Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 34

As if Morgan knew. The only uniform he'd ever worn had been for Little League.

"What's the favor?"

"Get me the tox screen results on the Willis case."

"I can't risk it, Abby. I wish I could, but no. Now, if there's anything outside this office I can help you with, feel free to ask."

I thanked him for the offer and hung up. Wonderful. Now I'd have to get up extra early to visit the coroner's office.

Lottie came into the workroom and pulled up a stool. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Trying not to think about Marco."

She patted my knee. "You'll get through it. My Herman went to Vietnam right after we got married. He was gone for a year, and I survived. There are a whole lot of families out there who have a loved one overseas. All you can do is get up in the morning, put one foot in front of the other, and keep going."

In my case, I had only one foot to put down.

"Here's something that'll make you smile," she said. "We sold the new bat mobile. Seems that college student who bought the first one started a trend. Another girl in her dorm bought the second one, and she brought orders for five more."

"Holy cow! Mom will be thrilled."

"You want to give her the good news? She called while Marco was here."

I hesitated. If I called Mom now, she'd inundate me with questions about Marco, and I was still hurting too much to deal with that.

Lottie patted my knee again. "You know what? You've got enough on your mind. I'll make that call as soon as school is out. Do you want to take the first lunch shift?"

"Sure." Since I had no appet.i.te, I'd use the time to go to the clerk's office.

After Lottie left, I flipped idly through Marco's notebook. How was I ever going to accomplish everything on his list? When was I going to do it? I glanced at my watch and decided I'd better get started. One foot in front of the-well, whatever.

Those crutches were going to be my Waterloo. Given all the cracks in the sidewalk, the uneven lawn, the wide steps, and the bouquet of callas sticking out of my shoulder bag, it was a miracle I survived the trip to the courthouse. Then I had to go through the security line and ride the ancient elevator to the bas.e.m.e.nt, my heart in my throat at its every groan and shudder. At least the crutches made me a sympathetic figure, so the clerk was more than willing to listen to my reasons for needing to see the agreement, especially after I gave her the bouquet.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" Janine the friendly clerk said, admiring the flowers. "But I'm afraid I can't give you a copy of the agreement."

Rats. My first solo a.s.signment, and I'd blown it.

"I remember this lawsuit," Janine said. "One of the women who worked here then was a friend of Dana Trumble's, and she was convinced that Dana's husband had done her in. Said he was an abusive jerk. What a shame he ended up making a pile of money from her death." The clerk sighed sadly. Then she gave me a determined look. "You said one of the things you need is the date the agreement was recorded? Wait here."

She was back in a few minutes and handed me a piece of paper on which she had made a note. With a shrug, she said, "It's the best I can do. Maybe it'll help a little."

I paused outside the office to glance at the paper. On it Janine had written: Settlement recorded three years ago on April 11th.

Marco had said that Trumble paid off his debt on April 21, ten days later-just the amount of time it took for a big check to clear the bank. Added to his hatred of Lori, the lies he'd told us, and his presence at the casino the night Lori disappeared, we had a convincing case for him being Lori's killer.

Yet what nagged at me was the timeline. If Jerry had killed his wife five years ago, what could Lori have found on him recently that would have gotten her murdered? I just couldn't make it work. The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Jerry was our man.

Rafe drove me to my two o'clock foot doctor's appointment, where the doctor examined my ankle and scolded me for not following his orders.

"So you got busted, huh?" Rafe asked on the way back to Bloomers.

"Ten more days on crutches." Yet another disappointment.

"Hey, you know the dinner at the country club Friday night? Your mom invited my mom and me to it, so I was wondering if anyone would mind if I brought a date."

I smiled at him. "You met someone?"

"Your mom's student teacher, Chelsea. I didn't know you brought her down to meet me the other night. I got to talking to her later and we just seemed to hit it off."

"It wasn't like I didn't try to introduce you, Rafe. So you really like her, huh?"

