“You could always do what our folks did and name the kid after his grandparents,” Darci suggested, trying to help.
“That worked out so well for us, didn’t it? Darci Odette Shelton.”
“I don’t know, Charlotte Louise Villines, you tell me.” Darci dodged a wadded up piece of notepaper Charlotte pitched at her head. “Don’t stress about it. You still have three whole months before you’re due. You’ll think of something. Just don’t go with the antique stripper names. How’ve you been feeling? You look perkier since you put the morning sickness behind you.”
“My appetite is fine, as you can tell, since I’ve gained thirty-two pounds already. Flip-flops are the only kind of shoe that fits on my big fat swollen feet, and even though I’m exhausted all the time, it’s hard to sleep because the kid’s foot or head or something is stuck in my ribs twenty-four seven.” She reminded Darci of their Aunt Faith, the woman who was never happier than when she recited her laundry list of ailments. “And, to top all that loveliness off, I think I’m starting to hallucinate.”
“You’re seeing things? Like what?” Darci looked at her skeptically, sure she was about to hear a joke. “Giant pickles covered in peanut butter throwing themselves down your throat?”
“Shut up. I only ate that once. Okay, twice, but it tastes so much better than it sounds. Anyway, when I came back in here from my tenth bathroom break of the day, I could’ve sworn I saw an older lady standing over there, looking out the porthole.” Charlotte bit her lip, which let Darci know there would be no punch line.
“So, what did she look like?”
“I don’t know, like she was from some religious cult or something. Her hair was piled on her head and she wore a long dark outfit. I only saw her for a second before I realized it was a hallucination, ‘cuz then I was staring at empty air.”
“Don’t worry about it, you’re probably just tired. The sun could have been playing tricks on you, or maybe it was just shadows from the trees blowing in the wind outside.”
“I’m not worried, just thought it was weird.” Charlotte did look relaxed, though she was staring toward the kitchen just then. “Do we have any peanut butter . . . or dill pickles?”
Creeping around under the full moon yesterday evenin’ sure did me a world of good. Been havin’ a ball puttin’ my green thumb to work again, and it sure enough is fun to see the look on the girls’ faces when they take a gander at the plants I nurse back to health in the parlor, but it doesn’t compare to being back out and about. Located the cramp bark easy enough down the street but I like to never found that dang false unicorn root. Had to dig around in the woods by Slover Creek, but I got me a good little bit of it.
Whatever’s happened to me makes it slow goin’ packin’ stuff around. I swan, took me half the night to bring those herbs back here, and longer than that to grind ‘em up real fine. Glad to have that over with. Aint’ nothing a ‘tall to mixin’ it in Charlotte’s tea, and it ought to take a hold on that baby she’s carryin’ any time now. It’s still hard to communicate with these people, but I can make her see me for a few seconds now. While she’s lookin’ for where I disappear to, I sprinkle the powdered herbs in the raspberry tea I got her hooked on a while back.
I’m so close to getting my hands on my delicate little treasure, I just have to get it out.
The following week, Sheriff Maxwell Roberts stopped by Petal Pushers to buy a rose bush and a pretty bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Darci told her godfather to follow her back to the workroom to help select the flowers.
“So how’ve you been doing, Max?” Nearly everybody called him Max. When people needed him in a professional capacity, then he was Sheriff. The only person who addressed him as Maxwell was his wife, but only when he’d done something to put himself in the doghouse.
“The Maldonado case has been keeping me pretty busy, here lately,” he said.
“Really? I knew his death was unexpected and had the doctors stumped, but I didn’t know there was an investigation going on.” Darci ran her hand over containers of fresh flowers until her palm slowed to hover above in-season daffodils. “You like these?”
“Perfect, Mae loves Easter flowers. Could you mix in a few red roses, maybe?”
“For a law man, you’ve got great taste in floral design.” Darci grinned at him. Most men couldn’t tell ivy from hydrangeas, so it was a nice change of pace to have a customer who actually knew what kind of flowers his wife liked, and what looked nice together. Her fingers danced over the forest of blooms again before she withdrew the perfect thing. “These red buds should do the trick. They’ll open up over the next few days and last even after the daffodils start to droop. Yep, you’ve got great taste, Max.”
“Mae trained me pretty well.”
“So, is the Maldonado case confidential or can you talk about it?” Darci went to work arranging the bouquet. She added a couple fern fronds and some filler with tiny purple blossoms. “Not being nosey, just curious.”
“It’s no big secret. And every damn body I talk to is pretty curious about it.” Max chuckled. There weren’t many secrets in a small town. “The autopsy came back showing poison in his system. Something called ricin. Thing is, we can’t figure out how he came to ingest it.”
“What is ricin? Some kind of chemical?”
“Well, sort of. It’s found in all types of stuff. Castor oil, wood and leather preservatives, lubricants, and some cosmetics.” A master of deadpanning, Max couldn’t pass up a wise crack, not even about this case. “We can probably rule out the makeup. Far as I know, ole Cyril wasn’t a transvestite.”
