ten
Rex found A Rose by Any Other Name tucked between a newsagent and an off-licence. A decorative wind chime on the door tinkled as he entered the shop, and he was immediately assailed by the heady scent of cut flowers, which abounded everywhere in an explosion of colour, tiered rows of almost every variety arranged in transparent plastic buckets. It appeared he was the only customer.
Rodney Snyder stepped out from behind a tall rack of quality greeting cards, instantly recognizable as the man who had played Sherlock Homes, even though he had swapped his Inverness cape and tweeds for a brown canvas apron that covered the front of his shirt and the top half of his trousers.
“Hello, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked affably, in marked contrast to the acerbic Holmes of yesterday, and quite unlike Andrew Forsythe, who seemed to have difficulty shaking off his Wimsey character. “Have you come for flowers?”
“Partly.”
“What sort of thing are you looking for? Is there a special occasion?”
“More spur-of-the-moment.” Rex surveyed the vast selection. “I’d like something romantic and cheerful.”
“Tulips? You can mix and match. Perhaps a bunch of carnations, irises, and freesias?”
Rex noted an undercurrent of flat Essex vowels, which Snyder had managed to transform into a cultured accent for Holmes. As was the case with most of his flowers, Rodney Snyder appeared to be a transplant from warmer climes south of Derby.
Rex wandered to the large section of roses in every shade, from white to blood-red. “A dozen of these pink-tinged yellow ones, I think.” Like most shop-bought roses, they did not give off much of a fragrance, but they would appeal to Helen, who had once remarked that pink and yellow were “happy” colours.
“Do you prefer open or buds?”
“Buds, so they’ll last longer?”
Rodney Snyder’s gloved hands duly selected a handful of furled roses, dewy-fresh and flawless, and wrapped them in stiff cellophane tied off with a pink bow. “A card to go with?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I trust my own words will not fail me.”
Snyder smiled, baring a set of even teeth. “Indeed. The best sentiments come straight from the heart, don’t they?” He tactfully did not ask whom the roses were for, even though Rex’s silver wedding band was much in evidence as he drew out his wallet at the counter and sifted through his cash. No doubt, not all the florist’s married clients were buying flowers for their spouses.
“However, I wonder if you can help me in another matter.”
Snyder regarded Rex with sly interest. “This must have something to do with last night. I saw you with the redoubtable inspector. It was obvious you were more than just a witness.”
“Unfortunately, I was not much help in that regard. I had a front row seat, but can’t say I saw anything worth reporting. I’d be more interested to know what went on behind the scenes.”
“Yes, I heard you do a bit of Sherlocking yourself. Even as that most esteemed detective, I couldn’t offer much to Inspector Fiske either. I was checking my messages and emails backstage when the shot went off. Andrew and Dennis, two of the other sleuths, were with me,” Synder volunteered. “And Tony.”
“Christopher Ells was with you too?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Snyder mimicked taking a surreptitious gulp of something from an upheld hand. “Christopher rather likes his drink. Hope he doesn’t do it on the job,” he added in a snide tone.
“Which is what, again?”
“Something at the hospital. An orderly or lab technician or some other low-level position, but still.”
“So, it was just the five of you backstage when the shot was fired?”
Snyder nodded. “Plus young Trey. He came in from the dressing room. The others, except for Cassie, of course, had left. The notion of a gunshot never seriously occurred to me. We went to investigate, to make sure she was all right. But, regrettably, it was curtains for Cassie.”
Snyder struck Rex as rather glib in his reaction to her death. “Aye, it was.”
At that moment, a flustered woman entered the shop and asked about a bridal bouquet for her daughter. Rex lifted his hand to the florist in a gesture of thanks and goodbye.
“Ta-ra.” Snyder pointed to the roses in Rex’s hand. “Enjoy.”
Rex left the shop and drove off down the street to continue his rounds, first to deposit the donations and then to take care of the shopping. He arrived back at Barley Close with three filled bags from the supermarket and hauled his purchases through the front door of Helen’s 1930s semi-detached house.
“Guess who I ran into at Oxfam?” he asked as she took one of the bags into the kitchen.
“Who?”
“A younger Aunt Clara. Well, I didn’t see Susan Richardson to speak to. She was driving off when I arrived. I thought it a bit curious that she’d be there the morning after Cassie’s death, so I asked at the collection desk what she’d brought in.”
“You were dropping off stuff, so why not she?” Helen pointed out, taking the vegetables out of the shopping bag she had deposited on the counter. “What did she donate?”
“A box of clothes. Teenager stuff, mainly.” Rex set his remaining load on the floor by the refrigerator.
“Well, then. Presumably, her youngest has outgrown the clothes, and she decided to de-clutter.”
“Aye, but her purple trousers, the ones she was wearing yesterday, were in the box as well.”
Helen paused in her sorting of items. “That is a bit peculiar, like you said. Perhaps she wanted to get rid of them because they reminded her of what happened.”
“Possibly, but there’s a dark stain on the upper leg, though not very obvious unless you look closely.” He pulled the corduroys out of one of his plastic bags.
“You brought them here?” Helen asked. “Not that I should be surprised by anything you do anymore.”
“I paid three pounds for them.”
“Well, they won’t fit me,” she said holding the ribbed velour against her leg. “I’m too short. Shame. It’s a lovely plum shade.”
“I’m going to give them to Inspector Fiske for analysis. See that stain mid-thigh?”
Helen flapped the trousers open so the front was displayed. “Just barely. Mostly in the grooves.”
“I didn’t notice anything on them when I was speaking to her last night, but by then it was dark outside and the hall was only dimly lit. Not to mention it would have been rude to stare at her legs.”
