by Nic Saint
She waved a deprecating hand. “That’s all water under the bridge. We didn’t speak for fifteen years, but what are you gonna do? Blood is thicker than water. I told her she was a bitch for pulling that stunt on me and she said I was right. She apologized and we kissed and made up.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, about six months back? Can’t believe she’s gone now. Ever since we settled our differences we got along like gangbusters.” She fixed me with a stern look. “So how far are you on catching the asshole that did this?”
“Well, we’re still talking to all of the people who knew your sister.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice. If I were you I’d take a long, hard look at that priest.”
“Father Frank?”
“Not Father Frank! He’s a sweetheart. No, the other one. Father Reilly. I’ve seen him around. And I’m sure the only reason he came back was to take a whack at Leann. He’s had it in for her ever since she put a stop to his fornicating ways.”
It was starting to occur to me that Paloma Peach had a lot in common with her sister, and that they both shared an obsession with fornication for some reason.
“Father Reilly is staying at the house. He’s a guest of my grandmother.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Your grandmother is putting up that priest?”
“Yes, she is. She turned Safflower House into an Airbnb.”
“An air what now?”
“She’s taking lodgers. Like a bed and breakfast.”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “Leann never liked your grandmother. Told me she had to file charges against her on more than one occasion. Said she was a witch. I never held with that nonsense, but now that she’s allowing that fornicator to live under her roof I don’t know if she wasn’t right.”
I was growing a little hot under the collar. “First of all, Father Reilly is a very sweet soul, and I’m sure he would never hurt anyone. He’s a Catholic, and they believe in turning the other cheek. Secondly, Gran is not a witch, and those charges your sister leveled against her were a disgrace.”
Her lips had turned into a thin line and she regarded me suspiciously. “I see I’ll have to go elsewhere to get some retribution.” She started to walk away, then turned back, wagging her finger. “It’s your grandmother that’s behind this, I see that now. Your grandmother and that fornicating priest. They’re in cahoots!”
“And you’re crazy,” I snapped. “Just as crazy as your sister.”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, young lady,” she yelled. “Just you wait and see. You’ll get yours, you and those filthy witchy sisters of yours. The death penalty is what you’ll get. The lot of you! Just like in China!”
I stared after her, trying to control my temper. The woman was mad!
Just then, my sisters came out of the store. They must have heard Mrs. Peach shouting at me.
“What’s going on?” asked Estrella. “Didn’t she like my display window?”
“That was Paloma Peach,” I said.
“Lean Peach’s sister?”
“The one and only. And she’s just as mad as her sister.”
“I thought they didn’t get along? That Leann cheated her out of her inheritance?” asked Ernestine.
“She did, and they didn’t speak to each other for fifteen years, but they made up a couple of months ago, and have been waging war on fornicators and annoying neighbors ever since.” I told them what had transpired and my sisters were just as shocked and horrified as I was.
“At least she’s not a suspect,” said Ernestine.
“No, at least there’s that. I can’t imagine she would have wanted to kill her sister if they were having so much fun terrorizing the neighborhood.”
“And Renée sent her to us? She mustn’t have known what she’s really like,” said Ernestine.
“Maybe she changed?” Estrella suggested. “Maybe Leann had a bad influence on her?”
“Or maybe she knew how to keep her lust for vengeance in check,” I said. “Leann may have waged open warfare on her neighbors, but Paloma is a lot smarter than her sister. She knows this could only get her in trouble.”
“I can’t believe she called Gran a witch,” said Ernestine.
“Well, she is a witch,” I said.
“Yes, but nobody is supposed to know that.”
“It’s not as if she can prove it,” I said.
“Yeah, nobody is going to believe her,” Ernestine agreed.
“Speaking of witches, don’t you think it’s time we asked Gran to help us find Mrs. Peach’s killer?” Strel asked. “I mean, I’m sure she could find out just by waving her wand and casting a few spells. How hard could it be?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “If it was, Gran could solve all the murders in the world, and whisk all the murderers to prison with a flick of her wand. I don’t think that’s even possible.”
“Wouldn’t that be just great?” Ernestine mused. “One spell and the world would be rid of all criminals? Wouldn’t this be a much better, nicer world to live in?”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” I said. “Though it would be great if it was.” A world without crime? Who wouldn’t want that? Well, the criminals, of course. They wouldn’t enjoy spending the rest of their lives in prison. But the rest of us? Yeah, it would be pretty great. Then again, Sam would be out of a job if that happened, and so would every other law enforcement person, all the judges, prison personnel, parole officers and anyone else employed in that field. They could always get another job, of course.
“Maybe I’ll ask Gran,” said Estrella. “Actually I’m surprised I didn’t think about it sooner.”
“Think about what sooner?” Gran asked, popping up out of nowhere.
Chapter 17
“We’ve decided to start a neighborhood watch,” I told Gran.
“Oh?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.
“Actually it was Renée’s idea,” Ernestine quickly added.
