Cuties’ was always more crowded on Friday nights, and tonight was no exception. Even though it was relatively early, Deena and I had to sit at the bar until a table became available. We each ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio (further validating Richard’s theory that we were becoming the same person) and swiveled in our stools to watch the other patrons play pool. I kept one eye on the door for Vince.
“Tell me again what the strategy is here,” said Deena. “Are we trying to sweet-talk him, or intimidate him, or what?”
Her uncertainty was understandable. I wasn’t entirely sure myself what I expected to happen. “I guess it depends on how he reacts,” I said. “I’m gonna tell him I know everything—about the poppy tea operation, about Isaiah and April, everything.”
“And hope he’ll turn on his friends?” asked Deena.
“Basically, yes. I’m hoping he’ll be mature and reasonable—and want to protect his own neck.”
It seemed like a solid plan, but I was still nervous. For all I knew, Vince could be the mastermind of the whole thing. After all, he had a criminal record … and a slick way about him. If my notion was wrong, I could make things worse rather than better.
I finished my wine and contemplated ordering another. Then I checked the time. It was six twenty.
“He’s late,” I said.
“Maybe he’s in the restaurant,” said Deena. “Should we look?”
I shook my head. “Richard told him we’d be in the bar. He should be here.”
A waitress came over to let us know that our table was ready. We followed her to a booth near the door and ordered a not-so-light dinner of portobello burgers and French fries (seasoned for me, sweet potato for Deena). As the evening wore on, it became apparent Vince was a no-show.
Feeling kind of pouty, I drew a circle in my ketchup with a French fry. “I can’t believe he stood me up. I guess I don’t have the appeal I thought I did.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally,” said Deena. “Something must have come up. Otherwise, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to flaunt his abs for you again.”
“Aw, you’re sweet.” I fluttered my eyelashes and bit into the fry. I didn’t really think Vince was interested in me in that way, but I had thought he’d be tempted by my invitation. Wouldn’t he want to know why I’d asked to see him?
I checked my phone (again) to see if Richard had called or texted. He hadn’t.
“Why don’t you just check in with Richard?” asked Deena.
“Yeah, I might as well.”
I sent a quick text. A few seconds later, Richard sent a reply.
“Huh,” I said, after reading the message. “He said Vince left an hour ago. He thought he was coming to Cuties’.”
Deena sat up in her chair and looked around the pool room. “Well, he’s not here.”
“I can’t imagine where else he’d go. Some other bar?”
We finished our dinner and paid the check. Then we took a quick walk through the restaurant to make sure we hadn’t missed him. Among the couples and families enjoying an evening out were some friends of Deena’s parents. While she said hello, I asked the hostess if she’d seen anyone fitting Vince’s description. She assured me she hadn’t.
In the parking lot, we stood for a moment beside our cars. By this time, it was eight-thirty and growing dark, even more so under thickening clouds. As we talked, we were treated with a light show in the sky, thanks to flashes of heat lightning in the distance.
“So much for that idea,” I said. “Long shot or not.”
“What now?”
I sighed. “I suppose we should call it a night. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
“We could stop by Richard’s after the wedding,” Deena suggested. She gave me a sly grin. “You can try to take up smoking again and catch Vince alone that way.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Right. Because that was so successful the first time.”
We said goodbye and went our separate ways. As I headed back to Flower House to pick up Gus, I considered Dee’s idea to try to talk to Vince at the B&B. It made sense, absent any other plan. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t ready to give up.
The problem was I needed to speak with Vince away from Isaiah and April—yet, without being completely alone with him. I didn’t exactly trust the guy. He was like Captain Jack Sparrow or Count Dracula: seductively charming and not bad to look at—but with blazing red flags waving all around him.
I was about four blocks from Flower House when I became aware of a van behind me. Thanks to my meandering daydreams, I wasn’t sure how long it had been on my tail. In the darkness, I couldn’t see the driver or the color of the vehicle. When I turned onto Oak Street, it turned too. Someone was following me.
My heart thrummed in my chest. Was it Vince in the school van? Had he been waiting for me to leave Deena, so he could catch me alone? If so, why?
Instead of pulling into the unlit driveway, I rolled to a stop on the street in front of Flower House. The van parked right behind me, its bright headlights flooding the interior of my Fiat. With the motor still running, I dug my phone out of my purse. My fingers trembled as I searched for Calvin’s name in my contacts. I was about to press Call when there was a rap on my driver’s side window.
I yelped in surprise and dropped my phone. Then I saw the face in the window and gasped. It was Bart. I stared at him, paralyzed. What should I do?
He squinted at me with an inscrutable expression. Was it anger? Confusion? Concern? Finally, he spoke. “Are you okay?”
