Slay it with Flowers by Kate Collins

of powerful flashlights.
    “Abby Knight?” one of the voices behind the light called out.
    I shaded my eyes with my hand. “That’s me.”
    Three cops came forward. I recognized one of them immediately—Officer Sean Reilly. He was a good-looking man in his early forties, well trained, physically fit, and as far as I could tell, honest. He and Marco had worked together to aid in my rescue less than a week earlier.
    “How’s it going?” I asked him.
    “I was actually having a quiet evening—until now.” He shined his light on the others. “Is anyone here injured?”
    “No,” I answered, since the group was staring at the cops like a herd of deer caught in the headlights. “Not unless you consider recently dead an injury.” I pointed toward the blind. “The body is up there, and so is the murder weapon.”
    “You found the murder weapon?”
    “Bertie did, actually,” I said, and Bertie lifted his hand to identify himself. “He found it in the reeds about one yard west of the body. None of us touched it, by the way.”
    “A gun?”
    “A camera.”
    Reilly turned to the two cops. “Let’s secure this area and call the coroner.” As they moved into action, he pulled a small notebook and stubby pencil out of his chest pocket. “I need some preliminary information. Was the victim dead when you got here?”
    When no one spoke up, I decided I’d better say something or Reilly was going to get testy. “Yes,” I said, and the others nodded in agreement.
    “Was anyone with him?”
    “No.”
    “Did you see anyone leave the vicinity?”
    “No.”
    “Was the victim a friend of yours?”
    “Of theirs,” I said, hitching a thumb toward the gang of mutes.
    “And you’re here because you like to meddle?”
    My turn to get testy. “I do not meddle; that is a vicious rumor undoubtedly started by Marco. I’m only here because my cousin Jillian—raise your hand, Jill—asked me to come help her look for her groomsman, who’s been missing for two days, by the way.”
    “So the victim has been missing for two days,” he said, writing.
    “No, that’s a different groomsman.”
    He looked at me from under skeptical eyebrows. “You’ve got a missing groomsman and a dead groomsman?” He shook his head as he jotted the information in his notebook. “Sounds like a fun wedding.”
    “Tell me about it,” Jillian said.
    “Jillian is the bride,” I explained, after he gave her a glance. “Flip is the one who’s missing.”
    Reilly paused, his pencil in the air. “Flip?”
    “You know, I had that same reaction.” I smiled, but Reilly’s icy look killed it. “As it turns out,” I continued with a straight face, “Flip is his nickname. His real name is Phillip Whitcomb.”
    “Whitcomb with a b, ” Jillian added. “Everyone forgets the b because it’s silent.”
    “Just like Flip,” Sabina said with a sniffle.
    “And the victim’s name?” Reilly asked, ignoring the dramatics.
    “Punch,” I replied. “Again, a nickname. Real name Paulin Chumley—so you can understand the need for a nickname. I don’t know what his parents were thinking. Punch came out here looking for Flip and spotted Flip’s car in the parking lot. Then he called Claymore.” I hitched my thumb in his direction. “He’s the groom, and that’s his real name. And then Jillian called me, and here I am.”
    Reilly gave me a look that said, Another calamity, eh, Jane? “Am I to understand, then, that the victim’s car is in the parking lot?”
    “It was there when we arrived. We haven’t checked lately.”
    “What about the missing person’s car?”
    “It was there, too.”
    “Anyone have a phone number for the victim’s parents?”
    “I can get it for you,” Claymore said.
    Reilly glanced over his notes, then closed the notebook. “That’s enough for now. I’m getting a headache. Everyone have a seat.” He started toward the blind and I followed.
    “That means you, too,” he called over his shoulder.
    Of