Slay it with Flowers (24 page)

Flip rubbed his forehead hard enough to leave red marks, completely unaware of his actions. “I remember thorns snagging the strap of my camera bag, and when I stopped to untangle it I must have stepped in a gopher hole, because I lost my balance and fell. That’s the last thing I remember until I found all of you in the parking lot.”

“Did the police recover your camera bag?”

“If they did, they didn’t tell me.”

“What about Punch’s cell phone? Did you take it from him?”

“No.”

Then the phone should have been with the body. It was another piece of information I’d have to weasel out of Greg Morgan. “Has anyone in the bridal party used your camera recently?”

“They wouldn’t use it without asking. Besides, it’s not an easy camera to operate. Bertie is the only one who knows how.”

I gazed straight through the glass, watching his eyes. “Who do you think did it, Flip?”

He pressed his lips together and looked away.

“Does that mean you have a theory and don’t want to say?”

He kept his head turned. Obviously he suspected one of the bridal party or he’d have offered an opinion.

The door opened behind me and Matron Patty said, “Time to go, kiddo.”

“One more minute?” I asked her. “Please?”

I got the nod, so I waited until she had closed the door and then said, “Okay, Flip, real quick. Those terrible things Punch said to you—they must have really hurt to make you throw that expensive camera at him.”

I could tell by the slight tremble in his chin that I’d hit a nerve. I folded my hands and leaned toward the speaker in the glass. “What did Punch say to you, Flip?”

He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes with his thumbs, as if to erase that painful scene from his mind’s eye. “He said I was jealous.”

“Of him?”

Flip’s head came up and he glared at me. “Of
her.
His little
passion flower
!” He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in his rush to flee the cubicle.

M
atron Patty tapped me on the shoulder. I rose and followed her out, slipped on my mules, gathered my bag, and walked into the sunlight and freedom. I got into my car and sat there a for few minutes, replaying the interview in my mind.

Flip’s anger seemed to stem from two events: Punch telling him to get lost so he could meet his current lust interest; and, Punch accusing Flip of being jealous. Had Punch meant that Flip had a crush on him? Was he, in effect, calling Flip gay? The second event seemed to have been the main trigger, but had Flip been angry because it wasn’t true or because he’d been found out? Most important, had he been angry enough to kill?

Bits of conversation I’d had with other members of the party the night of the murder ran through my brain. It had only been a guess on her part, but maybe Jillian had hit the nail on the head.

Then there was the odd exchange between Ursula and Sabina, after I’d commented that a friend wouldn’t have behaved so jealously, and Claymore had retorted that a fiancée would have.

“So vould a girlfriend,”
Ursula had added, only to have Sabina tell her to shut up.

Ursula and Sabina knew more about Flip than they were letting on. I’d have to corner them at the bridal shower.

I put the key in the ignition and started up the Vette. By habit I glanced in the rearview mirror—and caught sight of a black Crown Victoria driving slowly down the street in front of the jail. By the time I turned to look over my shoulder, the car had passed the parking lot.

Quickly, I backed out of the space, pulled around to the gate and waited for it to open, then sped out of the lot and turned in the same direction the black car had gone, hoping to get a good look at the driver. But the big car had neatly vanished and there was no time to search further. The clock on the dashboard showed half past eleven, leaving me with a mere one and a half hours until the bridal shower.

I stopped at Bloomers to pick up the pedestal table and shower centerpiece—a big, beautiful arrangement in shades of peach and cream (Christine roses, wild rose vines, lily of the valley, spider mums, and baby’s breath in a deep peach ceramic oval bowl)—and from there I took them to the country club, where I found three young women, club employees, decorating the banquet room with Aunt Corrine. By the strained looks on the girls’ faces, I could tell they were not enjoying my aunt’s artistic direction. I was almost afraid to leave for fear I would return later to find my aunt gagged and bound to a pillar by white streamers.

An hour later, Nikki and I were back at the club, bearing a joint gift of a modestly priced crystal vase, which was about all our budgets could afford. Nikki looked sophisticated in a navy suit with a bright coral tank top underneath, a silver choker, and navy sling-back heels, whereas I looked, well, hastily assembled. All I’d had time for was a quick application of tinted lip gloss, taupe eye shadow, and my old standby dress, a short-sleeved, green silk, button front with matching belt, the very same dress I had worn to my college graduation. It was old, but it had good lines.

We could hear the chatter of female voices long before we reached the banquet room, and when I opened one of the double doors the noise spilled out, along with several women on a washroom run. One of them was Pryce’s cousin, who stopped to tell me one of my buttons was undone. I glanced down to find that the middle bodice button had come open. I turned my back on the room full of women to fasten up, whispering to Nikki, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t notice. Why didn’t you check the mirror before we left?”

“Because I was in a hurry.” I spotted Mrs. Osborne heading for the door and quickly pulled Nikki into the crowd inside.

“Oh. My. God,” Nikki breathed.

I clutched her arm, afraid to look. “Is it my aunt? Is she tied to a pillar?”

“No, look! The room is beautiful.”

I gazed around in delight. The banquet room had been decorated to look like a white satin-wrapped wedding gift, and Jillian was the bow on top, dressed in bright peach silk and seated at a raised table in the center of the room, with her bridesmaids flanking her like the tails of a ribbon, except for the seat on the far left that was being kept open for me. My mother was perched on a chair nearby, chatting to my aunt, who bore no trace of white streamers. Obviously, her decorating crew hadn’t mutinied. My mother spotted us and waved us over.

