Dirty Rotten Tendrils (4 page)

The roar of the crowd could have been heard in Chicago. I was surprised no one had rolled out a red carpet for her.

“I gotta make sure the boys get a picture of that,” Lottie said, then charged across the street to direct Karl’s photography efforts.

Lila Redmond tossed back her long black hair, causing it to ripple like liquid silk, then waved and smiled coyly as cameras flashed. Lipinski took her arm to escort her into the side entrance, and then the attention returned to the open limo door. Soon a chant of “Co-
dee
, Co-
dee
, Co-
dee
” built to a crescendo, turning into a huge shout of “Yay!” as a dark head appeared.

Cody Verse, tall, muscular, and good-looking, with jagged-cut coal black hair, exited the car, smiling and waving as though he were a returning war hero. He wore a full-length, silver-toned leather coat and was followed by a pudgy, middle-aged bald man in a brown wool suit—his agent, no doubt. Before the crowd could charge, the pair was rushed inside the courthouse and the side door was closed.

The defendant had arrived.

I glanced at my watch. In about fifteen minutes, Dave Hammond, the attorney for the plaintiff, would leave his law office on Lincoln Avenue and quietly make his way across the street to the courtroom on the fourth floor. No one would notice the somewhat stocky, nondescript man with thinning hair, wearing a plain brown suit and carrying a battered leather briefcase, nor would he want them to. Dave didn’t want attention. He wanted results. But up against the Lip, he might get exactly the opposite.

I
was dying to sit in the courtroom and watch Dave match wits with the Lip, as many people were doing, judging by the line at the rear of the courthouse, but the practical side of me, the side that needed to pay rent and buy groceries, decided to go to work.

After the hubbub outside, my flower shop was a haven of bliss. Closing the door behind me, I inhaled the sweet, heady aromas of fresh blossoms and glanced around in never-ending delight. Tables, shelves, and armoires spilled over with colorful floral arrangements and gift items. A glass-fronted cooler at the back of the shop displayed roses, daisies, gerberas, lilies, mums, and ready-made arrangements, while wreaths, vines, and decorative mirrors filled the walls.

The cashier counter was to my immediate left, and the doorway to the coffee-and-tea parlor to my right, where my other assistant, a sixtysomething Brit named Grace Bingham, was hard at work.

“Is that you, Abby?” she called.

“Hi, Grace,” I replied, shedding my coat.

She was behind the coffee counter preparing for the customers who came in before work to have a cup of her gourmet coffee or one of her specialty teas and a homemade scone, the flavor depending on her whim that morning. I’d added the parlor as a way to draw in more customers, and luckily it had paid off. If it hadn’t, I would have been in serious financial trouble.

Grace had been Dave Hammond’s secretary when I clerked for him, but she had decided to retire about the time I bought Bloomers. Her retirement had lasted two weeks; then, bored to tears, she came to work for me. Running the parlor was a labor of love for Grace, which was fortunate, since I had little to offer in the form of pay.

“Good morning, love,” she said, sailing in from the parlor. She was wearing a pleated gray skirt and a lilac sweater set, with silver earrings and a pendant, which set off her short, stylish gray hair. “How are we today? Did Lottie tell you your breakfast was waiting?”

“Yes, she did, and we are fine now that we’re safely inside, away from the insanity.”

“I covered your plate to keep it warm, but without an oven, I’m afraid, your eggs are a bit chilled.”

“No problem.” I headed toward the purple curtain at the back of the shop. “Did you catch Lipinski’s grand entrance in his orange chopper?”

“One could hardly avoid it,” Grace said, following me. “The word
ostentatious
springs to mind. Are you aware that Mr. Lipinski owns the helicopters used by the hospital and the sheriff’s department and makes a tidy profit from leasing them? It’s quite true, you know. The odious fellow has his tendrils in everything. I was forced to contend with that man on several occasions when I worked for Dave, none of which I remember with pleasure. It’s a pity our Dave must deal with such a tough case as well as so loathsome an opponent.”

