Snipped in the Bud (18 page)

“I
didn’t say anything about you being arrested,” Reilly protested, but he still wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Now I was truly concerned and starting to feel a rising panic, which made my head throb harder. “They’re ready to haul me off in handcuffs again, aren’t they?”

“You’re going to be arrested?” Nikki cried, running out from the kitchen.

“Whoa,” Reilly said, making a T with his hands. “Time out. I don’t know what the prosecutor’s plans are. All I know is that he’s getting calls from parents of the college students, demanding that an arrest be made so their kids will be safe again.” He picked up the wig and handed it to me. “People are up in arms, Abby, and that makes the DA nervous. So stick with your disguises until the case gets resolved. And for heaven’s sake, stay away from Dermacol.”

“The case isn’t going to get resolved in
my
favor unless I find the killer. So if you can just give me a little information—”

He pointed his index finger at me and said sternly, “Keep your nose out of it, Abby. I’m working the case. Besides, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you can answer with a simple nod or shake of your head, just to make me feel better, okay? Good. Now, was anyone allowed to enter the law school after the police arrived?”

He scowled at me for a long moment, but finally shook his head. No one had been allowed to enter.

“What about letting someone in who could identify himor herself?”

Again he shook his head. That meant Jocelyn Puffer had lied to me. She’d been in the law school before the police arrived. However, that didn’t mean she killed Reed. What I needed was a credible motive; otherwise, naming her as a suspect made no sense. I recalled what Kenny had told me about Reed having just ended an affair with a married woman, but I still couldn’t imagine that woman being Jocelyn. Yet I couldn’t ignore that she had lied, either. Somehow I had to find out what she was doing at the school during that hour.

“One more question,” I said as he turned to go. “Did you find out who ordered that funeral rose?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. We traced the call to one of Professor Puffer’s students. It was nothing more than a stupid prank. No connection to the murder.”

A dead end. “That’s what I figured. Thanks for your help, Reilly.”

Nikki showed him out, locked the door, then came back with two bowls of ice cream. I ate my dessert, set the bowl aside, and closed my eyes. It had been a trying day.

“You have to stay awake, Abby.”

“No problem. I’m just resting my eyes.” Right. No way would I be able to stay awake.

“Let’s play a game.” She opened the end-table drawer and removed a pack of cards. “Rummy or go fish? Don’t wrinkle your nose. How about a movie, then?” She found the
TV Guide
and read off our choices. “
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Texas Chain Saw Massacre,
or
Animal House
?”

“In other words, demented, deranged, or disgusting.” I thought a moment. “Let’s go for demented.”

Nikki brought out her sleeping bag and pillow and made a bed for herself beside the sofa. Then we turned on the television and watched
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
. When it was over, I glanced down at Nikki and saw that she was sound asleep. Simon, too, was in dreamland, curled into a furry white ball between her feet. I switched to a shopping channel and watched Susan Lucci tout her hair products for awhile but, despite my best intentions, I, too, dozed off.

The next thing I knew, the apartment was filled with light and Nikki was shaking my shoulder. “Abby, wake up. You weren’t supposed to sleep. You’d better not be in a coma.”

I stretched my arms over my head, then winced as pain radiated through my skull so severely that even my teeth hurt. “Not in a coma,” I gasped. “Need aspirin.”

Nikki pressed gentle fingers along the top of my head. “The lump is smaller. I’ll turn on the coffeemaker and be right back with aspirin.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock in the morning.”

At least I’d gotten some rest—and hadn’t expired. Two good things. Did good luck come in threes?

“I’ll make oatmeal,” Nikki said. “Do you want today’s newspaper?”

“Yes. I want to see if Connor wrote about the memorial service.” Or wrote about me
at
the memorial service.

She handed me the paper. I unrolled it, tossed the rubber band to Simon, who was waiting patiently beside the sofa, then glanced down the front page. In the lower right quadrant I spotted the headline:
PROFESSOR REMEMBERED
. I skimmed the article, then let out a sigh of relief. Connor hadn’t written anything about seeing me in the balcony.

But I was mentioned on the next page, in the Letters to the Editor section.

“Why does Abby Knight, the owner of Bloomers Flower Shop, feel the need to go about town in a disguise? Is she hiding a guilty conscience?”
It was signed John Q. Public. Thanks, John Q. Now everyone in town would be on the alert for me in disguise. There were other letters ranting about my guilt, too, but I refused to read them, so I dropped the paper on the floor.

Give Connor a call,
that little voice inside told me.
Defend yourself.
But what could I tell him that would prove my innocence? That Jocelyn had been at the law school at the time of the murder? So had her husband. So had Kenny. So had I.

The telephone rang and Nikki picked it up in the kitchen. “Hello, Mrs. Knight,” she chirped. “How are you?”

Oh, no! Mom had seen the newspaper.

Nikki came across the living room toward me, listening as my mother talked. I shook my head at her, shut my eyes, and started to snore.

“Yes, she’s right here.” She handed me the phone and whispered, “Sorry. I froze.”

“Hi, Mom. How are you? Yes, I saw the letters in the paper. Yes, I know everyone thinks I’m guilty. Yes, I
am
wearing disguises as self-protection. Yes, I promise I will be very careful. You’ve made a new piece of art for Bloomers? Great. Can’t wait to see it. Okay, tonight then. I love you, too. Hug Dad for me. Bye.”

Nikki came in with a glass of soy milk and two aspirin. “Oatmeal is coming up,” she said, handing me the pills. “Did I hear you say the word
surprise
?”

