by Dale Mayer
Doreen stiffened. Mugs shifted at her heel, tugging at his leash to sniff the flowers an aisle away. She looked around cautiously to her left but didn’t see anyone. She peered to her right, around the stand of hand cream, and saw two people around another corner. The man was large—six feet, maybe six two—glaring down at the stunning blonde Doreen had seen getting out of her car earlier. But, instead of being daunted, the blonde had shoved her face into his, and, in a hard voice, she said, “Well, with me or without me backing your decision, you’ll end up planted in the daisies. Not me.” The blonde turned in a huff and strode away.
Doreen tried to get out of her way, but the blonde deliberately knocked Doreen sideways. The air rushed out of Doreen’s chest with an oomph. Mugs barked loudly, edging closer to the blonde.
The blonde turned, looked at Doreen, and said roughly, “Mind your own damn business. And keep that chubby pooch away from me.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Doreen replied. Then, unable to help herself, she snapped, “And he’s not chubby.”
Just then the man came around the corner, towered over Doreen, and sniggered. “No, he’s fat. And you won’t say a word, will you?”
She glared up at him. “You can go murder and plant all the people you want. Just keep me out of it. And stop insulting my dog.”
He laughed. “Wow. You’ve got a hell of an imagination, don’t you?”
But she could see the worry in his eyes. He walked away but not before she grabbed her phone and took a picture of his profile as he turned a corner. It was probably a shitty photo, but maybe somebody could figure out who he was, if need be.
With her cream in her hand, she headed to the long line at the front counter. She watched the blonde ahead of her step out of the line, as if she couldn’t be bothered to wait, and, in a hurried stride, headed for the front doors.
Doreen put down the hand cream on the counter, raced outside, and, with her phone, took a picture of the woman. As she walked to her car, Doreen snapped another picture of the Mini. She was getting damn good at using her cell phone at her hip to take images on the sly. She was pretty sure Mack wouldn’t be happy with her doing this. Neither would the people she’d taken pictures of. But it seemed like everybody else snapped cameras in her face. So what the hell?
She wondered if it was safe for her to follow the woman. But that was an idiotic move. She had witnessed a minor tiff between two people who’d uttered empty threats. Nothing to do with Doreen. And hardly a life-threatening situation. She should just mind her own business …
Until she watched the big bully hop into a huge black truck and drive off aggressively behind the Mini.
Doreen chewed on her bottom lip indecisively, not liking the menacing growl of the truck’s engine. Those humongous trucks always seemed to be driven by asshats.
At that term she grinned. Swearing wasn’t something she was terribly comfortable with, but the words slipped out more and more. And unfortunately Thaddeus heard—and repeated—most of them. She wanted to utilize forms she could say comfortably that would give the same meaning without lowering her standards. The internet was full of alternate swear words, but she didn’t want anything that just everybody used. Of course, asshats was a popular one. Still, she kind of liked it.
She hopped into her car and drove out, following the truck and the Mini Cooper. She didn’t know why exactly. Was she that bored? It’d been three days since she’d solved the cold case of poor Betty Miles who’d been dismembered thirty years ago by her best friend, Hannah Theroux. Three days, that was it. What was she, some kind of a dead-body junkie?
Still, the argument between the two people had seemed like a viable threat, now that she thought about it some more, in light of the demanding man now following the woman. Not that the woman had seemed threatened by the man’s words. She’d given as good as she got.
While following those two, Doreen realized she was heading in the direction of the Welcome to Kelowna sign. She perked up at having a viable excuse to give Mack for going in this direction. She really did want to take a look at the two beds the city was considering updating. Doreen should have done that in the first place because, without knowing the size of each, she would have no idea how to budget for her time or for the number of plants needed.
It took another five minutes to reach that area. Both vehicles continued ahead of her. She frowned as they turned off and went around the corner and past the sign. She pulled in a small strip mall close by so she could park and walk to the sign the rest of the way up the road.
