Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  Now I had another suspect to add to my list. Wasn’t the ultimate goal to narrow down suspects, not keep adding them? I didn’t know if Darren had ties to Frank Jaffe, but I was going to let Pete know, and the only good thing about having another suspect was that it gave me an excuse to call him.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The remainder of the day involved deliveries, final prep for the party like coordinating with the caterer who was creating a custom menu of flower-inspired hors d’oeuvres, and sketching out plans for a client wedding and corporate chocolate party that Elin had secured earlier. After a one-on-one meeting with a client the next step was to create a tentative design and cost estimates. Since we dealt in whatever was blooming at the moment, it could be challenging to budget and prepare a plan months in advance. The wedding was in mid-July so our designs revolved around flowers, shrubs, and berries that we knew would be in season. However the growing market could always change. Another round of storms like yesterday’s could affect pricing and what wholesale flowers we could secure at the market.

  Elin included language in every contract about substitutions based on availability. Rarely had she encountered a client who was angry about having to swap a specific flower in an arrangement, but it had happened from time to time, and we tried to do our very best to ensure that the final bouquet matched our preliminary designs.

  I enjoyed the process of putting a proposal together for clients. It reminded me of being back in school as I cut swatches of ribbon and snapped pictures of columbines and purple basil. With charcoal pencils I drew rough sketches of my vision for the bridal bouquet, which involved cascading spray roses, chocolate and dark pink cosmos, and clustered florets of lavender larkspur.

  “What do you think?” I asked Elin when she peered over my shoulder after coming in to the front of the shop for a cup of tea. She had been working around the clock on finishing the floral gown.

  “I think we will have one happy bride.” She picked up a sketch of one of the centerpieces with rustic tall-stemmed dark purple stock which not only would look dramatic in the clear hurricane vases I had picked out, but would also give the centerpieces a spicy clovelike scent.

  “It’s better than a bouquet of black roses from Darren’s shop, right?” I joked, trying to make light of the earlier tension.

  “Yes, that goes without saying, doesn’t it?” Elin smiled and placed my sketch back on the stack of drafting paper on the countertop. “I’ll be in the cottage if you need me.”

  “How is the dress coming along?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m not sure. It’s starting to take shape, but it’s a challenge in terms of structure and movement. I won’t be able to put any of the flowers on it until tomorrow night when we actually get the model into the skirt.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I arranged the pencils in the shape of a star on the top of the workstation.

  “No. Not at the moment.” She pointed to my sketches. “These are a tremendous help.” With that she poured herself a mug of tea and returned to the cottage.

  Once I had a completed set of designs I bundled them in a pale pink file folder with Blomma’s logo stamped on the front and tied it with one of the swatches of ribbon I wanted to use in the bridal bouquets. When the bride-to-be came back in for her next consultation she would leave with sketches and a complimentary centerpiece. Like the mini-bouquets that Elin created for every initial client meeting, we also made small centerpieces to give each client a sense of height, texture, and fragrance. It was another simple yet personal touch that set Blomma apart from other flower shops.

  Tomo poked his head in as I filed the designs away. “Hey, Britta!” he grinned and held up a paper bag.

  I waved him inside. “How’s it going?”

  He placed the bag on the countertop. “Great. I have a special surprise for you from my mom.”

  “What is it?”

  “Open it. You’ll see.” He nudged the bag toward me.

  I opened it to find a small paper quart container usually used to store ice cream. It was cold to the touch. “What is it?” I asked again.

  “Just open it,” he said with another grin. After seeing him out of his uniform last night, he almost looked like he was dressing up as a police officer for Halloween today with his blue short-sleeved shirt and shiny badge.

  I lifted the lid from the container. A deep black frozen custard filled it to the brim, topped with a sprinkling of black sesame seeds. “Is this ice cream?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah. It’s the best. You’re going to love it. My mom doesn’t make it very often, but when she does it sells out before the lunch rush is finished. When she told me she was making it last night I told her to save me a couple of containers. I brought one for you and Elin and I saved one for Detective Fletcher too. I can’t wait to see his face when he tries it.”

