Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  “She came to see how we were doing. It was very sweet, actually,” I replied, not mentioning how odd Lawren had acted.

  “Right.” Serene rolled her eyes and began rinsing wineglasses in the sink.

  I flipped the chalkboard sign to CLOSED and walked back to the sink. “Do you know Lawren well?”

  Serene scoffed. “As well as I want to. It’s hardly as if I have anything in common with that mousy little thing.”

  That much was true. Serene was sophisticated, dressed immaculately, and gave off a slight air of pretension. I figured that came with being a wine aficionado. Lawren, on the other hand, came across as meek and fearful. I got the sense that if someone yelled “Boo” she would shriek and then run and hide. They were certainly opposites. What I couldn’t figure out was why Serene cared. It wasn’t as if Lawren was any competition for her.

  “Frank told her to jump and she would ask how high. She was his little lackey,” Serene said with a snarl.

  “Had she worked for him long?” I reached for a towel and helped her dry the wineglasses.

  “No. I don’t know why he hired her. He said she was a family friend or something. I think he owed someone a favor but she was worthless.”

  That was a strong sentiment for someone Serene claimed not to know or care about.

  “How so?” I asked, returning two wineglasses to their shelf.

  “She never got an order right. Never. Frank was pompous, but the man knew wine. He had stellar taste. Lawren does not. She couldn’t tell you the difference between grape juice and a four-thousand-dollar bottle of Domaine Leroy’s Grand Cru.”

  I wanted to admit that I probably couldn’t either. Serene’s visceral reaction to Lawren had me confused.

  “That idiot constantly screwed up my wine orders. I lost so much money thanks to her.” Serene placed the last glass on the shelf and grabbed her leather briefcase. “I’m off to a private event. Tell Elin that I’ll check in later in the week.”

  She clicked across the gleaming hardwood floor on her stilettos, leaving me wondering why she was so hostile with Lawren. I’d heard conflicting reports about Frank, especially when it came to his spending habits. Could it be that Lawren was taking the blame for Frank’s financial troubles? Maybe she had had to reorder cheaper wine in order to keep him on budget? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that the next time I saw Lawren I was going to ask her what it was really like working for Frank Jaffe.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The preview workshop was a success. Elin’s students left with cheerful banter and gorgeous showpiece jewelry. The textures and tones in each student’s design were dramatic and definitely would be conversation starters at any party or event. I took pictures of the students’ designs with my phone. We could use them for marketing materials and online. Even though Elin was in her fifties she was totally connected. I had been following her on social media for a few years now. It was an excellent marketing tool and a quick and simple way to share flower trends.

  “That was delightful.” Elin’s face glowed with excitement.

  “It looks like a successful workshop,” I agreed. “Everyone seemed very pleased with their final product.”

  “Britta, I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to follow my passion. Being able to share what I’ve learned and watch my students blossom is such a gift.”

  “You are a gift.” I squeezed her hand. “I listened to everyone’s comments as they were leaving and they are so inspired by you. It’s not every day that you can walk into a shop like this and have no idea what you’re doing and leave with a headband that looks like something off of a Paris runway. It’s a talent you have, to be able to teach your art.”

  She patted my hand. “You are too kind, but I do love it, and I’m relieved to know that Blomma is in your capable hands.”

  She gathered her coat and put away the last of the supplies. “I forgot to mention that Jon and Nora want us to meet them for dinner tonight. Are you up for that?”

  “Sure. That sounds great.” Secretly I wondered if I could find a way to have a side conversation with Nora and ask her about Mark.

  “They suggested the noodle shop. It’s one of our favorites. Does that sound good?”

  “Noodle shop, here in the village?” I didn’t remember passing by a noodle place on my deliveries.

  “No it’s up a few blocks, closer to the police precinct. It’s an authentic Japanese ramen shop. They also serve sushi and rice bowls. I think you might know the family who owns it.” She winked.

  “Who? Tomo?”

  Elin wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and tied it in a slipknot. “The one and only.”

