Natural Thorn Killer

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  “What are people saying?” I asked, declining the tasting cup that Nora extended. I was already riding high on the happy energy of the night. I didn’t need caffeine to enhance my experience.

  “They’re saying this is the best show that Portland has ever seen.”

  “Well, it is unique.”

  “No, not flower show—fashion show. Do you see that woman hanging around near the musicians?” She gave a subtle nod in the direction of a tall elegant woman dressed in man’s suit. Somehow she managed to make the suit look feminine and powerful at the same time.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “That’s Misty Haze.” Nora poured cream into a silver carafe.

  “Who is Misty Haze?”

  “She’s the editor in chief of Mod.”

  “What’s Mod?”

  “Girl, where have you been?” Nora looked exasperated at my lack of knowledge. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been out of the loop for awhile. Mod is only the biggest fashion blog on the planet. Misty lives here but spends most of her time in Paris and New York. It was a stroke of luck that she happened to be in town for Blomma’s launch, and I can tell that she is loving this.”

  I glanced back in Misty’s direction. Her severe face and pouty lips said otherwise. “That’s happy? She looks like she’s waiting for a root canal.”

  Nora topped off a tray of tasters as a group approached us. “No, she’s thrilled. I promise.”

  I left her to explain the specialty roast and headed in Misty’s direction, but was cut off by a grubby hand grabbing my shoulder.

  “Hey Snow.” Kirk Jaffe leered at me with a crooked grin. “I see you dressed for the part tonight. How about you and I sneak off someplace a bit quieter?”

  “No thanks.” I freed myself from his grasp. “I’m good.”

  “You are good.” He made a weird motion with his eyes. If this was his attempt at a pickup line he was failing miserably.

  Fortunately I spotted Tomo and Pete making their way toward the cottage, so I ignored Kirk and hurried to catch up with them.

  “Hey, who are you hiding from?” Tomo asked when I squeezed in between them. They were both wearing street clothes. Tomo wore skinny jeans and an untucked flannel, like he had at his parents’ noodle shop. He blended in perfectly with Portland’s young hipster crowd. Pete had on a pair of black slacks, a gray shirt, and a tie the color of my dress. “You two match,” Tomo commented.

  “Indeed.” Pete raised an eyebrow and stared at me so intently that the room started to sway. “I like the flowers.”

  “Thanks.” I wondered if my voice sounded as weird to them as it did in my head. Absently I touched my hand to my rose band.

  “Seriously, who are you trying to ditch?” Tomo glanced around the crowded room.

  “Kirk Jaffe,” I said, glad that Pete’s focus had steered away from me. “He’s the worst.”

  “He’s crushing hard on you.” Tomo laughed and then proceeded to block me with his bulky body when Kirk pushed through the crowd toward us.

  Pete stiffened. “Is he bothering you, Britta?”

  “No, I mean, yeah, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “You sure?” He watched Kirk try to cozy up to Lawren, who was hovering at the far end of the bar, looking nervous as always.

  “Positive.”

  Tomo snagged three glasses of wine and handed them to us. “This is some event you and your aunt have put on, Britta. My mom is planning to stop by in a while.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off one of the models who was wearing a cascading skirt of yellow, peach, sky blue, and red gerbera daisies. Her hair was tied in two long braids with matching daisies. “Do you care if I grab one of those cupcakes?” He pointed to the tray of vanilla cupcakes frosted with Swiss buttercream and adorned with succulents that the model was holding.

  “You’re not on duty. You don’t need to ask permission,” Pete responded. We both watched Tomo approach the model. His technique was much more subtle than Kirk’s. I heard him compliment her on her skirt.

  “I don’t think it takes a detective to figure out that he’s not really interested in her cupcakes,” I said to Pete.

  His crooked smile left me wanting to clutch the bar to steady myself. “Nope. But I can’t blame him. There are beautiful women floating all around this place.” There was no mistaking that his words were meant for me. He held my gaze, letting his eyes linger on me. Heat rushed up my spine. Is this how Elin felt around Eric?

