by P. J. Conn
He pursed his lips. "Usually, we'd not violate a client's privacy, but Matteo certainly can't complain, can he? Come to my office, and I'll show you what I have."
The door at the back of the shop led into another workroom, with more refrigerator cases with centerpieces waiting to be delivered for a formal dinner that night. Charlie's glass-walled office held his desk, chairs, a telephone, and file cabinets so full some drawers couldn't be fully closed.
"He has to be under the Ms, doesn't he? They're in this cabinet. We have a clerk who handles filing as well as shifts at the register. Unfortunately, she can't do much when the files are bursting with receipts. I need to buy another cabinet."
"Do you need to keep track of sales that are several years old?" Joe asked. He hadn't handled enough cases for even a single drawer of his file cabinet to be filled, let alone crowded, but he could see how to solve Charley's problem easily enough.
"Of course not, there's no reason to save the receipt from every sale I've ever made." He laid Matteo's file on his desk. "Take as long as you like."
"Thank you so much, Charlie," Constance nearly purred as he left them.
Joe had brought a yellow legal pad inside a manila file folder. He removed his pen from his pocket. "Why don't you read the names and addresses to me, and I'll write the list. Let's keep track of the dates as well." He sat down behind the desk, and she took a chair in front.
She glanced through the orders. "I'll bet the dates are closer than any real gentleman would need."
"If this is too difficult for you, I can do it alone," Joe offered.
"No, I never trusted Matteo, so I can easily manage without weeping. There are ten orders. Shall we skip the one that's more than a year old?"
"I'd like to keep track of them all," he replied. He wrote the Wonder of Roses across the top of the page and looked up at her.
"All right. The first is a FTD order for December 1945, a dozen red roses to be sent to Veronica in New York with a card reading Happy Birthday. His continued devotion to his ex-wife is endearing, isn't it?"
"Down right inspiring. Who's next?"
"March, 1946, Charlotte Eaton. Her father is on the symphony board. I went to her wedding that summer, so it's doubtful she would be a suspect now."
"Agreed."
"In May, Linda Skye, apartment seven in Matteo's Almont building. Did you meet her?"
"No. Her friend Tanya Olson is living there while Linda is working in London. She might not have known Linda dated him. At least she didn't mention it. Tanya called the police when I found Matteo. She was wearing a pink dressing gown when I knocked on her door, and it occurred to me later than she could have gotten out of her bloody clothes after she'd killed him. She's sweet and rather dim, so she didn't strike me as the type to murder anyone."
"Maybe she's neither sweet, nor dim. Better put a star by her name."
"Will do. Who's next?"
"August, Suzanne Ritter, who lives on La Peer. Could it be in Matteo's building?"
He glanced up to read the address. "That's it. I spoke with her, and she didn't appear to be distraught over Matteo's death, but maybe she's a good actress. She's a fashion designer, who could have assembled the fur outfit on the woman I photographed."
"If she dated him more than a year ago, you'd think she would have attacked him much sooner."
"The same could be said for Linda Skye. Who's next?"
"December 1946, there was another FTD order for roses for Veronica in New York. Has she come to Los Angeles?"
"I would have heard if she has. How did Matteo do this year?"
"February, 1947, Andrea Donovan. She lives on Mildred Avenue in Venice Beach. Looks like he widened his geographical search there. I'm next in May, a Paloma Val Verde received roses at the end of July. I was still seeing Matteo when I came to you in October, so clearly there was some overlap there."
"Looks like it, I've been to Paloma's house. She does paintings of whimsical birdhouses."
"I know someone who has one." Her eyebrows twitched at the thought. "They're almost too cute."
He couldn't imagine her hanging such a sweet, colorful painting in her spectacular home. "So is she."
"In September, he picked up a dozen roses, so we don't know where they went. Did you learn anything useful?"
Matteo was then also seeing Lily Montell, maybe he hand-carried the roses to her. "Yes, I think so. Will Charlie sell me a single rose? I can't afford to buy a dozen for my fiancée."
