I'd probably blurted the grim detail out just a little too casually. Vivian's face paled and she looked close to tears. "I don't understand. I had nothing to do with Ellen's death."
I moved closer. "No, no of course you didn't. I was hoping you might remember who purchased this particular collar. It was a deep purple collar with pink rhinestones. Does that one sound familiar? Do you remember if someone bought it on the day of the show?"
Vivian regained her composure after hearing that her collar had been used in a murder. She lightly scratched her temple. "Deep purple with pink rhinestones," she repeated to herself. "That one is from my royal princess line." We walked over to the spinning rack that held all of her handcrafted collars.
Lola immediately grabbed up one that was leopard print with big silver studs. "Oh, I think Bloomer needs this," she said, holding the collar up to admire it.
"That's one of my bestsellers," Vivian said. "How much does your dog weigh?"
I shot Lola an admonishing look for yanking Vivian's attention away from my far more important topic.
Lola shrugged with a forced grin and hung the collar back up. "On second thought, my dog is more a cardigan sweater type than a leopard and stud kind of guy."
"Oh, I've got some really nice sweaters," Vivian started.
I cleared my throat. "Lola, why don't you go browse the sweaters while we look at the collars." I gave her a look to assure her it wasn't a mere suggestion.
"Right, I'll go browse sweaters."
Vivian turned back to her rack of collars. She gently spun it around. "I'm thinking back to that morning. I did have one of those purple collars on my table, but I don't remember anyone buying it. I can make sure in my receipt book." She glanced my way. "I always write a description of the collar so I know which ones are most popular."
A slight charge of giddiness shot through me. It was entirely possible that I was going to learn the name of the murderer with this one quick stop at the dog boutique. The police hadn't even thought of this line of inquiry, so I was steps ahead of them. Before I finished silently patting myself on the back, Vivian emerged with a purple collar complete with pink rhinestones. "Here it is. I didn't sell it to anyone." She seemed relieved but then her mouth turned down in a frown. "Wait, I made two of those collars last week. This might have been hanging here in the store all along." She checked the entire rack. "I don't see the second one, and I've already hung the unsold collars back on this rack. I don't think I've had any collar purchases since then."
After that brief dip in my enthusiasm, I was more than a little anxious for her to check her receipts. "Do you think you could check your receipts from the show?"
"Sure, they're over here by the register." She brushed past the sweater rack. "What did you say your dog weighed?" she asked Lola.
"I'm not sure." My friend, who was always entertaining, formed her arms in a circle. "He's about this wide when I hug him, and he's about four feet long from nose to tail. That is an estimate. His current pillow is four feet long. When he stretches out his nose hangs off the end."
Like a skilled saleswoman, Vivian reached in and pulled out a large, light green sweater. "This one is warm and snuggly and can bring out the brightness in a pair of brown eyes." She handed Lola the sweater to consider and then continued on to her register. She leaned under the counter and pulled out the metal cash box I'd seen her using at the park. She pulled out an impressive stack of receipts and smiled. "I did pretty well on Saturday. Not as well as Elsie and her dog treats, of course. In fact, I can probably credit her with some of my sales. I'm going to ask to be her neighbor at next year's show." She paused and looked up from flipping through her receipts. "That is, if they don't cancel the whole thing altogether after this year's catastrophe."
"I'm sure they won't. Although, it certainly did end with a catastrophe." I stretched up, trying to get a peek at her receipts, but she was shuffling through them too fast.
"I sold the emerald green collar from the royal princess line but I don't see the purple one." Her mouth dropped open as she peered up at me. "I wonder what could have happened to it?" She shook her head and sorted back through the receipts. "No purple collar. I'll be honest, I don't remember selling it to anyone." She looked up again. "Someone must have stolen it. I don't know where else it could be." She sucked in a short breath. "The killer must have been at my table, and they stole it when I wasn't looking."
