Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 35

Photographers were clicking away as I hop-stepped through the crowd. Several people congratulated me, but a few booed as I headed to the corner, where Claymore waited in his BMW. He jumped out to help me into his car, then got back in and pulled away.

"Thanks, Clay. I appreciate this. You wouldn't believe what's going on back there."

"Yes, I would. You've already made the news." He turned up the volume on the car radio, where a reporter was recapping the exchange I'd just had with Corbison. The reporter ended with, "We are told we'll have a statement from Chief Prosecutor Melvin Darnell within the hour."

Claymore turned the volume down. "An earlier report said they were ready to make an arrest because of something found in the suspect's apartment. I'm a.s.suming the suspect is Vlad, so do you think it's possible Vlad did murder the woman?"

How I wished I could say positively that he didn't. "Does Vlad strike you as a killer?"

"If you'd asked me four days ago, I might have said yes, but not after meeting him, or after what he did for my wife. I know Jillian would say he's innocent. She's convinced Vlad is her guardian angel. She swears he was protecting her in the hospital all night."

"She told me that, too, but she must have been dreaming. Why would Vlad be in her hospital room? Is she doing better, by the way?"

"When I left, she was lying on the sofa at home, reading fashion magazines. She'll be on antibiotics for another week, but otherwise, she's back to normal. Oh, and I'll need to pick up her accoutrements. Let me know when it's convenient to come by the shop for them."

"Do you need them tonight? Because I really don't want to go back into that crowd."

"Tomorrow should be fine. Jillian buys double of everything . . . well, except for her special pillow, but I'm sure she can get along without it for one night."

"In that case, do you want to pick me up at seven o'clock tomorrow morning?"

I thought I would be spending the evening moping around, missing Marco and hoping he would call. Instead, I spent the first fifteen minutes listening to messages on the answering machine and returning calls from my a.s.sistants and family members who'd seen me on the news and wanted to be sure I'd made it home safely.

I also had messages from reporters wanting to know if I was certain Vlad Serban wasn't the killer. I deleted them. What could I say? That Vlad was Marco's army buddy and therefore innocent? I didn't know whether Vlad was innocent. All I knew was that I had to make sure the police arrested the guilty man.

Even Nikki called during her evening break to lecture me.

"Abby, are you crazy?" she whispered. "I just saw the news report in the nurses' lounge. What were you thinking when you talked to those reporters? You practically spelled out the names of your suspects. I can't imagine what their reactions will be. You'd better make sure the lock is double bolted and the chain is on-and keep the lights out until I get home."

"Nikki, you're overreacting. Our suspects are going to lie low. They're not going to do anything to draw attention to themselves now. Besides, they don't know Marco is gone."

"Are you brain-dead? Everyone at Down the Hatch has to know. It's a bar! What do people do at bars besides drink? They gossip. By midnight, half the town will know that you're home alone."

I shivered. "My parents are coming over to keep me company, Nikki. I'll be fine."

"Maybe you should ask Reilly to keep an eye on you, too."

"Now you're brain-dead. I practically called every officer working on the case a moron for not doing their jobs. I don't think Reilly is going to be too eager to help."

"Don't be silly. He's still your friend. Oops. I've got to go. Be careful!"

I checked the locks, then called the bar to get an update from Rafe.

"It's still a zoo down here," he said. "Did you ever reach Vlad?"

"No, but I left messages for him."

"There are two cops posted outside, waiting for Vlad to show up, but he must have figured it out and gone into hiding. Let me know if you hear anything, okay?"

I'd barely hung up when the door buzzer went off. I hobbled to the intercom and pushed the b.u.t.ton. "Yes?"

"Abigail, it's Mom and Dad. Buzz us in, please."

A few minutes later, I admitted my mom, who was carrying a green-handled bag stuffed with groceries, which she immediately began stashing in my refrigerator.

"Why did you bring food?" I asked her.

"Because it's time you had something for dinner besides a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I eat salads, too."

My dad followed in his wheelchair, with two duffel bags on his lap.

"What would you like for supper?" Mom asked. "Pasta or meat loaf?"

"Meat loaf. What's in the duffel bags?"

"Our pajamas," Dad said. "Until the killer is caught, we'll be sleeping here."

Wow. Corbison was right. He said I'd be sorry.

Having my parents spend the night on the convertible sofa in the living room of our small apartment wasn't easy. Toss in a cat who liked to race down the hallways as if he were high on catnip and a father who snored, and it wasn't what anyone would call a restful night. However, there were benefits to having them there. I didn't worry about being attacked; I got a big home-cooked breakfast in the morning; and I didn't have to clean the kitchen afterward.

