Violet Tendencies, page 7
part #2 of Rose City Mystery Series
The downtown precinct was impressive, with a glass atrium and large windows allowing for ample natural light. Pete greeted at least a dozen officers, all outfitted in standard blue uniforms, on our way to his office on the second floor. I’d never been inside his office and was surprised to find it decorated with potted peace plants, bamboo, and a fern. I took it as a good sign that he appreciated green, living things.
“Wow, this bamboo is lovely,” I said, running my hands along the spine of one of the stalks.
“I’ve had that for years.” Pete pulled out a chair next to his desk. “Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink? I’m afraid the precinct coffee isn’t as good as Demitasse, but it’s fully leaded.”
I chuckled and took a seat. “No, I’m fine. I don’t have a lot of time. I need to get back to working on our float, but there was an incident last night and I wanted to check in with Tomo to see if he knew anything more.”
“You mean the fireworks?” He propped on the edge of his desk.
“How did you know?” I tried not to stare at Pete’s angular face with his russet-colored hair and square jawline. A narrow scar stretched from the corner of one eye to his lips.
“I’m the detective in charge. It’s my job to know.” His eyes, which in this light looked as if they were speckled with amber and copper, gave off the slightest hint of enjoyment. Otherwise his face was completely neutral.
“Well, in that case. Did they catch whoever ran away from the scene?” My foot tapped on the floor.
He picked up a file folder and leafed through it. “Yeah, Zigs. One of the key players in Dark Fusion.”
“I know Zigs.” I went on to fill him in on what I had seen last night. “That’s one of the reasons I ran here now. Dark Fusion is at the waterfront again and it sounds like they’re planning something big.” I proceeded to tell him everything I had just heard.
Pete tapped his fingers on his chin when I finished. “Thanks for the intel. I’ll send a couple of squad cars now.” He excused himself for a minute.
I couldn’t sit still. I wandered to a bookcase near the window, where there were dozens of framed awards for Pete’s years of service in the Los Angeles Police Department, as well as a few photos. I picked up a photo of Pete and a woman who I assumed was his mother. They posed in front of the ocean on a dreamy summer day. Waves crashed behind them. Children splashed in the surf. Their faces were bright and happy. I returned the photo to its spot on the bookshelf and picked up another. The photo was of Pete and a woman about our age. They wore matching police uniforms and stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a squad car. Was she Pete’s former partner?
“I’m back,” Pete’s deep voice sounded behind me.
I nearly dropped the photo. “Sorry,” I said, placing the frame on the shelf. “I’m kind of spooked.”
He gave me an odd look, but sat at his desk and motioned for me to do the same.
“Do you think the firecrackers last night were a warning? Could they be plotting something bigger?” I didn’t want to voice my growing concern that the float barn could be Dark Fusion’s next target. Every Grand Floral float was stored in the barn. If Dark Fusion wanted to make a statement, blowing up the barn would an easy way to do so. I shuddered at the thought. “Tomo said that this is almost exactly what happened with his parents’ ramen shop. It started with protests, and then escalated.”
“Britta, if I thought you or any other civilians were in imminent danger, I would shut the float barn down immediately.” The sincerity of Pete’s tone and his intense gaze made my neck start to feel hot.
He ran his index finger along the edge of his scar. “This is between us, but I’m worried about Tomo. He’s too connected on a personal level. On the force we learn from day one that you have to keep your emotions in check. Personal attachment leads to clouded vision and bad decisions.”
I got the sense that we weren’t talking about Tomo any longer. Pete stared out the window for a moment, and then cleared his throat.
“However, this is an anarchist group we’re talking about. We haven’t been able to get a good read on the group. We’re working hand in hand with a special operations unit, our counterterrorism team, and our hate crimes department. Dark Fusion is a bit of an anomaly. Some of their past members have turned to violence, but the only things we’ve seen from them in recent days are verbal threats. I know that doesn’t make it any easier, but typically with situations like this the violence escalates at a pretty steady rate.” He made the motion of a steep curve with one hand. “There’s no evidence of that here. I don’t get it, but for the moment I’m leaning toward the belief that Dark Fusion gets satisfaction from scaring people with empty threats.”
