Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,55
coveralls was distinct enough that she could read the name of the company embroidered into the khaki fabric. Bramlett Nurseries.
Straightening, she grabbed the list of names she’d gotten from Davenport Trucking, running her finger down the column of renters until she found it. Bramlett Nurseries. Located right there in Bitterwood.
So Bramlett was the landscaper the cemetery used to maintain the grounds. And Bramlett rented a box truck from Davenport Trucking.
That had to mean something, didn’t it?
She dug through the case file until she found a photo of the belladonna plant she’d snapped at the cemetery after Marjorie Kenner’s funeral. The plant was healthy and well-groomed, as if someone maintained it with care.
Someone like a horticulturist with his own nursery and landscaping company?
If workers from Bramlett Nurseries were tending to the plants at the grave sites, as they seemed to do in some of the surveillance pictures she’d quickly flipped through, would they recognize deadly nightshade for what it was?
* * *
IT WAS TOO EARLY TO GO to Bramlett Nurseries so she finished eating and dressed for work, heading in an hour and a half early to get a head start on the day. She had the detective’s office to herself for only a few minutes, however, before Antoine Parsons wandered in with a doughnut, a cup of iced coffee and the morning paper. He looked surprised to see her there.
“Did you break the case?” he asked hopefully.
“Remains to be seen,” she answered with a half smile. She waved him over and he pulled up a chair by her desk, listening with interest as she caught him up on what had happened since she’d left the office the day before. “It may mean nothing,” she said after showing him the photos of the Bramlett Nurseries employees at work. “But it’s at least an interesting coincidence that the nursery is a long-term renter from Davenport Trucking.”
“That assumes you’re right that the killer is using rented trucks as his killing field.”
“Granted. But I think I am.”
Antoine was quiet for a moment, his silent scrutiny making her feel like a germ under a microscope. Finally, he nodded. “I think you are, too.”
“I’ve done a little preliminary checking this morning, made a few calls. Bramlett’s been in business for years, although they were mostly a feed and seed shop until old Mr. Bramlett died last year. He didn’t have any children, so the company went to his nephew Mark.” She checked her notes. “I haven’t been able to do much of a check on him, but the source who told me about old man Bramlett says the nephew lived in the Nashville area and moved here to take over the company.”
“And changed up the way they did things, I take it?”
“Looks like. Modernized, added more decorative and landscaping plants for consumers, that sort of thing. The folks at Padgett Memorial said he’s the one who pitched the groundskeeping job to them. They seem to think he’s a nice guy.”
“Nice guys can be killers,” Antoine murmured.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the display. Sutton’s name and number filled the small window. “Hawkins,” she answered.
“Sorry I left you in a lurch. How’d you get home?”
“Rachel drove me,” she answered casually, aware of Antoine’s interest in the conversation. “How’s your father?”
“Ornery, but the doctors seem sure he’ll heal up quickly enough. It just can’t be much fun to be in the hospital when you can’t move around easily on your own.” Sutton sounded nearly as frustrated as Ivy imagined his father must be feeling. “I slept in the waiting room. The sofas aren’t as bad as they look.”
“Really.”
He made a soft huffing noise. “No, not really. They’re as uncomfortable as sleeping on a pile of rocks. Is it okay if I go to your place and crash for a few hours?”
“Of course,” she said. “I showed you where the key is.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. Any luck on the truck list yet?”
“Maybe.” She didn’t want to catch him up on all the details, not with Antoine listening in. She was already walking a razor-thin edge where Sutton and her investigation were concerned. “I’m going to spend the morning following up on a few things.”
“You’ll let me know what you learn?” There was a sexy undertone to his request, a reminder that his father had always been damned good at coaxing gullible women to fall in with his ideas and schemes—including her own mother once upon a time.
“I’ll see you soon and we’ll catch up.” That was as much as