he went to great lengths to orchestrate.
The rumble of a Harley approaching brought a smile to her face. She padded across the tile floor to a full- length mirror in the hallway. At a light rap on the door, she quickly swiped gloss across her lips and slipped the tube in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Come in.” She inched the door open, and her partner poked his head inside. “Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
Randy shook the hair from his eyes “Sure. We’ve got a little time to kill before we’re due at the farm.” He pulled out a chair and sat, careful to keep his feet on the mat in front of the door.
“Don’t worry about your boots.” She poured him a cup of coffee, inwardly pleased he cared enough not to step on the floor.
He reached for his mug at the same time she set it on the table, his hand lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. Flustered, she addressed the photos.
“It’s ironic how beautiful the flowers are. Why does he leave them behind after doing what he does to the poor souls?” He sipped from his mug.
She shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Maybe the professor can shed some light on this whole sordid mess.”
Randy gulped the rest of his coffee down. “Well, there’s no sense in sitting inside on a beautiful day like this. It’s a nice run through the country to his property.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.” She smiled. “I’ll just grab my helmet and we can head out.”
Randy squinted against the bright morning sun and slipped on his sunglasses. It was a beautiful day to be out on the bikes. Too bad it wasn’t under different circumstances. He wouldn’t mind getting reacquainted with the gal he’d only known as Red.
Her bike, parked outside the garage door, sparkled in the sun. Some serious time went into buffing the chrome.
The back door banged shut, and Becca locked it before putting her helmet on. She’d tied her oversized denim shirt around her tiny waist. The black tank top revealed three quarter sleeves of colorful tattoos up her arms. The edge of another tattoo peeked out from her scooped neckline. Several colourful feathers cupped the curve of her milky white breast. The memory of her naked body quickened his pulse.
It didn’t take long before the wind worked its magic, bringing a rosy glow to Becca’s cheeks. She looked over at him and flashed a bright smile as he pulled up beside her. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat to accommodate his arousal.
Randy gave her a definitive nod and let off on the gas to fall back in behind her, but not before he caught a telltale wrinkle sprout between her gorgeous green eyes.
A brisk morning breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers in full bloom from a beautiful, endless sea of color–a welcome distraction.
He followed Becca down a long winding drive that eventually yawned open to a picturesque house. He eased in beside her out front of a double garage.
He whistled. “This is quite the set up, eh?”
Becca set her helmet on her seat and finger-combed the tangles from her shiny red hair.
He’d sat at his computer long into the night researching Professor Davies. The man had been a high school science teacher for fifteen years before climbing the rungs to become a professor of horticulture at the university. Last spring, at sixty years of age, he took a semi-retirement; he now taught hands-on horticulture, specifically hydroponics here in his greenhouses.
“Well, let’s see if this guy can decipher The Florist’s psychotic reasoning.”
Becca nodded and slipped the denim shirt back over her tattoos, visibly switching to cop mode.
Becca climbed the porch stairs with Randy at her side. They paused at the door, and he looked her way.
“Are you okay?”
“Absolutely.” Her finger was already on the doorbell.
Through the etched glass, Becca saw an older woman scurrying toward them.
“Good morning.” Her bright smile welcomed them as she wiped her damp hands on a crisp, white apron.
“Good morning. I’m Detective Randy Bates, and this is my partner, Detective Becca Talbot.”
“Yes, of course. I’m Mable. The professor is expecting you, so if you’ll follow me this way....”
They stepped onto an incredibly polished floor. Seamless tile depicted many geometric and floral patterns, skirting a spectacular staircase. Mable led them through a formal living room with luxurious celery-green curtains and deep, curvy pelmets. Beautiful crystal lighting hung from the ceiling on either side of a contemporary sofa. Winged-back chairs in a contrasting shade of vanilla provided the perfect complement. It was a room she’d only seen the like of in high end design magazines.
Mable opened impressive French doors to a homey sunroom filled with mismatched furniture and dated lace curtains. The scent of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. Sitting in an overstuffed armchair, a distinguished, white- haired gentleman looked up from a magazine and set it on his lap, followed by removing his glasses.
“Hello, you must be the officers wanting to talk flora with me.” His smile reached his sparkling blue eyes, putting Becca even more at ease than the room did.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Detective Talbot, and this is my partner, Detective Bates.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re asking me for the significance of these blooms. My wife shared my passion for horticulture, but she’s the one who actually did all the research into their meanings.”
An air of melancholy settled in the room.
Becca laid out the pictures of the flowers she’d scanned off the Internet. “These are the ones left in the hands of The Florists’ victims. We hoped you might shed some light on their significance, if any.”
The professor set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and perused the images thoughtfully. His long, wrinkled fingers feathered the edges of each photo before turning his attention back to them.
“This is quite a diverse selection you have here.”
Becca tapped the first photograph of a white carnation. “What is the definition of this one? Of course, we’ve researched them on our own, but came up with quite a few conflicting definitions.”
The housekeeper appeared, and Randy jumped up, taking the fully laden tray from her hands. The chivalrous gesture stained the woman’s cheeks pink.
“Why thank you, young man. You can set it in the middle of this table.” She smiled and slid the magazine out of the way. “Would you like me to pour?”
Becca smirked. “No, Randy can take care of that for you.” She pressed her lips firmly together to contain her laughter.
He arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, Becca. How kind of you to offer my services.”
Professor Davies peered over the rim of his glasses from her to Randy and then back to the picture in his hands. “White flowers in general usually lean toward purity. The carnation defines it in the form of beauty, love and charity. These qualities might symbolize the memory of someone who is deceased.”
“Are you suggesting he might have known and loved the first victim?” Becca sat on the edge of her seat.
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. In my opinion, since the type of flora is polar opposites from the way he killed them it almost feels like a present...a parting gift, if you may.”
