” Clive said. “No reason for ’im to know.”

“Anyone else ever get into a fight with Sergio?”

“I ’ad the occasional argument with ’im over a beer,” Clive said. “Nothing physical.”

“How about you, Sam?”

“Sergio and me, we got into it once. He pushed me a couple times, and then I pushed back.” Looking at his comrades, the wrestler said with a snicker, “He didn’t try it again, did he?”

The others gazed down as though embarrassed for him. Sam apparently wasn’t quick enough to preview his answers before they left his mouth.

“How hard did you push back?” I asked.

Sam’s neck reddened again. “Not that hard. You know, just to let him know not to mess with me. No one ended up in the hospital or nothing.”

I put an asterisk beside his answer. It was worth checking out.

“How about you?” Marco asked Jericho.

“A few disagreements.” Jericho seemed outwardly calm, yet his fingers at his sides were curling and uncurling, as though the memory made him angry.

“You’ve all had run-ins with Sergio,” Marco said. “What were they about primarily?”

“With Sergio, it was anything and everything,” Clive
said. “The weather, politics, sports—but mostly ’ow we were doing our work.”

“What didn’t he like about your work?” I asked.

“Sergio ’ad a certain way he wanted things done,” Clive said. “’E didn’t understand that his way wasn’t the only way, so ’e’d throw a fit. I’d just start to whistle like I didn’t care.” He grinned at his friends. “Sergio ’ated that, didn’t he, mates?”

“Did you ever complain to Mr. Appleruth?” I asked.

“I did once,” Clive said. “Appleruth said ’e’d talk to Sergio, but nothing ever changed. If anything, Sergio criticized my work even more.”

“I’ve already asked Sam this question,” Marco said to the others, “but how did the two of you feel about Sergio being promoted?”

“I wasn’t exactly thrilled,” Clive said. “Sergio wasn’t a pleasant bloke to work with before. Now that ’e’s our boss, ’e’s even worse. But ’e was selected, so what’s a fellow to do?”

“Jericho?” Marco asked. “Any comment?”

“What Clive said.”

I finished writing, then glanced up to find Jericho’s deep-set eyes on me yet again. It was almost an appraising stare, as if he was collecting physical information. I felt goose bumps prickle my arms and I inched closer to Marco.

Sam nodded in our direction as he said to his friends, “They asked me who was working next to Sergio. I told them Adrian was.”

Nothing like prompting their answers.

“That’s what I remember, too,” Clive said.

Jericho looked away as though bored.

“Explain something to me,” Marco said. “You’ve got a solidly built man near the top of a ladder that’s leaning against a house. How do you tip the balance in the other direction?”

Wrestler Sam said, “You’d have to throw your weight back.”

“Does it make sense that an experienced man would do that?”

“If he was dizzy,” Sam said.

“Wouldn’t you hug the ladder if you felt dizzy?”

They pondered that for a moment. Then Clive said, “If Sergio ’ad a ’angover, all it would take is for ’is sugar level to fall and then—” He tipped his head back to mime blacking out.

“But he yelled for help,” I reminded Clive.

“Maybe ’e knew ’e was about to pass out,” Clive said.

Sam shook his head. “I’m telling you it was a heart attack. I saw him clutch his chest like this.” He cupped his hand over the chest pocket on his left side.

“Why didn’t you mention that before?” Marco asked.

“I just remembered,” Sam replied.

“The doctors ruled out a heart attack,” I said.

“’Ow about appendicitis?” Clive asked. “When my appendix burst, I passed out.”

“The doctors would have found that,” I said. “An infection anywhere in his body would’ve shown up in his initial blood work.”

“You sure put a lot of faith in doctors,” Clive said.

“Considering that both of my brothers are doctors,” I said, “I kind of do.” And for the same reason, I kind of didn’t.

“What about the painters?” Marco asked. “Were any of them working near Sergio?”

“They were down too low to see anything,” Sam said.

So no witnesses. Very convenient.

Clive checked his watch; all shifted from one foot to the other as though ready to call it quits.

“Last question,” Marco said. “Who was responsible for slashing Sergio’s tires?”

“’Is tires were slashed?” Clive asked. The wrestler shrugged as if he didn’t know a thing while Jericho remained impassive.

“His tires were slashed,” Marco said, “a dead rat was left in his locker, and his coveralls were splashed with red paint.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Sam asked in mock innocence.

“To intimidate him,” Marco said. “If I were the detective running this case, I’d want to know who left those warnings, because they just might lead me to the guilty party. I’m sure that’s why the police asked Mrs. Marin for the coveralls. Someone’s DNA is bound to be all over them.”

Sam’s head whipped around toward Jericho, alarm written all over his face, but before he could say anything, Clive jumped in with “Good luck to the detectives then, mate, because whoever did it wouldn’t ’ave ’ad to touch the coveralls to throw paint on them.”

“You’re talking like you know who it is, Clive,” Marco said.

“All I’ll say is that a lot of our mates don’t like the bastard. Right, fellows? Now I’ve got a date with a pint, so I’ll be saying good night.”

“Me, too,” Sam said.

“Good luck finding your
guilty party
,” Clive called in a mocking voice as we walked away. Their laughter followed us to the car.

“They’re not taking this very seriously,” I said.

