Seed No Evil (12 page)

She couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

•   •   •

“Hey, babe, how'd the fitting go?” Marco asked when he called later that night.

I stuffed the last bite of Ghirardelli Midnight Reverie chocolate bar in my mouth and chewed fast. “It didn't,” I mumbled. “I have to go back tomorrow. Betty was afraid to touch me.”

“Are you eating chocolate?”

“How did you know?”

“Besides hearing you chew, it's nine o'clock. You always eat chocolate at nine.”

Was I that predictable? “Yes, Sherlock Holmes. I'm eating my usual dark chocolate squares.” But only two because I really wanted to fit into my gown. “Did you have a chance to call Emma's coworkers?”

“I did. The fiscal director, John, was a little hesitant to talk about Bev, but he did admit she was a hard person to work for. Holly, Bev's assistant, was a little more open, but didn't have much to criticize. Holly did admit that Bev and Emma butted heads on several occasions and that Bev had called Emma on the carpet at least twice in the weeks prior to Bev's death, threatening to fire her, the last time on Monday. Apparently, it was Bev's habit to leave her office door open so the others could hear.”

“Interesting.” I wanted to lick the dark chocolate off my fingers but instead wiped them on a napkin. “What about the so-called outrageous audacity that Stacy mentioned?”

“John didn't know anything about it, but Holly believes it had something to do with Emma moonlighting. She said Bev was furious about it.”

“I don't see why,” I said. “So what if Emma took on some outside work in her free time?”

“According to Holly, Bev accused Emma of slacking off of PAR business so she could work on her outside projects during business hours.”

“Do you think that is Emma's outrageous audacity?”

“It could be. Holly couldn't come up with anything else. Now I need to find out how far in debt Emma is to see how desperate she is to keep her job. By the way, I phoned Justin's customer, who verified that he did call Shaw's to tow his car and that it was indeed towed between five and seven p.m.”

“That lets Justin off the hook.”

“Not quite. The customer only spoke to Justin on the phone. He's never seen him in person, so he couldn't verify that the man driving the truck was actually Justin. The driver never introduced himself.”

“Did you show him Justin's photo?”

“It's in your purse.”

“Well, duh. So we'll need to do that.”

“Right. That's on tomorrow's list.”

Ah, tomorrow's list.
I still had to get online to change the address on my driver's license and credit cards, call my insurance company, write my vows, reconfirm the reservation at Adagio, and get back over to Betty's Bridal Shop. In a weird way, a business slowdown was a blessing. I prayed it was a temporary one.

“Also on the list is another visit to Justin's business to see if we can set up a meeting with his son,” Marco said. “Think you'll feel up to going along?”

“As long as I don't croak in the night.” I waited for a chuckle. It wasn't forthcoming. “My frog neck? Croak? Get it?”

“Got it. Threw it out. Good night, Buttercup. Feel better.”

•   •   •

Thursday

Feel better, Marco said. If only.

Instead, I felt itchier, and my rash was definitely worse. On the positive side, the swelling in my glands had gone down, so my jawline was visible again. Thankfully, the rash had avoided my face, so as long as I wore my khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt, I looked presentable.

Being the first patient at the doctor's office was an advantage. I was in and out within fifteen minutes and on my way to the lab in the basement to have blood drawn. Dr. Chen thought I had a virus but didn't want to take any chances with my wedding so near, so he'd ordered routine tests designed to rule out any bacterial infections.

Half an hour later, with a bandage above the crook of my arm, I headed to Bloomers. The rain that had been promised for the day before had materialized, so I had to keep my ragtop up, then use the umbrella I kept in the car to make the block-long dash to Bloomers. I got there shortly after eight o'clock and was greeted by Grace, who handed me a cup of coffee and informed me that Lottie was in the workroom with the plumber.

“Be prepared, dear,” Grace said. “You may want to shield your eyes.”

“Why? Is the plumber using bright lights?”

“No, not that. Are you aware of all those indelicate jokes about”—Grace sighed—“how shall I put it? The plumber's posterior view?”

“Grace, are you referring to the butt jokes?”

“Forgive me, love, but I just couldn't say it. Yes, that's what I'm referring to. Sadly, our plumber has become a cliché.”

“Thank you, Grace. I'm prepared now.”

“Your neck looks better, dear. What did the doctor say?”

