Slay it with Flowers (9 page)

“I found the murder weapon,” he called.

We gathered around as he parted the thin reedy grass for a better look. The light glimmered off a rectangular, silvery object, one corner coated in blood, pieces of scalp, and short strands of two-toned hair.

“Is it a gun?” Ursula asked.

Bertie crouched down for a better look. “It’s Flip’s camera. I’d know that fancy strap anywhere.”

“Flip is strong enough to kill Punch vith his camera?” Ursula asked. “I don’t think so.”

“Is the camera strong enough?” I asked.

“It’s a professional photographer’s camera,” Bertie explained and reached toward it.

“Don’t touch it,” I warned him, causing him to jerk his hand back. “The police will want to check it for fingerprints.”

Sabina began to sob, and Jillian dug for her phone.

“Let’s move away from here so we don’t disturb things more than we already have,” I suggested. “We’ll go back the way we came, single file, and wait for the police in the clearing back there.”

“What about Flip?” Bertie asked. “Shouldn’t we keep looking for him?”

“Maybe he’s dead, too,” Ursula said, which made Sabina cry harder.

Jillian shut her phone with a snap. “Onora still isn’t answering. She must have taken a sleeping pill.”

“Maybe she’s not there,” I said.

“Of course she’s there,” Jillian replied, but she didn’t sound totally convinced. “Where else would she be?”

We gathered about ten yards down from the blind. Claymore paced, jingling coins in his pocket. Bertie kept watch, in case the killer was still in the area. Sabina wept, and the rest of us whispered together, still trying to absorb the shock of finding Punch’s body. In the distance sirens wailed.

“I killed him,” Claymore said in a hoarse voice, coming to a stop beside Jillian.

As we all turned to stare at him, Jillian said, “Clay, don’t be silly. You wouldn’t harm a fly.” She shifted several inches away, just to play it safe.

“Claymore,” I said, “do
not
say that to the police unless you actually did kill him. They tend to take statements like that seriously.”

“Well, I’m the one who showed him the blind.”

“Come on, Clay,” Bertie said. “Go easy on yourself, boyo. You didn’t know someone wanted Punch dead.”

“Are you serious?” Jillian asked. “I know a lot of people who wanted Punch—”

I stuck my hand over her mouth. “Now is not the time to be snide, Jill.”

“I suppose it could have been accidental,” Sabina said, wiping her eyes.

Jillian peeled my fingers off her mouth. “I’ll bet it was Punch’s new girlfriend. She probably conked him when he got rough with her.”

“We don’t know that he had a girlfriend,” Sabina reminded her.

“Then where did he go every night?” Jillian retorted.

“And why did he strut around, acting like he had this big secret?”

No one had a better answer.

“The problem with Jill’s theory,” I said, “is that Punch was hit on the back of the head,” I patted my skull to demonstrate, “and fell face forward, which indicates to me that someone hit him from behind when he wasn’t expecting it. If he and this mystery woman were engaged in sex play, rough or not, how did she get behind him to hit him with that much force?”

“Are you saying she couldn’t have been behind him?” Jillian argued, unsheathing her claws.

“Just that it’s not likely. But for argument’s sake, let’s say this mystery woman
was
behind Punch and slugged him with Flip’s camera. How did she get Flip’s camera?”

Jillian glowered at me. She hated having her theories disputed. “Maybe Punch brought his mystery girlfriend out here, and Flip was already here taking his silly bird photos —”

“They’re not silly,” Sabina protested. “Stop saying that.”

“Maybe Flip vas upset when they interrupted him, and he left vithout his camera,” Ursula finished for Jill.

Bertie scoffed at that idea. “First of all, Flip wouldn’t leave an expensive camera behind, and second, Punch couldn’t take photos in the dark.”

“So you’re saying it vas Flip?” Ursula asked Bertie, seemingly intrigued by his opinion.

“He shouldn’t be ruled out.”

“Let’s think about this carefully,” I said. “Jillian called me at eight thirty, and it was nearly dark then. She told me Punch had found Flip’s car but not Flip. Right, Jill?”

