Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  ###

  Around lunch time, the calls were fewer and farther between. “Let’s do something,” I suggested, stretching for the fourth time. “If I don’t get up and move soon, I’ll fall asleep.”

  “Like what? And don’t say make potted plants. I’ve got a very brown thumb,” he answered, holding his thumb up.

  “Ha ha. Very funny. I meant something else, Wiseguy.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and gave me a questioning look.

  “Let’s go see Rafe at his job. At that Bird place.”

  “Why?”

  “Look,” I said, deciding to shoot straight with him. “You even admitted to wondering if Rafe could have killed Bubba. Don’t you want to confront him? Ask him at least? If you are friends, won’t he come clean to you?”

  “And what am I supposed to say? Hey Dude, did you kill Bubba?” He dismissed the idea with a wave. “You’re freakin’ nuts. I ain’t going nowhere near Rafe. What do you think I am? The Terminator? And what’s Rafe gonna think if I show up askin’ questions like a cop? I know this dude, Shannon. He’ll go postal.”

  I chewed on my lower lip for a few moments, digesting this. “So, what you’re really saying is, you’re scared of Rafe.”

  “Damn skippy.”

  If Dwayne said he was scared, he was never going to put his slinky body in dangerous territory.

  I fumed silently for a few moments before asking, “Then how about we see what we can find out about this contest? Let’s go and talk to Bubba’s competition in town and see if anyone has anything to add about Bubba. He worked with other florists, I’d be willing to bet. I mean, have you ever seen the arrangements for weddings in this town? Some of those doctors’ daughters’ weddings have entire churches filled with flowers. No way one flower shop could do all that. Maybe someone will act suspicious. Herbert seemed to think Bubba’s business contacts would be the best place to start.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with that.”

  “Great.” I pulled out the local phone book. “Let’s see how many flower shops there are first.”

  He moved to stand behind me and peered over my shoulder. “Is this the county-wide book?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Hell’s bells. I ain’t drivin’ all over this county asking people if they’re in a contest for casket covers,” he declared.

  I paused and thought for a moment. “Okay. Well, I think probably the whole county floral community is invited, but maybe they can’t all take time out for it, and for sure they can’t all afford the entry fee. What if we call and ask if they’re in the contest? Then, we can make a list of the ones who are and those who aren’t, and we can focus only on the ones who are. I mean, any relation to that contest or any of his competition would be the best suspects.”

  He rapped the top of the much larger Memphis book lying by my elbow. “Probably some from Memphis are involved, too. This will be a big job, Wall-ass. Just what you planning on telling these potential contestant-slash-suspects as to the reason for your call?”

  I cleared my throat and tried my spiel. “Hello? Oh um, I was wondering if your shop was participating in the contest being promoted by Crafty Casket Company. Yes. Oh you are? Well, my company, Video Angels, will be the video production company in charge of filming the winner with their spread for inclusion in a short documentary we are doing on florists, and we are trying to compile a list of names in advance to be able to provide a nice participant list for the video.”

  “No, no. The damn casket company would have a list of their people for something like that, wouldn’t they?” he asked. “If we really were doin’ such a thing, wouldn’t we just get the names from Crafty Casket?”

  He was right. I hate it when he’s right. I cast around for some way of making him think he was a genius and I the idiot so he wouldn’t catch on how he’d just found the glitch in my plan.

  “Um. Dee, you just came up with why we don’t have to make all these calls now. Thank you!”

  “I did?” Totally clueless.

  “Yeah man! We can just call up that guy at the casket company and ask for the list!”

  “We can? Oh great.” Still a little fuddled.

  I pulled the phone book closer to me, and opened it to the C’s. “Yeah, Dwayne, you’re so smart sometimes, it just amazes me,” I said sweetly as I searched for the number.

  “Yeah, it amazes me, too,” he replied, swiping open his cell phone. “And since I’m the brains of this operation, I’ll call Stegall over at Crafty Casket. I should be the one to make the presentation to him for our documentary. Ain’t a bad idea you got there. Not bad at all.”

  I smiled and gave him the number and listened as he worked his magic on the person who answered at the casket company. I loved being the real brains between us.

  “You’d be happy to fax it to our offices?” he repeated, then a wide smile crossed his face. “That would be fabulous. Why yes, you can send it to the attention of Dwayne Brown, I am the owner of Video Angels.”

  When he disconnected, I leaned back in my chair and tried not to look too happy.

  “You’re drivin’,” he announced, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. I contained my laughter until he dashed through the door and down the stairs.

  ###

  At Video Angels’ offices, the three pages arrived via fax and we got down to business. First, we made a list of the florists closest to us. There were two—South Lake Florist and Pearl’s Petunias. I called one, and Dwayne called the other to find when we could come in and talk to them.

  The remainders on the list were in neighboring towns like Havenview and Bystander, which meant this particular project would take more than just today to finish.

  “We have a meeting at South Lake Florist at two this afternoon,” I told him when he set his cell down.

  “Uh, I got us one at three at the other place, so we’ll have to hurry.” He frowned at the address he’d circled. “Looks like we’ll have to tackle the rest at a later date.”

