Flowers, Food, and Felonies at the New Year's Jubilee: A Flower Shop Mystery Novella (The Flower Shop Mystery Series Book 4)

by Annie Adams

  “Oh.” I didn’t want to go into the matching tins and the amazingly strong coincidence that they happened to be brownies, just like the others they sent. And oh yeah, the fact that her name was written as the sender on the attached card. “Well, I guess it turned out to be a lucky mistake, didn’t it?”

  She laughed and agreed.

  I hated the feeling I had after lying to her about the reason I’d gone to her house. If I was honest with myself, I’d gone because I was reacting in anger. I could have just told her the truth. I could’ve given her a call and asked if she’d left the brownies. Of course, she seemed to be lying to me, her name was on the physical evidence, but I could have been the bigger person. I was just glad it had ended well.

  I let Jerome outside for one last time, then got in the shower and changed into my usual sleepwear which consisted of a t-shirt, cut-off sweatpants and tube socks. My cell phone rang.

  “Hi there, gorgeous.”

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you. Did I tell you I love my tube socks?”

  “You might have mentioned it.” He laughed his musical laugh. “I got your message. You’re okay?”

  “I’m doing great, and I just heard from Vanessa, the woman we found. She says she’ll be fine.”

  I recounted everything that happened and told him that I had to call to make sure he didn’t hear about me talking to the police and assume I’d been arrested.

  “Here’s the thing,” I told him. “I talked to Vanessa about the brownies that were left at my parents’ house. They had her name on them, they were in the same container that she’d had us deliver to other people, and they were brownies, just like she had us deliver.”

  “If you think something criminal is going on, you should talk to Hillside PD.”

  “I don’t know, I think she’s telling the truth.”

  “Maybe someone is trying to make her look guilty. You say she wins all the time. It doesn’t sound like she’s a discreet kind of person. Maybe it’s a copycat.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear what you just said. Could you repeat that?”

  “I said you’re probab—very funny. “

  “I love you, Q.”

  “Love you too.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wedding days are always such a blur. So much work and preparation goes into the culmination, which lasts only a few hours. New Year’s Eve happened to be that culmination day for a lot of reasons. We had the wedding work at the flower shop, the Jubilee competitions and then there was having to admit, after all the searching, that I had lost the engagement ring. I looked forward to that moment the least.

  We started out early at the shop, double checking that everything had been finished and still looked pristine. The walk-in cooler was packed. When it came time for deliveries, Daphne stayed at the shop with Jerome, while K.C. and I took different vehicles to deliver to different locations. Elizabeth Downing—bless her heart—only called twice to make sure we got there on time.

  After work, I thanked Daphne for working so hard on a holiday that we usually might have been able to take off from work, and I wished K.C. good luck. Jerome and I went home, where I gave one last look around the house to see if my ring had magically fallen from the sky. It hadn’t. I called my parents’ house and my dad answered the phone.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite daughter.” He said that to each of his daughters—we’d compared notes as children. “How are you, lass?”

  “I think the question should be how are you? Heard you were pretty sick yesterday.”

  “I’m much better today, but your mother has banned me from the kitchen in case I might still be contagious. I think it was just one of those twenty-four hour bugs.”

  I debated whether or not to tell him about my suspicions regarding the tainted brownies.

  “Your mother tells me that her friend Sherry had the same bug as me.”

  “Dad, I don’t think it was the flu. I think there was something in those brownies.”

  “There was something in them, alright. They were delicious.”

  “Dad!”

  “Alright, I’m just teasing. Your mother said you called her worried that the brownies might be the cause. She called some of her other friends and they all got the same gift from Vanessa Brown, but none of them got sick.”

  I hadn’t expected that. My dad listed several names of woman in Mom’s MLM who had received a tin of treats with a note from Vanessa. My theory had been proven wrong. Vanessa Brown must have lied or been mistaken. Maybe breathing in all those toxic fumes had affected her memory.