“Yeah, Renée seems to think it’s a great idea,” Estrella said. “Give us something to do—besides Floret & Bloom, of course—and give something back to the community.”
“Well, I for one think it’s an excellent idea,” Gran said quite surprisingly.
We all stared at her. “You think so?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Oh, yes,” she said, giving us a wide beaming smile. “It’ll give you something to do, like you said, and give back to the community, which is always a great idea. I think Renée was right on the money.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “This isn’t something Renée and you cooked up together, is it, Gran?”
“Oh, no,” she assured us with a careless laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it. No, this is all Renée’s idea. She’s very clever when it comes to these things.”
She didn’t mention what things, and I didn’t ask. I still had the sneaking suspicion this was actually Gran’s idea, and she’d simply used her friend as a conduit, since she knew that if she suggested the idea to us, we’d simply refuse.
“I wanted to ask you something, Gran,” said Estrella. “Can’t you use magic to find Mrs. Peach’s killer? I mean, like a spell or something that would make him or her walk straight into the police office and confess? That can’t be so hard, can it?”
“It is hard,” said Gran. “In fact what you’re asking is impossible. There’s such a thing as free will, even for people who hurt other people. I can’t just wave my wand and make them confess if they don’t want to.”
“But they killed a person. That’s not right, is it?”
“No, it certainly isn’t, and that’s where you come in. You can use your God-given talents to find the culprits and bring them to justice. But unfortunately you can’t do it by using witchcraft.”
“Too bad,” Strel muttered.
“What’s also too bad is that I’ve received several complaints about Floret & Bloom. The store doesn’t seem to adhere to its opening times.”
> I exchanged a quick look with my sisters. “We may have closed the store for a few minutes yesterday,” Ernestine admitted. “But only because we wanted to find out about Mrs. Peach’s killer. So it was time well spent.”
Gran didn’t look convinced. “You can’t close a store in the middle of the day, girls. That’s no way to run a business. You’ll lose customers, and since customers talk to other customers, you might even lose your business. From now on you’ll strictly adhere to the schedule as posted on the door. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Gran,” I said demurely.
“Secondly, the store looks simply horrible! Just look at the front. If you were walking down the street you wouldn’t even know this was a flower store. Where are the flowers?”
“Um, inside, where they’re supposed to be?” I said.
“No! One glance at the store should tell you this is a flower store.”
“The display window looks nice, though, don’t you think, Gran?” asked Estrella.
“’No, it does not. It looks like something a nine-year-old threw together. For instance, what is that doing there?” She was pointing at the Christmas tree Strel had put up.
“Um, the Christmas tree?” Strel asked, looking confused.
Gran folded her arms across her chest. “Why is there a Christmas tree when it’s nowhere near Christmas?”
“I like Christmas,” said Strel simply. “I think it looks great.”
“It would look great if it actually was Christmas.”
“I disagree,” she argued. “Why limit Christmas to just a few weeks? I like Christmas all year. And I’m sure lots of people feel the same way.”
“Well, I don’t, so remove it. And who is that man and why is his picture there?”
Strel smiled. “That’s Owen Wilson. Doesn’t he look great?”
“No, he doesn’t. Get rid of him.”
Owen Wilson was one of Strel’s favorite actors. Though I had to agree with Gran that he didn’t really have a place in a flower store.
“And what is that cutout of that woman doing there?”
“Oh, that’s Kim Kardashian. Isn’t she just the best?”
“No, she’s not. This is a flower store, Strel, not a collection of your favorite things. You will fill the display with stuff related to flowers.”
Estrella’s face fell. Apparently she’d considered the display window an extension of her room, as I saw a few of her portfolio pictures there as well, and another, smaller Christmas tree and plenty of garlands and wreaths dangling from the ceiling.
Gran pointed at me. “Edie—occupy the sidewalk. Put some potted plants out here, and lots and lots of flowers. The more colorful the better.”
“But won’t people steal them?” asked Ernestine earnestly.
Gran gave her a piercing look. “No, they won’t, because you will be here to keep an eye on them. That’s what shopkeepers do. They command their domain.”
She walked inside and we followed her in, exchanging worried glances. I could tell Gran was serious about this flower store business. No more playing hooky from now on.
“This store looks terrible,” said Gran. “Too dark and gloomy, and where are all the flowers?”
“Well, we’ve been having some trouble with our supplier,” Ernestine said.
“Fix it,” Gran ordered. “Strel, turn that display into something attractive and inviting. Something that will make potential buyers walk in from the street. And you, Edie, please do something about the general gloominess of this area. Once people are inside, they should be dazzled by the explosion of color and beauty and floral delight. They should smell, see and feel flowers everywhere, and be eager to take some of that splendor home to decorate their own homes. Got it?”
I stared at her. “Um… not really. Doesn’t this look nice enough?”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said sternly. “When I was running my store people always complimented me on what a pleasure it was simply to walk in and experience the joy and wonder of the floral world. This store? Makes me want to cry.” She sighed when she saw our confused expressions. “You know what? I rarely use magic these days, as I don’t feel it has a place in modern society and only causes more trouble than it’s worth, but I’ll make an exception for Floret & Bloom. Consider this a small demonstration of what’s possible if you put some love and care into your work.”