  “Yeah. And we may not even get to all of them before the damn contest is over.” Then I poked him in the shoulder. “Since we totally suck at this, let’s go find some food before we get started. You know fortification of the body? We’ll be too busy later.”

  His furrowed brow smoothed. “The Mama’s place?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What’s on special today?”

  “Baked pork chops.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m there.”

  We drove the short distance to Aunt Tillie’s restaurant and took the table in front of the big picture window in non-smoking. She waved at us and went to grab some water glasses.

  I pointed at the carnations in vases on the tables.

  Situated on a piece of ribbon tied neatly to the red and white flowers was a small card with “The Delicate Petal” neatly typed on it. Bubba’s shop telephone number was on there also.

  Dwayne’s face registered shock and dismay at the reminder.

  “He promised Aunt Tillie he would keep her vases filled with fresh flowers every week in exchange for a free meal and the opportunity to put his business card on the vases,” I told him.

  “Dude. This just makes it come back all over again. Damn, why did he have to be the one? And who’d even want to do that to my boy? He was straight up.”

  I cast my gaze down at the table as Aunt Tillie arrived with our water and menus. Something about the way Dwayne kept fingering the flowers and the way I kept trying not to stare at them gave us away.

  “Now, you two stop,” she said, patting Dwayne on the shoulder. “Everything happens for a reason. Bradley was a good man and a good friend. He wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

  We looked at each other and nodded. She was right. In a few moments, with her usual aplomb, she had taken care of us and was gone again, leaving us with our conversation.

  Sadness quelled, I ventured in another direction. “Dwayne, I need to know your mind. I mean, do yo
u think Bubba was killed by Rafe or not?”

  “Like a crime of passion?”

  I nodded.

  He rubbed his arms with his hands, as though he suddenly felt a chill. “Could be. I mean, they say it’s always the closest ones to us, right? Rafe’s got a bad temper. Still, I can’t believe anyone would want Bubba dead. Not even out of havin’ a fit and fallin’ in it, know what I mean?”

  “And even if there was a reason to kill Bubba, why the way it was done?” I asked.

  “Yeah. That’s the baffling part of it all, Shan. If we could figure out the why, we’d understand the how.”

  I knew what he meant. “What about Carrie? Where was she when Bubba was killed?”

  He glared at me. “What? I cannot believe you just asked that question.”

  I shrugged. “I’d bet the cops asked it first.”

  “For your information, she was out on a date.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yes, she did. In fact, she’d just woke up when I got there to drop the bad news on her. She has a damn good alibi, so quit actin’ like that.”

  Connie, one of the better waitresses at the restaurant, must have been let in on the fact both of us wore long faces, because she brought dishes of peach cobbler, complete with ice cream on top.

  “Y’all look sadder than a pair of starved raccoons. Eat this and cheer up, will you?”

  ###

  At two on the nose, we pulled in front of South Lake Florist and got out. The shop was in an old residential building that had been taken over and made into commercial property. The current proprietors had done a lot toward renovations, and it had an air of nostalgia and flavor with potted plants on the wide front porch.

  The front-door bell jangled as we entered. I was immediately struck by the cluttered atmosphere in the room that would have once housed a foyer. The overwhelming scent of eucalyptus assaulted us.

  Now, I’m not against heady scents by any means, but this time it permeated the air like a cloying incense and made my throat constrict. Fabric stores did the same thing to me, and I had to keep my time in there to a minimum. Poking Dwayne in the back to make him go forward, I covered my nose and mouth. My inability to breathe in the current atmosphere might cut our visit short.

  We worked our way from the front of the store to the back wall and the counter. I held my purse down with one hand to keep it from swaying into any of the scads of plants and flowers stacked helter-skelter on shelves and the floors.

  Once we stood in front of the counter, we had to wait our turn. A lady with a shaggy hairstyle made her purchases and then wanted to share a few words with the florist about care instructions for the plant she’d bought. I wiped tears from my eyes and covered my mouth with my sleeve so I could breathe through the material, hoping to filter some of the smell.

  Soon, another florist, this one donning a full-sized apron around her neck, came out of the back room with a spray on a metal stand. Dwayne moved to assist her and she thanked him.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dwayne stepped up to hand her a business card. “We’re from Video Angels, just down the street. We understand your shop will be in the contest going on for all the florists in the area.”

  “Crafty Casket?” she asked. Her hands were slightly green from working with florist’s foam, and she tried to rub some of it off on her apron as she took the card.

  “That’s the one,” he added.

  “Yes, we’re in it.”

  “Well, ma’am, we’re doing a documentary on the inner workings of the floral business, and wanted to include the contestants of the contest as an addition to what fun stuff comes down the pike for florists.”

  I smiled into my sleeve. He had on his Mr. Brown, businessman, voice.

  She immediately relaxed. “Really? What a great idea! Where will it be shown?”

  I glanced at Dwayne and he looked panicked.

  Wallace to the rescue. “It’s going to be entered in the Independent Film Festival up in Memphis in the fall. You know they show it on the big screens at Peabody Place. It’s a real neat event.”