"To repay his thoughtfulness today, I'll buy a dozen roses to take home and give you one. How's that?"
"Perfect." He carried the gold box holding red-orange long-stemmed roses to her car. A cream-colored Mercury convertible, the top was up, but he could easily imagine her hair flying as she drove along the beach with the top down.
Constance rested the box on the hood of her car, and removed the lid. "Do you want to pick a rose, or shall I?"
The roses were snuggled in green tissue paper. "Aren't they all the same?"
"Of course not. They're as individual as people and each has its own personality."
Joe sincerely doubted it. "Give me the one on the top, please, it looks real pretty and cheerful."
"Good choice." Constance pulled a sheet of tissue from the box to wrap it. "There you are. Let me know what you find out about the Venice Beach woman."
"I'll contact her tomorrow."
* * *
Joe handed Mary Margaret the gorgeous rose when he picked her up at the hospital. "Happened by a flower shop today, and thought of you."
"Oh, Joe, it's so pretty and smells absolutely divine. Thank you. Were you there working on a case?"
He explained how thoughts of Matteo had led him there. "It was just a sudden inspiration, which makes me think I might have missed a dozen likely clues in other cases."
"They were all solved satisfactorily, weren't they?"
"Yes, but maybe I could have solved them sooner. I cashed the California West check to pay Luke. I hope he won’t object to being paid, after all, he did banish the ghost."
"I believe ministers are paid when they perform a wedding or a funeral," she responded. "I'll have to ask my mother how much we should pay Reverend Barker to do our wedding."
It was another expense he'd not expected. "I love your optimism, but we haven't heard from your mother as yet."
"How long do you suppose it takes mail to reach Seattle?"
"Not long." Maybe her mother had already received the photos he'd sent and was too appalled to respond. Mary Margaret might be awash in happy thoughts, but he felt a dismal black cloud hanging above his head.
* * *
Joe had put Luke's money in a business envelope and after describing how it had been earned, he handed it to him.
Luke peeked in the envelope. "I appreciate the thought, but this is way too much."
"It's what California West believes is fair pay for ghost removal. I'm not prepared to argue with such a big firm. Spend it however you wish."
Luke nodded. "Fine, there are patients who could use a little cash when they check out. I'll save it for them."
"While we're talking about money, how much does a minister expect to receive when he performs a wedding?"
"It depends on the size of the church. Many have a list of set fees. Are you wondering about the cost of your wedding?"
Joe would still prefer a quick exchange of vows at city hall. "I learn of some new expense every day, Luke. I'm barely able to keep up with what's required."
"That's the bride's job, and you have the much easier part. You'll host the rehearsal dinner, and show up for the wedding on time. That's it."
"Now I'm even further behind than I thought. I didn't even know there was a rehearsal dinner."
Luke laughed. "Maybe you ought to check out a book on weddings from the library and go over it with Mary Margaret."
"And let her know what a fool I am? I don't dare do that, but thanks again for the suggestion."
"An
y time, and I appreciate the ghost money. I'll put it to good use."
Joe wished him a good night, and went back to Mary Margaret's cottage. "Whatever you're making smells wonderful!"
"Pork chops, one of your favorites. The enticing aroma is from sautéing the onions and bell peppers with garlic before I fold them into the dressing."
"As always, your food is extra delicious, for which I'm very thankful. Speaking of talents, the florist I met today was named Charlie Bloom. Flowers must have been his destiny."
"Maybe, or it might be a name he uses for business, the way an actor has a stage name."
"Of course, things are not always what they seem. I should have that saying engraved on a plaque and hang it in my office." Rather than drool over her shoulder, he went into the living room to read the paper while she finished preparing dinner.
* * *
Tuesday morning, Joe received a call before he could telephone Andrea Donovan. "Discreet Investigations."
"This is Carla Morrisett. I've been betrayed by my best friend, and I need you to straighten out the mess she's made."
