Marriage Is Pure Murder

by Staci McLaughlin

  Bethany had insisted on one final meeting after telling me about all the brides she’d dealt with who had last-minute changes. I knew I wouldn’t be switching my selection from the tiny roses and delphiniums I’d picked out from the samples she’d shown me, but another meeting to verify my order couldn’t hurt.

  I exited the freeway, drove partway down Main Street, and pulled into a space in front of the Don’t Dilly-Dahlia Flower Shop. The electric Open sign flickered in the window, the only change from when I’d driven by on my way to work this morning.

  Grabbing my purse off the passenger seat, I got out of the car, locked it, and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Next door, the Get the Scoop ice cream parlor had its front doors propped open, but I didn’t see any customers inside. I guessed ice cream didn’t sound as appetizing on a cool November day as it might in the middle of summer. A teenaged girl mopping the floor under the round tables smiled at me on my way by.

  Smiling in return, I grabbed the doorknob to the flower shop and twisted it.

  Locked.

  I frowned and glanced at the Open sign merrily flickering away.

  I turned the knob again but got the same result. I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the time.

  Noon on the dot.

  Had Bethany forgotten about our appointment? But why was the door locked in the middle of the day?

  Perhaps she’d been called away on a flower-related emergency, though I couldn’t imagine what would be considered a flower emergency. Maybe a couple had decided to elope and needed a bouquet right away. Maybe a woman had broken up with her boyfriend and he’d ordered five dozen roses to try to woo her back. I looked at my phone again to see if she’d called or texted, but she hadn’t.

  Cupping my hands against the glass door, I peered inside. The cool fall air made my hot breath fog the window, and I shifted to the side for a better look.

  The lights were on, and I could see the displays of flowers and plants that filled the small space. What I couldn’t see were any people. I knocked on the glass, just in case Bethany was in a corner of the shop out of my line of vision.

  Unease started to grow in the pit of my stomach as I waited for a response. For our first two meetings, Bethany had been prepared and waiting. She’d had binders full of photos set up on the counter and a pot of coffee brewing in the back. Her sudden absence seemed out of character.

  What if she’d somehow injured herself and was lying inside? What if she’d been robbed and was tied up in the back?

  I knocked again, but no one came to the door. After waiting a few more seconds, I took a step back and glanced around. My eyes settled on the side alley just past the ice cream shop. I knew it led to a small parking lot in back, where there were rear exits to all the businesses. If I couldn’t get in through the front door, maybe I could get in through the back.

  I just hoped Bethany was all right.

  Chapter 2

  The door to the flower shop burst open before I had a chance to walk around to the back. Bethany poked her head out and waved. Since our last meeting, she’d gotten her red hair cut in a flattering pageboy style that framed her thin, oval face. She wore a canvas apron with large pockets over an ivory blouse and black slacks.

  “I thought I heard someone knocking.” She beckoned me inside. “Come on in. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  I entered, relieved that nothing sinister had befallen her and annoyed with myself that I’d let my imagination get the better of me. I crossed to the far side of the store, took a seat on the metal stool she kept available for customers, and set my purse on the counter. “Did you know your door was locked?”

  Bethany tilted her head. “I noticed that. I guess I forgot to unlock it when I opened up this morning. My daughter is normally here working with me, but she has the day off, and I’ve been busy in the back creating several funeral arrangements.”

  I looked around the shop, with its selection of bouquets and flowering plants. Had no walk-in customers stopped by the entire morning, or had she simply not heard anyone knocking? I wasn’t sure how precarious the flower business might be, especially in a town as small as Blossom Valley, but I couldn’t imagine she’d want to miss out on any potential customers.

  “Now then,” Bethany said. She opened a three-ring binder with a series of alphabetized tabs and flipped to the L’s. She ran her finger down a column. “Lewis, Lewis, Lewis.” Her finger stopped. “Here you are. Have you made any changes to your bouquet request?”

  “No, I’m happy with the roses and delphiniums.”

  She placed a checkmark on the paper. “And the colors are still fall colors with mostly oranges and dark yellows?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bethany nodded. “Excellent. I’ll be calling my supplier this afternoon to make sure everything is lined up on his end.” She jotted notes on the sheet. “Did you tell the lucky groom about your choices? I only ask because every now and again a bride will find out at the last minute that the groom hates a particular color or is allergic to certain flowers.”

  “Jason gave me the go-ahead to pick whatever flowers I’d like.” I smiled to myself as I remembered how he’d practically begged me not to make him help pick out flowers. “This is one area where he didn’t think he’d have much to offer. Of course, I didn’t hear him say that when it came time to sample the cakes.”

  Bethany laughed. “Sounds like a lot of men I know. They have no interest in flowers, but food is another story altogether.” She peered at me over the top of her glasses. “Jason’s a reporter for the Blossom Valley Herald, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, the lead reporter,” I said, knowing Jason would be the first to point out that his position wasn’t nearly as thrilling as it sounded. Crime in Blossom Valley tended to involve shoplifting, the occasional burglary, and nuisance calls. Unfortunately, murders occasionally happened, too, but they were few and far between.

