It didn’t take long before the wind worked its magic, bringing a rosy glow to Becca’s cheeks. She looked over at him and flashed a bright smile as he pulled up beside her. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat to accommodate his arousal.
Oh boy, I’m screwed if just a smile has this effect on me. Maybe she’s right and I need to rein in my wayward libido to focus on this case. We’re on the trail of a serial killer, and for Becca, it’s personal.
Randy gave her a definitive nod and let off on the gas to fall back in behind her, but not before he caught a telltale wrinkle sprout between her gorgeous green eyes.
A brisk morning breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers in full bloom from a beautiful, endless sea of color–a welcome distraction.
He followed Becca down a long winding drive that eventually yawned open to a picturesque house. He eased in beside her out front of a double garage.
He whistled. “This is quite the set up, eh?”
Becca set her helmet on her seat and finger-combed the tangles from her shiny red hair.
He’d sat at his computer long into the night researching Professor Davies. The man had been a high school science teacher for fifteen years before climbing the rungs to become a professor of horticulture at the university. Last spring, at sixty years of age, he took a semi-retirement; he now taught hands-on horticulture, specifically hydroponics here in his greenhouses.
“Well, let’s see if this guy can decipher The Florist’s psychotic reasoning.”
Becca nodded and slipped the denim shirt back over her tattoos, visibly switching to cop mode.
It must be nice to have an on/off button. Randy followed her across the driveway.
Becca climbed the porch stairs with Randy at her side. They paused at the door, and he looked her way.
“Are you okay?”
“Absolutely.” Her finger was already on the doorbell.
Through the etched glass, Becca saw an older woman scurrying toward them.
“Good morning.” Her bright smile welcomed them as she wiped her damp hands on a crisp, white apron.
“Good morning. I’m Detective Randy Bates, and this is my partner, Detective Becca Talbot.”
“Yes, of course. I’m Mable. The professor is expecting you, so if you’ll follow me this way....”
They stepped onto an incredibly polished floor. Seamless tile depicted many geometric and floral patterns, skirting a spectacular staircase. Mable led them through a formal living room with luxurious celery-green curtains and deep, curvy pelmets. Beautiful crystal lighting hung from the ceiling on either side of a contemporary sofa. Winged-back chairs in a contrasting shade of vanilla provided the perfect complement. It was a room she’d only seen the like of in high end design magazines.
Mable opened impressive French doors to a homey sunroom filled with mismatched furniture and dated lace curtains. The scent of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. Sitting in an overstuffed armchair, a distinguished, white-haired gentleman looked up from a magazine and set it on his lap, followed by removing his glasses.
“Hello, you must be the officers wanting to talk flora with me.” His smile reached his sparkling blue eyes, putting Becca even more at ease than the room did.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Detective Talbot, and this is my partner, Detective Bates.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re asking me for the significance of these blooms. My wife shared my passion for horticulture, but she’s the one who actually did all the research into their meanings.”
An air of melancholy settled in the room.
Becca laid out the pictures of the flowers she’d scanned off the Internet. “These are the ones left in the hands of The Florists’ victims. We hoped you might shed some light on their significance, if any.”
The professor set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and perused the images thoughtfully. His long, wrinkled fingers feathered the edges of each photo before turning his attention back to them.
“This is quite a diverse selection you have here.”
Becca tapped the first photograph of a white carnation. “What is the definition of this one? Of course, we’ve researched them on our own, but came up with quite a few conflicting definitions.”
The housekeeper appeared, and Randy jumped up, taking the fully laden tray from her hands. The chivalrous gesture stained the woman’s cheeks pink.
“Why thank you, young man. You can set it in the middle of this table.” She smiled and slid the magazine out of the way. “Would you like me to pour?”
Becca smirked. “No, Randy can take care of that for you.” She pressed her lips firmly together to contain her laughter.
He arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, Becca. How kind of you to offer my services.”
Professor Davies peered over the rim of his glasses from her to Randy and then back to the picture in his hands. “White flowers in general usually lean toward purity. The carnation defines it in the form of beauty, love and charity. These qualities might symbolize the memory of someone who is deceased.”
“Are you suggesting he might have known and loved the first victim?” Becca sat on the edge of her seat.
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. In my opinion, since the type of flora is polar opposites from the way he killed them it almost feels like a present...a parting gift, if you may.”
Very interesting possibility. Becca anxiously awaited his next assessment.
The teacher took another photo from her. “Hmm, a lily. Beautiful. It’s known to symbolize honesty and faith, and yes, even purity in the form of virginity. In the Bible, the white lily is associated with the Virgin Mary.”
The professor sweetened his tea with two sugar cubes.
Becca looked over at Randy. “Virginity can’t be the common thread. Susan never married, but she did have a serious boyfriend in her early twenties.”
“Three days after the Virgin Mary’s burial, the tomb was found empty, save for a bunch of white lilies. It became the emblem of Annunciation, the Resurrection of the Virgin. The pure white petals signify the spotless beauty, and the golden anthers are her soul captured in heavenly light.”
Becca sat entranced by the lyrical quality of the man’s voice. He must be one hell of a teacher.
Randy quietly took notes in his ever-present notebook.
“It’s interesting that the killer would go from white to the vibrant red of this gladiola. He held the paper between two fingers. “Strength and integrity. If it were a bouquet of them, the sender is likely conveying his or her infatuation with the recipient.”
Becca’s eyes filled as she handed him the snapshot of the asters left in Susan’s hands. The teacher nodded, understanding in his expressive eyes. He briefly touched her hand before accepting the photo.
“In ancient times, if one burned aster leaves they believed it would drive away evil spirits. Today, they’re used to create a sense of peaceful stability. This shade of purple is very similar to the wisteria.”
He pointed to the lavender wisteria intertwined throughout her tattoos, a few delicate blooms visible below her shirtsleeve. Their fragrance had been her mother’s favorite. Becca cleared her throat noisily before taking a sip of tea.
“Would the meanings be any different for a man or is it a unisex type of deal?” Randy leaned forward to pick up his cup.
Becca closed her eyes, grateful for the timely diversion to gather her emotions.
“That’s an interesting question. I’d have to say if there is a difference, but to my knowledge it hasn’t been charted.” He tapped the top of his head. “I have acquired an extensive amount of data over the years.” He chuckled lightly before glancing at his watch. “You have one more for me? I’m afraid my students will come looking for me soon.”