  “Wow. Yeah, count us in. Definitely.” She smiled at her friend who was now free of the plant buyer and strolling over to listen intently. She wore a checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves and reminded me of a character out of a farming manual.

  “We’ll be in a movie?” she asked.

  “Of a sort,” I explained. “You know, a bunch of interviews and candid shots for a documentary.”

  She nodded, looking at her friend. “Cool.”

  “Great,” Dwayne said, pulling a notepad from his shirt pocket. “I’ll just need your names and what you do for South Lake florist. Are you the owners?”

  They mildly replied they were. The lady with green hands was Pam and the other lady, her sister, was Dana. They were joint owners of the shop.

  I stepped back a few paces and let Dwayne take over. He was such a smooth operator; we would have all the information we’d need on this florist shop in no time. I kept my face covered with my sleeve and tried to keep from breathing too deeply.

  “Did you ladies hear the terrible news about the owner of that little shop west of here?” he asked innocently. He kept writing in a small pad as if it were not the single most important thing he’d ever asked.

  I watched their reaction.

  “Yes! Oh how terrible that was,” Pam replied. “Mr. Thames was a real nice fella. He used to borrow stuff from us sometimes when he ran short and his supplier was late. You know, staple stuff.”

  Dwayne nodded and smiled at them. “Terrible, yes it was. Wonder who would have done such a thing?”

  They looked at each other and then back to him, profound ignorance plastered on their faces. I could tell from just their body language that they didn’t know who had killed Bubba, and they feared the same thing happening to them.

  He asked how many copies of the documentary they wanted should they be declared the winner, and while he worked his magic, I looked around.

  The shop focused on everything to do with gardening as well as special occasion flowers. Tin watering pails and plastic plant holders stacked up next to big bags of fertilizer on either side of me. I feared a disaster, knowing how clumsy I could be. I eased toward the door, pretending interest in the stock.

  Dwayne finished interviewing the two ladies and we left, waving and thanking them all the way out of the door.

  Once back in the car, I listened as he gave me his thoughts of South Lake Florist. “Don’t know, girl. Wouldn’t think those two would be involved in no murder. They seem as sweet as baby kitties. ‘Bout like your aunties, those two.”

  “So did Ma Barker.”

  “Who’s Ma Barker?”

  “Mother of famous criminals in a gang, probably the begetter of all gangs, back in the 1930s. She seemed totally innocent, but the FBI always thought she was the mastermind behind their activities.”

  He tilted his head. “How the hell do you know and or even remember all this stuff?”

  “History Channel.”

  We drove on.

  ###

  At exactly three oh five, we pulled into Pearl’s Petunias. The ugly pink building adorned with peeling painted vines had been dotted with petunia blossoms in loud, obnoxious colors. It sat over on the highway running alongside the east part of South Lake. Its location, one of the first areas to fall into disrepair, now had empty buildings on either side of it with “for sale” signs on the windows.

  “Doesn’t look promising,” I said.

  Dwayne sighed and climbed out. I followed him up to the door but stopped with my hand on the latch before admitting us.

  “Are you sure we want to go in here? No cars anywhere. Maybe they’ve gone to lunch?”

  He frowned and stepped around me, glaring at the building. “Come on, Wall-ass. We’re wastin’ time.”

  The air inside, cold like most flower shops, had an added element to it. This place
was depressingly empty. Cream-colored concrete walls, painted concrete floors, and long tables with piles of floral accessories in view accentuated the place’s lack, not luxury.

  I wondered why they didn’t convert a back area for preparations and put in a nice receptionist’s desk up here to offer classes. Business classes would fit better than florist classes, though.

  If I were queen of the world.

  A man in khaki overalls came around the corner of the only other door in the place and stopped, ogling at us. I guess no one told him we were coming. His dark hair, cut short to minimize the ugliness of a balding pate, had the appearance of greased snails. Dark-framed glasses swamped his face and he sported a size-forty waist, making me wonder if he moonlighted as a Sumo Wrestler. I didn’t wonder long because the diamond and gold rings on his fingers told a whole different story about him.

  Dwayne moved fast. “Ding dong, business callin’.”

  The man didn’t smile. Now I really looked at him. Sized him up. He seemed afraid of us.

  “We’re—” I started to say.

  “Pearl ain’t here,” the man interrupted, eyes never leaving Dwayne. “Gone on a run. Won’t be back for a while.”

  I wanted to ask if we could wait, but warning bells went off in my head. “That’s all right,” I said as I pulled on Dwayne’s sleeve. “We’ll call back.”

  Dwayne shook me off and glared at me. “Uh-uh. We’re tryin’ to get information on the florists involved with the Crafty Casket Company’s contest, remember?” Then he turned to the man, “Y’all were on their list.”

  “Why do you care?” The room was deathly silent, with even a bit of an echo the way an empty, oversized area will have. I could hear a fly buzzing somewhere close to my head and wondered if my shampoo was known for drawing flies.

  “We’re going to make a documentary using the contest as a backdrop,” I answered, still feeling a step behind on a silent conversation being spoken between them.

  The man moved to the table and sorted through floral picks. “I thought the world of Bubba Thames. We were friends. You can drop the cover story.”