Delphiniums and Deception

by Ruby Loren

  Delphiniums and Deception

  Diana Flowers Floriculture Mysteries

  Ruby Loren

  Contents

  British Author

  Books in the Series

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  1. Retreat

  2. Life or Death

  3. Smashing

  4. Flying Saucers

  5. One of us

  6. The Devil is in the Details

  7. Unravelling the Threads

  8. Close Encounters of the Seventh Kind

  9. Running from Murder

  10. Poison and Punishment

  11. The Art of Deception

  12. A Tricky Customer

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  Books in the Series

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  Also by Ruby Loren

  British Author

  Please note, this book is written in British English and contains British spellings.

  Books in the Series

  Gardenias and a Grave Mistake

  Delphiniums and Deception

  Poinsettias and the Perfect Crime

  Peonies and Poison

  The Lord Beneath the Lupins

  Prequel: The Florist and the Funeral

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  Grab your FREE copy of the exciting prequel, The Florist and the Funeral, and find out how it all began.

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  1

  Retreat

  The delphiniums had started their final flush when Fergus Robinson knocked on my door. It was only when I saw his perpetually thoughtful face, tanned by the sun of the summer, that I realised we hadn’t seen each other for months. After all of the neighbourhood drama at my old house, I’d finally accepted that the cottage and land I’d been left in a will wasn’t the perfect place for my cut flower business after all. I’d made it through the first summer there, but as soon as autumn had shown its colours, I’d completed the sale of the property and moved into a new house and land that Fergus had placed on my radar.

  The last owner of my new property had been emigrating to Spain that very winter and all had worked out for the better. I’d even had help cultivating my first flower field. Fergus had been very eager to do some digging on my new land. Sure, I knew it was because he’d been looking for a solid gold coffin and the roman vampire that may or may not be inside, but I’d appreciated his help all the same - even when Dracula had never materialised.

  In the time that had followed the hard work of the autumn and winter, my business had very literally begun to blossom. I’d feared that, with the village gossip being what it was, being tangled up in the shocking events at Little Larchley could damage my business. The locals regularly shunned anyone who was perceived to have caused trouble. Rocking the boat was not the done thing in Merryfield. But when spring sprung, and I finally had enough flowers and greenery to attend the local markets again, I’d been surprised to find that the exact opposite had happened. The locals had flocked to my flower stall to find out every last detail about the sordid history of Little Larchley. And while they’d listened to me answer their questions, a lot of them had bought flowers.

  The summer that had followed was my best yet. The florists I’d pitched my business to had all increased their standing orders, and I’d also supplied flowers for several events. The article in a national newspaper that had shouted about the benefits of purchasing British-grown flowers, and handily featured an interview with little old me, hadn’t exactly hurt matters either. The money I’d sacrificed by upping sticks from my first premises was more than recouped, and I was proud to say that Diana Flowers Blooms looked as though it was here to stay. It had been more than a year since I’d left my job working as a chemical analyst, and it was still the best decision I had ever made.

  “Fergus! It’s so nice to see you,” I said, opening the door and simultaneously trying to smooth my auburn hair. I wasn’t particularly fussy about my appearance, but I’d spent the morning deadheading some of the final late summer blooms, and I strongly suspected I looked like I’d waltzed through a hedge backwards. My dog, Diggory, surged past my legs, nearly sending me flying in his eagerness to see Fergus. The man on my doorstep bent to ruffle Diggory’s hairy brown ears and laughed when the canine comically looked past him and then questioningly up at him.

  “Sorry. Barkimedes is at the vet,” he told the disappointed dog.

  “Oh no! Has something happened to him? I hope it’s not serious?” Barkimedes was Fergus’ dog - a brown and white ‘Heinz 57’ breed (much like Diggory was!) who had become firm friends with my dog.

  Fergus pulled a face. “That depends on who you ask. I personally think that eating an artifact which could have had some huge historical implications is a serious matter, but Barkimedes seemed pretty pleased with himself.” He shot me a grin. “He’s fine. The vet is just concerned because I told him about some of the electromagnetic influences that the artifact might have been subjected to. He wanted to keep Barkimedes in for observation, in case there were any negative side effects.”

  I nodded like this statement made complete sense. Fergus was obsessed with conspiracy theories. He spent so much time studying them that I wasn’t actually sure what he did in order to make a living. The conspiracy-themed website named ‘The Truth Beneath’ had written that his work had something to do with a security service, but I still had yet to be enlightened as to what, exactly, that meant. Somehow, Fergus had managed to dodge every question I’d ever asked on that front.

  “How’s business?” Fergus asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looking pensively across at my flower field and polytunnels.

  “It’s going very well, if you don’t count the distinct lack of mysterious items buried on this property,” I told him with a smile, knowing exactly what he was getting at with his casual question. “You never know. There’s a whole field still to cultivate. Perhaps we’ll find that roman vampire next sowing season.”