I felt a slight sense of relief at Pete’s reassuring words.
“But what about the volunteer yesterday, and Sham and Ted?” I asked. “They looked like they were about to punch each other.”
“But they didn’t. Did they?” Pete pressed his lips together. “That’s the thing that doesn’t add up. The kind of threats that they’ve been spewing haven’t resulted in anything that we can hold them for. Maybe that’s their plan—to try to be a nuisance and disrupt the Rose Festival enough to scare off tourists.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “At this point every theory is on the table, but we need tangible proof that they’re plotting something bigger—like attempting to detonate a bomb at the float barn. Don’t get me wrong, we’re taking this threat seriously. We have teams positioned throughout the city. We’ve called in extra reinforcements for parade day, and we’re following up on every lead.” He drank his coffee. “Your intel is a good enough excuse for me to take a walk and come keep an eye on things over there. Are you headed back? I’ll walk with you.”
“That would be nice, but I was going to grab some lunch for Elin and me.” Why did I say that? Pete was offering to escort me and I turned him down. Not a smart move, Britta.
Pete looked at the clock on the wall. “Lunch. I could go for lunch. Mind if I crash your party?”
There was something about his stare that made me feel off balance. “Sure, that would be great.”
He tossed his coffee cup and grabbed his suit jacket. “Let me text Tomo and tell him to meet me at the float barn, in what? An hour?”
“Oh, no, sooner. I was going to grab something from one of the food carts. We have hours of work left on the float.”
Pete texted as we walked downstairs. Then he tucked his phone in his pocket. He opened the front door and placed his hand on the small of my back, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “How is the float? Are you almost ready for the parade?”
I bit my bottom lip. “I hope so. Gloria, our crew chief, who has been a volunteer forever, assures me that the last couple of days are always a mad dash. I think a better description might be semi-organized chaos.”
Pete laughed. “That bad?”
“You’ll have to come see for yourself.” I held out my hands, which were dotted with tiny cuts from sewing strands of garland and poking myself with metal wire.
“They’re working you to a pulp.” Pete reached for my hand and flipped it from one side to the other.
His touch sent another bolt up my spine. I wanted to freeze the moment, but it was over in a flash. He released my hand and motioned to a bike messenger who darted between traffic to get in the bike lane.
Had he felt a spark too? I could never exactly tell what he was thinking. Pete was a man of mystery, which made him even more intriguing.
“Battle scars,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Every self-respecting float designer’s hands should be bruised and bloodied.”
“That sounds more like my line of work.” Pete pressed the button on the crosswalk.
“Have you ever seen the parade?” I asked, waiting for the light to change.
“Nope. I’ve heard that it’s a big deal. The mounted force is riding, and of course our patrol cars will be leading the procession. And then we’ll have a large presence throughout the parade route. We do anyway, but like I said, the chief called in reinforcements in case the Dark Fusion threat amounts to anything.”
The “walk” sign flashed. “What about you? Are you on duty?”
“Yeah, but detectives don’t get the cool jobs. No waving and handing out silver police-badge stickers to the kids, for me.” He winked.
We arrived at a food cart pod. Portland’s street-food scene was legendary. Cart pods had popped up in practically every neighborhood in town, offering everything from exotic fare to good old-fashioned American cheeseburgers and fries. The downtown pod was one of the first in the city, with over twenty-five unique food stands. My stomach rumbled in response to the assortment of delicious smells wafting together. There were so many choices I wasn’t sure how I was going to decide.
“What are you in the mood for?” Pete asked.
I scanned the busy outdoor lunch trucks where people were queued up for Asian fusion, barbecue, and hand-thrown pizzas. Finally, my eyes landed on a cart with a fake bamboo roof and pineapple twinkle lights. “How about pad thai noodles?”