Lola had decided on the sweater. She brought it up to the register and held it up to admire. "Bloomer will look very dashing in this sweater. It'll keep those old, creaky bones warm."
"Great choice," Vivian said as if she hadn't plucked the sweater out personally. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the dog collar. I'm just stunned to think someone at the dog show stole from my table."
"I can think of something even more stunning than that," Lola quipped, referring to the murder, but I tapped my shoe against hers to quiet her.
Lola finished her purchase.
Vivian handed her the sweater. "I hope your dog likes it." She turned to me. "I'm sorry I wasn't more help."
"Actually, you've been a great help. Thank you so much."
"Can't wait to go back to the shop and try this on Bloomer. I think he's going to love it. And I think my mom is going to hate it. So it's a win-win."
Chapter 19
Ryder and Lola were still not talking by late afternoon. Lola had taken her doggie sweater across the street, without even stopping in to show Ryder, or, at the very least, say hello or I'm sorry. Which frankly, she pretty much owed him. I decided not to step any deeper into it. Lola's parents were leaving for Germany in a few days. I figured the rough patch would smooth out once Cynthia and John were out of the picture. I did, however, tell Lola that I would never forgive her if she didn't immediately send me a picture of Bloomer in his handsome sweater. And it was worth the threat because he looked not only adorable but the old guy seemed to be grinning with pride about his new outfit. I came close to showing Ryder the adorable picture, sure it would improve his mood but decided to wait. With any luck, Lola would send him the picture too. That might help break the ice.
The door opened and a woman walked inside. The breeze from outside caused Kingston to flutter his wings. The woman startled when she looked over and saw a crow standing on the windowsill. She backed up. "Oh my, I think I just let a bird in your shop."
"No, it's fine. He actually belongs in the shop," I said merrily. "How can I help you?"
The woman who looked to be about my mom's age hadn't pulled her startled gaze from the big black bird in the window.
"I assure you, unless your skin is covered in peanut butter or you're carrying hard-boiled eggs in your pocket, you're perfectly safe. Kingston is very tame."
She finally dragged her frightened gaze away from the crow and forced a weak smile. "Kingston? I remember my dad used to listen to a band called the Kingston Trio." Her hop back into a nostalgic memory seemed to shake loose any of the initial fear.
"Yes, I named him Kingston because he is very fond of their music."
She laughed. "That's a great story. I'll have to tell my husband about your bird."
I smiled at her expectantly, waiting for her to let me know what she needed.
She tapped the side of her head. "I guess your bird nearly made me forget why I came in here. I need a flower arrangement for my mother-in-law. She is in the hospital."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Hopefully nothing too serious."
The woman shook her head. "Just a gall bladder operation. Yellow and orange roses are her favorite."
"I've got some beautiful orange and yellow roses." I pulled out my notebook on rose arrangements. "Why don't you glance through these pictures and see which one you like best, while I go get the roses."
Ryder was heading out from the storeroom with a box of Styrofoam cubes. "I'm going to stack these under the potter's table so they're easier to reach," he said as he walked past.
"Good idea."
I went to the refrigerator and stepped into the chilly atmosphere to collect my vases of roses. We kept the colors separate. Ryder, the science guy, always insisted on keeping them in the color order of the rainbow. Of course, we had to supplement the green with poms since there were no green roses. I grabbed the containers of yellow and orange roses and stepped out of the refrigerator. Suddenly, there were more voices at the front of the shop, or at least one more than when I left. I couldn't quite make out what was being said, but I was sure I heard Hilda's voice. Hilda was a retired police woman who ran the front office and dispatch at the Port Danby Police Station. She was one of the nicest people in town.
I smiled and hurried toward the front to see what'd brought her to the flower shop. My steps faltered as I caught the distressed expression on her normally smiling face. She was struggling to catch her breath as if she had sprinted the three blocks from the station.
Both Ryder and Hilda looked at me with such grave concern, I had to place the roses down quickly or risk dropping them. Instantly, my heart steamed ahead of its normal pace. My gut instincts started doing terrible somersaults.
