SAY MURDER WITH FLOWERS: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery

by Challinor, C. S.

  “Perhaps you were escorting Elise home on foot from Presto’s and stopped on the way to purchase flowers?” Rex prompted. “In that case, it lets you off suspicion of being behind the wheel.”

  “I didn’t see her,” the Italian said with a slight accent, checking his Movedo watch. “And I didn’t buy flowers.”

  Was it possible a handsome foreigner other than Gino had purchased chrysanthemums at Say It with Flowers that same night? On what pretext could he drag Elise’s fiancé to the florist for identification by the sales clerk?

  “Important engagement?” Rex asked, nodding at the timepiece on the man’s darkly matted wrist.

  He shrugged in an eloquent manner and gazed at Rex with defiant black eyes. His heavily hooded lids could have given him a sleepy look were he not so tense.

  “When did you last see her alive, Mr. Giannelli?”

  The Italian sighed. “I told the police all this. Last Sunday night. She went on a business trip the next day.”

  “No plans for the following weekend?”

  “She was supposed to call me, and never did.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you two were that lovey-dovey.” Rex fiddled with the stem of the pipe in his jacket pocket. He’d given up smoking, but still found satisfaction in the familiar smooth feel of the stem and rosewood bowl.

  “The wedding was putting a strain on us. She wanted to set a date and I wanted to wait.”

  “Why was that?”

  Again the shrug. “Her father doesn’t like me. It made things uncomfortable.”

  “When did you first hear aboot the accident?” the Scotsman asked.

  “Saturday morning. The phone woke me. It was Diana—Lady Howes—in hysterics. Her husband came on the line and said the police would be questioning everyone closely associated with Elise. It sounded like an accusation, which I did not appreciate very much.”

  Rex could not see any legitimate reason to delay Giannelli further at this point and did not want to overdo his unwelcome. Perhaps more could be gleaned from the alluring and smartly hatted Shannon Smythe, who had peeled away from a group of mourners at the new gravesite slotted in the wet grass.

  “Miss Smythe, my name is Rex Graves, QC,” he said as he approached on the path and held out his hand.

  “I know who you are,” she said taking it. “I saw you yesterday at the funeral parlour.” Emerald eyes, green as the grass and accentuated by a glossy black brim, appraised him with frank interest. “Mr. Whitmore said you had questions about Elise’s whereabouts on Friday night.” Her voice was fashionable young London, imbued with an appealing huskiness.

  “Aye, and I hope you’ll be kind enough to answer them. Did you know of any plans Elise might have had? I realize you’ve already gone through all this with the police, but there’s a gap in the timeline.”

  “I have no idea what her plans were. She was working late Friday catching up after her trip to Paris. Her door was closed. I left the office around six. We didn’t typically see each other at weekends, except professionally.”

  “Why was that?” Drops of rain began to fall, and Rex opened his brolly in an attempt to shield the young woman in her black silk suit and hat.

  “We had our own sets of friends.

  “But you were chummy in college.”

  “True. But then Elise started seeing Gino, and I really don’t care for him and his playboy crowd. It was obvious he was using her for her money.”

  “In what way?”

  “Only last week he hit her up for a large loan for his car import business.”

  “Her own private money?”

  “Yes, but capital that could have been invested in Head Start! to develop our line in handbags and other accessories. Naturally, I was opposed, but Jennifer told her sister the loan was a sound investment, and Elise listened. Jenn only said that to butter Gino up, who it’s obvious she has the hots for.”

  “I take it you dislike Jennifer?” Rex inferred from her disdainful tone.

  “She likes to snoop and cause trouble.”

  “Give me a for instance.”

  Standing close to him under the brolly, Shannon Smythe gazed up at him with a gleam of amusement in her fine eyes. “You are very persistent, Mr. Graves. Well, all right then. When I stayed at the Howes’ home one time when Elise and I were students, Jenn caught us sneaking out late to go to a club. She told Sir Howes, who’s a strict old bugger, as you probably know. Jenn has always been jealous of her sister having loads more boyfriends. And she was positively green over Gino.”