Joe leaned back in his chair. "Tell me more about the problem, so I'll know if I can be of any help."
"My friend's dachshund had four pups. She promised me the pick of the litter, but she's given me the runt!"
He'd hoped for a real case, but no, this was another goofy inquiry that would lead absolutely nowhere. "Small dogs are awfully cute, need less space to play, and eat less dog food. Are you sure your friend hasn't actually done you a favor?"
"Dachshunds are already small, a tiny one isn't what I wanted."
"Give it back to your friend and tell her to sell it to someone else."
She gasped. "Oh, you're brilliant, you summarized the problem right there. She gave me the little puppy after she'd sold the rest of the litter, and no one else wanted her."
"Thank you. I'm glad to be of help. Remember it's not the puppy's fault, and she could be the best dog you ever had. Perhaps rather than another puppy, what you really need is a better friend."
"That's undoubtedly true. You give wonderful advice, how much do I owe you?"
"We solved your problem so quickly, there's no charge, Miss Morrisett. Just remember my firm whenever you need a detective."
"I sure will."
He supposed he should have charged at least fifty cents, but he doubted he could have collected it. He dialed Andrea Donovan's number, and she answered on the seventh's ring.
"Miss Donovan? This is Joe Ezell, I'm a detective with Discreet Investigations. I'm working on a memorial for Matteo da Milano, and wonder if I might come by your home this morning to discuss it."
"How did you get my name?"
Her voice had a brassy defensiveness, and he spoke softly rather than annoy her any further. "I'm a detective, and it's what I do. It won't take more than a few minutes of your time."
She sighed unhappily. "It's not like my day is so full I can't work you in. I suppose you already have my address."
"Are you still on Mildred Avenue?"
"Yes. It's the blue duplex. You can't miss it."
"Thank you. See you soon." Joe wondered what Matteo had seen in Andrea, but when she opened her front door, she proved to be a remarkably pretty young woman, even with the dark roots showing in her blonde hair. It was the black-haired, brown-eyed baby boy on her hip that startled him. He couldn't help but wonder if he could be Matteo's son.
Andrea stood aside to let him in. "I'm babysitting for my sister while she's at work at the Bank of America. As soon as she finds another responsible person to look after David, I'll apply there too. I'm a high school graduate, and can count dollar bills with the best of them."
She gestured toward an overstuffed chair, took a place on the threadbare sofa, and put David on a toy-filled baby quilt at her feet. Not quite able to crawl, the little boy wiggled over to a teddy bear and sucked on its paw.
"Handsome little guy," Joe offered.
"He's a real cutie, isn't he? Now what is it you wanted from me?" She brushed cracker crumbs from her sweater, and then dusted off the knees of her slacks. "If you're expecting me to pay for part of the memorial, you're out of luck."
"The cost is already covered. A little information is all I need, nothing more. How did you meet Matteo?"
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was selling programs at the Hollywood Bowl, and he stopped by the stand to get one. It's not every day a good-looking man wearing a tuxedo gives me his card, and I called him the very next day. We went out a few times. It wasn't anything serious, just fun. He sent me roses. Do you believe that? That was a first. I saved a few petals in a book."
She was awfully cute, but younger than the women Matteo usually dated, and not nearly as sophisticated. "You hadn't dated any other men from the LA Philharmonic?"
"Are you kidding? Most are married, or too old, but Matteo, he was just right. We didn't have a great love affair, but I cried when he died. I saved the newspaper photo with the rose petals. When is the memorial?"
"We don't have a firm date as yet, but I'll make certain you're invited. Don't get up, I can see my way out."
"I've got more manners than that." She showed him to the door, and closed it quietly behind him.
* * *
CC entered Joe's office in the afternoon and found him studying the cards on his bulletin board. "How is your investigation going? Looks like you've got quite a few suspects."
"All I actually have are people who knew the murdered man. None of them appears to have had any hostile intentions, but they could be lying through their teeth."