My parents were early risers, so when I dragged myself out of bed at a quarter to six, they had already made up the sofa and had breakfast under way. Simon was perched on my dad's lap, eating sc.r.a.ps of turkey bacon from his hand, having apparently decided Dad was an acceptable male. Mom was frying eggs, and a fresh pot of java was brewing in the coffeemaker.

"Why are you up so early?" Mom asked, as I reached for a gla.s.s of coconut juice on the counter. It was part of their new healthy living plan. I tasted it and decided it was pretty good.

"I have to go to the courthouse to pick up some information for Marco."

"How are you getting there?" Mom asked.

"Claymore is picking me up."

"Claymore has his hands full with Jillian. I'll take you," Mom said.

"But he has to pick up Jillian's things."

"No buts. I'm taking you. He can pick them up later."

She used her teacher voice. There was no arguing with her now. I grabbed my cell phone and sent Clay a quick text message to let him know I wouldn't need him.

"You'd better look at this," Dad said, and showed me the front page of the New Chapel News. There I was in full color, standing in front of Down the Hatch, mouth open, crutches wedged under my armpits so I could shake my fist. The headline read: FLORIST FAULTS COPS FOR FINGERING WRONG MAN. Beneath that, in smaller type: SAYS SHE KNOWS WHO KILLED NURSING DIRECTOR.

Nothing like advertising it to the killer.

The article provided a full account of the murder, as well as my exchange with Corbison. It concluded with a statement by the DA that he was there to make sure justice was served, that the good citizens of our county had voted him into office because they trusted him, and that he wouldn't let them down. It was pure political pap.

I saw my parents scowling at me. "I didn't say I knew who the killer was. I just mentioned the suspects that the cops overlooked."

"You really stuck your neck out for Vlad," Dad said. "I hope your confidence in him isn't misplaced."

"Marco's the one with the confidence in him, Dad. You taught me to stand up for what's right, and that's what I did. When we realized that Vlad was being railroaded, Marco and I did our own investigation and found three suspects with the means, motive, and opportunity to kill Lori Willis. If the detectives knew about those suspects, then they purposely ignored them. If the cops didn't know about them, then they weren't doing their jobs."

"Where is Vlad now?" Mom asked.

"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him."

Dad gave me a skeptical look. "So he's missing? Maybe on the run? Does that sound like an innocent man to you?"

Nikki stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, her blond hair sticking up all over.

"Did we wake you, Nik?" I asked. "I tried to be quiet."

"No, I smelled bacon."

Mom put her arm around Nikki and ushered her to the table. "I've got all the bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee you can handle. I've even set a place for you."

She handed Nikki a gla.s.s of coconut juice. Nikki sniffed it, decided it was okay, and took a sip. She licked her lips and said to me, "Can we invite your parents more often?"

Mom pulled the van up to the rear of the courthouse and helped me get situated on the crutches. "I'll circle around the square and meet you back here," she said.

"You don't have to wait. I just have to cross the street when I'm done here."

"A lot can happen between here and there," she said, using her teacher voice again.

A thick fog swirled through the van's headlights as Mom bounced up over the curb and drove away. The sky was overcast, and a storm was brewing off to the west. I hoped it stayed there. I didn't have an umbrella with me and wouldn't have been able to manage one anyway.

A nice-looking guy about my age saw me coming and held the door open. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but most offices don't open until nine."

"I'm going to the coroner's office," I said.

Eyeing my obviously inconvenient mode of travel, he said, "Well, then, maybe I can save you the ha.s.sle of getting to the lower level. I work at the coroner's office. Is there something I can help you with?"

Wow. That was the second time the Evil Ones had worked in my favor. I gave the guy a smile. "Actually, there is."

Ten minutes later I hobbled out of the courthouse with a doc.u.ment in my hand. My mom hadn't returned, so I stopped on the sidewalk below the steps and hit speed dial number two-Marco's number-hoping against hope that he would answer so I could tell him the news. But it went to voice mail again. All I could do was leave a message and hope he got it.

"Marco, I just left the coroner's office, and guess what. You were right about Lori being drugged. She had enough insulin in her system to keep her in a coma for days. And we know who has unlimited access to insulin. So I wanted to let you know that I'm going to poke around Trumble's house and talk to his neighbors to see what I can find out. I'll call you later with an update. Oh, and Vlad is still missing. I hope he's in contact with you, because it's beginning to look like he's on the run. And, Marco, I miss you. I wish I could talk to you."