  “I thought Jennifer was looking for a rich husband,” Rex asked disingenuously, aware of the looks of longing Jennifer had cast in Giannelli’s direction at the funeral home.

  “Gino’s doing all right for himself. He was expanding his business. Hence the loan.”

  “I hear your business was on the up and up too.”

  “Elise and I made a good team. I took care of the merchandising, she had the flair and the contacts. My own family is not rich and connected,” Shannon stated.

  “What will you do now?” Rex switched the brolly to his other arm to relieve his aching muscles. He had hoped for some mellow May sunshine for his trip south.

  “Now I’ll have to hire a new designer.” Shannon chewed on her lip, looking in that moment more like a schoolgirl than a London sophisticate. “Look, I have to go, but you can come by my office anytime.” She pulled a business card from her black suede handbag, declining his offer to escort her to her car.

  Rex watched as her high heels propelled her around puddles to the zippy Fiat 500 Cabrio parked at the curb. Not exactly a sports car, as defined by the nightclub witness, but silver grey nonetheless. And how reliable had his account been, after all? Presumably he’d had a few drinks that night.

  Rex decided to dig around some more, proceeding with the chauffeur.

  Erik Christiansen was waiting by the silver stretch limo, taut as steel and professionally impervious to the rain, his black cap dripping onto the darkening shoulders of his black uniform. Rex approached, anticipating a frosty reception, and was not disabused. Christiansen claimed to know nothing about the hit-and-run and little about the personal affairs of the family. He merely drove the various members about town and occasionally into neighboring counties to visit friends at their country estates. Unlike the melodious intonations of Gino Giannelli, he spoke flawless, almost unaccented English, interspersed with the occasional Americanism. An experienced Crown prosecutor, Rex felt certain Christiansen knew more than he was telling. The words sounded rehearsed, the pale eyes veered from his own or else held them too long. At that moment, Sir Howes appeared at the gate with his wife, his remaining daughter, and the relic aunts. Christiansen took off toward them with a golf umbrella, leaving Rex to plan his next move. Lunch.

  *

  Presto’s proved to be more illuminating this time around, once Rex circumvented the tight-lipped wait staff and convinced the behind-the-scenes employees he was not from the police. He discovered that the head chef, when adequately compensated for the information, had a cousin who was a house agent, and said cousin had sublet a body repair shop to “GiGi,” as Gino Giannelli was affectionately known at the bistro. Most of the employees were from the same region in Southern Italy as GiGi, if not the same town, and “took care” of their own. Yet they would sell their grandmother for a big enough bribe, Rex ruminated as he left the premises with a considerably lighter wallet—and the name of the property agent in Soho.

  Next, he made his way to Elise’s home on foot and arrived at a late Georgian building split into ten flats and serviced by a porter wearing a waistcoat. Doubtless apprised by Sir Howes or Mr. Whitmore of Rex’s business, the elderly man let him into number five without a murmur of protest. Here Rex found Jennifer dressed in slacks and a puce angora sweater sifting through a morass of papers and photos in the front drawing room. Joining her on the white leather sectional, Rex told her his business and apologized for the imposition.

  “Y
ou’re the Scottish barrister who solved the murders at Swanmere Manor.”

  “Among others.”

  “And you’re hoping to find the hit-and-run driver?”

  “If at all possible.”

  “Could be anyone. London is a big place.”

  “Well, I know that. But your father feels it was closer to home, so to speak. Call it paternal instinct.” Or paranoia.

  Jennifer drew her inelegant legs beneath her chin. Her bare feet were bereft of nail varnish, just as her face was nude of visible makeup. Rex reflected once more on the vagaries of genetics. And yet her equine features were not unattractive in a singularly British way.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked, cocking his head at the pile of papers between them on the plush sofa.

  “Just private stuff my sister wouldn’t have wanted anybody to see. I just want to protect her.”

  “You two were close?”

  “Oh, yes. We never had any secrets.”

