by Eve Calder
Evan nodded, implying he couldn’t have said it better. Kate wondered how much of this had been scripted before the meeting. Was that why the three of them had been late? And how much might Amos spill if she showed up at his market later with a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies?
Maxi looked at Kate, a question in her eyes.
“We came here to vote ‘yes,’” Kate reminded her softly. “Evan being part of this doesn’t change why we want to do it.” She put a slightly stronger emphasis on the word “why,” and Maxi nodded.
“Besides,” Kate added, “the foundation would be a good resource for this. Much as I hate to admit it.”
“I don’t want to rush anyone or cut off any questions,” Barb said. “But I also know some of you want to discuss Josephine Tey, too. Any more concerns, or are we ready to put this to a vote?”
No one moved.
“OK,” Barb said, “all those in favor?”
Fourteen hands. Evan, Kate noticed, holding her arm in the air, at least had the good sense to abstain.
The lone holdouts: Sunny Eisenberg and Harper Duval.
“Fourteen to two—motion carried,” Barb announced triumphantly. “Let’s find Gentleman George!”
Chapter 18
Maxi steered the Jeep expertly around a wide curve on the beach road. The cool breeze through the windows smelled of the ocean. Kate put her head back and closed her eyes. A good meal combined with the warm sun streaming through the windshield left her drowsy. And content.
Evan or no, she was glad she was in Coral Cay.
“So it looks like your ex is going to be sticking around for a little while,” Maxi said, as she swung the Jeep onto Main Street.
“Looks like,” she replied, eyes still closed. “Although, the foundation could support the Gentleman George project just as easily from Manhattan. So we’ll see how long it lasts. Evan has a very short attention span.”
“You really don’t think he’ll stay here?” the florist asked. “Mitzy swears the boy’s looking at houses. Big houses. And everywhere you go, there he is. Kinda like a shadow. If a shadow had pockets full of money.”
“I think the house thing is a canard. It makes him seem like a local. Evan’s really good at winning people over. And he probably means it when he says it. Like a kid playing dress up. He’s trying on a role. Trying it out. But long-term commitments aren’t his strong suit. Trust me on that one. I’m just relieved we set the record straight on the fiancé thing. Now all I have to do is ignore him. And his flowers.”
“I know. This is one flower order I wish I didn’t have. Those gooey love poems he wants on each card? I’m gonna have diabetes by the time that boy leaves town.”
“That’s strange,” Kate said, opening her eyes as she felt the Jeep pull into the driveway of Flowers Maximus. “What’s Ben’s car doing here?
“And Peter’s too,” Maxi murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe there’s been a break in the case,” Kate said, trying to sound cheery. “Or maybe Ben finally found out who Alvin really is.”
Deep down, Kate felt an electric tingle of fear. “Since you have company, why don’t I come in and make us all some coffee? If I don’t get a little caffeine after that book club buffet, I’m going to fall asleep.”
Mouth set in a line, Maxi said nothing. As she put the car into park, Kate saw that her eyes were focused solely on the front door of the flower shop. And she felt her own stomach knot up.
Maxi flew up the walkway. Kate had at least six inches in height on her friend—and longer legs—but she was struggling to keep pace.
The florist pulled at the door to her shop and threw it open.
Ben was settled on the settee. In much the same spot he’d been the day they found Alvin. Kate could smell coffee brewing. Peter, she surmised.
“Is everything alright?” Maxi asked. “Mi niños and mi mami?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Peter said, walking into the room carrying a tray with a glass coffeepot, a carton of creamer, and several mugs. “Ben needed to talk with us, and I suggested that the shop would be better than the house. No little ears listening. Much more private.”
The detective nodded but didn’t smile. Peter’s tone was friendly, his expression tight. Almost guarded. Professional. Not the look of a loving husband or lighthearted friend. The attorney was in courtroom mode.
Kate sensed a very heavy shoe was about to drop.
