by Abby Reede
They gave her a non-committal look. Rose shrugged.
“I know no one was a big fan of Becky. But this is pretty traumatic and disquieting anyway, for all of us. I just thought it might be a good time to decompress from the day and try and put this horrible turn of events in perspective.”
Tracy and Tiffany nodded silently and together the three of them strolled the half-dozen blocks east to the popular café on the other side of the town square. The waitress brought their drinks to the table and Tiffany excused herself to run to the bathroom. Tracy watched her go before leaning over to Rose.
“I did not want to bring this up in front of her, Aunt Rose, but don’t you think it odd that just a couple of days ago you said something about our grand re-opening killing Becky?”
If it had not been so awkward and dark in thought, Rose would have laughed.
“Do not think I have not thought of that, Tracy. You believe any of those new age mantras about being careful of what you say and think?”
Tracy rolled her eyes.
“You mean, the theory that if you say it or think it the universe somehow picks up the energy and it can happen?”
“Well…when you frame it like that, it does sound absurd. I will take that as a no.”
“I guess anything is possible, Aunt Rose, but for me? No…a bit too woo-woo for my taste.”
Tiffany came back and took her seat again and the three of them just sat and said nothing for a few minutes. The silence was getting on Rose’s nerves, so she decided to break the ice.
“Other than the obvious,” Rose began, “I have to say the grand re-opening was a big success. Everyone that dropped by seemed really excited and for someone with no experience, I must say, Tiffany, you were awesome. Do you kids still say awesome these days?”
Tiffany blushed and then laughed.
“We do, Rose. And thanks. To both of you.”
Tracy dipped her cup in an exaggerated salute.
“I agree, Aunt Rose,” Tracy added, “both Tiffany and I made a lot of promising contacts today, some personal and some professional, so I think In Season is well on its way to recapturing its old reputation.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Tracy cringed inwardly realizing she might have insulted her aunt as well as given them the feeling she was saying Becky’s death—and obviously the end of Blooming Bouquets—was part of that.
“Sorry, Aunt Rose…” she immediately interjected, “that did not come out right. I certainly meant no disrespect to you and Uncle Frank or to suggest Becky’s death will make it easier…”
Rose smiled as she held up her hand to put Tracy’s mind at rest.
“I know, honey…I know…no need to explain. I get it. And I think you are right.”
A few more beats went by before Tracy decided to see what everyone’s thoughts on Becky White’s demise might be.
“Well…” she started, “it may seem indelicate or maybe crude, considering, but who do you suppose did kill her, assuming she did not jump?”
Both Rose and Tiffany looked at her with disbelief.
“OK…OK…I think we can all be pretty confident Becky White did not commit suicide. So, who?”
“More like who wouldn’t, don’t you think?” Tiffany replied with a smirk.
Both Rose and Tracy snickered appreciating the cheeky sense of humor in their “intern”.
“Sorry…guess that was pretty nasty…” Tiffany quickly added.
“It’s OK, Tiffany,” Tracy said. “Sounds like maybe you have some insight into someone Becky rubbed the wrong way?”
“Yeah, I do,” she replied, “me in fact!”
They both gaped at her suddenly.
“Well…my father actually. You remember when my Dad was the principal over at Fern Grove Middle School?”
They both nodded.
“There was this one time when Becky flew into one of her patented tantrums when he disciplined Becky’s son, Travis for decorating the walls of the auditorium with graffiti.”
“Oh, God…” Rose added, “I remember that little brat. Becky let him get away with murder—oops sorry…bad choice of words—kid was wild and uncontrollable and she refused to take any responsibility.”
“Yep,” Tiffany added, “that’s the one. Anyway, Becky went ballistic when she found out and after a lot of pressure and hearings and negotiations, Dad took early retirement rather than continue the battle with her.”
“She had that much pull in Fern Grove?” Tracy asked.
“Guess so,” Tiffany replied. “How about you guys? You must have a good Becky White horror story?”
“Only about a million of them,” Rose said with a sigh. “She was always butting heads with Frank and me ever since she showed up in town, but the most significant one, the one I still think led to Frank’s decline in health and maybe his unexpected death, was with her accusations about us and some of her early corporate clients.”
“I remember that, Aunt Rose…you sure you want to dredge that up again?”
“As long as we are sharing…why not. Anyway, Tiffany, when Becky was initially getting set up with Blooming Bouquets, she went after more corporate gigs than just personal accounts. My guess is she thought that would help her hit it big quicker. At the time, Frank and I only had a few businesses we were working with, but Becky, as you can imagine, wanted them very badly. But they were happy with us. So…what do you do if you are Becky White and you want something badly? Lie…what else.”
Tiffany was now the one to find her jaw agape.