  However, Jennifer admitted to having no clue as to why Elise had gone to Presto’s unless it was to meet Gino. The phone conversation with her sister on Friday afternoon had concerned a family brunch the next day at Claridge’s, a monthly event organized by the decrepit aunts, and which the girls attended in hopes of a sizeable inheritance, being the sole viable heirs.

  “Do you have a job, Miss Howes?” Rex asked.

  She regarded him blankly. “I have my allowance and still live at home, but I’m staying here for a few days to sort out Elise’s things. I do a lot of charity work, of course. Mummy’s very much into that sort of thing. It’s the duty of the privileged class, she says, and of a politician’s wife. And why take a job away from someone who actually needs it? Elise only got into business because she couldn’t find any hats she really liked. She always was rather artistic. I’m the practical one.”

  Rex smiled in spite of himself. He felt he might get somewhere with Jennifer Howes. She came across as earnest and eager to please. “I gather Shannon Smythe is the practical one in your sister’s enterprise.”

  “I suppose so. Elise could never have managed without her. No head for figures at all!”

  “And Shannon has, I take it.”

  “Oh, yes. She helped sort out Gino’s taxes, which were a dreadful mess.”

  “I thought Shannon didn’t like Elise’s fiancé.” Rex saw no reason not to stir the pot a little. Ms. Smythe had made it clear the two women did not care for each other.

  Jennifer smirked. “Shows how little you know. I saw a bouquet of red roses on her desk. Two dozen.” She paused for dramatic effect. “They were from him.”

  “From Gino?” The girl nodded. “Was there a card?” he asked.

  “Yes, and it said, ‘Your devoted Gino.’ I just happened to notice.” The young woman had the decency to blush.

  “Did Elise know aboot this?”

  “Unlikely. She was out of town that week.”

  “Ah.”

  The roses struck a discordant note in his mind. Had Shannon lied to him about her feelings for Gino? Most women, in his prosaic experience, while perhaps loath to consign a lavish bouquet of roses to the bin, would nonetheless discard the note of an unwelcome admirer. And if Shannon liked him so little, why had she helped with his finances? As a favour to Elise? Very puzzling, he thought. One thing to ponder, however: Gino could be a man who said it—whatever the occasion—with flowers.

  “Did he ever give you flowers?”

  Jennifer’s hand went to her throat and fingered a string of pearls. “Me? Why?”

  “I heard he received a loan from your sister for his luxury car venture. Thanks in part to you.”

  “That’s right. She wrote out a cheque to him for fifty thousand pounds.”

  “When was this exactly?”

  “This past Friday, according to this counterfoil.” She showed it to Rex.

  “Funny. I spoke to Gino and he said he hadn’t seen Elise since Sunday of the week before.”

  “He might have picked it up from the receptionist. Elise had a hair appointment Friday afternoon, so he might have missed her.”

  “Aye, perhaps. One more thing, Miss Howes. Do you drive?”

  “Yes, sort of. I mean, I have my learner’s permit.”

  After thanking Jennifer for her cooperation, Rex took his leave with parting words of solace, though he knew from experience how inadequate such words could be, having lost his wife to breast cancer when his son was fifteen.

  He decided, in light of Jennifer’s revelation, to take up Ms. Smythe’s invitation. Thanking a woman with a large bouquet of red roses for helping with one’s taxes seemed to Rex an extravagant, even romantic, gesture. Retrieving the business card Shannon had given him, he arranged to meet with the modiste at her office suite, located in Park Lane close to where he was staying.

  A cheery yellow sofa welcomed visitors to the second-floor lobby of Head Start!, where a collection of headpieces displayed on tall stands provided further flourishes of color and texture, and offset the concept of works of art in themselves. Several were adorned with exotic feathery plumes, realistic peppermint candy canes, and glass cocktail twizzlers, frivolous affairs in Rex’s opinion. He reflected it would take a very confident woman to wear some of these fantastical creations perched on her person, although they might look not out of place on a Milan or Paris runway. As he examined them, he looked for price tags, curious as to what the cost of high fashion might be…

  “Mr. Graves?” enquired a skirt-suited young woman stepping into the room. “Shannon will see you now.”