I blinked, then nodded. “Yep. I’m good.”
He continued to stand there, waiting, apparently. I reached down and retrieved my phone from the floor. My shock at seeing him was short-lived. Now I was more curious than anything else. What was he doing here?
I lowered the window partway. I figured I could always hit the gas pedal if he tried anything funny.
“What’s up?” I asked. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I saw your car and thought maybe we could talk.”
There was something in his eyes that tugged at me, an earnestness, maybe. Or loneliness. He didn’t seem threatening. He never had, really—at least not to me. Still, I wasn’t ready to leave the safety of my car.
“Sure, we can talk. What’s on your mind?”
A crease of consternation formed between his eyebrows. I got the impression I was making something difficult for him. He shifted from foot to foot. “I wanted to let you know that you can talk to me. Or tell me … anything. I’m here for you.”
He’s here for me? What was he talking about?
Lightning flashed, and a peal of thunder rang through sky. The sound took me back to the night of the big storm and the figure outside my window. That night had also marked the first appearance of red poppies on my doorstep.
And just like that, as swift as that bolt of lightning, I finally put two and two together. It had to have been Bart leaving me the flowers. After all, he had ready access to almost any variety of flower, regardless of the season. I also recalled what Wanda had said—that I must have a secret admirer.
My face grew warm with the realization. What a fool I was not to figure it out sooner! All my efforts to be friendly to the man must have been misconstrued. He must’ve thought I was flirting with him, or at least signaling encouragement.
Still, I felt there must be more to it than that. Gently, so as not to embarrass him, I went ahead and asked. “Bart, why have you been leaving me poppies?”
To my surprise, he broke into a lopsided grin. “You figured out it was me.”
Before I could respond, fat drops of rain splattered on the windshield—and on Bart’s head. I cut the engine and opened my car door. He stepped back to let me out.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s talk on the porch.”
I darted up the brick path and took shelter under the porch roof. Bart came along more slowly. At the top of the steps, he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face.
I turned to him and crossed my arms. “Okay, mister. I have some questions for you, and I’d like straight answers. First of all, why poppies? And secondly, why all the secrecy?”
He looked me square in the eyes. “I can trust you, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.”
“Okay, well. I was leaving you clues. The professor was growing illegal poppies at the university.”
I nodded. Tell me something I don’t know. “You said you’d never met him before Saturday. Are you saying you did know him?”
Now he looked away. “Not by name. But I’d seen him there before, at the college, when I was making deliveries.”
“And you saw him doing something with poppies?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what he was up to exactly, but I know he didn’t want anyone to find out. I, uh, came across it by accident.”
Wandering around, no doubt. I couldn’t help wondering if Bart had been stealing things from the science department—maybe something to do with his home-brewing operation. That would explain why he felt he couldn’t come out and tell anyone what he’d discovered.
“I think Lowry was involved with drugs somehow,” Bart continued. “Making it, selling it, using it. That could be why he ended up dead.”
It “could be”? I studied Bart, trying to figure out why he sounded so coy. His habit of using the fewest words possible had led to one misunderstanding after another. I was determined to get the truth out of him, if I had to stand here all night.
“Let’s talk about the day of the murder,” I said. “Did you really see Wanda coming out of the back door?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Um, I think the answer is no.”
“Correct.”
“Then why did you lie?” By now, I thought I knew why. It was for the same reason he’d brought up Lowry’s involvement with drugs: to detract from the truth. Throwing caution to the wind, I came right out with it. “Did you kill Lowry?”
His reaction was so stark, it was almost comical. “Me? What—why would you say that?”
“What else am I supposed to think? You’ve been acting secretive and telling lies. Which reminds me—why did you tell me your wife had died? Are you really just divorced?”
In an instant, his expression hardened. I thought he might turn heel and leave, but he only narrowed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and stilted.
“She’s dead to me, that’s why. I don’t like to talk about the divorce.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I—I heard about your child too. I’m so sorry.”
He met my eyes and held them for a moment. I had the impression he was struggling with a decision, perhaps whether or not to open up to me. I waited. After a moment, his urge to share won out.
“When the accident happened,” he began quietly, “I was behind the wheel. It was a drunk driver who swerved into our lane, but I didn’t react as fast as I should have. I was distracted, messing with the radio.” Twisting his fingers, he looked away. “Right afterward, my wife and I … we agreed to say that she was driving. Otherwise, I would have lost my job as a delivery driver.”
“But that wouldn’t be fair, if it was a drunk driver…” I trailed off, realizing that was beside the point. He’d just told me he was partly responsible.
“I guess I never got over the guilt,” he admitted. “And my marriage suffered for it.”
