The Florist

Good Vibrations

            Mel followed his nose to an appetizing aroma that lured him to the kitchen where he found Capri making breakfast. When she alerted him that it was nearly done, he was showered and dressed before meeting her at the dining room table where a spread of bacon, grits and buttery biscuits awaited.

            “This looks amazing! You didn’t have to …”

            “I know that, but I wanted to show my appreciation for all your help. Besides, I’m used to it. I did most of the cooking at home.”

            “Who taught you how to cook?”

            “My mom. She was a mastermind in the kitchen.”

            “Was she a chef?”

            “To us, yes. Professionally, no. She should’ve been, but after I came along, she focused on being a mother and a housewife.”

            “What did your dad do?”

            “He was a business owner.”

            “Oh yeah?”

            She nodded. “He owned a floral shop here in Nolan.”

            “Ah, so that’s how you know all that language of flowers stuff. Makes sense now.”

            “Knowledge is power,” she smiled. “I never thought about joining the family business, so thank goodness for Tristeza. Not only did she take me in, but she kept my parents’ dreams alive.”

            “How’s that?”

            “Well, she and my mom shared a love of cooking and always planned to open a restaurant together, so Tristeza got a head start on it. She started off small, so small that she had to keep her day job for a while. Mom was focused on me and dad, but he encouraged her to play a role in it, even if it was a small one. It was really cool for me and Nia to watch them collaborate on recipes. Now it’s a successful labor of love, Triste Treats.”

            “She’s the owner of Triste Treats? People kill for the beignets there! I used to order their shrimp and grits breakfast …”

            “The one with the crispy bacon, tomatoes and cheese on top? Dad loved when mom made that for breakfast.”

            “Oh, that was her recipe?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Do you know how to make it?”

            “Of course, but I’ll never tell.”

            “But if you have the gift, why wouldn’t you share it?”

            “Because the recipes are family secrets.”

            “That’s not what I meant. Why is Tristeza the one keeping the dream alive? How come you’re not?”

            “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just … there are things I want to do before I plant my feet with a commitment like that.”

            “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

            “I want to travel, you know? See the world. Learn about different cultures. That’s always been my dream.”

            “And now you’re learning about psychopaths.”

            “Funny how life works, huh?” she joked to his chuckle. “One day I’ll take the flower shop off her hands and help out with Triste Treats, but I want to go into it with a seasoned mind, you know? I want to have done things, seen things, acquired more knowledge, because all I know about the businesses is what they’ve taught me, and that’s great. But if I’m going to take part in it, I want to be able to bring something to the table, something all my own, something that will help it progress.”

            He smiled at her ambition. “That’s very admirable.”

            “Thanks, but enough about me. What about you? Did you always want to be a man of the law?”

            “I wanted to help people but wasn’t sure how. You know, there are a lot of service jobs, and I researched damn near all of them.”

            “So what made you settle on police work?”

            “Like I said yesterday, my dad’s murder motivated me to want to find the culprit. When I went to the academy, I really took to the material. Guess it comes natural to me.”

            “What else … comes natural to you?”

            He blushed sensing her alluring tone. Capri took notice, but instead of calling him out on it, she eagerly anticipated the answer.

            “Caring for others, especially those I have a … strong … interest in.”

            She smiled to herself while gathering another bite to consume. “Should I be relieved or flattered?”

            He grinned in return. “Time will tell … and when it does, I’ll let you be the judge.”

                                                                                                §

            Mel felt energized from the meal Capri prepared and fascinated by her conversation. His instant attraction to her was obvious but it was unethical to have such selfish thoughts when he was supposed to help bring justice to her family’s killer. I have to focus, he thought. And he did focus … on the contours of her face, the delicacy of her skin, the light in her laughter and her confident demeanor.

            “Yo!” Ward yelled snapping Mel back to the present. “What’s with you, man?”

            “My bad, I – I guess I’m just tired.”

            “Still? You didn’t get enough sleep last night?”

            “I was thinking about the last victim in The Florist case, how it might not be The Florist at all.”

            “Aww, here we go again! Listen, let Franco do his job, man. We need to get in this buildin’ and see if we can pull some more details out of the neighbor who called it in.”

            Ward led as Mel followed close behind. They both felt the eyes of the residents on them as they walked through the halls. With a knock on the door, Mel called out the name of the informant. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. Mel worriedly looked to Ward before his partner grabbed a hold of a young man passing by.

            “Hey! Do you know Augustine Velar?”

            “Auggie, yeah, yeah, I know her.”

            “Do you know where she is?”

            “Is she at school, work …”

            “Does she have a damn hearing problem? Why ain’t she answering the door?”

            “Ward!”

            “Uh, no. Matter fact, I share a class with her. We had a final this morning.”

            Mel took a breath of relief. “Good. Then you saw her.”

