Flowers for Her Grave

by Judy Clemons

  “Great. Six-thirty? Lobby?”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.” She closed her door behind her. “But now I have to get going.”

  “To meet Wonder Woman. Can I at least get your phone number, just in case?”

  “In case what?”

  “I don’t know. In case I get tickets to something, and want to switch dinner to a concert.”

  Casey pulled out her phone, found her number, and gave it to him. After a few seconds, her own phone rang.

  “There,” Dylan said. “Now you have my number, too.”

  Great. Now she had a detective and a sex-starved twenty-something in her Contact List. She was moving up in the world.

  Casey headed for the staff stairway. “See you tomorrow, Dylan.” She left him in the hallway, the rose drooping from his hand.

  “You’re so hard on the poor kid,” Death said. “He’s only trying to be nice.”

  “No, he’s trying to get in my pants.”

  “Well, maybe he thinks that’s nice.”

  Casey laughed. “At least I don’t have to worry about that with Tamille.”

  “That you know of.”

  “True.”

  She exited the building through a back door and circled around, not wanting to meet Krystal in the lobby. When she got to the front, there was a taxi letting off a middle-aged couple.

  “Andrea’s parents,” Death said.

  Casey slowed, and stopped in the shadow of a palm tree to watch. The woman was leaning over the man, who still sat on the back seat of the taxi. He grabbed the door and pulled himself up, the woman with her hand under his elbow.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Death said.

  “Grief.” Casey recognized it. Remembered it. The feeling that you couldn’t even stand, couldn’t lift your foot to take a step. Couldn’t raise your head to look in front of you. Andrea’s mother was moving through the grief in a different way. Perhaps just this day. Perhaps tomorrow it would be Andrea’s father holding her up.

  It had been Ricky who had held Casey up during those first days. Weeks. Months. Her mother had tried, but she’d been so enveloped in her own grief she couldn’t do much for Casey. Ricky had been the strong one. The backbone. The steel.

  She missed him with a sudden, almost debilitating, ache. What would he have to say about Dylan? Or Gomez? Or this hell she was going through? She fingered her purse, where she’d put her phone. One phone call. The push of a few buttons. That’s all it would take. She could be talking to her brother in seconds. Her hand gravitated toward the top of her purse, and her fingers grasped the zipper pull. Eased it back.

  “So are we going, or what?” Death said. “The bank’s going to close in forty minutes.”

  Casey jerked her hand away from her purse. “The bank! Right. I’d forgotten all about that.” She shivered. She’d been so close to giving it all away.

  She made a wide loop around the parking lot and made her way down the sidewalk. Tourists were out in abundance now, window shopping, strolling, checking the menus on placards outside restaurants.

  Death whistled, and practically skipped down the street. “See? I keep telling you I’m a good sort to have around, but you never believe me.”

  Casey looked up the road. “Is that Andrea’s bank?”

  “It’s the only one on this road.”

  “Must be it, then.”

  It was, and Geena the Way Too Energetic Teller was “more than happy!” to give Casey access to her safety deposit box, and led the way, her ponytail bouncing.

  “This is good for you, right?” Death said. “Now you don’t have to open an account to have an excuse to be here.”

  Casey tried not to react to Death’s clothes, which were now comprised of a dark suit, patent leather shoes, and a nametag that said, My name is Thanatos. First Bank of Infinity.

  Casey followed Geena! to a small room with a thick bank vault wall, an empty table, and a chair. After the one-key-each, turn-at-the-same-time ritual, the teller set the box on the table, gave Casey instructions to just “let her know when she was finished!” and smacked a sign-in sheet in front of her.

  Casey stared at it. Brandon had signed for the box at least a dozen times. Would the teller notice Casey wasn’t exactly a Brandon?

  “Just sign his name,” Death said. “Tell Geena your parents were hoping for a boy, if she asks.”

  But wasn’t it a federal crime or something to impersonate someone at a bank? Casey thought so. But then, could she really be in any more trouble than she already was?

