“I’m surprised,” Violet said. “Mom was pretty strict about keeping customers out.”
“She wanted to show me a bunch of greenery and thought it would be easier for me to go in the workroom rather than for her to carry it all out. If she let me back there, maybe she allowed whoever shot her back there, too.”
Violet paled. “Do you think it was someone she knew? I assumed a burglar came in the back door and she surprised him.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I can’t help but think how horrible it was that Mom was shot on my day off. If I’d been working with her that evening, she might still be alive.”
I went over and laid my hand on hers. “You couldn’t have possibly known what would happen.”
She sniffed. “I know, but I can’t help thinking things might have turned out different.”
When she didn’t say anything else, I patted her hand and headed for the door once more. “I should let you get back to work.”
“Do me a favor and turn the sign back over on your way out. I think I’m ready for round two.” Even as she said it, her fingers flew to her mouth. Her poor nails didn’t stand a chance.
“Stay strong,” I said. I turned the sign to Open and made my way out of the shop. My stomach growled, and I thought about what I wanted to eat for lunch. I didn’t have time for a sit-down meal at the diner, but the idea of a greasy cheeseburger or high-sodium chicken sandwich from one of the fast-food joints didn’t hold much appeal.
I glanced around, and my gaze settled on Get the Scoop next door. Looked like my best choice was ice cream. I needed a daily dose of calcium for strong bones, right?
Not sure my logic would hold up under Zennia’s scrutiny, I nevertheless went into the shop and up to the counter, where a girl who looked to be fresh out of high school was nodding her head in time to whatever music was playing through her earbuds. When she saw me, she slowly pulled out first one earbud and then the other.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’ll take a scoop of vanilla gelato in a cup, please.” I’d read somewhere, probably in the same article that touted the benefits of guacamole, that gelato had less fat than ice cream. Not only was I getting a calcium boost, but I was consuming less fat, too. My lunch was practically healthier than a spinach salad.
“That’s one of my favorites. The owner uses only natural ingredients, you know.”
“Yes, he’s mentioned that to me.”
The clerk pulled a paper cup off the stack and glanced at me. “Do you know Mitch?”
“Not well. Is he a good boss to work for?”
She nodded. “The best. He comes in at the crack of dawn or some crazy time before any of us get here to make all the ice cream and fill up the display cases. I don’t have to worry about any of that. I’m strictly in charge of scooping up orders and ringing up the customers. One time I came into work super early, thinking I could help him make the ice cream and show him what a good employee I am, and he got totally mad at me. Said my place was behind the counter, and he would handle all the work in the back.” She filled the cup to the point where I thought the top half of the scoop would tumble out, then stuck a pink plastic spoon in the mountain of gelato. She handed me the cup, and we both moved down to the register, where she rang me up. I noticed her name tag said, NICOLE.
I handed her my money and gestured to the door behind her marked Employees Only. “Mitch isn’t back there right now, is he?”
She squinted at the cash register like maybe my gelato order had confused her. “No, he’ll be in later.” She pushed several buttons and the cash drawer popped out. She gave me my change and slid the drawer shut.
“Too bad. He and I were talking the other night when Bethany was killed, and I was wondering if he’d heard anything more about what happened to her.”
Nicole’s face brightened, but I chalked it up to an interest in sharing what she knew rather than delight that Bethany was dead. “Can you believe what happened? I mean, I was working right next door when she got shot. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m pretty sure I heard the gunshot, even with all the brats that were in here running around.” She put a hand to her heart, and her eyes got big. “I’m just glad I didn’t get killed, too.”
“Lucky break for you,” I said. “Any chance you saw anything? A suspicious-looking person entering the flower shop? Or maybe someone lurking near the back door?”
“I wish. My friends would think I was so cool if I saw a real, live killer.” She sounded downright wistful for a second, then caught herself. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s a total bummer that Bethany is dead.” Her face brightened again. “I did hear a bunch of yelling, like people were having an argument, but that was at lunchtime, not after work when she got shot.”
My skin tingled. An argument at the shop on the same day Bethany had died could easily be connected to her murder. Was this before or after I’d stopped in to see her?
“Was Bethany one of the people yelling?” I asked.
“I think so. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it sounded like her voice. I was taking the trash out to the Dumpster and her back door was open.” She put a hand to her mouth and her eyes got wide, like an actress in a B horror film. “Do you think she was fighting with the killer? Like, maybe I could have been shot, too, if it had happened right then?”
I shrugged. “I doubt it. You said this argument was at lunchtime, right?”
“Or a little after. I guess you’re right that it probably wasn’t the killer.”
I spooned a bite of gelato in my mouth. The rich vanilla flavor spread over my tongue. Absolute heaven. “Did you know Bethany well?”
“Not really,” Nicole said. “She used to come in here all the time for what she called her afternoon fix. Then about a month ago, she stopped.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, at first I figured she was on a diet. I mean, sure she only ever ordered pineapple sherbet, but every calorie counts, right?” For a second, she sounded exactly like Ashlee, who was almost always on one diet or another. Nicole shook her head, bringing my attention back to the conversation. “Anyway, I said something to Mitch about it, and he told me Bethany was a big chicken and couldn’t face him after she refused his deal. He was pretty steamed.”
