Slay it with Flowers (19 page)

I had gone back three weeks when the phone rang. Since Todd was nowhere in sight I grabbed the handset and blurted, “New Chapel Inn and Suites. Will you hold, please?” I pushed the Hold button, went to the doorway, and called for Todd, then went back to the computer to continue my search.

But Todd didn’t return, and the Hold button kept flashing. Knowing how irritating it is to be left waiting, I punched it again, picked up the handset, and said, “Someone will be right with you.”

“Who is this?” a male voice on the other end snarled.

Like I would give up my name to an anonymous caller who could potentially be an ax murderer. “Who is
this
?” I countered.

“Sergeant Reilly of the New Chapel Police Department.”

Oops.

M
y finger went instinctively to the Hold button—purely as a matter of self-preservation. I was fairly certain Reilly was working on the murder investigation, and I knew he wouldn’t take it well if he found out I was poking around in his case. But then I thought,
What the heck, might as well see what I can learn from him.

“Can I help you?” I asked sweetly.

“Do I know you?” Reilly barked. “You sound familiar.”

Scratch that plan. “I have one of those familiar voices. Please hold for the night clerk.” I punched the button and ran to get Todd.

“Here’s another five,” I told him, slapping a bill in his hand as we jogged toward the front desk. “Forget I was ever here.”

“Sweet.”

Since I had exhausted my list of questions anyway, I decided it would be easier on Todd’s conscience if I actually did leave, so I slipped out the revolving door and headed for the Vette. It had been an expensive trip, but I had uncovered a valuable bit of information: Onora had lied about being in her hotel room all evening. I wasn’t sure what to do with the information about the Chinese woman, so I tucked that away for another day.

Setting up a time frame in my mind, I decided it would have been possible for Onora to leave the bridal salon, drive out to the Dunes National Park, slug Punch with the camera, and return by nine. But that begged the questions of what had prompted her costume change and why she had gone to the dunes. Had Punch called her first, as someone else had suggested? Or had she gone back to the hotel parking lot, spotted him driving away, and decided to follow him?

I should have asked Todd what he knew about Punch.

I glanced through the hotel’s big picture window. Todd was on the stool reading again, which meant his conversation with Reilly was over, leaving it safe for me to go in. A quick peek in my wallet showed another five and three ones, enough for a little more information.

“Hello again,” I said cheerily, striding toward the counter.

“Hey,” he said tonelessly and turned the page.

“I have one more question for you, Todd. Do you remember seeing a hulking brute of a guy wearing a gold earring that looked like a punching bag?”

He looked up at me in surprise. “You mean Punch? Yeah. He was cool. He taught me some boxing moves.” Todd got into a sparring stance and threw a few jabs my direction before sobering again. “I can’t believe someone offed him.”

“Did you see Punch Wednesday evening, the night he was—offed?” It was a stupid term—would saving someone be
onning
them?—but I figured he’d relate better if I used his lingo.

Todd scratched his lip fuzz again, contemplating my question. “Punch came in a little after I started my shift at six o’clock. We talked about boxing for a while, then he said he had to get ready because he had a big night ahead. He shook my hand and told me to wish him luck.”

“Wish him luck? Did he say about what?”

“He just said, ‘Wish me luck, dude.’ ”

“You didn’t see him after that?”

“Nope.”

I dug a business card out of my purse and handed it to him. “Here’s my name and phone number. If you remember anything else about that evening, something Punch might have said, anything out of the usual, give me a call.”

“Cool.”

Headlights shone through the window. I turned for a look and saw a squad car pull up to the front. “That policeman on the phone, Todd, did he say he was coming over to talk to you about the murder?”

“Yeah. That’s probably him now.”

I handed Todd my last five and said in a rush, “Hide that business card. I’m going to leave through the back.”

“And I’m supposed to forget you were here again, right?”

“You got it.” I dashed through the doorway just as the revolving door started to spit out blue shirts.

 

The effects of the antihistamine wore off ten minutes after I’d crawled into bed, ready to settle into a much needed slumber. Simon was stretched out beside me, the air conditioner wasn’t groaning as much as it usually did, and the itchy bites were starting to dry up, leaving me ripe for dreamland. Then my eyes popped wide-open and I lay there staring at a ceiling patterned by shadows from the streetlights shining through the slits in my miniblinds.

I started thinking about the murder, sorting through the sketchy details I’d gleaned from Todd the night clerk. Clearly, Punch had been about to do something he thought was daring and felt he needed some luck. I had a hard time believing it involved picking up a date, since he’d apparently never had a problem attracting women.

Then what had he been up to? A job interview? Not likely late in the evening. A boxing match? He would have bragged about it to Todd. Other than weddings, for what other occasions were people wished good luck? Gambling? A big poker game? Kind of odd to ask a hotel clerk for luck with that.

Unable to put my finger on that answer, I turned my attention to the person who was fast becoming my prime suspect: Onora. Where had she gone that she couldn’t tell us, especially in that slinky red outfit?

Outside my window, someone blew their car horn—once, twice, three times—jarring me further awake and sending Simon scurrying under the bed. When the noise continued, I got out of bed and peered through the blinds to see what idiot was causing the ruckus.

The idiot was me. Or rather, my car, whose lights were flashing and horn was blaring. Someone had set off my alarm, and the first suspect that popped into my head was the wrinkled old man. I scanned the parking lot from my window, but didn’t see anyone in the area, so I threw on a sweater, slipped into my flip-flops, grabbed my car keys from the kitchen counter, and raced down the stairs and out the door to the parking lot before the entire apartment complex turned out to boo at me. The bad thing about having an alarm system installed on a car that wasn’t designed for it is that it doesn’t take much to set it off.

