Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery) (12 page)

We walked into the lobby of the Sheriff's office and were met by a barrage of questions, flashing bulbs, and microphones. I saw my mother talking to a reporter and felt sick. Another reporter was getting an education on warts and melons from Mary Cromwell. J.J. was trying to restore order to his lobby. I leaned over and whispered, "Malcolm, talk to them, they're all yours–hold back the seed information and any autopsy results. I'll call you tomorrow."

Malcolm smiled and cleared his throat. He straightened his tie, and smiling, walked into the fray.

I herded Ian and Mag toward J.J.'s office, snagging Mom on the way. She was still waving at the reporters when I dragged her into the office. I collapsed against the door and said, "Mom, what were you thinking, giving interviews to reporters?"

She looked imperiously down her nose at me and picked imaginary lint off her sleeve. "Now, Buzz, they just had a few questions for me, and I didn't want to waste my new hair."

"Your what?"

"My hair! Alexandra took Mary and me down to Pat's and we got new hairdos because Alex told us we'd probably get to be on television. We saw the Channel 12 truck out front here and figured they were here for us. Mary wants to tell the wart story on Dr Phil, but I told that wacky old bird Dr. Phil would have her committed. I'll bet old Joy will be jealous that we got to be on the tube and she didn't!" She got her first look at Ian. "Whoa! Is that Fabio? Why is a movie star talking to Margaret? Wait! Maybe we can finally marry her off–it's obvious she didn't open her mouth yet because he hasn't run away. Let's get him before she does!"

"Mom!"

"Oops! Sorry. Maybe he's one of those crime T.V. reporters." She tried to push past me. "Leave him to me, I'll tell him the whole story."

I was coming very close to losing it with her. "Mother, you were in the house making brownies the entire time, and Dr. Connor is a scientist, not a reporter, so leave him alone."

"He doesn't look like a doctor. Are you sure he's not a movie star? Look at those teeth. Those are movie star teeth."

My mother was going to embarrass us all in a minute. I desperately searched for something with which to distract her. "Hey, Mom, Mag is going to help me investigate Carole's murder."

Mag sucked in a breath. I sat stunned. I couldn't believe I had blurted that out. Our mother froze in mid-sentence and slowly turned toward me. We might tease her about being loosely wrapped, but Air Ger is sharp as a tack.

I've faced violent felons who did not intimidate me like my mother can. I started to sweat. When she continued to stare me down, I began to squirm. Even Ian backed away from Mag as my mom turned the bad eye on her. Mom pursed her lips and straightened to her full height of five-foot-two.

She calmly picked up her purse and turned to Mee-Me. "Malcolm, would you please drive me home?" She whipped around and pointed the 'Mom finger' at Mag and me. "You two. I'll talk to you later. Wait until your father hears about this."

I was speechless. I was 12 years old again, and caught flinging mud pies at cars. Mag recovered first and yelled to Mom's retreating back, "I'm 35 years old, and if I want to chase down murderers with Buzz, I will!"

Mom stopped short of the door. I said, "Oh, good one, Mag. Now she'll probably put an Irish curse on us and we'll grow warts or nose hair or something even worse."

Ian stepped up. "She can't really put a curse on you guys. Lighten up."

Still shaking, I told him the story. "One time, Mom put an Irish curse on a strip mall. While the mall across the street was built two years later and has flourished, the cursed one lay there empty, and the developer went bust. A bank was at one end for a while, but even they moved out. What do you mean, can't put a curse on you? What kind of an Irishman are you, anyway?"

Ian stared slack-jawed at all of us. "Whoa, what is up with your mom? My mother told me you could tell someone with the 'sheeny'–the Irish magic–because they were just a little odd, like they weren't quite on the same plane as the rest of us–oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Miller, present company excluded, of course."

Nose in the air, Mom said, "Of course."

Mag and I looked at each other. We looked at Mom. The three of us burst out laughing. Mom recovered first. "They don't call me 'Air Ger' for nothing, young man! Of course we're
odd!
"

Ian breathed out slowly. "Wow, wait until I tell my mom."

Mag sighed and batted her eyes at Ian. "You mean you believe her? I think I'm in love."

Mom's round little face lit up like a Christmas tree. "I think I want to meet your mother, young man." She held the back of her hand to her mouth and said sotto voce, "You might want to know, Ian, that Buzzie has the sheeny too, but in a different way. She has gut feelings, precognitive dreams, and premonitions."

I fidgeted, turned, and looked out the window. "Mother, don't start. I'm not that reliable and you know it. Otherwise I would have seen…"

"Nonsense," she said, getting huffy. "That's why you made such a good detective then, and that's why you're going to help poor Carole now. Don't change the subject. I'm still peeved that you dragged Maggie into a murder.

"She's too dumb to fight her way out of a paper bag, let alone help solve a murder without getting herself croaked." She spun on her heel and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.

Ian looked at the closed door, then looked at each of us for a long moment. "I am surrounded by fascinating females. What do we do next?"

I pulled back the blinds and peeped out the window, which led to the lobby. "J.J. is on his way in."

The door opened a second later. J.J. slipped through, locking it behind him. He stood inside the room breathing heavily.

"Thank God for Malcolm. He's a pro out there. The Putz came and dragged his mother out and the excitement died down almost immediately." He turned to us. "So, where were we? Ah, the paperwork. I had Edie get everything ready so you just have to sign off and go."