  “You aren’t on duty tonight?” I asked, nodding at his wineglass.

  “Not officially, but each of my suspects in my homicide investigation is here. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

  I surveyed the room with him. Sure enough Lawren, Serene, and Kirk were all at the wine bar. Nora was pouring coffee in the front of the shop, while Jon was chatting with Misty from Mod, and Mark was waiting in line for a pizza flower crisp. They were wontons cut and fried in the shape of a flower, filled with marinara sauce, and decorated with sprigs of Italian parsley and fresh basil leaves. I hadn’t seen either of the men come in.

  “Are you any closer to figuring out who killed Frank?” I asked.

  He glanced at the bar. Was he looking at Lawren? I couldn’t tell. “Close. We’re very close.”

  “I heard about Lawren,” I said, hoping that he might open up.

  “Oh?” He tasted his wine, but didn’t appear impressed by the flavor.

  “Is there something wrong with the wine?” I asked.

  “Not at all.” He turned and stared at Serene for a moment. She caught him looking at her and gave him a flirty smile. He raised his glass to her in a toast and then turned his attention back to me. Was he interested in her? Was I so out of practice in the dating world that I was misinterpreting his signals?

  “Don’t you think that being fired and having Frank threaten to make sure that she never worked in Portland again is a strong motive for murder?” I could barely make out Lawren in the throng of people tasting wine at the bar. She hadn’t touched her drink and appeared to be alone. What was she doing?

  “Perhaps.” Pete didn’t sound convinced.

  “But you said yourself that you thought it was a crime of passion. Don’t you think that if Lawren discovered that Frank was going to axe her that could have sent her over the edge?”

  He stepped closer to me. I could feel his breath on my neck and smell his minty soap. “I think this is supposed to be a party and a celebration, Britta Johnston. I think you should sip your wine and enjoy the evening. Leave the investigation to me.”

  For a minute I thought he might kiss me. I could feel my body being pulled toward his as if there was a force field between us. His eyes held a longing. My heart beat in rapid, erratic bursts. But then someone pulled me away.

  “Are you Britta?” One of the models wearing a hat of palm leaves and ostrich feathers tapped my shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “They need you in the cottage. They’re about to go live.”

  “Go live?” I hadn’t heard anything about a live shot.

  “Yes, Elin said to come find you.” The model’s gazelle-like posture made me straighten my back.

  Pete took my drink. “You better go, duty calls.”

  The model whisked me away before I could protest. I’d never been on TV before, let alone live TV. What would I say?

  The cottage was packed and bursting at the seams. Elin stood behind the island, which was littered with twine, wire, floral tape, and a brilliant collection of flowers, greenery, ribbons, and feathers. A news crew had set up in front of her. A photographer was snapping still shots of her at work as a TV reporter was getting in position next to her.

  “Britta, good! Come join us.” Elin waved.

  I squeezed through the onlookers. “I don’t want to be on TV,” I whispered.

  “You have to. We’re a team.” She turned to the reporter. “This is my niece, Britta, who I was telling you about.”

  In one quick flash the rep
orter swooped over to me, and had me slide a wire down the back of my dress and clip a small mic to my chest. “Good. Let’s roll.”

  She took her handheld microphone and addressed the camera directly. “I’m here live at Blomma for the launch of their cottage couture line. This is where fashion meets flowers.” Her voice turned severe as she stared into the camera and continued, “And the site of a gruesome homicide earlier this week.”

  Elin was brilliant on camera, answering each question flawlessly and showing off her artistic talents by whipping up a seedpod-and-poppy bracelet for the reporter while she spoke. I, on the other hand, was terrible. My answers felt stilted and I wasn’t sure where to look. The reporter must have realized that I was far from a natural and motioned for the camera to return to Elin.

