15

Adam walked across town, moving from the west side of Center City back to his neck of the woods. Past the subtle, inviting lights of the upscale boutiques that lined this end of Walnut Street. Past the five-star restaurants he could never afford to eat in.

As he walked, he thought about Harry Ryan-Mills. He had to be the prime suspect. He stood to inherit a good chunk of change, and despite his claims to the contrary, no one with tastes that expensive ever really had enough money.

On the other hand, Harry seemed relatively realistic about money. Oliver Ryan-Mills hadn’t started out wealthy. Comfortable, sure, but not rich. He’d earned his money over Harry’s lifetime. Harry’s appreciation for the finer things might just mean that Harry had learned to value his money, to value the legacy his mother and father left him.

He turned down Broad Street and walked past the majestic beauty of the historic Academy of Music. Speaking of enjoying the finer things in life. The Academy’s gaslights flickered gaily as men in dark coats and women in glittery high heels converged on its elegant steps. Cultured voices carried over the sound of clinking glasses that could be heard from the lobby inside. As he crossed the street, the bright blue and neon green signs to his right shouted out that this was the city’s newly named Avenue of the Arts.

For the right type of artist. The right type of people. People like the Ryan-Millses.

Adam shook his head, readjusting his thoughts. Just because he was inheriting a fortune didn’t mean Harry’s grief wasn’t real. Adam had seen the pain in Harry’s eyes and believed it to be honest. It could be a holdover of his grief over his mother’s death two years previously, but it was real.

Once across Broad Street, Adam entered into a completely different part of the city. One thing you could count on about Philadelphia, it changed neighborhood to neighborhood, block to block. He passed through blocks of rundown apartment buildings and cheap pizza joints. The city was upscaling from either end, and parts of the middle hadn’t been touched yet. Windows remained boarded up, storefronts plastered with signs for cheap watches for sale and offers to buy gold. Perhaps the casino here wouldn’t be such a bad thing, adding a well-managed, well-lit business to this part of town. No question, emotions were running high on that subject. That was his next step, then. He needed to look a little more into the decisions surrounding the casino and Mr. Roc Lubrano. After meeting Ms. Grace Evans.

As if passing through an invisible curtain, Adam suddenly found himself in the light again. Just a few blocks from Broad Street, pink, yellow, and orange banners defined the neighborhood as people in a crazy diversity of clothes — men, women and everything in-between — lined the sidewalks, talking, laughing, bargaining. He breathed out and enjoyed the lights, the excitement in the air as he picked up his pace, passing through Washington Square West and entering Washington Square from 7th Street.

The tent looked like a NASA eco-dome colonizing the land of Washington Square. Waiters in tuxedos moved in and out through the door flaps, bussing hors d’oeuvres and pouring wine. Small white lights seemed to be everywhere, as if floating in the air in and around the tent. For the second time this week, there were no homeless to be seen. They were getting a bum rap this month.

Adam saw an opportunity to sneak into the tent behind a harried waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne as he entered. Thank goodness for the classy wool coat and red cashmere scarf Sylvia had given him. At least he didn’t stick out too much.

He paused to get a feel for the party, sipping his champagne as he relaxed, took a breath. Once he was sure no one had seen him come in, no one was on their way to politely ask him to leave, he turned to a passing waiter. “Excuse me, do you know which of the guests is Grace Evans?”

The waiter barely paused in his movement, simply pointing with a low finger toward a white-haired woman in a glimmering silver dress. Adam nodded his thanks and walked toward her.

Matt jogged up the ancient stone steps into the vestibule. He felt lighter, as he always did when he wasn’t weighed down by his uniform and belt. He raised a hand to remove his hat before he remembered he wasn’t wearing one. Dipping the tips of his fingers into the holy water, he crossed himself quickly and passed into the church.

Anne Sentrick stood by the altar, a vase of flowers in one hand, the other resting on her pursed lips. She hadn’t heard him enter.

He strode up the aisle toward her, his steps soft on the thick rug that covered the worn stone floor. As he took the few steps up to the altar, his heel brushed against uncovered stone. Anne turned. Saw him. Smiled.

He took a breath. “Evening. How’s the arranging going?”

She shrugged, the vase in her hand wobbling a little with the motion. “Just trying to figure out where to put everything. I’ve got a little more than usual this time.”

“Let me help.” He took the vase from her and held it out to the side. “Where do you want this one?”

She turned back to the altar with her hands raised to her shoulders. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Look, put it there, to the left, for now. Once we have everything inside, I’ll get a better sense of where it all needs to go.”

He placed it carefully where she’d instructed, then followed her back around the altar, through the heavy wooden door that opened onto the vestry and from there to the alley that ran by the side of the church. Anne’s van blocked the alley, “Blooms and Blossoms” painted in scrawling letters across the side. She pulled the side door open with a jerk, and Matt saw what she meant.