“No.” Darci shot him a look over the worktable. “I’d think his army buddies would’ve remembered if he showed up to boot camp in his wife’s bra and panties.”
“Franny, the receptionist over at M & N Stables, couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary. Cyril and Roy hadn’t ordered any new horse medications, there hadn’t been any construction going on, and Cyril didn’t show up wearing blusher.” He winked at Darci. “They ate in the office, as usual, taking turns picking up plate lunches from the restaurant downtown. That’s where I’m heading next. ‘Bout to starve, so a plate of their beans, greens, and cornbread ought to hit the spot. Nobody else in town got sick like that, so I think it’s safe to say their food isn’t tainted.”
Darci heated up her own lunch after he left. Charlotte had the day off for a doctor’s appointment-Braxton Hicks contractions had been bothering the poor thing, the false labor pains troubling her more than she’d let on-so Darci ate her tomato soup and grilled cheese alone, listening to Daisy chirp in the next room. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her conversation with Max. Why did ricin sound familiar? Probably just a word she’d heard on some talk show or documentary about poison, she guessed.
She dismissed it and shifted her thoughts to her Earth Day promotion, trying to decide whether or not ‘Buy a plant, save the planet’ was politically correct or just plain pushy. Green Earth Day balloons filled with helium danced in her imagination. Instead of the Mylar ones the shop usually used, these would be the plain ole latex kind, the slogan ‘Petal Pushers First Annual Earth Day Celebration’ emblazoned across them in pale yellow lettering. The freebies should bring in quite a few people, most of whom would feel cheap if they didn’t buy something before they left with a gratis balloon floating over their child’s head.
Daisy chirped happily as she climbed her new bird gym on the shelf next to her cage. This parakeet playground behind the counter quickly became popular with patrons who strolled through the store.
Darci helped a customer with a selection of centerpieces. He wanted an arrangement for his anniversary and clearly showed a preference for cut flowers and elegant crystal candleholders.
“This one is perfect!” He held it up to the window, which caused the delicate prisms to cast rainbows across his face and the wall behind him. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you add a few sprigs of rosemary? It symbolizes remembrance, I
think, and I want us to remember the special times we’ve had since we’ve been together.”
“This’ll add a nice fragrance, too,” Darci said moments later when she came back from the next room where she kept a supply of fresh herbs, something always in demand during the growing season. “How long have you and your wife been married?”
The man opened his mouth to say something, then paused for a second as if shifting the direction of his thoughts. “This is our sixth anniversary.” His face lit up in a way that let Darci know he must still be very much in love.
She rang up the sale after muffling the centerpiece-an elegant grouping of seasonal hyacinths, double orange tulips, and now rosemary sprigs-in tissue paper inside a sturdy green cardboard box.
Can we trade a few business cards?” He reached into his pocket for a small case. “I have a hair salon in Lisman. We opened last fall and I’m always looking for new clients.”
“Sure.” Glad to exchange some of her extra business cards for his, she read the top one as she placed his stack beside the register. Hair Dare Your ‘Do Salon, Donovan Lewis, proprietor and master stylist. “Think you could do anything to glam up my wash and wear do?”
Darci twirled a mousy brown strand around her index finger, wishing she’d taken the time to hit it with a styling tool this morning before she came to work.
“Your hair is just lovely. Hmmmm.” Donovan tapped his chin a few times, the better to study what Darci figured must look like a rat’s nest piled on her head. “We could add some layers, oh, and maybe some caramel highlights.”
“Are y’all open on Sundays?” Sunday was her only day off. The thought of taking time away from the flower shop for herself, even a few minutes for a quick trim, made her queasy.
“Yes we are, from noon til four,” Donovan answered proudly.
“Great. Then I’ll call this afternoon and set up an appointment.” Darci slid his parcel across the counter. “And happy anniversary. I hope she likes the centerpiece.”
“Thank you. I’m certain it will be very much appreciated.”
The only thing that brightened her day more than a happy customer was one who promised to spread the word about Petal Pushers.
The door jingled behind him as he walked down to the street to the home he shared with Bradley. He’d come very close to telling the shopkeeper about the nature of his relationship, but decided against it at the last minute. If she wasn’t accepting of their lifestyle, he didn’t want it to put a damper on the special night he had planned.
Donovan carefully removed the beautiful arrangement from the box and placed it in the center of the cherry dining table, already set with Limoges china and crystal stemware. The silverware Bradley’s aunt gave them after their civil ceremony sparkled against the linen napkins. He stood back to admire the table, then went to the kitchen to start cooking dinner.
With the Cornish hens seasoned and snugly roasting in the oven surrounded by glazed carrots, he went to work on the risotto.
He heard a knock and the backdoor creak open, sounds that meant his best friend had stopped to visit. “Come on in, Gwen.”
“Hey, something smells good.” Gwen sniffed again, looking around for something to sample. She set the bottle she carried on the bar and popped a stray chunk of carrot in her mouth. “There’s the booze you asked me to pick up.”
