When I walked into the shop on Monday at eleven, I could tell it was an unusual day. Our coolers were already decimated. Liv was stationed at the phone, a pencil stuck behind her ear—never a good sign. Amber Lee waited on customers. Yes, plural even.
“There she is.” Mrs. Simmons waddled over and drew me into a hug. “Our little celebrity!” I wasn’t quite sure why she called me little, since I towered over her by at least a foot. But I guessed she’d read the article.
“Thanks.” I returned her hug. I refrained from addressing her by name. When I was dating her son Brad—and with an impending engagement on the horizon—she’d insisted I call her “Mom.” Somehow with Brad (a.k.a. Brad the Cad) in Manhattan and us not talking, that seemed inappropriate.
“I’ll have to send the article and picture to Brad.” She propped a chubby hand on each of my cheeks. “He’ll be so proud!” Mrs. Simmons needed a little tutoring on the meaning of “broke up.”
“Audrey!” Liv called over the din in the shop.
I thanked Mrs. Simmons, excised myself, and headed to Liv just in time to spot her shoving a pencil behind her other ear.
Liv’s face flushed with energy, her eyes glittering. She gestured to the bustling shop. “It’s been like this all morning—not that I’m complaining. Larry is in the back room with our delivery. Could you sign off on it?” The phone rang again.
I found Larry in the back room chuckling. “Hey, pumpkin.” He drew me into a hug. “Congratulations on the article. It seems to be doing your business some good.”
“I guess so. I know Liv hoped we’d get a wedding booking or two out of it, but it looks like we were swamped this morning. You haven’t been waiting all this time, have you?” Larry normally delivered our stock of flowers, straight from his greenhouses, early before we opened.
“Nope, in fact this is my second delivery. Liv phoned in another order when things got busy this morning.”
“Then it appears to be doing your business some good, too.”
A smile lit up Larry’s round face. Since age had taken most of his blond hair, with the exception of one shock in the middle, Larry’s smiling visage bore a resemblance to a field-worn Kewpie doll. His family had raised crops in the area since colonial days, once specializing in tobacco. But after an ancestor died from lung cancer, the family switched to flowers. Now with Larry in charge of the operation, his fields and greenhouses supplied all of our locally grown blooms.
I counted the new inventory against the checklist. All the items on my list were checked off, but one long cardboard box remained on the cart. I started to open it and caught just a glimpse of rose stems and leaves when Larry grabbed it back, practically shutting the box on my hand.
“Sorry about that.” His fair complexion turned bright red. “Wrong order.”
“Not a problem.” I scrawled my signature on the checklist and pulled out my customer copy. “We’ve got everything on the manifest anyway.”
He’d just stepped out the door when Liv returned. “I put the phone on voice mail for lunch.” She plopped a sandwich on the worktable and ignored it while she started making one of the stock arrangements we try to keep in the self-service cooler.
I processed the new delivery, separating the flowers by variety into the various buckets we kept them in until we were ready to arrange them, and then lugged them into the walk-in. By the time I finished, Liv had completed her arrangement, taken one bite from her sandwich, and pulled out a small vase to start another arrangement.
“You need to eat.” I pulled the vase toward me.
“I know, but we also need to take advantage of your fifteen minutes of fame while it lasts.” She pulled my appointment calendar out of her apron. “We’ve booked six new wedding consultations just this morning.”
“Six? Where are they all coming from?”
“That’s just it,” she said with a bite of egg salad. “Some news service picked up the story. That article appeared in half the local newspapers in the mid-Atlantic region. Which reminds me . . .” She slid a piece of scratch paper toward me. “Here’s the new delivery price schedule for locations outside of our normal delivery area. And we now have a pickup option.”
I glanced at the figures tallied in pencil, arranged by miles from the store. “One-hundred mile surcharge? Do you really think someone is going to drive one hundred miles for a bridal consultation?”
She tilted her head into a pixielike grin. “She’ll be here at two today. I said you could squeeze her in. Oh, and Jenny called. She wants to talk to you about her order. She’s going to swing by before seven.”
“Good. I came up with an idea to tweak that awful arrangement her mother picked.”
By late afternoon, my back started to ache from wrapping arrangements in plastic. Some munchkin must have designed our counter. Hunched over, I caught a glimpse of the next customer’s pant leg first. White. I stood up.
Nick Maxwell held a small spring bouquet of pink roses and white daisies. Hmm. Pink roses, the symbol of secret love, and daisies, cheerfulness or innocence. But that assumed he knew what they meant. I fixed up the untidy arrangement as I wrapped it for him. Understandable, considering they were slinging flowers like flapjacks in the back room. But everything would be nice before it left the shop.
Every time I hazarded a glance up at him, his gaze shifted to the ground, his dark eyes barely visible under those long lashes women try to fake with mascara.
As soon as I handed him his receipt, the next customer plopped her purse onto the counter. Nick remained planted in place for a moment. “Audrey, I . . . thanks.” Then he waved the flowers at me in a salute and backed out of the store.
When Jenny arrived just after six, I could spare more time. I offered her a cup of coffee. She looked like she needed it, and I felt the need of some caffeine reinforcement as well. When we were seated in the consulting nook, she stared down at the flagstone table for a few moments.