“Wow, that’s a lot of flowers.”

She smiled up at him, laughter in her blue eyes. “I know. I should be upset my sales weren’t as good this week, but hey, it’s good for the church, right?”

“Sure is.” Matt leaned in to look over the stock in the van, resting a hand on Anne’s shoulders. She didn’t step away, and he took that as a good sign. “I know I’ve told you before, but this is a nice thing you do, adding in your own donation to the flowers the church buys each week.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. “Here, start with those.” She indicated a pile of loose flowers wrapped in paper lying on the ground nearest the door.

“Yes, ma’am.” He took an armload and made his way back into the church.

Ten trips back and forth later, the ground in front of the altar looked more like a forest than an eighteenth century church.

“Okay, now do you know where everything goes?” He wiped his hands down the legs of his pants and surveyed the space. If it were up to him, he’d just pile the blooms up wherever they fit. But Anne had an eye for this kind of thing. She always got it right.

One vase at a time, she directed him and he placed the flowers. As they worked, he let his mind wander over the events of the day. The murder. His chance to be involved and prove his worth. His connection with detectives Kaminski and Lawler.

“Matt, to the right, not left.” Anne’s voice expressed frustration, but she laughed as she said it. “That’s the third time I said that. Where’s your mind right now?”

“Oops, sorry.” He set the offending vase in the correct place. “I was thinking about work. I got distracted.”

“Is this because of the interfaith convention coming next week?” Her hands moved as she stared around the church, as if she were petting the flowers in front of her, even though they were out of her reach. Using her hands to visualize what each bloom would look like in various spaces. She really was an artist.

Matt inhaled the overpowering scent of the mounds of flowers, then coughed as pollen caught in his throat.

“Oh, are you okay?” She hurried over to him, and he waved her away.

“Fine, fine. No, it’s not the convention. There was a death in the park yesterday.”

Anne sat down on the top step toward the altar, one lone flower in her hand. “That’s terrible.”

“I know.” Matt sat next to her, though not too close. “I’m working with the Philly PD to help solve the murder. A man was beaten to death with a wooden statue.”

“Oh, that’s horrible. I didn’t think park rangers did that kind of thing. Investigating murders, I mean.”

“We don’t usually. But then there aren’t usually murders in national parks.”

“I see.” She looked down at her flower, a pale peach tulip that bent away from her, leaning toward the ground. “I’m sorry you have to be involved in something like that. It can’t be pleasant.”

“You’re right, it’s not. So let’s get back to work, huh?” He stood and offered her his hand to help her up.

As they turned back to the flowers, which were only half spread out around the church, Anne asked, “What are you doing to help, then?”

“I’m moving the flowers wherever you want them, aren’t I?” He frowned and looked over at her.

She laughed, a beautiful, musical sound that lifted his spirits. “No, I mean with the investigation.”

“Oh, I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.”

She shrugged and bent forward to lift a vase. She grunted with the effort and he jumped forward to take it from her.

“I’m supposed to be keeping an eye out for the homeless people who tend to sleep in Washington Square. See if they saw anything. Not very glamorous, I’m afraid.”

“Back by the door, and the other one just like it.” She pointed toward the front of the church and he followed her direction. “It sounds like it’s something you can do, though. Like you’re the best person for the job. That’s good.”

He thought about that as he placed the second display by the door. “That’s true. The detectives on the case don’t know our regulars like I do. Wouldn’t recognize them if they saw them. So, yeah, I’m contributing something they can’t do themselves.”

“Good.” She nodded and turned back to the few remaining bunches. “I think these each go under a window, and we’re done here.”

Matt started moving the displays, one at a time, as Anne followed, rearranging each after he set it on the sill under the window.

“It won’t be easy though.” He spoke the words aloud, but was thinking to himself as much as talking to her.

“What won’t?” She didn’t take her focus off the flowers.

“Talking to the regulars from Washington Square. They’re not all…” He winced, trying to find the right words.

“What?” She stopped her tinkering and stood before the altar, her face to the aisle in front of her, assessing the view.

He stood next to her, looking out over the beauty they had added to this already inspiring space.

“They’re not all easy to talk to, that’s all. Not entirely stable, in fact. I’ll recognize them, sure, but I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to get out of them.”

Anne seemed to be thinking as she led the way back through the vestry, out into the narrow alley and her now empty van. “I suppose most things that are worth doing aren’t easy, are they?”

“No, I guess not. And it’s not like I’ll find the clue that solves the case, either. I’d love it if I could find something about the killer.”

“Like a witness?”

Matt laughed, then put a hand up as Anne looked offended. “I’m not laughing at you. Sorry. I’m laughing at myself. ’Cause, yeah, I was thinking about a witness. But no way that’ll happen. These aren’t people who are going to show up in court and testify.”

“Then what do you think you might find?”

“Just a clue. Something that gives a hint about the killer. Who he is. Something about the person wielding that statue.”