I hadn’t been aware of Lipinski’s other pursuits, but I didn’t doubt Grace’s word. She had great sources.

I parted the curtain and stepped into my pleasure zone, otherwise known as the workroom. Although windowless, the copious colorful blossoms and the heady fragrances made the area a tropical garden. Vases of all sizes and containers of dried flowers filled shelves above the counters along two walls. A long slate-covered worktable occupied the middle of the room; two big walk-in coolers took up one side, and a desk holding my computer equipment and telephone filled the other side.

Beyond the workroom was a tiny galley kitchen and an even tinier bathroom. At the very back was the exit onto the alley, guarded by a big, rusty iron door that needed to be replaced. I’d been waiting months for a permit to put in a bigger door as well as a ramp for deliveries, and had only just recently received word that the permit was on its way.

As Grace had promised, a foil-covered plate sat on the counter. I perched on a kitchen stool as Grace brought me a cup of coffee and a pitcher filled with half-and-half. I creamed my coffee, then took a sip and sighed with pleasure. “Yum. Delicious, as always. Do I taste a hint of chocolate?”

She gave me a secretive smile. Grace would never divulge her coffee recipes.

I tucked in to Lottie’s skillet eggs, a dish made with olive oil, feta cheese, lemon pepper, basil, and bites of asparagus. Lottie liked to add leftover veggies from home. Whatever combination she used, it was always browned on the bottom, soft on top, and delicious inside.

“I wish Lottie made breakfast every day,” I said with a satisfied sigh, rinsing my plate at the sink.

“But then Mondays wouldn’t be special, would they?” Grace checked her watch. “It’s nearly nine. I should get ready to open the store.”

At once, there was a loud rapping on the front door. “Good heavens,” Grace said. “Someone must need coffee badly.”

While she went to open the door, I checked the spindle on my desk to see how many orders had come in overnight. Grace always printed them out and stacked them in the order they were needed. I counted eleven. Not great, but enough to keep me busy all morning.

Lottie came bustling in. “In all the excitement, I forgot to take my key.”

“Did Karl get any good photos?”

“Mostly the backs of people’s heads,” she said. “A few shots of Lila. That’s probably who he was after anyway. I’ll turn on the radio so we can keep tabs on the hearing. There’s no telling what will happen with the Lip involved.”

 

 

Lottie had certainly called it. About eleven thirty, as I was finishing an arrangement for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, of red stargazer lilies, blue delphinium, lavender asters, alstroemeria, yellow solidago, and sprigs of senecio for greenery, the radio newscaster broke in to announce that Judge Hezekiah Duncan had declared a recess and ordered the courtroom cleared.

“Why would the judge need to clear the courtroom?” Lottie asked. She had come into the workroom for more flowers to restock the glass display case.

“Because, undoubtedly, Mr. Lipinski caused a dustup,” Grace said as she slipped through the curtain. Somehow Grace always managed to be nearby when a discussion was taking place so she could offer one of her pithy sayings. She had an unlimited supply.

Right on cue, she struck her lecturing pose—chin up, hands clasping the edges of her cardigan as though they were lapels. “It brings to mind Oscar Wilde’s description of a man of Mr. Lipinski’s character. ‘He would stab his best friend for the sake of writing an epigram on his tombstone. ’ ”

Lottie and I clapped. Grace nodded in appreciation, then picked up the phone and punched in a number. When her call was answered, she said, “Martha, love, do you know what happened across the street?”

Martha was Dave’s current secretary, whom Grace had come to know quite well. “I see,” Grace said after listening for several moments. “Well, that’s not good, is it? Keep us posted, dear, will you?”

She replaced the receiver. “Martha doesn’t know why a recess was called. Dave hasn’t checked in yet. However, the news did cause her to express her concern for Dave’s well-being. She said he’d mentioned in passing that his blood pressure has been on the high side lately and he hasn’t been sleeping well. Dave hates having a fuss made over him, so Martha wasn’t able to press for details, but she fears the stress of his public defender workload is getting to him.”