“She launched this campaign—with some help of cronies in town I am sure—to spread rumors among our few corporate clients that the quality of our flowers was second rate relative to what she could provide and that she had inside knowledge that our suppliers were shoddy and unreliable at best. Despite the good relationships we thought we had established, they all abandoned us in the end.”
“What a witch!” Tiffany exclaimed as she sat back, her arms crossed over her chest in disgust.
“Your turn, Tracy…” Rose said.
“OK. I realize this is not a competition, but ladies…I think I have a Becky White story to top you both!”
“The Orange Minnow?” Rose asked.
Tracy nodded and Tiffany furrowed her brow in confusion.
“The place was a bit before your time, Tiffany. When I was a kid, there was this place, just down the street from here actually, ‘The Orange Minnow’. It would be a pretty average run of the mill café now, but at the time, it was quite unique and innovative. Anyway, there was this time when Becky was sitting at one of their outdoor tables with that little dog of hers—the one that was as nasty as she was—what was that thing, Aunt Rose?”
“Shih Tzu…” Rose replied.
“Yeah, right…so as the story goes, Becky was not getting quite the level of service and attention she was sure she had earned and deserved, so she created this tale where she claimed this large albino rat ran by her table and into the kitchen. They had to close for 3 days while the health department and some other local health panels investigated her claims of poor hygiene and violation of as many health codes as her lawyer could come up with.”
“The dog?” Tiffany asked.
“Oh, yeah…” Tracy added, “I almost forgot. That was the topper to her suit. In addition to having caused her ‘to suffer undue stress and emotional trauma’, Becky had her lawyer also file a suit against The Orange Minnow claiming that snotty little dog of hers had suffered a nervous breakdown from being exposed to the rat.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Tiffany blurted out.
“Wish I was. Hey, Johnny…” Tracy called out to the owner of the café. “I have a friend here too young to know about Becky White and The Orange Minnow. Can you confirm?”
The casually-dressed man strode over and quickly confirmed Tracy’s rendition of the story.
“I knew them well,” the man said when he had finished. “Great café and really the pioneers o
f the growing café industry here in Fern Grove. But Becky White and her lawyers ruined them. It was a sad day for Fern Grove.”
Before Johnny could return to his station behind the counter, he looked up to see a very official-looking man in a suit approaching the table where Rose, Tiffany and Tracy were seated as they shared their personal accounts of Becky White. They all looked up. Tracy caught her breath as she was startled by the handsome good looks of the man. He was tall and fit with hard-chiseled features that made her stare.
“Is one of you Tracy Adams?” he asked as he looked them all over carefully.
“I’m Tracy Adams…and you are?”
“Detective Warren Copeland. Briggs County Sheriff’s office. I need to talk to you briefly concerning the death of one, Becky White. Could you come with me, please?”
Tracy felt the brief enjoyment of their get together fade rapidly as her stomach clenched and her skin chilled. Apparently, she had been correct on two accounts: one, this Becky White incident was over the pay grade of the local Fern Grove Police Department and two, it seemed Emily Maher or someone else had passed along her name as a possible suspect in Becky’s death. Seemingly, their little party was over….
6
S eeing that Detective Copeland’s request was a tad more than just a simple request for a friendly chat, Tracy complied, knowing she had had nothing to do with Becky’s death and nothing to hide. Besides, didn’t all those shows on TV keep saying only guilty people needed a lawyer or some other representation when the police came calling? She told Rose not to worry, that it was nothing, and followed Copeland out to his sedan and sat in silence as they rode over to the station house for the Fern Grove division. Copeland offered her some water, which Tracy declined. He told her to make herself comfortable and he would be right back.
Tracy glanced around at the stark room where he had dropped her off. She almost laughed at the stereotypical surroundings and Copeland’s near perfect copying of every cop show she had ever seen. She was not sure if the TV producers had copied the real thing or it was vice versa, but all of a sudden, she felt like she was in an episode of Law & Order. It seemed absurd to her that this technique was still in use, though she guessed the cops knew more about interrogations than she did from TV, and would not keep using the routine if it did not have value on some level.
She looked up as Copeland came back carrying a pad and a pen, remaining just as unsmiling as he had when he had arrived at Grind It Out.
“Sorry for the wait, Miss Adams…” Copeland offered, as he slid into the chair across the table from Tracy.
“I’m good,” Tracy replied, still stifling a grin at the predictable antics from a man who from all other indications appeared a totally professional and seasoned detective, “and please call me Tracy.”
“As you wish, Tracy. Why don’t we get started.”
Tracy remained upbeat and all smiles, resigned to the fact that this was merely procedure and she would soon be back home with Sydney once this formality was over. Copeland stared at her, obviously annoyed at what he perceived as a lack of seriousness on her part.
