The Fragile Flower

by Kerry J Charles

  #

  “A check?” Dulcie’s brother stood in front of her with both hands on his hips. He had stopped coiling the line beside him and let it drop on the deck in a tangled mess. “Her brother is dead, they don’t even really know why, she’s crying, and then she suddenly wants a check?”

  Dulcie began to giggle. The strain of the entire situation was definitely getting to her. “I know! And I shouldn’t laugh. It isn’t right. But it does seem ridiculous!”

  Dan sat down beside her. “I know it was her job to take care of business matters, but seriously!” He looked at Dulcie slyly. “Of course the question is, will she invoice the full amount, or just the time that he actually worked before he…”

  “And, I think we’re done here!” interrupted Dulcie, still giggling. She stopped. “That is a good question though. I’ll just have to wait and see. I have to say, this entire scheme has been a disaster from the start, but I had no idea it would take this kind of turn.” Her brow wrinkled as she thought. “It has been ridiculous in every sense of the word, but there’s something else strange about it. I can’t put my finger on it, but it just isn’t right.”

  “I don’t know, Dulcie. You might just be overreacting. It’ll blow over.” He leaned over, picked up the line again, and resumed coiling.

  “You’re probably right. But I did have to talk with Nick, unfortunately.” She had tried to sound casual, but Dan knew better.

  “And…”

  “And nothing.”

  “I don’t think so. You wouldn’t have brought it up if it was nothing.”

  Dulcie huffed a big breath. “Fine. I had dinner with him last night. No, nothing major. It was suppertime anyway, so he just brought take-out over so he could find out about Logan and everyone else in the master class.”

  “That was it? That’s all he did was eat and listen?

  “He was a perfect gentleman if that’s what you mean.”

  “Nobody who comes on to my sister when they’re still married is a perfect gentleman.”

  “Dan, he never made any moves on me whatsoever. He never asked me out. He was kind and understanding, and maybe he had an interest, but there was never anything untoward.”

  “Stop defending him. Just tell me what he said. I’m dying to know what an innocent he is.”

  Dulcie glared at her brother. Then her face softened. “You’re right. I am defending him, and I shouldn’t. The quick version of the story is that he had been groomed from the start for a career in law along with marriage to this woman evidently, and woke up to it all a little too late for some of the damage to have already been done. He jumped ship with the police job and has been trying to divorce her for a few years. She hung on because he’s coming into some money very soon.”

  “Do you believe him?” Dan asked.

  “Yes, I do. In every other way he’s proven that he can be trusted. I mean, he’s a detective, right?”

  “And there’s absolutely no corruption in the police force,” Dan interjected.

  “I know what you’re saying. But yes, I do believe him and for the most part I trust him. I’m not going to be handing him my heart anytime soon, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Yes, it does,” Dan said.

  Dulcie stood up and started to coil another line. It was a natural motion for both of them, growing up with their father’s fishing boat. They had both spent countless hours on the ocean. “What actually makes me believe him, and feel almost sympathetic, is his partner.”

  “That big guy? Johnson?”

  “Yes,” Dulcie laughed. “He is quite large. But he acts like a dad to Nick sometimes. He told me that I should go easy on Nick, that he’s been through hell. Adam Johnson is as honest as the day is long. He wouldn’t tell me that if it wasn’t true.” She cleated off the coiled line. “There, I’ve earned my keep.”

  Dan smiled. “Nice job! Almost as good as mine!” He ducked Dulcie’s sideways swat at him. “I am glad that you’re getting beyond that situation with Nick, though. Good not to let bad feelings fester. Now you and he can just go about your lives and if you bump into each other, it’ll be fine and not awkward.”

  Dulcie hopped up onto the dock. “Right,” she answered. “Absolutely no awkwardness whatsoever.” She gave him a mock smile, then glanced up toward the museum. “Duty calls. I’d best get back to the office. I have an invoice to look forward to!” She smirked again.

  Dan laughed and waved her off. He knew that Dulcie was doing exactly what she always did when the going got tough emotionally. She was distracting herself with work.

  As Dulcie walked back up the dock toward the street she thought about her brother’s words. ‘Just go about your lives.’ Is that what she wanted? Did she want to go about hers and let Nick go about his, only bumping into each other from time to time?

  #

  Willow sat at the counter of Vicki’s Diner stirring half & half into her coffee. Adam Johnson lumbered in and eased himself onto the stool next to her. She looked up at him and sloshed coffee over the side of the cup. “Dammit!” she said quietly.

  Johnson handed her a napkin. The waitress came over and looked at him. “Usual?”

  “Yep.”

  Willow watched the brief exchange. She wondered what Johnson’s ‘usual’ was. Within moments the waitress had brought over steaming black coffee and two raspberry danishes. She slid them in front of him. “Much obliged,” he said. He jerked his head toward Willow. “Put hers on my tab.”

  “Will do, honey,” said the waitress.

  Willow snorted. Honey was the last name that she would have ever called Adam Johnson. He didn’t appear to notice.

  “So what do you want to know?” she asked him, suddenly feeling on edge.