"What is it, Hilda? Has something happened?" I heard my voice, but it almost sounded as if it was coming out of someone else.
Ryder moved closer to me for support, but he left the task of relaying the awful news to Hilda. Her breathing was just beginning to return to normal. My head spun with the worst possible scenarios while Hilda collected herself.
She walked over but didn't get close enough for a hug or comforting touch. It seemed she wanted to keep her distance to keep from falling apart. "I had the radio on, listening to different calls from around the city." She swallowed. "James was hurt. They are taking him to Mayfield Emergency Center."
The room swayed. Ryder put a bracing hand under my elbow. "What happened? Is it bad?" My stomach was starting to twist and turn on itself making me feel dizzy and nauseous.
"I'm not sure the extent of his injuries," Hilda said. "Chinmoor is out on patrol, but he told me he'd call if he heard any word."
I glanced in the direction of my customer. She looked rightfully perplexed and upset. "I hope your friend is all right."
"Yes, me too." I turned to Ryder. "I've got to go to Mayfield Hospital."
"Absolutely," Ryder said. "Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of Kingston too."
I touched his arm and quickly discovered how badly my hands were shaking. "Thank you. I'll call you as soon as I find out anything." I raced to the office for my purse and shuffled frantically around in my cluttered bag for my keys.
Hilda grabbed my hand as I swept past. "Drive carefully, Lacey. Let us know the second you hear anything."
Tears glazed my eyes. "Hilda, he just has to be all right." I held back a sob and rushed out the door.
Chapter 20
The drive to the hospital was as long as it was short. The road stretched on forever and every streetlight was ill-timed as my anxiety built. At the same time, I wasn't sure if the short trip had given me enough time to work up the courage to walk into the emergency room. By the time I entered the emergency parking lot, I had worked myself into a fragile mess.
An ambulance was still sitting in the docks, looking official and scary. There were a number of police cars parked in the red zone. More than I wanted to count. More indicated something dreadful had happened. Maybe they were here for something else, I reminded myself, but it didn't help calm my nerves.
My phone had beeped twice on the drive to the hospital. I glanced at it. Two missed calls, one from Lola and one from Elsie. No doubt, word was out that Briggs had been injured on duty. "Injured on duty," I repeated to myself. "It will only be an injury and the doctors will fix him up and he'll be all better soon." I told myself that as my legs carried me, seemingly on their own volition since I couldn't remember telling my feet to move forward.
The massive glass doors slid open. I urged myself through them. The emergency room was crowded with people, mostly sick, as evidenced by the masks contagious patients were asked to wear in the waiting room. More serious illnesses and injuries were moved quickly into triage to assess their urgency. I walked past the sickly looking people. Most were passing their wait time on their phones and very few were engaged in conversations. My mom was right, pretty soon no one would be able to hold a proper chat.
I willed myself forward and walked straight up to the window where a rather stern looking nurse with a tight black bun was seated at a computer. "How can I help you?" she asked brusquely.
"I'm here to see Detective James Briggs. I understand they transported him here with his injury." I added the emphasis to let her know that it absolutely couldn't be anything but an injury and preferably one that only required a few bandages or a splint.
She peered up over her glasses at me. "Are you family?" She went back to plucking away on her keyboard.
"I—I—We're soul mates," I said confidently after my conscience refused to let me lie.
Her face popped up and the tiniest sliver of a grin appeared. "I'm not sure what our policy is on soul mates." She pulled out a notepad. "What did you say your name was?"
"Lacey Pinkerton."
"Just a minute." She hit a loud buzzer and disappeared through a giant industrial looking door.
I paced a small, frantic circle around the floor in front of the window as I waited for her to return. Did she know anything? I was certain police officers didn't get brought in by ambulance every day. It had to be a significant event in the emergency room. I tried to think back to a few seconds earlier when I told the woman I was here to see Detective Briggs. Was she stunned or worried or trying not to show that the doctors would have terrible news for me? I shook my head to erase the dark thoughts.
