Dirty Rotten Tendrils (27 page)

The system seemed to be working out as I’d hoped. Lottie was in the workroom, now in her bare feet—having ditched the Frankenstein heels—finishing up the floral pieces needed by the end of the day, while Grace manned the shop. Marco had arranged to have his head bartender take over for him, so he was waiting in his car when I slipped out the front door. Making sure Connor McKay wasn’t lurking nearby, I jumped in the passenger seat and we took off.

On our way to the Chappers’ house, Marco filled me in on his phone conversation with Dave, who reported that Andrew was still in jail because his grandparents didn’t have the bail money to get him out. Dave had petitioned for an emergency bond reduction hearing, which would be heard before the status hearing the next morning, leaving Andrew in jail overnight.

“That should put his grandfather in a foul mood,” I said. “I hope he doesn’t freak out like he did after Monday’s hearing. Did I tell you he grabbed Dave by the lapels and got right in his face to yell at him? I was ready to call for security.”

“I’ll handle Chapper,” Marco said. “I’ve dealt with his kind before.”

“That works for me. What else did Dave tell you?”

“That was it. But I have some bad news to report from the home front.”

“What?”

“Rafe and Cinnamon are back together.”

“No! I was hoping Rafe had finally come to his senses. I’ll bet your mom flipped when she heard.”

“Mom handled the news pretty well. I suspect she was prepared for it. I just hope Rafe keeps his promise to give the relationship six months before they tie the knot.”

Marco turned onto a street a few blocks northeast of the town square and started searching the house numbers. The homes were one-story boxes on small lots with garages off an alley in back.

Marco pulled up in front of a brown house. “Just so you know, I called the Chappers to ask if we could stop by. I didn’t think a surprise visit would be a good idea. I told them Dave hired us. They’ll assume we’re working on Andrew’s case.”

“What do we do if Mr. Chapper figures out that we’re investigating the Lip’s murder?”

“Play it by ear. He’ll either cooperate or he won’t.”

“And if he gets violent?”

Marco pointed to his foot. I leaned over for a look as he pulled up one leg of his jeans, displaying a small .38 strapped to his ankle. “I’m ready for that eventuality.”

A
ndrew’s grandmother was waiting for us at the door, and as we approached, I was struck again by the unhappiness that surrounded her like smog. Mrs. Chapper was a thin, washed-out woman with deep marionette lines that ran from nose to chin, and long, thick, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back with a clip to hang limply down her back. She wore a flowered-print blouse over brown knit pants that bagged at the knees from years of use, white socks, and tan canvas shoes, a look that would give Jillian screaming nightmares.

Marco showed her his ID through the glass storm door. “Marco Salvare. I spoke with you on the phone earlier. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a helper.”

I’d been demoted from his assistant?

She offered a tired smile as she admitted us. “I don’t mind. Come in, please.”

“Mrs. Chapper, I’m Abby Knight,” I volunteered, offering my hand. Hers was so fragile I was almost afraid to shake it. “In addition to being Mr. Salvare’s
helper
, I’m a florist. I own Bloomers, on the town square. You might have seen it.”

Color stained spots on her cheekbones. “I don’t get into town much, but I’m sure your flower shop is very nice. Would you like to sit on the sofa? And please call me Tansy.”

At least I think she said Tansy. Her voice was so low and soft, I tugged my ears to make sure they weren’t plugged.

“Call Tansy,” a bird squawked somewhere in the house. “Aw-w-wk.”

Another bird. Wonderful. Didn’t need to tug my ears to hear that noise.

We were standing in their tiny living room, into which had been stuffed a brown plaid sofa, matching love seat, coffee table, corner hutch packed with small ceramic figurines, and a blue lounge chair, where Mr. Chapper was stretched out, a beer in one hand, watching an old movie on an even older television set in the opposite corner. Perched on his shoulder was a large orange, blue, and green parrot. Not a cockatoo, thankfully, but I covered my earlobes nevertheless and gave him a warning glare.

