Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4)

by Gemma Brocato

  “Hey.”

  The word came at the exact instant her foot was nudged. Her eyes flashed open to find Jemima George, from the neighboring café, standing over her. They shared the alley and met for coffee in her back garden most afternoons.

  Jem held a couple of fragrantly steaming cups. Mal’s mouth watered as Jem extended one of the mugs toward her.

  “Oh, my God. How did you know this was what I needed?” She shut her eyes and took a sip. Ah, bliss.

  Jem took a seat next to her. “It’s cold out here. My butt might freeze to this bench.”

  Mal wrapped her fingers around the cup, warming them. She opened her eyes and let her gaze travel over the piles of snow that had been shoveled to the corners. “It is January.”

  Jem dipped her head. “True. If your day has been like mine, then this break hasn’t come a moment too soon.”

  “Want to compare notes? Two weeks before Valentine’s Day my wholesaler shipped only half of my order. I spent an hour straightening that out.” Mal was still unhappy about the company’s incompetent staff.

  “Nice try. My new dishwasher quit during the breakfast rush. He had such great references, too. Had to wash plates between rashers of bacon and servings of cinnamon rolls.”

  Mal snapped her fingers. “That’s nothing. Mrs. Aubrey-Smith dropped in and changed the entire floral design for a wedding that’s less than a month away.”

  “Still not winning. Mr. Aubrey-Smith sent his breakfast sandwich back twice because the English muffin wasn’t brown enough.” Jem’s eyebrows raised and a spiteful smile spread across her face. “I burned it a little the last time on purpose.”

  Mal rolled her eyes. “Did he eat it?”

  “It didn’t come back again, so I guess he did.”

  “Okay.” She paused and released the bitter words she’d been holding in. “I think my dad might be drinking again.”

  “Oh, Malin. Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. Just a suspicion. He disappeared this morning, and Chloe found him out here without a coat. He slurred his words when he came in. But I had to get rid of him fast because of Mrs. A.S., so I couldn’t really check.”

  “God, I hope you’re wrong. Suspicions don’t count in this game. We’re tied.” Jem sipped her coffee and snuggled deeper into her down jacket. “Jack has a business meeting in Vegas in two weeks. It’s warm there, and I can’t get away from the café.”

  “Over Valentine’s Day? That sucks. You need a vacation.” Mal drew a deep breath and spewed her final entry in their game. “I just arranged a dozen long-stemmed roses, bought for a woman by the man I’m crushing on.”

  “Oh, damn. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.” Jem’s gaze was sympathetic when Malin met her eyes over the rim of her mug. “Who is it?”

  “Gunnar Sims.”

  “Really? He’s adorable. Rikki, Sam’s wife, is Gunnar’s sister. Gunnar punched Sam in the face the first time they met. Wait, you met him at Rikki’s baby shower, didn’t you?”

  “I was busy working the event. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him other than to say ‘Try the salmon mousse.’” Mal remembered thinking he was attractive but hadn’t gotten to know him until he’d started coming into the shop.

  Jem pushed her curly ponytail over her shoulder. “I can have Jack or Sam say something to him if you want.”

  Dammit, Granite Pointe was too small. When she opened the second store, Malin was going to run it exclusively, distancing herself from the tiny town she’d grown up in.

  Right now, she regretted mentioning Gunnar to her friend. “I know, why don’t I just slip him a note that says ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no.’ I’m not in middle school.” Mal let her head drop back and closed her eyes against the weak sunlight, wishing her tension and anxiety away. She lifted her head and glanced at Jem. “I’m probably better off keeping my distance from him and staying friends.”

  “Why?” Jem’s voice held a curious note to match the look on her face.

  “He lacks the gene that makes a guy stick with one woman.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the Gunnar I know.”

  “I’m his florist, remember? I don’t need the heartache that’s sure to follow once I finally attract his attention that way. Yeah, I’m better with things as they are.” The idea shouldn’t make her so...unhappy.

  Jem snorted. “You keep telling yourself that. Eventually, you’ll believe it.”

