The Accidental Florist jj-16

by Jill Churchill

  Jane went home and she found Willard, her big old dog sitting by the back door, which he'd almost scratched clear through over the years. Instead of running outside barking as he'd usually done, he walked slowly into the backyard. And as he raised one leg to pee, he fell over.

  Jane ran to him, her heart racing. He was lying on his side, his eyes open, and a little blood oozing out of his mouth. Jane ran back to the house and called Todd.

  "Todd, I need help quickly. It's Willard. Get that old quilt he likes and put it in the back of the Jeep. We need to get him to the vet."

  Todd had instead put Willard's old dog bed in the back of the Jeep and they both had to carry the heavy dog to the car. Jane drove almost as fast as Shelley did. And two of the girls at the front desk helped them carry Willard inside. Dr. Roberts was waiting and they laid the dog on the examining table. The doctor got out his stethoscope and put it on Willard's chest. "How did this happen?" he asked Jane.

  She told him.

  "He was probably dead before he hit the ground. A merciful sudden death. He didn't feel anything. You know he had an enlarged heart for the last several years."

  "Can we take him home and bury him in the yard?" Todd asked.

  "There's probably some health code that forbids this," the doctor said. "How about this: we'll cremate him and put his ashes in a little enclosed box? Then you can get one of those kits for making concrete stepping-stones to

  write on. You can write his name on it and the date of his birth and death."

  "You know his date of birth?" Jane asked through her tears.

  "Of course. Remember you adopted him here. Willard's mother was a car chaser and was killed when her two puppies were ten weeks old. They were brought here so they could be adopted. It's all in my file. I'll write down the date. You subtract ten weeks. Todd and Ms. Jeffry, he was loved by the whole family. He had a good long happy life. Keep that in mind."

  He shook Todd's hand and held it with both of his. "He was a good dog. I know you'll miss him."

  They left behind the dog bed and were both crying on the way home. To Jane's knowledge Todd hadn't cried since he was eight when Thelma's husband died and they had attended his funeral.

  As the doctor had suggested they stopped by a hobby store and bought the kit for the stepping-stone. Jane thought that making the stone now might ease Todd's grief.

  Janie had suspected for the last few weeks that Willard wouldn't be with them for much longer. He'd been sleeping too much, not eating his food as fast. And not running around the yard barking at imaginary predators on his turf. She'd soon lose her old cats as well. They were nearly as old as Willard.

  She wondered if the cats would miss Willard as much as his people would. Probably so.

  Chapter

  SEVEN

  W

  en Jane got back from the vet, she had a blinking essage from the architect on her phone. "Jane, this is Jack. I forgot to tell you something. When we get approval for this project, we'll have to take part of your south fence out to get the equipment into your backyard. I noticed that you have a dog. So take it outside on a leash when we're ready."

  She didn't have the heart to call back and say she no longer had the old dog. Even though she was curious about when the pouring of the foundation would start. She'd ask him later.

  Nor was she calm enough yet to tell Katie and Mike. She did call Shelley, who sympathized in the best way. "That's the thing about well-loved pets. We always out‑

  live them. 1 suppose the worst scenario is that one would outlive us and have to go to strangers."

  "Thanks, Shelley. You're right. I'm never getting a dog again. It's too hard to lose one. The same with cats. Well, not exactly. They don't really need you to be home all the time. Leave lots of kitty litter and food and water and go away for a weekend and they're mildly happy when you get home. Dogs aren't like that. They love their people and are sad when they're left alone, or — God forbid — put in a kennel."

  "There is another difference," Shelley said. "Dogs love their owners. Cats think they own you."

  Jane laughed and then went on to tell Shelley how nice the vet had been, especially to Todd. The vet took so much trouble to comfort Todd on Willard's death, and explained about the headstone idea.

  "He's such a nice man," Shelley said. "We had always taken our pets to him back when we had pets. He cared about them and their owners, even though one of our cats' records was headed `Caution — Mean Cat."

  That made Jane laugh again. She vaguely remembered that cat of the Nowacks'. It had bitten both her and Mike the first time each of them had tried to pet it.

  "You really need to go shopping tomorrow for your dress for the fake wedding," Shelley said.

  "That sounds like excellent therapy."

  They took along the scrap of charcoal fabric they'd talked the tux guy into finding. But after two completerounds of trampling entirely through three dress stores, found nothing even close.

  "Don't worry, Jane. A fabric store will have an exact match and I know an excellent dressmaker who can make whatever you need."

  "Right now what I need most is to go home and see if Todd has finished his headstone for Willard. Todd will want me to compliment it the moment he finishes and his feelings will be hurt if I'm not there."

  Shelley, who'd often been in similar situations with her children when pets had died, agreed. "We have lots of time. Neither wedding is for a few months. Give me that scrap of fabric and I'll go through every fabric store in town like Sherman through Altanta."

  Todd had finished the headstone and did a good job of it.

  "How did you get all that writing so neat?" Jane asked. "With one of my pens that was out of ink."