He nodded shyly. "It was like an instant attraction. So is it okay to bring her?"

"More than okay." In fact, it was perfect. Rafe and Chelsea would take some of the heat off me.

"Awesome." He pulled up in front of Bloomers and came around to help me out. "What time do you want me to pick you up? Five o'clock?"

"That'll work. I'll see you then."

I moved through the day like a zombie, waiting for the phone to ring and, when it did, praying that it'd be Marco on the other end. But it didn't happen, and with each call I grew more dispirited. What if he was sent overseas without being able to contact me? What if I never heard from him again? I knew such fears were unfounded, but they were, after all, my fears.

I saw Lottie's and Grace's concerned glances but pretended I didn't. I knew I was sinking into a black hole of depression, but there didn't seem to be a way to stop it.

Until I got a call from Rafe.

"Abby," he whispered frantically, "the cops are here to arrest Vlad."

Oh, no. My heart began to pound. "Is Vlad there?"

"No, but he's due in anytime now. It's almost five o'clock. Should I call and warn him?"

Should he? I couldn't think. My brain felt as though it was moving through mud. "Better not. Marco wouldn't want you to interfere with police business."

"You really think Marco would let Vlad go to jail without a fight?"

Of course he wouldn't. What was wrong with me? Get a grip, Abby! What would Marco do?

I needed to pace, but I was stuck in the wheelchair. "Can you get Vlad's number from Marco's computer without the cops knowing?"

"I'll find a way."

"Okay, call me back as soon as you have it, and I'll phone Vlad. I don't want you getting into trouble. Is Reilly there?"

"Yeah, he's here."

"Put him on."

A moment later, Reilly said, "What is it, Abby?"

"You're seriously going to arrest Vlad?"

"Yes, we're going to arrest him."

"Based on what? New rumors?"

"Based on the evidence we found in his apartment."

Oh, c.r.a.p. It was more serious than I thought. "What kind of evidence?"

"You know I can't answer that. All I'll say is that it was enough to convince a judge to issue an arrest warrant."

"Come on, Reilly. At least tell me what prompted the search, or is that a big dark cop secret?"

He sighed impatiently, then said in a hushed voice, "We got a tip that items belonging to the deceased were in the apartment."

"A tip from whom?"

"Don't do this to me, Abby."

"Can't you tell me a little more? Like what kind of items? Her shoes or-"

"Abby, stop it."

Immediately, I thought of the missing necklace and earrings. "Was it her jewelry-a big yellow multipetaled flower and-"

I heard a muttered curse. Then he hung up on me. It had to be the jewelry.

I replaced the receiver, my mind spinning wildly. How would Lori's jewelry have gotten to Vlad's apartment unless he'd put it there? More dandelions for his collection, perhaps?

"Abby, love, the shop is all set for morning," Grace said, peering through the curtain. "Is there anything we can do for you? Shall we wait here until your ride comes?"

I was so preoccupied, it took a moment for her words to sink in. "Oh, no, thank you, Grace. I'll see you both in the morning."

Lottie peered through, too. Both of them stood there gazing at me as though I was about to expire. My cell phone rang, so I said, "I need to take this call. See you tomorrow, okay?"

I checked the screen, hoping it was Marco. But it was Rafe.

"I've got the number," he said quietly. "Vlad hasn't arrived yet, so maybe you can catch him before he shows up, because the cops are still here waiting for him."

I grabbed a pen and took down the number. "Thanks, Rafe. I'll call you back as soon as I reach him."

But then I sat there with the phone in my hand, wondering if I was making a huge mistake. If Vlad was indeed the killer, wouldn't I want to have him arrested?

A memory surfaced: Marco and me in front of Bloomers, his hands on my shoulders as he gazed into my eyes. I need to help Vlad, Abby. If I don't get involved, the police investigation will stall right on his head. Then the media will catch the fever, and we'll have a three-ring circus on our hands. Vlad wouldn't stand a chance for any real justice. That's not how I want to leave things. I won't leave things that way, and I need you to be on my side on this, Sunshine.

