Poison, Perennials, and a Poltergeist (The Petal Pushers Mystery Series)

by Hayes, Tina D. C.

  Darci pulled into her own driveway that evening, exhausted from being on her feet all day but thrilled business was doing so well. Her mind wandered back to Paxton’s ‘special girl’. She wondered if he’d bring up the school Valentine party, though she doubted it. Asking point blank was certainly out of the question, since she figured he’d clam up and not mention another girlfriend until after his college graduation. Nope, she’d just have to wait it out . . . and pick up some extra Oreos before Jake’s next visit.

  “Hey, Hon. Pizza man’s on his way,” Wade yelled from the living room when she came through the front door.

  “Great. My growling stomach was afraid you forgot to order it.” She crossed the room to where he sat watching television and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’ll get it,” Paxton hollered when the doorbell rang. On his way to the door, he scooped up the bills Wade left on the table. “I know, I know. Two dollar tip.”

  Paxton liked paying for the pizza delivery, probably thinking it made him look like a responsible adult, or maybe it made him feel like a cool junior big shot. A few months before, he told the pizza guy to “Keep the change. Don’t spend it all in one place,” words Darci recognized from a movie they’d watched together. Ecstatic, the guy practically danced back to his car, pocketing the eighteen-dollar tip from a twenty-two dollar pepperoni and cheese pizza pie. Every time they ordered in after that, Wade and Darci reminded him at least twice while they waited for the knock at the door, “only two bucks, Rockefella”.

  The table was already set when Darci walked into the dining room. While she filled glasses with ice and Pepsi, Wade winked at Paxton, twitching his head toward the hall closet. He winked back as Wade guided Darci into her chair, then stood behind her with his hand over her eyes. Paxton’s footsteps pattered back to the table. She heard something clink against her plate that didn’t sound like crust and cheese. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom!”

  Wade uncovered her eyes. Darci saw what her guys had cooked up for her and beamed up at them both.

  “This one’s from Dad.” Paxton pointed to a huge box of candy, her favorite mixed creams coated in dark chocolate. “And this one’s from me.” There, centered on her plate, sat a pink teddy bear holding the three balloons Darci tied to it yesterday. “Did you guess it was for you?”

  After thanking them both, she answered his question. “It’s a complete surprise! So I must be your special girl, huh, my sweet little pumpkin?”

  “For cryin’ out loud,” Paxton crowed in a sarcastic little boy sort of way when she kissed him on his nose, but he was smiling at her. “You don’t have to slobber all over me.”

  “Does this look okay?” Charlotte stepped back to scrutinize the funeral swag intended for the casket of one of Webster County’s most prominent citizens. She’d spent the past two hours arranging blue carnations and baby’s breath with a few different types of foliage. “I wasn’t sure if I put in enough greenery to balance out the flowers.”

  “You did a great job, exactly what the Maldonado family requested,” Darci said, very impressed after her perusal of her cousin’s latest project. “Masculine, but pretty.”

  Before Charlotte came to work at Petal Pushers, she had no experience with floral design or even gardening, something no one would ever guess by looking at the beautiful arrangements she put together. She definitely had a flair for the job.

  “Hoyt, if you could please load this swag into the van, I’ll bring out the last memorial wreath. Then we need to get this stuff over to the funeral home.” Darci added a blue ribbon to the oval and secured it in place through the Styrofoam base.

  “No problem, Boss Lady,” Hoyt said, a mischievous grin on his face. He ambled toward the back door, bobbing his head to the music from the earbuds connected to his iPod.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  They took the delivery to the funeral home and had everything unloaded and set out before the viewing began.

  Darci made it a policy to give her personal condolences at all the funerals where she delivered a large part of the flowers. Living in a small town like Dixon, she’d grown up acquainted with most of the residents and was related to more than half of the county’s population. Darci wanted to make sure everyone knew that while her business was important to her, she valued her customers as individuals and friends, not just as people who helped her make her loan payments.

