Snipped in the Bud (15 page)

C
onnor had directed his attention back to the service, so I tried to do the same, but instead found myself darting angry glances his way. After turning my life upside down, he had some nerve to sit there so innocently. And how did he end up in the balcony not three yards away…unless he’d been following me.

Of course! He wouldn’t have recognized me otherwise.

I got up and slid into the next row back, scooting around the curve until I was behind him. He had his reporter’s notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, but he closed it as I drew near. Was he hiding something? Had he written about me again?

“How’s it going, Olga?” he said quietly, laying an arm over the back of the pew, half turning toward me, but keeping an eye on the chapel below.

“How did you know I’d be up here?” I whispered furiously.

“You know, you might want to get some therapy for that paranoia of yours. I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re implying. I came here to report on the memorial service and happened to notice a pretty lady sitting nearby.”

He thought I was pretty?
Focus, Abby. Remember why you’re here.
“So you didn’t know who I was until I came over here just now?”

“Hell, no. I recognized you right away.”

I shoved his arm off the top of the pew. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“For recognizing you?”

“No, for believing those lies Puffer fed you and putting them in your stories.”

“Then why don’t you feed me something new?” He turned to give me a look that could only be described as beguiling, and I really didn’t want to describe anyone’s gaze but Marco’s as beguiling. So I was doubly angry.

“Because I can’t feed you anything new, that’s why,” I hissed in his ear.

“Says who?”

“My lawyer.”

“Off the record, then. You can be my unnamed source.”

I sat back, thinking about that one. If I could stay anonymous, what would be the harm in talking to him? But could I trust this reporter? Why take the chance? “Look, you don’t need information from me. Ask around at the law school. Ask any of his students what kind of man Puffer is, and whether they think he’s responsible for Reed’s…” I halted that sentence as soon as I realized where it was heading.

Connor swivelled to look at me. “Are you saying Professor Puffer is involved in the murder?”

Apparently I hadn’t killed that sentence soon enough. “Where did you get that idea?”

“So he’s not involved? Then why
shouldn’t
I believe what he tells me?”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t involved. Or was involved. I’m just saying…”
Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut?

He flipped open his notebook. “Is this on the record or off ?”

“Off! No, wait. It’s neither. I’m not saying one more word.”

“Not even to tell me why you’re running around in that Halloween costume?”

I glanced around to make sure no one was trying to eavesdrop. “It’s haute couture, not Halloween, and here’s something off the record for you. I don’t know who’s involved in the murder, but I’d really
like
to know because I don’t appreciate having angry mobs show up at Bloomers wanting to lynch me. And FYI, they’re angry because of
your
story.”

“So you’ve decided to do a little private investigating of your own?”

I sat back. Oh, that was bad. Marco would
so
not want that to get around. “What makes you think I’m investigating?”

“Besides the fact that you’re masquerading as a gypsy? For one thing, you’re sitting up in the balcony.”

“Well, so are you! And
you’re
not investi—” Well, yes he was investigating—for a story. “Anyway, this disguise is for my own safety. I call it my antiterrorism look.”

“Is Marco Salvare part of that look, too, assisting your investigation?”

“Marco is merely my—” I started to say
boyfriend,
but stumbled on the
boy
part and only got out
friend
. I wondered what kind of therapy I’d need for that Freudian slip.

“So you and Marco aren’t an item?”

“No comment. And how is that important to your story?”

“That wasn’t for the story. It was for me.”

He
was
flirting. And although I hated to admit it, I kind of liked his flirting. But what did that say about me? I mean, Marco and I were
almost
an item. We’d never discussed our relationship, but I was operating under the assumption that we were exclusive.

Never assume, dear,
Grace always said. Maybe it was time Marco and I had that discussion. “Anyway, how do you know Marco?”

“A good reporter never reveals his sources.” Connor turned fully to face me. “Are you going to give me your story and put an end to the angry mob scene?”

“Not on your life.”

He blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because,” I said, rising, “a good florist never reveals her roots.”

As I returned to my seat, the speaker was just wrapping up. Puffer, his wife, and Kenny were still there, but Bea hadn’t returned, and neither had Hannah or Marco, so when the chaplain had us stand for the final prayer, I headed downstairs, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Connor wasn’t following me. He wasn’t. Maybe he was right about that paranoia.

Marco met me at the bottom of the stairs and ushered me out the door. “I moved my car to the street across from the chapel so we can sit inside and observe people coming out.”

“What happened with Bea?”

“She followed Hannah out here, they argued, Bea watched her head toward the dorm, then she took off in the opposite direction.” He pointed off campus.

“Bea’s apartment is that way. Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“I couldn’t get that close, but I know Bea wasn’t happy about Hannah being there.”

“If Bea is anything like my mother, it probably had to do with what Hannah was wearing—or should have been wearing. Or should have eaten. Or how much sleep she got.” I saw Marco’s eyes start to glaze over, so I stopped. That list could go on forever.

We settled in the car and Marco readied his camera. “What do you know about Hannah?”

“Not much. Why?”

“If she’s in Bea’s life, then we’ll need to check her out, especially since she took the time to come to Reed’s service.”

I pondered that for a moment. Marco had a good point. Why would Hannah come unless she knew Reed? And how would she know Reed? She wasn’t a law student. But she
was
young and pretty. “Marco, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Unless it has something to do with that silky dress you’re wearing, I doubt it.”