“That’s why I wanted them to think the detectives were looking for DNA on Sergio’s clothing. Did you notice Sam’s instant reaction?”

“Yep. Maybe the three of them are behind everything, including Sergio’s fall.”

“Judging by their answers, they obviously feel confident that they won’t be discovered.”

As we drove back to town, I said, “You know what’s really bugging me? Why Rosa didn’t tell us that Sergio was hitting her. Or that he had a drinking problem.”

“What’s the first rule of investigating, Sunshine? Verify, verify—”

“I know, verify. But the black eye, Marco. That’s serious.”

“It
might
be serious. If Sergio was abusive, it gives Rosa a motive, which means we’re going to have to have a talk with her before we do any more work on the case. Would you call her this evening and set a time?”

“Sure. But you know, Marco, if Clive is right about Sergio having a hangover, it’s possible he felt like he was about to black out and called for help before he toppled.”

“That wouldn’t explain why Sam saw him clutch his chest.”

“Maybe he was reaching for his cell phone to call nine-one-one.”

“I’ll find out from Reilly whether his blood work
showed any alcohol in it. So give me your assessment of the three men.”

“Sam seems the type who settles things with his fists and is definitely not the sharpest knife in the block. Clive seems the smartest of the three and is quick with his answers. Jericho is just weird. First of all, he was too quiet. I couldn’t get a reading on him. And then I didn’t like the way he kept staring at me.”

“I noticed that, too. I think you’d better let me follow up on him by myself.”

“And miss out on an interview? No way, Salvare. We’re a team. If he gives me one of those creepy looks again, I’ll call him out on it.”

“If he does it again, Sunshine,
I’ll
call him out on it. It’s my job to protect you.”

Aw. How gallant was that?

“Did any of them strike you as being a murderer?” Marco asked.

“Maybe Jericho. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking beneath the surface. How about you?”

“I agree, and I’ll add that Sam struck me as someone who would seize the chance to intimidate or possibly hurt Sergio, but I don’t get the sense that Sergio’s so-called accident was premeditated. I think that whoever did it saw an opportunity and took it.”

Marco pulled into the public parking lot a block from Down the Hatch and found a parking space near the street. “Did you pick up on any animosity between the three men and Adrian?”

“Obviously they threw Adrian under the bus about being the nearest to Sergio and being jealous of Sergio’s
promotion, but other than that, they didn’t say anything bad about him. But how will we know who was actually the nearest unless we can find another witness?”

Marco opened my door to let me out. “I’ll call Appleruth tomorrow morning and have him check with the painters and then I may canvass the immediate neighbors in the morning.”

“And I’ll call Rosa as soon as I get back home.” With a sigh, I added, “I really hate having her on our suspect list.”

“It can’t be helped, babe.”

“So what’s our next move?” I asked as we walked up Franklin Street.

“We need to interview the three men separately. If you’re still sure you want to go, then let’s pay Jericho a visit tomorrow after supper.”

“It’s a plan.”

We paused in front of Down the Hatch, where he once again opened the door for me. “What do you say we have dinner and forget about the case for a while?”

*   *   *

Two hours later, as I was romping with Seedy on the floor of our cramped living room, the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID, so I answered with a cautious “Hello?”

“Abby, how did it go?” Rosa asked in her upbeat way.

“It went well. We talked to Clive, Sam, and Jericho, and all of them were cooperative. Actually, I’m glad you called. We’d like to set up a time to talk to you again.”

“We are talking now, aren’t we?”

“I mean the three of us.”

“If you have something to ask me, why can’t you ask me now?” There was a sharp intake of breath. “Those men said something bad about me, didn’t they? Abby, what could those men have told you that you need Marco at your side to talk to me?”

“They didn’t say anything bad about you, Rosa.”

“Then talk to me, Abby, woman to woman.”

“Okay. Why didn’t you tell us about Sergio’s drinking?”

“What about his drinking?”

“That he often gets drunk after work and comes in the next day with a bad hangover.”

“Sergio?” Her voice deepened as her temper flared. “Yes, he has a few beers after work sometimes, but so drunk he has a hangover? That is not my husband. He’s too much of a control freak to let that happen.”

“Is it true that he stops at a bar with the guys after work?”

“Yes, but never to get drunk.”

“Then what would make them think that Sergio had a hangover?”

“My husband gets very bad headaches that make him grouchy like a bear. So ask yourself, Abby, why would these men make up such lies unless they had something to do with Sergio’s fall? Did they at least confess to the
advertencias
?”

“They pretended to know nothing about them.”

She exhaled in exasperation. “Then I will have to talk to them.”

“Rosa, no. You have to let Marco and me do the questioning. We’re trained to do it. You’re not.”

“And yet you are not getting any answers.”

“Just have patience. Investigations move slowly at first.” As if I were one to talk about patience.

She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I am not a patient person. Sergio would always say, ‘Calm down, my little
relámpago
. Not everything moves as fast as you do.’” With a smile in her voice she added, “
Relámpago
means ‘lightning.’ He calls me that because I light up his life like a flash of light.”

Wow. That was why Marco called me Sunshine.

“That is why he bought me my beautiful lightning bolt necklace. Now Sergio says nothing at all. He doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t even squeeze my hand. The doctor told me today that he is not very hopeful my husband will recover.”