Floral Depravity

by Beverly Allen

  “Still,” I said, “maybe they kept some records. Health records, I mean. Or forwarding information.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. But do me this one favor. If you find your father . . . don’t tell me.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Well, Audrey, I hope your tests go well. Let me know what they find out. But now I really must dash back to my dinner. Can’t keep the governor waiting.”

  “The governor?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I tell you? We’re having dinner at the governor’s mansion.”

  I briefly recollected her saying she wasn’t at a restaurant. “I’ll let you get back then. Oh, wait! His former employer. What was the name?”

  “Brooks Pharmaceuticals.”

  Chapter 7

  I added just a bit of wax flower to a get-well arrangement I was making for a retired teacher recovering from a recent stroke. This one flower stymied me when it came to meanings. The wax plant carried the meaning of susceptibility, which is not one that I’d want to give to someone already infirmed, however true that might be. But I wasn’t quite sure the modern wax flower came from what Victorian gardeners called the wax plant. I think the flower was actually called a wax myrtle, which carried the meaning of discipline and instruction. Not what I would put in a get-well bouquet either, although you could stretch it to consider that perhaps the sender had received instruction from the recipient and was grateful. Now, myrtle would have signified love in absence, which made more sense to me . . .

  Then again, this was another arrangement from a picture and someone had probably chosen the flower because of color, texture, and cost. So unromantic. Which was why I was more than happy to leave the bulk of this part of the business to Liv and concentrate on bridal bouquets.

  I glanced up at the clock. And then at Liv, hoping she didn’t notice me watching the time. I also hoped she hadn’t caught on to how quickly I was working through our light workload. That would spoil everything.

  But just then the door burst open. Eric didn’t even stop to greet his wife. “Audrey, you have to come right away!”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the cottage. We’ve run into a bit of a . . . sticky issue with the septic system. We need you right away to figure out what to do about it.”

  I glanced at Liv. “I hate to leave you with all the work.”

  She shooed me away. “No, you go ahead. Take care of what you need to. Amber Lee is still here, and Opie wanted to pick up some hours tonight since she got kicked out of that silly camp. And we somehow got ahead of ourselves this morning anyway.”

  Was that a flash of suspicion that crossed her face? I hung up my apron and grabbed my light jacket. “Thanks, Liv. You’re a doll.”

  “Just go take care of that cottage.” She shook her head.

  As I rolled away in the passenger seat of Eric’s truck, I waited two blocks before speaking. “What in the world is a sticky septic problem? Do you think she bought it?”

  “I’d say it’s our best bet. She knows that place of yours is a money pit. Sorry, Audrey. But it’s true.”

  My head bumped against the ceiling of his truck’s cab when he pulled into my rutted driveway.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a ride to the encampment?” he said. “I heard it’s quite a trek into that place.”

  The CR-V was still back at the shop, where it could be used for small deliveries. And hopefully help convince Liv that I was back at the cottage with Eric.

  “No, it’s okay. I found a shortcut through Larry’s place. And I can bike there from here.” Although the thought of biking to Larry’s in medieval garb did give me pause. At least I could wear Nick’s loaner clothes and not that serving wench outfit. I had returned that fiasco to the costume shop. All except the medieval yellow urine cape, which had disappeared amid the excitement of Brooks’s death. The owner of the shop had raised a fuss and was still figuring out what to charge me. If it were my shop, I wouldn’t want it back.

  That was yet another reason to return to the encampment. Maybe I’d come across the cape and get away with late fees instead. Then again, that might mean touching it.

  Bixby’s advice not to go alone flashed briefly into my mind, but I still knew a lot of people there—Nick, Brad, Melanie, Carol, Shelby, and Darnell—so I didn’t imagine I’d be alone for long.

  As I pushed open Eric’s truck door, I stopped for a moment. “Thanks for giving me an excuse to get out of there.”

  “And thanks for leaving Liv out of it. But mind, you be careful, too. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. And if Liv found out I was colluding with you, she wouldn’t forgive me either, for that matter. So my life and future happiness are in your hands.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He flipped off the ignition.

  “You’re staying?”

  “I hate to tell you this, but you really do have a sticky problem with your septic system.”

  * * *

  Larry was hosing out a plant tray when I came huffing and puffing up his driveway. I’d deserted the bike and locked it to a skinny tree at the main road, since access to his place was up a steep incline. It wouldn’t be so bad going home.

  He did a double take. “Well, so Joan of Arc is back. I take it you’re here to sneak through my property and not to see an old friend.” He tilted his head. “Coming to play dress-up in the woods or are you working on the murder?”

  “The second, but if you see Liv, I wasn’t here at all. I’d appreciate it, and Eric might even pay you for your discretion.”

  “Ah, I can see where that would be a problem. Your cousin doesn’t take well to being left out of the thick of things. Sure. She won’t hear anything from me. But if you’re going on to that camp, could you tell those yahoos that the invitation to cut through my property doesn’t extend to all of them?”

  “More people are cutting through here?”