Despite the warm weather, Ben was wearing his work clothes. A navy blazer and white dress shirt with khaki slacks and wingtips. He had a small notebook in one hand and a gold ballpoint pen in the other. An official visit. On the record.
“O-kaay,” Maxi said slowly, clearly coming to the same conclusion. “Do you know who put Mr. Bones out back? Or how he died? Or who he is?”
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Ben said. “I just need to ask you a couple of questions. First, we’re trying to narrow down the timeline of when he was buried. Any new ideas on that?”
Kate saw Maxi look at Peter, who nodded infinitesimally.
“We were talking about it,” the florist said. “And I remembered something. Back in February. Valentine’s Day week. We went to Miami. My uncle Ernesto had been in a really bad accident. So we went rápido. And we were gone for about a week. But for some of those days, right around Valentine’s Day, Sam was out of town, too.”
Ben nodded. “I remember the Miami thing. And I confirmed Sam’s trip with him. And you’re right, the timing would explain a lot. How someone could get access to the yard without your knowing about it. Without anyone seeing anything. Now, refresh my memory: Was this shop closed? Or did you just leave someone else in charge?”
“The shop was closed and locked,” Maxi responded emphatically, focusing all of her attention on the detective. “I called all my regular customers to tell them before we left. I can check my records and give you the exact dates.”
Ben nodded. “Who filled your orders? While you were gone?”
“I forwarded the phones to one of the wire services. They handled all of the orders through other florists while we were away.”
“Any of those florists on Coral Cay?” Ben asked.
Maxi shook her head, her chin-length glossy black hair swinging, then falling neatly back into place.
“Close by?”
“A couple of places on the mainland, not so far from here,” she said. “But none on the island, thank goodness. Why?”
“You have bushes around this place. What would have been blooming at the time?”
“A lot of stuff,” Maxi said, sitting back in her chair. “Hibiscus, bougainvillea, roses, jasmine, even my lemon trees. We had a very warm spring. Warm and humid, too.”
“Any roses? Long-stemmed roses?”
“No, you need a hothouse for those. And they are super hard to grow. Mine are what they call old-fashioned roses. Like my abuela grew. Yours too, probably. They smell so good. And they have beautiful big blooms. But they’re on bushes, so no long stems. Why are you asking about flowers? I thought you were going to tell us about the bones.”
“Bear with me,” Ben said. “During that time period—back in February before you left—did you have long-stemmed roses in the shop? Red ones?”
“I almost always have roses. And back then, before Ernesto’s accident, I was getting ready for Valentine’s Day. Of course I had roses. And I was supposed to get more before the holiday. But when I decided to close the shop, I cancelled the delivery.”
“Before they arrived?” Ben asked quickly.
“Si. Yes. I called the supplier.”
“What happened to them?” the detective asked, tilting his head and searching Maxi’s face. “The flowers. Who got them?”
The florist shrugged. “The other flower shops in the area. There’s always a shortage of red roses around Valentine’s Day. So I knew it would be no problem for the supplier to send them to someone else. Besides, the other flower stores would need some extra to handle
my customers. The orders that would have been mine.”
“What happened to the red roses you already had? Here in the shop?”
“It’s a super popular time for roses. I sold a lot of them. And I took some with us. For Ernesto. And my aunties. What was left, I just added extra to all the orders I was filling before we left. I did that with all my flowers, not just the roses. I figure, better to give someone a super big bunch than just let flowers wilt in the shop. That way, the flowers—they have a chance to make people happy. What is this about? Why so much about flowers? What do my roses have to do with Mr. Bones?”
“You’ve had a chance to think about this a bit since the discovery,” Ben said, looking up from his small notebook to make eye contact with Maxi. “Any thoughts on who it could be?”
“No,” Maxi said, knitting her brows. “You mean you still don’t know, either?”
“There’s nothing that happened around that time? Maybe someone who stopped by?
Maxi shook her head vigorously, as Peter sat forward in his seat.