Here was yet another reference to this mysterious business deal. Mitch must have been on the losing end, considering how mad he was.
“No idea what deal he was referring to?”
She tilted her head, as if trying to remember, but then she shrugged. “I don’t know. It probably had something to do with Mitch’s plans for this place.”
My fingers were starting to go numb from holding my cup of gelato, so I switched hands. “What plans?” I asked.
“Mitch is always talking about expanding. Thinks the shop’s way too small. He’s right about that. When it’s summertime, or baseball season, all the kids come in here after their games or for birthday parties. We can barely fit everyone in here.”
“Was Mitch trying to buy out Bethany so he could have her space?”
More shrugging. “I think so. She did start showing up again, though. A couple of weeks ago. Looked like she was gloating about something, but she never said why she’d stopped coming in or why she was back.”
I heard a customer walk in behind me. Nicole moved down to the display area to wait on them, ending our conversation. I found a seat at a small table near the window and took another bite of gelato. It had softened while we’d been talking, and melted gelato was starting to puddle under the pile in the center, but I barely noticed. I was too busy thinking about Mitch and his expansion plans.
If he kept trying to talk to Bethany, and she kept rebuffing him, that would imply she wasn’t interested in selling. I remembered the pride she’d shown when telling me about starting the business from scratch. She certainly hadn’t sounded like someone who was ready to sell, especially if she thought Violet was interested in continuing the family legacy. But how would kil
ling Bethany guarantee Mitch could buy her place? Was he banking on Violet not being interested in the business after all and selling to him instead?
And what about this second ledger with the two sets of initials? Did the numbers in the columns really represent payments? If so, the customer in the first column ordered a large quantity of flowers on a regular basis. I could see spending hundreds of dollars on a one-time purchase, like I was for my wedding, but why so often? Esther had mentioned that Bethany liked to extract information from people. Was she blackmailing someone?
The person who had come in for ice cream left, and Nicole went through the door marked for employees. I finished the last of my gelato, stood, and tossed my cup into the trash. Just as I reached the door, Detective Palmer appeared on the other side.
“Good timing,” he said.
That piqued my interest. “Oh?”
“I was planning to set up an appointment with you for this afternoon, but then I saw you through the window.”
An appointment with a homicide detective? Suddenly the gelato wasn’t sitting so well. “Did you have more questions about my finding Bethany? I’m afraid I haven’t remembered anything else.”
“Not about that exactly.” He extended an arm toward the tables. “Maybe we could sit down. This might take a few minutes.”
That sounded ominous. Why was he being so vague? The air in the ice cream shop was cool, but I felt much too warm. I picked a table near the front, trying to gain a few extra seconds to gather my thoughts. What on earth did he want to talk about?
I sat down in a chair at the same moment Nicole came out from the back. She gave a little start when she saw me with Detective Palmer, then moved up to the counter and started rearranging the plastic spoons in their holder. I half expected her to cup a hand around her ear in an attempt to hear whatever we were going to say.
Detective Palmer must have noticed her eavesdropping as well, because he pushed his chair back in before he’d even sat down. “We should take a seat outside. For more privacy.”
I stood and followed him out of the ice cream shop, and we settled at one of the tables in front. A handful of people were walking along the sidewalk, but no one paid the slightest attention to the two of us.
I placed my elbows on the table. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Instead of answering me, Detective Palmer pulled a notebook out of his inside jacket pocket, flipped it open, and silently read the page. My skin started to prickle as I waited for him to speak.
At last, he looked up. “Let’s talk about the final conversation you had with Bethany Lancaster in person.”
“What do you mean? She was confirming my flower order for my wedding bouquet.”
“And what was the tone of that conversation?”
I could feel my forehead scrunch up as I mulled over his question. “I would say there was no tone. She asked if I was sure about my choices and if I wanted fern fronds, and I told her that sounded nice.”
Detective Palmer consulted his notebook again. “You two didn’t argue? Maybe about the cost?”
“No, Bethany’s prices were very reasonable.” My mouth started to feel dry. “Didn’t you already ask me these questions?”
“I spoke with a witness who states you and Bethany were arguing.”
Any microscopic beads of saliva that remained in my mouth vanished. Detective Palmer had a witness who said I was arguing with the dead woman? I didn’t need to be a detective to figure out what he was implying.
I was now a suspect.
Chapter 12
“Bethany and I weren’t arguing,” I said, shaking my head. “Besides, we were alone in her shop. In fact, she forgot to unlock the door that morning, and I was her first customer of the day. No one could have overheard us.”
Detective Palmer studied me like Berta the chicken had when I was collecting the eggs this morning.
Nicole came out to fill the napkin dispensers on the tables, being careful not to look directly at us as she moved from table to table. She cleared her throat twice, and the sound hit a switch in my brain. I remembered someone clearing their throat like that at Don’t Dilly-Dahlia.
