To Catch a Leaf, page 21
part #12 of Flower Shop Mystery Series
Virginia came around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
I signaled for her to wait a minute, then said into the phone, “I’ll call you about this matter in the morn—”
My phone rang. I was so startled, I pulled it away from my ear and stared at it.
Jillian’s name was on the screen. Fuming silently, I hit END and slid it into my pocket. “That can wait.”
Virginia folded her arms over her chest and sneered. “Just exactly how did you get inside? We have gates to keep people like you out.”
People like me? That did it. I’d had enough of Virginia’s snooty attitude.
“Don’t worry, Ginny. I didn’t break in. Juanita let us in. In fact, Marco is upstairs talking to her now.”
“Did you just call me Ginny?” she snarled.
“That is your nickname, isn’t it?”
“You have some nerve using a familiar name with me,” she said, looking me up and down. “I’ve never seen such rude behavior.”
“How about this man?” I opened up the piece of paper with the photo on it and held it out. “Have you ever seen him?”
Virginia snatched it from my hand and gave it a cursory glance. “Never.” Suddenly her eyes seemed to sharpen their focus, and she drew it closer. Her breathing became fast. Then, with one strangled gasp, she fainted dead away.
She really had to stop doing that.
Marco and Juanita entered the kitchen at the very moment she collapsed. “Madre de Dios!” Juanita said, standing with her hands on her hips. “What happened now?”
“All I did was show her the photo,” I said, as Marco and I crouched beside her.
“Well, no wonder she fainted,” Juanita snapped, standing with one hand on her hip. “It’s a ridiculous picture.” Turning away, she yelled, “Mrs. Dunbar! Virginia fainted again. Bring her smelling salts.” She swung back around to blow Marco a kiss and then she sashayed out of the room as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Mrs. Dunbar came rushing in with a bottle of salts, her hair in curlers, and white cream slathered all over her face. She knelt down beside Virginia and waved the uncapped bottle beneath her nose.
At that, Virginia’s eyes snapped open. She sat up abruptly and glanced around, slowly realizing what had happened. She got to her feet and straightened her clothing, clearly angry at herself for showing such weakness. “What are you staring at,” she asked me, “and why are you still here? Mrs. Dunbar, get the police on the line. These people are not welcome here and are, in fact, intruders.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Marco said, “We were just leaving. Have a nice evening.”
On the way to the car, he said, “Sorry to cut you off, but I learned a long time ago not to throw stones at an angry dog.”
“She’d be even angrier if she knew what I found buried in her underwear drawer.”
“You snooped in her underwear?”
“Must everyone refer to what I do as snooping? When you do it, people call it investigating. Why is that?”
“Okay, let’s start again. You investigated Virginia’s underwear drawer?”
“I saw my opportunity and went for it, Marco. You would have been so proud. Virginia was painting in her studio with the door shut, and right across the hall was her bedroom with the door open. And voila! I found a diamond brooch with the letter g on it, which just happens to be the first letter of her nickname.
“And wait, it gets better. The initials FT and a date were engraved on the back—and the date was last week. There’s our connection. High five!”
Marco gave me a high five and then kissed me, which I found much preferable. “Great work, Abby. Now we need to figure out how to connect the dots between Frank Talbot, Virginia, and the art theft.”
“Okay, I’ve been thinking about that. Remember the flowers Lottie and I delivered to the Donnelly house? They were very specific arrangements sent to a woman who we now believe is Mrs. Talbot. So were those arrangements merely gifts from a kind son, or were they some kind of code?”
“I hear another theory brewing.”
“Something is brewing, but it’s just beyond my grasp. Let me work on it awhile longer. You haven’t told me about the yoga session. Did you like watching Juanita flex and stretch and bend?”
“If I’m going to watch a woman flex and stretch and bend, Fireball, it’s going to be you.”
Aw. Marco was so adorable. And wise. Very, very wise. “If you’re lucky, Salvare, you might get your chance for some flexibility tonight.”
“Exactly what I had in mind.”
It was not flexibility Francesca Salvare had in mind, however, as we discovered when we got back to the bar.
“Here you go,” Rafe said, handing a thick binder to Marco. “Mom says you and Hot Stuff here have to pick out a few invitations tonight, and she’ll help you narrow it down tomorrow when you meet her for lunch.”
I turned toward Marco. “We have a lunch meeting?”
“It’s news to me, Abby,” the adorable wise one said.
“She’s bringing Filetto alla Rossini,” Rafe continued. “You’ll love it, Abby. Won’t she, bro?”
“I’m sure I will,” I said wearily, plunking my chin on my hand.
“And,” Rafe said, “she said to tell you both no more stalling. If you don’t pick an invite for the Salvare shower, she will.”
Marco tucked the binder under his arm and ushered me toward his office. “Looks like we’ll have to be flexible with our plans tonight, Sunshine.”
Wait a minute! No way was his mother going to ruin our evening. “I think we’ll find a way to do both,” I said with a smile.
“Both what?” Rafe asked from behind, startling me.