  Pivoting in the direction whence she had come, she led the way to her employer’s office. Declining Ms. Smythe’s offer of a cappuccino, Rex settled into one of two comfortable bucket armchairs across from her desk and came straight to the point.

  “Miss Smythe, may I ask—do you have a special young man in your life?”

  The fulsome young woman, who had changed out of mourning, blushed beneath her crimson beret. “I don’t.” She laughed unconvincingly. “Where would I find the time?”

  “Cards on the table, Miss Smythe. Gino declared his devotion to you with roses, did he not?”

  Shannon blushed more alarmingly now, almost matching the hue of her felt cap. “That’s only because I helped him with his taxes.”

  “If I may be so bold, you remind me of a young Sophia Loren, and I’m sure your charms are not lost on a hot-blooded Italian.”

  “Wow. You’re not one to beat about the bush!” Shannon chewed on her fingernail while Rex waited patiently for an admission he was sure was forthcoming. She struck him as basically a straightforward young woman. “Oh, why am I protecting the wanker?” she said at length. Sitting back in her executive chair, she took a shuddering breath. “Yes, I was having a sordid fling with Gino. And you cannot imagine the guilt I feel, especially now, with Elise dead. Some friend I turned out to be,” she added.

  “You were with him Friday night?”

  “I was. And yes, I lied to the police about staying home giving myself a pedicure. I knew he was meeting Elise for a late dinner, but we got carried away.”

  “He finally went off to meet her? On foot?”

  Shannon nodded and looked at him full-on across the desk. “And I’ll tell you this much. I saw him pocket a container of pills as he was getting dressed. A full container, mind. When I asked what they were for, he said they were aspirin for his headache. He had certainly not been complaining of a headache just minutes before.”

  “What do you think the pills were?”

  “XTC, I’m sure of it. He’d tried to get me to take it once at a party, and I recognized the bottle, which is a regular aspirin bottle. He’d got Elise hooked. I could tell he was lying about a headache, but it was like he didn’t care if I knew he was lying or not.”

  Rex asked himself whether drugs had been found in Elise’s system, and, if so, that fact had been hushed up. Dick Whitmore had only told him about her alcohol intake. “You think he pla
nned to drug Elise?” he asked. “Why?”

  Shannon swiveled this way and that in her chair. “She intended to cancel the cheque for the loan. I think that snitch of a sister told her about the roses Gino sent me.”

  Perhaps this information had been imparted during the Friday afternoon phone conversation with Jennifer. Being stood up at the bistro was probably the clincher for Elise, and she had confronted her fiancé. That same night she was killed in a hit-and-run just steps from her home. Mere coincidence?

  “Did you tell him Elise was going to cancel the fifty thousand pounds?”

  “He already knew. I wouldn’t have told him, in any case. He has a filthy temper.”

  “Then you most definitely should stay away from him,” Rex said in a fatherly tone.

  “I know. I don’t even like him. He’s just so bloody hard to resist.”

  “Resist,” he told her in no uncertain terms, warming his words with a smile.

  Eyes downcast, Shannon murmured resolutely that she would

  Now, Rex thought; who had told Gino about Elise’s decision to cancel the cheque? Three guesses it was Jennifer, trying again to get on his good side—if, in fact, he had one. After some delay getting her phone number, and a good deal of prevaricating on her part, he was able to ascertain that she had indeed warned Gino and had told Elise about the roses. He deduced this last act had been out of jealousy and spite.

  Postponing his dinner plans, Rex made for Sloane Car Service to pursue his conversation with Erik Christiansen, which had been curtailed that morning at the cemetery. After the interview he would head back to Wellington House and see what Mr. Whitmore’s housekeeper had prepared for his dinner. His last meal, a savoury steak and kidney pie coiffed in flaky pastry, had been accompanied by a bottle of rather good claret. Ignoring the rumblings in his stomach, he pursued his destination. Business before pleasure, he reminded himself, especially when the business was murder.

  *