Snipped in the Bud (3 page)

I
pushed open the glass door and marched inside, buoyed by righteous indignation. As I started up the stairs I heard the elevator ding, signaling someone coming down from the offices above, but I didn’t stop to see who got off. I was focused. I had a goal.

At the top of the stairs I turned right, skirted the deserted secretarial pool, walked past Baumgarten’s and Reed’s offices, and knocked on Puffer’s door. “Professor?”

No answer. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and peered inside. To my amazement he was still there, his chair turned to face the back door.

“Professor, I came for my rose,” I said firmly.

He didn’t reply. The telephone base was empty, so I figured he was on the line with someone and was ignoring me. I tiptoed to the trash can set beside his desk, reached inside, and picked up the package, trying to make as little noise as possible, which wasn’t easy, given the crackling of the cellophane. Then I darted a quick look at the Dragon to see whether he’d noticed.

He hadn’t. In fact, it wasn’t even Puffer seated in the chair. It was Carson Reed. And he wouldn’t have noticed anyway. He was dead.

With a gasp I jumped back. Reed’s head was against the back of the chair. His eyes stared straight ahead, his mouth was open, and a shiny black pencil was protruding from the side of his neck. The pencil had opened an artery from which blood had coursed down to soak his shirt collar. The phone’s handset was in his lap, and his right hand was hanging off the chair, as though he’d been in the middle of a conversation when he was attacked.

Horrified by the ghastly sight, I backed up until I hit the doorframe, then I began to yell for help at the top of my lungs, even though there wasn’t anything that would help Reed now. His coupon had expired. Still, I had to do something, and a solid, blood-curdling shriek was about the only thing that sprang to my shocked brain. Luckily, the yell kicked-started all those little cerebral cells. I reached into my purse, found my phone, and dialed 911.

At that moment a young male ran in, a student, no doubt, out of breath. “What happened?”

I gestured wildly toward the desk just as my call was answered. I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. “This is Abby Knight. I’m at the New Chapel Law School and I just found one of the professors dead.”

“Puffer?” the student stammered, turning pale.

“You’re at the law school?” the dispatch operator asked, repeating my information.

“Yes. In Professor Puffer’s office on the second floor.” I saw the student start toward the desk, so I put my hand over the mouthpiece to tell him not to get close, but it was too late. He took a look at the man in the chair, then reeled back. “Omigod. It’s Professor Reed.”

“Are you calling from a mobile phone, Abby?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes.” I quickly rattled off my number for her, amazed I could even recall it.

“Is anyone there with you?” she asked.

“Yes. One of the students, I think. He ran in when he heard me calling for help.”

“Okay, Abby, I have officers on the way. Don’t touch anything. Stay right there and talk to me. Tell me how you know the professor is dead.”

“H-His eyes are staring straight ahead, and he’s not moving, and there’s a pencil sticking out of his neck.”

The student turned to look at me, his face so ashen I thought he was going to faint. “Did you—?” He made a stabbing motion with his hand.

“Me?” I covered the phone with my hand. “I’m a florist!” Like that would make a difference. It wasn’t a time for rational thinking.

“I’m going to be sick.” White-faced, he sank to the floor and put his head between his knees. I was feeling queasy myself, so I stepped outside the room and filled my lungs with air.

“Abby?” the dispatcher said, “are you still with me?”

“I’m here—kind of sick to my stomach, but still here.”

The police station was only a few blocks from the campus, so it was a matter of minutes until the cops arrived. As the operator kept up a stream of conversation, I heard sirens stop out front, then pounding footsteps on the stairs. I watched five blue-shirted officers swarm onto the floor, with Reilly in the lead, followed by two men in orange jumpsuits who’d probably come by ambulance. I assured the dispatcher that the police had arrived, and we disconnected.

“Over here,” I called to the cops, raising my hand to give a weak wave.

Reilly did a double take when he saw me. “You look familiar,” he said, heading toward me with two men on his heels. “Five feet, two inches, freckles, red hair…In fact, you remind me of Abby Knight—but you can’t be Abby because I told her not an hour ago to leave the school.”

“Flower delivery,” I managed. “It couldn’t be helped.” I hitched a thumb toward the open doorway. “One of the professors was stabbed in the neck. He’s inside.”

At that moment, the student staggered out clutching his stomach. Reilly was on him in a second. “Are you hurt, son?”

To which the student gasped, “Sick.”

Reilly helped him to a chair, then he and his men and the paramedics went into Puffer’s office, where I could hear him giving out brisk orders. I sank down onto the tile floor and did some shallow breathing until I felt better. When I looked up again, Reilly was back.

He crouched in front of me. “Are you okay?”

“Not so good, actually.”

“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. There you go. Now tell me what happened.”

“I walked into Professor Puffer’s office and he was sitting in his chair, except that when I went closer, I saw that it was Professor Reed instead, which surprised me because Reed’s office is next door. That’s when I noticed the pencil sticking out of his neck…. Reilly, I saw him alive not twenty minutes ago.”

“Back up. You found Professor Reed in Professor Puffer’s office? Isn’t Puffer the guy you nearly clocked in front of the school earlier?”

I rubbed my temples, which were starting to ache. “And your point is?”

Reilly shook his head. “Never mind. So you came up here to make your flower delivery and found the body?”

“Not exactly. I delivered the flower, then left, then came back to get it. You’ll find the package on the floor in Professor Puffer’s office. I dropped it when I saw the, um, corpse.”

“You delivered the flower, then came
back
for it?”

Reliving that embarrassing scene wasn’t something I felt up to doing, especially when Reilly seemed amused by it, so I said crossly, “Is that really important right now?”

“Okay. We’ll save that for later. Did you disturb anything?”