  “That sounds amazing.” My mouth began to water. How long had it been since that bowl of soup for lunch? Suddenly I was famished.

  We closed up Blomma for the night and linked arms for a blustery walk. The wind had let up a bit, but the rain fell in sheets. It dripped down the back of my raincoat. I was happy that I had opted for my knee-high rubber boots.

  When we made it to the restaurant we were both soaked, but the scent of ramen and fried sticky rice perked us up as we stepped inside. The space was small with six two-person tables in the center of the room and booths flanking the far wall. An open kitchen was a blur of activity with a female chef shouting out orders in Japanese and line cooks dumping boiling pots of water straight onto the floor. Customers could watch the action close up at a long bamboo bar.

  Nora and Jon, the owner of Torch, waved from a booth. “Over here, ladies!” Nora sang out.

  Jon greeted us with a kiss on both cheeks. Nora scooted to make room for me next to her. Elin slid in after Jon.

  “Isn’t this cozy?” Nora said patting my knee. “I’m so glad you can join us. Usually we’re a party of three but you round things out nicely. Doesn’t she, Jon?”

  Jon folded the tip of his black turtleneck and nodded in agreement. “Indeed.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Elin commented on the bandage on Jon’s nose.

  “Something like that,” he replied with a hint of mystery in his tone.

  “Jon, you’re too much.” Nora waved him off. Then she turned to us. “Do tell. What is the latest? I’ve been filling Jon in on the details. I still can’t believe you missed the action.” Nora had removed her black leather jacket. She was wearing a neon purple T-shirt that read VINYL—ALWAYS VINYL across the front.

  “Or you could argue that you picked the perfect time to be gone,” Elin said with a small sigh.

  “Sorry.” Nora reached for her arm and shot her an apologetic look. “I’m making light of what I know is a terrible tragedy. I supposed it’s my coping mechanism, and of course there’s no denying Frank wasn’t exactly the most beloved man around.”

  “Please,” Jon cackled. “That, my dears, is the biggest understatement of the century. Everyone loathed him. He was absolutely vile.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die,” Elin interjected.

  I sat back and listened to them discuss Frank. Neither of their reactions surprised me. And yet I found myself watching their body language intently. Then I scolded myself. These were Elin’s closest friends. I trusted her judgment. Why was I questioning whether her friends could be involved in Frank’s murder?

  In an attempt to refocus, I studied the menu. From miso broth infused with garlic butter, pork, corn, and bean sprouts to shoyu with eggs, fish cakes, spinach, and nori, my stomach gurgled with anticipation. Chad had never been adventuresome when it came to eating. Elin had exposed me to world cuisine from a young age. When I was little we had a tradition where we would try a new restaurant once a month. From Indian to African, we sampled every variety of food that Portland had to offer. Not Chad. He used to complain when I would make a traditional dish like Swedish meatballs. I could hear him saying, “Britta, what is this? Why can’t we have plain old American meatballs?”

  The ramen menu would have sent him into a full-blown panic attack. I smiled at the thought.
<
br />   “What’s the grin for?” Jon leaned across the bamboo table and winked. “Daydreaming of a dashing gentleman?”

  That made me laugh out loud. “The exact opposite.” I tapped the menu. “I was thinking about how much my husband—soon to be ex-husband—would hate this.”

  “She is one of us, isn’t she?” Nora nudged my waist.

  “Britta?” I heard a man’s voice call out as more of a question and looked up to see Tomo standing at our table wearing a black apron around his waist and holding an order pad.

  “Tomo?” I mimicked his surprise.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Drooling over the menu.” I motioned to his apron. “The better question is what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a murder case?” I glanced around the room to see if Pete was here too. To my disappointment there was no sign of him.

  “No. My parents own the place.” He nodded toward the open kitchen. I caught a better glimpse of the head chef and immediately saw the resemblance. “One of the waiters came down with the flu, and I had the night off, so I told them I could jump in.”

  “My aunt mentioned that this is your family’s restaurant,” I said nodding to Elin. “But I thought you said your dad was a cop.”