I decided to start. “I’ve been considering the bouquet we discussed the other day.”
“Cancel it.”
“Cancel?” I wondered if the mayor’s wife had been talking to her about the joys of online flowers.
“The wedding is off.”
“Off?” I repeated. Where was the off button on this lame echo machine? “Jenny, I’m sorry. Would you like to talk about it?”
She raised her head, met my eyes, and let out a sardonic laugh. “You know, the funny thing is we’re not even technically broken up yet. I just spent all afternoon canceling the cake, the dress—everything. I figured that would make it easier to call it off with Derek.” She rolled her eyes. “And tell my mother. That’s going to be worse than talking to Derek, I think. She’s going to flip.”
Amber Lee’s words about Ellen being instrumental in orchestrating the relationship sprang to mind. “Jenny, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you ever get involved with Derek? I remember you once called him ‘the wild one.’”
Jenny smiled, then rummaged through her purse as tears started forming. I pulled up a box of tissues I kept on hand for emotional moments. Though usually they involved mothers of the bride—either when they realized their daughters were getting married or when they realized how much it would cost them. Jenny plucked three tissues from the box.
“At first, I think I was flattered.” She took a moment to wipe her tears and blow her nose. “Here’s this rich, handsome guy, and he wanted to spend time with me. But, Audrey, then I got to really like him. He’s witty and charming and educated and sophisticated. Except sometimes I feel a little like a country bumpkin next to him—always worried I’m going to use the wrong fork or something. And always wondering what he sees in me.” Jenny pulled a strand of hair from her face. “Mother really, really likes him.”
“But what happened?”
“I’m not sure anything happened. I mean, it’s not like we argued,
and Derek’s never been anything but kind to me. I think over time I just . . . You can only put on a front for so long. And I’m not certain being witty and charming is enough.” She paused for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail. “Audrey, when I get married, I want someone who loves me without making me question why. I don’t want to wonder. Until I know, I think it would be a mistake.”
“Jenny, you don’t think this is just dormant insecurity, from . . .”
“From my fat years?” She laughed and shook her head. “I did think that for a while. But I’m pretty sure I’m not what Derek would pick for his wife, and I don’t think he’d be happy for long if we went through with the wedding. I’m not sure I could keep his interest. Audrey, I want to be the face someone wants to come home to. I think I’ve known for a while it wouldn’t work, but the more Mother went on and on about what a wonderful opportunity it was, the more chicken I got.”
Jenny’s slumped posture and downcast eyes spoke volumes. Poor little Jenny—always trying so hard to please. A move like this must have been hard for her. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.” I squeezed her hand.
“Thanks, Audrey. You’ve been a good friend. All my other friends will think I’m an idiot for breaking up with Derek. I’m only sorry I . . .” She swallowed hard. “Maybe when this is over you and I can get together, hit some garage sales.”
“Sure thing.”
She glanced at her watch. “Derek is supposed to pick me up here at seven. I’ll break it off with him tonight.” She sighed. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow to tell my mother. And then I’m going to need to dust off my résumé.”
“I thought you had a job.”
“Not one that pays all my bills, what with the cost of gas and rent—even with a roommate. I’m going to have to find a better job, a cheaper place, or pick up some part-time hours somewhere. Mother has made it clear she’s tired of helping me make ends meet. Now that the wedding is off . . . well, it’s not like I’m sixteen and she’s obligated to support me. But I want to cut the strings. I don’t want her support to influence my decisions again.”
Ellen might not be, but I was proud of Jenny.
“Um, Audrey. There wouldn’t be a job open here, would there? The shop seems awfully busy.”
“Maybe. It depends on how things work out with these new wedding orders.”
“I’m not sure how good I’d be with flowers, but I work hard.”
I glanced at my watch. With still forty minutes before her meeting with Derek, Jenny would need something to keep her mind occupied besides biting her fingernails to the bone. “If we were able to put on a new person—and I’m not promising, mind you—you’d have to start with a lot of grunt work. But why don’t we give you a brief lesson and see how you do?”
“A lesson?”
“Yeah, do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
“Then follow me.” I led Jenny through the shop and into the back room, where Liv and Amber Lee were trying to get ahead with arrangements for the next day.
When Amber Lee looked up, I said, “Jenny is thinking about joining us, and I thought I’d give her a quick floral design lesson.”
Liv raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. When she knew the whole story, kindhearted Liv would agree.
“Now, what shall we make?” I tried to think of a suitable first lesson.
“You know, that bouquet in the paper was gorgeous,” Jenny answered. “And I loved the meanings you gave all the flowers. Could we make one of those?”
“Sure.” At the same time I wondered what I’d do with it. I certainly didn’t need another reminder of my failed relationship with Brad on display. I showed Jenny around the cooler and had her pick out the flowers to use.
She grabbed a rose before I could warn her about the thorns, so we stopped to rinse off her bleeding fingers and bandage them. The dangers of being a rookie in the floral industry.
I demonstrated how to strip the leaves and thorns with a sharp folding knife we kept on hand for that purpose. “Here’s an opportunity to get your revenge on those thorns.” I handed the tool to her.
