Dirty Rotten Tendrils (33 page)

Impeccable logic for a twenty-one-year-old male. But not for the thirty-one-year-old. “That’s crazy,” Marco said. “I’m not apologizing for something that’s not my fault.”

“It is your fault!” Rafe retorted. “You sent me to Bindstrom’s.”

“I wasn’t the one who put the box in the glove compartment,” Marco said through clenched teeth.

Two stubborn Salvares would not a good outcome have. Or something to that effect.

“Marco,” I said, “let’s step back and think about this. That tea cart really needs a new home. And my mom would be thrilled to have her cart given as a gift. Wouldn’t you call that a win-win situation?”

Marco pressed his lips into a hard line for a few seconds, then muttered, “Yeah.”

Rafe gave his brother a smug grin, then said to me, “How much do you want for it?”

“How fast can you get it out of here?” I asked.

“I can take it now,” Rafe said. “I’ve got Mom’s old Buick out front.”

I did a quick estimate of my mother’s cost for materials and labor, and said, “How about fifty dollars?” I knew I was lowballing it, but Mom always gave discounts to family, and Rafe was almost family. Plus, Mom knew he was strapped for cash.

“Sold,” Rafe said. “Can I pay you tomorrow?”

Marco pulled out his money clip, peeled off seven ten-dollar bills and handed them to me. “There’s seventy. Let’s not insult your mom. And, Rafe, you owe me half that amount.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“That’s really generous of you, Marco,” I said. “Mom will be thrilled. So thrilled, in fact, she’ll make more.” I handed him twenty. “Let’s not encourage her, okay?”

The bell over the door jingled and Jillian walked in, a big shopping bag in each hand. She smiled at us. “I was hoping to find an audience. I’ve just picked out a whole new selection of dresses and shoes for La Lila.”

“Jillian, I’m in the middle of something,” I said.

“Take your time. I’ll get everything laid out.” She went straight to the wicker settee on the other side of the umbrella plant, set her bags down, and began to unload them. “Where’s Lottie? I want to see how she’s doing with her new look.”

I would bet heavily that Lottie was cowering in the cooler.

Marco gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m due back at the bar. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Coward,” I whispered.

Marco grinned as he backed toward the door. “Nice to see you, Jillian.” He paused to fix Rafe with a warning glance, then left.

“What’s his problem?” Rafe grumbled.

“It’s the older-brother syndrome,” I told him, wheeling the cart into the workroom to wrap the top. “I get the same kind of hassle from my brothers all the time. Hold the cart steady so I can tape the paper. Anyway, Marco cares about you, Rafe, but he expects you to think like he does. So he gets angry when you don’t.”

“I’m glad you understand me.”

Where had he gotten that impression? “Here’s a gift card and my pen. Sign.”

He wrote,
From the Salvares
. I almost kissed him for leaving my name off.

I taped the card onto the cart, and then we wheeled it through the shop. I held the door open so Rafe could carry it out the door to the Buick, which, fortunately, had a roomy trunk.

After we loaded it inside, he shut the lid and brushed off his hands. “Thanks, Abby. You’re cool.”

“Tell me the truth, Rafe. Are you really sure you want to get married?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m crazy about Cinnamon. Wait till you get to know her, and then you’ll understand. I’ll bet you’ll even be best friends.”

There was something to look forward to—being Cinnamon’s BFF. Move over, Nikki.

I opened the door to go back inside Bloomers, and Jillian nearly bowled me over rushing to get out. “Sorry, Abs. Emergency. Gotta run.”

“What happened?”

She paused, a large bag in each hand. “My bank just called. Someone was racking up huge charges on my account, so they canceled my credit card.”

“Thank goodness they’re looking out for you.”

“No, Abby! My card wasn’t stolen. I used it to buy these clothes!” She marched off, grumbling, “I certainly hope Lila appreciates all the work I’m doing for her.”

In your dreams, Jillian.

 

 

Just after three o’clock Tara and two of her friends dashed in to announce that the plans for the contest had changed because a bad storm was approaching from the west, due to hit around six o’clock. The contest would be held in the banquet hall of Cody’s hotel instead.

“Isn’t that great?” Tara asked. “The acoustics will be so much better in the hall. Okay if we store our costumes in the workroom?”

“Sure.”

As Tara and her buddies carried their backpacks through the curtain, my mind started working. If Cody was tied up with the contest all evening, what would Lila be doing? Watching an endless parade of contestants audition? If it were me, I know what I’d do—order champagne and chocolates from room service and watch a pay-per-view movie in the comfort of my hotel room. And if someone around my age happened to deliver flowers, I might invite her in for a glass of bubbly.

As the girls headed toward the parlor, I pulled Tara aside. “Want to make some extra money this evening?”

“Sure! What do I have to do?”

“Let me wear your costume to the audition.”

T
ara stared at me in astonishment. “Why do you want to wear my costume?”

“Because I need to be one of the Code Bluebirds—but just for tonight, I promise.”

“No way,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “That’s really twisted, Aunt Abby.”

“Not as twisted as it sounds. It’s for an investigation.”

“What kind of investigation?”

“I can’t tell you, Tara, but I really need this favor. Please? For your favorite aunt?”

She pursed her lips. “If you wear my costume, what am I supposed to wear?”

“Do you have a spare?”

“No.”

“Do any of the other girls?”

She got a sly glint in her eye. “Maybe.”

Brat. “Come on, Tara, is there a spare costume or not?”

“Tell me about the investigation first.”

I glowered at her, but she merely glowered back. It was like looking into a mirror fourteen years ago. And I knew by Tara’s expression that she wasn’t about to give in.