A buzzer sounded and the industrial sized door swung open. The woman had returned. "Miss Pinkerton, this way please."
I rushed through the open door. It shut slowly behind us. We walked along a tile floor that was bordered on each side by small examination rooms, some blocked by a privacy curtain and others where the patient was sitting or lying in bed, waiting for whatever treatment was necessary.
Two police officers, a man and woman that I recognized as Mayfield officers, were standing outside an examination room where the curtain was drawn shut.
"How is James? How is Detective Briggs?" I asked when I reached the officers.
"Lacey, is that you?" the deep, familiar voice drifted from behind the curtain. The sound of it pushed an uncontrolled sob from my lips. "Come in here."
I took a deep breath to prepare myself. The worst was over. He was alive and talking. I peered around the curtain. He held his right arm against him. It was wrapped in thick gauze and bandages. The young doctor was leaned close to Briggs' face finishing a stitch right next to his eyebrow.
Briggs chuckled but cut it short when it seemed to pain him. "Step all the way inside. It's all right. The doctor is just finishing my Frankenstein transformation. They told me my soul mate was here to see me. Growing up, my soul mate was Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I have to say I was relieved to see it was my new soulmate."
The relief at seeing him sitting, breathing, talking and even joking pushed out a rolling wave of tears and shoulder jerking sobs.
Briggs' face was paler than usual, but his slightly crooked smile was still right where I loved to see it, on his incredibly handsome face. He put out his left arm and I walked to him. His arm circled me and he held me close. He rubbed his chin on my head. "Sorry if I scared you, baby," he said quietly.
"We're taking off, sir," one of the officers waiting outside the exam room said. "They're all in custody and booked."
"Thanks for your help with this. Good job." Briggs smiled. "I'd wave but I'm sort of without arms at the moment." He squeezed me closer. I wasn't going to complain.
They laughed as they walked back down the corridor. The doctor fashioned a bandage over the stitches near Briggs' eye. "I'll get your antibiotic prescription, and I'll add one in for pai
n. I think your arm is going to start hurting once the local anesthesia wears off."
I finally gathered myself enough to separate from his warm embrace. I stared down at the bandage wrapped arm. "What happened? Were you shot?"
His chuckle was a great sound to hear after the last half hour of panic. "No, I wouldn't be sitting here waiting for my release papers if I'd been shot. We'd swarmed the group and made arrests, but a thin and very sharp knife was overlooked in the body searches. The guy had it tucked in his shirt collar. When I asked him to take his arms off his neck so I could cuff him, he pulled the blade out and sliced my arm. He flailed as I moved to restrain him, and the tip of the blade caught my face." He pointed up to the bandage. "A half inch over and it would have gotten my eye, so I guess, all in all, I was lucky tonight. That is as long as you don't find me too disgusting to look at. The doctor said it's going to leave a scar near my eye."
I smiled and found myself leaning against him again. "Apparently, you have not read many romance novels."
"Not lately, no," he mused.
"Well, if you had, you would know that the battle weary, scarred hero always gets the girl."
"Yeah?" He pointed up to his eye. "So this is going to give me an edge with the ladies?"
"I'm certain of it." I kissed him. "Now, I'll drive you home and make you some dinner. Is there anything in your refrigerator to cook?"
"Hmm, that depends, is there a recipe that uses cold pizza and a half eaten pastrami sandwich?"
"I'm sure my mom could whip something up from those ingredients, some sort of stew or casserole, but as you know, I didn't inherit her culinary genius. I'll get you settled on your couch and then go to the store and pick some things up."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. "But first I have to call my Port Danby crew. They are all freaking out, waiting to hear how you are." I reached up and pushed his hair back on the side of his face. "I'm really glad you're all right, James." The earlier fright left a little waver in my voice.
Sunflowers and Sabotage Page 9