  I loved that Tomo was so proud of his heritage and his mother’s exquisite cuisine.

  “Is it savory?” I asked swiping my finger over the top of the custard.

  “Just taste it.” Tomo sounded impatient.

  I licked my finger. The creamy custard was slightly sweet with a hint of vanilla but a salty finish. It wasn’t like any other ice cream I had ever tasted.

  “Well, what do you think?” Tomo handed me a spoon.

  “It’s delicious, but it’s hard to describe. It’s very different from American ice cream.”

  “Right?”

  I took the spoon and went in for more. With each bite I enjoyed the ice cream more and more. The subtle sweet vanilla and deep sesame flavor mingled nicely, and the occasional crunch of the seeds was an unexpected treat.

  “You like it, right?”

  “I love it.” That wasn’t a lie. “Tomo, you’ve been so great about sharing Japanese food, now we are going to have to make a Swedish feast for you. How do you feel about whitefish?”

  “Let’s do it. I’m up for anything.” He flashed me a thumbs-up. Then his cherubic face turned more serious. “Honestly, Britta, I really appreciate you being open. Not a lot of the men and women in blue are super excited about trying eel or red bean sprout pudding.”

  “I am your girl when it comes to international cuisine. After being stuck married to a man who only wanted to eat meatloaf and green bean casseroles for five years my taste buds are practically singing every time I see you.”

  “That’s right. I keep forgetting you were married.”

  “Technically I am married,” I corrected him, wishing it weren’t true. If only the situation with Chad could resolve itself magically without my ever having to talk to him again.

  “Yeah, Fletcher mentioned something about that yesterday.” Tomo was casual, but my stomach did a flop. Did that mean that Pete had been discussing my love life with Tomo?

  “You better eat that before it melts.” Tomo pointed to the black custard.

  “Hey, I wanted to ask about your dad. You mentioned that he was hurt. Was it in the line of duty?”

  Tomo crumpled the bag that he had used to deliver my ice cream. “Yeah.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. We don’t have to talk about it.” I stabbed the spoon into the silky custard.

  “No, it’s cool. It’s fine.” He rolled the bag in a ball between his hands. “He was shot last year. Someone tagged our ramen shop. My dad happened to be the nearest responder. When he arrived on the scene he was thinking he was going to have to chase off a bunch of kids, but it was more serious than that.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  He squeezed the bag with one hand. “Yeah. We’re not sure if the tagging was racially motivated, but we were the only shop hit. My dad didn’t wait for backup. He went after the group of guys, who were wearing masks, and chased them up Front Street. They had a car waiting. I have no idea why, but one of them shot my dad as they flew past him. He was on foot and alone. It doesn’t make any sense.” He sighed.

  “I’m so sorry.” I knew that I h
ad already expressed my condolences, but I felt terrible for Tomo.

  “It was touch-and-go at first. The surgeons weren’t sure that Dad was going to make it, but he came through. It’s been pretty rough ever since. He was shot in the back. Lost a kidney, has been doing rehab three days a week, still doesn’t have full range of motion in his lower half.”

  “Oh my gosh.”

  Tomo nodded. Then with one fluid sweeping motion he stepped back and shot the paper bag into the garbage can with a perfect swish. “I’m going to find the guys. I was already motivated to follow in my dad’s footsteps, but after what happened last year I’m not going to stop until we bring them to justice.”

  I swirled the slowly melting ice cream with my spoon. “Do you have any leads?”

  “Nothing solid. I’ve been tracking taggers around town though. There have been twelve other incidents in the past year, concentrated on this side of the river. I know it has to be the same group, and I have some suspicions about who may be involved, but we haven’t been able to make an arrest yet. Most of the businesses that have been hit have been owned by minorities. I’m sure that my parents were targeted because they’re Japanese, but my superiors don’t agree.”