Nikki and I made small talk with them for the obligatory few minutes, then scooted off to the refreshment table in the hopes of finding something more potent than peach-flavored punch. We ended up with peach-flavored punch.

“Abby,” a female voice hissed in my ear. I turned to find Jillian inches away. “Any luck?” she whispered.

“I had an interesting conversation with Flip today.”

“You’re not supposed to concentrate on Flip. You’re supposed to
clear
Flip.”

I smacked myself on the forehead. “What was I thinking? I’m so glad you clarified that.”

“Don’t joke about this, Abs.”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to remember that this woman was my blood relative. “Jillian, you will be the first to know when I find the killer.”

“Shhh!” She glanced over her shoulder. “Someone might hear you.”

At that moment food was delivered to the long buffet tables, setting off a stampede that could have rivaled a herd of ravenous buffalo any day. Jillian left us to direct traffic, so Nikki and I grabbed plates and handfuls of finger foods, then stepped aside as one hundred hungry women swept down the table devouring everything in their path.

With our plates in hand we went our separate ways—Nikki to sit with my mother, and me to sit at the head table beside Sabina. Onora had planted herself on Jillian’s right, with Ursula rounding out that end.

“Hi, Abby!” Sabina said with her usual enthusiasm. “Doesn’t this room look gorgeous? Don’t you just love all the fuss of weddings? I can’t wait to get married. I’ll have the fanciest wedding imaginable. How about you? Do you have any wedding plans?”

I gave her a pained smile. “Not anymore.” It was not a subject I liked to discuss, especially with Osbornes in the vicinity. Besides, I had an agenda, and I needed to get busy on it before the shower got under way.

“I’m so sorry,” Sabina gushed. “Me and my big mouth. You were engaged to Claymore’s brother. How awful for you to have to be in the wedding with him.”

I waved away her concern. “I’m so beyond that. Speaking of awful, I talked to Flip at the jail today. He’s a mess, as you can imagine. But something he said perplexed me. Maybe you can explain.”

Her eyes brightened with interest. She put down her glass of punch and swiveled toward me. “Sure. What did he say?”

I gave her a condensed version of Flip’s story and ended with Punch’s comment about his jealousy. “What’s your take on that?” I asked.

Sabina turned back to her food, as uninterested now as she had been interested moments before. “I don’t have a clue.”

“My take is that Punch was accusing Flip of having a romantic interest in him.”

She conveniently put a large bite of food in her mouth so all she could do was shrug, but I didn’t let that deter me. “Now that I think about it, Ursula made a comment in that direction, too, remember? And you told her to shut up.”

There was a pregnant pause, then Sabina wiped her fingers on her napkin and said lightly, “I probably told her that because she was being catty. I hate it when she gets that way.”

She was trying to dodge the issue, so I decided to be direct. “Is Flip gay, Sabina?”

“Does it matter?” she said instantly. “Will it make any difference in his defense?”

“If he were in love with Punch, it could give him a motive.”

“I thought you were trying to clear him.”

“I’m trying to find the murderer—whoever it may be.”

The last remaining traces of friendliness disappeared. “Flip’s sexual orientation is a personal issue. Excuse me, please. I need to use the ladies’ room.” And with that she rose and headed for the door. So much for Sabina’s friendliness.

I was about to move to the other end of the table to talk to Ursula when Aunt Corrine rose and announced
the game.
“All right, ladies. Put on your thinking caps. Let’s see who can come up with a clever phrase using the letters in Jillian Knight Osborne.”

My aunt ran through the rules, although it wasn’t really necessary. The ladies were old hands at it. She rang a little bell, and everyone took up the pencil and paper beside their plates. Ten minutes later she rang the bell again, and one hundred pencils went down. Needless to say, my entry, “Kill no bones in a jig, Ruth,” didn’t take any prizes.

Then it was time to open the presents, an ordeal that could last for hours, depending on the swiftness of the bridesmaids. Each one of us had a duty to perform. Mine was to collect bows from the packages and fasten them to a large paper plate to make into a huge “bow bouquet” for the bride’s future use. From the number of boxes stacked on the gift table, Jillian should have had enough bows to top presents well into the next century.

I positioned myself beside Ursula, who was in charge of wrapping paper disposal. With all eyes on Jillian, I took the opportunity to tell Ursula about my jail visit, just as I had to Sabina.

“What’s your take on the jealousy comment?” I asked her.

“What did Sabina have to say about it?” Ursula replied. Obviously she had noticed us chatting.

I took a large pink bow from Jillian and stuck it onto the paper base. “Nothing.”

“That does not surprise me. In college, Flip used to confide in Sabina all the time. She vas very protective of him.” Ursula crumpled a big square of wrapping paper and dropped it into an empty grocery bag. “She is still protecting him.”

Our conversation stopped momentarily when Jillian let out a high-pitched squeal over a piece of crystal that put my vase to shame. I glanced at Nikki, and she shrugged, as if to say,
That’s life.

“Then you believe Flip is gay?” I asked Ursula.

“It vas obvious to me. He vouldn’t date girls, and he vorshipped Punch so much he was moody when Punch went on dates.”

“Who else noticed Flip’s feelings for Punch?”

“Onora. Probably Bertie, too. He always notices things the others don’t.”

“Not Jillian or Claymore?”

Ursula shook her head. “Too self-involved.”

We paused as Jillian held up my vase and announced, “This is from my cousin Abby and her roommate, Nikki. Isn’t it just so cute?” She wrinkled her nose on the word
cute,
as if that proved just how adorable it was. Then she set it right next to its bigger, more expensive cousin, kind of like putting me beside Jill.