Shear Murder (17 page)

“What kind of cost investment will I have to make to begin an orchid collection?” the thin young man asked.

The instructor nodded her approval at his question. “To start, you'll need fertilizer to feed the plant. But then you may decide to buy another plant, or maybe a book to learn more. Soon you'll add some insecticide, fungicide, stakes and clips, potting material and pots. Often this hobby starts off slow and then expands along with your expense sheet.”

“What kind of space would I need?” another woman said.

“You can start small, on a windowsill. With one or two plants, you'd use about a gallon of fertilizer a week. When you add more plants, you can expand outside or onto a patio. It's easy in South Florida. North of Orlando, people need greenhouses to keep orchids warm in the winter. Here we need shade houses to protect them from the sun.”

“If I wanted to grow orchids as an investment, where would I get the stock?” Marla thought of Philip Canfield. Did he breed his own orchids or import them?

“You would buy seedlings from a wholesale grower and nurture the orchids from babies to blooming size. Keep in mind that plants in bloom are more expensive than out of bloom. Many growers live down in the Homestead area, and they often have retail outlets. Eventually, if you get proficient at it, you could do your own breeding.”

“Do people buy and trade orchids as they do collectibles?” Marla persisted, after glancing through the handout and listening fifteen minutes more to a lecture on orchid varieties.

“I wouldn't say people trade them, but rare orchids can be as valuable as other collectibles. Most growers have Web sites and catalogs. Orchid shows are big business for them. They'll compete for awards, besides offering their plants for sale.”

“What do you mean?” the young woman asked, busily scribbling notes.

“Different organizations give awards. For example, the American Orchid Society grants an Award of Merit, and the orchid would be tagged accordingly. This signifies to the buyer that this orchid merits special recognition. That doesn't make it rare, but definitely more valuable. It'll be more expensive to buy.”

Marla raised her hand again. “How can I tell a rare orchid from a regular one?”

“Today, most orchids can be cloned, although this doesn't usually happen because then prices would fall. A few years ago in China, a new species was discovered. It was fabulously expensive and rare, but not for long. To me, a rare orchid signifies that it's in danger of being overcollected in the wild. There are laws regulating what people can take and from where. A well-known orchidist in Miami just got fined a hefty sum for illegally collecting specimens in the Philippines.”

“Does this mean there's a black market for the more exotic blooms?” Marla folded her arms across her chest.

The instructor's eyes gleamed. “Sure, fanatics will pay anything. Call it
orchidelirium
if you will, but collecting orchids can become an addiction just as strong as alcohol or drugs.”

“So how much money flows through this illicit trade?”

Pacing back and forth in front of the class, Diane snorted. “Trophy orchids, or rare varieties that cost thousands of dollars each, fuel a ten-billion-dollar orchid black market.” She paused to survey them. “Look at the London pharmacist arrested for having six rare orchids in his luggage. He went to jail for orchid smuggling, and that's a minor case. Murder, greed, and betrayal are not uncommon among people passionate about their plants.”

“Orchid Isle sounds like a neat park.” Brianna leaned against the kitchen counter in Dalton's house. “I'd like to go sometime. We could do lunch in Miami while we're there.”

“Good idea.” Marla stood at the sink, scraping their dinner dishes. They'd exchanged news while they ate, enjoying the private time together. Dalton hadn't gotten home yet, so she'd been discussing the case with Brie. Already the teen had a lurid fascination with detective work, probably because that often became their main topic of dinner conversation.

“I overheard two older women mentioning Orchid Isle in class.” Marla stuck their plates in the dishwasher. “One of them said she'd spotted a rare orchid in the greenhouse. It had been written up in one of the journals. If true, it's illogical that Falcon would display the plant so blatantly. Someone might steal it.”

“If he's an avid collector, he may want to show off his prize, like those moose heads in his living room.” Brie's ponytail swung as she bent to pick up a crumb off the floor.

“I suppose. One of the women wondered aloud how the land deal had gone through when that property had been contaminated.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brianna's gaze lit with curiosity.