  “Speaking of Vanessa Brown, I heard about what happened at her house yesterday. It’s a good thing you were there. Why didn’t you tell us about it?”

  I knew my mother would find out eventually through her network, and I didn’t want to bother her while she was working on her contest entry.

  “It was no big deal. How did you find out?” Heaven help me if my father had his own spy network to watch out for.

  “I ran into Hal Rigby this morning when I went out for coffee—don’t tell your mother.” My mother was a strict Mormon and being so, did not drink coffee and almost considered it a sin. My father was a Jack Mormon as they say, and in his eyes, coffee was just another beverage. “Hal’s a plumber they called in to take a look at Vanessa Brown’s place.”

  “Did he find out what was wrong?”

  “Yes, he said it was easy to diagnose once he got there. The trouble was he had to climb on the roof in this freezing weather. I don’t feel too sorry for him though, that’s why he gets paid the big bucks. I should’ve been a plumber.”

  I looked at the clock and realized I had to get going. “So, did he tell you what was wrong?”

  “Well, yes he did. Have you suddenly developed an interest in plumbing?”

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush you, I was just curious as to what caused that awful smell. Vanessa said the fumes in her bathroom mixed with the cleaner she was using and that’s what made her pass out.”

  “The smell was caused by a clogged vent stack. Your plumbing system only works if you’ve got that pipe that sticks out the top of your roof. It provides the right air flow to keep things moving. Vanessa’s vent stack was filled with ice, so the sewer gases weren’t moving out like they should. He said he’s never seen anything like that in all of his years. It looked almost as if someone shoved a big snowball in there.”

  “Could someone have thrown a snowball into it?”

  “It would be a one in a million shot if they did. That pipe is only three or four inches around. Hal figures there must be some kind of crack under the roof line, so when the snowfall got in there, it froze up. He doesn’t know for sure yet, it was just a guess. He’ll have to get up there later and investigate. You sound very interested, I could give you his phone number.”

  “No thanks,” I said and laughed. “I guess I just have an extra interest because I was there to find Vanessa. Tell mom I’ll see her later and good luck.”

  ***

  I know it was just our little town celebration, but I was excited about participating in the Jubilee. And I was nervous about my judging responsibilities.

  After dropping Jerome at my neighbor’s house I drove to the city recreation center. A judge’s entrance had been prepared in the back of the building. Contest entries had been dropped off earlier, and the Jubilee committee had arranged for each entry to be spooned into a bowl. Each bowl and set of utensils looked exactly the same.

  I was given a score sheet and a pencil and led to a table with ten different bowls and a glass of water to clear the palate between each tasting.

  I savored every bite and embarked on the difficult task of marking my scorecard. Once finished, I handed it to the proctor and went into the front of the building. The tempting aromas of chili, cornbread and spiced cider came from the refreshment stand. Proceeds would also go to the homeless shelter, along with the clothing do
nations people were dropping off and from the treat table, where committee volunteers had brought homemade baked goods to sell.

  K.C. was holding court at one of the round dining tables near the stage.

  “Hello, over here,” K.C. called out and waved me over. She sat next to Barbara Colgate and Louise Cheney, both foot soldiers in the MLM and Henrietta Bowser and Eleanor Cooper.

  “Hello, Quincy. Have you seen your mother yet?” Louise asked.

  “No, I just came in. She should be here any time.” I looked around as I spoke and noticed Belinda Brown at another table. She looked happier than I had ever seen her and that included when she was teasing me about still wearing a training bra in the locker room of 7th grade gym class.

  “Louise here tells me that you walk away with a ribbon of some kind almost every year, Barbara. Is that true?” K.C. asked.

  Barbara looked up demurely, “Oh, I do alright. It’s just for fun. And I love donating food for the treat table each year.”

  “Did you make the pumpkin chiffon pie this year?” Henrietta asked Louise. Louise nodded that she had. “You absolutely have to try that pie. But you’ve got to do it quick. They always sell out in the first hour.”