I unbuttoned my shirtsleeve to remove the bandage while I gave her a rundown on my doctor's appointment. As I finished, Lottie came through the curtain making a face. “You've heard of a sight for sore eyes? Well, I just came from a sight that
causes
sore eyes. Why on God's green earth would a fella with his waist size wear jeans tight
and
low? When you got a belly, you need larger pants. There's no two ways about it.”

“Is the plumber done?” I asked.

“He's just finishing up. I think the bill's gonna be high, though, sweetie, because he said something about the part being expensive.”

Wonderful way to start the day—a blood draining
and
a wallet draining.

I walked into the workroom and found the plumber writing out a ticket at the table. “Okay, here you go,” he said. “All done.”

I picked up the ticket and my stomach knotted. “That part cost five hundred eighty-six dollars?”

“Yeah, you got an old cooler here. The parts aren't easy to come by. You might want to think about replacing it.”

Three hundred for labor, plus the cost of the part? I wanted to cry.

After the plumber had gone, Grace and Lottie came into the workroom, where I was sitting in my chair staring at the bare spindle, the bill still clutched in my hand. “We've got to drum up more business.”

Grace pried the ticket from my curled fingers and showed it to Lottie, who let out a low whistle.

“What about those flyers you mentioned?” she asked. “My boys will distribute them around town.”

“And I can offer a two-for-one special on scones,” Grace said. “Indeed, we can have a bake sale. That will draw in more customers.”

“
That
many more?” I asked, pointing to the plumber's ticket.

Lottie took the bill and slapped it upside down on the desk. “Sweetie, don't you fret about this. I've seen bad times at Bloomers before and we came out of it.”

Grace cleared her throat and assumed her lecture position. “It was the American poet Anne Bradstreet who said, ‘If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.'”

Lottie gave her a round of applause while I clapped halfheartedly. “I guess I'll start working on the flyer,” I said.

“And I shall bake all evening,” Grace said. “Lottie, tomorrow let's put out a signboard and see how many customers we can draw.”

The bell over the door jingled. It was followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor and someone muttering.

“Oh, dear,” Grace said quietly, peering through the curtains. “It's your cousin Jillian. Winter, it appears, is still with us.”

“H
ello? Where is everyone?” Jillian called.

“On the other side of the curtain,” Grace said, and stepped into the shop. This was followed moments later with, “What in heaven's name do you have there, Jillian?”

“My baby,” Jillian said happily. “Want to see her?”

At that point I had to go out to see what she had, because I knew very well it couldn't be her baby. I followed Lottie through the curtain and saw Jillian picking up baby rattles that had fallen out of a stroller and rolled across the floor.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Shh! She's napping,” Jillian whispered, tucking the toys into a side pouch.

“What is that smell?” Lottie asked, sniffing the air.

Grace bent over the stroller, which held a bundle wrapped in a pink print baby blanket. “Does someone have a dirty nappy?” she cooed, tugging the blanket away from the infant's head.

At Grace's gasp, I peered in for a look, then began to laugh. “You wrapped a sack of potatoes in a baby blanket?”

“Excuse me, please,” Grace said, doing her best to hold back laughter as she rose and headed for the parlor. “I must see to my coffee machines.”

Lottie gulped in air, fanned her face, and fled to the workroom.

Jillian placed her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and glared at me. “Abby, are you going to be a non-supportress or an embracer?”

“Is this chapter two in Dr. Baybee's book?” I asked, pinching my cheeks together to keep from laughing harder.

“No, this is not chapter two,” Jillian said snidely, clearly disgusted with me. “This is from a book by Dr. Charlton Harris-Easton Applewaithe-Paine.” She pulled a hardback from a compartment in the stroller and showed me the cover. “It's called
Don't Muddle Motherhood: Be a Better Begetter
.”

I pinched my cheeks harder. “A better
begetter
? And this doctor said to carry around a sack of potatoes to do that?”

“A ten-pound sack of potatoes is supposed to mimic the weight of a three-month-old baby, which Dr. Applewaithe-Paine says is how old an infant should be before he—or in this case she—is taken out of the house.”

Jillian paused to carefully pick up the sack. “Would you like to hold your niece? Don't be afraid. She won't break.”

“But will she grow roots?” I asked.

Simultaneous bursts of laughter came from the kitchen and the shop. Clearly we had eavesdroppers.

“Ha-ha,” Jillian said drily. “Very unhumorous.”

“Jillian, call me a non-supportress all you want, but I'm not going to hold that sack of potatoes and pretend it's a baby. Is Claymore going along with this charade?”