“Your father checked the records as I asked and confirmed that Jill's cousin Kevin brokered the transaction. Eddy Rhodes was the attorney. They're mixed up in this somehow, along with Falcon Oakwood, but I haven't been able to get any more information on that strip of land.”

“If Jill is going to them for advice on her property, you might warn her to be careful,” the teen suggested, her eyes wiser than her fourteen years.

“Tell me about it.”

After Brianna left to do homework in her room and no doubt talk on the phone with her friends, Marla let the dogs out and then glanced at the wall clock. It was eight already, and no word from Dalton. Her brow furrowed. What was he working on that could be keeping him this long? She hadn't heard of any difficult case in the news that might involve his unit.

She'd just sat at Dalton's desk to work on their seating charts for the wedding when her cell phone rang.

“Miss Shore? This is the alarm company. We have an alert at your salon.”

“What?” She leapt to her feet.

“Could be a possible break-in, plus the smoke alarm went off. The fire department has been dispatched.”

“I'll run right over there. Thanks for notifying me.”

Clicking off her phone, she stuck it in her jeans pocket. She'd changed earlier into denims and a knit sweater. After explaining to Brianna where she was going and refusing the teen's offer of support, she charged out the front door.

Her heart raced. Maybe it was a false alarm, and she was panicking for nothing. But an inner voice hinted that the timing for this distraction wasn't any coincidence.

“Someone threw a Molotov cocktail in your front window,” one of the cops said upon her arrival. “It started a fire, but that's been contained. You've got some water and smoke damage, and I'm afraid your reception desk will have to be replaced. But the guys got to it pretty quickly, so damage is minimal to the rest of the place.”

“Thank God.” Marla's stomach sank as she gingerly stepped inside, careful not to crunch on any broken glass. More than her reception desk would need replacement. The entire waiting area was a soggy mess. Chairs, magazine tables, and display cases would all have to go. Not to mention the smell of smoke that lingered in the air, the water sloshing at her feet, and the grit that made her eyes sting. She blinked rapidly as moisture tipped her lashes. Who could have done this?

Her burdens suddenly felt insurmountable. She didn't need this trouble, not with everything else going on in her life. Is that why this had happened? Could it have been a purposeful act, rather than the random misbehavior of some young hooligans?

Gut instinct told her yes, she'd been targeted. But by whom? She'd rattled a few cages recently. Could it have been one of the people she'd visited in the past few days?

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'll need to ask you a few questions,” the officer said in a kindly tone, pulling out a notebook.

“Of course, go ahead. I'd offer you a seat, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gestured helplessly at the ruined shop.
Lord save me, who am I going to get to clean up this mess before we open tomorrow? We'll have to cancel all our appointments. We could be closed for weeks.

Dismay paralyzed her tongue and clouded her senses. The cop had to repeat his question before she heard him.

“Can you tell if anything valuable is missing?”

“What? Oh, Nicole would have emptied the cash register before she closed up on Saturday. Why, do you believe this was a robbery attempt? The guy had to know he would set off an alarm.”

“Is there another reason why someone would want to destroy your place?” His pencil poised, he watched her intently.

Marla gave a wry chuckle. “Like, how many fingers do you have on your two hands, officer? I could give you more people than you can count who would be happy to see misfortune come my way, but many of them are in jail.
Or dead, but we won't talk about them.

“Want to give me any names?”

She shifted feet. “Not at the moment.”

“Does the parking lot have surveillance cameras?” He peered around. “Or the exterior of your building?”

“You'd have to contact our landlord.” She gave him the information, then had an inspiring thought. “Maybe you can find witnesses who saw the car, if the fellow drove by and tossed the thing in my window.” Shuddering, she considered what would have happened if customers had been seated inside.

“We'll ask around, but it's dark out. People's perception can alter. We'll check the asphalt for evidence, too, but these sort of malicious pranks often go unsolved. Usually it's teens out to prove themselves or have fun.”

“I'll need the police report to file an insurance claim.”