“Ben, you’ve asked us both that,” the attorney said. “Several times. We have no idea. And if we had known there was anything out there, we sure wouldn’t have been digging up the yard, now would we?”
“Technically, you didn’t,” Ben said, exhaling. “The trench you dug was a foot or so shy of the burial. Oliver did the rest.”
“You can’t think that they…” Kate started.
Ben held up his palm and shook his head. “I don’t, no. And the trip to Miami—especially with Sam being out of town—that goes a long way toward explaining how someone else had the time. But I still have to ask. There are some things that aren’t adding up. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit we have to look at everything. And everyone.”
Kate searched his face and found concern in his dark eyes. Worry, even. Was he worried for Maxi and Peter’s safety? Or afraid one of them might be involved?
“That’s it, this conversation is over,” Peter said, suddenly standing. “We’re getting a lawyer. From now on, you can talk to him.”
“Peter, no,” Maxi protested. “This is Ben. He’s our friend.”
For his part, the detective didn’t budge.
“You said some things weren’t adding up,” Kate said softly. “What exactly?”
Ben looked up at Peter and over to Maxi. “This doesn’t leave this room.” A command, not a question.
All three of them nodded in unison.
Ben sighed. “The skeleton was recent. But someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like it wasn’t. Including adding those fakakta leather boots. And some kind of pirate garb. Eighteenth century, not sixteenth, by the way. Probably French. That’s courtesy of one of my lab techs and something called ‘cosplay.’” He shrugged. “Don’t ask. Anyway, let’s just say that whatever they did to age your Mr. Bones also made him a lot harder to ID. Which was probably the point. About all we know at this stage is that he’s an adult male. Likely mid-twenties to mid-forties, as I mentioned earlier. With a burial range that includes that window in February. But the techs are running tests to see if we can narrow it more. Right now, all we can say is roughly six months to a year.”
Kate noticed Ben’s coffee sat untouched on the table in front of him. Another sign this wasn’t a social call.
“We do know he would have been about six-one or six-two. He had a few old injuries. Couple of broken bones—long healed. And he had some kind of repetitive injury to both shoulders and both sides of his clavicle. Almost like slight grooves in his shoulder blades. His job, whatever it was, could have involved carrying something heavy. Sound familiar at all? Someone who made deliveries? Someone you bumped into around town?
Maxi’s face relaxed. She shook her head. Peter’s expression had returned to the wary, inscrutable mask. Kate glanced at Ben and sensed more was coming.
“One odd detail,” the detective continued. “There was some kind of flakey powder on his hands. He’d been clutching something. It took the lab a while to figure out exactly what that was. But, give ’em credit, they finally did.”
Maxi and Peter looked at each other. Maxi was confused, curious—while Peter’s face was still unreadable. His legal training? Kate wondered. Or did the attorney know something he wasn’t sharing?
“You wanna hear what’s really weird?” Ben asked, looking Maxi straight in the eye.
“Weirder than outfitting him in a pirate costume?” Kate asked.
The police detective nodded deeply, leaning forward on the small sofa. “’Fraid so. What your Mr. Bones was holding? It was a long-stemmed red rose.”
Chapter 19
As the summer heat melted into the cool of evening, Kate sat at the big table in the Cookie House kitchen, cookbooks open in front of her, jotting down ingredients and calculations for her next test batch.
Suddenly, she felt something bump the side of her leg. Repeatedly.
She looked down. Oliver sat there, his purple Frisbee in his mouth. He looked up into her face.
The puppy had been napping in the front of the store for the past hour, while she baked. Now he was awake. And ready to play.
“I’ve been all over this island today, and I haven’t been here for you, have I?”
The pup’s black eyes twinkled.
“OK, message received. Those doubloon cookies won’t be out of the oven for another twenty minutes. What say we toss that disc around the backyard? We’ve earned it. But if you see any pirates, we just leave them alone, OK? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough excitement for a while.”