            “No, she wasn’t there. It was really weird too ‘cause I mean, it’s a final. If you don’t show up, you get a zero. And she was just talking about how she needed to do well in order to pass the class …”

            “Get back!” both detectives exclaimed.

            With one swift kick, Ward knocked the door off the hinges. They scanned the apartment and shouted for Augustine until approaching the bathroom. There she was, unconscious in the tub. A flower floated freely in the water with a note sealed in a Ziploc bag.

                                                                                        §

            Capri had been on a roll since Mel left, organizing the files to make a visual aid about The Florist murders. She arranged the data by the victim’s name, date of murder, flower, the flower’s meaning, and the corresponding poem. Additionally, she took notes of the elements she had yet to decipher.

            A part of her was tempted to call Mel and tell him about the progress. No, she thought. Patience is a virtue. Just wait until he gets home.

                                                                                    §

            Mel sat at his desk disappointed and regretful with his head in his hands. She was so young, he thought to himself. She didn’t have to die. She didn’t have to die.

            Captain Grayson’s voice carried through the precinct as he yelled for Mel and Ward. Sluggishly, he got up from his chair and met his partner halfway before walking into the captain’s office.

            “I understand The Florist claimed his twentieth victim. Any progress, gentlemen?”

            “The broad was supposed to meet with the sketch artist today,” Ward blurted. Mel silently reprimanded him with an evil glare. “The Florist got to her beforehand.”

            “You two need to get a handle on this! The police chief is about to enforce a townwide curfew like we’re in a damn horror movie!”

            “What good does that do when all the victims get killed at home? That’s like serving us all up on a platter.”

            Mel lightly nudged his partner to signal for him to cease his wisecracks, but it was too late. As the captain chillingly rose from his chair, Mel could tell that he was already boiling mad; Ward’s smart mouth just turned up the heat.

            “This guy is tearing up my town, killing innocent people, and all you can do is stand there and make jokes?”

            “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

            “Your job!” Captain Grayson roared. “I’m not gettin’ shut down ‘cause you don’t know how to be a detective. Now, figure this out before we all end up dead or unemployed!”

            “Oh, some i***t’s been running around for ten years killing folk and somehow it’s our fault? What about the cops before us, huh? I just got here!”

            “Ward, this is when you shut your trap, get up out that chair, and leave my office. Perrin, you stay here,” he directed. When Ward stomped out and slammed the door, Captain Grayson gave a look of warning to his partner. “He’s testing my patience.”

            “He’ll be all right. The pressure’s gettin’ to him I guess.”

            “What about you and Miss Winters? Are the two of you making any progress on this case or is the pressure getting to her too?”

            “No, sir. She’s been able to successfully understand the material.”

            “She cracked The Florist’s code?”

            “To some extent, but in time, I’m sure she’ll …”

            “Perrin, time is a luxury we don’t have right now. This murder today, it’s too close to the Woodruff girl, and Chief Paige has his panties in a bunch. I need you, Franco, and Miss Winters to put your heads together ASAP.”

            Mel leaned back in the chair with trepidation. “Something doesn’t sound right. What’s really going on here, Cap?”

            “The higher ups are talking about kicking this case elsewhere and shutting down this department.”

            “What? But if they close this precinct, who …”

            “New Orleans. They’re the closest to us.”

            “So that comment you made to Ward …”

            “Wasn’t just an outburst,” Captain Grayson finished. “If we don’t find a way to clear this up, that’s it for Nolan PD.”

            Mel sighed in distress. “How much room are we talking about, Cap?”

            “One week. One week before IA moves in.”

            “IA? What’s Internal Affairs want with this? They think it’s an inside job?”

            “Ten years, twenty murders and no leads. As far as their concerned, it’s either an inside job or someone on the inside is covering up the evidence. We’re under the wire here, Perrin. We need something we can use … and we need it fast.”

                                                                                        §

            “Oh … my … God!” Capri cried as she took a broader look at the information in the files. She noticed a multitude of patterns that were plain as day to a viewer with an open mind, but since the police were trained to search for certain elements, she understood why they were overlooked.

                                                                                        §

            “Franco,” Mel called walking into the lab.

            “Hey! Perrin! Where’s your partner?”

            “He’s grabbin’ lunch. Uh, I wondered if I could have your ear for a minute,” he posed. Franco’s gesture permitted him to continue. “Have you heard the news?”

            “About the twentieth victim or the chief havin’ our balls in a sling?” After Mel laughed, he continued. “Look here, nobody wants to find this Florist more than I do, but he hasn’t committed twenty murders because we didn’t do our job. He’s awkwardly thorough. Nothin’ left to chance, no fingerprints, and no slip ups. We created a profile from the handwriting structure but that only provides us with basic personality traits: an outgoing person who loves attention but is private about their personal life, doesn’t like to be alone, and has a low tolerance for people who don’t learn from their mistakes. We mine-as-well put out an APB on everybody in this Godforsaken town!”

            Mel nodded along sharing his frustration. “I hear you, man.”