  Fergus shrugged. “You can keep your vampire. I’m just interested in the solid gold coffin.” He shook his head as though I was the crazy one.

  I reached out and jabbed his arm. “Are you coming in for tea?”

  “Am I invited?” Fergus joked back. I found myself grinning as our friendship slotted back into place the way it had ever since Fergus’ nasty habit of trespassing had brought us together and our shared experiences had made us friends.

  “Since when has something as trivial as being invited ever mattered to you?” I jibed before ushering him into my house.

  Fergus let out a long, low whistle. “You’ve been busy since I last came round.”

  I nodded, quietly proud of what I’d managed to achieve with the old place. If Jim Holmes’ bequest had been my training wheels, they’d definitely been removed in this house. It didn’t hurt that I’d sold Jim’s cottage and land at a higher price than I’d bought this place for, which had allowed me to make purchases for quality’s sake rather than price. The difference had come both from the work I’d already done to Jim’s old cottage and the fact that the old place had been situated in a hamlet (albeit one with a dicey past). My new house was still relatively close to Merryfield, but it was out in the sticks. According to the estate agent, people didn’t like being out in the middle of nowhere without any near neighbours. It would appear that I was an oddity.

  “Tartan! So fancy,” Fergus said, stroking my relatively new upholstery.

  I frowned, knowing that the compliments had turned into lighthearted mockery. “It’s cosy!” I protested and then went off to make the tea, not forgetting to put out a plate of biscuits. I’d kept a few unopened packets in the cupboard in case of an unexpected visito
r. Truly, I knew I’d had Fergus in mind. According to him, tea wasn’t tea without a decent biscuit selection.

  I liked to imagine that Fergus wouldn’t be my only visitor, but I knew he was the only one who seemed able to spare the time and effort… and the only one who thought it was acceptable to just turn up out of the blue. My best friend, Heather, was busy with her B&B business, and I didn’t blame her for not finding a spare moment to chit-chat.

  The remainder of my other old school friends no longer had much in common with me. They commuted to the city every day, as I had once done myself. Beyond the past, I’d discovered we had nothing to share with one another. Finally, there were my parents. My mum had come round when I’d deemed the property suitable for showing to family and my father and his new wife had visited, too. Since then, mum had gone off on a six month cruise, as was her custom whenever she could afford it, and my dad was simply scatter-brained enough that he’d probably forgotten how long it had been since we’d last seen one another.

  I knew I wasn’t blameless either. Days and weeks had turned into months without me realising, and I was certain that anyone sane would advise me to slow down a little when it came to the business. The problem was, it was something that I loved to do. Why would I ever want to slow down?

  “Here’s your tea,” I said, walking out of the kitchen a couple of minutes later. Fergus had installed himself on the tartan sofa he’d critiqued and Diggory had curled up next to him with his head in Fergus’ lap.

  “He’s not allowed on the sofa,” I informed my visitor. I actually had reservations about whether or not Fergus should be allowed on there. Both dog and man turned and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. I dumped the tea and biscuits on the coffee table and threw my hands up in defeat. What was a little extra dog hair to clean in the grand scheme of things?

  “So… have you managed to find any evidence to support one of your theories yet?” I asked, knowing I was baiting Fergus, but still feeling annoyed about the tartan comment.

  “The evidence is all around us. You just have to know how and where to look,” my visitor replied with an air of smugness that made me want to throw one of my also-tartan cushions at him. The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that tea would be a lot harder to remove from the sofa than dog hair.

  Fergus grinned, knowing full well that he was being sanctimonious. “There haven’t been any major breakthroughs, unfortunately. However, we did uncover a site of archaeological interest that contained enough historical items of value that the finders’ fee will keep us all in business for another year or so.” His forehead wrinkled. “Well… it will keep us in business when I finally get one of the more valuable items back from Barkimedes’ stomach. It adds something to the item’s history though, don’t you think?”

  I ignored the rather disgusting comment and wondered if I finally had my answer as to how Fergus managed to spend so much time chasing hearsay. Perhaps some of his conspiracy theories genuinely had a grounding in historic truths that directed them to particular sites of interest, only for them to uncover a real piece of history, as opposed to a theoretical one.

  Now, that was a conspiracy theory about conspiracy theories that I might actually be willing to entertain!

  Fergus took a sip of his tea and then ate two biscuits in a row. I silently cursed that he’d picked the white chocolate zebra biscuits - my favourites. But what kind of host would I be if I hadn't put them out? I congratulated myself on being so selfless. And definitely not begrudging.

  “I actually came here to give you your birthday present,” he announced in-between devouring the deliciously more-ish morsels.