  “People don’t realize how much power a reporter has, especially in a small town. He must know everything that goes on around here, and plenty of secrets, too.”

  Her voice had taken on an almost dreamy quality that made me squirm a little on the stool. “I don’t know about that. But if he does uncover any secrets, he keeps the information to himself.”

  Bethany leaned closer. “He never tells you anything? Not even a little hint?”

  I leaned back, not sure why she was making me so uncomfortable. “Like I said, he keeps his mouth shut.”

  When I didn’t offer anything more, she straightened up. “I’m sure he does,” she said stiffly. She closed the binder. “I almost forgot. I received a shipment this morning that contained fern fronds, and I immediately thought how lovely they would look in your bouquet. Would you like to see them?”

  “Sure.”

  “They’re in the workroom. As a rule, I don’t let customers back there, but it’ll be too much trouble to bring everything up front. Follow me.”

  While I hopped down from the stool, she came around the counter and plucked a handful of flowers from various tall vases on display. She led the way behind the counter and brushed aside the curtain that was hanging across a doorway. I followed her in.

  Two large worktables filled most of the floor space in the back room. A folding chair sat in the corner. Shelves lined the two side walls, full of empty pots, gardening tools, and piles of ribbons and bows. A large, deep sink and a short counter, along with a small window, took up the back wall next to a door that I assumed led out to the parking lot in back. A large refrigerator with double glass doors sat next to the doorway we’d come in through. A fluorescent light hummed overhead, and a small radio on the counter emitted jazz music.

  Next to one of the tables, a large wreath of red and white flowers hung on a wooden stand, while a collection of flowers in fall colors spilled out from two baskets on the table. These must be the funeral arrangements Bethany had been working on.

  She bypassed the tables and stepped over to the counter. She tur
ned off the radio and picked up a small gathering of fern fronds from next to the sink. Unlike the thick, sturdy ferns I was used to seeing in bouquets or even the occasional yard, these ferns were wispy and thin. Bethany expertly added the fronds to the flowers she already held in her hands. “Of course, your arrangement will look slightly different, but this should give you an idea. These ferns won’t overpower your bouquet and will add a pop of green for extra depth.” She lifted the bouquet, as if she were a bride about to walk down the aisle. “What do you think?”

  I fingered the delicate fronds. “I love them.”

  She smiled. “I had a feeling you would.”

  My gaze shifted to the glass doors of the refrigerator. The right-hand side was full of various greenery and floral arrangements, while the top shelf on the left side held a lone flower in a vase. I stepped closer for a better look.

  I’d never seen such an unusual flower. Instead of the petals surrounding the center of the flower, as with most types, five large, jagged-looking petals arched away from the middle. The edges of the petals reached so far back that they almost formed a ball on the other side. Six or seven filaments stuck out from the center of the flower. The base of each petal was pale yellow, but the rest was a deep and vibrant red. “What kind of flower is that?” I asked.

  “It’s called gloriosa, more commonly referred to as a flame lily or fire lily.”

  “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”

  Bethany came over, slid open the refrigerator door, and took out the vase. Up close, I could see the tiny stamens with their individual grains of pollen and the smooth texture of the petals.

  “I usually don’t carry gloriosa in the store, since they live for such a short amount of time, but a woman wanted one specifically for an anniversary corsage. I had to special order it from San Francisco. It came in this morning, and I’m keeping it back here so a customer won’t touch it and damage it.” As if afraid I might suddenly reach out a hand, she put the vase back and shut the refrigerator door. “I hope you don’t want to add the gloriosa to your bouquet at this late date. Since it’s a special order, I couldn’t guarantee the shipment would arrive in time.”

  “Considering how fancy the flower looks, I can’t imagine it would fit into my budget anyway,” I said.

  Bethany scowled. “Some brides don’t know what that word means. They think nothing of the value of these flowers. Why, I had a client a couple of years ago who ordered dozens of roses in peach and then changed her mind at the last minute. She literally threw the flowers in the Dumpster and insisted I find replacement flowers in coral.”

  I frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Think of the waste.”

  “Then there was the bride who ordered white roses and wanted me to spray-paint gold accents on each one to match her bridesmaids’ dresses. I was up half the night and she never even said thank you.”

  “How rude.” I found myself drawn into Bethany’s tales of her over-the-top clients. My voice rose in volume. “It’s more than rude. It’s outrageous!”

  Bethany lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “As the saying goes, the customer’s always right.”

  “Still, I find it completely unacceptable.” Good thing I wasn’t in the flower business. I’d tell those brides exactly where they could stuff their bouquets, thorns and all.

  “That’s why I find these final meetings invaluable. I’d hate for you to be unhappy in some way on your wedding day.” She pulled the fronds out of the bouquet and dropped them in their original place on the counter.

  Behind me, I heard someone clear their throat twice in a row. “Excuse me?”

  I turned to find a mousy, middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her face was turning a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Bethany. I just wanted to pick up my order.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s ready to go.” Bethany set the rest of the bouquet on the counter and brushed past the woman into the main part of the store.