Opening a manila folder, he showed Ian where he wanted him to sign, and gave him the copies he'd need. Satisfied, he patted his belly and sat behind his old oak desk and addressed me. "I suppose you're headed out to Graff's now. You can catch Glenn there tonight, or you can wait until morning–he was hit pretty hard by Carole's death. I told him I'd give him a call if you were going out tonight."

I looked at my watch, and then Mag. "It's getting late now. We should probably take it easy tonight and talk with him in the morning."

I punched J.J. in the arm and headed out the door. "Night, pal."

He shot me in the butt with a rubber band. When I whirled on him, he was whistling, looking at the ceiling, and feigning innocence.

Ian and Mag snickered. J.J. said, "Night, Buzz. Night, Mag. Nice meeting you, Ian." They shook hands and we headed out the door.

9

Ian, Mag, and I stopped to talk in the Sheriff's Department parking lot. Ian seemed to be stalling and I wanted him to get on the road. He nonchalantly asked if he could tag along out to the Graff's place with us. Mag immediately grabbed his hand and hauled him across the parking lot to my car, babbling away nonsensically. I, on the other hand wondered once again about who this guy actually was, as he just didn't fit quite right into the puzzle. I liked it when things fit nicely, and Ian was a little…too convenient.

I tried for nonchalance and ended up sounding bitchy. "So, Ian, isn't your mom expecting you this evening? I forgot how long a drive it was. Where was it you said she lived?" I unlocked the car, trying again for an innocent demeanor and failed miserably.

Ian stopped in mid-stride and leveled a look at me. "She already knows better than to put an exact time on my arrival today. I warned her earlier that I didn't know what I would find here. To answer your second question, no, I didn't say where she lived. Will there be anything else, Detective?" He turned his back on me and climbed into my car.

I kicked Mag in the leg and jerked my head toward the back seat. We both knew it was a Miller Sister signal and it meant, 'Who The Hell Does This Guy Think He Is?' Mag just shrugged her shoulders and jumped in after Ian.

I stood there dumbfounded, staring at the rear door of my car for a moment. I shook off the willie I felt creeping up between my shoulder blades, told myself to get over it, and got into the driver's seat.

I was quiet and deep in thought on the way to the Graff residence. Mag would not shut up. Ian gave Chatty Cathy Maggot Brain in the back seat one syllable responses to her inexhaustible monologue, telling me he was also distracted.

Mag was so annoying that by the time we made the short trip out of town, I was fingering the duct tape on the front seat and wondering if Ian was ready to hold her down while I slapped it across her gaping maw.

I turned into Graff's greenhouse driveway, finally said, "Yo, Maggot, shut up and pay attention." Miracles upon miracles, she did.

I saw in the mirror that Ian was taking stock of the layout.

Immediately in front of us was the main building. The outside was lined with an attractive display of butterfly and burning bushes nestled among Japanese Maples and large planters. Cleome topped the annual racks where a profusion of colorful zinnias, verbena, scabiosa, and marigolds vied for attention. Petunias cascaded gently over a display of herbs and ground covers. The zebra grass on either side of the door gave an exotic appearance to the entrance to the main shop. The whole effect was welcoming and casual.

The door to the shop was open so we wandered inside. It was stocked full with pond displays, sale items, bulbs, and seed racks. Everything that would feed, fertilize, and keep bug-free anything in the garden was on display. The checkout areas were decked out with beautiful wind chimes ranging from tinkling bells to church gongs. The rich tones sang a melodic aria to the empty room. I thought it odd that the place would be open for business when Carole just died. I thought it even odder yet that not a single soul was around.

I called for Glenn. Mag cautiously peeked out the back door into the fenced-in yard, where racks and shelves were lined with hundreds of flats of plants. Seeing movement by one of the out-buildings, she poked her head back inside the main shop. "Hey, Buzz! I think I see Rob coming out of that last building. Yep, he's locking up and heading this way."

I rushed out into the yard just as Rob looked up and saw us. He stopped dead in his tracks like a deer caught in the headlights. I could tell he really wanted to be anywhere but here, but his indecision gave me time to hold him where he was. "Hi, Rob. Is your dad around?"

Looking like he wanted to bolt, he scuffed a toe in the dirt and watched the pebbles scatter at his feet. He looked disheveled and his pants were wet to the knees. Decision made, he walked slowly toward us, rubbing his hands on his damp jeans.

"Uh, no, he's gone. I mean, not
gone
gone, but not here now."

Little or no eye contact and nervous fidgeting are dead giveaways of a lie in progress. I stepped closer, which made him more nervous. I could see sweat beads gathering on his forehead and running down the side of his face. This was one scared young man. In my most soothing non-confrontational voice, I said, "Rob, I need to ask you a couple questions. Can we go back to the office, or if you were working in the last building, I could follow you back. We could talk while you work."

There was no hesitation as his head jerked up and ice blue eyes bored into mine. "No! Uh, I mean I was done out there anyway, Miz Buzz. Matter of fact, I was just coming up to close up the shop. With Her gone and all, folks figure we're closed anyway. No one comes around."

Mag piped up from the peanut gallery, "With 'Her' gone, Rob? Nice way to talk about your mom, Rob, her being freshly dead and all. And why did you lock the potting shed. Are you hiding something in there?"

Ian jabbed her in the ribs and dragged her off through the Rhododendron, while I scrambled for damage control. "Rob, I'm sorry'"