Read Night of the Living Dandelion Online
Authors: Kate Collins
Night of the Living Dandelion (25 page)
I braced my hands on the arms of the chair, putting first my good foot and then the bare one on the floor. Then I rose to test my weight and—voilà! It worked. I was standing without help. Boy, did that feel great.
I held out my hands. “See? I’m fine!”
“Oh, Lordy, she’s gonna fall,” Lottie said, covering her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll still use the crutches to keep the weight off my ankle.”
“How do you propose to carry the arrangements up to the customers’ doors?” Grace asked, handing me the Evil Ones.
Rats. Another obstacle. Obviously I needed help, but I couldn’t use one assistant and leave the other alone. Who could I get to go with me?
“I think I have a solution,” I said, hop-stepping toward the curtain.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“D
o you have your other shoe,” Grace called, “and sock?”
o you have your other shoe,” Grace called, “and sock?”
Yet another obstacle to overcome. Good thing I loved a challenge. I rummaged through cabinets in the workroom and found an old pair of yellow rubber rain boots. Not the most fashionable footwear to complement my pencil skirt, but they’d have to do.
I propped the crutches beside my desk and sat down to phone Rafe at the apartment he shared with Marco. “Hey, Rafe, are you busy later this morning?”
“I’m supposed to meet with Marco at ten o’clock to go over bar stuff. Why?”
Another obstacle? “Never mind. You answered my question. Oh, and, Rafe? You did not get this call.”
“I’m cool with that.”
I thought about my delivery dilemma as we opened Bloomers and settled into our normal routines. Business had definitely dropped off. I counted only six orders on the spindle. At least I’d have no problem finishing them by midmorning so I could have a good hour for deliveries before lunch—if I could find a ride.
Before I started working on the first order, I logged onto my MySpace page and found answers from Dana Trumble’s friends, whose Web site identities were Becky Delight and Alison St. J. Both wrote that they thought we should meet in person. Becky had included her phone number, so I gave her a call to invite them to come to Bloomers for free coffee and scones.
“That’s very kind of you,” Becky said in a cautious tone, “but before we accept, I have to ask what you’re planning and whether Jerry is going to be included.”
“I hadn’t actually gotten around to planning anything yet,” I told her. “I was waiting to hear from you.”
“Well, just so you know,” Becky said, “if you want Jerry included, we’re out of it.”
That was interesting. “I’m fine with that, Becky, but may I ask why?”
“We’ll tell you at the meeting. Will five o’clock this afternoon work?”
“That would be perfect. See you then.”
I pulled the first order and went to work. The client wanted a luncheon arrangement using the colors of a vegetable salad, so I wheeled to the first cooler to pull the appropriate stems.
To represent yellow peppers, I selected brilliant yellow Gerbera and solidago; for tomatoes, a rose called Rosa Etoile de Holland; freesia for the softer yellow of summer squash; white narcissi for the onion; and purple sage and hosta leaves for the greens. For texture and scent, I decided on oregano and basil, but someone had beat me to them, so I used feathery dill and the pine-needle-like rosemary instead.
Later I asked Lottie about the missing herbs.
“They should be there, sweetie,” Lottie said. “I put a new batch in the cooler Monday morning and haven’t touched them since . . . although I did see some oregano leaves on the counter by the envelope that Jillian left this morning. Is it possible she took them?”
“I can’t think of why she would,” I said.
“My granny used to treat infections with oregano leaves,” Lottie said. “She swore by her home-brewed basil tea, too. Said it would clean out a body’s poisons.”
“This is Jillian,” I reminded her. “The closest she’s ever come to a home remedy is gargling with salt water for a sore throat.”
“Speaking of Jillian,” Grace said, “has there been any word?”
“None. I think I’ll give Claymore a call.”
I went to my desk in the workroom and dialed Claymore’s cell phone. He answered anxiously, “Yes? Hello?”
“Clay, it’s Abby. Have you heard from Jillian?”
“No,” he answered wearily, “and I’m desperate. I checked all the hotels in the area, as well as the hospitals, but no luck. She could be dying somewhere, Abby. I tried to go to work, but I can’t concentrate. I feel like I have to keep looking for her.”
The proverbial lightbulb went on. “Are you driving around now?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, would you like to help me make a few deliveries? I could really use some assistance and we can look for Jillian at the same time.”
There was a long pause, and then he asked gingerly, “Do I have to drive your minivan?”
Even in a desperate state, a blue-blooded Osborne couldn’t bring himself to sink to such depths. “If you want to use your BMW, Clay, that’s fine. It has a big trunk, right?”
“Of course.”
“How soon can you be here?”
It was a new experience making deliveries in Claymore’s big black BMW. More than a few customers’ mouths fell open when they opened their door and saw it parked at the curb. And they didn’t know what to make of the man in the expensive suit who handed them their arrangements.
After the sixth stop, Claymore got behind the wheel with a big smile on his face. “I can see why you like your work. Everyone is delighted to get flowers.”
“It’s the best feeling in the world,” I said.
“Five more stops?” Claymore asked, as we drove away.
“Actually, only one. The rest of the plants are going to the same place. The Casa Royale Apartments.”
“Isn’t that where Marco’s friend Vlad lives?”
“That’s who the plants are for.”
Claymore tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t think I should make that delivery. I might be forced to punch him in the nose.”
I glanced at Claymore’s skinny frame. If he tried to punch a soldier trained in the martial arts, he’d be the one who would end up with a bloody nose. “Clay, Vlad did not bite Jillian.”