I glanced down at the kimono, which had come undraped at one side, revealing a thigh and knee. “You devil,” I said, covering the thigh but leaving the knee exposed, just to torture him. “Maybe Reed had something going with Hannah, and maybe Bea found out and…” I dropped that line of thought because I knew Bea better than that.

Marco picked up on it immediately. “Maybe she confronted Reed about Hannah and ended up stabbing him in anger.”

“It’s a logical theory, but it simply isn’t Bea. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Have you ever seen a sparrow attack a predatory hawk to protect its nest?”

“I see where you’re going with that, but I don’t accept it in Bea’s case.”

“A PI has to keep an open mind, Sunshine.”

“The problem with being open-minded is that your brains tend to fall out.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.” Marco aimed his camera toward the chapel entrance. “Here they come. Keep your eyes peeled.”

The first out the door was Jocelyn Puffer, who hurried toward the parking lot as if she’d just been sprung from prison. “Looks like her show of support for her husband is over,” I said.

“If she came here to support him, it doesn’t make sense that she would so obviously draw away from him in the pew and escape at the first opportunity,” Marco replied.

“Well, then, maybe she came out of respect for Carson Reed. I mean, he was one of Puffer’s colleagues. As the wife of a professor she might think it’s the proper thing to do, and she is a very proper person.”

Marco gave a noncommittal grunt.

The next one of our suspects out the door was Kenny, who cut through the throng gathering outside, with his blond buddy close behind him. Moments later the Dragon came marching from the chapel in his usual military manner, ignoring everyone until suddenly Connor Mackay broke through the crowd and trotted after him, calling his name. Puffer paused long enough for Connor to catch up, then they walked together toward the parking lot.

“That weasel,” I muttered.

“I thought he was a dragon,” Marco said, taking photos.

“The reporter is the weasel. That’s Connor Mackay, from the
News
. He tried to get me to talk to him again, but I told him no way. It really frosts me how the press can take even the simplest statement and make something totally absurd out of it. Look what they did with that comment I made about delivering flowers.”

“Which is exactly why you should never give them so much as one word.”

I had a sudden recollection of saying to Connor not ten minutes earlier,
“I don’t know who’s involved in the murder, but I’d really
like
to know because I don’t appreciate having angry mobs show up at Bloomers wanting to lynch me.”
Oh, man. I didn’t even want to think of how he could twist that one. I felt a headache coming on.

“Who’s the old dude with Kenny?” Marco asked, clicking away.

I squinted across the sunny lawn to where Kenny and his friend stood talking with a distinguished-looking man with white sideburns, a close-cropped goatee, and a crisp gray suit. “That’s Marvin Y. Brown, the head of Dermacol Labs. He was with Reed the night I was arrested. You probably saw his picture in the paper.”

I watched the three huddle in conversation, then shake hands and part, the two guys headed toward the dormitories and Brown for the parking lot. Was that who Kenny had been watching for earlier? But why? Aha! I had it. “Marco, I have a sneaking suspicion Marvin Brown is trying to recruit Kenny as his legal assistant. He wouldn’t have to pay him nearly as much as he paid Reed, yet he’d have access to all the law information he needed.”

Marco put the camera away and started the engine. “That’s not ethical.”

“He tortures animals for profit. There’s nothing ethical about him. I’m going to have to warn Kenny. He shouldn’t get involved with a man like that.”

“Abby,” Marco said, tossing me a warning glance, “one problem at a time, okay?”

When we reached the alley behind my apartment building, Marco cut the engine, then turned to face me. “We’ve got to question Puffer next, but we’re going to need a strategy. Where does he hang out? The VFW hall? Firing range?”

“He has a gun collection, so the firing range would be a safe bet…well, probably not safe for me.” I scratched an itchy spot at the back of my head. “He plays golf at the country club on Friday afternoons.”

“So you’re saying we should take up golf so we can talk to him?”

“Funny. Ha-ha. I was going to say he always has drinks afterward in the bar.” I wiggled a finger under the scarf above my forehead.

“And you know this because?”

“Jillian’s mom is a regular there—on the golf course, not in the bar. Well, actually, there are times when she—”

Marco glanced at his watch. “How about making a long story short—and would you please take off the scarf before your scalp starts to bleed?”

I yanked it off and shook out my hair. Boy, did that feel good. I obviously wasn’t cut out for haute couture. “Here’s an idea. Tomorrow is the Knight family dinner at the country club, so if we arrive early, we can corner Puffer in the bar after he’s put away a few drinks.”

“Country clubs,” Marco grunted. “Not a fan.”

Actually, I wasn’t either. I attended the Friday ritual for my mom’s sake. For a girl raised on a farm like she was, being a member of an exclusive club had been a fantasy. For the wife of a cop, it had been an impossible dream—until my older brothers, Jonathan and Jordan, both doctors, had become members. Now she was in hog heaven.

“It would be the perfect opportunity to talk to him, Marco. Mention your Army Ranger training and Puffer will talk your leg off. And as an additional benefit for coming with me, you’ll get a nice meal afterward.”

“But the drawback is I’ll have to have that meal with your family—not that there’s anything wrong with them that a few counseling sessions couldn’t fix.”

“Name a family that doesn’t have things wrong with it.”

“My family.”

Okay, then.
“But don’t the benefits of being with me for the evening outweigh the drawbacks of being with my family?”