When it came to Marco, I was always on his side. And if there was one thing I believed in with my whole heart, it was justice. Whether I thought Vlad was guilty or not, I had to make sure he got a fair shake.

I took a deep breath and punched in Vlad's number, counting the rings as I wheeled through the curtain and went to the front window to look out. Down the street, three patrol cars with lights flashing were parked in front of Marco's bar, already drawing a crowd.

The call went to voice mail, so I left a message. "Vlad, the cops are at the bar to arrest you. I don't know if you've been home yet, but they searched your apartment and found something belonging to Lori. I thought you should know."

I hung up and called Marco, but that, too, went to voice mail. Frustrated, I left him a message, then phoned Dave Hammond at his law office. Luckily, he was still there, so I told him what was going on.

"I hope I didn't get myself in trouble, Dave, but I thought it was only right to alert Vlad."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you called me. This has certainly taken me by surprise. The prosecutor should have given me a heads-up. I'll phone Darnell right now and ask him to explain. If you talk to Vlad, have him contact me at once."

"I'll do that. Thanks, Dave." I hung up and phoned Rafe, watching the activity down the street from the bay window.

"Abby, I can barely hear you," Rafe said. "I hope you don't need a ride home anytime soon. It's insane here. We're swarming with news reporters, protesters, cops, customers . . . Now it looks like one of the detectives is getting set up for a press conference outside the bar. Is that legal? What should I do?"

"Channel Marco, Rafe. Take charge of the bar. And don't give any interviews. I'm coming down."

I hung up and scrolled through my address book. Time to call in that favor Claymore had promised.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

An angry redhead on crutches was a force to be reckoned with. I made my way through the crowd on the sidewalk, elbowing people when I had to, until I was close enough to see who was giving the press conference and find out what was being said.

It was portly Al Corbison, his chest puffed up with importance, announcing to the row of microphones in his face that, due to diligence, good detecting, and a complete examination of the evidence, they had solved the murder and were ready to make an arrest.

I had worked my way to the front of the crowd, and at his last statement I called, "What kind of good detecting ignores three prime suspects to pursue a mythical character?"

A murmur went through the people standing around me. The reporters turned their microphones in my direction.

"Excuse me?" Corbison said, looking for the speaker. His eyes locked on me and his gaze narrowed to an icy slit. "We pursued every possible lead, Ms. Knight. You don't know beans about this case."

"Obviously you don't either," I said, generating more murmurs, "or you would have uncovered a physician who vowed to get even with the victim by doing some bloodletting."

"You're wrong!" Corbison said, red-faced, as the mics swung back to him and the murmurs grew louder. "We followed many leads and interviewed numerous persons of-"

"Did you interview the person who believes the victim was responsible for his wife's death?" I called, as the mics were aimed at me. "A man who has the skills and equipment to drain a person's blood? What about the man who felt he was wronged by the victim after she falsely accused him of selling drugs and kicked him out of a nursing program? Did you follow that lead, Detective?"

"Get her out of here!" Corbison bellowed, as people began to yell things, such as "Is that true?" "What kind of police work is that?" "Is that justice?" and even "Spare the vampire."

Two cops moved in front of me, blocking my view of Corbison and the reporters. But my speech had done the trick. I saw the news reporters hustle across the street to their vans, cameramen in tow, to tape reports to send back to their stations, while newspaper reporters were trying to dodge the cops to ask me more questions. I'd stirred the pot. Hopefully, the detectives would have to take another look at their persons of interest now.

Corbison stepped between the officers and shook his fist at me. "You're going to be sorry you did this. If it wasn't for your dad being a cop, I'd arrest you for interfering with a criminal investigation."

"If it wasn't for my dad being an honest man," I said, "I wouldn't be here demanding justice."