“Got a delivery for Helen Ableman.”
“I’ll make sure she gets it,” Ben said.
“Is she here? I’ve got specific orders from the sender that she sign for these.”
“Who are you?” Ben asked.
“Roger Clemens. Nalley Floral. Who are you?”
Helen hated Ben giving Roger a hard time. Roger was the florist, not the Mafioso. “I’m up here!” Helen called.
Roger looked up, shading his eyes. “Helen?”
She waved.
“If I could get your signature—”
“She’s not signing anything until I read it.”
“Knock yourself out.” Roger shoved the clipboard at Ben’s then walked back toward the van.
Helen climbed down. The giant bouquet of flowers sat on the ground in front of Ben while he read the paperwork. Roger came back with more flowers.
“Would you give me the clipboard?” Helen asked.
“It might be a trap—” he glanced up “—to get your signature.”
“And here I thought they were from you.” Helen plucked the clipboard out of his hand. In the upper left hand of the receipt was the customer information. The flowers were from Seth.
“Don’t—”
Helen scrawled her name across the bottom. “You are paranoid.” Helen sneezed.
“Did you read it? You’re getting forty-five bouquets.”
“Forty-five? I didn’t know you were so generous.”
His tight jaw let her know he didn’t appreciate her humor. Ben took the card off the first bouquet and pressed it in her hand as Roger returned with bouquet number three and set it on the ground. Helen opened the card which read: Do not and had the number 35 centered at the bottom. “Weird.”
“What’s weird?” Ben wanted to know.
Helen ignored the question and gathered the other cards.
Roger held a bouquet in front of her. “You want all these on the lawn?”
“In the house,” Helen said while Ben simultaneously answered, “Yes.”
“The house is fine,” Helen reaffirmed.
“On the porch and lawn,” Ben put in and gave her an I’m-in-charge glare.
Her ire bubbling, Helen propped open the front door as Roger came walking up with the fourth bouquet. He was halfway up the porch steps when Helen heard canned laughter from Jeremy’s television.
She slammed the door shut. “Ben’s right they should go on the porch and lawn.”
Roger cocked an eyebrow and set the bouquet on the porch. He asked, “Somebody die or something?”
“I don’t know,” Helen answered then sneezed.
“Who are they from?” Ben asked.
Roger ignored the question. “Mind giving me a hand?”
It took three deliveries and two hours but the forty-five bouquets were delivered. Helen and Ben had been forced to move some inside for lack of space. Much like the fire, the flowers brought out her curious neighbors. Her front and back yard appeared to be a squat, colorful forest. Inside her house, narrow paths led from the front door to the bathroom, to the kitchen, and to the basement stairwell.
Helen had collected eight of the forty-five cards before she was forced to give up. She sneezed nonstop, her eyes ran, and she’d broken into hives even though she’d taken a double dose of Benadryl. She sat on the front lawn and put the eight cards in numerical order. They said: “—number—tangled—how everything—We have—fulfill—known this—Do Not—complete,” respectively.
Ben sat next to her. “How about I get the cards off the bouquets then buy us an early dinner?”
“What about Jeremy?” He’s through the worst, he’ll be fine. He ate food earlier.
“That’s good to hear, but you don’t need to buy dinner. You pay for everything,” Helen protested even though her allergies had zapped her will to fight.
“So.” Ben tossed her a smile, jumped to his feet, and grabbed the cards off the bouquets.
****
Before they left, Ben visited Jeremy where he sat propped in the beanbag chair next to the toilet watching I Love Lucy reruns. Jeremy ignored Ben’s questions, but his shakes were gone and his color had returned. Ben was filled with an odd sense of accomplishment. Jeremy was through the worst, and for the moment, clean. A half-eaten box of crackers lay next to him, and Ben wanted to do a victory dance.
