Aphrodite Needs an Alibi (Aphrodite Needs a Clue Book 1)

by Regan Claire

  That’s me, a regular sex criminal.

  I’m not a reformed Lady of the Night like the other woman probably is. My crime was a lot less classy. At least she probably got paid when she slept with a married man.

  And I bet none of her paramours ended up dead.

  Shame crawls up my neck and I push the memories away. It’s only a few more minutes before the group leader signs and hands me back my sheet. I book it out of the meeting, only stopping long enough for a discreet handful of free cookies from the table next to the stale coffee. I’m too poor to turn down free food, even if they’re only grocery-store cookies.

  New town, new me. That’s my mantra, and I’ve found that the best way to avoid falling into old habits is to avoid tempting thoughts. Mister Dangerous Rhys is officially at the top of the list for taboo thoughts, so I certainly don’t think about him as I huff my way up the three flights of stairs to my small apartment.

  I continue not thinking about him when I go inside, drop my purse next to the door, and change into my comfortable clothes which are strewn across the bare floor of my bedroom. There is no way I’m imagining the way his mouth tastes on mine, or how good it would feel to have his hands on my bare skin.

  Thank goodness the phone rings, or I would continue not thinking about him for the rest of the night.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, April. This is Lache. I have a potential job for you,” a clinical voice says, one my distracted mind takes too long to recognize.

  That’s right. It’s the temp agency.

  “So soon? That’s great! When can I start?”

  “Tomorrow at eight a.m. You’ll be assisting in a locally owned garden center. They’re closed during the offseason and opened back up at the start of spring a few weeks ago. This time of year is especially busy. The owner is looking for someone to help out three to four days a week until she catches up. Are you interested?”

  I look around my apartment, which is completely bare except for the old La-Z-Boy I’ve been using as a bed, and I found that on the curb when I moved in.

  “Yes, I’m interested.”

  “Good. You’ll need to arrive at 7:45 with your ID and a copy of your resume. The business name is Seasonally Yours. I trust you can find it.”

  “Sure thing. Thank you so mu—“ I needn’t have bothered. She had already hung up. Oh well, I have a job! I don’t know the first thing about flowers, or plants, but they probably only need someone to run the register and sweep up.

  Even I can do that.

  I have a job! A job that I hope will pay semi-decently! Three to four days isn’t full time, but maybe I can find a little side gig. My bills are paid for the month, but all I have in my fridge are frozen burritos; and my car is sitting on a quarter tank. I go to my bedroom, empty except for the two black trash bags full of clothes and shoes—my dirty clothes are in a pile in the corner—and pick out what to wear for my first day at work. What are you supposed to wear to work in a garden center? When I moved, I only brought what would fit in my car. That meant downsizing my wardrobe considerably and only keeping the stuff that was too nice to part with and a few of my comfy favs. My heart clenches at the memory of all the shoes I had until recently. Going over my meager choices, I’m not sure I have anything appropriate. Finally, I settle on a pair of khaki shorts and a simple v-neck chiffon blouse with a band collar. The shirt is probably too nice, but it’s either that or an old t-shirt with a kitten claiming I am purrrrfect.

  With that settled, I toss a frozen burrito in the oven for dinner—because I’m too poor to even own a microwave—and pace my place. I need a paycheck. I’m basically drooling for one. My apartment needs things. I have zero things. My priority list of what to keep when I moved were clothes and a few kitchen items since there’s only so much you can fit into my comically small car. I have empty floors, empty walls, empty rooms.

  I really want a bed, but should probably get a couch first. Beds are too expensive. No, a couch or maybe even a futon is where my first check will go. Maybe I can find a really old TV and some rabbit ears. Can you still watch tv with only an antenna? Then I will have a place to watch TV and a place to sleep. Plus, if I ever have a guest, a couch is way better than a bed for company.

  At least, it’s better for the type of company I’m in the market for having these days.

  Needs a Flower

  I slept as well as expected considering I stayed up half the night thinking about my first day at work, and that my bed is an old La-Z-Boy. The time I did sleep was spent in some weird dream about living in the ocean and falling in love with a seashell, so it’s no surprise that I’m up at the butt-crack of dawn. I’m a morning person, but it’s not morning until the sun is up, so this doesn’t count. I’m too awake to go back to sleep so I get up and ready, then putter around my apartment until I deem it’s late enough for me to leave for work.

  I’m nervous, and when I’m feeling emotional in any way, I speed a little.

  “Turn left here,” Judy, my GPS tells me.

  What? Where? Now? Did I pass it?

  “Please make U-Turn.”

  I guess so. I look at my phone in time to see the little blue line adjusting to show me the new quickest route.

  Stupid Judy. She’s supposed to tell me before I’m supposed to turn.

  As I turn into the Seasonally Yours parking lot, I realize maybe it was half me being stupid, too. This place is hard to miss, so maybe I wasn’t paying as close attention as I should have been.