  After she signed the visitor’s register, Darci walked to the front of the funeral parlor and shook Mrs. Maldonado’s hand. “So sorry for your loss.” She never knew exactly what she should say, so that’s the general condolence she usually went with. She cringed each time she heard the stupid line: ‘Doesn’t So-and-So look wonderful’. The deceased is dead, therefore he or she, in Darci’s humble opinion, undoubtedly looked a whole hell of a lot better when they were still alive. She’d often thought how insulted she’d be if she looked down from a cloud one day and heard people say she looked better dead than alive and kicking. Darci glanced at the coffin, then silently vowed to herself to find a way to haunt anybody who dared say that about her. As if that were possible.

  Cyril Maldonado was fifty-three years old when he died on February twenty-second. His obituary described him as a veteran in the army, a life-long resident of Webster County, and survived by Pauline, his wife of thirty-one years, two grown children, and one grandchild. The obituary didn’t say what Cyril died of, mainly because the cause of death had yet to be determined.

  From listening to people who came through her shop to pick out funerary flowers, Darci had been able to fill in the circumstances surrounding Cyril Maldonado’s death. Two days before he died, Cyril went to the Emergency Room complaining of vomiting and diarrhea. The admitting nurse noted that he suffered from severe dehydration and low blood pressure.

  Cyril’s friends told her that aside from a nasty case of chicken pox when his kids were in elementary school, he’d never really been sick. He might come down with an occasional cold, but he didn’t have any preexisting conditions, no allergies, nothing that would explain his sudden onslaught of symptoms.

  On Mr. Maldonado’s second day in the hospital, the nurse buzzed the doctor when she noticed signs of internal bleeding. Confounded, the physician ran a new battery of tests. The results showed Maldonado’s liver, spleen, and kidneys were shutting down. Cyril passed away later that afternoon.

  Relatives, friends, war buddies, and associates of the gregarious Cyril Maldonado flooded the funeral home. His son and daughter flanked the new widow by the casket as she hugged a sobbing teenage girl with long dark hair. His sister and nephew flew in from Mississippi, no doubt having run into some of the men who went through boot camp with Cyril on their flight to say their final goodbyes.

  Roy Nolan, Cyril’s business partner and close friend, sat near the front, his dark eyes red and puffy. Grief made the thirty-one-year-old look much older than his years. The lady seated beside him with a cast on her arm, probably his mother, handed him a tissue and patted his knee when he clasped his hand over his eyes. By all accounts, Roy thought of Cyril not only as a buddy, but also a father figure. Eight years ago they’d opened M & N Stables, which bred some of the best thoroughbreds and quarter horses ever to graze on Kentucky bluegrass. They quickly became famous in the tri-state area for their expertise in equine training and therapy work, plus the extra care and attention they gave their clients kept the boarding stables filled to capacity.

  On her drive back to the shop, Darci felt bad for Pauline Maldonado. Unable to picture her own life without Wade by her side, she could only imagine the depths of emotional turmoil the Maldonado family must be going through. At least she knew the widow was financially secure, since her husband left behind a large house and a successful business.

  Wade treated the family to steak dinner and a movie on the last day of February, a tradition he’d started on January thirty-first. Proud of Darci for launching her business off with such a bang in the slowest retail seaso
n of the year, he planned to celebrate each milestone she hit along the way. His wife was hell bent on not only staying afloat this crucial first year, she’d set a goal of showing some type of profit by New Year’s Eve. Self-employed most of his adult life, Wade knew all too well how challenging that would be.

  She surprised him every step of the way with her determination and passion for the shop, and brought in more customers with her gimmicks and coupons than he would’ve dreamed possible. He’d known she had a flair for advertising ever since she woke up around two in the morning last November, unable to wait for sunrise to share her latest brilliant idea with him. He had to admit it was the ideal name, sure to stand out in people’s minds when they needed flowers and plants.

