by Nic Saint
“That’s an understatement,” I said with a smile. “That place was a pigsty.”
“So what happened when he didn’t answer the door this morning?” asked Ernestine.
“I found this very strange. He was so happy that he had found me—and now he wasn’t even going to let me inside the house? So I decided to look through the window. Maybe something had happened to Mr. Torrent and he wasn’t feeling well? And that’s when I saw him lying on the floor, with his face down. So I called an ambulance and that’s how they found out that Mr. Torrent died.” She squeezed her eyes closed. It was obvious the events of that morning had greatly disturbed her.
“Not exactly the way you thought your first day would go, huh?” I asked.
She gave me a feeble smile. “Not really. Mr. Torrent was a very nice man. He promised me I was his lifesaver. He said I was an angel sent from heaven to help him clean up his home and his life. And then this happened. Very awful.”
“Did you know that Rico was a drug addict?” asked Ernestine.
“And a parrot killer?” added Estrella.
Moriah looked confused. “He was addicted to drugs and parrots?”
“No, he took the drugs—he killed the parrots,” I explained.
“Oh.” She frowned. “No, I did not know that. Mr. Torrent never told me he killed parrots. I didn’t see parrots when I was at his house last week. No living parrots and no dead parrots.”
“No, he didn’t have any parrots of his own,” Estrella said. “He just liked to kill the parrots of his neighbors. The McCaugheys?”
“Well, to be fair, it was just the one parrot,” I said. “And it was a kind of accident.”
“An accident!” Estrella cried.
“Well, it was. He simply mislaid his needle and the bird swallowed it.”
“Could happen to anyone,” Ernestine muttered.
“I could tell that Mr. Torrent wasn’t well,” said Moriah, “but a lot of my customers aren’t well. That’s my job: to make sure their houses are clean. I always believe that if you live in a clean place you create the space for a clean life. I was very sure that if I could make Mr. Torrent’s house look nice and tidy, like my own house is nice and tidy, I was helping him to make his life nice and tidy, too.”
The woman was an optimist. No amount of cleaning could have gotten Johnson well again.
“Could you perhaps tell us where you were last night around midnight, Miss Mockford?” asked Ernestine. “According to the police, that’s when Rico was murdered, you see.”
“Oh, of course,” said Moriah. “You want me to make my alibi. The policeman ask me same question before. My alibi is here. I was home all evening, with my family. They can vouch for me.”
“I’m sure they can,” I said warmly. The more I talked to the woman, the more I was starting to see she couldn’t possibly be our killer. She was soft-spoken and kind, and she had a good heart. Not exactly the kind of person who shoots their victim seven times in quick succession.
“I like pets,” she said. “And now I remember the parrot you were talking about. His name was Johnny. And he was a very nice parrot. I was very sad when Mr. and Mrs. McCaughey say he died.”
“Do you think the McCaugheys could have been so angry about the death of their parrot that they killed Rico?” I asked.
“Oh, no, I do not think so. Mr. and Mrs. McCaughey forgive and forget. They buy other parrot and try to move on. The new parrot is not as nice as the old one. He keeps calling me an old hag.”
“Yes, he does seem to have issues.”
“Do you have any idea who might have murdered Rico, Miss Mockford?” asked Ernestine.
She thought for a moment, a thought wrinkle appearing on her brow, then shook her head. “I didn’t know Mr. Torrent well. I cleaned for his neighbors, and they said he murdered their parrot, and I cleaned for other people on the same street who said bad things about him.”
“And that didn’t stop you from working for him?” I asked.
Her expressive eyes widened. “Oh, no. I believe every person should get first chance. If Mr. Torrent was mean to me, I would have quit. But he was nice. I felt very sorry for him, and his house.”
I smiled. “Yes, I felt sorry for his house, too. It was a real dump.”
Estrella seemed incredulous. “Did you really think you could make his house look nice again?”
“Of course,” said Moriah. “I’m a very good cleaner. I can make any house look nice again.”