“I guess.” She was pouting.

“If Punch had come across Flip at the blind sometime after eight thirty, it would have been dark, and without the right equipment, I doubt anyone would have been doing any photographing at that point. And like Bertie said, Flip wouldn’t walk away from a good camera just because he was interrupted.”

“Perhaps Flip was already gone when Punch was murdered,” Claymore offered, still looking a little green.

“Then why was his camera still here?” Bertie asked.

“Maybe Punch borrowed it earlier to take photos of his girlfriend,” Jillian offered, her arms folded defensively, as if daring me to contradict her again.

“In that case, Punch would have found Flip here,” I said.

“Wouldn’t he have called you back to tell you? He knew everyone was worried.”

“Perhaps he was attacked before he could make the call,” Claymore said.

“We need to find Flip,” Jillian said. “He’ll know if there’s a mystery woman.”

“Maybe we should get the film out of the camera,” Bertie said, rising to his feet. “It might show us who was here.”

“Not a good idea,” I told him. “The police dislike evidence tampering.”

“Should I call Pryce?” Claymore asked, rubbing his temples. “In case we need a lawyer?”

“Why would we need a lawyer?” Sabina asked instantly.

Bertie paced in the sand behind us. “I suppose we’ll be considered suspects.”

“Why?” Sabina asked, screwing up her face in preparation for another sobbing session. “It was Flip’s camera.”

“Any of us could have borrowed it,” Bertie reminded her. “You were in our hotel room yesterday, too.”

“But we were all together this evening,” Sabina protested.

“Not true,” I said. “All of the women were together.”

“And Claymore,” Jillian added, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“By the way,” I said, “
did
any of you borrow the camera?”

They looked around at each other and each one said no. It would be interesting to see what was on the film, not to mention whose prints were on the case.

“Maybe Onora killed Punch,” Ursula said to me, with the cock of an eyebrow, as if she were enjoying the prospect. “She did leave to go back to her room alone.”

“Do you think she’s capable of it?”

Jillian sniffed, as if the whole idea were ridiculous. “Onora can barely lift a camera, let alone heave it at someone hard enough to kill him.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” Sabina said. “At school, when she heard that I went out with Punch, she picked up my desk chair and threw it across the dorm room.”

“Sounds like she has a temper,” I said, and Sabina nodded emphatically.

“This is just wonderful,” Jillian snapped. “My wedding party is turning on each other. Isn’t it like Punch to pull something like this?”

Claymore turned his head to stare at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I doubt he purposely got himself murdered, Jill,” I said quietly.

“At least this solves the best-man situation,” she said morosely.

Across from me, Sabina started to weep again, and Bertie put an arm around her. The rest of us stared at Jillian in disbelief.

“What?” my clueless cousin asked again.

“I’m sure of one thing,” Claymore said. “Flip isn’t a murderer.”

“Then where is he?” Bertie asked.

There was a rustling behind us, and I looked around, hoping to see the missing Flip. Instead I found myself staring straight into the beams of powerful flashlights.

“Abby Knight?” one of the voices behind the light called out.

I shaded my eyes with my hand. “That’s me.”

Three cops came forward. I recognized one of them immediately—Officer Sean Reilly. He was a good-looking man in his early forties, well trained, physically fit, and as far as I could tell, honest. He and Marco had worked together to aid in my rescue less than a week earlier.

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

“I was actually having a quiet evening—until now.” He shined his light on the others. “Is anyone here injured?”

“No,” I answered, since the group was staring at the cops like a herd of deer caught in the headlights. “Not unless you consider recently dead an injury.” I pointed toward the blind. “The body is up there, and so is the murder weapon.”

“You found the murder weapon?”

“Bertie did, actually,” I said, and Bertie lifted his hand to identify himself. “He found it in the reeds about one yard west of the body. None of us touched it, by the way.”

“A gun?”

“A camera.”

Reilly turned to the two cops. “Let’s secure this area and call the coroner.” As they moved into action, he pulled a small notebook and stubby pencil out of his chest pocket. “I need some preliminary information. Was the victim dead when you got here?”