I glanced around to be sure we couldn’t be overheard. “Okay, here it is. I really need to talk to Lila Redmond, but I don’t want Cody to know, so I thought if I could get into the hotel as one of your group, then I could sneak up to her room while Cody is judging the contest.”

“Why don’t you want Cody to know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“That’s too bad, because
I
know who has an extra costume.”

I pulled Marco’s money out of my pocket. I hadn’t even had time to ring up the sale. “And I have fifty dollars.” I waved the bills under her nose.

Tara was tempted. I could see it in her eyes as she gazed at the money. But then she crossed her arms over her chest. “Nope. You have to tell me
and
pay me or no deal.”

I took her hand and slapped the bills onto her palm. “Fine. But if you tell one single person what I’m about to reveal, I’ll have to kill you.”

She stuffed the money into her jeans pocket. “Yeah, right.”

“Did I say kill? I meant to say ‘tell.’ As in, I’ll
tell
that cute neighbor of yours—what’s his name, Derek?—that you have a huge crush on him.”

Tara’s eyes widened so far I was afraid they’d fall out of their sockets. “Okay! I swear I won’t tell anyone. How did you know about Derek, anyway?”

I smiled slyly. “I can’t tell you.”

 

 

Marco stopped by Bloomers at four thirty, just as I was getting ready to carry the two funeral arrangements out to the van. “Hey, babe. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

He pulled papers out of a large manila envelope and laid them on the worktable. “Take a look.”

On the table were two eight-by-ten full-color glossies of Ken Lipinski lying slumped over his desk. “Holy cow, Marco. These are crime-scene photos. Where did you get them?”

“Not important.”

“It was Reilly, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Come on, take a long look. Tell me what you see.”

I stood beside him, scanning both photos, trying not to look at Lipinski’s face. Naturally, that was impossible.

In the first photo, taken from the left side of his desk looking toward the right side, Lipinski’s head was turned toward the camera, his face a mottled gray-blue, his eyes open, pupils clouded, his purple tongue swollen and protruding. He was wearing a navy pin-striped suit and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His left hand rested on the desk, palm down, in a manner that suggested he might have been attempting to raise himself.

I shuddered, trying not to imagine what his last moments had been like.

“I know it’s not easy,” Marco said, rubbing my back.

I took a deep breath, refocused, and began pointing things out. “There’s the cocktail glass Joan described. The telephone in the upper right corner. The computer monitor. The open window with a briefcase on the table below it. What’s that gray smear? A bird feather?”

“Could be. Can you tell what’s on the monitor?”

“Looks like a legal document.” I grabbed a magnifying lens from my desk drawer and held it over the photo. “It’s Andrew’s lawsuit. See this? I can just make out the words
Code Blue
in the second line.”

I gave Marco the lens and let him view the document. “Wait, Marco, hold the lens over this yellow item.” I pointed to a small object just beyond the cocktail glass. “See it? A pack of gum, right? Can you make out the brand?”

“Not in this shot. It’s the wrong angle. But take a look at this.” Marco pointed out the open window on the right side of the room. “There’s no screen in the window. The killer could have easily climbed in. It’s a one-story building.”

“Has anyone mentioned that this might have been a robbery gone bad?”

“The cops would have known that. Things would be missing, his watch, for instance.”

Marco picked up the second photo, a shot taken from the front of Lipinski’s desk. In it, the Lip’s right hand was outstretched, as though reaching for the cocktail glass just inches beyond his fingertips. “He still has his watch. And see the Bose stereo system on the credenza behind him? That would be gone.”

“That must be his bourbon decanter next to the Bose. Looks like it’s half empty.”

“Or half full.” Marco raised an eyebrow.

I plucked the magnifying lens from his hand and focused on the pack of gum. “Juicy Fruit—Scott Hess’s brand—on the Lip’s desk. Maybe he left it behind.”

“Or maybe Lipinski chewed it, too.”

“Both lawyers in the same office chewed a highly sweetened, fruity children’s gum?”

“I don’t know, Miss Glass Half Empty. Maybe.”

“But do you see where it is? Just a few inches away from the cocktail glass. If you look at his hand, he seems to be reaching for the glass, but maybe he was actually pointing at the gum, trying to leave a clue as to who drugged his drink.”

“You’ve been watching
The Simpsons
cartoons again, haven’t you?”

“Make fun. But if Hess turns out to be the killer, don’t think I won’t remind you of this conversation.”

Marco put his arm around me. “You know I like to tease you.”

“I can think of better ways to do that,” I said, and began to press light kisses up his neck. Yikes. But not with those crime-scene photos staring at me. I pushed them away.

The telephone rang, but before I could get to the phone, one of my assistants answered. It served to remind me that I still had work to do. “I’ve got to get some funeral arrangements over to the Happy Dreams Funeral Home. What do you say we continue this later?”

“It’s a date.” He dropped the photos back into the envelope. “Are those arrangements for Lipinski’s funeral?”

I nodded. “The viewing’s at seven o’clock.”

“Maybe we should drop by, see who shows up. Want to meet for dinner first?”

And miss the auditions for the talent contest? No way. But what could I tell Marco?

“Never mind,” Marco said. “I just remembered that Ted is coming in late. His car broke down and had to be towed. With it being Friday night, I’ll have my hands full until he gets there, and I have no idea what time that’ll be.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”

Marco stared at me. “Perfect?”

Had I said that out loud? “Perfect . . . in the sense that I have other stops to make after the funeral delivery, so I’ll be tied up, too. How about if we meet later, say eight thirty?”

“Sweetie,” Lottie said, poking her head through the curtain, “your mom is on the phone.”