“You seem unconcerned about all of this, Miss….uh…Tracy.”
She shrugged.
“Just looking around and thinking how this interrogation room could use some sprucing up. The whole station, too. Splash of color here and there would make all the difference, don’t you think, Detective?”
That had perhaps been a step too far, Tracy thought to herself, as she could see the muscles flex in his jawline and a deeper irritation at her lack of giving her situation the appropriate respect.
“I assure you, Tracy,” he continued once he had let her comment pass, “that this is no laughing matter. You might want to really understand the gravity of your situation. If I were in your shoes, I’d be pretty scared about now. Are you sure you do not want a lawyer present to represent you?”
“I’m sure, Detective, but thanks for your concern. I’ve done nothing wrong, so why would I be scared or calling for a lawyer? Don’t the TV cops always say only a guilty person needs a lawyer?”
Copeland blanched and Tracy could see she was really not getting off on the right foot with him, though knowing her innocence, she did not much care.
“OK, Tracy…have it your way. Why don’t you run down your whereabouts for me over the last, say 24 hours, as you and your aunt were preparing for the grand re-opening of In Season.”
Tracy nodded and laid out the details as thoroughly as she could recall for everywhere she had been and what she had done as she and Rose had been frantically trying to prepare for the grand re-opening once they had found out about the error in the radio spots and newspaper ads. Copeland took notes as she spoke, but she was sure this was more for show than substance as he could have gotten this narrative from any number of people in town. It would only confirm or contradict what he might have already been told, depending on who his source was. Her only real anxiety for now was whether or not Emily Maher might have been his primary source.
Tracy recalled the muttered comment from Becky’s long-time friend about “watching her back” that she and Pastor Butler had laughed off, and wondered about. He asked only a few follow up questions, seeming to be satisfied that his preliminary investigation was in agreement with her version.
“You and Becky White were not exactly on friendly terms…is that correct.”
Tracy shook her head and sighed.
“I am sure you know the answer to that already, Detective Copeland, but to answer your question, no…we were not close. Becky White has a long history of harassing and annoying my Aunt Rose at her shop, so, no…she was not my favorite person in Fern Grove. I think if you interview just about anyone in town you will find Becky had any number of, if not enemies, then people who did not think much of her.”
Copeland went silent and did not pursue that line of questioning anymore. Tracy had the impression that he was trying to find an angle to throw her off balance. Perhaps, he was hoping that she would try to cook up some cover story about how she and Becky were good friends. She was sure he knew Becky was not well-liked by many residents in Fern Grove.
“Anything else?” Copeland asked.
Tracy shook her head no.
“OK. Any chance you might have been with or seen Becky White the night she was killed?”
“That would be Sunday?”
Copeland nodded.
“Afraid not, Detective. My aunt and I worked until about 2 or 3 AM at the shop then I went home to grab a couple hours of sleep before the grand re-opening Monday morning. You have a time of death?”
“We do”
But he did not offer anything further and Tracy knew it would be a waste of time to ask. She was getting annoyed enough at this point, that the last thing she needed to hear from Copeland was some cop boiler plate response like, “not being able to comment about an ongoing investigation”. She briefly considered a smart-ass comment about maybe bringing in Sydney to provide an alibi for her, but thought better of it, all things considered.
“That all, Detective?”
“Not quite. Just one more question, please.”
Tracy sat back and indicated for him to continue.
“You familiar with the ridgeline and area around Lawson Cliff where Becky White’s body was found at the base of it?”
“I am…why?”
“We found some footprints in the vicinity of where she apparently was last alive. Any chance you might have been walking or running over there anytime lately?”
“As a matter of fact, I was. I go running up there almost every evening. It’s part of my regular route. Stress relief and just general exercise.”
Tracy looked up, wondering if he had expected her to deny it, sure that Emily Maher or some other busy body in Fern Grove had already filled him in on her routines.
“You happen to be up there Sunday night?”
“On Sunday, I had to take my run in the late afternoon as we were so busy. It was duri
ng a much-needed break before our final push that night. It was my only chance for a run that day, so no…not that night.”
“Could we borrow your running shoes to get an impression to match it against our casts? Just to rule you out since you are innocent as you insist?”
Tracy did not like the underlying tones, as if Copeland knew something she did not. But she agreed reluctantly, though with less confidence and assurance than she had had up to this point.
“Feeling scared now, Miss Adams?”
7
S he was shaken and a bit confused by the sudden turn of events. Tracy was sure she knew the reason for Detective Copeland’s request that she submit her running shoes for a comparison to the prints they had claimed to have found near the murder site. She went home to wait for one of Copeland’s assistants to drop by to collect her well-worn Asics cross-trainers.