  “That’s awful, and such a surprise here in a place like Portland. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” The noodle shop wasn’t far from Blomma. I wondered if any businesses in the village had been tagged. I didn’t want to upset Tomo, so I decided I would have to ask Elin about it later.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Tomo smiled. “I have to get back to the beat. See you later.”

  “Wait, there’s one more thing” I said, scooping ice cream onto my spoon. “I wanted to tell Pete that Darren from Drop Dead, Gorgeous was here a little while ago.”

  Tomo stopped. “Really? What did he want?”

  I glanced around to make sure Elin wasn’t nearby. I didn’t want to worry her with my theory that Darren was trying to sabotage Blomma. She was still in the cottage, so I explained my suspicions and told Tomo how angry and threatening Darren had been.

  “That’s weird that he came here. I was with Fletcher when he questioned Darren. He didn’t say a word about Blomma or your aunt. He’s a professional. Why would Darren have come straight here?” Tomo made a note on his phone. “I’ll let Fletcher know. He might want to come ask you about it.”

  “I’ll be here.” I savored the milky ice cream. “Gorging myself on your mom’s dessert.”

  Tomo laughed. “Awesome, see you later.”

  Elin’s special guest students began arriving shortly after Tomo left. I directed them to the cottage and hung back for a minute, watching her greet them with a welcoming hug and pair of gardening shears. Tonight’s class was on succulents. The oversized island in the center of the cottage had an assortment of water-retaining plants like aloe, cacti, sedums, and agave. Elin would teach her students how to arrange the fleshy drought-resistant plants in pots filled with small rocks and stones and low containers. Succulents are extremely difficult to kill, and require very little maintenance, making them a perfect houseplant or focal point on a coffee table or windowsill.

  Catching my eye, Elin clipped the root of one of the ornamental plants and encouraged her students to gather round the island to get a closer look. I waved and ducked out. The day’s orders had been delivered, both of the new contracts had designs and sketches ready to go, and I couldn’t decorate for the launch party until tomorrow. I tidied up the shop and reviewed the order forms for the next day. Then I used the downtime to post pictures of some of the arrangements we’d made as well as workshop photos on Blomma’s social media.

  With that complete, I checked the clock on the wall. Elin’s workshop would run for another hour, so I decided to take an evening walk along the waterfront. I turned the sign on the door to CLOSED and changed into tennis shoes. Then I grabbed my raincoat—it was the only non-parka I had—and stepped outside into the early spring air.

  Every storefront in Riverplace Village had a pile of debris or green recycling bin in front of the entrance. I was impressed by how quickly the cobblestone path had been cleared and remnants of the storm’s damage had been swept away. As I passed Demitasse I spotted Nora standing on a step stool and stacking brilliant white coffee mugs in the shape of a pyramid in the front window.

  She positioned a cup at the top of the stack and waved for me to come inside. When I opened the door Sticks ran to greet me. He nuzzled up to my leg and snorted.

  “That is quite the stack you have,” I said to Nora, careful not to let the door slam behind me. Sticks was wearing a black leather collar with metal studs.

  “What do you think?” She stepped off the stool and appraised her work. “We have a friendly window competition in the village each season. This year I intend to win! Your aunt has smoked all of us every year.”

  “Really? Is there a prize?” Sticks panted at my feet. I bent down to pet him.

  “He likes you.” Nora ran her fingers through her spiky hair. “Bragging rights, girlfriend.”

  “How did you manage to stack them that high?” I asked pointing to the mugs.

  She brushed her hands on her skintight leopard pants. “It wasn’t hard, and I’m not done yet. I was hoping maybe you could make some garlands to hang on either side of the coffee pyramid. Then I’m going to scatter coffee beans all along the windowsill.”

  “Great idea.” I studied the pristine display. “What about cherry blossom branches? We could hang them from the ceiling, almost as if the blossoms were dripping down into the coffee mugs.”