  My mother came over and sat down next to me. “Are you talking about my favorite pie?” Mom said.

  “There you are. Annette, are you feeling okay? You look a little down,” Barbara said.

  “I’m fine, Barbara. Thank you for asking. I think I just stayed up too late last night, and then didn’t eat anything but little nibbles of sweets this morning. I’ll be glad once this contest is over.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Barbara nearly shrieked. “Did you get the flowers I sent?”

  My mother’s jaw dropped and she jerked her head over to look at Barbara. “You mean the ones on Christmas?”

  “Yeah, wasn’t it a scream? Tammy Westerley did the same thing to me last year. I thought you’d love it.”

  “I—I did—love it. I’ll have to pass along the joke next year.” Given my mother’s sense of humor, I was impressed by her acting skills.

  Someone tapped the microphone at the front of the room and announced that the scores had been tallied and the results would be announced shortly. Belinda stood up and came toward our table.

  “Hey Quincy,” Belinda said in a bubbly, friendly voice. She must have borrowed it from someone. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping out with my mom. It’s so scary to think what might’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

  “K.C. was there too,” I said.

  “And don’t forget Jerome,” K.C. said. “He’s the one who insisted we go in.”

  “Jerome?”

  “My dog,” I said.

  Belinda chuckled. “I’ll have to bring him a treat too.”

  “Come, sit,” mom said to Belinda. “So glad you made it. So sorry about your mom.”

  Belinda looked over at Eleanor and Henrietta.

  “Where are my manners?” Mom said. “Karma Clackerton as you may have guessed works for Quincy.”

  “How do?” K.C. said.

  “And I’m Eleanor Cooper.” She extended her hand, gracefully. “Quincy is engaged to my son.” She immediately looked at my left hand. I resisted the urge to jerk it off the table and instead, reached for a napkin and pretended to wipe my hands.

  “You know Hen and Louise and Barbara don’t you?” Mom said.

  “Um, I know who you are,” Belinda said awkwardly.

  “I hear Henrietta also walks away with a ribbon each year,” K.C. said.

  Hen smiled sweetly.

  “Speaking of walking,” Barbara said, “how’s your ankle?”

  “It’s much better. Although I couldn’t have entered without the help of Eleanor. She’s been my legs this week.”

  “We had to come to the awards ceremony,” Eleanor said. “After all of Hen’s hard work we had to see if she won a prize.”

  I caught Belinda staring at Henrietta longer than would be considered polite.

  K.C. asked Belinda if they knew what caused her mother to lose consciousness and while they chatted, Barbara stood up.

  “I’m going to buy back the brownies I donated at the treat table,” she said.

  “Why would you do that? Didn’t you get your fill after you made them?” Louise asked.

  “Actually,” she leaned down to answer, “it’s a little embarrassing. I didn’t have time to make what I committed to, so I brought some brownies that Belinda’s mother left at the house. They were packaged in a darling tin container, and I knew that if Vanessa made them, they would be safe to eat in case someone bought them before I could.”

  Belinda glanced over as she heard her name, but kept talking to K.C. She was giving a detailed description of the construction project that her advanced students were doing. Each year our local high school students build a new house from scratch and sell it at a low cost to a deserving family. Belinda was one of the teachers who participated.

  I half-listened to Belinda rattle on about electrical and plumbing codes and half listened to the other ladies talking about their favorite recipes. I heard a gurgling sound come from my mother’s direction. She moved her hand to her abdomen and I saw her wince. Then I heard another gurgle.

  Just then, Barbara sat down with a decorative tin. “Why, that looks like the one that I got,” Mom said.

  I tried to get K.C.’s attention, so she could look at the brownie tin and see if it was the same as the ones she delivered. She was the one talking now, and once the K.C. conversation train is going down the tracks there’s not much that can stop it.

  “Alright everyone, we’re ready to announce the winners for this year’s Jubilee cook-off,” a woman said at the microphone. “First, we’ll start with the soups and stews category…”

  I leaned forward, over the table. “Belinda,” I said in a quiet voice.