“You’d have to be a miracle worker, not a cleaner, to make that house look nice,” said Stien.
Moriah smiled. “That’s what I am. I’m a miracle worker. I do the miracles every day.”
When we got up to leave, I couldn’t help but notice through the kitchen window that some sort of monument had been erected in the backyard, like a small shrine. I pointed at it. “What’s that?”
A wistful look came into her eyes. “That’s my dog. She died, so I buried her there. To remember.”
“What was her name?”
“Romella. I loved her very much. We all did.”
“What kind of dog was she?” asked Estrella.
“She was very kind and very sweet. We still miss her every day.”
Almost as if drawn by her words, other family members gathered in the kitchen. Moriah quickly introduced us. There were her parents, Melvina and Pyotr, her grandparents, Anastasia and Leonid, her brother-in-law Borys, and her best friend, Tetyana. All in all, a pretty big family. They helped themselves to pumpkin spice cookies and made us feel at home. We chatted for a bit, sipping tea and nibbling cookies, and I was starting to see Moriah was right: she could turn any house into a home. She’d certainly done it here. When we left, Strel said, “No way Moriah is a killer. She’s so nice!”
“Yeah, I think we can scratch her from our list of suspects,” said Ernestine. “Though I wouldn’t mind coming to visit them again. Those cookies were simply incredible!”
Yes, they were. I’d asked Moriah’s gran for the recipe and she’d gladly given it to me, along with some tips. She’d even invited me to come back one of these days so we could bake a batch of cookies together. That way I could make them just as great as hers. I’d gladly accepted the invitation.
Chapter 10
As much as I wanted to continue this investigation, the three of us had a store to run, and it was high time we went over and opened it up for business. On our way, I thought I spotted Glenn Kerb, taking his latest disguise for a spin.
“Isn’t that Glenn?” I asked. Ernestine’s head whipped around so fast I thought I could hear her vertebrae creak. “What do you think he’s doing?”
We stared at Glenn, who was using his phone to take a picture of the pavement.
“Looks like he’s taking a picture of the sidewalk,” said Ernestine. One second later, her phone beeped and she took it out. And as she clicked through to a picture of a paving stone, she said, “Yep. Looks like he just posted a picture of a stone on his Instagram.”
“Your phone beeps when Glenn posts something?”
“It’s an Instagram alert,” she said enthusiastically. “The moment Glenn posts something on his Instagram, I get a notification. That way I can keep up with everything that’s going on with him.”
“That’s… great,” I said, glancing over her shoulder and looking at some of the other posts. A flower pot. A chain-link fence. A piece of gum. An old shoe. “Looks like he’s into… What is he into, exactly?”
“Urban art. He likes to take pictures of stuff he sees and post it. He’s such an interesting man.”
There was probably a word for what Glenn was, but I was pretty sure interesting wasn’t the right one. I watched as he approached a woman, lifted his hat, and waited for her response. When she turned away, holding up her hand in an ‘I’m not buying’ gesture, he smiled and went on his way.
“I think he’s testing his disguise,” said Ernestine.
“Well, it’s obviously holding up. Nobody is goi
ng to recognize him with that horrible mustache.”
“Would you call it horrible?” asked Ernestine.
I would, and a lot more adjectives I wasn’t going to name.
We were interrupted in our review of Glenn Kerb’s latest disguise by Estrella’s giggle. She was engrossed in her own smartphone, and when a blush crept up her cheeks, and she frantically started texting something, I frowned and then asked, “What’s going on with her?”
“She met a guy,” said Ernestine.
“A guy? What guy? When did she meet a guy? And why wasn’t I told?”
Ernestine shrugged. “I only found out by accident when I grabbed her phone instead of mine. She met him at The Luinness last week. He told her she’s got the voice of an angel.”
“Was this guy hammered by any chance?”
“He probably was.”
Estrella looked up, her eyes shiny and bright. “You guys, Dunny says he’s never heard anyone sing like me before.”