  “Petal Pushers! It’s perfect. Get it?” He could see Darci’s silhouette in the dark, her knees tucked underneath her as she sat beside him on the bed. She nudged his arm to keep him from falling back to sleep before he had a chance to jump for joy over her epiphany.

  “Not really, but it sounds cute.” He fluffed his pillow and turned onto his side, facing her. “I’m sure I’ll love it in the morning.” His lids fluttered to a close.

  “No really, just think about it.” She shook him back and forth by his arm more vigorously then, reminding him of his Aunt Eunice kneading bread dough. “Petal Pushers. We sell flowers, and when people think of florists, they picture flowers blooming. Which part do they visualize? The petals, of course, which sounds a lot more descriptive than just flowers.”

  “Great, Hon.” Wade strained to keep his eyes open, afraid he’d get seasick if Darci didn’t stop shaking him.

  “Okay, now you see where I’m going,” Darci tweeted faster than a hyper canary, focused on her store as she spoke. “We sell petals, so I thought petal shop, petal basket. . . no, too boring and ordinary. Then it hit me, woke me up from a sound sleep when it popped into my head. Pushing is another word for selling, like drug pushers sell dope, though I don’t think anybody would confuse us with a bunch of junkies. Anyway, we push petals. Isn’t that just the cutest name you ever heard for a flower store? Petal Pushers! Perfect.”

  “You’re an advertising genius,” Wade said, understanding why she was so excited. She’d thought up a shop name that would set her apart and people wouldn’t be likely to forget. “Sounds like a winner.”

  “Shoot!” Darci set the clock back on the nightstand after holding it in front of her nose to see what time it was. “It’s too late to call Charlotte.”

  Wade hid his grin in the pillow, wishing she would go ahead and share the joy with Charlotte anyway. She’d be more than happy to talk about it with her until the sun came up. Then maybe he could get some sleep.

  Seated across from Darci now as he cut a piece from his rib-eye steak, he realized the only other time he’d seen her this happy was when Paxton was born. She’d loved fussing over him, which she still did, just without the diapers and formula. Darci was capable of just about anything when she set her mind to it. The fact that she managed to earn all the startup money proved that. They’d argued quite a bit when she refused to let him help finance the place, but she finally convinced him it was something she needed to do for herself, to prove she could be independent even if she didn’t need to be. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Petal Pushers would be the most successful flower shop in the state. Darci was amazing.

  Petal Pushers’ Plant of the Month for February is

  the Knock Out Rose

  Rosa x

  Deciduous shrub

  Brief description: This is the easiest rose to grow, and one of the most beautiful. Available in a variety of colors, it blooms non-stop from late spring until frost. They grow to about three or four feet in height and width, and have a light fragrance.

  Symbolism: Roses have a language of their own, based on their color:

  Red roses symbolize love, romance, respect, perfection, beauty, and congratulations.

  Yellow roses mean friendship, warmth, happiness, a new beginning, and remembrance.

  White roses stand for innocence, purity, girlhood, and honor.

  Pink roses are a symbol of grace, elegance, thanks, appreciation, and admiration.

  Orange roses mean passion, fascination, excitement, desire, and enthusiasm.

  Lavender roses are a sign of enchantment and love at first sight.

  Black roses, well, these usually mean somebody is out to get you . . . in a bad way.

  Trivia: Rose breeder William Radler developed Knock Out roses in 1988, making it possible for just about everybody to grow these gorgeous flowers.

  Growing instructions: Plant in full sun to partial shade, then watch them grow and bloom. These roses are disease resistant and don’t even need to be deadheaded. Your neighbors will think you have a green thumb when they see these in your yard. Take them a bouquet to be nice (and make them jealous).

  Uses: Knock Out Roses are beautiful just about anywhere outside.

  Tools & Tips: Roses are much more romantic if the hand that holds them isn’t bleeding. Buy yourself a rose dethorner if you grow your own bouquets. This little gadget is easy to use, and gets rid of those thorns and leaves in one easy motion.