  “He wandered into the store to order flowers while I was dealing with the mother of all Momzillas. Someone else beat Ashleigh to the altar and stole the Aubrey-Smith color scheme. So I made a great white and ivory bouquet and almost had her convinced. Gunnar shared his opinion when she asked.”

  “What happened?”

  “He made some flip comment about paying attention to the bride, not the flowers. That bouquet was perfection, too. Fit for the royalty Mrs. A.S. believes she is.”

  “Ha. I bet that went over like a lead balloon.”

  “It worked out okay. I pitched, or rather re-pitched, the brooch bouquet idea to her. Once I tossed in a comparison to Princess Di’s shoes, she was hooked. It was touchy for a minute. I wasn’t sure she’d buy it.” Malin snickered at the memory of the old lady’s reaction to what Gunnar had said. “You should have seen her looking down her nose at Gunnar. Like he was some kind of bug. Didn’t seem to faze him.”

  “That’s funny, considering he could probably buy all of the Aubrey-Smith assets twice over.”

  “What?”

  Jem’s curls bounced as she nodded. “Yep, his grandfather is a famous photographer. Gunnar came into his trust-fund when he turned thirty.”

  “You’d never guess it from looking at him.” And Malin had looked closely. Each time he’d come in to buy flowers, she’d studied him, memorizing the tilt of his head, the laugh-lines surrounding his eyes. Firm, full lips that should have been too pretty on a guy worked for him. He was possibly the most attractive, down-to-earth man she’d ever met. But he never flaunted his wealth. Malin was surprised to learn he had a fortune.

  “What are you going to do about your dad?” Jem asked.

  Malin shrugged. Her father had indulged his cravings for Irish whiskey since her mother had deserted them when Mal was twelve years old. Tension gripped her shoulders when she flashed back to the woman’s abrupt departure from their lives. Dad had never recovered. He’d hidden his drinking for a long time.

  Getting him clean three years ago hadn’t been a picnic. She’d bullied him into rehab by threatening to cut off all contact with him. He’d been resentful, but he’d gone. And he’d been doing fine until recently. Mal wasn’t sure what had triggered it. He’d seemed depressed until last week, when he’d slipped back into the happy, sappy person he’d been at the height of his drinking. He was what popular culture termed a functional drunk.

  She answered Jem’s question. “Not much I can do until I catch him drinking. He promised he’d never come to work drunk, and so far, he hasn’t. I’ll trust him until I don’t anymore.”

  The door leading out of the shop banged against the brick wall when Chloe burst through. “There you are. Oh, hi Jem.”

  “Afternoon, Chloe,” Jem replied.

  “Lord, what is it with you Eckerts? First, your dad lurked out here this morning. Now, I find you here.” Chloe snugged the sides of her sweater closed over her chest, then wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Where’s Dad?” Please don’t let Chloe be out here to complain about him.

  “He went home about ten minutes ago. Said he was done with his shift.”

  Mal looked at her watch. Just after three. “Where did this day go? What do you need Chloe?”

  “I have to make a delivery. Can you come watch the front?” Chloe stomped her feet, the sound muted by the snow covering the garden’s stone pavers.

  Standing, she stretched, then handed her cup back to its rightful owner. “Be right there. Jem, same time tomorrow?”

  “Yep. T
omorrow is Toasted Almond Tuesday. You bring the biscotti.” Jem smiled and began her retreat to the café. She paused mid-stride and turned around, continuing to walk backward. “Hey, let me know if I can help. With your dad. Or Gunnar.”

  “Thanks.” Mal nodded to her friend, then followed Chloe back into the shop. The heady smell of fresh flowers, roses and mums, greeted her as she walked through the door.

  Chloe said, “I almost forgot. Some guy from one of those hoity-toity law practices on Beacon Street called. Wants you to return a call. Said it was urgent.”

  “Probably something about the lease on the Charles Street storefront. The space is supposed to be available soon. Did he leave a number?”

  Chloe loaded the crystal vase of funeral flowers into the stabilizer they used to transport arrangements requiring water. “I wrote it on the pad by the phone. Except he mentioned a behest, not a lease.”

