Dearly Depotted (23 page)

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I know where she went—Luigi’s Italian Ices. It’s near the Dunes. I took her there once and told her it was my favorite place for ice cream. She loved it. She probably took the trolley. It runs right past there.”

Pryce glanced at his prized granite-faced Swiss watch—most people chose pets that looked like themselves; Pryce chose watches. “I really don’t have time for this. I’ve already canceled two of my afternoon appointments.”

“Then don’t worry about your grandmother,” I told him. “She got there by herself. She’ll get home by herself.”

“I can’t do that. She’s supposed to be at her doctor’s office at five o’clock for her pneumonia vaccine—I volunteered to take her since my parents are packing for their trip to Spain.”

“Did she forget about the appointment?”

“It’s more likely that she’s hiding from me. She has an irrational fear of needles.” Pryce heaved an Oscar-worthy sigh. “I don’t know what to do. A bout of pneumonia at her age could do her in. Somehow she has to be convinced to go—but you’re probably the only one who could coax her into it.”

I blinked at him as he tightened the knot of his hand-painted silk tie, smoothed the lapels of his suit coat, and adjusted his French cuffs. He’d pleaded his case and was waiting for my decision. Would I volunteer to save his grandmother from a fate worse than a prick in the arm or condemn her to live out the remainder of her life lurking in ice cream parlors?

“I really don’t have time for this, either,”
I wanted to tell him, but since I felt partly responsible for Grandma being at “my place,” I couldn’t very well tell Pryce to take a hike. “Fine. I’ll try to coax her into it.”

His breath came out in a relieved huff. “Okay, then. My car’s out front. We’ll just take a quick ride out there.”

Not a quick ride, not a quick hop, not even quicksand would make me get into the car with Pryce. I noticed Lottie standing by a display table, shifting arrangements around, no doubt stalling so she could hear my answer. There was silence in the coffee parlor, too, probably for the same reason. Grace was a practiced eavesdropper.

“I need to make a flower delivery at the hospital,” I said. “I’ll take my car and meet you at Luigi’s.”

 

With Pryce following a safe distance behind—he’d never trusted my driving—I got off the highway at the Dunes State Park exit and took the road that snaked around the lake, parking in front of a row of tourist shops, one of which was Luigi’s Italian Ices. Through Luigi’s window we could see beachgoers looking for cool relief from the summer sun, standing three-deep at the glass-fronted cases and filling the tables along the side. Sitting near the back was Grandma Osborne, licking chocolate ice cream off the sides of a waffle cone and chatting with a teenaged couple with matching tattoos and nose rings.

Pryce took my arm and led me past the shop. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll stay out here—I don’t dare let her see me or she’ll bolt. You go inside, circle around her, and herd her toward the door.”

I stared at him. “What are you, a cowboy? Your grandmother isn’t a runaway horse, Pryce. I think you can come inside.”

Two girls in swimsuits and see-through cover-ups strolled past, pausing to glance at Pryce’s dark suit.

“You know what?” I said. “You’re right. It would be better if I went in alone. But it’s hot here on the sidewalk, and this might take a while. Of course, if you get tired of waiting, you could always throw a lasso around Grandma’s neck and haul her out.”

I ignored his scowl, walked into the shop, and got into the line nearest to her table. Then I looked around and feigned surprise. “Grandma, what are you doing here?”

“Having ice cream.” She displayed her empty containers. “So far I’ve had two cones, a banana split, and three shakes.”

“Are you here alone?” I asked, sitting down in a wrought iron chair at her table.

“I certainly am. I took the trolley. Wasn’t that smart?”

“You have no idea. I’m going to pick up a dish of Italian ice, then head back to town. Do you want to ride with me?”

She squinted at the wall clock behind the counter, and I could tell she was doing some calculating. “Not yet.” She turned away from me and resumed her conversation with the teenagers.

That called for plan B. I bought strawberry-flavored Italian ice, then meandered back to Grandma’s table. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a free country.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“I woke up. That’s good enough for me.” She eyed the spoonful of red ice as I slid it into my mouth. “That looks yummy.”

