Chapter Forty-One
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We reconvene in the living room when Amity and Wyatt have showered and dressed. Wyatt seems ready for action. He stands in front of the bulletin board like a general mapping out an attack. He lists the most pressing questions:
Who sent flowers to Tracy?
Who is Pippa, and what was Tracy planning to tell her the day after her murder?
For whom did Tracy don and doff the black negligee? Was it the driver of the red Tesla that Bert had seen parked behind the building?
Wyatt suggests we start with the low-hanging fruit—the flowers.
“We know they came from Willowthrop Florist, so let’s give them a call.”
Amity calls on speakerphone. Making her voice sound gruff and businesslike, she introduces herself as “DS Clark,” which I think stands for detective superior or maybe department superintendent?
Whatever, Amity is clearly amused with her ruse.
She says she’s pursuing a murder investigation and that the public good would be served by knowing who recently ordered a bouquet of white calla lilies to be delivered to Tracy Penny.
“Oh, yes, of course, you’re following up.
” The woman sounds excited, maybe a little nervous.
“I mean, oh, how surprising. Let’s see, the white calla lilies.
Let me see if I remember. Hmm, white calla lilies.
” She’s the first genuinely bad actress we’ve encountered yet, which makes me appreciate how good everyone else has been.
“Here we are. Oh, how interesting. I remember it well, because he didn’t call as so many do these days.
He came into the store himself and paid in cash, including some loose change from his pockets.
He was a few pence short, but I let it slide. He seemed so desperate.”
“Did you get his name?” Amity asks.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Amity asks.
“He had excellent posture.”
“Dark hair?”
“I suppose you could call it dark, what’s left of it anyway.
Only a few strands and worn that sad way some men do.
A comb-over, I think? I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.
He knew exactly what he wanted though, despite the price.
I suggested carnations, much less expensive, but he said no, it had to be calla lilies, nothing else would do.
I hope she enjoyed them before she, well, you know. ”
“I’m sure she did.” Amity hangs up.
“Not very illuminating,” I say.
“On the contrary,” Amity says. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.
The flowers were calla lilies, the same flowers that Tracy held as a wedding bouquet in the portrait on the wall.
That’s why they were sent to her. The person with the comb-over and the good posture who sent them and wrote ‘Forever Yours’ on the note was Gordon Penny. ”
“Why would Gordon send flowers to Tracy?” I ask.
“Because, Watson, he’s still hopelessly in love with her,” Wyatt says.
“Why hopelessly?” I ask. “Maybe they were going to get back together.”
Amity gives me an indulgent look, like I’m an adorable child but not very bright.
“The note was in the garbage,” she says.
Wyatt picks up a red Sharpie, walks over to the bulletin board, and puts a large X over Gordon Penny’s photograph.
“We have eliminated a suspect,” he says. “Gordon didn’t want Tracy’s money. He wanted to win her back.”