Wave Good-Bye (26 page)

Chapter Forty-four

I THANKED MRS. JONES FOR COLLECTING MY FLOWERS and left, walking in the light rain and picking my way along the stepping stones. As part of our agreement, I helped her with the gardening for a reduction in my rent. The overgrown honeysuckle sent up a heavenly fragrance, as did the last of the season’s roses. Soon they would need trimming and mulching as preparation for their dormancy. What was it Mom had reminded me? Everything had its season.

Eve had lied to me, by omission. She’d said that Carol thought someone was stealing. Actually, she had proof that Lisa was dipping into the till. Why hadn’t Eve been honest with me? My new boss hadn’t told me that she and Lisa were at odds, even though she had mentioned Lisa’s
problems with everyone else in the shop. Curious-er and curious-er, as Alice said in Wonderland.

Balancing the flowers in one hand and fighting my rain-slick doorknob with the other, I managed to slip into my apartment as I wondered out loud, “What else is Eve hiding from me?”

Sam greeted me with an excited stream of chirping and general carrying-on. I shook off the rain and set my roses on the kitchen counter.

“You’ll have to wait, buddy. I need a towel.” After I grabbed one, the soggy card stuck in the blossoms demanded my attention. Gently extracting it from the plastic pitchfork that held it, I opened the damp envelope, withdrew the card inside, and tried to make out the message. “Sorry” and then a blur.

“Totally useless,” I muttered. “But these sure are lovely.” They were long stemmed, a deep romantic red like you see in commercials. Hank had sent me roses once before. Right after I found him with Melissa Littleton. Could this be his attempt at apologizing for naming me a person of interest? It would be his style. A grand gesture signifying nothing.

Squinting at the card and holding it under a lamp, I could barely make out the letter M.

I set the card down and checked my phone messages. There were three. One was a hang up. Alice Rose, my sister, called to say, “Grace Ann! I can’t believe what you’ve gone and done! Working for Snippets! If that doesn’t make you a traitor, I don’t know what does!”

I hit “delete.” When she calmed down, and I explained everything to her, she’d apologize. Unfortunately, Alice Rose did not walk away from quarrels if they involved me. Then she was every bit as combative as I was. Her worries about Owen were probably putting her on edge. I made a mental note to call her tomorrow and ask what she’d learned.

The final message on my machine was from Marty. “I’ve been thinking, Grace Ann. I’m sorry about the other night. I’ve never been good with commitment. On the ride back to Washington, I had plenty of time to think. Why don’t you—” But the message was cut short.

So that was it. The flowers were from Marty. I briefly considered tossing them, but why waste good roses? Instead, I freshened the ends and put them in a vase of warm water.

Sam had gotten noisier still, raising a general ruckus and demanding my attention, as if he was bothered by something. I reached in, let him hop on my index finger, and withdrew him carefully. He calmed down immediately. I wondered if I could teach him to kiss me, as my grandmother’s bird used to do with her. Tentatively, I lifted the small bird to my mouth and touched my lips to his beak. He stared at me nervously, looking past me with his good eye, and backed away.

“No kisses?”

“I’ve got plenty of them for you.”

I whirled around to see Wynn standing in my doorway. His hair dripping wet.

“What are you doing here? Get out!” I scolded him. Sam fluttered up and would have flown away had Marsh not clipped his wings. With a quick grab, I corralled my frightened bird and popped him back in his cage.

“Hey, the door wasn’t locked and I stopped by to talk. You don’t want me to stand out in the rain, do you?” He stepped inside and shook the water from his leather jacket. As usual, every hair of his fell into place, leaving him as devastatingly handsome as any male model could be.

I felt the attraction that had drawn me to Wynn in the first place, and that hormonal tractor beam made me furious.

“I want nothing to do with you. Nothing!” Without
Eve’s mitigating presence, the force of my anger at Wynn hit me hard.

His shoulders dropped and his face lost all eagerness. He wiped his face on his sleeve. “Aw, gee, Grace Ann. Did I really hurt you that badly? I mean, I understand you have a reason to be upset, but geez.”

“You kidding? You passed my work off as your own. You shuffled all your responsibilities at the school onto me, but never gave me credit. And worst of all, you were dating Eve behind my back. You humiliated me twenty ways to Sunday!” I screamed at him.

“Oh, babe, I never meant to embarrass you. I thought you knew we weren’t exclusive.” He started for my sofa, but I got between him and it. “No. Out!”

Wynn rubbed his eyes, trying to look sad. “Come on. We can talk this through.”

“No, we can’t. There’s a huge difference between not exclusive and one person being engaged to someone else.”

“I meant to tell you. Honest I did!”

“Wynn, knock it off. We both know that the word ‘honest’ is not part of your vocabulary.”

He bowed his head and, I swear, he looked exactly like an eight-year-old boy with his hand caught in a vending machine. That was a large part of his charm—and he knew it. When he raised his eyes, tears stood in them. “Okay, I deserve all that. You’re right. I knew all along I was going to hurt you. That’s what I do, Grace Ann. That’s what I am. I’m a loser. I can face up to that. I’ve told Eve I’ll go into counseling, and I will, but meanwhile, I want you to know that I love her. I really, really do. With all my heart. More than I’ve ever loved anybody in my life. I want to do right by her. And my baby. I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad!”

I didn’t say a word. Either he was the world’s best actor
in a leading role, or he was for once being totally candid with me.

“Right. And what kind of father are you going to make?”

“I know…I know.”

“Eve deserves better.”