  She watched the woman at the microphone with rapt attention.

  “Belinda,” I repeated.

  She looked back at me, obviously annoyed. “What?” she whispered.

  “Where did your mom buy these tins for the brownies?”

  She looked at me, then glanced back at the MC. She looked back at me, her brow furrowed. “She didn’t buy them. I did, online. Now, I want to hear the winners.” She turned back around in her chair.

  So, Vanessa said she hadn’t sent brownies to anyone else, and the tins they were in couldn’t be found anywhere locally.

  I heard my mother’s stomach gurgle again. She motioned for me to come closer. “I’m not feeling well. As soon as they announce my category, I’ve got to leave.”

  “I’m sorry. What did you say you ate today?”

  “It was dumb. All I had were those brownies that Vanessa left for us.” She cringed again and rested her hand against her abdomen.

  Belinda looked back at us, annoyed at our whispering, but it seemed her face changed when she looked at my mom and saw her discomfort. It wasn’t a look of curiosity or sympathy. It was more like recognition. She expected my mother to feel sick.

  “And the first place winner of the salads division is…Karma Clackerton.”

  K.C. erupted from her seat and ran up to receive her ribbon. “What was your secret preserved ingredient, Karma?” the MC asked.

  “Pimentos!” she said, which caused many a surprised look, due to the fact she’d entered a Jell-O salad.

  “Oh my gosh, Quincy,” Mom said, “I don’t feel well at all.”

  My mom’s forehead was glistening. I wished she would just run to the bathroom, but she’d put so much into the contest, I don’t think she could bear to leave until she heard the final results.

  The MC announced the winner of the casserole category and it wasn’t my mother. I thought then that she might leave, but the grand prize was still available. If you won your category, you weren’t eligible for the overall. There was still a glimmer of hope for my mother.

  “And for the desserts category…” Belinda sat up straight in he
r seat, I could see her fingers were crossed as they rested on her lap.

  “She only eliminated the real competition,” I said out loud but not loud enough that anyone could make out what I’d said.

  “…Henrietta Bowser.” Henrietta looked at Eleanor, overjoyed. They hugged each other, then Eleanor helped Hen walk up to get her ribbon. Belinda’s expression read absolute incredulity. Was it because she’d iced up Hen’s porch, hoping to take her out of commission? Would she have looked the same way at Deborah Green with the frozen pipes?

  “You did it, Belinda,” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “You iced Hen’s porch. You opened Deborah’s storage room door. You delivered poisoned brownies.”

  “Poisoned brownies!” my mother shouted. She stood up, making the universal movements of someone searching for the nearest bathroom to throw up. “Those brownies are poison.” She pointed to the treat table on her way out to the restroom.

  “And you almost poisoned your mom with toxic fumes. What is wrong with you?”

  There were three lines of people In front of the treat table who’d stayed standing during the announcement of winners. Upon hearing my mother, K.C., who stood up front with all the other winners stepped up to the treat table and turned it over, yelling, “Poisoned food! Poisoned food!”

  Belinda stood up slowly, seemingly stunned. She looked at me, then glanced from side to side and took off toward the exit near the treat table. Eleanor, who’d made it up front with Henrietta, stuck her foot out, tripping Belinda, who stumbled into K.C. Their feet slipped out from under them, presumably on the pumpkin chiffon pie, and they rolled around in a sea of desserts until K.C. managed to pin Belinda down.

  Meanwhile, a stream of women holding their mouths and stomachs made a veritable Conga line toward the exit my mother had used to get to the restrooms. Barbara’s brownie donation and been selling for at least two hours, which was approximately the time it took for Belinda’s Bad-girl Brownies to take effect.

  While people scrambled and ran and the police were called, the MC soldiered on and announced that Annette McKay was the winner of the overall, grand prize, blue ribbon. I accepted on her behalf, and made sure to deliver it to her as soon as she felt safe leaving the restroom.