  “Whatever you want to tell me.” He glanced down at her arms as she stirred her coffee. She was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and her tattoos were plainly visible. “Nice ink,” he said.

  She shot a wary look at him, thinking he was being snide, but saw him rolling up his sleeve. “Mine’s not quite as good.” An intricately worked dragon was wrapped around his forearm. “Misspent youth in California. Can’t remember getting half of this. Pretty impressive though, huh?”

  Willow smiled in spite of herself. “Actually, it is,” she said.

  Johnson sipped his coffee and took an immense bite of danish. He chewed thoughtfully, then asked, “So, you must be an artist?”

  The wary look crossed Willow’s face again. “Yeah, workin’ on it.”

  “Don’t work too hard. You’re young enough still. Just go for it.”

  Willow was silent. She didn’t know what to make of him.

  Adam Johnson knew this. One of his great skills was the ability to either put people on edge or put them at ease. Both were useful. In this case it was the latter. In spite of his intimidating size and gruff manner, Willow was beginning to trust him.

  “He was a jerk,” she said suddenly.

  “You mean Logan?”

  “Yeah. He kept putting down everyone. Making them feel like they weren’t good enough. It was weird. One day he’d be this sniveling whiner shuffling around, and the next he’d be an egocentric, arrogant ass. That’s the one we all hated.”

  “Pretty strong emotions after just one week,” said Johnson.

  “You’d have felt the same if you’d been there,” she replied.

  “Anything else strike you as odd?”

  Willow stared into her coffee. ‘Not really,’ she thought, ‘Just that his wife made out with me when I was drunk, then called me after he was dead while she was in hiding someplace and said she was scared.’ How much should she tell him?

  Johnson knew she was holding back. He’d been doing this job for so long, he knew all the signs. “It’s gonna come out eventually. You might as well tell me now,” he said quietly.

  “Tell you what?” she said defensively.

  Now he swiveled his large bulk around on the stool to face her. “Like I said, either now or later. Yo
ur choice.” He leaned over and reached around to his back pocket for his wallet. Willow couldn’t believe that he’d finished both danishes so quickly.

  She considered what he had said. Maybe she didn’t need to tell him everything. Maybe she’d just tell him a little. After all, it didn’t all have to come out. It wasn’t relevant, surely.

  “Fine. She called me.”

  “Who called you?” He appeared disinterested as he fished through his wallet for some cash.

  “Isabel. She left a message for me this morning. She said she was scared and wanted to talk to me.”

  “Uh huh. Did you call her back?” He was getting up to leave now.

  Why didn’t he seem to care? “No,” Willow answered. Now she was annoyed.

  “Hmm. Let me know when you do. If she’s in trouble, let me know that, too.” He tossed his card on the counter in front of her.

  “Fine!” Willow was nearly fuming.

  As Johnson left he called out over his shoulder, “You’re welcome for the coffee.”

  Once outside, Adam Johnson moved quickly. He got in his car and pulled out his phone. Nick answered after only one ring.

  “Got something?”

  “I think so. Just talked to that spikey girl. She said the wife called her this morning. Left a message that she was scared. Wanted Willow to call her back.”

  “Did she?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “I’ll get a dump from the cell phone tower so we can track the number Isabel called from. Maybe we’re getting somewhere now.” Nick said.

  “Hope so,” said Johnson. “I know there’s more she wouldn’t tell me. That’s always a good sign. See you back at the station.” He drove across the city as quickly as possible.

  Willow finished her coffee. She picked up her phone, then put it back down. She fingered the card that Johnson had left on the counter. Impulsively she tore it in half. She was annoyed with him.

  The feeling of dread that she’d woken with had returned. She put both halves of the card carefully in her pocket and picked up the phone again. Looking through the calls, she found the one from Isabel. Willow took a deep breath and pressed, “Call back.”

  “Honey, can you use that outside?” the waitress was now looming over Willow.

  “Huh?” Willow hadn’t heard her.

  The matronly waitress gestured toward the door. Willow got the message. She got up and went outside just as Isabel answered.

  “Willow! Is that you?” the voice was husky and quiet.

  “Yes. Where are you? Why did you call me?”

  “Look, I’m sorry to drag you in. I had to get away. I’m scared. I think I’m in really big trouble, and I didn’t mean to do it!”

  “What are you talking about? Do what?” asked Willow. She was confused.

  “They think Logan was murdered, don’t they? I did it, but I didn’t mean to! I put turpentine in his drink! I didn’t think it would kill him! I just wanted to make him sick so he’d stop drinking. He was so horrible when he drank! Oh God, what have I done?” Isabel’s voice cracked. She was crying.

  Willow couldn’t speak for a moment as she tried to process everything that Isabel had just told her. “Listen, Isabel, the police are talking to everybody, but so far it seems like they’re just following some routine. I haven’t heard anything about murder!” Willow now believed that Isabel was truly insane. She was beginning to wish she had never signed up for this master class. “Where are you?” she asked again.

  “Not far, actually,” Isabel replied. “Look, I have to go. Can I call you later?”

  “Uh, I guess so,” Willow said.

  “And don’t tell anyone, please? I don’t know what to do yet!”