I aimed the keyless remote at the car and everything shut off, leaving the lot eerily silent. I glanced up at the apartment building windows and saw faces scowling down at me. “Sorry,” I mouthed and gave a friendly wave. Blinds dropped back into place, and suddenly I was alone.

I kept one eye on the surrounding area as I inspected the car, just in case someone should be lurking, but the Vette didn’t appear to have been bothered. Casting repeated glances over both shoulders, I headed back to the building and met Mrs. Sample at the door. Luckily, Peewee was on a leash. I didn’t need more bites on my ankles.

“Did someone try to break into your car?” she asked in her rapid-fire way. “Someone broke into our car once and took our radio—a silly little radio not worth the bother—and caused all kinds of damage, and that car has never been the same. I hope they didn’t steal anything.”

I knew she had to stop to draw a breath eventually and, as soon as she did, I seized my opportunity. “Nothing,” I said forcefully enough to get her attention, “was taken. You can go back to bed. Thanks for checking, though.”

“Peewee had to do his duty anyway—you know how dogs are—well, I guess you don’t after all, what with a cat and all—”

“Say hi to your husband for me,” I said and dashed up the stairs. I hurried to the end of the hall and stopped abruptly. My apartment door was open. Had I left it that way?

No reason to panic. There was a logical explanation. Sure, I had it. Nikki had come home while I was downstairs and . . .
No good. You would have met her on the stairs or seen her in the parking lot.

How about this? Simon had somehow managed to turn the doorknob. . . .
Now you’re really reaching. How about you just ran out and forgot to shut it?

Of course. I simply forgot to shut it when I ran downstairs. And that’s when the ax murderer slipped in.

I considered asking Mrs. Sample if she’d noticed my door standing open when she came out of her unit across the hall, but the thought of getting her going on that thread was deterrent enough. Instead, I decided to cautiously check it out myself.

I took one step inside and stopped, listening, ready to flee at the slightest sound, but all I heard was the wheezing of the window air conditioner. Or was that Simon snoring? Hearing nothing else, I peered around the corner into the kitchen. Nothing out of place there. Quietly, I slipped my phone off the charger on the kitchen counter, turned it on, and punched in 911. Holding my thumb over the Send button, I crept into the living room for a look around.

Nothing out of place there either. I glanced up the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom and could see that the fire escape window at the end of the hall was tightly shut. Feeling braver, I tiptoed to the bathroom and slowly pushed the door wide open. The tub/shower was to my right, partially hidden behind the door, and the vinyl shower curtain, a dark purple, pink, and blue swirl of color, was pulled closed.

I knew I’d never rest until I looked in the shower, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually open the curtain. I’d seen the movie
Psycho
too many times. I came up with another plan instead. I backed out of the room and said in a deep, booming voice, “Okay, men, check the bathroom.” Then I stamped my feet on the floor as if there were several of me running up the hall.

Nothing. Not one sound. Even the air conditioner had shut off. Simon must have gone back into hiding.

I stepped into the bathroom, drew a steadying breath, and carefully wrapped my fingers around the edge of the curtain. But before I could yank it open I heard a
thud
somewhere in the apartment—not the guilty thud a cat makes jumping off a table after licking butter from the dish; it was a human thud. Cat owners know the difference.

Having nowhere else to hide, I stepped into the tub, hoping if someone was lurking there, he wouldn’t mind sharing space with me. Fortunately, I was the sole occupant.

My heart slammed against my ribs as quiet footsteps moved across the carpet. I looked around for a weapon, but other than a bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo and a bar of soap, all I had was my cell phone. I dared not make a call, afraid whoever was out there would hear me. I eased the phone shut and held it in my sweaty fist, ready to ram it into the trespasser’s nose.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, then began to move rapidly in the other direction. Moments later I heard three beeps and a whispered voice in the kitchen, “Hello, police?”

It was Nikki.

I jumped out of the tub shouting for her to stop, got tangled in the curtain, and pulled the whole thing, rod and all, down on top of me. In the kitchen, Nikki began screaming into the phone, “My roommate is being murdered!”

“Nikki!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Don’t call the police! Hang up!”

Suddenly she was in the doorway, her face as white as her uniform, a huge butcher knife raised above her head, looking like a female version of Norman Bates. Thinking she was about to slice into the curtain—and ultimately me—I screamed, which caused her to scream again, until she realized that it was just me and her and the shower curtain, and then she stopped. We looked so ridiculous that I started to laugh, and so did Nikki, until we were rolling on the floor in the hallway, gasping for breath.

“I thought,” she said between gasps, “you were being attacked!”

“By a shower curtain!” I cried, and held my ribs as I howled. “You looked like Norman Bates on a bad-hair day.”

“
Psycho!
” we both cried together, and flopped back onto the rug, wiping our eyes and laughing until our lungs ached. Simon peered cautiously from Nikki’s room, then, deciding we were simply lunatics, he disappeared again.

“Abby? Nikki?” It was Mrs. Sample’s voice, followed by loud banging. “Are you girls all right?”

We stopped laughing long enough to consider what we were going to tell her, and that started us laughing again. Five minutes later there was more loud knocking followed by a key in the lock, and then the door banged against the wall as if something heavy had crashed against it.

That put an end to our hilarity. We stared at each other for a moment, then Nikki sprang up and ran out of the bathroom clutching the knife as I untangled myself from the curtain and dashed out after her. I rounded the hallway into the living room and collided with a big solid object that turned out to be a man in a police uniform.