Slay it with Flowers by Kate Collins Page B

picture of Jillian and the gang. Another man came scurrying toward us, notepad in hand, causing Reilly to mutter, “Just what I needed to cap my evening, a nosy reporter.”
     
    By midnight, the scene of the crime had been cordoned off with yellow police tape, the photographers had packed up their equipment, the coroner was preparing to move the body, police and park rangers were conducting a search for Flip, and we had all been interviewed and fingerprinted. I was the only one of the group, however, who had been targeted as food by sand fleas. The little buggers had crawled under the legs of my chinos for a bedtime snack. So much for the protection of pants. I had broken my own rule about using insect repellent and now I would pay for it.
    “You should have sprayed,” Jillian scolded, as I raked the skin around my ankles.
    “I know that, Jill.”
    She put her hands on her hips and gave me a glare. “Don’t get snippy with me. You’re always the one preaching about using bug spray.”
    “I don’t preach.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    Reilly came over to where we stood facing off like mortal combatants, our teeth chattering slightly in the cool night air. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, time to go home. Just make sure you don’t leave the county. And I want to know the minute any of you hear from your friend Phillip.”
    “Don’t you think you’ll find him?” Sabina asked, her eyes still bloodshot from crying. “His car is here. He has to be here. You’ll keep looking, won’t you?”
    “Come on, Sabina,” Bertie said, looping an arm through hers. “Let’s let the police do their work.”
    “What if he’s hurt, Bertie?” she whined. “What if he’s staggering around in the woods in the dark, dripping blood? What if a cougar smells blood and attacks him?”
    “We don’t have cougars,” I told her. “Just squirrels, raccoons, deer, and a few coyotes.”
    I shouldn’t have mentioned the coyotes. As we headed back down the trail, Claymore again in the lead, Sabina clung to us fearfully, muttering to herself about bloodthirsty coyotes. When we got down to the parking lot, the old VW Beetle was gone, but Flip’s rental car was still there. We had checked the inside earlier, but no one had opened the trunk. Now I thought it might be a good idea just in case Flip had been bound and gagged and thrown inside.
    “You probably shouldn’t touch that,” Claymore said as I approached the driver’s side. “Fingerprints, and all.”
    “I know that, Claymore. Jill, do you have a pen handy?”
    “You should probably call the police,” Claymore added nervously.
    “Do you want to run back up and get them?” I asked him. “And waste valuable time?”
    Jillian pulled a sterling silver pen from her purse and handed it to me.
    “Not the Montblanc, ” Claymore cried.
    “I’m not going to chisel my way into the trunk with it.” I walked up to the driver’s window, leaned in, and used it to press the trunk release.
    Everyone hurried around to take a look, five flashlight beams aimed inside. I edged between Jillian and Bertie and peered into the hollow, but that’s what it was, hollow. Not a clue to Flip’s whereabouts to be found.
    “What are you looking at?” said a soft-spoken male voice behind us.
    I glanced around to see a tall, slender man in hiking shoes and khaki shorts, a brown T-shirt with a World Wildlife Fund logo on it, pale skin, and fine, brown hair swept to one side, holding a hand over his eyes as six bright circles of light swept over him.
    “Flip!” Sabina cried joyfully and stretched out her arms to welcome him.
    ♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

CHAPTER SIX

    H e was covered in nasty red bites, had sand stuck to his arms and legs, and looked disoriented.
    “Where have you been?” Bertie asked as everyone crowded around.
    Flip turned to point down toward the lake with one hand. The other hand he kept on his forehead. “Down there, somewhere.”
    “Didn’t you hear us calling?” Jillian