“You’re fourteen. You don’t get to make those sorts of choices.”
“So you say.”
“You can hate me and curse me and think I’m a pile of shit. But in the end it’s for the best.”
“No thinking needed. You are a pile of shit.”
The line went dead and Robie dropped the phone on the seat.
He shouldn’t feel bad about this, he really shouldn’t. Everything he had told Julie Getty was the truth.
So why do I feel like the world’s biggest asshole?
A half mile from his apartment he pulled to the curb and got out. He opened the door of the shop and went inside. He was instantly hit by a thick wall of scents. If he’d had allergies he would have started sneezing.
He walked to the counter where a young woman was working. He pulled out the tiny white fragments and set them on the counter as she turned to him.
“Strange question, I know,” he began. “Could you tell me what kind of flower this is?”
The young woman peered down at the fragments of petals. “That’s not really a flower, sir.”
“It’s all that was left.”
She poked it with a finger and held it up to her nose. She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I only work here part-time.”
“Is there anybody else who can help me?”
“Give me a sec.”
She stepped into a back room and a few moments later a woman wearing spectacles came out. She was older and heavier and for some reason Robie concluded that she was the owner of this florist shop.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely.
Robie repeated his question. The woman picked up what remained of the petal, held it close to her eyes, took off her glasses, examined it more closely, and then took a whiff.
“White rose,” she said decisively. “A Madame Alfred Carriere.” She pointed to a spot on the petal. “You can see just a hint of pink blush there. And the smell is strong spicy-sweet. The Madame Plantier by comparison is all white and the smell is quite different—at least it is to someone who knows roses. I’ve got some Carriere in stock if you’d like to see them.”
“Maybe another time.” Robie paused, thinking how best to phrase this. “What would you buy white flowers for? I mean, what sort of an occasion?”
“Oh, well, white roses are a traditional wedding flower. They symbolize innocence, purity, virginity, you know, those sorts of things.”
Robie glanced over at the young woman and found her rolling her eyes.
“Although it is interesting,” said the older woman.
Robie refocused on her. “What is?”
“Well, white roses are often used at funeral services too. They represent peacefulness, spiritual love, that sort of thing.” She glanced down at the petal Robie had brought in. She put her finger on the pinkish smudge. “Although that’s another sort of symbol that I wouldn’t associate with peace.”
“The pink part? What do you mean?”
“Well, some people associate it with something entirely different from peace and love.”
“What?”
“Blood.”
CHAPTER
19
ROBIE LEFT THE FLOWER SHOP and headed on. He had a lot to think about. And he was angry. Flowers at both scenes. No, actually remnants of flowers at both scenes. The files he had been given were not the only thing his agency had redacted. They had policed the crime scenes and removed the white roses that Reel had left there, but they had missed a couple petals.
In her message Reel had suggested that he watch his back. That there were other agendas on the table. Now he was thinking she was more right than wrong about that.
The new location Blue Man had directed him to was west of D.C. in Loudoun County, Virginia. This was horse country, big estates behind miles of fencing, mingled with more modest homesteads. Interspersed throughout were small towns with upscale shopping and restaurants that catered to the well-heeled playing at being country squires. Alongside those establishments were stores that sold things people actually needed, like crop seed and saddles.
Eventually Robie turned down a graveled lane bracketed by dense pines that had turned the ground underneath them orange with their fallen needles. There was a sign at the entrance to the lane that warned folks who did not have business down here not to make the turn.
He came to a steel gate manned by two men in cammies and holding MP5s. He and his car were searched and his invitation to be here confirmed. The steel gate slid open on