“What?” I say, totally dismayed. “How does my presence here affect them at all?”
For a split second I wonder if Drew spotted me yesterday and thinks I’ve been staking out his house, but I’m nearly positive he didn’t.
“You have every right to be here,” Ava reassures me, “but they’re probably so crazy with grief that they aren’t thinking straight. I’m sorry to burden you with this, but I felt you should know, in case you bump into them.”
“Yes, thank you, Ava. I should let you go.”
We wrap up the call, with Ava saying that she’d love to get together at some point Tuesday, and she’ll let me know possible times when she’s got a better sense of her schedule. I set the phone down feeling disheartened.
It’s distressing to think that Drew and Heather are bothered by my being here, so bothered, in fact, that they’ve complained to Vic. But almost worse is the fact that someone’s felt the need to tattle on me. Was it Tori, or Liam? Vic himself? Of course, it might have come up in passing, not shared with the intention of stirring up trouble. That, however, doesn’t alter the family’s sentiments.
But I can’t worry about that right now. It’s 8:15, and time to head to the garden center. I grab my bag and lock up the house, then take off for Salisbury. I know exactly where the garden center is because I stopped by there a couple of times when I was living with Jamie to buy flowerpots for the front steps of his old rental house as well as herbs for the kitchen counter.
Despite how insistent the rain seemed this morning, it’s come to a complete stop now, and there’s even a filmy smear of sunlight in the sky. Reaching Salisbury, I discover that the town has yet to fully awaken, though there are a few people having coffee on the porch of the inn. I bear left at the fork where the inn is situated, make a turn farther up the road, and pull into the parking lot of the garden center a few minutes later.
As I’m sliding out of the car, I end up grabbing my baseball cap from the passenger seat. It seems silly to resort to a disguise, but I don’t want Percy to recognize me from the party. That is, if she’s even working today.
I decide to start with the large barn-red wooden building at the front of the center, where, from what I recall, the registers are located, along with shelves of garden tchotchkes. There are several salesclerksinside, dressed in khaki pants and hunter-green polo shirts, but Percy isn’t one of them.
I make my way quickly across the space until I’m at the back exit. As I reach for the door, my gaze falls on a large bulletin board to the right, tacked with flyers and posters for local summer events. With an uncomfortable flutter in my stomach, I realize one poster is for the Foxton County Fair, the same fair Jess Nolan attended before her body was found in the adjacent woods. It’s taking place right now.
I push open the door and venture outside. In front of me are endless rows of plants, and the air is ripe with the scent of flowers, mulch, and potting soil. I search the area with my eyes. Percy isn’t here, either.Damn. Please don’t let this be her day off.
The last place to check is the large greenhouse off to the left, and I’ve barely stepped inside when I spot her. She’s dressed in the same green shirt and khaki pants as the other salespeople, a far cry from the low-cut cocktail dress she was sporting the night of the party.
I lower my head as I continue to study her. She’s chatting with a gray-haired male customer who’s dressed in a polo shirt himself, though his is light pink and probably has a little polo player on the front. The guy nods every few seconds in response to what she’s saying, his attention glued to her face.
I proceed a bit farther into the greenhouse, and then turn down an aisle of floor plants that backs up to where Percy and the customer are standing. Within seconds, I’m right behind them, mostly hidden by foliage, but just to be safe I turn my back to them and pretend to read something on my phone.
“I agree,” I hear Percy say. “Fiddle-leaf trees look great, but they tend to be pretty finicky.”
Her voice is deep and her tone playful, like she’s enjoying the exchange.
“In other words, it’ll be dead in no time,” the customer replies.
“Yup, I think there are better options for you.”
I sneak a peek through the cluster of bright green leaves. Despite the uniform, she’s clearly taken pains with her appearance today: her hair is in a polished ponytail and she’s wearing lots of blush and lip gloss, plus superlong lashes that must be fake. Though she’s not unattractive, the sharp angles of her face—especially her overly arched brows—suggest a hardness in her, or at the very least a tendency toward prickliness. Or do I see it that way because I’ve already decided I don’t like her?
“Okay, time for a little quiz,” she says, wagging a finger. “On a scale of one to five, how important is each of the following to you? Number one: filling an empty space in your living room.”
“Five,” the man says.
“Next, making a bold statement with the decor.” She sounds like she’s auditioning to be an HGTV host.
“Um, three. No wait, maybe four.”
“Okay, now here’s the last one,” she says, chuckling a little. “Getting in touch with nature inside your own home.”
The man chuckles, too. “Can I say zero?”
Percy offers a full laugh this time. “Of course. I’ve got the perfect solution: a Chinese money tree. Unfortunately, it doesn’t actuallygrowmoney, but it has a braided trunk that makes a great statement, and you only need to water it every few weeks.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch as she leads the customer away and across the floor, her ponytail swishing as she moves.
Though I only heard a couple of minutes of conversation, it was enough to give me a read on Percy. She not only seemed upbeat, but downright flirty. Her demeanor hardly suggests someone who’s eitherchoked up over a date’s death or concerned that a murder might be tied to her.
It seems, at first glance at least, Sam called this right. There was probably no relationship to speak of between Percy and Jamie, and though she left the party after getting the cold shoulder, it was most likely in a huff, not a murderous rage.