  “Look, I can’t…”

  “Please? Oh, Willow, I need your help! Please don’t tell! I’ll talk to you later!”

  The phone clicked off. ‘Great,’ Willow thought. ‘And if he was murdered, am I an accessory now? Nope. No way am I going down with that.’ She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out the two halves of Johnson’s card, held them together, then dialed.

  “Yeah?” he answered quickly.

  “This is Willow…”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I need to talk. Should it be on the phone or do you want to see me in person?”

  “Phone’s fine. What’s up?”

  “I just talked to Isabel.”

  Adam Johnson sat up in his chair and waived furiously over to his partner seated opposite him at his own desk. Johnson gestured for Nick to listen. Nick hurried over and put his ear beside Johnson’s.

  “Great. Can you tell me what she said?”

  Willow took a deep breath. “She said she killed Logan. But she didn’t mean to. She put turpentine in his drink, but she only wanted to make him sick so he’d stop drinking. She said he was awful when he drank.”

  “Did she say where she was?”

  “No, she only said she was nearby.”

  Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Johnson looked at him pointedly and put a finger up to his mouth to shush him. Nick rolled his eyes. “Anything else?” Johnson asked.

  “Nothing that she said. But look, I’m only telling you all of this because I don’t want to get in trouble. I feel like this is getting really ugly and I want out. I’m done. She called me, I called her, and now I’ve told you.”

  Nick knew that her response was rooted in fear, not anger. He nodded at Johnson. He knew it, too.

  “Did she say she’d get in touch again?” asked Johnson.

  Willow was silent.

  “You there?” Johnson said.

  “Yes,” Willow’s voice was very small. “And yes, she said she’d call again.”

  “Then we need you to hang in there with us, Willow. It’ll all be fine, I promise. She’s got nothing to be scared of, and neither do you. Want us to check in with you later today? Would that make you feel better?” Johnson was in his fatherly mode again.

  Willow swallowed hard. Her face felt very hot and tears welled. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded small. “I’d like that.”

  “Okay, no problem. Look, you go home and take it easy. I’ll call in a couple of hours.”

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Oh, and thanks for the coffee earlier, too.”

  “Don’t mention it, kid,” Johnson said kindly. He clicked off the phone.

  Nick walked slowly back to his desk and sat down heavily. “They did say turpentine was suspected when they took him in,” he said.

  “Yeah, but we don’t know anything yet. Autopsy report’s not done. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “Why do I feel like we’re chasing our tails?” asked Nick.

  “Because we are?” Johnson replied. He looked at his watch. “Dammit, I gotta go meet the wife. She’s dragged me into helping her pick out a baby shower present for our niece.” He glanced over at his partner. “No comments from the peanut gallery!”

  Nick was desperately trying to hide a grin. He could only imagine his partner poking through tiny baby clothes. “No comment at all! Are you taking her to lunch?”

  Johnson hoisted himself from his chair and patted his backside to make sure he had his wallet. “Nope!” he said. “She’s taking me! How do you think she got me to go in the first place?” He pushed his chair under the desk, gave his partner a half wave, and left.

  Nick sat quietly for several minutes. He knew what he had to do next. He needed to talk with Dulcie. She had worked with all of these people. She had better insight than he would. He also knew that they would get nowhere with Willow and her contacts with Isabel. The only way to get Isabel to come out of hiding was to reassure her, and Willow was not exactly the reassuring type.

  Dulcie. She was the solution. Somehow he had to get Isabel to talk to Dulcie. He knew he couldn’t have Dulcie call her. Isabel would not answer. Unless… unless the call was from Willow’s phone.

  Every artist dips his brus
h

  in his own soul,

  and paints his own nature

  into his pictures.

  ― Henry Ward Beecher

  CHAPTER 8

  Nick sat alone in Dulcie’s office for several moments, then got up and went to the window. The sun was out, but he saw rainclouds in the distance. He turned back from the window toward the room. A nearby table caught his eye. There were several printouts of information on plants, along with vivid prints of different flowers. They looked like plates taken from a reference book. He was still looking at them when Dulcie came in.

  “Hi Nick. Are you interested in botanicals?” she asked. She gestured toward the prints.

  “Ah, that’s what these are. You know, I’ve always liked them. I didn’t know that they were considered actual art.”

  Dulcie nodded. “They’re definitely on the spectrum. When people started drawing botanicals, it was mainly for identification. Plants were used for medicine, so it was pretty important to use the right one at the right time.”

  “I can imagine,” Nick murmured still looking at the prints. “They look so fragile, it’s amazing to think how powerful some could be.”

  “Definitely!” Dulcie said. ‘Why did he have to say such thoughtful things?’ a voice inside her head asked. She blinked several times, trying to refocus. “I’m putting together a botanical exhibit. When I was in Bermuda I saw some beautiful paintings done by a woman about two hundred years ago. I’d had the idea for the exhibit already, but that was what really moved me along. I had such an interesting conversation there with a Bermudian who talked about her ancestors, and how people thought they were witches because they knew how to heal with plants. Funny how we just call them doctors now.”

  “Very true. I’ll be interested to see the exhibit,” Nick said. Dulcie always seemed to be doing something that intrigued him.