“Herbert?” Tansy said, since he didn’t seem aware of us. “This is Mr. Hammond’s investigator, Marco Salvare, and his helper, Abby.”

I had a sudden image of myself in curly-toed green shoes, helping Santa Claus pack his sleigh.

Mr. Chapper used a lever on the side of the chair to retract the footstool, then got to his feet and straightened as though called to attention. The bird flapped its wings to keep its balance, but remained on his shoulder.

“Herb Chapper,” he said gruffly, sticking out his hand toward Marco. “Nice to meet you.” He barely glanced in my direction—not surprising since I was a mere helper elf.

“Suppertime,” the bird squawked, flapping his wings. “Call Andrew.”

I braced myself for a reaction to the reminder of his grandson’s predicament. But Mr. Chapper merely reached up to pet the parrot’s head and say, as though to a child, “Not today, Petey. Andrew isn’t here.”

That wasn’t at all what I had expected.

The parrot took off and circled the room twice, his wings brushing Marco’s hair, which caused me to duck each time, while Marco remained unfazed, even when a feather landed on his head. Mr. Chapper scowled at me as he stretched out his hand to Petey, who landed calmly and walked up his arm to resume his shoulder perch. “Salvare, you’re not afraid of birds, are you?”

“No, sir,” Marco said.

Mr. Chapper gave me a look that seemed to say,
Wimpy elf.
He turned his attention back to Marco. “Military man?”

“Yes, sir. Army Rangers, sir.”

I thought Marco was overdoing the military thing, but it seemed to work on Mr. Chapper, who shook his hand again, this time with a smile. “You have my respect, son. Rangers are tough. Brave. I was regular army, drafted straight out of high school. Straight into that potboiler Nam . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he stared past Marco.

“Herbert?” Tansy said sharply, then dropped her tone back to add, “Why don’t you ask our guests to sit?”

He turned toward her. “What?”

“Ask our guests to sit.” she repeated.

He stared at her for a moment, then snapped back to the present. “Sit down!” he commanded us. “Take a load off.”

“May I bring you some coffee or tea?” Tansy asked, as we sat on the sofa.

“None for me, thanks,” I said, and Marco also declined.

“Tansy.” Mr. Chapper held up his empty bottle. She took it from him and left the room. I heard a loud squawk, but as Petey was now grooming his feathers, I knew it wasn’t him—unless he was a ventriloquist.

“I raise parrots,” Mr. Chapper said, as though sensing my thoughts. “Intelligent birds. I’ve got just two at the moment. Sold one last week. They make perfect pets. Don’t need to be walked. Great alarms, too. Squawk like the devil himself when they sense danger.”

Devils squawked?

“I’m sorry to hear about Andrew being incarcerated,” Marco said, which I thought was rather courageous of him, given Mr. Chapper’s past behavior. Or was he fanning the flames?

“Boy’s acting out because he’s frustrated,” Mr. Chapper replied, with a pound on the arm of his chair. The bird shifted on his shoulder but didn’t appear alarmed. “No one seems to care that Andrew is the victim here. No one! They’ve all gone gaga over Cody Verse. Whole town is in an uproar because of that fraud. Look what he’s done. Brought the devil media to town. Brought chaos to town. Calls upon that devil-in-disguise lawyer to cheat my grandson out of his rightful share of the winnings. A regular Armageddon!”

Marco took out his notebook and pen. “You’re referring to Ken Lipinski?”

“Can’t stand to speak the devil’s name,” Mr. Chapper cried. “He’s where he belongs, burning in the fires of eternal damnation. I thank the Lord each day that the devil is gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

He seemed to be stuck on devil clichés.

“Have you met the lawyer who’s taking over for Mr. Lipinski?” Marco asked.

“Hess? No, haven’t met him. Can’t be as bad as that demon boss of his, though.”