“It is yummy.” I pushed the clear plastic dish toward the middle of the table so we could share. “Have some.”

As she dug in, the teenagers at the next table got up and left. However, their trash didn’t, and moments later a white-coated busboy came over with a garbage bag to haul it away. Grandma paused, watching him, her spoon almost to her mouth; then she said, “The fellow in the white coat was carrying a black plastic bag.”

I glanced at the busboy, who was now wiping off another table. “Yes, he was picking up the garbage.”

“I’m not talking about
that
person,” she said, stabbing a gnarled index finger at the unsuspecting employee. “I’m talking about that fellow in the white coat I saw sneaking around the back corner of the banquet center. He was carrying a black plastic bag, too. Seeing that young man over there made me remember.”

“You’re sure it was a garbage bag?”

“I’m sure. The fellow had it in his arms, like he was taking out the trash. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him if it hadn’t been for the noise.”

“The noise coming from the ballroom?”

“No,
that
was a racket. This noise was more like a brick hitting the sidewalk. I turned around to see what had caused it and that’s when I saw the fellow in the white jacket.”

“Did he cause the noise?”

“How should I know? I
heard
it; I didn’t
see
it. Are you going to finish that ice?”

“You can have the rest.” I pushed it toward her, then sat back to think about what she’d said. A white coat and a black plastic garbage bag. Had Grandma seen a possible witness to the murder? Had she seen the murderer himself? Or, as my logical mind reminded me, had Grandma merely seen someone taking out the garbage?

I’d have to inquire at the banquet center as to who took out the trash on Monday night. In the meantime, I tucked that information away to tell Marco later.

I caught Grandma glancing at the clock, and remembered Pryce waiting outside. “Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon?”

“Doctors,” she grumbled. “Always wanting to pump me with chemicals and poke me with sharp needles. In my day a doctor would stick a few leeches on your arm, give you a good dose of laudanum, and send you on your way. We were tough people back then. We didn’t need a pill for every little pain.”

“You can’t avoid your doctor forever, Grandma.”

She scraped the last smear of pink ice out of the bowl, then leaned back with a contented sigh. “Well, it was fun while it lasted. Okay, let’s go face the music. My grandson is about to melt out there anyway.”

I blinked at her in surprise. “You knew Pryce was here?”

“Pshaw! He’s had his face pressed against the glass for the last five minutes and he’s the only one wearing a three-piece suit. I may be old and forgetful, but I’m not blind.”

We threaded our way through the crowd with Grandma in the lead. As soon as we exited the shop, Pryce walked up from behind and, with what was supposed to pass as a shocked look, exclaimed, “Grandmother! What a surprise.”

“Put a sock in it, suitboy,” she said. “I knew you were here. Now give me your arm and help me to the car. I’m feeling a little queasy from all that ice cream.”

Pryce paled. “You’re not going to throw up on my leather seats, are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She glanced back at me. “Are you coming, Abby?”

I gave her a hug. “I can’t. I have a delivery to make. My car’s parked down the street. Good luck at the doctor’s.”

“Abigail,” Pryce called as I walked toward the Vette. “Thanks for the assistance.”

“No problem, Tex,” I called back. “I always enjoy a good roundup.”

He didn’t find that as amusing as I did.

 

It was nearly five o’clock when I got back to Bloomers. I filled the ladies in on Grandma Osborne’s escapade as I pulled flowers for the bouquet I planned to take to Vince Vogel’s wife. I wanted to drop by the Vogels’ house around five thirty, figuring that if she worked outside the home, she’d be getting in about that time. The flowers were my foot in the door.

As I wrapped the red zinnias, yellow daisies, and white bachelor buttons in floral paper, Grace came back to tell me that my aunt Corrine was there to see me.

“Woo-hoo!” I cried, jumping up. “It’s payday.”

I followed Grace to the front, imagining the happy chime of the cash register when I stuck that fat check for the wedding flowers inside. Thanks to Trudee’s payment—after months of barely being able to cover the expenses of running the shop, not to mention the mortgage, Lottie’s and Grace’s salaries, and a new pair of flip-flops every now and then—I’d finally reached the breakeven point. With this wedding fee I’d be dollars ahead—even with the discount I’d given my aunt and uncle. They were family, after all.