As she hopped out, she studied the direction the other vehicles had taken. It looked like a dead-end street. Maybe, when she was done here, she’d take a look there. In the meantime, she grabbed her notepad, and, with Mugs at her side, she strolled over to look at the big garden, about fifty feet across, with the Welcome to Kelowna sign in the middle.
She took several photos of the two smaller garden beds the city was looking for options on. The heart-shaped beds were pretty and could use something extremely unique. Her creative artistry piqued, she had almost too many choices to consider. As she wrote down more notes, she checked out the dryness of the soil, the type of mulch used, and saw how the city’s gardeners had used a cutting tool to create a shallow trench at the garden’s edge to keep the grass from encroaching. Which was smart because public-area maintenance requirements in a city this size were massive and expensive. Even though the city likely employed an army of gardeners, there was always too much to do and not enough man-hours to do it.
Mugs lay down in the grass, happy to be on a field trip. He rolled over and snuffled along the ground, enjoying himself. She chuckled. “I should have brought the others with us. They’d love it here.”
Of course, the cat and the bird were much harder to control. She returned her attention to the gardens. Her mind buzzed with various plant options. She wondered if they could keep rubber plants here because they were huge statements that could be in the center of each of those heart-shaped beds. Not just one rubber plant but maybe four or five of them. She’d seen many big planters on the city’s sidewalks and in the malls using the same idea. It would tie together the inner-city landscaping with the outer-city designs.
“Come on, Mugs. Let’s go.”
After letting Mugs into the car, she hopped back into her vehicle. Rather than going home, she proceeded where the two vehicles had gone. Just a quick trip to make sure everything was okay. She went around the corner to find the truck parked a few houses down on the left. With her phone, she took a picture of it, getting the license plate number. The truck appeared out of place compared to the run-down house it was parked at, which in her mind looked like a crack house. One of the typical druggie houses seen in a big city that others avoided. They were usually pretty easy to avoid because they were generally clustered with more houses of the same in a particular neighborhood. Yet the houses on either side here looked more upscale. This particular derelict house was hardly a place she expected the blonde to go.
Doreen was in the Rutland area of Kelowna, and Nan lived in the Mission area. Rutland was a poorer area, not low-class by any means, and the city was certainly doing a lot to revitalize the area. It had the lowest-priced real estate in town too. Great for enticing developers.
As she drove slowly past the truck, she could see the bright red Mini Cooper parked beside it. That looked really incongruous with the decrepit house. Maybe those two were developers? Maybe they had bought the house and planned to level it and rebuild? She shrugged, wondering what their deal was, but knowing it wasn’t her business.
She drove ahead to a cul-de-sac at the end of the road. She pulled around in the circle and slowly drove past the house again. She had absolutely no excuse for doing what she did next—nothing that would pass muster with Mack. But she didn’t even think twice about it.
She pulled up to a nearby house and parked. In a pretense of taking Mugs for a walk, she got out on the sidewalk and headed away from the house, crossed
the road, and strolled on the sidewalk opposite the house in question. She was being nosy, and she knew it. But she and Mugs were just taking an innocent walk. Not like she was on private property with No Trespassing signs posted.
No harm done.
Spit. Spit.
She froze, wondering where to look, wondering if she could have mistaken that sound, but it came again. Spit, spit. Followed by a cry.
That all came from the house. “Mugs, let’s go.” She raced to her car, hopped in, and drove back to the garden store, where she called Mack from the safety of her car in the parking lot.
“What?”
“I think I heard gunshots,” she said without preamble.
“What the hell? Where?”
She winced as she told him about the couple’s argument and taking pictures of them and their vehicles and then following them.
“You did what?” he roared.
“Okay, okay. I know I shouldn’t have followed them,” she said, “but it doesn’t change the fact I think I heard gunshots.”
“It’s also quite possible you heard something other than gunshots,” he said. “Like a car backfiring.”