  The sign is yellow and reminds me instantly of spring. I’m still early, but there’s another car here and the lights are on, so I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I can’t believe how nervous I am. I always get a touch of nerves before a new job, and even though I’ve done this dance a million times, this time is worse. It feels more important. Maybe it’s because I’m working so hard to start a new life here, and so much rides on getting—and keeping— a job, even a temp one. I wipe a sweaty palm on my khaki shorts then knock on the locked glass door. Crap, my papers are still in my car. I look through the glass and see no one is coming yet, so I make a dash to grab them. By the time I reach my car, my new employer is at the door watching as I run back with my folder now in hand.

  “Sorry, I left my folder in the car,” I explain without sounding out of breath. “I’m April, I’m supposed to start work here today. The agency sent me.”

  I’m met with a few seconds of silence. The woman in front of me is on the shorter side, with wildly curling chestnut hair and a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. She has dark eyes, and I can feel them assessing me. After what feels like forever, she smiles so widely it goes all the way up to her eyes.

  “Of course. I’m Cora. Come on in.” She holds the door open for me. “You’re here a little early. That’s good, I’m always early. Especially this time of year. Let’s get you started on the paperwork.”

  She leads me through the store, talking as she goes.

  “This is where you’ll be spending most of your time during business hours.” She slows her stride to gesture around the first room we enter. There are flowers arranged in no particular order that I can see. They’re mostly potted except for one wall lined with cut flowers. There are a lot of empty pots and vases, and another wall of glass refrigerators with vase arrangements already inside. The room is a bit chilly, and I make a mental note to wear long pants tomorrow.

  “It’s our busy time of year, so I need someone out here to man the register, greet guests as they come in, and help the customers who just want a quick gift. I’ll be outside most of the time helping people find which plants they want for their home garden.” She gestures to a door on our left before walking into a large room overtaken by plants and a gigantic table. Cora leads me to a small desk in the corner.

  “You have your license, right?”

  “Yes.” I hand her my folder with a copy of all my identification and my resume, but the motion is a little wild. The folder hits a vase full
of flowers, and I, with my nonexistent reflexes, watch as the glass shatters on the floor and water spreads from the pile of scattered flowers.

  Well, there goes a great first impression.

  “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry.” I squat down and start picking up the largest pieces of glass first, face aflame.

  “You’re fine, I promise. Let’s pick up the flowers and we can just sweep up everything else, okay?” She squats down and starts collecting the yellow and white flowers. I start doing the same, and it’s not long before we have all the vibrant buds off the floor. Cora grabs another vase nearby and fills it halfway with water.

  “These are daffodils, right? I didn’t know they could be so fragrant.”

  She smiles. “Yes, this particular variety is my personal favorite. My husband ensnared me with a few of these babies a long time ago, and likes to make sure I keep a good supply.”

  I smile. I feel waves of love radiating from her as she expertly arranges the flowers into the new vase. “That’s sweet. He sounds romantic.”

  “He is. After all this time, he still treats me like a queen.”

  Sigh. I’m a sucker for a good love story.

  After the mess is swept away, Cora makes a copy of my birth certificate and social security card while I fill out the tax form. It only takes a few minutes.

  “Okay, we still have plenty of time before opening. Let me finish showing you around.” She leads me outside through the door we passed earlier.

  The outdoor space looks like a gardening wonderland. There are tables all around with various plants on and under them, but set up in such an interesting way that, despite the signs and plastic containers, it hardly looks like what I expect from a garden center. It looks more like a garden than a place of business.

  “For the most part, whatever requires shade is over here, going towards more and more sun as you get farther away from the building. The name of the plant, as well as planting and care instructions and whether it’s an annual or perennial are on the plant markers.” She keeps walking past the full sun section. “Over here we have basic gardening tools, mulch and soil, as well as a few of the bigger pots for outdoor use. The bulk of our pots is inside. Many of our customers have been here before, so they know the lay of the land. If you get someone new, direct them my way. If I’m busy, just knowing what type of plant they’re looking for will help, and the little tags tell you how big to expect them to grow. Don’t worry though, if they need a lot of help, chances are I’ll be able to get to them before too long. Or my mother will, if she’s here that day.” Cora stops several times to rotate some pots or check their soil as she shows me around.

  “Your mom works here, too?” I ask.

  “Not all the time. She’s usually at her produce stand, but likes to help out when she can.”

  I notice several large yard ornaments, mostly beautiful metal flowers that are as big as my face with a rod to stick into the ground. “These are beautiful!”

  “They are, aren’t they? Some of our best sellers as well. You’ll meet the artist today. He comes in every Friday to take inventory of his stock and see what he should make for the next delivery. There are a few smaller pieces inside as well. They make great gifts. He’s very talented.”

  I touch the petal of one of the flowers and it is so realistic that I can almost imagine a world where daisies are as big as I am and made of metal.

  “Come on, I have a few quick arrangements to make before we open. I want to show you how,” she says before leading me back inside to the room with the table and desk. She grabs a couple of flats of tiny plastic-looking plants, with a few pots of varying sizes, and gets started.