  The interview built to the grand reveal. Elin clapped her hands and nodded to the antique desk where a temporary screen had been erected to hide the showpiece—Elin’s floral dress. A model stepped out from behind the screen and the entire crowd inhaled collectively. Flowers cascaded from her bodice out into a massive hoop skirt. I could smell the fragrant bunches of lilacs hanging from her narrow waist. Misty Haze and every other reporter snapped dozens of photos as the model floated through the room. Elin’s creation was more stunning than anything I’d ever seen on a catwalk or in the pages of a fashion magazine. The crowd must have agreed because they “oohed” and “aahed” when the model brushed past them, and squeezed in to get a closer glance at the floral structure.

  Once the reporters left, Elin continued to make custom floral jewelry for every guest. I returned to the front to make sure everything was running smoothly. The rest of the evening was a happy blur. Our clients were thrilled, we’d garnered some great press, and Nora was right. On her way out the door Misty from Mod magazine pressed her business card in my hand and said, “I love what I’ve seen here. This is cutting edge. I want to do a full-color feature on the shop.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. A feature in Mod would be huge for Blomma and for Elin!

  Nothing could bring me down—I floated throughout the room. The only thing that made me feel a twinge of sadness was when Pete came to say good-bye for the evening. He’d been called back to the station, but promised a makeup lunch soon. When the last guest left, the shop looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. We had a ton of cleanup to do, but Nora wanted to celebrate.

  Nora placed her hands on her hips. “Leave it. We’ll help you clean in the morning, but the night is young and we have to go have a celebratory round of drinks. Plus I don’t know about all of you, but I’m starving.”

  It was just Mark, Jon, Elin, and me left.

  “I don’t know,” Elin hesitated.

  “Come, come. Nora’s right. An evening such as this requires a bottle of bubbly,” Jon said, as he urged Elin toward the door.

  “Or two!” Nora chimed in.

  “Britta?” Elin turned to me for support.

  “No way, I’m with them. Cleanup can wait.”

  Realizing she was outnumbered Elin agreed. “Okay, but at least let me go close up the cottage. The lights are still on and I have candles burning.”

  “You go,” I insisted. “I’ll close up the cottage, lock up here, and then come meet you all. Where are you going?”

  Nora grabbed Mark’s hand. No one even flinched. I wondered if Jon had suspected that they were a couple, too. “The Riverplace Inn. We’ll save you a seat and have a cold glass of champagne waiting for you.”

  Elin hesitated, but I made eye contact with Jon, who caught my meaning and linked his arm through Elin’s. “Your lovely niece is right. Shall we?” He pointed to the door.

  I grinned as the four of them chattered about how much good press we’d received and speculated on whether or not it might bring a new round of customers to the village. I tossed a few empty coffee cups and appetizer wrappers that had fallen on the floor and rearranged the furniture. Then I made my way to the cottage.

  As Elin had said, it glowed with flickering candles and twinkle lights. The island was a mess of flower supplies, thorns, and stems. Cups, plates, and napkins had been left around the room. I did a quick sweep and tossed them into the trash. The good news was that we didn’t have any workshops slated for tomorrow, so we could spend the day getting everything back in shape. I wondered if the press coverage would mean more orders or the phones ringing off the hook tomorrow. Maybe tonight really was going to be the start of something new for Blomma.

  I blew out each candle and unplugged the twinkle lights. As I was about to flip the switch for the overhead chandelier I head a crash in the front. Had I locked the door after everyone left? I froze for a second and listened.

  Another crash sounded. Was it wine bottles shattering?

  Someone was in the shop. What should I do? Was Darren here to get his revenge as promised? He had never showed at the party.

  I scanned the dimly lit cottage. My eyes landed on Elin’s old rotatory phone on her desk. I tiptoed over and dialed Pete’s number. He didn’t answer.

  When his voice mail came on I whispered. “Pete, it’s Britta. I’m cleaning up in the cottage but I think someone is in the shop. I keep hearing crashes and bangs, but I’m scared to go check because I’m here by myself.”

  Another giant crash made me jump. What was going on in there?