  “I think so. Found some footprints along with the livestock tracks. Unless they were just here to collect the animals. Looked like there was a pig rooting through here last night, too. If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up as bacon.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  A smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “Maybe not. But I heard Bacon U might be looking for a new mascot.”

  “I’ll pass the word. Private property.”

  “Hey, Joan, if they invite you for lunch, avoid the steaks, eh?” He winked and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

  I groaned and saluted and crisscrossed over the muddy puddles Larry’s hose had left as I made my way over his fence and along the old deer path to the encampment.

  Again, the transition seemed almost magical.

  Merchants’ tents flapped in the breeze and cooking smells came from several of them, masking the rawer smells that I was sure were there. A few peasants strolled past the vendors, who called out, hawking their wares. My stomach rumbled just a little, but I wasn’t sure what they used for money in this place. And with a poisoner on the loose . . .

  Was poisoner even a word? Poisonist? Poisonista?

  Anyway, it wasn’t an appetite stimulant, that’s for sure.

  “Well, hello, Audrey!” Andrea was the first person I recognized. She was still in her blue dress.

  “Andrea, I would have thought you were on your honeymoon by now.”

  “This is our honeymoon! Nothing we like better.” Her face dimmed. “Not that anything has gone exactly as we might have planned.”

  “I’m so sorry about your father-in-law.”

  “Sad thing is that you might be one of the few who are.” She sighed. “That sounded bad.” She took me by the arm as we strolled down the main thoroughfare. “It’s not that anyone really wanted him dead. They’re just so relieved he’s not alive anymore.” She stopped in her tracks. “That didn’t come ou
t much better.”

  “I’ve heard that he could be difficult.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. Do you know he actually tried to buy me off?”

  “Buy you off?”

  “Pay me not to marry his son. Said he’d make it worth my while. I refused, but I still signed his silly prenup, just to prove to him I wasn’t after the Brooks bank account.”

  “I’m so sorry. Families can be difficult.”

  “And don’t tell Mom about the prenup. She would have had a cow. You know what Mel did? It wasn’t fifteen minutes after the ceremony that he tore the thing right in two and threw it into the fire, just to spite his father.” She winced. “Oh, that sounds even worse.”

  “Mel?” I wasn’t sure that I’d even heard the groom’s first name before.

  “Short for Melvin.”

  “Yikes.” Mel Brooks? Like the director? Scenes of old movies started running in my head. Poor kid. What was his father thinking? And why didn’t his mother stop him?

  “That’s what I’m saying. If your father named you Melvin, would you like him, either?”

  As we rounded the corner, I swear I saw Peter Pan with a video camera. When I blinked, I realized it was Brad in green breeches, a green tunic, and a green hat. I couldn’t help a chuckle.

  “Joan of Arc has no right to laugh at Robin,” he said.

  “Robin?” Andrea asked.

  “I must look like Robin Hood, right? I hoped I wouldn’t have to film in costume, but this camp has a rep for being strict, so I’m glad I came prepared. But it’s giving me some strange desire to hide in the woods lying in wait for crooked lawmen.”

  “Well, as a duly deputed lawman, I appreciate your restraint. As to the costume, I was thinking Peter Pan actually,” I said.

  “Ditto,” Andrea said. “I mean, verily.”

  “Thanks, now I have to avoid crooked sheriffs and pirates. Good to know.” He set the bulky camera on the ground.

  “Your crew still not here?” I asked as Andrea rubbernecked a vendor tent.`

  “Last I was able to check, they were stuck between roadblocks in two different counties. Can’t go forward and can’t go back. What idiot does that? But I’m out of communication now. Say, Audrey . . .” He leaned closer. “You don’t happen to have a cell phone on you, do you? My battery and my backup battery died last night.”

  “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone.” I turned around to retrieve the cell from my cleavage, the only place I could think to keep it since Nick’s clothes didn’t have pockets, then palmed it to Brad.

  “Still warm.” He sent me a wicked grin that brought the heat to my cheeks as he made his way out to the woods.

  Andrea stared off at Brad. “I thought you were seeing that baker guy, Nick.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I guess so.”

  “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t blow me in.”

  “You mean Nick doesn’t know? Or is it Brad that doesn’t know about Nick?”

  I laughed. “Nick and Brad know about each other. I meant please don’t turn me in for the cell phone.”

  “Gotcha. Oh!” Andrea stumbled forward as she was bumped from behind. She caught her balance and turned around.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Shelby and Darnell, swords drawn, were circling each other.

  I took a step back. “Are those sharp?”

  “No,” Andrea said, “they’re dulled so they’re safer. Just annoying.”

  “Oh, come on, man,” Darnell said to Shelby. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Darnell played football for Bacon U, and he cut an imposing figure, even without the sword in his hand.

  Shelby was shorter and much slighter, but seemed to be brandishing his weapon with more finesse. “Ah, but while you were carrying the pigskin down the field, I was fulfilling my PE credits with fencing class.” Shelby demonstrated a series of complicated moves, ending with removing Darnell’s hat. He waved his sword in front of Darnell’s face. “I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

  “Oh, I love that movie,” I said.