He had noticed Trey’s brogues earlier that night, however, having dropped his business card in an attempt to get a close look. These had shown no trace of blood in the decorative perforations in the leather, which would be nigh impossible to clean in a limited amount of time.
Helen brought the corduroy material up to her face. “They’ve been washed. I can smell lemony detergent or fabric softener. I wonder what brand she uses.”
“It didn’t get it all out.”
“And your suspicious mind is thinking it might be blood.”
Rex took the corduroys from her and folded them back up neatly. “It’s a good way to hide evidence, donating something to charity among a pile of other clothing. You don’t even have to leave a name, and she didn’t. Anyhow, I do have something for you that isn’t another woman’s castoff.”
He returned to the car for the roses and held them out to her in the kitchen.
“Oh, Rex, you shouldn’t have.” Helen took the bouquet and put her nose to them. “Actually, I really don’t know why people say that. I’m so glad you did. What’s the occasion?”
Remembering his comment to Snyder, he did not want to come up short. “They’re for my beautiful wife on our first week wedding anniversary.” He hoped she didn’t think the roses were a peace offering for bailing out of the packing in the pursuit of a potential murder investigation.
“How sweet. But we’re not going to have much time to enjoy them.”
“We can take them back to Edinburgh,” he said as she lay the flowers on the counter and reached for a vase in the cupboard.
“They’ll wilt in the car.”
“In that case, we’ll leave them for Julie.”
While he finished unpacking the bags, Helen filled the vase with water from the sink. “Now, tell me about the rest of your morning. You have that look about you.”
“What look?” Rex asked innocently.
“The look of a satisfied cat. A big ginger tom. I sense there’s more.”
“Och, I’m a long way from catching the canary. But a wee birdie did tell me something of interest.”
“I can’t wait to hear.” Helen placed the flower arrangement on the table, which was set for lunch. “Homemade lentil soup and avocado salad. Will that do you? I thought we could have the leftover curry for dinner.” She went to the gas cooker, adjusted a temperature knob, and stirred a wooden spoon in a saucepan.
“Perfect.” Rex sat down and shook out his napkin. “Well, as luck would have it, Tony was visiting Penny.”
“Progress, indeed!” Helen brought two bowls of soup to the table and took her seat opposite him. “I know you wanted to talk to him.”
“Marginal progress on that front.” Rex took up his spoon. “To begin with, Tony does not know who was responsible for operating the curtains last night, unless it was Bill.”
“For the director, Tony seems curiously uninformed,” Helen remarked. “But he’s probably more of a creative than practical person, which stands to reason, given his occupation.”
“Aye, I can see him teaching art to children,” Rex said, adding a sprinkle of rock salt to his soup. “He carefully considers what he’s going to say before he speaks. He was a bit reticent to begin with, but did open up gradually. According to Penny, his sister took an overdose of sleeping pills when she was eighteen. Seems Cassie reminded Tony of her, and Penny now says she may have mistaken his innocent affection for Cassie as attraction.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen said with a worried frown. “I hope she’s not getting her hopes up again.”
“And then I went to see Rodney Snyder, the man who played Sherlock Holmes.”
“Ah, now I get it.” Helen gave a knowing smile. “He owns a flower shop, doesn’t he? But the roses were still a very thoughtful gift,” she added, trying to keep a straight face.
Rex put on a contrite one. “I wanted to get you a little something and I remembered A Rose by Any Other Name.”
She laughed into her napkin. “I think a ‘whatever’ is in order here. Moving on …”
Rex buttered his roll. “Well, Rodney Snyder pretty much confirmed what Tony had told me regarding who was backstage at the time of the shooting. We didn’t have a long chat because a customer came into the shop, and he appeared to be working by himself.”
“So where does this leave you in the investigation?”
“Good question. Trey Atkins, three of the fictional detectives, the butler, and Tony were backstage at the time of the shooting. The producer had already left to go to his car. Bill and Ben had gone for a smoke. So, too, Robin Busket and the solicitor. Miss Marple, Aunt Clara, and Father Brown were down the hall in the loos.” Rex counted them off on his fingers. “If everyone is accounted for at the crucial moment, there must be one unknown person in the mix, unless someone is lying or mistaken. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You are completely ruling out suicide and accidental death, then?”
By this point, the spectre of suicide had all but vanished from Rex’s mind, displaced by a yet faceless killer whose motive he could not imagine.
“For now,” he replied. “We won’t know for sure until the gunshot residue tests come back from the lab. Well, Fiske should know, and hopefully he’ll inform me. If none is found on Cassie’s hand, the revolver likely didn’t go off while she was holding it. The ME said he would call Fiske on Monday with the results of the autopsy. Presumably he’s working over the bank holiday. I don’t know if the lab is.” Rex saw that Helen had put down her spoon. “Perhaps we should change the subject for now. Have you spoken to Julie today?”
“Yes, she rang earlier for an update on the shooting. And to see if we needed any help with the packing.”
In Rex’s mind, the words Julie and help did not go hand in hand. “And what did you say?”
“I thought she’d only be in the way, especially when she said she could bring the first load of her stuff over. But I invited her over for Sunday lunch.”
“You told her she would be in the way?” Rex interjected in surprise. Julie was highly sensitive and had to be treated with kid gloves. No one knew that better than Helen.
“Of course not. That’s only what I thought. And I knew what you’d say. So I just said we had everything under control and were hoping to spend some time alone together this afternoon. Unless you have other suspects to visit?” Helen raised her blonde eyebrows at him in enquiry and continued eating her soup.
“I may have run out of suspects to annoy for now. No, I’m all yours.”
“Ah, music to my ears,” his wife said with a flirty grin. “And I do love the roses,” she added, admiring them on the table.