  In large letters at the top it said WILLARD. Below that were the dates of his birth and death. At the bottom Todd had drawn quite an accurate drawing of the dog in his prime. He'd even colored it in.

  "That's a fine job. Are you going to varnish it so it won't fade or run?"

  "I hadn't thought about that. That's a good idea. But it needs to dry completely before I do it. It's still a bit damp."

  "I need to call Mike and Katie with the bad news. They're going to be as sad as we are."

  Todd looked away. "I'll do it if you want. I've been remembering when he was a puppy and I wanted him to sleep in my bed with me and you wouldn't let me because I might roll over and squash him. So he had a little bed next to mine. You made him a nice soft cushion to sleep

  on."

  "I remember. He was a cute puppy, wasn't he? Who'd have guessed then how big and strong he'd get,"Jane said. "And remember how soft his fur was? Everybody wanted to cuddle him."

  Todd was obviously feeling better, having this talk with his mother. Earlier today she'd been so strong about it. Helping carry Willard to the car, and explaining to the vet how he'd died. Jane was glad she'd come home to have this time with Todd.

  "Would you rather I called Katie and Mike?" he suddenly asked.

  "I'd like it if you would. But if you get an answering machine, though, don't leave a message except to call home."

  He cocked a cynical eyebrow. "Mom, I'm not a dim bulb."

  She laughed. "I know that. I shouldn't have warned you. I'll leave you to it and not eavesdrop. I'll make a cup of coffee and sit on the patio."

  As she sat outside, she realized that Todd had reached the cusp between childhood and being an adult. It was, as she well remembered, one of the milestones of most people's lives. Scary but exciting doing the balancingact. Offering to give the bad news to his older sister and brother and sparing his mother was a big step forward.

  The next morning Jane received another call from the architect. "Did you get my message about your dog?"

  "Yes, but when you called, we had him at the vet. He's dead. Heart attack."

  There was a silence and Jack cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry to have asked such a tactless question. Your uncle Jim would be ashamed of me."

  "Don't worry. You had
no way to know. I wanted you to realize why I hadn't been polite enough to reply. Do you have any idea when the work can start?"

  "Very soon. At least by next Tuesday or Wednesday if it's to be done before your wedding."

  "I'm surprised. Yes, that would be wonderful if it could happen."

  "I can't promise that the small things will be finished by then. Cleaning the windows, finishing the trim and such. But it will be a livable, usable area by the time you're back from your honeymoon," he added with a chuckle.

  Jane realized that she and Mel hadn't even discussed having a honeymoon. How could either of them get away from work? Mel was virtually always on call and Jane had some work to do on the almost finished second book. She wanted to get it in well before the deadline, which was two weeks before the real wedding. She'd more or less thought that with the kids home for the wedding, her

  parents visiting after a long flight, and a fair amount of stress to get Mel's room ready, that they might just spend one glorious night at a really good hotel and spend the next few days relaxing with family and friends.

  Besides, a honeymoon for middle-aged people, not that either she or Mel thought of themselves as such, was a bit silly.

  Though she was in contact at least twice a week with her parents via e-mail, it would be nice to sit around the kitchen table just talking to them. Or take them to restaurants, and see some new sights that had sprung up all over the Chicago area since they'd last been here.

  Then she thought of her sister, Marty. She and Marty were like oil and water. They'd never shared common interests or values. Marty had been married at least four times. They hadn't laid eyes on each other for well over a decade. More likely two decades. Jane realized that Marty hadn't ever met Mike, Katie, and Todd. She had no interest in children. They didn't exchange birthday or holiday cards or gifts.

  Jane was also afraid to invite Marty, because she always had an inappropriate man, to say the least, living with her. The only reason Jane knew this was because Marty was always nagging their parents to help support the current husband or boyfriend. She never succeeded and never gave up trying.

  Jane also knew that her parents, who complained about Marty, never told Marty anything about Jane or her family. Marty never asked. It was as if she'd forgotten sheever had a sister. She'd have to e-mail her folks to see if there was any slim chance they wanted their other daughter at the wedding. She was sure she knew the answer. But it was the polite thing to ask them anyway.

  She was happily distracted from all these worries by Shelley knocking at the kitchen door. Shelley was carrying a big paper bag with paper handles that were about to give up the ghost.

  "Come in. What's all this?"

  "Fabrics," Shelley said grimly. "Clear your dining room table."

  "There's nothing on it now except a tablecloth," Jane replied.

  With a flourish Shelley dumped a good fifty strips about four inches wide and twelve inches long on the table.

  "Jeepers!" Jane exclaimed with a laugh. "You didn't mix up the charcoal piece I got at the tux place, did you?"

  "Ye of little faith. No, that one's in my purse. We'll put it at the end of the table so we don't lose it."

  They started pawing through the samples of fabric. "This checkerboard thing won't do,"Jane said.

  "Nor will the lumpy black-and-white."

  They threw both on the floor.

  Sadly, as they went on, nearly everything went onto the floor. There were only two pieces of fabric of the fifty that almost matched, but not quite.