“Quite a successful event, wouldn’t you say?”

Adam turned in surprise at Grace Evans’ voice. He had been lingering near her, picking appetizers off a tray, looking for a way to approach her without raising her suspicions. Apparently hovering near her gorging on appetizers was the way to do it.

“Yes, it seems so.” Adam glanced around the tent, big enough to hold all of the Ringling Brothers’ wild plans. “Were you part of the planning committee for this? If so, congratulations.”

Grace covered her mouth with her hand and gave a girlish giggle that should have been coming from her great-granddaughter, not her. “Me, oh no. I simply benefit from others’ hard work. Though I did lend them the use of my personal assistant for some of the planning. And Marcus is a genius when it comes to making things go as planned, believe me. But me? No, I am here to enjoy myself.” She raised her champagne flute in a mock toast. “And of course to support the neighborhood.”

Adam grinned and took a sip of champagne.

She joined suit, then fluttered her eyelashes at him over her glass. “You’re being quite shameful, you know. You haven’t introduced yourself.”

“My apologies. Adam Kaminski, at your service.”

“Kaminski?” Grace thought for a moment. “Related to…? No, I don’t think I know any Kaminskis.”

“No, we’re based just north of here. So,” Adam continued as Grace frowned at his vague description. “Did you hear about the murder that happened here? It all sounds very salacious.”

“Did I hear?” Grace raised one side of her mouth and leaned toward Adam conspiratorially. “Not only did I hear, I knew the victim.” Grace nodded as Adam looked surprised. “Quite well, I might add.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t realize it was someone you were close with.”

Grace waved his concern away with her champagne flute. A passing waiter took the opportunity to replace it with a full one. “Don’t worry yourself. Stingy bastard.” She covered her mouth again in that girlish gesture that set Adam’s hair on end. “Of course I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Adam’s job was built on letting people speak ill of the dead. “You knew the judge well?”

Grace shrugged. “I lived next door to him, you know? We had a bit of a…” She shrugged one elegantly draped shoulder, and the sparkles on her dress caught the light. “I suppose you could say a fling.”

She looked sideways at Adam, her eyelids fluttering again. “Even though he was a bit younger than me.”

Adam shuddered and bit down with his jaw, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

“But as I said, he was cheap. He wouldn’t give to the causes I was supporting, even when Marcus asked. And Marcus is usually so persuasive…” Grace’s mind seemed to wander for a moment, then she shook her head and her voice grew stronger. “Said he had his own causes. But I never saw what they were. He wouldn’t even pay to take a girl out to dinner; he expected us to go Dutch.” Grace’s expression made it clear that this was only one step shy of actually being murdered at the dinner table. “I have to get by on a quite a limited budget these days, you know, like everyone else. Fixed income.” She nodded sagely, raising her glass once more. This time it was the ten karat diamond on her finger that caught the light.

He nodded and let her drone on about the challenges she faced, struggling to get by as a widow. His thoughts grew darker than he intended as he listened to her, knowing she had no real concept of what things cost. Of what life was like for seniors who really were on a fixed budget. She would never know, she would never have to learn. He bit back a retort, allowing her the luxury of thinking he agreed that times were tough for her, that she really had to struggle these days.

When she finally stopped complaining, she looked at him expectantly. He had nothing to add about the challenges of her life, so instead brought the subject back to where it had started. “It sounds like he was quite a hateful man. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you, believe me.”

“So perhaps he got what he deserved?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I mean, after all, he was only human. Men do make mistakes, don’t they? I’m sure he would have come around eventually.”

“So you were still pursuing him?” Adam bit his lip as soon as the words were out, but couldn’t bite back the words.

“Pursuing?” Her eyes widened and she moved her head to look him up and down. “Just who do you think you are, talking to me like that? What did you say your name was again?”

“Kaminski. Adam Kaminski.”

“I see. You don’t live in the neighborhood, you said. You’re a guest of whom, exactly?” She pursed her lips as she asked the question, glancing around the room as if expecting Adam’s host to step forward. Or security to do the same.

Adam saw no advantage in lying. “I’m not a guest, ma’am. I’m investigating the murder. I’m with the police.”

“Well, I never. You dishonest, lying…”

“I never lied to you, ma’am.”

“And stop calling me ma’am. You may not have lied, but you certainly misled. How dare you question me like this, without warning. Tomorrow morning I’m calling your commissioner. Oh, yes.” She smiled at Adam’s frown. “We’re on a first-name basis. He played golf quite regularly with my second husband. You’ll be hearing from your supervisor, young man. I’m going to make a formal complaint.”

Adam watched her stalk towards one of the other guests, but ducked out of the tent before she could point him out. He’d accomplished all he could here. As he made his way home, he couldn’t help but wonder if Grace’s fury at his identity was because she thought he was beneath her — besmirching her reputation just by talking with her — or because she had something to hide from the police.