“Claymore,” she said with a lift of her chin, “is proud to be an embracer, as are my parents. Once again it's you, Abby Knight, who is failing to do her kindred duty.”

“Jillian, I do many things for my family, but I draw the line at cuddling a sack of potatoes. Now, I really need to get back to my desk because I have work to do.”

As if she'd forgotten she was supposed to be holding an infant, Jillian tossed the sack back into the stroller and hurried to get in front of me before I could step through the curtain. “How am I supposed to be a good mother if I don't have my family's full support?”

I had a wry retort all ready, but then I gazed into her accusing eyes and saw a woman who was clearly afraid of impending motherhood.

Jillian, afraid of anything? I was shocked.

Then I was instantly transported back to our childhood years, when I had been the older cousin always looking out for the frail little girl with scoliosis. Jillian had gone through a lot in her short lifetime, and even though now she was a tall, thin, gorgeous but ultimately spoiled diva, underneath she was still that young child with the crooked back, counting on her tougher cousin to get her through scary times.

With a heavy sigh, I walked back to the stroller and wheeled it toward the workroom. “If I'm going to play aunt, I'll do it in private.”

Jillian's face brightened into a wide smile. Clapping her hands together in a touchingly childlike gesture, she followed.

“So I'm thinking of some new baby names,” she said, perching on a stool, while I sat on the other stool cradling the silly potatoes. “My current favorite is Cloud.”

“Cloud Osborne?”

“Cloud Elizabeth Osborne,” Jillian amended. “That way, her initials would spell out CEO, which I hope she will be someday.”

“I don't know, Jill. Cloud sounds like a hippie name from the sixties.”

“So what? I like it. I also like Air, Rain, Moonbeam, Sunshine—”

“Not Sunshine. You can't have that one.”

“Oh, right.”

I handed back the bundle, which Jillian promptly tucked into the stroller. “I really do have to get to work, Jill. I've got to come up with a flyer to advertise my business.”

“Has it been slow?”

“It dried up practically overnight.”

“I can help,” she said eagerly. “Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Want me to distribute your flyers around the square?”

“Lottie's boys are going to do that.”

“Oh.” She looked crestfallen. Clearly she had too much time on her hands.

“If I think of anything, though . . .”

“Just let me know.” She slid off the stool, put the sack back into the stroller, and gave me a shrug. “My business is slow, too.”

“I'm sorry.”

“That makes two of us.”

The bell over the door jingled, and moments later my thirteen-year-old niece, Tara, pulled back one side of the curtain. “Hi, Aunt Abby, Aunt Jillian.”

The daughter of my brother Jordan and his wife, Kathy, Tara was nearly a carbon copy of me, with vivid red hair, freckles, green eyes, and a short stature. She even wore her hair in a long bob.

Her gaze instantly fell on the stroller. Crouching before it, she asked, “Who do you have in here?” Before Jillian could answer, Tara pulled back the pink blanket and fell on her haunches laughing. “Man, you really had me going for a minute, Aunt Jillian.”

“It's not a joke, Tara,” Jillian said with a sniff. “For your edification, I'm rehearsing. And if I didn't have to take Cloud home for a feeding—no, make that Air; I mean Rain—I'd tell you more about it. Suffice it to say I will be calling upon your babysitting services soon.”

Tara stared at Jillian in amazement until the conclusion of her little speech, when she turned a puzzled gaze on me, as if to say,
Is she for real?

“Bye, Tara. Let me know what I can do to help, Abs,” Jillian called over her shoulder, then wheeled the stroller from the room.

I signaled for Tara to wait; then, after the bell over the door jingled, I said, “We have to be patient with Jillian. She's nervous about having a baby, so she's reading books on how to be a good mom. Just humor her. She'll get through it.”

“That's fine, but I'm not babysitting that gross sack.”

“I don't blame you. So what brings you here?”

Tara hopped up onto a stool, pulled out her cell phone, glanced at it briefly, and stuck it back in her pocket before answering animatedly, “Guess what I want to do. Never mind. You'd never guess it. I want to be a volunteer at the animal shelter. Isn't that awesome? Grandma asked if I wanted to go with her on Mondays and I said yes, yes, yes! She knows how much I love animals.”

“Good for you, Tara. Will your mom and dad approve?”

“That's the only problem. I know they won't want me to work there because they'll be afraid I'll want to bring some of the pets home with me.”