  “Was. He was. He got injured a while ago and took early retirement.” Tomo’s eyes clouded and he glanced toward the lively kitchen again.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He flipped the order pad to a blank page. “It’s okay. What can I get you?” He looked completely different in his skinny black jeans, flannel shirt, and Chuck Taylors. I noticed that he had a black stud earring in his left ear.

  “One of everything?” I asked the table.

  Jon clapped his hands. “Yes! Let’s be entirely uncivilized this evening. Extra spoons and chopsticks all around. We can pass bowls and decide which ramen we like best, what do you say?”

  Everyone agreed. Tomo smiled. “It’s a good idea, but I can guarantee that you won’t be able to agree on a favorite. My mom’s ramen is the best thing in town. She won’t even let me touch her secret family recipe and I’m her only son.”

  He left to put in our order. Nora let out a low whistle. “He’s a cutie. I bet he would help you forget your husband.”

  Elin wrinkled her brow. “He must be at least ten years younger than Britta.”

  Nora put her arm around my shoulder. “We are women of the twenty-first century, aren’t we, Britta?”

  I nodded.

  “Since the beginning of time men have dated women much, much younger.” She glared at Jon.

  He threw his lanky arms up in protest. “Don’t look at me.”

  “It’s true,” Nora insisted. “I for one am over it. We can rock, girls. We don’t have to sit back and wait for our husbands to leave us for some leggy blonde with an augmented chest. We can flip the tables, can’t we, Britta?”

  “Sure.” I wondered what Nora’s background was like. Had her husband left her for someone younger too? Or had Elin explained what happened with Chad and me in perfect detail? Nora’s girl-power pep talk also had me more convinced that Mark had been telling me the truth earlier.

  “But I’m not ready to date yet,” I said.

  Nora squeezed my shoulder and then removed her arm. “That’s fine. You take your time, but don’t wait too long. That Tomo is adorable. Some lucky lady is going to scoop him up.”

  Elin saved me by changing the subject and asking Jon about a Japanese-style beer on the menu. She patted my leg under the table. I shot her a look of thanks. Discussing my failed love life wasn’t high on my list of dinner topics. But since Nora had been so vocal about dating a younger man, I intended to use that as my opportunity the next time we were alone to see if she would open up about Mark. I was growing attached to Nora, and didn’t want to believe that she could be a killer. However I never thought I would be in my thirties, technically homeless, and on the brink of divorce. I was going to have to keep an open mind because for the moment there was an outside possibility that one of my dinner companions could be a killer.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Tomo delivered a tray of steaming ramen bowls that could have been framed and displayed in an art gallery. They were lush with ingredients and color, piled with noodles floating in a savory broth and topped with chopped fresh herbs, bean sprouts, julienned carrots, boiled eggs sliced in halves, and mounds of seared and shredded meats.

  “Britta, my mom made this for you. I told her you were a friend.” He placed an oblong white ceramic bowl in front of me. Then he pointed to the kitchen, where his mom, who barely stood tall enough to see over the bar, gave me a wave and then a bow. I did the same.

  “Tell her thank you. This looks too good to eat,” I replied.

  “She will be happy to hear that.” He gave me an impish smile. “You know it’s considered rude in our culture if you don’t finish the entire bowl.”

  I stared at the bowl of ramen in front of me, which could easily feed our entire table. “Really?”

  “Nah. I’m just messing with you.” Tomo winked and bid us good eating.

  “See.” Nora nudged me again after he left. “He brought you a special bowl. I do believe that young man is smitten.”

  Jon silenced her by saying. “Nora, dear, leave the poor girl alone. Not everyone has to have a hot-and-heavy romance like you.” His thick wire-framed glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose.

  His words quieted her. She twirled ramen noodles around her chopsticks and dropped the subject. Jon shot me a look from across the table as if to say, “you’re welcome.” I appreciated his intervention, and wondered if he knew about Nora and Mark.