We swung around in surprise. “What?” Marco asked.
“What else do you have to do?” Rafe asked. “I’m running the bar.”
Marco and I exchanged glances. “Yoga,” we said together.
“Yoga?” Rafe glanced at us skeptically, then turned and walked away. “Whatever. I’ve got work to do.”
It took us ten minutes to pick out an invitation we both liked. Lucky for us, our tastes were very similar. Even luckier, we snuck out the back way and had the rest of the evening to ourselves … to practice our yoga poses.
One of these days, I’d have to sign up for a class.
Friday
On the way to Bloomers the next morning, I kept pondering the puzzle of those flower arrangements, wishing I had an answer. It seemed to hover right at the edge of my mind, just out of my grasp. I parked the car in the public lot and was walking toward Franklin Street when I saw two of the college girls who’d bought Mom’s sea glasses hurrying across the street toward me.
“Remember us?” one of the girls asked. “We bought those janky sunglasses from you.”
“Do you have any left?” the other one asked. “We need twenty more pairs.”
Twenty more? I was stunned. Then the image of the two young women I’d seen wearing Mom’s sea glasses popped into my head, giving me an uneasy feeling. Before I committed Mom to making more, I needed to find out why.
“I’m all out at the moment, and I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy, but what makes them so popular?”
“We make sorority initiates wear them,” the first girl said with a giggle. “It’s part of their hazing.”
“We’re stocking up now for next semester,” the other girl said. “So when will you get more in?”
My stomach dropped. Poor Mom! There was no way I was going to sell her glasses to be used as instruments of torture. Mom would be crushed if she found out.
“Unfortunately,” I said to the girls, “the artist just retired.”
Now I had to figure out how to stop Mom from making more.
When I got to the shop, I saw Grace in the parlor, setting up for the day. I stopped to say good morning and spotted a large, coffee table–sized book lying on a nearby table. It was covered in burgundy leather and inscribed: The Language of Flowers by Leticia Goodwin.
“That was Connie’s gift to me, love,” Grace said. “I brought it for you to see.”
“What a nice remembrance,” Lottie said, coming in behind me.
I ran my fingers over the book’s textured surface. It felt like smooth pebbles and smelled of old paper and leather.
“Just look at the illustrations,” Grace said, turning pages. “You’d swear they were photographs. But what I found intriguing is the flower dictionary. One can look up a name of a flower and find the meaning that was in vogue at that time. Look here.”
She pointed to a name and read aloud, “Alyssum. Worth beyond beauty.”
My inner antennae began to rise.
“Amaryllis,” she read. “Splendid beauty. Isn’t that lovely?”
The antennae were up and waving, and I suddenly remembered the art appraiser talking about the forged paintings.
“First we have Splendid Beauty,” Mr. Ventury had said, “portraying a single red amaryllis—”
It was coming back to me.
“—then Magnificent Beauty portraying—”
“A white calla,” I had said. At Ventury’s quizzical look I had told him that I was a florist.
“Lottie,” I said, “would you look up the meaning of a calla?”
She turned a few pages. “Here it is. Calla means magnificent beauty.”
“And hibiscus?”
“Delicate beauty.”
Just like the paintings in the Beauty collection.
Lottie glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ladies, we’d better get ready. We open in twenty minutes.”
“May I borrow your book?” I asked Grace.
While my assistants prepared to open the shop for the day, I returned to the workroom and pulled the Donnelly house orders from the filing cabinet where Lottie had stowed them.
A single tiger lily in baby’s breath.
One red hibiscus with thyme leaves.
One iris in statice.
An amaryllis in palm leaves.
One primrose—not an evening primrose—with oleander.
Researching the meanings of the flower combinations, it became apparent that Frank had used the first flower in each arrangement to name one of the Beauty paintings. But what had the other part of the arrangement meant?
I put in a call to Marco, got his voice mail, and left him a message to call me back. Maybe he would have an idea.
“Abby,” Lottie said, coming through the curtain, “I hate to interrupt, but I went to open up and saw a bunch of people with cats waiting outside.”
“As if our day wasn’t busy enough,” I said with a sigh.
“There’s good news, though,” Lottie said. “Francesca called to say she was coming in. I’m sure she’ll be glad to lend a hand.”
That was good news?
“Just show Marco’s mum the love, dear,” I heard Grace say from the other side of the curtain.
“Thank you, Grace.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I glanced through the big bay window and saw people gathered outside the door, holding cats in their arms, waiting for the shop to open.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” I said. “Grace and I will handle the shop, and Lottie, would you go outside and take pictures of the cats with our digital camera? I’ll print them out; then Marco and I can take them to the Newport mansion at noon and see if Juanita will help us again. We need to find that missing feline so these people will stop coming around.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Lottie said. “I’ll hand out business cards, so maybe we’ll even get some orders out of it.”
While Lottie worked with the crowd, I put in a desperate call to Marco at Down the Hatch. Fortunately, this time he picked up. “Hey, how’s my gorgeous redhead? Sorry I didn’t call you back right away, Buttercup. I got your message and—”
“Never mind about that, Marco. How quickly can you bring that invitation book down here?”