“Aspirin first.” I downed the medicine. “Mom has a new piece of art for me to sell. She says it will cheer me up and she’s bringing it to dinner at the country club tonight. I wonder if I should alert the staff. They may want to put us in a room by ourselves.”

Nikki snickered. “Maybe you can hang her artwork around your neck to ward off the reporters.”

By the time I had finished my bowl of oatmeal, the aspirin had kicked in and the coffee had perked me up, so I was able to get up and take a shower without too much pain. Then I stood in front of my closet looking over the various outfits Jillian had created, trying to decide who I was going to be today.

“What do you think?” I asked Nikki ten minutes later, strutting before her.

She took one look at the short, spiked black wig, the zebra-striped chiffon blouse with sleeves that hung four inches beyond my fingertips, the thick silver chains that dangled in my cleavage, the yellow linen pants with sequined flowers on the thighs, and the faux snakeskin open-toed, high-heeled shoes—and burst out laughing. “You’re a high-class punk rocker.”

“Would you recognize me?”

“Never.” She studied me for a moment, then shook her head. “Someone would actually pay Jillian money for that outfit?”

“Let’s hope so. The last thing we want is for her to go belly-up and move back in with us. Speaking of Jill, I wonder why she hasn’t barged in yet this morning.”

“Sh-h-h. You’ll jinx us. Isn’t that wig uncomfortable with that lump on your head?”

“Only when I breathe.” I picked up my purse and car keys, then let the keys swing from my fingers as I pondered how to get around town. Kind of pointless to wear a disguise if I was going to drive the Vette. “Hey, Nik. How about switching cars with me again today?”

“Hmm. Do I want to give up my bland subcompact for a bright yellow convertible? Let me think…”

It was always best to ask. We switched keys, then I left the apartment and walked up the hallway toward the stairway exit. As I passed Jillian’s apartment I stopped to listen. All was quiet. She must have been sleeping. I took it as a sign that Jillian’s life was returning to normal.

But as I walked away, she stuck her head out, looked in both directions, then whispered, “What did you want?”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“I saw you through the peephole.”

“Okay, then my next question is, why were you looking through the peephole?”

“Because I heard someone out here and wanted to see who it was.”

“Were you expecting someone?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“My throat is dry. That happens when I sleep with the air conditioner on. Silly me. I should have remembered to open my bedroom window.”

Yeah, right. Jillian hadn’t slept near an open window since she was seven years old, when she saw the movie
Peter Pan
and had been frightened by Tinker Bell. “Jillian, what’s going on? Is someone harassing you?”

“Nothing is going on. I have to go now.” She shot a quick glance both ways, then shut the door. I heard the sound of the chain and bolt being slid into place.

Something was definitely going on. I just didn’t want to know what it was.

Using Nikki’s white Corolla, I drove to Bea’s four-flat apartment building half a mile from the campus, found a parking space along the curb a few houses down, and shut off the engine. Before I could get out of the car, my cell phone chirped, and it was Marco.

“Are you all right?” he asked immediately.

I glanced at my watch. It was only nine thirty in the morning. He couldn’t possibly have heard about what happened last night. And frankly, I was so embarrassed that I wasn’t inclined to fill him in. I was still asking myself why I had approached that van along its side instead of from the rear. I knew better than that. And Marco knew I knew better than that. Morever, he would
tell
me I knew better than that.

“By
all right,
do you mean my health in general or are you referring to my spirits, because my spirits could use a boost. So if you have anything that would cheer me up, tell me.”

“Don’t give me that innocent act. I talked to Reilly. How the hell do you get yourself into these situations?”

“It takes a certain amount of natural ability combined with a proclivity for adventure.”

“I don’t want to hear about your proclivities. Why were you following that minivan around town alone?”

“Because no one was in the car with me. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“That decision could have cost you a lot more than a goose egg on the head. You were damn lucky they didn’t run over you in the street.”

“But now the police know for sure what kind of vehicle to look for. Anyway, that’s over and done with, and we can change subjects because I have some news for you. Reilly verified that no one was allowed into the law school after the body was discovered, so that means Jocelyn lied. Another thing: Kenny told me Professor Reed had just ended an affair with a married woman, and although I doubt Jocelyn was the woman, I thought I’d mention it because, as you say, you never know when some little piece of information will be important.”

“You’re learning, Sunshine.”

I lived for that man’s praise. Well, not really, but it did make me feel good. “My next step is to find out if Jocelyn has a motive—although you might want to try your hand at questioning her, because I doubt she’ll talk to me again. She got kind of huffy there at the end.”

“Remind me to give you a lesson in tact. In the meantime, I’ll visit the bookstore before lunch and see what I can get her to tell me.”

“I can be tactful.” If I tried really, really hard. “In fact, I’m just pulling up to Bea’s flat now. I have my list of questions and I’ll be as tactful as I know how.”

“Good. Let’s reconnoiter at three o’clock. Can you make it to the bar without jeopardizing your life, or do you want me to meet you in the alley again?”

The alley was sounding way too appealing. “I’ll see you at the bar. But you won’t see
me
unless I want you to.”

“A new disguise?”

“You bet.”

“You’re turning me on.”

“That’s the idea. See you later.” I locked the Corolla, walked up the front stoop, stepped into the small entranceway, and rang the buzzer for Bea’s first-floor flat.

“Hello,” she sang out.

“Hi, Bea. It’s Abby Knight. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

In the long silence that followed, I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me. Then the buzzer sounded and I let myself inside, puzzling over her hesitation. Up the hallway, she opened her door, took one look at my wig and outfit, and clapped her hands to her face in surprise. “What are you doing in that getup?”