  If Elin knew about Nora’s “hot and heavy” romance, as Jon had put it, she didn’t give any indication. “Isn’t this the most beautiful bowl of ramen you’ve ever seen?” she commented opting for a fork over chopsticks.

  We all agreed and dug in to Mrs. Iwamoto’s masterpieces with gusto. The broth had a kick from the Asian spices and a slight tang from the fish sauce. It was simple and yet layered with flavor. Every time I took a bite I tasted something new. I devoured the bowl and couldn’t believe my own eyes when I finally put my fork down and realized I had eaten almost all of it.

  Tomo checked in to see if we wanted after-dinner sake or tea. We declined. It was late and there was no way I could put anything else in my stomach. “I’m impressed, Britta,” he said stacking my nearly empty bowl on his tray. “I really was kidding about offending my mom.”

  I placed my hand on my satiated stomach. “I know, but it was so amazing that I couldn’t stop myself.”

  He swelled with pride. “I’ll tell my mom.”

  “Can I come meet her?” I asked.

  “Sure.” Tomo loaded the other bowls on the tray and waited for me to squeeze out of the booth.

  Mrs. Iwamoto was short in stature with a blunt-cut bob and makeup-free skin. Despite her size she had command of her tiny kitchen.

  “Watch your toes,” Tomo cautioned.

  Boiling pots of noodles took over each burner on the industrial gas stove. The galley kitchen’s cement floor had a long drain running through its center. When a pot of noodles was ready one of Mrs. Iwamoto’s cooks would grab it from the flames, hold a long-handled colander over the drain, and dump the water directly on the floor. No wonder the bamboo counter seating was packed with customers, I thought, as a handful of people let out a cheer watching steam rise from the floor. This was like a Broadway production.

  Mrs. Iwamoto wiped her hands on a black towel hanging from her petite waist, and skirted around bubbling pans of broth and a cook chopping meat with a giant cleaver.

  “Okaasan, this is my friend, Britta.” Tomo introduced me.

  “Nice to meet you, Britta.” Mrs. Iwamoto’s skin was dewy and her eyes were bright. “Did you like the ramen?”

  “It was the best thing that I’ve ever had in my entire life.” That wasn’t even an exaggeration. I knew th
at I was going to dream about her noodles for days to come.

  She smiled. “You come anytime and I will make more for you.”

  “Thank you. I will definitely be back. You’ll probably get so sick of seeing me that you’ll have to ban me from the restaurant.”

  “Never. You are family when you are here. You are always welcome.” She gave me a small bow and walked over and tapped one of the line cooks on the shoulder. Apparently she wasn’t pleased with his sautéing technique, because she took the pan from his hand and demonstrated with an elegant flip of the wrist how she wanted him to do it.

  “She is amazing,” I said to Tomo as he walked me to the front door where the rest of my party was waiting.

  “And she likes you.” He fiddled with his earring.

  I wanted to ask him about his father, but I didn’t want to pry.

  “Hey, I texted Detective Fletcher to tell him you were here, and he asked me to tell you that he’s going to swing by Blomma first thing in the morning to talk to you about those roses.”

  “Right, okay.” I’d almost forgotten about Frank’s murder in the afterglow of Tomo’s mom’s delicious meal. “That’s fine. Tell him I’ll be there,” I said as we left the restaurant. That meant that I had some research to do.

  By the time we got back to Elin’s I was wiped out. I decided to call it a night. I would most likely be up early anyway. I could pull out my binder in the morning and see what—if anything—I could find out about the Deep Secret rose.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Indeed the next morning I woke before the sun. I was still on Midwest time. At some point I figured it would wear off, but for the moment I enjoyed being awake in a quiet house with the silence of the morning to myself. Careful not to disturb Elin, I found my flower bible, tucked it under my arm, and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. Once I had a pot of coffee brewing for Elin and a strong cup of tea steeping for me, I took over the kitchen table.

  My flower bible had been my go-to source of information when I’d attended the Floral Institute. I hadn’t touched it for years. Brushing dust off the cover, I flipped it open and was flooded with memories.