Oh, gosh, then she'd have to wait for the adjuster to come, and that could take days. Plus she'd have to get repair estimates from the contractors the insurance company recommended. She didn't have time, not when she had to accomplish so many last-minute wedding details, finish her packing before their closing date, and follow up on publicity for her spa debut.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

She glanced up, realizing she was shaking. “Did I tell you I'm engaged to Detective Vail on the Palm Haven police force? I should notify him.”

“Okay. There isn't much more we can do here right now.”

“Maybe it's related to one of his cases, you know, like a warning.”

“Then he'd be the best person to call, Miss.”

“I'll do that.” If Dalton had been home for dinner, he would be with her now.

Too numb to take action, she answered a few more questions from the officer, signed her statement, and stuffed the papers he gave her into her purse. After he walked away, she rubbed a hand over her face. What would she tell her clients? She'd have to notify her staff not to come in to work tomorrow and assign Luis to phone their customers from home. Lucky for them, he believed in backups. He should be able to access their client files from its online storage site.

Realizing their computer might need replacement, too, her knees buckled. She sagged against a wall.

In the parking lot, the firemen put away their equipment prior to departure. The smell of smoke stung her nostrils. Gathering her strength, she wandered outside. How much more could she handle? She'd need help boarding up the window until it could be replaced. Dalton would know who to hire.

When she called the station, however, the receptionist said he'd left more than an hour ago. Marla strode back to her car. Outside, street lights cast surreal shadows on the pavement. The air had grown chilly, making her realize she could have used a jacket. No matter. Soon she'd be safely back at their house.

Dialing Dalton's cell number, she figured he must have gone home. Brianna would have told him about the fire. So why hadn't he phoned her to find out what had happened? His house was only fifteen minutes from the police department.

“Hello?” he answered with a chuckle, as though she'd caught him midconversation.

Marla heard clattering noises and laughter in the background. Could he be watching television? Anger built inside her. Hadn't he cared enough to see if she was safe?

“Hi, it's me.” She kept her voice even. “Where are you?”

“Uh, I'm still at work. I should be home by ten o'clock.”

“What?” Sitting in her car with the engine idling, Marla gripped the receiver. “You're not in your office. I just called there and they said you'd left.”

The background noise increased. Someone yelled, “Give me a corned beef on rye with a side of coleslaw.”

“Say again, Marla,” Dalton said, his voice muffled. “Better yet, I'll be home soon. I'll talk to you then.” Before she could protest, he clicked off.

Where the hell are you?

Annoyed at his easy dismissal, she considered where he would go for a late-night snack that served corned beef on rye. Too-Jay's, maybe?

Switching the gear into drive, she burned rubber out of the parking lot and headed to the restaurant.

Pulling into the Fountains shopping plaza, she wound her way toward TooJay's and cruised past the vehicles parked nearby. Spotting a sedan that looked like his model, she pulled into an empty space a few cars down.

After she shut down the ignition, Marla took a couple of deep, trembling breaths. It wouldn't do to confront him with her nerves so shattered. She might lose control, and that wouldn't be a pretty scene. But she couldn't help wondering what he was doing having dinner out when he told her he'd be working late. This wasn't the first time he'd used that excuse, either. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in Jill's affairs, she might have remarked upon it sooner.

With a racing heart and icy fingers, she grasped her purse and emerged into the cool night air. He was probably just grabbing a bite to eat with a colleague. Cops got hungry, too, when they were concentrating on a case.

But she didn't like the looks of his companion when she finally spied them huddled at a booth inside the restaurant. Dalton was leaning across the table, patting the hand of an attractive blond woman with luminescent blue eyes.

“Well, fancy meeting you here.” Marla sidled up to them.

Dalton jerked back, his face flushing. “Marla. I wasn't expecting you.”

Obviously.
“We need to talk. Now.”

Dalton exchanged glances with the woman. “Uh, sure.” He slid over to give her room to sit beside him. “Marla, this is Kathy Wilkinson. She's a PI from North Florida. Kathy, I'd like you to meet my fiancée.”