Pushing Up Daisies

cleaned, just . . . handled. The library table, the globe, the books themselves, everything was slightly askew. Then I noticed one of the needlepoints was missing. So were three or four books.

I'd mentioned to someone there might be rare books here but couldn't remember to whom or whether I might have been overheard. I searched for The Temple of Flora. Right where I left it. Since that was arguably the most valuable book in the library, robbery didn't seem a likely motive. Was there really a journal as Neil seemed to recall? And was something in it someone wouldn't want found? I walked to the bookcase where the shelf had been cleared out, and hunkered down to see.

'Looking for something?'

I turned around quickly, slamming my shoulder into the solid oak bookcase.

'Richard! You startled me. I didn't hear you.'

'Horrible weather. I'm surprised you're out in it.' He shook out his hat and rolled down the cuffs of his pants. Standing there quite still, face dripping wet, he made me nervous. He seemed to be waiting for an explanation.

'I was just getting in out of the rain,' I said, rubbing my shoulder. 'I'm on my way to Chiaramonte's, but I had some time.' He stood motionless and said nothing.

I worked my way around the library table to the side near the door. 'Have you seen this?' I pointed to The Temple of Flora. 'It's amazing. I understand there are only twenty or so in the world. The original plates were destroyed after an auction. To make the books more valuable,' I babbled.

'That's a clever investment strategy. Anything else of interest?'

'No. I just happened to notice the book because a copy was on display at the New York Botanical Garden. I kept meaning to go see it. I thought maybe the Peacocks had a journal or diary—you know, like The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady,' I joked.

'You know, strictly speaking, we never discussed your needing to enter the house.'

I started to explain that I'd called SHS, then decided I didn't want to get Inez in trouble.

'I hope it's not a problem.' He didn't answer.

'The insurance company isn't scheduled to come for another few weeks, but I've been downstairs all morning trying to inventory anything of value. China mostly. I just ran out for a coffee before starting on this room.' He thumbed through the copy of The Temple of Flora. 'Thank you for telling me about this, although it's likely just a reproduction,' he said, turning the book over in his hands.

Richard's cheery manner from the other day had vanished, and in its place was the clipped, supercilious tone I'd experienced that first day at SHS. Okay, maybe he was bipolar. Maybe he thought I'd stolen something. I thought of the book I'd borrowed and wondered when I could sneak back in to replace it without Richard's knowing.

'Don't let me keep you,' he said. 'And give Chiara-monte my regards.'

CHAPTER 26

Compared to other nurseries in southwestern Connecticut, Chiaramonte's had a decidedly retro style. He didn't carry five different types of basil, and he didn't sell resin Buddhas, Japanese stepping-stones, or tranquility chimes. Most of Guido's shrubs looked like they had set down roots right out of their nursery pots, and he eschewed all other bedding plants in favor of red and white impatiens. Not even New Guinea impatiens. How he stayed in business was baffling.

I opened the door to Guido's shop, displacing two of the nursery's many cats, and the fresh-faced clerk behind the counter seemed stunned to see a customer on such a miserable day. She was chair-dancing to what ever pounding music was pumping through her headphones and hand-lettering one of the crude, self-promotional signs Guido wanted me to place at Halcyon. I'd have to nip that baby in the bud. I told her why I was there.

'He must be in the back,' she said, removing her headphones and wearing them as a necklace. 'I just got here. I haven't seen him yet.' She sifted through the clutter on the dirty counter—Bag Balm, watering worms, and sell sheets for deer fencing. 'We have these walkietalkies. They're kind of lame, but would you like me to try him?'

'Sure, give him a buzz.'

I lingered near the electric space heater while she fiddled with the buttons on the walkie-talkie, which she apparently rarely used, since her strategy was to push every button and yell hello. Hanging from the beams in Guido's shop were baskets of all shapes and sizes, and Styrofoam hearts, crosses, and wreaths. Maybe that was it. Guido catered to the cemetery crowd. As long as people kept dying, Guido would stay in business.

'He's not answering, but he doesn't always carry his walkie-talkie with him. The car's here though, so he must be around.'

'No problem, I know where the office is. I'll drive around to the back. If he's not there, I'll just leave the tools and a note.'

That would be a break, not having to actually interact with His Oiliness. I pulled into the pergola-covered parking area that separated Guido's trailer from the rest of the nursery and crossed the wet gravel to Guido's office. The door to the trailer was open and I could hear the crackle of the walkie-talkie as the girl kept trying to reach him.

I knocked on the door frame. 'Guido? Mr. Chiara-monte? It's Paula. I've brought back the rest of your tools.'

I stepped into the trailer, trying to make as much noise as possible. With Guido's reputation, I didn't want to catch him in flagrante anything. Catalogs and plant labels were everywhere. On top of a gray metal file cabinet was a plaster model of the Fifields' grotesque fountain.

'Guido?'

I ventured farther inside and detected a subtle shift in the decor—from messy office to sloppy love nest. A saggy, stained couch conjured up images of Guido and his women. A boom box and a handful of audio -cassettes— Jerry Vale and Dean Martin, as I expected, and a generic opera compilation—sat on the plain pine coffee table.

Ooooh-kaaay, I thought to myself, time to hit the road. It would be just like Guido to be standing behind me with a bottle of wine and a head full of crazy notions.

I was about to leave when something on the floor caught my eye. White and fluffy, at first I thought it was another of Guido's cats. It didn't move, but something else did. A huge fly, feeding on the pool of blood the head was sitting in. Guido Chiaramonte was facedown on the floor of his trailer—a long-handled Mexican coa protruding from his back.

CHAPTER 27

EMS was there in six minutes. The girl and I sat in the shop, waiting for the cops. She was numb.

'What's your name?' I asked, trying to pretend things were normal.

'Tanya.'

'Tanya, do you want to call your parents? Or someone to pick you up?'

'I don't have a cell. My folks won't let me have a cell yet. And Mr. C. doesn't let us use the phone for personal calls.' She was shaking now, making noiseless sobs.

'I think just this once it'll be okay.'

Tanya was in the pro cess of leaving someone a long-winded, disjointed message when Mike O'Malley and the other cops arrived. They told us to sit tight, then they headed for the trailer. Twenty minutes later, O'Malley came back to the shop. He questioned me first.

'Why is it you're the only one to find bodies in this town?' he whispered, not wanting to frighten the girl.

'Maybe you're not looking,' I snapped. 'Besides, he's not a body. He's still alive, right?'

'Barely. It's a miracle with all the blood he lost. Good thing you came along when you did.'

I shuddered; if Richard hadn't interrupted me in the library, I might still be there, reading. And Guido might be dead. 'I came here, saw Guido on the floor, and called the police. End of story. That's all I know.'

O'Malley turned his attention to the girl.

'This is Tanya,' I said.