  “My birthday isn’t until Saturday,” I said, faintly surprised that he’d remembered it at all. Last year I’d mentioned it to him a week before it had occurred. On the day of my birthday, he’d turned up on my doorstep and announced that he’d cooked dinner for us. I’d gone round to his apartment and discovered that his idea of ‘dinner’ had exploded all over the oven. The evening had ended with us eating takeaway, but it had still been a lot more than I’d planned to do. I’d returned the favour when his birthday had come around in January by cooking him a meal that had actually been edible. We’d still been slaving away in the field back then.

  “I know that,” Fergus told me. “But it’s kind of a once in a lifetime opportunity, so I thought you wouldn’t mind if it was early. Get ready to be forever stunned and grateful to me…” he said, building the anticipation. “…We’re going on a flower arranging weekend retreat! It’s an incredibly exclusive event. Honestly, I’m amazed at myself for managing to get tickets. According to my ticket source, some big influencers in the gardening world will be attending this event.” he shrugged. “Not that I’d have any clue about that. But anyway, it’s the first course of its kind, and the hype claims it will change the way we arrange flowers forever.”

  I felt my jaw drop open. “That’s fantastic! I’ve wanted to improve my flower arranging skills since… since forever!” My floriculture had really come on over the past couple of years, but I was still relying on knowledge gleaned from a morning course on flower arranging - that had been run by the Merryfield chapel’s flower arrangers - whenever I was forced to stick some flowers in a vase. I knew it was a weak point. “Thank you so much! I don’t think anyone’s ever got me something so thoughtful before. Didn’t it cost a lot? It sounds like something that cost far too much,” I fretted.

  “Don’t worry about it for a moment. I told you - I have contacts.”

  I nodded, still bowled over by the unexpected gesture. “Then, great! It sounds brilliant. When does the course start? This is so unexpected…” I added, my eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second, before I reprimanded myself for being suspicious. Fergus had always been full of surprises, and this thoughtful gesture must just be another quirk in his personality.

  “It starts tomorrow morning! You’d better pack your bags tonight. You didn’t have anything planned for your birthday, did you?” Fergus waved a hand. “Trust me - even if you did, it’s worth skipping it for this. We are going to have an unforgettable time learning how to arrange some flowers. Yay!” He wiggled his fingers in the air.

  I immediately picked up on his use of one worrying little word.

  “We?” I queried. Fergus had some pretty varied interests, but I knew for a fact that flowers were not one of them.

  “Yep! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. See you then!” Fergus got to his feet so suddenly that Diggory fell off the sofa. The three biscuits still remaining on the plate were upended and landed on the new rug I’d bought to cover the rustic reclaimed floorboards. That was all Diggory needed to forgive Fergus’ rude wakeup.

  “Fergus… what exactly is being taught on this retreat?” I pressed, following him as he beat a suspiciously hasty retreat to the door.

  “It’s just flower arranging, I swear! But… you know… with a twist.” He grinned and then he was gone, trotting down the path back to the safety of his car, where I could ask him no more questions.

  “A twist. I should have known,” I muttered, wondering just what I was letting myself in for.

  My feelings of dread were overcome by the sound of Diggory being sick on my new rug. As far as omens went - not that I gave any credence to something as unscientific as omens - it probably wasn’t a good one.

  2

  Life or Death

  “Isn’t this great?” Fergus said whilst I continued to blink the sleep out of my eyes. I was well-used to early starts, but the lack of clarity about the exact nature of my ‘birthday present’ had led to a fairly sleepless night. I’d tried to envisage a worst case scenario. Then, I’d attempted to imagine something that would cause Fergus to be interested in an apparent flower arranging course, but I’d drawn a blank.

  Until now.

  As we drove through the reinforced steel fence - that looked like it was something out of a high security prison rather than the country cottage I’d somehow imagined - I was
forced to accept that my imagination hadn’t accounted for this. Whatever ‘this’ turned out to be.

  “What’s the twist? Are we flower arranging for convicted criminals?” I asked, doubts well and truly setting in.

  Fergus hushed me with a wave of his hand. “It really is a flower arranging retreat. I would never lie to you! Just think of it as ‘extreme flower arranging’… and that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Extreme flower arranging?!” I threw Fergus a sharp look of inquiry but he just grinned and mimed zipping his lips shut.

  “I’m not even supposed to know that much. It’s all top secret. These high-level concept events always are.”

  I toyed with the idea of sniping about how many high-level events Fergus had actually been to before, but A: I knew that I was just annoyed I’d basically been tricked into coming here, and B: there was still a lot I didn’t know about Fergus. Instead, I stayed quiet and was silently glad that at least Diggory hadn’t been dragged into whatever the heck this was. Both he and Barkimedes had been dropped off around my dad’s house. After being out of contact for the summer, he and Annabelle had been delighted to take the dogs for Fergus and me. Well - Annabelle had been, and my dad - as ever - had agreed with her whilst she’d dropped me a wink and trampled all over his weak protests that a dog would mess up the furniture.