Confident Jeremy would be fine, Ben bid him adieu and returned to Helen. Her red, watery eyes and swollen, runny nose convinced Ben she needed to get away from the flowers. He suggested a drive before dinner, and Helen agreed.
As they drove out of town, taking the same highway he’d driven that fateful night eighteen years earlier, Ben was struck by the irony of the situation. The last time he’d driven south from Nalley, he’d been fleeing Helen and the responsibilities she represented; this time he ached to have her and Theo in his life permanently.
They pulled off the highway and drove into Carnival, a small tourist town that existed mainly to service cruise ships. Devoid of ships at the moment, the main street was empty. Ben parked at the first open restaurant he found, The Happy Dragon.
The waitress seated them by a window with a view of the ocean. A fake candle added to the ambiance. Ben tried to be jovial, but his curiosity over the cards kept him from relaxing. He’d asked her to read them aloud on the way, but she’d declined. Ben ordered a beer while Helen ordered wine then asked for chopsticks for them both.
“Chopsticks?” Ben inquired.
“Sure. Theo and I eat with them all the time. They makes the food taste better.”
Chopsticks were frivolous. “I’ve never used them.”
“Seriously?”
Ben nodded.
Helen squinted at him for a few seconds then shot her hand out and commandeered his silverware.
“Hey!”
“This is an all-or-nothing gig. If you have the silverware to fall back on, you’ll never learn.”
“I passed the bar in two states, testified against a gang leader, and lived through a DerFoodle Dog. I can do this.” Ben grinned.
“That’s the right attitude. It’s always good to try new things.” The comment, though said playfully, took on different meanings as an awkward silence stretched between them. Helen picked up her menu.
“You don’t want to figure out the riddle?” Ben interrupted.
“Riddle?”
“The cards from the flowers.”
“Not right now.”
“Are you scared?”
“Nah,” she answered, but her eyes conveyed otherwise.
“Are they from Seth?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. Helen ordered what the waitress recommended while Ben ordered the Drunken Prince because he liked the name.
Helen’s refusal to confide made Ben wonder whether Helen considered him a friend. He’d spent time at her home and Hot Diggitys because he’d insisted, not because he’d been invited. Every minute they’d spent together had been his doing.
“He scares me, Helen,” Ben admitted. “The beating to your customer was brutal.”
“He’s never raised a hand to me or Theo,” Helen defended. “But I don’t like that side of him either.”
“Why do you let him hang around you?”
“What am I supposed to do? Get a restraining order? Refuse him service? He needs to go somewhere, otherwise he’ll sit in his big house all alone.”
Ben guffawed. He doubted Seth spent too many nights alone. He was a player even if he’d taken one month off for a single date with Helen.
“He’s upset.” Helen’s gaze skittered around the restaurant and settled on Ben’s face. “Our near death has him spooked.”
Talking about Seth calmed Ben a little, but he wanted to know what the notes said. “Do you think Seth’s a threat?”
Helen drew in a breath. “No.”
Ben thought her naive. Rather than argue the point, he changed the subjec
t.
“What do you want to do tonight? You can’t sleep in the house with all those flowers. Your allergies will go crazy.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Helen frowned. “I hate to let the flowers go to waste; maybe I could donate them somewhere.”
“Maybe.” Ben would be happy to get rid of them for her.
Chopsticks proved harder to use than Ben had imagined. When a piece of beef dove from between the pointy little things, landed in his plate, and splashed him, Helen chuckled.
“Uncle! Uncle! There I saved you,” she said, handing over his silverware.
“You don’t think I’m giving up that easy, do you?” He skewered a chunk of meat and shove the bite in his mouth. “Mmm…mmm.”
Helen laughed and warmth spread across Ben’s chest. He liked making her happy. He pinched a shiny mushroom with his chopsticks and squeezed. The mushroom shot off the plate hitting the window before skidding across the table. Helen pursed her lips, and when a chuckle escaped, Ben said, “It’s not funny.”