Tansy came back with another beer. He took a long pull from the bottle, then leaned his head back with a sigh. I glanced at Marco and opened my eyes wide, as if to say,
This guy is loco.

Tansy asked us again if we’d like something to drink, and when we declined, she glanced at her husband, who had closed his eyes and was breathing regularly, as though dozing. “This trouble with Cody has been extremely hard on us,” she said quietly, taking the bottle from his hand and placing it on the small, oval coffee table in front of her.

Tansy settled on the love seat and for a moment simply stared at her hands in her lap. “Cody and Andrew were best friends, as close as brothers. Andrew didn’t have any real brothers or sisters, you see, because his parents were killed in a car accident when he was five, so his friendship with Cody went very deep. That’s why Cody’s betrayal cut him to the quick. And we were powerless to do anything to help, so we went to see Mr. Hammond.”

“How has this whole ordeal affected your husband?” Marco asked.

She sighed. “He hasn’t slept through the night since Cody won his contest. Herbert has always had a problem with . . . nightmares. Andrew’s troubles have made them worse.”

“Nightmares?” Marco asked. “Or flashbacks?” At Tansy’s stunned look, he said, “It’s okay. I know your husband has PTSD. How long was he in Vietnam?”

“Over a year.” She glanced at Mr. Chapper to be sure he was asleep, then whispered, “He still refuses to talk about what he saw there.”

After a sigh, she said, “Andrew has been such a dear, sweet boy, always looking out for our well-being. He’s very talented, you know. You should hear the songs he composes. They’re brilliant. That’s why I wanted him to go to a music school. But Andrew thinks we won’t be able to make it without his support, so he refuses to leave us.

“When we heard that Cody had won the top prize on that TV show, we thought surely he would acknowledge Andrew as the song’s cowriter, and then Andrew would be able to use his half of the prize money for school. It just broke our hearts to see Andrew so disappointed.”

Mr. Chapper sat up suddenly and pounded the arm of his chair, causing the parrot to grab on to his shirt with its beak to keep from falling. “That fraud Cody is a selfish pig. Andrew should’ve gotten half those winnings! It’s unfair, damn it!”

“Herbert,” Tansy appealed. “Please.”

“He’ll get his fair share, Tansy,” Mr. Chapper said vehemently. He grabbed the remote and threw it across the room, making a dent in the wall. “Andrew’s gonna get his fair share!”

That
was what I expected.

Tansy waited until the storm had subsided, then said, “Herbert. Ten breaths.”

His fierce gaze turned on his wife, and for a moment I thought he was going to throw Petey at her. Then he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and inhaled through his nose to fill his lungs, then blew it out slowly through his mouth.

“It’s a therapy tool,” she explained quietly, as he continued the breathing exercise.

“Does your husband get therapy through the VA program?” Marco asked.

Tansy nodded. “Saturday mornings. He doesn’t attend as regularly as he should, especially since the lawsuit was filed, but he’s fairly good about taking his medicine.”

That was his behavior
on
drugs?

“What kind of medicine?” Marco asked, ready to write it down.

“An antidepressant,” she said. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“We’re fine,” Marco said. “Do you know the name of the medicine?”

She picked at a piece of lint on her knit slacks. “I’m not sure. Limbitrol, I believe.”

Marco made a note, then glanced over at Mr. Chapper, who had fallen asleep again. “Is your husband employed?”

“No. Herbert gets a disability check.”

“Do you work outside the home?” Marco asked.

She brightened for a moment. “I used to own a cleaning service . . . but I had to sell it because Herbert wasn’t doing well on his own. I fill in once in a while, when one of the crew is ill, but only if Andrew is here with Herbert.”

What a life.

Mr. Chapper began to snore. At once, the parrot flew over to Tansy’s shoulder and resumed grooming its feathers. One fell on Tansy’s lap, and she picked it up and began smoothing it, brushing the soft tufts in one direction and then another.

“Did all three of you meet with Dave on Monday after the hearing?” Marco asked.

“Yes, we did,” she replied.