  Hardly.

  Taking her time, Casey made her signature look as much like Brandon’s as she could. The teller gave it one small glance, and trotted out of the room.

  “Better make it quick,” Death said. “In case the impossible happens and she comes to her senses.”

  Casey opened the top of the drawer. It was filled with manila folders. She pulled out the first one. It had Sissy’s name on it.

  Death was behind Casey now, peering over her shoulder. “Anything good?”

  “It’s Sissy’s resume. And newspaper articles about the Flamingo. Photos…”

  “Oh, ick, he didn’t take the pictures while they were…you know…”

  “No.” The first shot looked like it had been taken in a business setting, through the glass wall of an office. Sissy sat behind a desk wearing a bright fuchsia suit, and was talking to a man who sat in front of her desk. Outside the office was another desk, with a young woman at a computer. “No, this was from years ago, at some other place. I don’t recognize either of the other people, or the office.” She put it back and studied the second photo. “This is more recent. There she is, talking to Maria in the outer office downstairs. Why would he keep a picture of that?”

  “What’s that paper, underneath the photos?”

  She pulled it out. “A reference letter, dated nine years ago, to the director of another apartment complex in Georgia.” She scanned it. “On second thought, it’s not a reference letter. It’s a hire-this-woman-at-your-own-risk letter. Seems Sissy took on a few too many ‘mistakes’ at her old job. Hmm. So this policy of hiring before looking isn’t anything new.” She picked up the older photo again. “Think this is from that job?”

  “Do any of the newspaper articles correspond with it?”

  Casey skimmed the first one. “Seems a man she hired—this man? I don’t know—ended up embezzling more than half the company’s money. Once they looked at him more closely, it seemed some major information was missed when he was hired. He’d been suspected of embezzling in the past. Some people seemed to think Sissy knew about it, and hired him anyway.”

  “Wonder what was in it for her?”

  “Or if she was just gullible.” Casey swallowed down the bad taste in her mouth as she thought of Sissy being taken not only by that guy from the past, but Brandon, as well. “Oh, Sissy.”

  “What’s in the other folders?”

  Casey picked her way through. “All of them have women’s names on them. Krystal. Bernie—that woman from my aerobics class. A bunch of names I don’t recognize. Laurie. Even Maria.” Casey pulled that one out. The first paper in the stack was a copy of an expired green card, with the name Melina Reynaldo, and an old photo of Maria. Following that were copies of government papers—denied citizenship applications, searches for other family members, even deportation reports citing other people with the last name Reynaldo. All from the last year and a half.

  “Oh, no,” Casey said.

  “Maria’s here illegally?” Death tsked. “Under an assumed name? She’s a naughty girl. And that would explain the second picture in Sissy’s folder. Maybe Brandon thought Sissy knew about Maria’s illegal status and hired her anyway.”

  “If this Melina is actually Maria. And even if it is, she’s got kids. Who knows if they’re citizens or not? You can’t ask a woman to leave her kids behind while she’s deported. She’s going to do everything she can to stay.” Casey glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to g
o. We’ll study these more later.” She looked around for a bag, but had to settle for shoving the folders sideways into her purse. “No wonder Maria wanted that key. I’m surprised there aren’t more women looking for it. I’ll have to think about where to stash these so they don’t get stolen.” Casey shoved the drawer back in its spot and headed to the lobby.

  “Another question,” Death said. “Why are the folders still here? Why didn’t Brandon take them with him?”

  “That is strange. And dangerous. But maybe these are just copies and he has the originals with him. Like he left them here for back-up.”

  “Makes sense. Although if I were Brandon, I would have destroyed the evidence before I got out of town.”

  “I don’t think Brandon believed anyone would ever come after him. They’d be too embarrassed to admit he’d scammed them.”

  “All done?” Geena the Teller finished with a customer and whirled to face Casey, her smile blinding.

  “Yeah. Thanks. Hey, I was wondering, did you know Andrea Parker?”