After wiping the sauce off the window, he clamped another between his chopsticks, and lifted. “See.” He held the mushroom aloft for effect. As he tried to bite it, the mushroom dropped back onto the plate.
An amused frown crossed Helen’s face. “Ben Smiley, you are working me.”
“Busted.”
Helen shook her head, pinched the runaway mushroom with her chopsticks, and fed it to him. Their gazes connected.
“Thank you.” He chewed with exaggeration.
Helen looked away, breaking their bond.
“My turn.” Ben stabbed a piece of beef with his chopstick and offered it to her. Pink tinged her cheeks as Helen opened her mouth. Daintily, she bit down and pulled the meat off. Her shyness made Ben cherish her more.
“No more feeding each other,” Helen said.
Ben’s stomach fluttered, he hadn’t been nervous with a woman in years. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about trying new things,” he began.
Helen reached for her wineglass, almost knocking it over. She righted the glass and took a gulp.
Ben took a deep breath. “You’re right. All we truly have is the moment.”
“I didn’t say that,” Helen said.
“No, but you live that way. You’re almost always happy. You’ve got something figured out, but you’re holding back with me.”
Helen’s face flushed, and she took another drink of wine. “I’ve had more wine in the last two days than I’ve had in a year.”
“We both know there’s something between us.”
“We do have a child together.”
“That’s not what I mean. I want more.”
“More what?” Helen asked.
“Of you.”
Helen scoffed. “You’re leaving in a week or whenever.”
Ben reached across the table for her hand. She didn’t pull away, instead her hand was limp. “Would it be so wrong to lie in each other’s arms for one night?”
“We did that last night.”
Ben hoped her flip remark was a nervous reaction. He stayed quiet and waited. She pulled her hand from his.
“Oh, you mean the thing that produced Theo.”
Ben grinned. “You could put it that way. Only protected this time.”
“I’m not a one-week-stand sort of girl.”
“I want a relationship.”
“Isn’t that ironic?” Although she smiled, her eye weren’t joyful.
“I could travel back here on weekends. Spend time with you and Theo. We could be a family.”
Helen’s brow furrowed.
“Spend the night with me,” Ben urged. “We’ll get a room tonight. Away from Jeremy; away from the flowers. Just the two us. To see how we are together. Give me a second chance to get things right.”
Helen’s turbulent eyes revealed her inner turmoil. Her chest rose and fell three times before she nodded.
****
Agatha arrived home after dark. Carrying groceries and a bag from Hot Diggitys, she stepped through the door of the detached garage and sniffed the air. Flowers. The floodlight attached to her garage illuminated a sea of floral bouquets in Helen’s backyard. Agatha counted nineteen. Curious, Agatha wanted to inspect, but she’d already left Moe far longer than she’d intended, so she hurried inside.
She put her groceries away, and after setting the Hot Diggitys bag on the dining room table, she carried the contract she’d gotten from her attorney to her bedroom. She found Moe exactly the way she’d left him. Well, not exactly. Now he was awake and trying to glare at her, but kept blinking while his eyes adjusted to the light.
“Don’t be angry,” Agatha purred. “I was being cautious. Surely you understand.” She strolled over and tore the duct tape covering his mouth off in one hard yank. “Yeow.” Moe burst out. “Woman, that hurt.”
“You’re probably right, your mouth is all red. At least you won’t have to shave for a few days.” She folded the tape into a squared and dropped it in a wastebasket.
“What was that for? I let you take yours off slowly.”
Moe was flat on his back with his wrists and ankles tied to the four bedposts. Agatha had worked hard to get him that way and wasn’t anxious to set him free. “These are different circumstances.”
“I’ll say. I thought we were partners, then I woke up like—like this.”
Agatha slid the stool from her vanity toward Moe and sat. “Moe. What sort of a fool do you take me for?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she went on. “Of course I’m going to protect my assets before we start any sort of working relationship. You are a high-risk investment, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say you’re a pain-in-the-butt-risk investment. Now untie me,” Moe demanded.