When no one spoke up, I decided I’d better say something or Reilly was going to get testy. “Yes,” I said, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Was anyone with him?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone leave the vicinity?”

“No.”

“Was the victim a friend of yours?”

“Of theirs,” I said, hitching a thumb toward the gang of mutes.

“And you’re here because you like to meddle?”

My turn to get testy. “I do not meddle; that is a vicious rumor undoubtedly started by Marco. I’m only here because my cousin Jillian—raise your hand, Jill—asked me to come help her look for her groomsman, who’s been missing for two days, by the way.”

“So the victim has been missing for two days,” he said, writing.

“No, that’s a different groomsman.”

He looked at me from under skeptical eyebrows. “You’ve got a missing groomsman and a
dead
groomsman?” He shook his head as he jotted the information in his notebook. “Sounds like a fun wedding.”

“Tell me about it,” Jillian said.

“Jillian is the bride,” I explained, after he gave her a glance. “Flip is the one who’s missing.”

Reilly paused, his pencil in the air. “Flip?”

“You know, I had that same reaction.” I smiled, but Reilly’s icy look killed it. “As it turns out,” I continued with a straight face, “Flip is his nickname. His real name is Phillip Whitcomb.”

“Whitcomb with a
b,
” Jillian added. “Everyone forgets the
b
because it’s silent.”

“Just like Flip,” Sabina said with a sniffle.

“And the victim’s name?” Reilly asked, ignoring the dramatics.

“Punch,” I replied. “Again, a nickname. Real name Paulin Chumley—so you can understand the need for a nickname. I don’t know what his parents were thinking. Punch came out here looking for Flip and spotted Flip’s car in the parking lot. Then he called Claymore.” I hitched my thumb in his direction. “He’s the groom, and that’s his real name. And then Jillian called me, and here I am.”

Reilly gave me a look that said,
Another calamity, eh, Jane?
“Am I to understand, then, that the victim’s car is in the parking lot?”

“It was there when we arrived. We haven’t checked lately.”

“What about the missing person’s car?”

“It was there, too.”

“Anyone have a phone number for the victim’s parents?”

“I can get it for you,” Claymore said.

Reilly glanced over his notes, then closed the notebook. “That’s enough for now. I’m getting a headache. Everyone have a seat.” He started toward the blind and I followed.

“That means you, too,” he called over his shoulder.

Of course it did. I U-turned and went back to the group.

Several more cops joined the party, along with two park rangers, a coroner, and a two-person crime scene investigative team. After receiving orders from Reilly, the cops began doing interviews, taking each one of us some distance away so we couldn’t hear what anyone else was saying, although I did catch the sounds of Sabina’s noisy sobs.

Reilly conducted my interview, and behind him I could see the bright flash of cameras as the investigators did their work. I wasn’t much help with personal information about Punch, but I did give him good time references. Reilly seemed most interested in what I knew about the three absentees, especially Flip, since his camera appeared to be the instrument of death. Other than providing information about Pryce, I wasn’t much help in that area. Although I would have loved nothing more than to see my ex-fiancé put under a hot lamp and grilled like a leg of mutton, I did concede that he was a busy lawyer, and it was very likely that his excuse for not joining us was legitimate.

In truth, I told Reilly, Pryce wasn’t really a part of their inner circle, and had only been included in the wedding party because he and Claymore shared the same dysfunctional but highly elite gene pool. Reilly didn’t think that last line was funny, which was fine because I hadn’t meant it to be.

He tapped the end of his pencil on his notepad as he glanced through his scribbles. “Who among those here would you say the victim was closest to?”

I paused to look back at the group. Certainly not Jillian, or Sabina. Ursula didn’t seem particularly close to any of them. Bertie hadn’t exactly sung Punch’s praises. Claymore had apparently only asked him out of duty, and Pryce didn’t know him that well, since he’d graduated two years before. That left Onora and Flip, I told Reilly. I didn’t dish the dirt about Onora because what I knew about her being angry with Punch for dumping her was pure hearsay. But I did start to wonder what her alibi would be.