  Geena’s smile disappeared. “Of course I did. She was…did you know her?”

  “I live at the Flamingo.”

  “Oh. She loved that place.” Geena came out from her window and flung her arms around Casey. “Isn’t it awful?”

  Casey went stiff, but managed to pat Geena on the back until she finally backed off.

  “Aw,” Death said, giggling. “Just what you like. Close, personal contact.”

  Casey stepped farther away from the teller. “What about Krystal?”

  Geena wrinkled her nose and glanced behind her. No one was close enough to hear, but she still closed the gap between the two of them, pushing Casey against the wall. “I’ve never been able to figure out why those two were friends. Andrea was so nice, and Krystal is so…you know.”

  “Yes.” Casey gave Geena a girl-to-girl smile. “What exactly was Andrea’s job here?”

  “Loan officer. Mostly for small businesses, but she’d do some personal loans, too.”

  “And Krystal?”

  Geena stepped even closer, her crossed arms touching Casey’s. “She’s a loan officer too. For big business. But I always get the feeling she doesn’t do a whole lot of actual banking, if you know what I mean.”

  Casey knew. “So she’s just a show piece?”

  “The boss seems to use her that way. Although I’m not sure how much it’s just for show.” She shrugged. “I could be wrong, of course. Maybe she really does know about money and stuff. It’s just hard to look past—”

  “Geena!” A man came up behind her. He wore a dark gray suit, blue tie, and shiny black shoes, looking almost like Death’s fashion twin. His eyes were wary and alert. “Shouldn’t you be in your window instead of talking to your friends?”

  Geena went pink and swiveled away. “Oh, sorry, sir! This is…” She faltered, her hand waving at Casey. “And this,” she said to Casey, “is our bank manager.”

  “Hmm,” Death said. “The plot thickens. Remember how Andrea and Krystal were talking about the ‘men at the top?’ This guy looks a little too big for his britches.”

  He looked like a typical businessman, as far as Casey could tell. Clean-shaven, a little taller than Casey, a tiny paunch around the middle. His smile was too white, and his hair too dark for the age he seemed to be.

  He set Casey’s teeth on edge.

  “I’m a new customer,” Casey said, holding out her hand. “Geena was telling me about your bank.”

  The manager shook her hand, his suspicious expression relaxing. His hand was soft, like he wouldn’t know manual labor if it hit him on the head. “We have customer service people specifically for that. Can I direct you to one of them?”

  “No, thank you. Geena has been very helpful.”

  “So you’ve opened an account?”

  “We’ve done what we needed to today.” Casey smiled at Geena. “Thank you so much for everything. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Geena nodded and scurried back to her window.

  “She’s a very pleasant girl,” Casey said to the manager. “A good asset for your business.”

  He looked like he’d swallowed an entire orange.

  “Casey, darling?” Death said. “Times a-ticking. Somehow—stop me if I’m wrong—I don’t think we want to keep Tamille waiting.”

  Casey thanked the bank manager and headed out. She had to wait, as someone else was coming in the door.

  “Del?”

  He squinted, moving from the brightness of the afternoon into the darker lobby. “Oh, Daisy.” He smiled, his eyes looking a little less tired than they had the day before. “Good to see you.”

  “So you do your banking here?”

  “Sure. It’s the closest to the Flamingo. Most of the residents have accounts here. At least those staying long enough to warrant the change from their hometowns. Were you here to open one?” He put a hand to his forehead. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “I just asked you about your banking,” Casey said. “But anyway, I was checking it out. Haven’t made a decision yet.”

  Del’s face clouded. “Andrea worked here. She was trying to push through a loan for me, to see if I could start my own business.”

  “A restaurant?”

  “Yes. We were looking at options, but nothing seemed to be working.”

  “And now?”

  “I’ll have to start over with someone new, won’t I?”

  “I guess. Couldn’t Krystal help you?”