She gripped the knife awkwardly, ineffectively mirroring my movement as if she were afraid of hurting the flowers. In the battle against the thorns, the thorns won. I pulled another knife from the drawer, repeated the demonstration, and together we assembled a similar hand-tied bouquet of lavender and white roses and purple irises.
“It’s so pretty,” Jenny said, admiring her work. She handed it toward me.
“You keep it. Fruit of your labor. If you want, you can take the pins out and put it in a vase with water to keep it fresh. In the meantime . . .” I gathered the tools we’d used—pruning shears, floral tape, and the sharp knife—and placed them in one of the plastic shop bags. “You can borrow these tools and practice at home. Just rearrange the same flowers over again—or even use wildflowers. Come back later in the week and we’ll see if we can work you into the schedule. Just expect it to be simple stuff for a while.”
“Oh, thank you, Audrey!” She hugged me.
Right at seven, a distinctive horn sounded from the street. Her countenance fell. “That’s Derek. I should go.”
I escorted her to the front of the shop and watched as she darted between raindrops and climbed into Derek’s sports car. Yes, this breakup would be painful, but Jenny would make it. And in the end, I suspected she’d not regret the decision.
• • •
Early the next morning—at least I thought it was morning; the light said yes, but my body insisted there were at least a few more hours to the night—I awoke to a loud pounding at my door. My first inclination was to ignore it. My dream haze convinced me it was just Audrey Hepburn stomping on the floor above, in a rousing rendition of “The Rain in Spain.”
But a rather heavy cat landed squarely on my stomach, dug in his claws, and then tore out of the room. Paws skidded in the hallway, followed by a thump and then a crash.
I decided I’d better get up to investigate. So, using the walls for support, I staggered to the kitchen, where I found my flower arrangement from Grandma Mae’s garden lying on the kitchen floor, the vase shattered. Since water that has held lily of the valley can be toxic, I grabbed some paper towels and wiped up the mess before Chester could get into it. So much for renewed happiness. I shivered as I also picked up the rhododendron. Why hadn’t I considered its meaning before?
Beware.
And then the pounding on my door started again. Should I dial 911?
“Audrey?” The voice was Liv’s. Why would she be here this early in the morning?
I opened the door and tried to open my eyes as well. “What? Liv, what’s going on?”
Liv rushed past me into the kitchen, wringing her hands. When she stopped, they were shaking.
I grabbed her hands to try to warm them. “What’s the matter? Has something happened to Eric?”
She started to nod. Horror filled me, but then she shook her head instead.
“Eric saw it. He’s okay.” Liv sat down on one of my kitchen chairs, clutching her arms to her chest, rocking back and forth. Even in the dim light of my kitchen, her skin appeared pale.
I ran to get a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She clutched it to herself.
“Now, what happened?” I urged.
Liv took a deep breath. “Eric went out for a jog this morning.” She shivered again. “He headed down Elm, you know, where those apartments are, and saw that sports car of Derek Rawling’s.”
“Jenny lives there. He must have . . .” My mind started spinning. “Why would he spend the night if Jenny just broke up with him? Unless she chickened out.”
Liv shook her head. “Eric crossed the street to get a closer look. You know guys and sports cars. When he got closer . . .”
I slid into m
y seat at the table just as Liv began rocking in her chair again.
“Liv, what is it?”
“Eric had a hard time seeing because of those tinted windows. And when he got close he saw him.”
“Who?”
“Derek. Audrey, he was dead. Dead and sitting behind the steering wheel of his car.”
“Was Eric positive? Maybe Derek just passed out or something.”
“No, he was certain. Audrey, there’s more. When Eric got closer, he could tell it wasn’t just the tinted windows that were making it difficult to see. Something was smeared all over the windows. Audrey, it was blood, and Eric said there was a knife still . . .”
I held my breath, forcibly exhaled, then recalled what I remembered from college anatomy. No, anatomy is not required to be a florist, but few people in Ramble know I studied nursing for two years before dropping out. The reason is known by even fewer. “That must have hit an artery if it . . .”
Liv turned a decided green.
“Sorry,” I said. Derek had been murdered. Right on the streets of Ramble. No wonder she was so shook up. “He wouldn’t have suffered long.”
“But, Audrey, Eric thinks the knife was one of ours—from the shop.”
“He must be mistaken.” Liv had ordered a dozen of those knives with the florist shop name printed on them so they wouldn’t wander. And if they did wander, at least they would serve as advertisement.
She stared hard at me. And then I remembered.
“I gave Jenny a knife yesterday, but she wouldn’t . . . couldn’t have done anything like that.”
Liv shook her head. “Audrey, Eric said the bouquet was there, too, in the car. Torn to bits and covered with blood.”
Chapter 4
A stream of police entered and exited the Rose in Bloom like a swarm of ants attacking blossoming peonies. Okay, a rather small swarm, since the Ramble police force consisted of six officers, the chief of police, two volunteer crossing guards, and a couple of retired officers who filled in when needed. The entire force seemed to be present this morning.
Bloom and Doom Page 4