“Thai and Stop Me?” Pete pointed to the food cart’s clever name. “That’s a good one.” He moved toward the cart. I watched as people subtly moved out of his way. There was nothing about his attire that revealed he was on the force, and yet his posture and stance exuded a natural confidence.
We ordered chicken and shrimp pad thai, along with spicy noodle soup and an order of cream-cheese wontons for Aunt Elin. I hadn’t realized I was so hungry. Waiting among the delectable, savory smells was torture. When our food was ready, Pete carried the bag and we made our way back across the Hawthorne Bridge. Dark Fusion had taken up camp in their usual spot on the riverfront path. Their familiar chants echoed along the river. Two teams of police officers were stationed in the parking lot—one protecting the front entrance and the other the back. These must have been the reinforcements Pete had called in. I felt better knowing that there were officers on-site.
“Stay here, Britta.” Pete handed me our lunch bags and removed his badge from his jacket pocket.
I watched as he went to speak with his fellow officers and then approached the protestors, flashing his badge and holding his tall body in a commanding position. He singled out Sham, who motioned for his crew to quiet down. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but when Pete finished and headed back toward me, Sham forced everyone to spread out and clear space on the walkway.
“What did you say?” I asked Pete.
He took the bags again and walked me to the front. “I reminded them of the fact that if they’re gathering to protest without a formal permit, I could arrest them.”
“Looks like it worked.” I shot a final glance at Sham before following Pete inside the float barn.
“Whoa, this is massive.” Pete’s awed expression made me smile.
I showed him each float, and gave him a brief introduction in the art of floral design, explaining how every artist had layered together different textures and color palettes to give their floats a cohesive esthetic. He listened and took it all in as we made our way through the barn.
Elin was sawing birch branches when we arrived at the Blomma float. Sawdust particles floated in the air, making Pete cough.
“Hungry?” I asked, when she paused with the saw in her hand.
Pete held up the bag of food.
“Detective Fletcher, nice to see you. I promise this is not a weapon.” Elin placed the saw on the float and wiped her hands on her smock. “That smells divine. I didn’t realize that our wonderful men and women in blue delivered.”
Pete handed her the bag. “At your service, Ms. Johnston.” Elin, like my mother and a long line of women before them, had opted to keep her maiden name. Swedish women often maintained their own identity when entering a marriage. My mother had been so attached to her name and Swedish heritage that my parents had opted to give me my mother’s last name instead of my father’s. I had followed suit when I married Chad, and I was very thankful that I didn’t have to go through the messy process of changing my name in addition to navigating our divorce settlement.
Elin laughed. “Are you joining us?”
“I’d love to, but first Britta’s promised me a personal tour of your float.”
“Excellent. You show Detective Fletcher the float, and I’ll get our lunch set up.” Elin took the takeout to the pigpen.
“This is incredible.” Pete sounded genuinely impressed when I showed him how we had engineered the base of the float and constructed the arbor.
I picked up one of the strands of violets. “Each of these will be weaved through the arbor and some will hang loose to give the effect of a forest canopy dripping with flowers.”
“Yeah, I can see it.” Pete ran his hand along a section of the float that had been covered with moss. Then he glanced around us. “You have the best float here, by a mile.”
“Thanks.” I felt my cheeks warm. “There are some pretty incredible designs. You should go check them out. When you’re up close you can really see the detail.”
“I don’t need to. Blomma has my vote.”
“Too bad you don’t get a real vote.”
Pete caught my eye and held his gaze steady. “Honestly, Britta, this is spectacular. You have nothing to worry about.”
I gulped. “Thanks. Should we eat?”
“Sure.” Pete shook his head. “You have to learn how to take a compliment, Britta.”
“I can take a compliment,” I protested.
Elin overhead us. She looked at Pete. “No. She can’t. She is the most wonderful floral designer and every time I say this, she turns bright red.”