“Yes, maybe,” she said. “Maybe, maybe, maybe. But maybe not.”
He groaned. “Fine. What’s the address?”
“I don’t know the house number,” she said. “But it’s on Hawthorne Street, the third house in from the corner—on the left side if you’re coming from the Kelowna sign.”
“Oh, that’s what you were doing there.”
“I had to see how big the beds were. How else could I give a decent bid?” She hoped he would believe that was her main reason for going there in the first place.
“I’ll take a look,” he said. “But you go home. Will you do that?”
“I will.”
“Did you bring any of the animals with you?”
“Just Mugs.” She reached over to pet the basset hound’s head. Mugs let out a corresponding woof into the interior of her car.
“At least you’ve got him, although I don’t know that he’ll be much protection against an attack.”
“As you well know,” she snapped, “he’s great protection—when needed.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But maybe not. I think you guys are a comedy of errors.”
“Okay, that’s possible,” she said defiantly, a trifle hurt. “But it works. We’re all family.” And on that note she hung up. She reached over and gave Mugs a big cuddle. “Let’s go home. Back to the rest of the family.”
Was there ever a better word? Nope. And she couldn’t think of a better place she wanted to be right now.
Chapter 3
The reporters still lolled around her driveway. They all stood at attention and snapped pictures, their flashes lighting up her front yard as she drove in. A couple were determined to stand their ground, but she continued to drive forward steadily. They would either get out of the way in time or get mowed down. She was hardly in the mood to discuss this with them.
As she drove into her driveway, she pulled in front of the garage and parked. Too bad she hadn’t had a chance to empty the garage so it was useable. It would give her a chance to get away from prying eyes. While Doreen had been sorting through some of Nan’s stuff in the house, the garage was a whole different story.
With Mugs in tow, she walked toward the front door. What she should have done when she was out was grab some food. She was damn near out of crackers and cheese and peanut butter and everything prepackaged. Since Mack had told her that ramen noodles were supposed to be cooked, she’d begun microwaving them with water. A constant source of poor nutrition. She had to chuckle at it all.
From the front stoop, she could see Thaddeus, the great big goof, looking out the window. She had closed the curtains before she’d left because of the reporters. In fact, the curtains had been closed for days now. But the parrot had worked his head between the folds so he could look outside.
Pulling his head back from the curtains, he was blocked from her sight. She knew he’d be perched on the sofa cushions waiting for her to enter. She could hear him inside, squawking, “She’s home. She’s home.” Doreen opened the door and cried out, “Yes, Thaddeus. I’m home.”
Mugs gave a woof as he went in and jumped onto the couch—almost on top of the cat—as if to tell off Goliath, the monster cat sprawled on the center cushion, for being there. Goliath’s hiss and one swipe of his claws were followed by one last bark, and Goliath ran off. Then Mugs lay down on the couch with a disinterested glare and closed his eyes.
Doreen groaned, closed the front door with a shake of her head, and walked into the kitchen to put on the teakettle. She dropped her notepad on the counter and said out loud, hoping Mack’s ears were burning, “You’re welcome, Mack. Somebody might have just died. But that’s all right. Don’t be worried about me or them.”
She wasn’t being fair, of course, because Mack was worried about her safety when following the couple. Maybe they’d had a lovers’ tiff, but, regardless of the nature of their argument, it was none of Doreen’s business. The fact of the matter was, she was bored. They’d caught her eye, and she hadn’t been able to let them go.
On that note she sat down at her laptop and continued her research, looking for pictures of large beds of carnations in Kelowna. She didn’t want to make a mistake and pick the wrong plants. Although she loved carnations, what did they look like when they were en masse? Google Images brought up several nice pictures of local gardens. Thinking maybe she could drive around and take a closer look at these, she made herself a cup of tea and put it into her travel mug.
Besides, she was restless, and Mack telling her to go home wasn’t sitting so well. Technically she did go home. She just planned on leaving once more. If she could do something constructive, then she should. Right?