  "If you want dark, you're going to have to go with pure black," Shelley said.

  "Sounds like one of those old trashy paperback mysteries written by men in the 1930s. The Bride Wore Black."

  "If you wore a black long skirt and short jacket with a bright red blouse, would that do?"

  "All the people behind me at the church wedding are just going to see the black. There's tan, of course. And the groomsmen would look like they were National Guard guys."

  "White?" Shelley suggested with a disgusted shrug. "No, no, no."

  "Pink?"

  "Too girly-girly,"Jane said.

  "Bright red, then?"

  "Floozy."

  "Carmine red?"

  Jane paused. "Maybe." She laughed. "Mel's mother will probably fall into a faint as I come down the aisle."

  Chapter

  EIGHT

  O

  n Monday Jane got back to work, tweaking her manuscript, and double checking her historical research and punctuation. She hadn't yet figured out the exact dates and what days they fell on but she had a bookmark on her computer for any month of any year you wanted to look up. She might have to adjust a few things considering that her heroine was a churchgoer.

  Since Todd had grown up, he'd decided that Sunday school was too childish and church services were too boring. And Jane herself had more or less given up as well. She'd only gone to church to set a good example for the children and the church that they'd always gone to was turning quite a bit to the fundamentalist viewpoint anyway. And anytime lately that she had showed

  up, somebody tried to buttonhole her to run some sort of fund-raising project.

  She pulled up a bookmark for the year she needed and made a printout of the four months the story involved. Later she'd cut them out and enlarge each one on her copier and thumbtack them to her bulletin board.

  The phone rang as she was printing out the year she was working on. "Hello, Jack, what's up?"

  "You need to hire a contractor. Your uncle Jim liked the one he chose. You should talk to him. Or get another bid on the advice of someone else you trust. But whoever you choose should be ready to start on the foundation next week on Tuesday or Wednesday. It involves digging a huge hole, filling it with gravel, and building wooden barriers for foundation pouring. For a while it will be noisy, especially when the concrete truck pulls into your side yard. Your contractor should do that because there are no gardens on that end of the yard. You might want to keep your cats inside when the concrete is poured so they don't bring it in the house if they explore it."

  "I'll call Uncle Jim right now."

  When he answered, she heard the faint whirring sound of some sort of machine turning off. "Uncle Jim, Jack Edgeworth told me to talk to you about the contractor you used."

  "He's John Beckman. He was good. Knows all the good subcontractors, all the county and township codes, and goes and gets the right permits for every stage of the work."

  "Mr. Edgeworth suggested I get a second bid fromsomeone I trust. But you're the only one I can think of trusting."

  "That's nice of you to say. Here is his telephone number." "Thanks. I'll call him immediately."

  She did so, and found the man pleasant and agreeable to starting the work the next week, which surprised her.

  I must finish this book before this starts, Jane thought. A

  good incentive to get it in earlier than she needed to send it to her agent to read before it was sent on to the publisher. No more messing around trying to find a wedding dress or considering colors to wear for a fake wedding for the time being.

  By Monday afternoon, Jane had been to the FedEx box to deposit the manuscript into the maw of it. She stood for a minute, enjoying the sound of it thumping on the bottom of the metal box on its way to New York.

  She'd need to start a third book soon. At least start making notes about possible characters, especially the main character. She'd need a new setting. The one she'd just completed had taken place considerably later than the first. What other area of American history did she want to pursue? Revolutionary times? Colonial?

  She'd already accumulated quite a library of costumes through time, styles of housing, important dates, words and phrases, dictionaries, and even a book of inventions and when the new technologies had originated. She had a seven-language dictionary, a bird and butterfly guide,

  as well as one about wild animals so she wouldn't make errors about where they lived in vari
ous seasons.

  But the historical time lines were the best. She might drop by a bookstore while the noise was going on and see if there was some new book that would be useful. After all, she'd learned at a mystery writers and readers conference that books were deductible if you were a writer. She wondered if her cable bills would count. She'd taken notes from lots of programs on the History Channel. She'd check with her accountant. After all, deductions, as Martha Stewart was always saying, were a Good Thing.

  Jane invited Todd to go along.

  "I like books and bookstores, but you take so much time that I go crazy. I'll pass this time."

  Jane was relieved. She knew she spent too much time when she went to a big bookstore. She was greedy for books. She'd take a list of the subjects, but didn't include mysteries. Those were the shelves she browsed through first before she could even consider the research books.

  She found some of her favorites. Charlaine Harris had a new hardback and a paperback on the shelves. She hadn't read either of them yet. Rhys Bowen had a new paperback historical mystery so she picked that up as well. Jill Churchill had another of her books set in the thirties she couldn't resist.

  She'd read these in the evenings when she'd finished her own work for the day. Then she consulted her list.

  She'd looked up the latest USA Today booklist of the 150 bestsellers that week and taken notes. She'd also justbrowsed all of the nonfiction and history sections. She kept piling up books at a desk in the middle of the store, putting a sticky note on the top saying "Save for Jane Jeffry"