"As much as I'd love to, I don't think that's a wise course right now."
Her smile tore at his resolve. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"See you in ten."
He left the room before desire overrode common sense. Soft laughter followed him out.
Tease, he thought.
Coward, she replied.
He grinned and headed down the stairs. The florist shop was still wrapped in darkness and as silent as a grave. He unlocked the door and felt around the frame, looking for wire before he opened it fully. While he doubted there would be anything more than cobwebs and dust, he didn't intend to take a chance. Not with this case.
The scents of lavender, roses, freesias and God knows what else, assaulted him the minute he fully opened the door. The rich aromas tickled his nose and made him sneeze. He'd never enjoyed flowery scents—not until Vannah had come along, anyway. But then, her scent was far more exotic than the cloying smells that hung in the air here.
He scanned the dark room, looking for anything that appeared out of place. Nothing did, and there were no security cameras, either. A small counter stood near the back end of the room, and behind that, a closed door. He wove his way through the bucketed masses of color, wrinkling his nose to stave off another sneeze and half wondering how any wolf could stand to be in this place for too long. But maybe the old bird didn't have much of a nose—though it was usually sight that went first in a wolf, not the sense of smell.
There was nothing behind the counter beyond curled, brown rose petals and torn bits of ribbons. He tried opening the door, but it was locked. The main door key didn't fit it, either, which was a little odd. What could be so important to a florist that she kept it behind a separately locked door? Especially when most of the stock was sitting in the main room?
He didn't know, and he couldn't find out without breaking in. And he wouldn't do that until he had a reason to—otherwise, he might only succeed in warning a potential suspect that she was under suspicion.
He turned back to the desk and began opening drawers. In the third one, he found a book containing delivery orders. He scanned through the pages, looking for Candy or Lonny. Neither of them were there. So why was Anni delivering flowers to Candy, and why weren't they being recorded? He closed the book and returned it. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Trista.
"Hey, boss,” she said. “I just finished talking to Bryton, the ranger over in Merron."
He opened the last drawer and began looking through it. “And?"
"He was very helpful."
Undoubtedly hoping for a repeat of last summer, Cade thought wryly. “So he knew Lonny Jackson?"
"Oh yeah. Apparently, the mother was off with the fairies most of the time, and her daughters both ran wild."
He pulled out some notebooks and quickly flicked through them. Nothing more than old delivery addresses. The rest of the drawer was full of loose papers. He grabbed a handful, and started looking through them. “The other sister wouldn't happen to be called Candy, would she?"
"She certainly would. Apparently Candy was the result of a drunken one-night stand with a human, and Frankie never bothered registering her birth."
"Nice of her."
"Yeah. But the really interesting bit of gossip as far as we're concerned is the one about Lonny's father."
A letter in spidery writing caught his eye. It was from Lana Lee and addressed to Anni Hawkins rather than Anni Jenkins. Instinct prickled. Was Anni connected to Frankie's mother in some way and, therefore, Jontee?
Pay up the owed rental, the note said, or I shall report you to the police. It was not so much the threat, as the way it was worded that struck him as odd. Why the police rather than the rangers? Why even go to the police for a rental dispute? There were certainly other avenues to try first. He put the letter to one side, and continued on.
"So who is Lonny's father?"
"Jontee McGuire."
Elation ran through him. Finally, they had a connection. Maybe not to the current murders, but at least to Jontee and Rosehall, and that was what these murders were about. “You sure?"
"Bryton is. Apparently, knocking Frankie up is the reason Jontee left Merron in the first place. Frankie's father was furious that a half-breed had done his daughter and beat both of them to an inch of their lives. Jontee did a runner, and Frankie was apparently never the same mentally."
From what Vannah had said, Jontee hadn't been, either. Though he'd seemed pretty damn sane when they'd caught and convicted him. “How old were they?"
"Fifteen. Jontee apparently lived next door to the Doherty household."
"The time frames are right.” He paused, studying a snip of paper with an out-of-town phone number on it. Probably nothing, but worth checking. “So what happened to Candy and Lonny when Frankie and her husband died?"