  “Like an inheritance?” Malin tore the piece of paper from the pad and studied the lawyer’s name. She didn’t recognize it or the phone number, but lots of those Beacon Street practices had junior partners whose names never made it to the letterhead. “I’ll call him later. Do you need help?”

  “Nope, got it. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Can I have the credit card? Van needs gas.”

  Grabbing her purse from under the counter, she spilled the contents. She’d thought she’d zipped it before she stored it under the counter. God, she was getting careless. Bending, she retrieved her wallet from the pile of stuff scattered across the floor and dug a card from its storage space. She handed it to Chloe, who shoved it in the pocket of her navy pea coat, then hoisted the flowers up and scooted toward the door with a wave over her shoulder.

  Malin sifted through the contents of her wallet. The emergency twenty-dollar bill normally hidden behind her insurance card was missing. Did she spend it and forget to replace it? She searched her memory for where she’d been in the past week and didn’t recall taking it out. “Hey Chloe,” she called out.

  But the girl had already left. Hopefully, she’d remember to ask her when she got back. She’d been so busy lately, she found she was having difficulty remembering even the smallest things. She’d taken to scrawling notes on her forearms to remind herself to do something. She fished an ink pen out of the cup on the counter, uncapped it, and pushed up the sleeve of her oatmeal-colored sweater.

  The phone rang. Grabbing the handset, she read the display, then pulled the slip of paper from her pocket and compared numbers. This guy got points for being persistent. She hit the Talk button and put the phone to her ear. “The Secret Garden. This is Malin.”

  “Ah, Ms. Eckert. You are a tough woman to reach. I’m delighted I’ve finally caught you. My name is Anthony Fleming.”

  She dropped the pen back in the cup and shook her sleeve back down her arm. “What can I do for you?”

  “I represent the estate of Harri Jansen.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know any Harry Jansen. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

  “She. I should have said Mrs. Harriet Eckert Jansen.”

  Mal clutched the phone and slouched against the counter. Sickening dizziness spun in her head as the world tipped away. Blood roared in her ears. This man represented her mother’s estate. The woman had left nearly twenty years ago. Now, Harriet Eckert had died, destroying the tiny speck of hope Mal had harbored about reconciling with her mother.

  “Ms. Eckert? Are you there?”

  “Yes,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “I’m here.”

  “Would it be possible to arrange a time to meet to discuss the terms and disposition of Mrs. Jansen’s will?”

  “She remarried? Wait, you’re in Boston. Is that where she’s been living?”

  “Yes, she’d been a resident until the time of her death.”

  Hot, viscous anger boiled to the surface. She pushed away from the cash wrap and paced behind it. “Mrs. Jansen threw me away a long time ago. Does her will mention that? Does it detail how I haven’t heard a single word from her since the day she walked out? She lived twenty-five miles away from me and never bothered to contact me. Twenty-five damn miles. There is nothing of hers I want. Nothing!” As if possessions could make a difference after all this time. How dare she try to make things right now? The shrill edge of her anger worked itself into her voice, bouncing caustically around the shop. She kicked the counter, giving in to the stupid, physical urge to hurt something.

  “Ms. Eckert, I’m sorry for your loss—”

  “Don’t be, Mr. Fleming. My loss occurred a very long time ago.”

  In twenty years, not a single call on her birthday. No surprise visits on Christmas morning. No excited congratulatory phone call when Mal graduated from college or opened The Secret Garden. Grief for all she’d missed surged in her chest. But she shoved it into a small kernel-sized piece and shucked it away. The woman who’d given birth to her didn’t deserve a second of Mal’s grief. “Harriet Eckert has been dead to me since she abandoned me and my dad.”

  Fleming paused, as if absorbing what she’d said. “If you could calm down for a moment, I need to tell you something regarding the behest Mrs. Jansen left you. Please, I’m only the messenger. I’m simply trying to do my job.”

  Guilt flooded her, bringing embarrassed heat into her cheeks. “I apologize. You, um... You caught me off guard. You might as well get it over with. Let ’er rip.”

  “Your mother named you as Gabriella’s custodial guardian.”

  “Who’s Gabriella?”

  “Aw, Jesus. You really don’t know? Gabriella is your sister.”