  “That’s perfect.” Nora folded the step ladder. She walked to the espresso bar, returned the ladder to its spot, and grabbed a ten-pound bag of coffee beans. “Want to help me toss some beans around?”

  Part of me wanted to decline. The purplish light and sinking sun were calling me. A walk might help clear my head, but this was also my chance to ask Nora about her relationship with Mark, especially since Elin wasn’t around.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  She ripped open the bag and the scent of coffee hit me like a tsunami. Sticks let out a low bark and pawed at Nora’s legs.

  “Those smell amazing.” I laughed as Sticks tried to climb up her to get at the coffee. “You weren’t kidding about having a four-legged coffee hound, were you?”

  “Off, Sticks.” Nora snapped. “He’s addicted. It’s a serious problem.” She shook a bunch of beans into her hand and held her palm out. “See how they’re starting to get a matte finish? Coffee beans should be glossy. It’s the oils that make a great cup. These are stale. That’s why I’m using them in the display.”

  She tossed a handful in front of the coffee pyramid. I did the same, and thought about how best to broach the subject of Mark.

  Nora gave me the perfect in by mentioning Tomo. “I saw that young cop coming out of Blomma with a silly grin on his face a while ago. Are you sure you’re not up for robbing the cradle? I can tell you from experience that dating a younger man has some wonderful benefits.”

  “I’m sure.” I sprinkled beans on the window ledge. “Actually, since you mention it. I’ve been wanting to ask you about something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, I heard that you are dating someone younger.”

  She spilled the bag of beans on the floor. Coffee beans scattered in every direction and hit the cement floor like popcorn popping. Sticks yelped with delight and chased the beans. “How did you hear that?” Nora asked.

  We both bent down and began scooping beans into a pile. “I wasn’t trying to pry into your love life. It came up when I was asking about Frank and Kirk Jaffe.”

  “You’ve talked to Mark, then?” Nora squeezed a handful of beans. “Have you said anything to Elin?”

  “No, I promise. I haven’t said a word to anyone.”

  She tossed the beans toward the front window with little care. “Shoot. I should have known this would happen.”

  Sticks chomped a coffee be
an and then spit it out on the floor. “Leave it!” Nora commanded. Then she scooped Sticks up. “I’m going to put him in my office. Hang on a second.”

  A pug who liked coffee and wore leather, how perfectly Portland, I thought as I waited for Nora to return. She was back in a second. “So you haven’t told Elin yet? I thought you two were best friends,” I asked scooping beans into my hands.

  Nora rubbed her eyes and smeared her black eyeliner. “We are.”

  I thought that might be the end of our conversation. She picked up more of the beans and threw them at the window.

  “Damn. I should have told her.”

  “Is there a reason you didn’t? Mark said that you guys wanted to keep things on the down low with the other village business owners.”

  Nora stood and rubbed a coffee bean between her fingers. “Yeah, that was part of it. We’re just having fun right now. It’s not serious, but we both are old enough to know that these kinds of things don’t always last. Neither of us want to create drama in the village. If they don’t work out, who cares? We’re adults. If it doesn’t work out with Mark I know that we’ll both be professional and it will be much cleaner if no one else around knows.”

  She repeated Mark’s words to me almost verbatim.

  “And that’s why you didn’t want to tell Elin?” I asked.

  Nora tapped the coffee bean on her teeth. “No, it’s more complicated with Elin.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to break her heart again.”

  Again? What? I felt like Nora had thrown me off balance with her words. When had Elin had her heart broken? And why had she never said anything to me?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Picking up as many beans as I could I sprinkled them in the window, and then turned back to Nora. “I don’t understand,” I said to her. “What does your relationship with Mark have to do with my aunt?”

  Nora frowned. “Your aunt has never mentioned anything about Eric?”

  “No. Who is Eric?” I couldn’t believe that Elin would have kept her romantic life separate from me.