point when I dated Boris, but now that he was just one of my top vendors, I had no problem with drawing him a steaming glass from the samovar.
“None for you?”
“Not just now.” I knew from sad experience what the smoky devil’s brew would do to my stomach lining. We talked briefly about Mercedes, and I explained that the wedding was proceeding despite her death. “So what’s the plan for the EMP flowers?”
“The sketches are over there. Bring them.”
Some florists just list the plant variety and number of stems for each vase or bouquet, but Boris made these wonderful colored-chalk sketches. I fetched the folder marked “Lamott” and spread them out on the worktable.
“Wow! Double wow.”
“EMP is big and loud, it needs big loud flowers.”
These were loud, all right. Elizabeth’s gown was sizzling orange chiffon, strapless, with a shoulder wrap of cherry pink gauze. Sort of Academy Awards meets the Tequila Sunrise. The bouquet Boris had envisioned was a thick pillar of frilly red-orange gloriosa lilies, rising like a snow cone from an electric green cloud of lady’s mantle. Strange, but perfect for the dress. The bridesmaids, in their glamour-girl gowns, would each carry a dozen coral calla lilies clasped around a hot magenta heart of parrot tulips. The centerpieces for the buffet were equally audacious, mixing peonies, poppies, ranunculus, and amaryllis in a splendid clash of pink, crimson, orange, and scarlet.
“Very nice, Boris. Very cutting edge. And the bouton-nieres?”
“Tiny calla lilies, with a puff of lady’s mantle.” He gave a puff of air as he said it, just to make me laugh. “You can approve this for Lamott?”
“Yep. Where do I sign?”
“Only to initial the sketches, please. Next week I have sketches for you for the Christmas wedding, the Buckmeister.” He looked up from the snowdrift of petals on the table, his blunt brown fingers deft and gentle among the pale blossoms as he nestled each one in place. “She trusts you, Lamott. Everyone trusts you.”
“Even you, Boris?”
He grinned wolfishly “I trust no one but Boris and Irina. But you, a little, yes. I have a question for you. Private question.”
“Shoot.” I was impatient to work the conversation around to Corinne. I didn’t have long to wait.
“Someone from Solveto’s tells me,” he said, “that Corinne Campbell is almost drowning. She fell from pier at your party?”
“Almost drowned,” I corrected automatically. Boris liked help with his English. “Well, she ended up in the water, yes. I’m not sure how.”
“She is all right now?”
“Yes, she’s all right. She was in the hospital overnight—”
“This I know! I hear of it in the morning and I think, I should go to her bedside! She needs me! But I don’t go.”
“Why not? You two were pretty close for a while.”
He gave a rumbling growl. “Not close enough, for Corinne.”
“Yes, you mentioned that she wanted to get married. That’s not so unreasonable, is it?”
“Unreasonable all of a sudden!” he protested. “We are having fun, we are making frequent love, then like that”—he snapped his fingers—“she is different voman. Tears, sighing, no making love, merry me, merry me.”
“And why didn’t you want to marry her?”
He shrugged. “If I wanted or not wanted, no difference. I am merried already.”
“Boris!” I exclaimed, forgetting Corinne momentarily. “You and I… we… you’re married?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
He waved his arms and the biedermeier nearly went flying. “Do not shout at me, Kharnegie! Did you vant to merry me? Did you?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, you did not vant. So what does it matter to you if I have wife in St. Petersburg? Besides, I have asked her for divorce.”
“Did you tell Corinne that?”
“Of course not! Would only encourage her.”
I gave up. “OK, just tell me this. Do you think Corinne was so upset about breaking up with you that she would try to commit suicide?”
“She fell on purpose?”
“I really don’t know. I’d like to help her out, if I can.”
Boris pursed his lips, giving the question judicious thought. “Why drown? Why not shoot?”
“You mean shoot herself? For starters, she’d need a gun—”
“She has gun.”
“She does?”
He nodded. “For protection, for woman living alone. Liddle gun, but she had lessons for it. Bring more tea.”
When I returned with his glass, he was frowning intently as he tucked florets of hydrangea in a final lacy ring around the sweetheart roses. “Of course, Corinne is upset when we break up. I am magnificent lover, she said so. Why did you not ever say how magnificent I am, Kharnegie?”
“It must have slipped my mind. Seriously,