            “It would be helpful if somebody knew what the notes meant, but I’ve called in a bunch of favors, best people in their field. Nobody can figure it out.”

            “Well … we might have a breakthrough on that,” Mel said as Franco looked with intrigue. “Do you remember my mention of Capri Winters?”

            “The daughter of the first two victims. Yeah, I remember.”

            “She made a big fuss about not trustin’ us to c***k the case and asked to use her talents to … assist.”

            “Grayson’s lettin’ a civilian work on the case?” he recapped with widened eyes. “She any good?”

            “She deciphered four of The Florist’s notes including her parents’ so … I’d say so.”

            “Uh-huh. So, how and when will her findings be useful to us? What’s she gonna do, write a report? Give a presentation?”

            “Cap wants us all to get together, compare notes, and figure something out before IA tries to shut us down. We got a week.”

            Franco shook his head. “She cracked four notes in one day, huh?”

            “In less than an hour.”

            “How about this weekend? Me, you, your partner …”

            “Uh, no. Not him. Cap doesn’t want him to know about her.”

            A chuckle resonated from Franco. “I’m not surprised. He’s not too fond of the kid. Well, how’s Saturday?”

            “Saturday’s cool.”

            “All right, Perrin. We’ll see what she’s got.”

                                                                                            §

            Mel was taken aback by the state of his house. Music blared from the windows as he viewed Capri running around inside. The only thing that caught her attention was the slamming of the door when he came in. She darted to his stereo system to turn the music off.

            “Having a party?” he smiled slyly.

            “Working on something actually. Come look,” she invited as he walked over to the dining room table full of paper with her handwriting.

            “What’s all this?

            “A chart on the Florist murders. I needed something visual so I could actually see if there were any more patterns, where they are, and if there was any way to tie them into the missing links I told you about.”

            “How’d that work out for you?”

            “Really well! You know, after you read the poems for the third and fourth victim, I honestly thought every other flower was going to be along the lines of beware or danger, but I was wrong. The flowers all have different meanings, but The Florist manipulates them to suit the messages he wants to convey in the poems.”

            “Messages?”

            “Yeah! See, the flowers might not have similar meanings, but the poems do. Like, for example, victim #15: Montgomery Sawyer. Abandoned and empty, forsaken still guilty, maybe you’ll learn, once your skin burns, to have humility. She was left with a windflower which means forsaken, but the poem suggests that she was egotistical or arrogant. Victim #6: George Flynn Wesson. You played a treacherous game, of deception and false claim, no flowers will grow, from your foul blood flow, but vengeance has signed its name.”

            “It sounds like he might have been a conman.”

            “Exactly, and his flower was a hyacinth which represents game or sport, but The Florist took what could have been seen to the untrained eye as something lighthearted and placed a negative spin on it.”

            “So you’re saying that The Florist is killing for some kind of … moral cause? Like he’s playing God or something?”

            “No! This is not the movie Se7en. Listen, this guy … he’s pissed about something.”

            “What gave it away, the dead bodies?”

            “Can you stop being a smart ass for a second and pay attention? This isn’t about washing the world clean and making it new anymore than it is about his ego. The Florist has a story to tell and he’s using the language of flowers and these murders to do it. The sooner we figure out the basis behind this story, the sooner we find out who he is.”

            He nodded in understanding before plopping down on the couch. Capri was confused by his reaction to the information she shared.

            “Somehow I thought you’d be a little happier by this discovery.”

            “Don’t get me wrong, I am. I definitely am. I just had a rough day today, that’s all.”

            She sat down beside him. “What happened?”

            “I found out that we have a week to break ground with this case.”

            “A week? Wai – I don’t understand. What generated such a short timeline?”

            He sighed heavily. “There was another murder today.”

            She took a minute to let the information soak in before speaking again. “Who?”

            “The witness to Nia’s killer.”

            “Are you serious? Did the sketch artist even get to meet with … whoever it was?”

            “Her name was Augustine Velar, and no, I don’t think so.”

            “Auggie,” she recalled sadly. “She was a really sweet girl.”

            “You knew her?”

            Capri nodded. “Not as well as Nia. They hung out a lot. She was a freshman at Blaise.”

            “I see.”

            “What flower was she left with? What did the poem say?”

            “It was a magnolia …”

            “A magnolia?” she exclaimed. “Like the ones from the trees in the front yard of the apartment building?”

            “Yeah … and the poem said the same as Nia’s.”

            “The sa --,” she puffed with fury. “Okay. Now, he’s starting to piss me off.”

            “You’re not the only one. Did you notice any repeated poems with the files I gave you?”

            She tilted her head and glowered at him. “Mel, you’ve seen the files, same as me. You know good and well there aren’t any repeated poems.”

            “Yeah,” he said in upset.

            “So, do you believe me now, that the person who killed Nia and now Auggie is not The Florist?”

            He looked at her with sincerity in his eyes. “I believed you then.”