“Wait. There was a woman. Is that who’s saying these things?”
Detective Palmer waited for Nicole to go back inside the shop and then took out a pen. “Why don’t you tell me your side of events?”
I sat up straighter, feeling more confident now that I had an explanation for the detective. “She came in right at the tail end of my conversation with Bethany. She was picking up an order.”
“And that’s when she heard you arguing with Bethany?”
I held up my hands, fingers splayed. “We weren’t arguing!” I realized I’d practically shouted the words at a man who could snap handcuffs on me at any second. I lowered my voice. “Like I said, Bethany and I never had a single disagreement during any of our meetings.” I tried to recall the last conversation I’d had with her. We’d been talking about the flowers and how I was on a budget. Then Bethany mentioned brides who spent huge amounts of money on special orders and how crazy their demands got. It was at that point that the woman had interrupted.
I slapped the tabletop in triumph. “I’ve got it! I know what happened.”
“Do tell,” Detective Palmer said.
“Bethany was entertaining me with stories about all these bridezillas who made outlandish requests, like the one who insisted Bethany paint the roses to match the color of her bridesmaids’ dresses. I told her that was absolutely ridiculous.” I held up one finger. “No, come to think of it, I didn’t say ridiculous. I said unacceptable. Then Bethany told me she did whatever it took to make her clients happy. That must have been what the woman overheard.”
Detective Palmer jotted notes on his pad. He said, “Hmm . . .” in a way that let me know he wasn’t particularly convinced by my story.
“Don’t you see? The other customer must have heard the tail end of the conversation and thought I was telling Bethany there was something unacceptable about my own order. She took my comment completely out of context.”
“Are you sure you didn’t say anything else that would lead her to think there was a problem?”
“Positive.” I leaned back in my chair, drained of energy. “What happens now?”
Detective Palmer closed his notepad. “I continue with my investigation.”
“But what about this witness? Aren’t you going to tell her that she was mistaken?” Even as I said it, I realized how dumb my suggestion was.
Detective Palmer allowed a small smile to slip through. “We don’t usually correct witnesses on their recollections.”
“Right, of course.”
He stood. “Thank you for your information. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
I barely acknowledged him as he walked away. I stayed in my seat, marveling at our conversation. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried that the detective might suspect me, or ticked off. After all, we weren’t strangers. He should know I’d never kill someone.
I heard the shop door open again. Nicole walked over and held out a Styrofoam cup. “I thought you might like some water.”
“Thanks,” I said as I accepted the cup.
She looked to where the detective was climbing into his unmarked police car. “I should probably tell him about that fight I heard in Bethany’s shop, huh?”
I’d forgotten all about that. Did she mean when Bethany and I were discussing demanding brides? The timing worked, but our conversation could hardly be described as one that involved yelling. Then again, the other customer had thought we were arguing, so maybe it was a matter of perspective.
“I think he already knows about it,” I said.
“Okay. That’s good.” She retreated back inside while I took a drink. The cool water felt like ice against my burning mouth, and I gulped it down.
When the last drop was gone, I rose, placed my cup in the trash, and nodded my thanks to Nicole, who was watchin
g through the window. I realized that in my dismay over Detective Palmer’s questions, I’d forgotten to mention the little tablet that Violet had found. Then again, those initials and numbers might mean absolutely nothing. Rather than waste the detective’s time if I was wrong, I’d wait until I knew more.
A powerful gust of wind blew into me. I shivered, whether from the unexpected cold or the idea that I might be an honest-to-goodness suspect in the eyes of the police, I wasn’t sure.
Looking over at the storefront for Going Back for Seconds, I decided to stop in and see if Mom was working. I could use her input on Detective Palmer’s latest line of questions.
I barreled across the street, barely managing to avoid the front fender of an SUV on its way past. The driver leaned on his horn, and I offered a halfhearted wave of apology. Didn’t this guy understand that I was involved in a murder investigation? Not to mention, I was getting married in a few days?
After scurrying the rest of the way across, I trotted up the steps. I yanked open the door, and the little bell banged against the glass with a ferocious clanking sound. The handful of customers inside turned to see who was causing the commotion, but I immediately focused on Mom in a nearby corner.
As soon as she saw me, she rushed over and put her hands on my shoulders. “Dana, you look upset. What’s the matter?”
I glanced around to make sure we were relatively alone in this part of the clothing store. “I ran into Detective Palmer at the ice cream parlor, and apparently a customer at the flower shop overheard Bethany and me talking the day she died and thought we were arguing. We actually weren’t, and I explained what really happened, but I’m worried Detective Palmer believes I got in a big fight with Bethany.” I stopped for a breath and then went on. “Is there any chance he might think I killed her?”
Mom pursed her lips. “Of course not. The man knows you. Why, you’ve even helped him with a few of his murder investigations.”
Detective Palmer would probably classify my “help” as interference, but of course, Mom wouldn’t say that. “I told him how Bethany and I were talking about her more demanding customers and that my comments were directed at them, but I don’t think he believed me.”
Marriage Is Pure Murder Page 9