“Let me guess. My mom is on her way.”
“You got it.”
“On my way, too,” the wise, wise man of my dreams said.
As luck would have it, when Marco stopped by, we were swamped with customers. I ducked into the workroom just long enough to get the invitation binder and a kiss and give him a condensed version of my code theory.
“It’s a solid theory, Abby. I like it.”
I beamed. “And I have a great excuse to get us back inside the mansion.” I showed him the photos I’d printed out. “Cats!”
“Awesome, babe. Now I’ve got to concentrate on finding Frank Talbot.”
“See you at noon?”
“I’ve got a meeting with Dave at eleven, and I’m not sure how long it will take, so let’s play it by ear.”
We paused as the front door jingled. I heard Marco’s mom call a greeting to Grace.
“You’d better go out the back way,” I said, “unless you feel like looking at those invitations again.”
Marco hugged me, then started walking backward, heading toward the kitchen. “For that you’re getting a foot massage tonight.”
“Make it both feet and you’ve got a deal.”
As usual, Francesca looked fantastic. Hair soft and flowing, jacket and scarf draped just so, making me wish I’d taken more time with my appearance that morning.
She set down a huge pan in her hand to give me a hug and to kiss both my cheeks. “Bella, you look tense this morning. Too much work, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“Don’t worry. I am here to help. I came early because my daughter asked me to babysit at noon. And I’ve brought my famous Filetto alla Rossini, made with the freshest, grass-fed, organic beef, so you needn’t worry about lunch, either. I had to hunt all over for the beef, but nothing is too good for my family. Now, let’s see what you’ve decided about the invitations.”
Over Francesca’s shoulder, I caught sight of Grace standing in the parlor doorway. She mouthed, “Show her the love.”
I took a deep breath. “I was wondering … if you’d found any that you liked.”
Francesca gave me a puzzled look, so I handed her the binder. “Would you show me?”
“Yes, of course.” She placed it on the cashier’s counter and began to flip through the samples, finally tapping her finger on one. “This one would be perfect for the Salvare shower.”
She was taller than me, so I couldn’t see her selection until she stepped aside. Then I did a double take. “That’s the one you like?”
A wrinkle creased her brow. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I do like it!”
“Really?”
“Really.” And that was the absolute truth because it was the same invitation Marco and I had picked out, a beige linen look with darker-colored deckled edges. “I love it, Mrs. Salvare. You have excellent taste.”
I saw movement in the parlor doorway and glanced up see Grace give me an encouraging thumbs-up.
“And,” I said, “I think it’s perfect for the Salvare shower.”
With a delighted laugh, she hugged me so hard she lifted me off my feet. “Abby, bella, thank you! It makes me so happy that you’re pleased with my choice. Maybe you should use the invitations for the Knight shower, too, yes?”
“Sure. I can do that.”
Then she laughed, a light, tinkling sound that was pleasing to the ear. “My Marco was right. You don’t hide your emotions well at all. I know you want one big shower, Abby, and if that will make you happy, then that will make me happy, too. One big shower for both families.”
I hugged her. “That will make me very happy, Mrs. Salvare.”
She held me by my arms and gave me a serious stare. “Now we will get one more thing out of the way. No more Mrs. Salvare. It’s Francesca. Say it with me. Fran. Ches. Ka. Yes?”
“Yes, Francesca.” I felt my face go hot all over. It felt odd to call her by her first name, but I supposed in time I’d get used it.
“Later on you will call me Mama.” And with that, she went into the back room to hang up her coat.
With Francesca helping out, I had a little window of free time in the late morning, so I decided to use it to see if I could find the missing cat. I called Marco to see if he could go with me to the Newport mansion, but he was still in his meeting, so I went alone.
Fortunately, the gates were open, so I drove straight up the long driveway and parked in front of the garage. As I headed toward the courtyard, I caught sight of Mrs. Dunbar in her gardening clothes and rubber shoes, with a basket over one arm, walking toward the back of the property. I called to her, but she didn’t hear me, so I kept going.
I knocked on the back door and waited, hoping someone would be in the kitchen. After a few minutes, I tried the door and found it unlocked, so I peered inside. “Hello?”
Getting no answer, I stepped into the house and called again, but all was silent.
Hmm. Wasn’t this how Grace had started out?
I glanced at the door to the basement, but it was closed and no light showed beneath it. Whew.
Hearing a door open behind me, I spun around and saw Lindsey just coming in from the outside. She had on jeans and that red coat I lusted after, her blond hair pulled back in a swingy ponytail.
“Hi, Abby,” she said, as though seeing me in the Newports’ kitchen was an everyday occurrence.
“The door was open, so I kind of let myself in.” I shrugged sheepishly.
“Mrs. Dunbar has a habit of leaving it unlocked. Don’t worry. I let myself in all the time. Are you here to see Juanita?”
“Yes. I brought more cat photos.”