  Darnell hadn’t given up, however, and did his best to hold off Shelby’s advance while Andrea and I stood watching them. Shelby clearly had the skill advantage, but he was well matched by Darnell’s size and athleticism. When no winner was decided after ten minutes, they called it a truce, wiped the sweat from their brows, and headed off for a tankard of something.

  “There you are, my love.” Melvin Brooks came up behind Andrea and circled his arms around her waist.

  Melvin Brooks. Mel Brooks. The guy with a motive from birth. And as he trailed kisses down his bride’s neck, he didn’t look like he was mourning all that much for dear old Dad. No wonder the happy couple was high on Bixby’s suspect list.

  “I’m so sorry about your father,” I said.

  Melvin straightened up, cleared his throat, and tried to look appropriately sober. “Thanks, Audrey. I really appreciate that you tried to help. Everyone else just stood around.”

  “I’m not sure anything could have been done at that point. Any idea who might have wanted to poison your father?”

  Andrea looked at Mel.

  Mel looked at Andrea.

  Andrea spoke first. “There is that Hines fellow.”

  “Chandler Hines?” I asked. There was another of Bixby’s prime suspects.

  “You know him?” Andrea asked.

  “His name’s come up,” I said.

  “He and Dad never got along,” Mel said. “But it was nothing more than a difference of opinion about how things should be handled here. Ego, mainly, I think. They both wanted to be big shots for different reasons.”

  “Did they quarrel?” I asked.

  “More than quarrel,” Andrea said. “There was that threat.”

  “Threat?” I turned back to Mel. “Hines threatened your father?”

  “More like they threatened each other,” he said. “Publically. I thought it was more of an act, a staged disagreement. Like that sword fight. They were going to settle it with a joust—not murder. To poison someone like that . . . it really doesn’t fit into that whole Guardians of Chivalry ideal.

  “Personally,” he continued, “I think what happened to Dad must have been just a terrible accident. I saw what that monkshood root looks like, and it probably went into the stew as a turnip. I hope our corporate lawyers aren’t too aggressive with that poor Nick Maxwell. Apparently those vultures are already faxing forms to my office for me to sign, seeking punitive damages. But I’m no ambulance chaser. They’re just going to have to wait until after the funeral.”

  “And the honeymoon,” Andrea said.

  “Suing?” I’d never even considered the idea that legal actions could be taken against Nick, probably since I couldn’t fathom Nick being involved—intentionally or unintentionally. I glanced over to his tent, where loaves of bread were piled waiting for customers—who all seemed to be avoiding that space.

  But surely they couldn’t sue Nick if the real killer were caught. For Nick’s sake, I forced my attention back to Mel and Andrea and the one man on our suspect list who had seemed eager to charge at Brooks with a pointy stick. “A joust sounds dangerous. Can’t someone be killed?”

  “They have special rules to prevent that kind of thing,” Mel said. “The lances are designed to break apart before they cause serious injury.”

  “People still get hurt,” Andrea added.

  “Mostly from falling off a horse,” Mel said. “Which, I must admit, had a lot to do with the horses that Dad brought in. They tend to be a little high-strung.”

  “Except for his,” Andrea said.

  “Ah. So Chandler Hines might not have wanted to settle his dispute on the tournament field if he didn’t think the competition was fair.”

  Mel’s countenance fell. �
��I never thought of it that way. I just assumed he loved the attention of challenging the dark knight. That’s what my dad liked to call himself.”

  “Maybe that’s the case.” I sent him what I hoped was my most reassuring smile. “If I wanted to have a word with this Hines fellow, where would I find him?”

  “Chandler Hines is the blacksmith,” Andrea said. “At the edge of the encampment near the tournament fields. You can’t miss the sound.”

  I stopped to listen. Even above the crowd sounds and the buzz of the surrounding forest, the unmistakable clang of metal striking metal chimed out at regular intervals.

  “Thanks.”

  As Mel and Andrea walked off to explore the vendors, Brad came out of the woods and palmed my cell phone back to me, keeping a grip on my hand.

  “Uh, Audrey. Now’s probably not the best time, but there’s something I need to talk with you about. In the next few days.”

  “Sure.” I pulled my hand back and turned toward the woods to replace my cell. I sure hoped he didn’t want to talk about “us.” I had no idea where I wanted to go with our relationship. “Any news about your crew?”

  He shook his head. “Not any good news. They’re still trapped between roadblocks, but a farmer took them in, apparently trading food and lodging for help on his farm.” He chuckled. “I can’t see any of those guys milking a cow. I hope I can’t be held liable if they mess up.” His smile dimmed. “And I really hope the farmer doesn’t have a daughter. One hears things.”

  I hit him in the arm. “I’m going to talk to the blacksmith. Want to come?”

  “That depends. Are you curious about the ancient art of iron working? Or is this part of your quasi-official investigation?”

  “The investigation,” I said.

  He took my arm as we headed toward the metal sounds. There was something both old and comforting about Brad’s touch, but also exciting. He was always spontaneous and a bit adventurous. I could see he loved his new job, despite the lack of a regular income. Our conversations on the phone had revolved around his travel experiences and the interesting people he encountered. A life with Brad wouldn’t be predictable.