  “If you want gloves, I have some over there,” she tells me, before filling a few pots two-thirds of the way to the top with soil. As she carefully transplants a few of the small plants, she explains what she’s doing. “These are mini succulents. They do get bigger than this, so you want to leave room for them to grow. They’re very popular right now because they’re super low maintenance and, well, adorable.” She holds up one of the specimens and looks at it, almost like most people would a kitten. I try to imitate what she does with the pot in front of me, though my finished product doesn’t come close to her artistry. “I’ll need you here a couple of hours before opening each day to help with potted and cut arrangements. I already did all the cut arrangements for the day, but come get me if we need more. I’ll teach you how to do those tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll need to make arrangements myself?” I ask, worried.

  “Definitely. Don’t worry, it’s not that hard. If it were later in the season, I’d be able to get to them all myself, but Mothers Day is coming up, and then it’s prom season. We’ll be making a lot of boutonnières and corsages for that, but those are easy.” She makes another pot of arrayed succulents while I’m still working on my second one. “This is also the season, in my experience, when people are just,” she shrugs a shoulder like she can’t think of the word. “Romantic, I suppose. I think it’s because of the weather change, all the nice weather puts people in a good mood, and when you’re in a good mood you’re generally more thoughtful. Besides, with you here, I have a feeling we’ll be hitting record sales for romantic gifts.”

  I look at her sharply. “What do you mean by that.” My voice sounds pretty normal and I’m glad.

  “Um, I just have a feeling. Men always feel more generous to their partners when a pretty girl is selling the flowers. I bet you’d be great at upselling.”

  I smile in relief. Of course she doesn’t know about my little ability. She’s not wrong, either. “I look forward to seeing if you’re right on that. Customers love me.”

  We work together in silence for a few more minutes. I like Cora. She’s down to earth and has an almost innocent quality to her.

  “You’re so good at this,” I tell her when we’re done. Cora easily did three times as many pots as I did.

  “I was made for it. I grew up in my mother’s garden, and was growing things in it before I could speak complete sentences.” She looks so happy remembering, when her watch alarm goes off she jumps a mile high.

  “It’s time to open! I have to set an alarm or else I get lost planting. It just charges my batteries, you know?”

  I know the feeling, and only wish my batteries could get charged by something so simple as gardening.

  “I can see how you could get caught up. It’s strangely relaxing.”

  Cora leads the way out to the front door where we already have a couple of customers waiting for us to open. Two older women bustle through the door.

  “Violet, Betty, you’re here earlier than normal,” Cora says, moving to the side so the customer can walk through.

  “Well, we had to come by and see your new hire. It’s about time, you know,” the lady on the left says. She’s tiny, with a short crop of curly silver hair adorning her round little face.

  “This is April. April, these are two of my favorite people. They almost know as much as I do when it comes to growing things,” she winks. “So if you need any help when these two are around, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind answering a question or two.”

  “Aren’t you such a beautiful young lady? Cora said you go by April?”

  I nod. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you two.”

  “We would love to answer any questions you might have. We come by at least once a week, and that’s not including when the garden club meets. You should stop by, you know,” the second lady says. She’s tall and pleasantly plump.

  “Oh, do come. We love guests during meetings, especially—“

  “Pretty young faces like yours,” the tall one finishes her sentence flawlessly.

  “Besides,” the short one whispers. “The lemonade we bring each week is spiked.” With that, both ladies giggle and walk to the door leading outside, leaving me staring at their backs chuckling.

  Cora laughs. “They act like I don’t already know that. I’d be careful with their brownies to
o. They have quite an herb garden, if you catch my drift.” Cora winks, then follows them outside.

  More customers come throughout the morning, most of them heading straight through so they can reach outside. I have a moment of panic when I realize that Cora never walked me through the register, but I figure it out pretty easily and ring up several customers until a slow period around lunchtime.

  If you have time to lean, you have time to clean, so I get the broom I saw in the corner of the other room and sweep up to keep myself busy. The front door jingles right as I’m bending over to sweep under the table.

  “I heard Cora was getting some help around here,” a deep voice behind me says.

  Of course someone walks in when my butt is in the air.

  I stand up straight, plaster a smile on my face, and turn around. The man standing in front of me isn’t what I expect. He doesn’t look like the other customers who’ve been by, and is leaning against the doorframe of the office like he belongs here. He’s well over six feet tall and as wide as a double-door refrigerator, in faded denim and a well worn blue button-up that shows off his biceps quite nicely. I hesitate. The sign on the door says “employees only” but since the door was kept open, I wonder if Cora is flexible with that sort of thing.

  “How can I help you today?” I finally ask when he doesn’t say anything else.

  “I’m just here to check my stock. I figured I’d check out who the new worker is while I’m here,” he says, then smiles. It’s wide and infectious, and my own smile widens as a result.

  “You must be the artist! Cora mentioned you’d be in. Your work is absolutely amazing. I love the flowers outside.”

  I’m surprised. He doesn’t look anything like an artist, especially not one who makes whimsical garden art.