Well, he was certainly right about that. Probably no one in the history of the world had ever heard anyone sing like Estrella did. Except maybe the judges on The X Factor or The Voice.
“Who is this Dunny?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s just the greatest. He’s so funny!”
“What does he do, apart from being funny?”
“He owns a bar. Puppy Power? On Franklin Avenue?”
“What else do you know about him? How old is he? What are his hobbies? What does he look like?”
Estrella grinned. “Jealous much?”
“I’m not jealous,” I said. “I’m just looking out for you. You know you have lousy taste in men.”
“Well, you don’t have to look out for me. Dunny is a great guy, and I’m a very lucky girl.” With these words, she pranced off in the direction of the store, giggling and texting furiously.
Ernestine and I shared a look of concern. “Last time she acted like this was when she was dating that Jackson Beady,” I said. “Remember him?”
“Do I?” asked Ernestine. “All he wanted was to get his hands on Gran’s alleged treasure.”
There has been a persistent rumor going around for years that Safflower House is the location of the Treasure of Fallon Safflower, our ancestor and the woman who built the house. According to this rumor, only Gran knows the location of this treasure. More than one guy has tried to hit on one of us to try and get his hands on this so-called treasure. We once asked Gran, and she said the only treasure hidden at Safflower House is the Book of Secrets, which contains all of Fallon’s spells. Only witches can work those spells, though, so I very much doubt the likes of Jackson Beady could monetize the Book of Secrets in any way, shape or form. And since Gran has hidden Fallon’s magical artifacts to keep us from messing around with them, they’re no good to us either.
I took out a bunch of flyers from my bag and a stapler.
“Oh, you printed them?” asked Ernestine. She took a flyer and studied it.
We’d made them the night before on my computer. They were invitations to the neighborhood watch’s first public meeting, and we hoped to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood and ask people for their cooperation to keep Haymill free from crime. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
I caught up with Strel and handed her a stack of flyers and a stapler. As we walked, we made sure the entire neighborhood was papered with our flyers, tacking them to trees, sticking them up on streetlights, and asking local businesspeople to place them on their counters. The only store we studiously ignored was the one across the street. Pretty Petals belongs to Tisha Lockyer and is our main competitor. Tisha was here long before we started Floret & Bloom, and she wasn’t too happy when we set up shop right across the street. I’m pretty sure that she wants nothing to do with us, since those were her exact words when we dropped by our first week to introduce ourselves.
The thing is, Gran used to operate a chain of flower stores in the city years ago, and even then, she and Tisha had battled it out. So you might say the Lockyers and the Flummoxes had an old feud going that had lasted to this day and it didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon.
Chapter 11
Since we opened the store—or actually since Gran opened the store for us—Floret & Bloom has gone through some major changes. It used to look pretty uninviting, but ever since Gran applied some of her witchy tricks, it now looks like a regular flower shop, and we’ve been doing great.
None of us ever dreamed of opening a flower shop. I wanted to open a bakery, Strel wanted to be a celebrated singer, and Stien hoped to become a legal beagle like Ally McBeal. Circumstances—and lack of talent—had decided otherwise, and now we’re flower girls. And you know what? I was actually starting to enjoy it. I mean, what’s not to like? Flowers smell great, they look great, and they make everything and everyone look great. Slowly but surely I was starting to see that maybe my mission in life wasn’t to make people eat stuff, but beautify their lives a little bit.
We quickly settled into our usual routine. We accepted delivery of fresh blooms, organized the store, and opened her up for business. Ernestine disappeared in the back to pore over the accounts, Strel flitted around to make the store look its absolute best, and I sat on a stool behind the counter and served the customers. At first a small trickle, we soon were doing brisk business, and my sisters had to jump in to make sure the line didn’t stretch all the way around the block.