I reached out and lightly touched his arm. Poor guy. What a burden to live with. “I can understand why you get so angry at careless drivers. It’s a very personal issue for you.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“So, about Lowry,” I said, gently returning to the matter at hand. “His attitude, after the way he drove the college van, that really set you off, didn’t it?”
Bart glanced up at me and frowned.
“You went after him pretty hard that day, about running you off the road. Did you follow him in the shop to confront him again?”
“What? No!” He looked at me as if I’d slapped him.
“You didn’t hit him with the candlestick?”
“Of course not! And, besides, I have an alibi! I was on the phone with my boss during the time he was killed.”
My jaw dropped at that. He had an alibi? Darn the Aerieville Police! Why couldn’t they keep me in the loop? No wonder they hadn’t seemed interested in Bart.
“Oh,” I said, slightly embarrassed but still confused. “I didn’t know that. So, why’d you try to blame Wanda, then?”
His eyes shifted to the side, as he mumbled his answer. “I thought I was helping you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was trying to help you. I thought you did it.”
I took a step back. “Wait. You thought I killed Lowry?” This was turning into a comedy of errors. I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing, the fact that he believed I was capable of murder or the fact that he was willing to help me get away with it.
He didn’t respond. From the looks of it, he seemed to realize he’d been wrong and was now trying to adjust to an entirely new perspective. That’s what I was doing. Bart had thought I was a murderer. I recalled what he’d said to me at Cuties’—something about thinking Lowry had made a pass at me.
I shook my head. All this time, Bart thought I had wacked the professor. Yet, because of his feelings for me, he trusted that I must have had a good reason. He clearly also felt protective of me, and he wanted me to know my secret was safe with him.
It made sense now. I’d been friendly to Bart—purposely extra friendly—at a time when he most needed a friend. His loneliness probably led him to crave an even more intimate connection, one he thought we were forging together in some kind of an us-against-the-world alliance. And I’d just burst his bubble.
The front door clicked open, making us both turn our heads. Calvin stepped onto the porch.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” There was a twinge of a challenge in his tone, and a swagger in his posture, as he stood next to me and faced Bart.
The delivery man looked from Calvin to me. “I should go.”
I nodded. It was probably for the best.
He started toward the steps, then paused, reaching into his jacket. To my surprise, he pulled out a rumpled little bunch of red poppies. He laid them on the edge of a pedestal plant stand. “That’s the last one,” he said, in his old gruff manner.
Ducking his head in the rain, he strode to his van and took off.
I stood at the front window in Calvin’s apartment and watched the rain fall. My eyes roamed from the dimly lit street to the shadows beneath the trees. I was feeling bad about the whole situation with Bart. Now that I knew a little more of his backstory, I felt even more sorry for him than I had before.
Calvin handed me a cup of hot tea. “I’m sorry I didn’t come down sooner. I kind of fell asleep in the chair with Gus.”
I accepted the tea with a smile. “He has that effect on people.”
He ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. “The thunder woke me up. Then I happened to see your car out front. I was wondering what took you so long to come up.”
“It’s just as well you didn’t come outside sooner,” I said. “Bart is pretty skittish. You probably would have scared him away.”
“And that would be a bad thing?”
“This time, anyway. He cleared up a few things for me.” I moved to the couch and told Calvin everything I’d learned from Bart.
Calvin appeared skeptical. “If he lied before, how do you know he’s telling the truth now?”
“I’m sure the cops confirmed his alibi. And everything else he said matched what I already knew.”
“Fair enough. Then we’re back to the lackeys, huh? It had to be them.”
“One or more of them,” I agreed. Unfortunately, proving it was the ever-present problem.
For a moment, we didn’t say anything. Calvin scratched Gus’s ears, and I sipped my tea. This predicament was driving me crazy. I longed to change the subject and return to the flirty, carefree banter Calvin and I had shared on several recent occasions. But that wasn’t possible, not with the unsolved murder hanging over our heads like a twenty-ton elephant.
The ringing of my cell phone pierced the cozy silence. Given the lateness of the hour, I immediately assumed it was something urgent. Then I saw it was my dad and my heart nearly stopped. I hastily answered the call.
“Hello? Dad?”
“You’re still up,” he said, with a trace of judgment in his voice. He probably couldn’t help it.
“Yes, what’s up? Is Mom okay? Is Granny?”
“Everybody’s fine. I’m calling to give you a heads-up. I spoke with Walt a little while ago.”
I knew who he meant: Walt Walden, Dad’s old friend and Aerieville’s usual Chief of Police, when he wasn’t out on medical leave.
“Oh? How’s he doing? Is he back on the force?”
“He’s better. He’s not officially back yet, but he’s still privy to police information.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“You need to call a lawyer, Sierra. You’re going to be brought in for questioning very soon. Most likely tomorrow.”