  I crept behind the barn doors and considered my options. I could wait for Pete or someone else to arrive. I had left the lights on in the front. Blomma was a wall of windows, so whoever was banging about in there had to risk being seen. Could it be Darren? Maybe he’d come to sabotage us after seeing the news.

  That made the most sense. I could feel my muscles relax. Suddenly I felt silly having called Pete. Darren didn’t scare me, and catching him in the act would give us proof once and for all that he’d been behind leaving the dead flowers. Yet again, there was a chance that he had killed Frank.

  I decided to try and get a peek. If I could see who the culprit was then I could decide whether to hide out in the cottage or confront whoever was smashing wine bottles. Suddenly the shop was plunged into darkness. I definitely wasn’t alone.

  My heart pounded and sweat poured from my forehead.

  I stuck my head farther inside. A slice of moonlight illuminated the front of the shop. My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness.

  A silhouette stood by the bar holding a bottle of wine. Then a hand smashed it on the table. I flinched. I must have made a sound because the person whipped around in my direction. Was that Serene?

  It couldn’t be. Why would Serene smash bottles of her wine?

  My mind moved like honey. I tried to make sense of what was happening but the next thing I knew Serene grabbed another wine bottle and walked straight toward me. Before I could pull the door shut she lifted the bottle in the air and smashed it on my head. Then everything went dark.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “Britta, Britta?” A muffled voice roused me.

  I tried to sit up but a wave of nausea assaulted my body. My head throbbed.

  “She’s okay!” the voice hollered.

  I peeled one eye open. Big mistake. The light made my head pulse.

  “Easy, easy. Sit tight,” the voice said. It sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it.

  What happened? Where was I?

  I reviewed my last memory. I’d been at Blomma. The party. We’d had the launch party and I stayed to clean up. Then my mind was flooded—Serene. Serene was smashing wine bottles. Had she smashed me on the head?

  Again I tried to sit up. My head felt like it was on a Tilt-A-Whirl. I rubbed the base of my skull. Was there a lump forming?

  “Careful, Britta, take it slow.” This time I recognized the man’s voice. It was Pete.

  I squinted, trying to let in the least amount of light possible. “Serene. Was Serene here?”

  He put his arm around my back and helped steady me. “Yes. We’ve got her. I want you to take it easy though. You had a nasty blow. EMS is
on the way. In fact I think I hear the sirens now.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” I protested, but as I opened my eyes all the way wavy lines clouded my vision.

  “You do. It’s not a choice.” Pete’s voice was kind but firm. I could smell his earthy cologne and feel his breath.

  “What happened?” I rubbed the bump.

  “Try not to touch it. That will just make it worse.” Pete moved my hand away. “I was on my way back here anyway, but when I got your call we hopped in Tomo’s squad car and flew here. Got here just in time. Serene was sprinting toward the river.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.” I could hear fuzzy sirens in the distance. “Was it Serene?” I repeated.

  “It’s too early to know for sure. As soon as EMS gets you stable I’ll interrogate her, but my best guess is that she came back here looking for something. That note that we found in Frank’s coat pocket most likely. Her prints came back on it, but so did yours and your aunt’s. Since Serene works here and had served wine the night of Frank’s murder that wasn’t enough evidence to go on. But we had learned that the two of them were having an affair.”

  “Frank and Serene?” She must have really hit my head because nothing Pete was saying was making sense.

  “Yeah. Apparently they traveled together. She was in Italy with him last month.”

  Blue and white lights flashed outside. The sound of the siren’s wail made my head feel it might explode.

  “Tell them to kill the siren,” Pete called to an officer standing at the door. I hadn’t even noticed that anyone else was here.

  I thought back to the conversation we’d had about wine tasting and how Serene had stopped herself when she mentioned Italy. I had thought it was because someone ran by the front windows and she was nervous, but now I realized it had to have been because Serene almost let it slip that she’d been with Frank. Was that why she’d been so irritated with me cleaning the wine bottles? Did she think she had stashed the note there?