As they walked outside, Kate couldn’t help glancing at the yard next door. Maxi and Peter went home right after Ben left. Officially, he’d been there to gather evidence and interview Maxi and Peter. Unofficially, he’d alerted them that they were on the suspect list. Even if he himself didn’t believe they’d done anything wrong.
Oliver dropped the disc at her feet. She picked it up and sailed it across the yard. He chased it at top speed. Just when she thought it was past him, he leapt up and snatched it out of the air.
He trotted back and proudly laid the disc at her feet.
“How did you do that?” she said, scratching the silky hair behind one ear. “Does anyone else know you can do that? Did someone teach you?”
Kate remembered Maxi telling her how Oliver had shown up in Coral Cay out of the blue six months ago. He was just a puppy. About three months old, they’d estimated. He loved everyone. And everyone wanted him. He’d accept their hospitality, stay a few days, then move on to someone else.
“Like he was staying in a fancy hotel,” Maxi had recounted.
It was a practice Oliver continued until Kate came to the island just a few short months ago. Now he’d definitely chosen a home.
Which isn’t to say the half-grown pup never left her side. He still had free run of Coral Cay. Especially the downtown, where everyone knew him—and kept an eye out for him.
One of the things Kate noticed when she first visited downtown were the water bowls—all different kinds of water bowls—in front of the shops. Only much later did she learn that more than a few of those same shop owners kept dog treats under their counters. Even the ones who didn’t have dogs.
So, had one of Oliver’s many hosts taught him to catch a Frisbee? Or was the pup just a natural?
She picked up the disc, curled it against her shoulder and let it fly. And he dashed after it.
Time after time, he’d take to the air. And most of the time, he caught his prey.
“That purple Frisbee doesn’t stand a chance,” Kate murmured, shaking her head, as she watched him pluck it from the air.
Twenty minutes later, Kate scrubbed up at the kitchen sink as Oliver snoozed under the table. The pup had lapped his fill from the oversized stainless-steel bowl, then passed out under the table. She could hear soft snuffling sounds as his wooly back moved gently up and down. Asleep, the half-grown poodle mix resembled a lamb. A very large lamb.
> Kate heard a loud knock on the front door, followed by the tinkle of the shop bell. “Anyone here?”
Claire.
“In the kitchen, Claire. Come on back.”
“It smells lovely in here. But I wasn’t certain if you were open.”
“Technically, no,” Kate said, grinning. “Sam’s at the beach today. I’m just getting caught up for tomorrow. And you’re just in time. I’m testing a recipe for the Pirate Festival, and I could use a guinea pig.”
Kate looked up to see Oliver bounding over to Claire, tail wagging furiously. He planted himself at her feet like an eager suitor. Claire scratched his ear and offered him a treat from her pocket. He looked up, spellbound.
“Too bad you weren’t here five minutes ago,” Kate said, watching Oliver bask in Claire’s attention. “Apparently, that dog can fly.”
“I never doubted it,” she said, slipping him a second treat. “I can’t believe how big he’s getting. He looks perfect. And it’s so strange you should mention pirates. That’s why I’m here.”
“OK, that definitely got my attention,” Kate said. “Help yourself to coffee. I’m going to get these cookies on a plate. They’re still warm. We can even give one to Oliver. There’s no chocolate in them—just a bit of cinnamon.”
“If they taste anything like they smell, you’ll have people queuing up around the block.”
“So how are things at the bike shop?”
“Lovely. Although, it was nice to have a few hours off today. But I think the Coral Cay Irregulars are going to have their hands full with Gentleman George.”
Kate placed a platter of cookies on the table, topped off her own coffee, and added a little cream.
“My word, these are doubloons,” Claire said, picking up a cookie and holding it up to examine it.
“Exactly. I’m glad they’re at least recognizable.”
“This is brilliant! How did you do it?”
“A round cookie cutter for the shape. Then I hit the top with a stamp before I bake them. I’m working on a second variety in chocolate, too. If it works, I thought we could sell them during the festival. But the most important part is the taste. So be honest. I need to know what you really think.”