  He opened his mouth, but seemed to think about his words, and changed course. “I don’t believe that’s her expertise. They’ll match me up with someone, I’m sure. So, you going out for dinner?”

  “Kyoto’s.”

  “Oh, that’s good stuff. You should enjoy it.”

  “See you back at the Flamingo?”

  “I’m sure you will. Goodnight, Daisy.”

  “Goodnight.”

  He held the door for her, and disappeared into the bank.

  Chapter Twenty

  Death was back in the kimono, although this time it had more embroidery, with yellow flowers from top to bottom. Casey hoped she herself was dressed all right. She never knew how to dress for dinner in a new town. But then, she’d never been all that concerned about her attire, and figured there was no reason to start just then.

  “So Krystal is window dressing?” Death said as they walked. “While Andrea actually worked for a living?”

  “I don’t know. But I can’t see their differing job descriptions being motives for murder. Hopefully her folder will give us a clue.” She watched a taxi go past, filled with young business-types, probably on their way to happy hour somewhere. None of them looked like they had a care in the world.

  Death frowned, hesitating at the curb. “Could personal and small business loans be motive for murder?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Casey waited for the walk sign and headed across the street. “In this economic climate? People would kill for a minimum wage job, let alone money to keep their mom and pop store going.”

  Death scurried after her. “Which means Del could have a motive. He just told us he was one of Andrea’s clients, and she couldn’t get his loan through. What if she wasn’t really trying to get him a loan? What if she turned him down for more than just a date?”

  Casey didn’t like to think about huge, gentle Del using that strength for violence. But she would be remiss to toss the thought aside.

  “Here we are.” Death stopped in front of a dark brick storefront. “Kyoto’s. Are you supposed to just go in, or wait for her?”

  “Don’t know.” Casey stepped into the foyer and allowed her eyes a little time to adjust to the darkness. Soft, far eastern music surrounded her, and the odor of something delicious drifted past her nose.

  “Good evening, miss.” A little woman in a kimono like Death’s, although this one a midnight blue, was bowing to Casey. “This way, please.”

  Casey followed the wom
an to a coat check room, where rows of shoes sat in cubbies.

  “You leave shoes, please.”

  Casey took off her sandals, and the woman offered her a pair of slippers. Casey tried not to make a face.

  “Eww,” Death said, mirroring Casey’s thoughts. “You don’t know where those have been.”

  “We wash each time,” the little woman said. “Strong soap. You take.”

  Casey took the slippers.

  “You have reservation?” the woman asked.

  “I’m meeting a friend.”

  “Ah.” Her eyes sparkled. “Man friend?”

  “No. A woman. She’s very…tall.”

  Recognition lit the woman’s eyes. “Yes. Very big. Dark.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Follow, please.”

  The woman led Casey to a small room, cordoned off with paper walls. For the second time that night Casey saw only shadows, which both elongated and enlarged the person within the room. The little woman held aside a beaded curtain, and Casey stepped in. Tamille was already seated on a cushion, sipping a cup of tea and eating fried noodles.

  Casey thanked the woman, set her purse in the corner, and pulled another cushion to the low table. Death made do with the floor.

  “Sorry,” Tamille said. “Couldn’t wait.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Tamille picked up the teapot and filled another cup. “Here. You probably need this.”

  Casey wrapped her hands around the mug and allowed the steam to wash over her face. The room was decorated with reds and varying sheens of black, with multiple curtains, pillows, and murals. Her slippers were soft, and even without food on the table, the smells floating through the room made her mouth water. “I can see why you like this place.”

  Tamille finished her tea and set the cup on the table. “It relaxes me. I can’t imagine anything loud or fast happening here.”

  Casey took a deep breath through her nose, and let it out slowly, allowing her tension to slip away.

  “You came to Raceda at a bad time,” Tamille said.

  “I know. Trouble seems to follow me.”

  “Ah. Those scars we were talking about earlier?”

  Casey stirred some sugar into her tea. “Nothing I want to talk about.”