I hung up and searched for Mom's van, but there was no sight of it on the streets around the square. I finally called her cell phone to find out where she was.

"Abigail, I'm stuck a block away, on the other side of the train tracks. The longest freight train I've ever seen is coming through at about five miles an hour."

"That's okay, Mom. I can make it across the street. Go on home."

"I'm so sorry, honey. Call me as soon as you get inside."

I dropped my phone in my pocket and headed across the courthouse lawn to Franklin Street. Dawn had broken, but there was still no sign of the sun through the thick rain clouds gathering overhead. Luckily, there was almost no activity on the town square at that time in the morning, so I went straight to Bloomers' front door without encountering a soul.

The shop was dark when I let myself in. The only illumination came from the twenty-four-hour security light in the workroom that right now was making the purple curtain glow an eerie plum color. I locked the door, phoned Mom to tell her I was safely inside, then dropped my purse on the front counter. But when I went behind the counter to shut off the alarm, I realized it hadn't beeped when I'd opened the door. I checked the keypad and saw that the green light was on. It wasn't armed.

Hadn't I set it before I left the shop yesterday? I glanced around the room, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. I knew the alarm hadn't been deactivated by Lottie or Grace because they would have turned on the lights. It had to be my fault. Maybe I'd been so intent on getting down to that press conference that I'd forgotten.

Oh, wait! It was probably Claymore. Jillian must have sent him for her things. She had a key and knew the code. With a sigh of relief, I switched to the wheelchair and stowed the crutches behind the counter. I heard a rapping on gla.s.s, and backed around to see Kyle outside the door. He wore his navy EMT jacket and pants, and had a piece of paper in his hand.

He motioned me over and said through the gla.s.s, "I saw you coming out of the courthouse, so I thought I'd drop this off. It's the tox screen I promised to get for you."

Instantly, my antennae were up and quivering. His being there felt wrong. Was it by chance that he was around when I had come out of the courthouse? Thank goodness the door was locked, because I suddenly felt vulnerable. I decided against telling him that I'd already obtained a copy.

"Put it through the mail slot," I said, then smiled. "Thanks."

He stuck the paper through the slot and watched as I turned it over. I was looking at a line graph with a bunch of chemical names and symbols on it. It didn't look anything like the doc.u.ment I'd picked up. I held up the paper and said, "I'll give it to Marco."

"I thought I heard Marco was out of town."

"He'll be back. I've got to start the coffee now. My a.s.sistants are due in anytime."

Kyle gave me a puzzled look. "Sure. No problem." He turned and walked away.

I waited until he was out of sight, then let out a breath of relief and rolled toward the curtain. The phone rang, so I continued into the workroom to answer it at my desk. I picked up the receiver with, "Bloomers Flower Shop. How can I help you?"

There was a click on the other end as the line went dead. My heart thudded heavily as I put the receiver back. I tried to tell myself that it was just a wrong number, but that panicky little voice inside kept whispering, It might be the killer. Call Reilly.

But what would I tell him? Someone hung up on me? On the other hand, having him know I was at the shop alone might have been a wise move.

I dialed his cell phone and got voice mail. "Hey, Reilly, it's Abby. It's almost seven thirty and I'm at the shop alone. Just wanted you to know."

As I hung up, I heard a slight sound from the front. I paused to listen, but it had stopped.

Okay, Abby, it's an old building, and old buildings make lots of strange noises.

I turned on the computer to check for orders and heard another sound from the front, like something sc.r.a.ping against the window. Old building or not, I didn't like it. As I started toward the curtain to investigate, I heard a loud bang and then gla.s.s shattering. My first thought was that someone had thrown a rock through the window.

But when I parted the curtain, I saw a hand-sized hole in the door pane adjacent to the lock, with broken gla.s.s on the floor below. The door was shut and no one was standing outside. Someone was in the shop.

I immediately backed up and turned to go for the phone, but my chair was spun around and I found myself facing Kyle.

He held up a syringe. "I almost forgot to leave this."

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. "What for?"

"You know what it's for."

My chest tightened in fear. "My a.s.sistants will be here any second. You'd better get out."

He glanced at his watch. "We've got time. They won't be here for another twenty-five minutes. Grace, maybe twenty."

He could only have known that if he'd been watching the shop. Quickly, I s.n.a.t.c.hed a pair of clippers I'd left on the worktable and threw them at his head, then backed up and s.n.a.t.c.hed the handset off the base. But before I could dial 9-1-1, he grabbed the phone and tossed it through the doorway into the kitchen.