Across the street, I could see that Tisha was eyeing us with envy. Her store didn’t have the added benefit of being owned and operated by a bunch of witches, and since she lacked that magical touch, people seemed to be drawn more to Floret & Bloom than Pretty Petals. I saw how she walked over to the nearest streetlight, read one of our flyers and ripped it down. Nope. She was not a fan.
Around lunchtime, the number of customers started to ease up, and that’s when a man dressed in jeans, a checked shirt, and sturdy cowboy boots walked in. He had a goofy grin on his face and shaggy blond hair and looked like a cross between a surfer dude and a cowboy. The moment he walked through the door, Estrella uttered a loud squeal and threw herself into his arms.
“Um, since when did Strel start kissing the customers?” I asked my sister.
“That’s not a customer,” Stien said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy she’s dating. Dunlop Bard.”
“Dunny?” I studied him with interest. “He seems all right. I’m not getting a serial killer vibe.”
“I never said he was a serial killer. Just that we have to watch out who we let into our lives.”
“I’m going in,” I said, and wiped my hands on my apron and stepped from behind the counter.
Estrella was kneading the man’s arm excitedly. “Edie, meet Dunny. Dunny, this is my sister Edie. We’re twins.”
“Triplets, actually,” I said, shaking the guy’s hand.
“No, there’s you and me,” said Estrella. “We’re twins.”
“There’s also Ernestine,” I reminded her, gesturing at Stien, who stood silently fuming behind the counter.
“Yes, but she already met Dunny,” Estrella patiently explained, as if what she said actually made sense. Well, to her it probably did.
“Hi,” I said, deciding to start over. “My name is Edelie and I’m Estrella’s sister. And that’s Ernestine, the third sister. We’re triplets,” I said emphatically, hoping to make my meaning clear.
The guy grinned, took my hand and pulled me in for a warm hug. “Any sister of Strel is a sister of mine,” he said, and patted me on the back. “Great to finally meet you, Edie. I’m Dun Bard.”
“That’s great,” I said, when I’d finally managed to extricate myself from his embrace.
“Strel tells me you’re quite the baking prodigy. Something about pumpkin spice cookies?”
Strel smiled apologetically. “Dunny has very sweet teeth.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” said Dun. “I love me anything sweet. Anything at all.” He searched around the store, apparently hoping
to locate those pumpkin spice cookies so he could feed his ‘sweet teeth.’
“I didn’t bring any with me today,” I told him.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll just pop round the house, shall I?”
“Pop round the house?” I asked, alarmed.
Estrella grinned. “I invited Dunny over for dinner. I think it’s time he got to meet Gran.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Sure. She and Dunny will get along great. I can feel it in my bones.”
And I could feel in my bones that trouble was brewing. Then again, Dunlop looked perfectly harmless. Not exactly the gold digger or treasure hunter I was afraid he was.
“Is it true you guys are looking into the Rico Torrent murder?” asked Dunlop.
“Yes, that’s true,” I said, casting a curious look at Strel. It seemed to me she’d been telling her new boyfriend a lot of things that were none of his business. “Why? Did you know the guy?”
“I sure did. He was one of my regulars. Oh, I don’t know if Strel told you this, but I own a bar? The Puppy Power? You’re welcome any time to come check it out. Drinks are on the house.” He tapped his chest with a sympathetic grin. “That’s me. I’m the house. So drinks are on me.”
“So Rico was one of your regulars, huh?”
This did not bode well for Strel. A well-known drug addict had been Dunlop’s valued patron?
“Yeah, he was in and out all the time. The guy was a major pain in the ass, though.”
“A troublemaker?”
“Yeah, pretty much. He liked to get into arguments—tried to start fights. You know the type.”
“So why didn’t you throw him out?” I asked. “Bar owners can do that, right?”
“Sure. I could have refused to serve him.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “Hey, I guess I felt sorry for the dude. He wasn’t all bad. When he wasn’t drunk he was actually a fun guy to hang around with. Told me all kinds of stories that couldn’t possibly be true. Like the time he used to be some big shot Hollywood star.”