The custodian carried the wastebasket into the hallway to empty into a rolling cart. "I doubt the murderer would ever tell the truth."
"Probably not. I just need to catch them in a lie. Are you having a good day, CC?"
"Yes, sir, I am. Good luck with your case."
"Thanks, I certainly need it."
Mary Margaret hadn't called, so maybe she hadn't heard from her mother. When he picked her up after work, her smile wavered, and he feared he'd been wrong. "What did your mother say?"
"She hasn't called yet, and I'm going to call her when I get home. Take the bull by the horns, so to speak."
"That's a brave approach."
"I'm so tired of worrying about her opinions. She thought I ought to become a librarian rather than a nurse so I wouldn't have nightmares about blood. She didn't hide her disappointment when I came to Los Angeles to work for the VA. She's simply a fearful person, and probably won't ever change. Is that disloyal of me to say?"
"Not when it gives me a better understanding of her. Was your father much older than your mother?"
"No, she was the elder by two years, and age was never an issue between them. My father was a wonderful man. I don't believe he and my mother ever exchanged a cross word. When he had a heart attack and died, it was a terrible shock to us all, but especially my mother. He left her well cared for, so money hasn't been a problem, but she misses him terribly."
* * *
The telephone rang as they entered Mary Margaret's cottage. She sent Joe an anxious glance and answered. She covered the telephone to speak to him. "It's Sharon, and she thinks you're very handsome in your uniform."
"Thank God. Tell her I love her already."
Mary Margaret did, and listened attentively as Sharon related their mother's response. "Thank you for the warning, I'll call her now. Love you."
She turned to Joe. "Apparently Mother has decided your appearance isn't as much of a problem as your age. She's afraid I'll be widowed with small children to raise."
"God forbid, but if it happened, you'd go home to live in Seattle, wouldn't you?"
"Probably, but I'll not have her hoping you'll drop dead so she’ll see her grandchildren more often."
"I'll wait outside this time, and you can give me a summary latter." He gave her a quick kiss and stepped outside. Luke Hatcher waved to him as he came up the walk.
/> "How are things going, Joe?"
Joe walked over to meet him. He spoke softly, "Not well. Mary Margaret's on the telephone with her mother. You know Mrs. McBride thought I was too frightening in Arizona Sunrise, and now she's decided I'm too old."
Luke paused by his doorstep. "I've been giving your situation a lot of thought. From what I've read, sometimes the current issue isn't really the problem at all, but just an excuse. Mary Margaret's mother might even have a list. When you convince her you're barely out of your teens, she'll switch to the uncertainty of your income and your ability to provide for her daughter. Anyone with his own business can't guarantee their yearly income."
"That's true. She could also complain I have no family here to support us with any problems that might arise."
"Yes, that's a frequent complaint. 'Well, who are his people?' type of reasoning. You might want to prepare answers to stay ahead of her. You must believe Mary Margaret is worth whatever aggravation her mother causes."
"I most certainly do. Thank you, even if that wasn't a pep talk."
"My pleasure." Luke unlocked his front door. "Don't forget to add religion to the mix. It's caused more problems than all the others combined."
"Right." Joe walked out to the street and up and down the sidewalk to keep moving rather than stand and fret in place. He'd felt at ease with Mary Margaret from the moment she'd come into his office. She was so pretty she almost glowed, and he was delighted to report that whenever her sailor fiancé wasn't with her, he lavished his attentions on a string of other women.
She hadn't shed a single tear over the sad news, but straightened her shoulders and thanked him for finding the truth she'd suspected. He had suggested they go to lunch rather than have her brood over the tragic facts alone. She'd smiled, as though she already knew how much he liked her, and they'd been together ever since.
If there was a time to discuss important issues, they must have missed it before falling in love. He certainly didn't want a battle with his future mother-in-law, but he wasn't about to lose his darling Mary Margaret no matter what it took.