She put the leash on Mugs again and ushered Thaddeus and Goliath into the car too. This trip would be a family outing. Thaddeus rode in the back passenger seat, Mugs on the other side, with Goliath riding shotgun because, … well, because he would never let anybody else sit here. Life was just that easy for Goliath. But then, when you were a thirty-pound Maine coon with claws and teeth, life was pretty easy.
Doreen slowly backed down the driveway, once again inching past the reporters, ignoring the flashes of their cameras going off in her face. She wondered if she should tell the media camped out in her front yard about the gunshots she had heard earlier. They’d all pack it up and head to the new crime scene, right? But that was hardly fair to the police. The media could disturb their initial investigation. When she was clear of the pesky reporters, she headed back into town.
She drove toward the first of three carnation sites she wanted to see firsthand, starting with the one farthest away. Once there, she let the animals out to walk with her. This was a huge public garden set beside the entrance to one of the many big vineyards privately owned by the Pollock family. The garden bed was absolutely gorgeous. She could see from where she stood how the tall carnations drooped sideways somewhat, probably because of the last rain they had had here—like a month ago? Kelowna didn’t receive a lot of rain, but, when it came, sometimes it poured heavily and would knock the flowers flat.
As she studied these, she found they were recovering but would likely never stand straight again. So maybe these carnations weren’t the best choice.
Now Dianthus carnations were a different story. Bright, colorful, cheerful, almost always in bloom, particularly when mature plants. Those might be a better answer. Still, Doreen had two more existing carnation gardens she should look at.
The next garden was much smaller. The carnations were planted in circles and surrounded by what looked to be heather. Interesting choice as the heather would be striking with its purple blooms in spring. She’d always loved heather. It was hard to argue with anything that shouted out with joy that the new year had arrived, that spring had finally sprung, and that basically told everybody to get off their butts and to get out of
their houses because it was a new world out there. She smiled at her own quirkiness and got busy taking pictures.
At the third garden, the carnations were planted in stripes. A dwarf type apparently was used as the flowers were about two-thirds the heights of the others she’d seen, yet the size worked lovely as a centerpiece. She studied the garden from the front and then walked all the way around to see the whole effect.
She froze, her breath coming out in short choppy gasps. Forcing herself to move, her gaze still locked on the bed, she called Mack. His line was busy. She tried a second time, then a third. When she still couldn’t get through, she switched to Camera mode, but, before she could take a picture, her phone rang.
“Nothing is there at the house on Hawthorne Street,” Mack said. “No vehicles, nobody outside. The doors to the house were unlocked, but the house itself appears empty when we peered in the windows.” Fatigue colored his tone of voice. “So it’s a false alarm.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “I need you to come here. Like now.”
“Doreen, are you okay?” His voice was sharp.
“No,” she snapped. “I’m not okay. Come here, right now,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
She cried out, “I’ll show you. Hold on. I’m sending a picture.” She hung up, switched back to Camera mode, and took a picture of the absolutely stunning carnation garden and the dead body lying in the middle of it.
Chapter 4
After she sent the photo, Doreen didn’t have long to wait before Mack called. “You didn’t just find her, did you?”
“Yes, I did. She’s the one I saw and followed earlier,” Doreen said. “She’s the woman who’d been in the fight with the man.”
He swore softly into the phone. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did, three times,” she exclaimed. “You didn’t answer.” She hung up on him, gathered her animals, headed back to her car, and sat inside, wondering at her delayed reaction. She should be shaking by now, shouldn’t she? It wasn’t that she was getting numb to seeing dead bodies, but she had just seen this woman very much alive and very assertive in the face of a belligerent man. And that should be enough to shatter anybody’s world. It was slow to come, but, after her initial disbelief, then grief slipped into Doreen’s heart and soul. That poor woman. She’d been so vibrantly alive just hours ago. Doreen had admired her spunk.