“That's why I was afraid to volunteer there,” I admitted.

“The thing is, Aunt Ab, my parents would be right. There's already a mother dog and her puppy that I want.”

“You've picked them out already?”

“Yes! I've been to see them twice. A friend asked if I would go visit them when he couldn't make it, so I did and fell in love.”

“What kind of dogs are they?”

“They're mixed breeds. The mother dog is the ugliest thing I've ever seen—but so sweet and loving, Aunt Abby! She has lower teeth that protrude and a grizzled muzzle and pointy ears that have tufts of hair sticking straight up and raggedy fur that's brown and gray and black—oh, and she has only three legs, so she kind of hobbles.”

“Tara, your parents will never let you bring home a raggedy three-legged mutt.”

“Not right away maybe, but see, that's why I want to help out at the shelter. I'll get to see Seedy and her puppy while I work on Mom and Dad.”

“Seedy?”

“That's her name. The shelter workers call her that because of how she looks. Her puppy is beautiful, though. His name is Seedling. Isn't that cute? So my plan is to convince my parents to let me bring Seedling home, and once they see how much she misses her mom, they'll let me adopt Seedy, too. They wouldn't want to split up a mother and child.”

“Are you sure you can convince them?”

“See, that's where you come in. When it comes to an animal in the house, they'd never listen to me. It has to be you, Aunt Abby, and the first step is to talk my dad into letting me volunteer with Grandma.”

“Whoa. Time out. What do you mean, it has to be me? Why can't Grandma talk your dad into it?”

“Grandma said her nerves are too shaky to put up a good argument. She said to ask you to do it because you badger people better than anyone else in the family.”

“That was so sweet of her,” I said drily.

Tara folded her fingers together imploringly and gazed at me with her big green eyes. “Please, Aunt Abby? My friend says no one is ever going to adopt Seedy because of her looks, but her puppy will be gone in a week. We can't let them be split apart. Not only that, but there's a rumor going around that the shelter may start putting unwanted animals to sleep.” She took my hands in hers. “Seedy would be killed, Aunt Abby.”

“You don't know that, Tara.”

“You don't understand how pitiful Seedy looks, Aunt Abby, and she's been there for a month. Please help me save her.”

As if I didn't have enough to do. “Tara, you're putting too much faith in your volunteer work. That will hardly guarantee that you'll be able to adopt Seedy or her puppy.”

“Can you think of a better way?”

I sighed in exasperation. I didn't really need this extra burden.

But then I pictured the puppy being taken away from his mother, and at once the image in my head switched to one I didn't want to contemplate. What was Tara asking me, really, but to help her save a life? In my lifetime I'd convinced Jordan to do many things and I knew exactly which buttons to push.

I put my arm around my niece's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. I couldn't help but feel extremely proud of her for caring so deeply about a little dog's life. Somehow I had to help her succeed. “I'll give your dad a call and see what I can do.”

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Abby,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “You're awesome!”

At least to some people I wasn't dull, boring Abby.

“And just so you know,” Tara said, “I hardly noticed that nasty rash on your neck.”

•   •   •

I was just finishing up the flyer on the computer when Marco phoned.

“Hey, Kermit, how are you today?”

“Not froglike anymore, so you can drop the nickname.”

“Buttercup, then. What's going on?”

“I just finished the flyer. All I have to do is take it to the printer and have a stack printed up; then Lottie's boys are going to distribute them around town.”

“Is your printer broken?”

“It's just old and slow, and I have a credit at the print shop.”

“How's business today?”

“We had a whopping five orders. I'm in a dry spell, Marco, and it worries me.”

“The flyers will improve things,” he said, as though it were no big deal. “Are you still open to going with me to see Justin at noon?”

“Nothing here to hold me back. I'll stop at the printer and then head your way. Have you had any luck tracking down Dayton Blaine?”

“None. She must have some kind of radar to know when I'm coming. I did find out that she and her husband hold season tickets for the Cubs baseball games, so we may have to go see a game one evening and see if we can find their box.”

“That would be fun.”

“It's a long shot, though, and we're operating on limited time.”

Lottie stuck her head through the curtain. “Your brother Jordan is on the other line.”

“Marco, I have to go. My brother is on the phone. I'll see you at noon.”

I punched the button and said, “Hi, Jordan. Thanks for getting back to me.”

“Yeah, what's up, Abs? I've got only a few minutes between surgeries.”