“Exactly.” Pete gave me a look to say I told you so.
“Hey, I’m right here. You guys are talking about me like I’m not in the room.”
“Are we?” Elin smiled. She handed us each a paper plate loaded with spicy pad thai noodles, and a plastic fork. “Dig in while it’s still hot.”
We gathered around the makeshift table. Pete filled Elin in on what he’d told me about Dark Fusion. I was pleasantly surprised by his easy rapport with my aunt and how forthcoming he was about his take on the anarchist group.
She twisted noodles around her fork. “I agree. I have been thinking that something seems quite off about this entire situation, but haven’t been able to put my finger on what. You’ve spoken with Ted, I assume?”
Pete dug into his steaming plate of noodles. “We have, and we’re aware of his stance, but again there’s been nothing to back up his claims. As I mentioned to Britta, we intend to have a strong show of force for the parade. We’ll be setting up checkpoints along the route where spectators will have their bags searched, but unless some concrete evidence comes in, there’s not much more we can do.”
“It’s true,” Elin agreed. “We can’t live our lives in fear or let people who promote hate win. If anything, we as flower workers should spread more light. The parade is a celebration of our wonderful city and we must keep that as our focus.”
“Well said.” Pete smiled.
We chatted about other things as we finished our lunch. Pete left to check in with the team outside and Elin and I busied our fingers with more garland strings. I took my aunt’s words to heart. Flowers were a way of spreading joy and light. That was our mission, and we couldn’t let Dark Fusion, or anyone else, distract us from sharing such a wonderful celebration.
Chapter Eight
I lost track of time as the day and evening progressed. Tension ran high in the float barn. Every time someone dropped a hammer or a chainsaw revved up, I flinched. Whenever the doors would open, the sounds of Dark Fusion’s threats wafted inside. Nicki scurried around the barn, running back and forth between floats, warning decorators that we were entering the point of no return. Twice she came by our area to access the locked warehouse, and disappeared for long stretches. She directed a group of high school students to help her set up plastic folding tables, chairs, and portable heaters in the parking lot for the volunteer dinner. Every year designers, volunteers, the Royal Rosarians, and the Rose Court celebrated weeks and months of hard work with a special dinner. I was surprised that the dinner was going forward outdoors, given the fact that Dark Fusion was camped less than a hundred feet away.
My eyes were grainy by the time Elin left to pick up Eric at the airport. She kissed both my cheeks. “Have a wonderful evening. You’ll have to tell me every single detail in the morning. The dinner is supposed to be one of the highlights of the festival.”
“You have a wonderful time with Eric,” I replied, giving her a hug.
She zipped her knee-length rain jacket and squeezed my hand. “Thank you. Do I look nervous?” Her eyes were bright with anticipation. She smoothed her hair and tied on a creamy pale blue cashmere scarf.
It was strange to see my aunt show vulnerability. Her Swedish temperament often gave her a more reserved appearance. I knew that she cared deeply for friends and neighbors, as they did for her. She expressed her love by delivering surprise bouquets to neighbors’ doorsteps and inviting friends for elaborate midwinter feasts. Seeing Elin pinch her cheeks and ring her hands together like a nervous schoolgirl, made me feel even closer to her.
“You look wonderful,” I assured her.
“Tack, my darling.” Her eyes misted.
“Go.” I nudged her toward the front. “Have fun.”
She flashed a smile and left.
Gloria and I packed away supplies and prepped for the next day. Sometime after six, Nicki hollered into the bullhorn, “Dinner time! Put down your shears and paintbrushes.”
Everyone shuffled outdoors. The folding tables had been lined with rose-red butcher paper. Each place setting had a white paper plate, napkin, plastic silverware, and a gorgeous sugar cookie in the shape of a rose, covered with thick red buttercream. This year’s theme, Shine, was written in white frosting. It was a beautiful sight, with one glaring exception—the line of temporary barricades and police officers that formed a blockade along the pathway.