  The woman glanced at me, then down at her feet. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said. “Please don’t be upset with Bethany.” She darted past the curtain and toward the front.

  Well, that was weird.

  I took one last look at the fire lily in the refrigerator before making my way through the doorway. The woman was signing a credit card slip. She handed it back to Bethany. When she saw me, she hastily picked up her potted plant and clutched it to her chest. “Hang in there,” she said to Bethany before hurrying out the door.

  This woman’s behavior was becoming curiouser and curiouser.

  Bethany frowned after the woman, then tucked the sales slip away and flipped open her binder. “Let me jot down a note about the ferns. It’ll only take a second,” she said.

  While she was busy, I took a closer look around the room. The walls were covered with photographs and artwork of the area, especially the redwood forest and the beaches of nearby Mendocino. Several shelves held potted plants, many of them ivy, their long tendrils cascading down. Bethany had strung half a dozen small, fake birds from the ceiling, and for a second, I almost felt like I was out in the woods. “You have a wonderful shop here. How long have you been in business?”

  Bethany looked up from her writing. “Twenty years. I opened the place after my divorce. I’d never run a business before, as my ex-husband was quick to point out when I told him my plans, but I’ve managed to muddle along. Some years are better than others, of course.”

  “It’s so neat that your daughter works here with you. She must have inherited your love of flowers.”

  Bethany started writing again. “I wouldn’t say that, necessarily. She was in between jobs a couple of years back, when the economy was struggling. I basically created a position here for her, handling deliveries and the simpler orders. It seems to really suit her, though. She always had a creative mind.” She set down her pen. “Isn’t that how you ended up here in Blossom Valley? You lost your job due to downsizing?”

  I pulled my head back. How did Bethany know that? Did she also know I’d moved back home to help my mom after my dad passed away? “Um, yes, it is,” I said. “How did you hear about the downsizing?”

  Bethany tapped her pen to her lips and stared at the ceiling. “Hmm, I guess you must have told me.”

  I didn’t remember mentioning anything about my past to her, but I decided to drop the topic and turn the conversation back to her. “Having your daughter work here must keep you two close.”

  “That was my original idea,” she said, “but Violet is starting to forget who’s the employer around here and who’s the employee. She has all sorts of ideas on how I need to charge my customers more and start offering other products, like home décor items and gardening tools.”

  “Surely drawing in more customers and increasing profits isn’t a bad idea,” I said, thinking of all the effort I was putting into promoting Esther’s place.

  “Business at Don’t Dilly-Dahlia is doing fine, and I’m happy with where things stand.” She pointed to the wall with the artwork. “She insisted we order those photos, and we’ve only sold one. Besides, she can worry about taking this shop to the next level when I’m gone and buried and not here to stop her.” Bethany gave a little laugh. “And with any luck, that won’t happen for another twenty years or more.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion she’d told Violet that very thing. Maybe more than once. I checked the time on my phone. “If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”

  “Your confirmation was all I needed.”

  We said our good-byes; then I walked out of the shop and got into my car. I sat behind the wheel for a moment, thinking about Bethany. Her comments about Jason uncovering the town’s secrets had rattled me. And how had she known my reasons for returning to Blossom Valley? Was Bethany someone I had to be careful around?

  I shook my head to clear away my questions. Bethany had always been perfectly nice to me. Surely I was worrying about noth
ing.

  Chapter 3

  Before I returned to work, I swung through the closest fast-food restaurant drive-through and studied the menu options. Over the last few months, my tastes had shifted away from gooey cheeseburgers and salty fries toward fresher fare, partly because I needed to fit into my wedding dress and partly because after filling in for Zennia as the farm’s cook a few months back, I was actually starting to enjoy foods without preservatives. Go figure.

  After ordering a chicken salad with vinaigrette dressing and adding a chocolate milkshake at the last second for old time’s sake, I drove down the highway and took the exit for the farm. I parked in my usual corner spot and hurried into the kitchen to eat my meal before my lunch hour was up.

  I was slurping the last drops of my milkshake when Gordon came into the kitchen from the hall. With his slicked-back dark hair, three-piece suits, and pinkie rings, he’d always reminded me more of a mobster from Las Vegas than a business manager. But I knew his integrity was unquestionable, and his concern with keeping Esther’s farm and spa thriving never wavered.

  When I’d first started working here, Gordon and I had had a somewhat acrimonious relationship, mostly because of his exacting standards and blunt personality. After several months, we’d reached a level in our relationship where I considered us friends, but we still butted heads when it came to marketing budgets and guest discounts. I tended to lean toward the larger discounts and splashier ads, while Gordon watched every dollar and tried to offer the smallest discount possible. We never seemed to agree.

  Which is why I’d surprised myself by asking Gordon to walk me down the aisle as a stand-in for my father, now that he was gone. And Gordon had surprised me even more by wholeheartedly accepting my request and seeming downright touched by it.

  He watched as I set down my empty shake cup and wiped my mouth with the thin restaurant napkin. “When will your lunch break be over?” he asked.

  “Right this minute, actually.” I gave up on using the flimsy napkin and went to the sink to wash my hands.