Lottie hadn’t been too keen on my waiving the customary one-third down, but, as I’d reminded her, I knew where they lived. Besides, my aunt had assured me that I’d get the entire amount as soon as the wedding was over. Because of the murder, that hadn’t happened Monday night. But it was about to happen now.

Aunt Corrine greeted me with a perfumed hug, then leaned back to study me. “My, aren’t we looking cheery.”

Anticipating a big bundle of dough tended to do that to me. I was practically salivating. “Things are looking bright today,” I told her.

“Marvelous. Guess what? I brought something else to brighten your day”—I rubbed my hands together.
Lay that baby on me.
—“a message from Jillian.”

A message? I didn’t want a message. I wanted my check.

“She said to tell you—you’re going to love this—that you were absolutely right about Claymore. He isn’t a total jerk after all.” My aunt laughed liked it was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard. “Isn’t that just like Jillian? He isn’t a
total
jerk.”

I forced a laugh. “Yes . . . just like her.”

“Okay. That’s all I have,” she said as two customers walked in the door. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Did my aunt truly not remember her promise? “About the wedding,” I said as Lottie came through the curtain.

My aunt paused, one hand on the brass handle. “Yes?”

“I was wondering . . .”

She smiled at me. “Wondering what?”

Wondering why the customers looking at the wreaths had suddenly become quiet. I moved closer to my aunt and said in a low voice, “I was wondering when . . .”

I couldn’t do it. I tried to open my mouth to finish the sentence, but my jaws seemed to be locked.

“Abigail, you keep losing your train of thought. Are you all right?”

“Am I all right? Of course I’m all right,” I said with a light laugh. “I was just wondering when Jillian and Claymore would be home.”

“Not until next Wednesday.”

“Wednesday. Okay. Got it.”
Fraidy-cat,
that little voice inside taunted. I shot Lottie a sheepish look, but she was helping the customers.

“I’m off to the photography studio to pick up the proofs,” my aunt said. “I do hope the police will be done with their evidence gathering soon. They confiscated the wedding video, you know, and I can’t have it put on a DVD until they give it back. Heavens, I just thought of something. I hope the videographer didn’t film anything gory. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

It was evident who Jillian took after in the tact department. At least my aunt had jogged my memory. I’d have to ask Morgan whether the police had learned anything from the video.

I turned to go back to the workroom, then stopped. There had been two video cameras at that wedding. “Aunt Corrine,” I said before she could get out the door, “what happened to the film the other cameraman shot?”

“What other cameraman?” she asked, trying to look innocent.

“I know Jillian spirited him out of the reception, Aunt Corrine.”

She nibbled her lower lip. “You won’t tell the police, will you? I wouldn’t want to get my daughter in trouble.”

“I won’t tell them, but someone else might, and then we’d all be in trouble.”

She looked like she might faint. “We can’t let that happen, Abigail. I’d never be able to show my face at the country club again. How about if I give it to you and you turn it in?”

“Me?” I sputtered.

“The video is being processed right now. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning and drop it off here.” She gave me another hug. “Thank you so much, darling. And by the way, if I haven’t mentioned it, the wedding flowers were lovely. You did a magnificent job. Bravo.”

Behind me, I heard Lottie clear her throat in a way that meant,
There’s your opening.

My aunt departed and I turned with my head bowed, knowing I was in for a Business 101 lecture. “Okay, I admit it. I’m a coward. Why is it I can face down a bully but I can’t ask my aunt for my fee?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Lottie said. “Send the bill to your uncle.”

“He won’t even look at the wedding bills. When Uncle Doug saw the estimate for Jillian’s reception dinner, he washed his hands of the whole thing. It was either the chocolate fountain or the six hundred calf brain canapés that pushed him over the edge.”

“Perhaps your aunt hasn’t yet recovered from the ordeal of putting on a wedding,” Grace offered. She always tried to see the positive side of the situation. “Perhaps she’ll bring the check when she returns tomorrow.”