She closed her eyes and raised her hands, her fingers weaving an intricate pattern. The three of us moved back against the counter. Whenever Gran performed magic it was sometimes better to get out of the way, as you never knew what the outcome might be.
She muttered something under her breath, and suddenly a string of light sprang from the tips of her fingers, rolling and gamboling deftly through the air. It spread and touched every part of the store, and where it did, suddenly a riot of color and life sprang forth. Flowers of different colors and shapes bloomed into existence, quickly covering every available surface. The picture of Owen Wilson and the cutout of Kim Kardashian shrank away, and the Christmas trees morphed into brightly green potted plants that sprouted blooms of bright reds and blues and yellows.
Sweet scents tickled my nostrils, and a sense of well-being spread through my bosom as Gran’s spells breathed life into a boring and bland old store and in a matter of seconds turned it into the epitome of what a flower shop should look like.
“There,” Gran said finally, lowering her hands and gazing around with satisfaction. “That’s more like it.”
“Ooh, I like it!” Estrella cried, clapping her hands together with glee.
“That’s a flower shop,” said Gran. “And that’s what you should strive for.”
Even the space the store occupied on the sidewalk had turned into a haven of color and flowery magnificence. It was truly a sight for sore eyes.
“And I’ll bet you won’t have to wait long to entertain your first customers,” she added with a smile.
True enough, passersby were already stopping to look, nodding and producing appreciative noises.
“But how can we keep it this way without magic, Gran?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s simply not possible,” Ernestine added.
“It is possible,” she assured us. “It will simply take a lot of hard work, love and dedication.”
“Can’t you allow us to use magic?” Strel asked. “Just this once?”
Gran’s lips pursed. “Not a chance. Each time you girls use magic some calamity happens. You may be witches, but pretty much the most inept witches I’ve ever encountered. For the safety of this community, I can’t let you return to your witchy ways.” Then her expression softened. “But I have the greatest confidence that you can turn this store into something truly magical. And you don’t need to use witchcraft to do it.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” said Ernestine as Gran walked out, stopping to admire the sidewalk display.
“Yeah. How are we ever going to do this?” Estrella asked.
“Like she said. With a lot of love and hard work,” I said. “So let’s get cracking, shall we?”
“Easy for you to say,” Ernestine grumbled. “You don’t have to see our numbers dive into the red every month. If Gran hadn’t poured a bunch of money into this endeavor we’d be bankrupt already.”
“We would?” I asked, aghast.
“Of course. Where do you think the money keeps coming from? We hardly ever sell a single flower. Gran is bankrolling this thing, and if we don’t turn the store around, all her money will have gone down the drain.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” I asked. “That’s just terrible!”
“I didn’t think you cared,” Ernestine said.
“Well, I do care. We can’t let Gran burn her money. We have to do something.”
“But what?” asked Estrella. “We’re not exactly the world’s greatest salespeople.”
“We’ll manage,” I said, determination possessing me. “From now on this store is going to be our focus. We
need to start turning a profit.”
Easier said than done, of course. How were we ever going to turn this store around without the use of magic? It simply couldn’t be done. Or could it? Just then, three paying customers strode in. Though on closer inspection they weren’t paying customers. They were our three cousins.
Chapter 18
“You can only come in here if you’re going to buy,” said Ernestine.
“Buy?” Busby laughed. “Why would we buy flowers?”
“To give to a significant other. Or to brighten up your room,” I suggested.
Busby laughed even harder, while Bancroft pottered about the store, picking up a flower here and sniffing at a bloom there, his face a mask of dismay. Our cousins obviously weren’t flower lovers. Except for Barnum, who looked like a kid on a mission. He was scouring the store, a serious expression on his face, going from flower to flower like a bumblebee, if bumblebees were small and annoying, which I guess they are. Though bumblebees are annoying for a reason. Barnum is annoying for the heck of it.
“What do you want, Barnum?” I asked, when he’d picked up his third flower and had dropped it. If my cousins were left unchecked, all the magic Gran had performed would be undone in a matter of minutes, and since we had absolutely no idea how to put the store back together again, I wanted to keep it this way for as long as possible. Or at least until we’d managed to snap a few shots so we could recreate it later on.
“I’m looking for a flower,” Barnum said.
“Then you’re in the right place, buddy,” said Busby. “This is a flower shop.”
“I hate flowers,” Bancroft said apropos of nothing. “I think they’re foul.”
“I thought you loved flowers,” said Strel.
“And why would you think that?” he said, giving her a nasty glance.
“You’re a stylist. Stylists love beautiful things. Flowers are beautiful. So stylists love flowers,” she said in a rare display of infallible logic.
“I love plastic flowers,” he admitted. “Real flowers die, and when they do, they leave a mess. Better to have plastic flowers. They never die and don’t make a mess.”