I knew from my stint as his law clerk that defending the accused was a thankless job, yet, as Dave always said, it was included in our Constitution for a reason. Our forefathers knew there was a mere thin line standing between freedom and authoritarianism, and that line was our Bill of Rights.

But add Lipinski, not to mention a case that was becoming a major media event, to Dave’s load and who knew what toll it would take on his health? I pondered the matter as I pulled clear wrap off the big roll. Maybe I could catch Dave before he left the courthouse and offer whatever assistance I could. Marco was still working evenings. I’d might as well do something useful, too.

I checked the gift tag on the anniversary arrangement. It was for Mrs. Denise Byrd, who lived within walking distance of my shop. Perfect.

As I slipped on my peacoat, I said to my assistants, “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the first lunch shift so I can deliver this arrangement.”

Grace secured the gift card to the arrangement. “Do give Dave our best when you see him.”

She knew me too well.

 

 

As I crossed Franklin Street and started across the grass heading toward the back of the courthouse, the side door opened and the security detail poured out, doing a visual sweep of the area around the limousines. They saw me hurrying toward the big building, my arms around a huge basket of flowers, and immediately one guard stepped forward. “No gifts! Get back!”

“This isn’t for Cody, and I’m not even coming toward you.” Giving him a glare, I detoured around the Green Zone and was approaching the entrance at the rear of the building when a gaggle of reporters burst out and raced straight toward me. I stepped back so my flowers wouldn’t be crushed and watched as they ran around the corner to position themselves, since cameras weren’t allowed in the courthouse.

As security guards hustled Lila Redmond from the side door to the white limo, reporters shouted at her, trying to get her attention. Lila paused to wave and smile, setting off a lightning storm of camera flashes. I started toward the entrance again, only to be swept aside by a flock of female court personnel who made a mad dash around the building to snap photos of Cody as he, too, was hustled out of the building. The women, all middle-aged, screamed when they saw him. Two fainted.

But it was the Lip who caused the biggest commotion. He strode out and motioned for the reporters to gather around, clearly gearing up for a press conference. I wasn’t about to miss that, so I hurried around the corner and carefully edged my way along the border of the crowd so my flowers wouldn’t be damaged.

“
Why
did Judge Duncan call a recess?” Lipinski said, repeating the reporter’s question. “If you believe opposing counsel’s story, part of his file is
mysteriously
missing.” The Lip smirked, as though to say,
What a liar
. “If you ask me—and by the way, you did—I’d say it’s a case of being ill-prepared and unable to proceed. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, a not-so-clever stall tactic.”

A stall tactic? How dare he smear Dave’s good name! No way was I going to let that pass. Elbowing my way to the front, still carrying my flowers, I yelled, “Excuse me. Have you
ever
known Attorney Hammond to be ill-prepared for a hearing?”

The Lip zeroed in on me with his beady eyes and condescending tone. “Maybe he’s never had such a weak case before, Petal. Are those lovely blossoms for my client, sweetheart?”

The reporters chuckled. Many of them knew who I was and thus had their cameras and mics ready when I shot back, “You’re not even half the attorney Dave Hammond is. He has more integrity in his little finger than you do in your entire body.”

“I doubt anyone here is surprised that I’m not half the man Dave is,” Lipinski said with a snicker. “I think it’s no secret he’s put on more than a few pounds this past year.” The Lip mugged for the cameras, opening his suit coat to show his trim waist, garnering laughter among the men.

I was so angry, I was ready to pitch the basket at his head, but someone grabbed my arm and led me away. It was Connor McKay, a reporter I’d met when I got entangled in a murder case at the New Chapel law school. At the time Connor was working the crime beat for the
New Chapel News
, but because of cutbacks at the paper, he was now also working as a part-time roving reporter for the local cable TV channel.