  Chapter 3. March

  Flowers are the sweetest things God

  ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

  ~ Henry Ward Beecher

  “Careful with those ferns, Hoyt,” Darci said, picking up a box loaded down with centerpieces. “Don’t get the fronds caught in the door.”

  She viewed this wedding as her public debut, the biggest shindig to take place in the county so far this year, an event with pews full of potential customers who would, with any luck, drool over the floral decorations which had been the center of her existence for the past two weeks. Celia Kemp, the society columnist for the local newspaper, should be getting her butt to the church pretty soon, lest she not have enough time to snoop around looking for imperfections in, well, everything.

  Darci, Charlotte, and Hoyt bustled around the First Baptist church all morning, making things pristine for the Blanford-Frye wedding. The bridesmaids’ flowers and groomsmen’s boutonnieres now adorned the respective hands and lapels, a basket of assorted petals awaited the flower girl, greenery and roses bedecked the altar, and since Hoyt was on his way to place massive ferns on their pedestals on both sides of the pulpit, their work was nearly done.

  Centerpieces soon graced each table in the reception room next door. Darci helped herself to a palmful of mixed nuts and a couple mints as she passed the buffet. Charlotte looked like she was going to barf when she offered her a cashew, so Darci didn’t waste any time getting her back outside for some fresh air. Puke would definitely clash with the décor.

  The bride’s mother had burst into tears when Charlotte handed her the bridal bouquet, a beautiful combination of lilies and pink rosebuds. Apparently, breaking down in sobs wasn’t all that unusual for Mrs. Blanford, since her husband seemed to be expecting it. With a little white nerve pill proffered in his hand, he stepped up and put his arm around her. “There, there, Blanche. You don’t want to go and mess up your makeup with all that cryin’.” He winked at Darci and Charlotte as he led his wife to the water fountain.

  Darci slipped her feet out of her comfortable loafers and squeezed them into more fashionable black pumps, then checked her appearance in the delivery van’s rearview mirror. Charlotte and Hoyt weren’t sticking around for the nuptials, but, since the groom’s parents personally asked Darci to stay, how could she refuse? The Frye’s cousin was a good friend of her mother’s, after all, making them nearly an acquaintance. Small-town connections run even deeper than Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon, the game where every Hollywood personality can be linked to the Footloose star by association.

  Her employees left in Charlotte’s car, Hoyt blasting Godsmack as they spun out of the driveway. Darci headed back inside the church, which had steadily filled with friends and loved ones of the wedding party. She took a seat on the back pew on the groom�
��s side. A few minutes later, a woman slipped in and hurried to sit down on the end near Darci. The late arrival seemed very nervous, biting her nails and shifting her weight from one butt cheek to the other on the hard wooden bench.

  Piano music beckoned the bridesmaids to get the show on the road. Each carried one perfect white calla lily tied with lace ribbon that matched their shell pink gowns. The cutest little five-year-old flower girl followed, scattering petals over the walkway; she paused once to throw a handful at her uncle, which elicited chuckles from the onlookers. Everyone stood for the wedding march while the father of the bride walked his daughter down the aisle. After he raised her veil and answered the customary “Who gives this woman” question, he took his seat beside his wife, a drug induced dilation visible in her puffy red eyes.

  Darci scanned her handiwork, which decorated the bride and groom as well as the church, pleased with the simple elegance of the lilies and pink roses against the greenery. She tried not to let her head swell when she overheard people around her rave about the flowers.

  A glance toward the minister showed the ring ceremony was underway. The handbag fell off the lap of the woman seated beside her, who quickly picked it up and clutched the handle in her sweaty fist. Darci almost offered her a cough drop when the woman cleared her throat, but wasn’t sure if she had any in her purse.

  “If anyone present has just cause why this couple should not be united in the bonds of holy matrimony, let them speak now or-”