“You are right. She does.” He sniffed. “Did you ever read that comic book? Richie Rich, the poor little rich boy? That’s Eve’s story. Her dad kept her locked away. She’s never had friends. He raised her to take over his business, and that’s her whole life, twenty-four-seven. When we met, she’d never even gone to a movie in a theatre. Or gone flying kites. Or riding bikes. He protected her, but he also kept her away from real life.”

“And now she has you,” I said. “Lucky girl.”

“Well, yeah. I’m not much, I know, but I can have a good time, can’t I? I can make a woman feel special. I can get people laughing.” To prove it, he did a silly soft-shoe imitation and ended with a goofy grin.

“Your point?”

“Look, she’s wanted this baby for a long time, and I gave it to her. I love Eve more than life itself. Help me out here. I know your ex-husband is on the police force, and I heard that he came into the shop. He still cares for you. Could you tell him she didn’t do it?”

I shook my head at Wynn. “What makes you think that Hank Parker or anyone else would listen to me?”

He sighed. “Okay, whatever. It’s just that I know she didn’t do it.”

“Did you?” I stepped closer and shoved my index finger into his chest. “Was it an accident? You smacked Lisa. She fell. You thought she’d climb out of the fish tank?”

“No!” he yelled. “I didn’t do it! Don’t you see? That’s why I’m so worried! I didn’t do it and I think maybe Eve did!”

Chapter Forty-five

FOR A MINUTE, I WAS TOO STUNNED TO SAY ANYTHING. What a jerk he was, blaming his wife! “I can’t help you or her. My ex and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”

“But he sent you those flowers, didn’t he?” Wynn pointed.

“Those are none of your business.”

“Okay, all right. Look, Grace Ann, all I’m sayin’ is that I love Eve. I really do. More than I ever thought I could love anybody.”

“That’s nice to hear you’re capable of deep emotion. Now go. Shoo. Get out of here.” I hustled him out of my apartment.

“You’ve got to forgive me, Grace!” He resisted my tugs on his arm. “Besides, it’s raining.”

“So what? I don’t got to do anything. Good night!” As
I locked the door behind him, I rested against its comforting surface. What was going on? First Eve wondered if Wynn killed Lisa, now Wynn worried that Eve had killed Lisa.

Who was the real culprit? If it wasn’t one of the two of them, who could it be? Carol, the accountant? Suzee, the second-in-command? Eve told me there’d been no forced entry, so I could assume that the killer either let himself in or Lisa had opened the salon for her killer.

That meant that she must have known her murderer, but that wasn’t unusual. Most killers know their victims.

The more I thought about what I’d learned, the more confused I became. I went into my bedroom and started to undress. As I did, I found the folded piece of paper with the word
SUSPECTS
written across the top. Pulling a pen from my bedside table, I made notes.

1. Carol Brockman—Was definitely at the shop by herself that night. Thought Lisa was stealing.
   
2. Suzee Gaylord—Was in line for a promotion. Whereabouts unknown.
   
3. The rest of the staff
   
4. Eve?—She had to be sick and tired of Wynn’s cheating. Where was she the night Lisa was killed? Any alibi?
   
5. Wynn?—If Lisa was really pregnant, could that have been Wynn’s child, too? Was he worried about his marriage to Eve being in trouble if Lisa was pregnant with his child? He drove past the shop, but claims to have stayed in his car after he left Lisa.
   
6. Contractor—Got Lisa to change his work order. Might be in trouble with Eve now. Where was he?
   
7. Other?—Could be Lisa had gotten pregnant by another man. Maybe he met her at Snippets?
   

After standing on my feet all day, I wanted a long soak in my tub. I poured a scented Epsom salt mixture that Althea had mixed up onto the porcelain surface of the clawed basin, turned on hot water, and stirred it with my hand. The fragrance of lavender mixed with eucalyptus wafted upward, bathing my face in scent. With one hand, I twisted my hair up on top of my head and used a clasp to keep it there.

I had one foot in the water when the doorbell rang.

Pulling on my wrapper, I gave the tub a longing look and padded to the door.

Marsh stood outside. In the rain.

I debated what to do, but I did need to talk to him and tell him what I’d learned, so finally I opened the door.

“It’s wet out—” He paused as water dripped from his hair. “Was I interrupting?”

“I had one foot in a hot bath.”

“Go. Take it. Have you had any dinner?”

“No.”

“I owe you a meal. How about if I go get you dinner from Angelini’s? I promise no arguments as an appetizer. I’ll pick up a bottle of wine, too. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

“I have.” I moved to the kitchen. “Here’s the front door key. You do
not
have permission to copy it.”

“Roger that. I’ll be right back. Lock up behind me.”

I went back to my bath, which was, I’ll admit, heavenly. The soak did me a lot of good. By the time the water turned cold, I heard the key turning in the lock. I climbed out, dried off, and put on a pair of soft stretchy pants and a tee. I debated about whether to grab a bra, but since this was my house and my rules, I decided I had the right to go for comfort. As a compromise, I put on an exercise bra. That made me decent but wasn’t as restrictive.

Marsh put two place settings on my coffee table. He’d located the wineglasses and was busily rummaging around in a drawer. “Bottle opener?”

I opened my junk drawer and withdrew the necessary item. Then, deciding that he did, indeed, owe me a meal, I sat down to watch. As far as I was concerned, he could darn well prep the food for both of us. Which he did even though he clearly was soaking wet.

Unlike Wynn, Marsh didn’t whine about it.

At last, he sat down, too, next to me. “Before we eat, I want to apologize. I see you got my roses.”

“You?” I took a bite of the salad. Surprisingly good. Marsh had tossed the leaves in the dressing that he whipped up with a bit of mustard and olive oil from my pantry.