A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(67)

Carver sneezed. And sneezed again.

“It would have been—”

Carver sneezed again.

“—around one,” Dori said sharply, looking irritated.

“Okay.” Carver blinked, his eyes tearing up. “And ad whad tibe did he leab?”

“I’m sorry?”

Carver sneezed again. This was why he hated flowers. Flowers were his kryptonite. He sneezed five times and finally pinched his nose shut.

“At what time did he leave?” he asked, doing his best to regain his composure.

“I don’t know . . . eight, I guess?” Dori said. “We wanted him for the beginning of the after-party. That’s why we paid for half a day. What’s this about?”

“We really have to start packing,” Rory said.

“Did he seem agitated in any way? Did anything strike you as odd?”

“He wasn’t high, if that’s what you mean,” Dori said. “Only Rory’s uncle was high.”

Carver took his fingers off his nose. “Liam Washington is dead.”

They both stared at him in utter shock.

“So I would appreciate it if you—” He sneezed again. He wished Turner were there. Then they could do a “good cop, sneezing cop” thing. But Turner had gone to the morgue, leaving Carver to this flowery nightmare. He pinched his nose shut again. “I would really appreciate it if you think it through, and tell me exactly when you saw Liam Washington last.”

“I remember him saying he was leaving around eight,” Rory said numbly.

“Oh god,” Dori moaned.

“And during the wedding, did he seem stressed?”

Dori started crying. Rory hugged her, whispering soothing words in her ear.

“Now every time we look through our wedding photos, we’ll think of death!” Dori wailed.

Carver waited impatiently for the girl to chill, his fingers still pinching his nose.

“You know,” Rory hissed at him, “you could have been more sensitive. We’re leaving on our honeymoon today.”

“A man is dead.” Carver tried to sound severe, but it was impossible in his current nose-clutching stance.

“But it’s not our fault,” Dori sobbed. “Did you really have to ruin our memory of the most special day of our lives?”

Should he arrest them both? The prospect was alluring. For obstruction of justice and for assault of an officer with pollen. Now that would really ruin their memory. Also they would miss their honeymoon flight.

His phone rang, interrupting his fantasy. It was Turner. He answered the call.

“Carver,” Turner said. “I just got out of the morgue. The ME ruled it a homicide.”

“Color me surprised,” Carver said.

“Now for some bad news. I got the search warrant for the cell phone location for the past four days. I haven’t gone through all of it, but it stops on Saturday at two fifty-three in the afternoon.”

“He turned his phone off?”

“I don’t think so. I talked to his wife, and apparently, Liam has been complaining about his phone’s battery life lately. She thinks he repeatedly forgot to charge it. In any case, it’s possible the battery just ran out.”

“Where was he when it ran out?”

“Manhattan. I’ll send you the location.”

“Okay.” He already knew what it would show. Liam Washington had been photographing the wedding on Saturday at that time.

“We might still catch a break,” Turner continued. “The stomach contents contain partial remnants of a burger and some fries. The ME estimates he died an hour or two after the meal. If we find out when he ate, we’ll have a tight time-of-death window.”

“Hang on for a second.” Carver turned to the angry couple. “Did you serve hamburgers and fries at your wedding?”

Dori flinched as if he’d slapped her. “Of course not!”

“Our catering was vegetarian,” Rory said. “We weren’t about to be responsible for the death of dozens of innocent chickens and cows just to celebrate our wedding.”

“You don’t seem too bothered about the death of your wedding photographer,” Carver said. He wasn’t proud of himself. But he was tired, and these two were a bit much.

“It wasn’t our fault!” Dori shouted and sobbed again.

“Carver? What’s going on there?” Turner asked.

“Nothing, I just—” Carver sneezed. And sneezed again. And again.

His record was seventeen consecutive sneezes. If he stayed in this flower apocalypse, he would beat it. “Danks bor your cooberation,” he blurted at the couple and stumbled out of the apartment. “Oh god.”

“Carver?” Turner sounded as if he was about to get on the radio and report that an officer was in trouble.

“I’b fide. Hang od.” Carver rubbed his nose violently and sneezed a few more times. “I’m okay. Listen, let’s check Liam’s credit card charges. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find where he ate those burger and fries. The happy couple said he was with them between one and eight.”

“Okay. Oh, and I checked the victim’s camera’s memory. There are a lot of photos of weddings in there. No pictures of kidnapped boys, though.”