  Chapter 4

  As shock ricocheted like a rubber ball against concrete walls, Mal cringed. “I have a sister?” The horror in her voice couldn’t be missed.

  “Ms. Eckert, Gaby is fifteen.”

  At least Harriet had waited five years to start a new family. Malin struggled to find consolation in that fact. Wasn’t working. “Why doesn’t her dad take care of her?”

  “Burton Jansen passed away three years ago. There is no one else. She’s staying with a friend at the moment, but it is in her best interest to get her settled with you as quickly as possible.”

  Mal stopped pacing and slid down the wall until she was crouched low, like a freaking wounded animal. “There has to be someone else. Anyone else would be a better choice than me.”

  “There truly isn’t. Gaby is taking this very hard. She and Mrs. Jansen were very close.”

  His soft, sympathetic tone sparked tears. She had a sister. From a mother who’d screamed at twelve-year-old Malin that she’d never wanted to be a mom. Emotion she couldn’t identify seized her throat, blocking her air supply. Propping her elbows on her knees, she covered her face with her hand and groaned. She was angry. And jealous.

  Lifting her head sharply, she smacked it against the supply drawers behind her. The pain in her head echoed the stinging in her heart. Harriet Eckert had moved on with her life, leaving her first born in the dust. She’d never wanted to be Malin’s mom. But she’d been close to her second child. Harriet loved—

  No. She wouldn’t go there. Nothing but ashes and recrimination lay down that path.

  “Ms. Eckert, I can tell I’ve surprised you. But the court wants this matter resolved as quickly as possible. I’d like to bring Gaby to meet you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow?” she croaked. Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough to process the news, let alone prepare to meet a sibling she had no idea existed. “I don’t... How did Harriet die?”

  “She was involved in a drunk-driving accident on Storrow Drive last week. It’s the road running along the Charles River. She was killed instantly.”

  Mal surged to her feet, fist clenched tightly around the phone. She’d heard about the accident. It had made the evening news due to the fatality. She squinted her eyes. They’d delivered flowers to the funeral home for Harri Jansen. There was a sucky twist of karmic fate if ever there was one. Unbeknownst to her, she’d
arranged lovely tropical flowers as a final tribute for the woman who’d brought her into the world.

  “Mrs. Jansen rewrote her will after Burton died. I’d like to bring Gaby to Granite Pointe to meet you after school dismisses for the day. Say, around half past four?”

  “Can’t she stay with her friends? At least until the end of the school year?” Moving now would be one more upheaval a grieving fifteen-year old probably didn’t need. Not to mention unleashing hell in Mal’s life. And with the possibility of her dad lapsing into his drinking habits again, she couldn’t possibly accept responsibility for a teenager.

  “Unfortunately, no. The family is moving to Nebraska at the end of the month.”

  Mal visualized him shaking his head over her reluctance to take responsibility for a sister she didn’t know existed. He probably thought her reluctance was cruel, hateful. She didn’t care.

  He continued, “The terms of Mrs. Jansen’s will are very specific and iron-clad. You were her choice to oversee Gaby’s well-being.”

  It was a damn shame Harriet hadn’t made similar arrangements when she’d discarded her firstborn. It had been just Malin and her dad against the world. Well…her, Dad, and his drinking. At least she’d had Ben Eckert. He’d done the best he could. He hadn’t surrendered his role as the adult in the relationship until she could drive. She still remembered the first time Red from the tavern had called her to come and pick him up because he was too drunk to drive home.

  Gaby had no one.

  Mal sighed, the sound desolate and resigned. “That will be fine.”

  After finalizing details with Anthony Fleming, Mal disconnected the call. Clutching the handset with a death grip, she breathed through the need to hurl the instrument across the room. She set the phone gently back on the cradle, then dropped her head into her hands and massaged away the beginning of a nasty headache.

  A sister. She had half a mind to rail at the world for the inequity of the situation. The other half of her, the part she kept buried deep inside, wanted to marvel at the idea of a sibling. Someone else in the universe shared a bloodline with her. Even if the blood came from Harriet Eckert. Malin wondered what Gaby would be like. What she’d look like. Guess she’d find out tomorrow.