Following Martin to the flowering vines and shrubbery section, we examined several bushes. The tags wrapped around the stalks showed fuchsia blooms called Beautiful Se?orita, a bright red variety called Barrington Belle, or Candy Heart, a delicate and pale pink.
“It looks like there’s yellow paint on the inside petals of your pressed flower,” Martin remarked, eyeing the page once again. “None of our plants have a corn yellow middle with white petals, but we sell a wonderful book on the flowering bushes of North Carolina. It has full-color plates.”
Thanking the helpful gentleman, I spent twenty dollars on the book, even though I probably could have researched peony varieties on the Internet for free. Still, I didn’t feel like I could keep visiting the garden center without buying something, and I didn’t want to carry a Siberian ginseng plant all the way back to Novel Idea, so I purchased the reference book.
On the way out, I noticed a lemon yellow Vespa scooter parked by the front door. It had a black leather seat, chrome embellishments, and a small For Sale sign taped to the top case.
I forgot all about my mystery flower. I forgot all about work. Hesitating only for a moment, I ran my fingers along the seat, letting them trail upward, caressing the handlebars and coming to a rest on one of the side mirrors. I caught my reflection in the glass and had to laugh. I looked like a woman in love. If not love, it was certainly a serious crush.
Rushing back inside, I found Martin watering a display of cheerful marigolds. Their golden hue made my heart beat faster. I had to have that scooter!
“Could you tell me who owns the Vespa parked out front?”
“That’s Addison’s,” Martin replied. “We call it Big Bird, she calls it Banana Split, and her folks call it risky. Lucky for our gal, her big brother just bought her a beautiful, brand-new Volvo and asked her to sell the scooter.”
I’d name it Sunshine, I thought, envisioning myself driving the Vespa down the road leading to my mother’s. In my fantasy, the rain-parched flowers growing in the grassy meadows along the street burst into bloom as I whipped past, a scarf trailing out behind me, the wind curving around my shiny black helmet. My arms and legs were bronzed by the sun, and I was wearing tight capri pants and a pair of high-heeled boots. Drivers didn’t mind my reduced speed limit. In fact, they were simply happy to be able to catch a glimpse of the woman on the scooter who looked as though she should be motoring through the narrow lanes of Paris or Rome. Perhaps they’d think I was a movie star, hiding out in Inspiration Valley to recover from the stress of shooting my latest blockbuster.
“Ma’am? I think I lost you again,” Martin teased.
I blushed, feeling foolish for getting caught in a second round of daydreaming. I wrote down my phone number and handed it to Martin. “Would you give this to Addison and tell her I am very interested in the scooter?”
He nodded, tucking the scrap of paper in his apron pocket. “Sure thing. Have a nice day.”
I hurried out of the garden center and back to the center of town. By the time I entered the blessed air-conditioning inside Espresso Yourself, I was hot, sweaty, hungry, and thirsty.
Makayla glanced up from the milk she was steaming, saw me sag against the counter, and laughed. “Don’t you know better than to run around in the midday heat? Sit on down. I know just what you need.”
Moments later, I was served an iced cappuccino, which tasted utterly divine. I took several refreshing sips and then uttered a gratified sigh. “You’re a little like my mother, Makayla. Both of you seem to have a gift when it comes to knowing what people really need. Now how about lunch? Any bagels left?”
Makayla shook her head. “I’ve got nothing but sugary treats, and those are just going to make you thirsty all over again.” She examined the gardening book poking out of my purse. “You working on a green thumb?”
“No. I’m hoping to discover a clue.” I quickly showed her the drawing and the newspaper article.
She scanned over the lines and then stared at Marlette’s portrait of Sue Ann. “Tell me she doesn’t give you the creeps,” Makayla said with a frown. “Those eyes…another picture showing those smug, hostile eyes. This girl probably got up every morning and set about planning to mess up somebody’s day. I’ve seen that look before. She thinks she’s better than everyone. Thinks she’s owed something. Is only happy when another person is full of grief.”
“I keep wondering if this girl is Sue Ann and if Sue Ann is the person who accused Marlette of molestation. This isn’t the first drawing he made of her. So far, I’ve found two of them. She must have been significant to him.”
Makayla’s frown deepened. “Not in a good way, either. This girl haunted him.”
We both fixed our gazes on Sue Ann’s defiant eyes.
“I’ve got to get back to work!” I exclaimed, suddenly noting the time. I grabbed my takeout cup, thanked Makayla, and trotted up the stairs.