“Other than dropping the flower, no. It’s wrapped in cellophane, so there’s no mess for your guys to clean up.”

“Our lucky day.” Reilly rose to his full height and stood looking down at me, shaking his head. “I don’t know what it is about you, but it seems like every time we find a dead body, you’re somewhere nearby.”

“Tell me about it. When our mail carrier is late I break out in a sweat. I won’t open the walk-in cooler until I know he’s safe.”

Reilly rolled his eyes as he held out his arm to help me up and lead me to Bea’s desk. “Sit here and rest. You can fill me in on all the fascinating details when I come back.”

“At least you can’t say it’s my driving this time,” I said as he turned to give further instructions to the cop standing nearby.

I sagged into Bea’s desk chair, but I was too rattled to sit for long. It was still sinking in that Carson Reed was dead, and that he’d been terminated in Puffer’s office with one of those infamous black pencils, pointing an obvious finger of guilt directly at the Dragon.

I tried to imagine the circumstances that led up to Reed’s murder—Reed stepping into Puffer’s office, the two men arguing, then Puffer attacking him in a fit of rage. But what would explain Reed being in Puffer’s chair? If Puffer
had
killed him, he certainly wouldn’t have propped him in his own chair after he’d done the deed.

Another scenario had Reed taking a seat at Puffer’s desk, then Puffer returning to find Reed using his phone, and going berserk. But that seemed a pretty extreme reaction even for a nasty-tempered dragon.

My third scenario involved an unknown person or persons attacking Reed from behind, believing the victim was Puffer. A case of mistaken identity.

The fourth scenario was still in the works when my stomach growled noisily, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten lunch. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was twelve forty. I was sure Lottie and Grace, my assistants, were wondering where I was, so I decided to call.

“I’m at the law school,” I said when Lottie answered.

“You’re still there? Did you have trouble delivering the rose?”

“In a way.”

“Don’t tell me you tangled with that pain in the ass Puffer.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the problem. Professor Reed is dead—and I found the body.”

“Oh, Lordy. Stay calm. I’ll be right there.” Lottie’s answer was preprogrammed. As the mother of seventeen-year-old quadruplet sons, she was used to handling emergencies. The problem was that she tended to treat me as if I were seventeen, too.

“That’s not necessary,” I assured her, “but thanks anyway. The police have everything under control. I might be here a while, though. Reilly hasn’t finished interviewing me yet.”

“Okay, sweetie. You take care of yourself and I’ll take care of Bloomers.” Since she was the previous owner of the shop, and had taught me everything I knew about the business, that was no problem for her. “What about Grace?” Lottie whispered into the phone. “Do I have to tell her or can it wait until you get here?”

“No sense trying to keep it from her. She’ll find out soon enough.”

Lottie sighed heavily. “All right, but you know darn well she’ll be spouting Shakespeare all afternoon, gearing up for your return.”

She had a point. Sixty-year-old Grace Bingham was a walking archive, remembering every quote she’d ever heard. Since she operated under the theory that I roamed the earth looking for trouble, she seemed to feel that if she tossed enough of those pithy sayings my way I would miraculously reform. She didn’t understand that it was out of my hands. My hair was a cosmic magnet.

“Sing a Willie Nelson song,” I said. “That’ll drown her out.”

Lottie and Grace were about as opposite as two people could be. Lottie Dombowski was a hefty, forty-five-year-old Kentuckian with a gift for floral design, and a love of country-and-western music and anything deep fried. Lottie took life as it came and rarely grew flustered.

Grace, on the other hand, was a slender, even-tempered Brit who enjoyed classical music and expertly brewed tea. Her job was to run the coffee-and-tea-parlor side of Bloomers. She was efficiency personified, and she hated disorder.

What both women shared was loads of common sense and a high tolerance for my shortcomings. In fact, that was part of their job descriptions.

I hung up with Lottie just as the elevator dinged, followed shortly by Professor Puffer’s loud voice. He was ranting at someone, so I dashed over to his office doorway for a look. Inside, Reilly was making a detailed diagram of the room, another cop was taking measurements, and the medics were setting up the gurney. At the back I could see Snapdragon trying to get past a cop barring the door. He had obviously just stepped off the elevator, which meant he’d been on the first floor, not outside. I knew from experience that the police would have blocked access to the building as soon as they arrived.

“Stand aside, sir,” Puffer commanded.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” the cop said. “You can’t go in. It’s a crime scene.”

“I’m as shocked by this man’s death as the next person,” Puffer retorted, “but this is my
office
and I need my notes. I have a lecture to give in fifteen minutes.”

At that, Reilly swung around. “You’re all heart, aren’t you, Professor? Tell you what. You want to see an office? How about we show you one with bars on the windows?”

Puffer’s face turned an angry red. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”

Reilly sauntered up to him and, being taller, glared down his nose at him. “You make one more sound and I’ll clap cuffs on you and haul you away. How’s that for a threat?”

The two men glared at each other for a long, tense moment, but ultimately the Dragon knew he was only so much hot air. More than that, he knew
Reilly
knew, along with everyone else in the room. For once in his life, Puffer wasn’t in charge.

Muttering something unintelligible, he dropped his gaze. Reilly shook his head in distaste, then went back to his investigation, while I stood there with my hand over my mouth, trying not to chortle. Suddenly, Puffer caught sight of me peering at him through the doorway and his eyes narrowed in fury. Yikes. I’d witnessed his disgrace.

Puffer disappeared from the doorway and I immediately started to sweat. He was in the back hallway and could easily cut through one of the other professors’ offices and come out the front. Since I didn’t feel like coping with another one of his verbal assaults, I decided a visit to the restroom would be a good idea. Quickly.