“But Vlad is the reason she thinks she’s a vampire. If anything happens to her, I shall hold him personally responsible.”
“Listen, Clay, all I need is for you to carry the box up to Vlad’s door. Then you can return to the car and wait for me there. You don’t even need to see Vlad.”
“Good,” he said grimly. “I’m not fond of having to use my fists against another human being.”
It took Claymore two trips to get both long boxes containing the plants to the door of Vlad’s apartment, and then he stood there squeezing his hands together, as if being near Vlad made him anxious. “Are you certain you want me to leave you here?”
“Yes, Clay. I’ll be out as soon as I instruct Vlad on how to care for his plants.” And do a little harmless reconnoitering. Of course, that all hinged on Vlad being home. I’d tried to phone him earlier, but he hadn’t answered.
“Then I’ll meet you at the car,” Claymore said, and practically sprinted to the elevator.
I waited until the elevator had ascended, then raised my hand to knock, only to have the door open suddenly. I squinted to see inside, but it was pitch-black. “Vlad? Are you there? I brought your plants over.”
Vlad stuck his head out and glanced up and down the hallway, causing me to look, too. What or whom was he checking for?
“Okay. Come inside.” He stepped back so I could walk in. “Where are your crutches?”
“I left them in the car. Why is it so dark in here?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” He dragged the boxes inside, then shut the door and locked it, leaving me unable to see my own hand in front of my face.
I shivered from the chilly temperature in the apartment. A fan was running somewhere, sending currents of cool air into the room, carrying with it the fragrance of some kind of herb. I sniffed. Was he making a pizza?
I could hear him moving around behind me, but I couldn’t tell what he was doing. Then I heard old hinges squeaking, as though a lid was being opened. My first thought was of the photo of a casket on the HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE Web site. Then the skin on the back of my neck prickled, as though someone was standing nearby. I shivered again and rubbed my arms. My ankle was starting to throb, too.
“Vlad? What’s going on?”
“Come with me.” His voice was a husky whisper near my ear. He took my arm and led me through the apartment. The smell of herbs was overpowering now, as though Vlad had doused himself in them.
“Where are we going?”
“To my bedroom.”
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
“There’s something I need to show you.”
That sounded like a line from a bad movie.
Come with me, little girl. I have something to show you. Thwack!
Come with me, little girl. I have something to show you. Thwack!
Calm down, Abby,
my voice of reason said.
Vlad is Marco’s trusted friend. Do you really believe he would hurt you?
my voice of reason said.
Vlad is Marco’s trusted friend. Do you really believe he would hurt you?
It was that kind of thinking that got people killed in every horror movie I’d ever seen. I wondered if I should pull my arm free and bolt for the door. Then I remembered my ankle and decided not to try it. Instead, I slipped my free hand into my purse and felt for my cell phone.
“Listen, Vlad, let’s do this another time. I’ll come back with Marco and you can show both of us.”
“That won’t work.”
Correction. It wouldn’t work for
him
. It most definitely would work for me. “The thing is, Vlad, Claymore Osborne is waiting for me in the car and if I don’t come out—”
him
. It most definitely would work for me. “The thing is, Vlad, Claymore Osborne is waiting for me in the car and if I don’t come out—”
“Claymore is outside?”
Vlad didn’t sound pleased, which was exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. Now he knew that someone else knew that I was in his apartment. He’d have to let me go. “Yes, Claymore Osborne. So if you’ll show me the way out—”
“You can’t leave.” He was insistent and his grasp was solid.
My heart started to gallop in apprehension. My fingers fumbled over my wallet. Where was my cell phone? “Why can’t I leave?”
“Abs?” a raspy voice called. “Is that you?”
I knew that voice. “Jillian?” I turned toward where I thought Vlad was, catching the barest glimmer of the whites of his eyes. “My cousin is here?”
“She collapsed outside my door. I brought her inside, and she was shivering so hard from a fever that her teeth were chattering. So I put her on the bed, covered her with blankets, and made her tea. She’s been sleeping for hours.”
“Abs?” Jillian called again.
“Could you turn on a light?” I asked Vlad.
“Jillian said lights hurt her eyes.”
“She’ll survive.”
Vlad turned on a wall sconce that threw out a very weak light. I glanced behind me and saw that he had steered me past a doorway and was leading me down a wide hallway that had three more doors in it. I assumed the one we’d just passed led into the living room. The apartment seemed to be built in the European style, where each room could be closed off by a door.
“Are you sure you should be walking without crutches?” he asked.
“My ankle is fine.” Although it did feel a bit puffy.
Vlad led the way, carrying a black mug in one hand. I passed an open doorway on the left, glanced into it, and saw a refrigerator and range, obviously the kitchen. On my right was a closed door with a strange blue light emanating from beneath it.
“That’s my plant room,” Vlad said. “I’ll show you that later.”
He passed another closed door, but offered no explanation, coming to a stop at the end of the hallway. “She’s in here.” He stood back and allowed me to enter his bedroom. In the dim light from the hallway, I could just make out my cousin’s form under a pile of blankets.
“Could I have a little more light?” I asked.
Vlad crossed the room to a window covered by heavy wooden Florida blinds and opened the slats just enough to allow in a bit more light. I saw Jillian lying on a massive bed that had a dark wooden headboard that reached almost to the ceiling. It was carved with scrolls and swirls and seemed like something out of a Gothic horror movie.
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