Agatha set a folder on the bed. “I’ve got a contract here.”
Moe’s brow furrowed, and his gaze slid to the folder.
Agatha spoke, “Given all the propositions you’ve been making and the fact you’ve actually got me contemplating a few things, I’d like you to read this.” Agatha grew annoyed when he continued to stare at the folder as if he had X-ray vision. She snapped her fingers, and he regarded her with an angry, defiant gaze.
She smiled, amused that even tied up, Moe tried to dominate her. “I knew you weren’t listening.”
“I have no feeling in my hands and feet.” Moe’s tone was flat.
Agatha glanced at his feet. She’d been careful with the knots. None were tight enough to cut off his circulation. “Gee, I wonder if Jeremy has any feeling in his foot.”
Moe narrowed his gaze. “How’d you learn to tie a person up anyway?”
“Who says I did it?”
Moe bristled then struggled to get free.
“Settle down,” Agatha said.
“Getting a person to sign something under duress doesn’t make sense. Don’t you think I’d be more trustworthy if I signed them willingly?”
“I don’t think you’re trustworthy no matter what position you’re in.”
“Then why have me sign at all?”
“Good point.”
“Untie me. This isn’t funny.”
“You don’t see the tiniest bit of humor in the situation?”
Moe huffed. “Okay, I’ll admit, I was amused for about twenty-three seconds this morning, before I grew angry, now I find the situation vulgar.”
“I know the feeling.” Deciding he’d had enough, Agatha pulled a switchblade from her purse and cut the rope binding one of his arms.
“I can’t do business with a woman who carries a switchblade,” he muttered. “The worst part is you seem so harmless.”
“Under promise. Over deliver.” Agatha smiled at him as the rope snapped free.
Moe guffawed. “You’ve got that down.”
She rounded the bed and worked the rope holding the other arm. When she freed it, Agatha closed the switchblade and stuffed it back in her purse. “I assume you can do the rest.”
Moe
sat up and began untying the knots around his ankles.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” Agatha pirouetted.
“Huh?”
She spun again and with her back to him smiled over her shoulder.
“Oh. Um. You look nice?” He crinkled his forehead.
Agatha cut him some slack since he untying himself. “Why?”
“Why? That’s a strange question.”
Agatha batted her eyes.
“Your hair!” Moe pointed in triumph.
“Lovely of you to notice. Do you like it?”
“It’s exquisite.”
He didn’t sound entirely convincing, and Agatha frowned. A thud from the outside shook the windows.
“What was that?” Agatha asked. Another thud, sounding like it had come from the backyard, reverberated through the room. Thinking she’d untied Moe a few minutes too soon, Agatha glanced his direction. He sat ramrod straight with his ear angled toward the door.
It couldn’t be the men she’d caught on film beating Jeremy. They’d been arrested, a fact she thought Moe didn’t know, since she’d had his cell phone calls forwarded to her. Still, she couldn’t be too careful.
“Wait here,” Agatha instructed as if Moe would listen. She pulled the Colt .45 from her ankle holster. Her heart raced as she moved toward the rear of the house where there came another thud.
She peeked through her back windows, and not seeing anything, she stepped outside. The thud, vibrating the ground, came from Helen’s house. In the dim light, she made out the silhouette of someone moving on Helen’s back porch. Fear that Moe had figured out where Jeremy was hiding made her jumpy. She aimed the gun and began crossing the yard. “Helen? Is everything okay?”
The figure on the back porch stilled. She took in the bad posture, the lanky frame, and the crutches. The person wasn’t Helen, Ben, or Theo.
“Mom?” The word floated over with the scent of the flowers.
Agatha lowered her gun.
“Jer—”
“Shh.”
“Is that you?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Agatha crept closer. As her eyes adjusted, she made out a bulge on his leg where the bucket had once been. “What—”
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