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Adam opened the door for Beverly as they headed into The Gift Guru, where they’d learned Ryall’s ex-girlfriend, Fern Gery, worked. Fern had heard about the murder on the news, so she wasn’t surprised at Adam’s request to chat with her.
Beverly liked the look of the shop immediately and started making mental notes of suggestions for Agnes’s new wine cafe. The irony of the ex-girlfriend’s name, Fern, wasn’t lost on Beverly, and the woman herself pointed it out immediately after they introduced themselves. “Must have been ordained for me to work as a florist, right? It’s something Wallace found amusing, too.”
She looked over at a co-worker and said, “Sheila, can you cover for a minute?”
Fern motioned them toward a room in the back filled with flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes in refrigerated cases. Shelves stuffed with plastic containers, floral foam, preservatives, wire, green tape, and ribbons lay against one wall.
Beverly stopped to admire vases of white roses, red carnations, blue hydrangea, purple alstroemeria, and orange gerbera daisies. It smelled like the inside of a perfume factory.
Adam sneezed, and Fern raised an eyebrow. “Allergies? We can go somewhere else.”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “How long were you and Wallace Ryall an item?”
“About six months. Our relationship burned bright and fast, even making it to the engagement stage.”
“Who called it off?”
“I did, about five months ago. He was loving and supportive, a kind man. Misunderstood by others. Mostly bark with little bite, but that’s because he lost his mother when he was a boy in a car accident.”
Beverly stiffened at that remark. Something she had in common with the victim.
Adam asked, “Why end it, then?”
“He was also controlling and manipulative. And he had OCD, the kind where he thinks bugs are everywhere. Lived like a monk with few possessions.” She shook her head. “I felt sorry for him in the end. Hated the thought of hurting him. But I didn’t want to wear surgical gowns and masks the rest of my life.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts this past Sunday afternoon?”
“An alibi, you mean? You can ask my new boyfriend, Bruno Giacometti. I call him my Italian Stallion.” She wrote down his name and number on a piece of paper. “He and I were at the TD Garden in Boston. The Bruins versus the Maple Leafs.”
Adam stuffed the paper in his pocket. “They’re fifteen, three and two this year. Leading the Atlantic Division. Are you a fan?”
Adam perked up when Fern mentioned hockey, and Beverly noted the way he kept looking at the other woman. And why not? Braddon’s comments about Fern resembling a supermodel weren’t far off. But the way Fern was smiling back at Adam made Beverly wonder how stable her relationship with Bruno Giacometti really was.
Fern answered him, “Maybe not as big a fan of hockey as my boyfriend, but my father got me interested when I was a girl. He taught me how to ice skate, and I used to play around on the ice with him for fun.”
“My father and I did the same thing.” Adam had a wide smile now.
Beverly gritted her teeth at the flirtation and butted in to ask, “How did you meet Wallace? We talked to Braddon Hopper, who said you weren’t part of the SCA.”
Fern rolled her eyes. “Everyone has some sort of fantasy world they live in. Those folks are nice people, don’t get me wrong. But dressing up in a chemise and a long, heavy gown and playing serving wench or basket weaver isn’t my cup of tea. Or stein of mead.”
She paused to rescue a plush bear that was in danger of falling off a tabletop. “As to where Wallace and I met? In the very unromantic cereal aisle at the grocery store. He asked my opinion on finding something that wasn’t too toxic, and I offered it. We struck up a conversation, and there you go.”
Adam asked, “Was he upset about the breakup?”
“At first, yeah. He called and called for weeks, but when he saw me and Bruno together, the calls stopped. It sounds horrible, but the breakup was a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t have found Bruno otherwise.”
“Breakups can do that.” Adam looked at Beverly this time as he spoke, and her heart did a little flip.
She picked up the stuffed bear, which had “I love you” printed on its T-shirt. “Wallace didn’t date after your split?”
“He was a loner. Not a lot of friends. I think it would be hard for him to pick up girls easily.”
Beverly stroked the bear’s fur. So soft, it felt real. “Suing everyone around him likely didn’t help. It’s an odd hobby.”
“I called it his Righteous Indignation Badge. Like a Boy Scout. Only instead of archery, Wallace tried to collect as many ‘screw you’ badges as possible. He had ego issues.”
Adam piped up, “Did any of those ‘screw you’ people threaten him in retaliation?”
Fern paused to think. “There was one fellow. He fought Wallace’s lawsuit tooth and nail. Said it had cost him his job, his wife, and his kids. But he died sometime in October, I think. I remember reading about it in the obits.”
“And the man’s family?”
“Seems like the obit said they lived in Maine now.”
“Do you remember the family name?”
“Think it was like a dog’s name.” She thought about it a moment. “Rotheimer.”
Adam took out a notepad to write that down. “You say you and Wallace Ryall broke up about five months ago. That was before Wallace’s father died.”
“I heard about that, too. Croaked without leaving either of his sons one red cent. But you’re a detective, so you were wondering if I left Wallace after I found out he wasn’t going to inherit any money?” Fern laughed up at him. “I never did think he’d get that inheritance. Wouldn’t have mattered either way.”
“Why not?”
“A handsome, honest, hard-working guy like you—now that’s the kind of man to make a father proud. Wallace and Ramsay, well, they had a few too many deficiencies.”
“We haven’t talked to Ramsay yet. He’s out of town and won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“There was bad blood between the two. Wallace would never tell me why.”
“Was it bad enough to lead to murder?”
Fern leaned against the table. “No. Maybe. Wallace certainly seemed upset with him. I never met Ramsay the entire time Wallace and I dated.”
“Wallace was never violent toward you?”
“Like I said, he was nice. Even had a tender side. One mixed-up, lost soul who couldn’t find his way. Guess he never found his turtle totem.”
Adam stared at her. “Turtle totem?”
“The turtle totem is a Native American symbol for being anchored to your path and walking it in peace.”
Beverly didn’t cotton much to folk wisdom. The universe was too complex, too mystifying to try to explain away in pithy sound bites. Adam didn’t seem as disturbed. But he also didn’t seem to think they were getting anywhere when he said, “That’s all for now. If we have any further questions, we’ll check back.”
“Oh, I do hope you will, Detective Dutton.” Fern batted her eyelashes, making Beverly fight the urge to frown at both of them.
Once outside, Beverly made a beeline for the SUV. Standing beside the car, she asked, “Waste of time?”
“Hardly anything in the investigation business is a complete waste of time.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and waited for him to join her in the car. “This is where a man might say how would an average loser guy like Wallace Ryall attract a beautiful babe like Fern Gery?”
“Some times average guys get lucky.”
She imitated Fern’s eyelash-batting, but in an exaggerated fashion with a smile she hoped was sickeningly sweet. “And how would you know that, since you’re most decidedly not average?”
He smirked at her. “If you’re trying to get me to buy you a fudge mocha latte at Uncommon Grounds. . .”
Beverly checked the clock on the dashboard. “I know you should get back. But I think I need the fortification of extra espresso shots.”
“That makes two of us.”
Too bad those Native American legends of Fern’s hadn’t pegged chocolate as an omen that an innocent man was going to get bailed out. But since chocolate cured everything else, why not? Maybe she’d get a chocolate-chip mocha latte. To be safe.
§ § §
Beverly couldn’t deny the mocha latte, which was an Uncommon Grounds specialty, was pretty killer. Being seated across from Adam at the wrought-iron table was both awkward and agreeable. Not exactly the dinner he’d been angling for, but hopefully it would pacify him a bit.
They sat in silence for several minutes, and Beverly was half-dreading another scolding. But when he finally decided to talk, it wasn’t what she expected.
“Seeing your uncle—evil though he is—in that condition must have been painful. I shouldn’t have taken you along.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“You are?”
She sipped some more coffee. “I’ve had some nightmares. About Forsythe. And the kidnapping and near-drowning and, well, you can imagine.”
He nodded but didn’t interrupt. She set her cup down and continued, “Sometimes, to get rid of the nightmares, you have to exorcise the ghosts.”
“And seeing him was that exorcism?”
“In a way.”
Adam turned those lovely brown eyes of his directly on her face, which made it hard for her to concentrate. She quickly gulped some more of the coffee.
He said, “I never did get a chance to thank you for the fudge. And for the donation to the Indian College Fund. Unexpected, but nice.”
“Very least I could do.”
“Have to admit, I wondered when I hadn’t heard from you in two months.”
“Was it two whole months?” She was pretty sure he would see through her deflection. His frown confirmed it.
“Look, Beverly, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Adam, I—”
“You remind me of a wild cheetah. They’re notoriously skittish. Loners. And fast runners.”
“But they can also be pretty fearless, or so the nature documentaries tell me.”
He smiled at that. “I wouldn’t want to be your prey.”
“You wouldn’t?” She gave him a slow, come-hither smile and was rewarded by his rapid blinking and squirming in his seat.
Adam did a little deflection of his own by asking, “What did you do for those two months? Besides sending me fudge and donating to the Indian College Fund—and selling a certain solid silver statue, perhaps?”
“Oh, this and that.”
“By ‘this,’ you wouldn’t be referring to any more con jobs, would you?”
She glared at him. “And would it matter? Or did you expect me to dust off my résumé and get a job as a secretary in some cubicle fending off passes from my horny boss?”
He ducked his head and bit back a smile which only made her angrier. She added, “Oh, come on, Adam. I don’t even know how to type.”
“I don’t see you as a secretary, no. But I’m worried for your safety.”
She gaped at him. “My safety?”
“I want you to promise me something, Beverly.”
“Promises aren’t my strong suit.”
“Promise me you’ll try to avoid the con life. It’s dangerous. And I don’t want you to get into any more legal trouble. Mr. X and I may not be there to help.”
Before she could retort, he headed her off. “You’re not the damsel-in-distress type, I get that. Still, promise you’ll try to go straight. Give it a chance. You might like it.”
What could she say to that? She’d never tried it before, so how would she know if she’d be able to go cold turkey? She replied slowly, “I promise you I’ll give it serious thought. And try not to get into any more legal trouble. Deal?”
“Deal.” He didn’t look entirely convinced, but she reached out her hand, and he shook it.
She’d never trusted anyone enough to get close to giving up the only lifestyle she’d ever known. But he was right about one thing with that cheetah crack. Every time she considered settling down, she had to fight the urge to run away. To hide away.
She picked up the coffee cup again to give her mouth something else to do besides talk. No talk meant no more promises and no lies.