“Thanks for saving me a trip.” Donovan gave Gwen a quick peck on the cheek, put the champagne in the refrigerator to chill, then went back to stirring his risotto.
“No problem, and happy anniversary. Are any of y’all’s relatives coming down to help you celebrate?”
“You know that’s not very likely.” Donovan put the lid on the simmering pot and aimed a smile toward his guest. When Donovan came out of the closet at twenty-one, his conservative family disowned him. He kept in contact with his grandmother and younger brother, but to the rest of his family, he might as well be dead or living on Mars. “Grandmother did send us a lovely card, though.”
“I thought Bradley’s brother or sister might be coming.”
“No, we’re just going to have a cozy evening for two. Food, bubbly, and my honey.”
Bradley’s family accepted his orientation from the beginning. His mother had an idea about his sexuality when he preferred to play with his sister’s Barbies rather than his big brother’s football gear. Bradley expected his parents and siblings to embrace Donovan the same way they had his former boyfriends, though there hadn’t been many others.
When Bradley brought Donovan to Sunday dinner at his parents’ home about a week after they moved in together, they weren’t prepared for the icy reception. While accepting the nature of their relationship, the Slatons were less than thrilled with Donovan’s white complexion.
Bradley had gone over alone the following day to get to the bottom of the matter. His family said Donovan seemed like a nice enough guy, but they preferred to see Bradley with someone of his own race. Somehow, Bradley had never given much thought to his parents’ views on mixed couples, since they had many Caucasian friends and associates. His previous boyfriends had been black-well, one was a dark skinned Latino, but in retrospect, that probably seemed close enough for the Slatons.
Crushed, Bradley confided the problem to Donovan. Since he’d been shunned by his own family, he thought it was promising that Bradley’s parents said they were willing to try to get over their aversions to the relationship. Bradley felt the strain more as time went on, until finally the couple decided to relocate to a place where neither of them knew a soul and start a new life together.
An up-and-coming young architect, Bradley soon received positive responses to the resumes he sent out. He took a job with a company in Evansville, Indiana. He and Donovan scouted the area for a nice place to live and on a whim ventured across the bridge to look in smaller Kentucky towns. When the realtor showed them a cottage with beige siding and blue shutters, they decided to call it home.
“That sounds perfect and romantic,” Gwen said, helping herself to some of Donovan’s homemade coffeecake. He kept his fresh baked goodies on the counter, and she never missed an opportunity to let him know she enjoyed his cooking. “Mmmm. Delicious. Do you ever regret moving here? I know Dixon is a far cry from Chicago and St. Louis.”
“No, we love it here,” Donovan smiled, passing Gwen a napkin, “but we did wonder how residents in this small Southern community would react to a mixed gay couple in their neighborhood.” Fortunately, most of the people in Webster County were congenial and tolerant. The couple from next door didn’t bat an eye when they brought over a Bundt cake to welcome them to Dixon. Word did get around that they were a different sort of couple, but nobody caused any real trouble for them. “Now that the theatrics with Nelson are over, we wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”
The redneck across the street was their sole antagonist. Todd Nelson would wave flamboyantly to them when they were in the front yard, his pinky finger extended like Mr. Roper from the old Three’s Company sitcom. He used the couple across the street as entertainment when his drinking buddies came over. At least they viewed them as a comical distraction and didn’t try to beat them up, unlike gay bashers Donovan had encountered in his Missouri hometown. Still, he didn’t appreciate the nicknames they hurled at them.
“Hey, Sweet Tots,” Nelson would yell across the street, Coors can in hand and a cooler beside his porch swing. “Where’s Milk Duds, your little boyfriend?” It didn’t matter whether Donovan feigned indifference or stomped into the house, the reaction was the same. Nelson’s redneck friends would howl with laughter, slurp down more beer, and whack their buddy on the back.
“Todd ought to be ashamed of himself for ever acting the way he did,” Gwen huffed, hands flanking her hips. “Especially after what Bradley did for Jenna.”
“I hear that. When that little Nelson girl chased the soccer ball into the street, I hate to think what would’ve happened if Bradley hadn’t just got home. He threw his briefcase to the ground
and snatched Jenna out of the way of an oncoming tractor trailer. You should have heard those brakes squeal as it tried to stop.” Donovan shivered at the memory. “Hillary, Todd’s wife, she dashed out of the house, but only made it mid-yard by the time Bradley carried the child to her. Jenna didn’t have a scratch on her, but Bradley ripped his pants and skinned his knee pretty bad when he landed on the pavement. Hillary was a crying hysterical mess, hugging Bradley and showering him with thanks. My Bradley’s a real hero.”
“That story gets me every time I hear it.” Gwen sighed and placed her hand over her heart. “Bradley risked his life to save that little girl, even though her dad was such an ass.”
Donovan chopped the salad greens, not wanting to verbalize exactly how relieved he was when the hazing stopped.
“You know, Nelson hasn’t bothered us one time since that day. He actually walked over here when he got home that afternoon and thanked Bradley for saving Jenna. He sounded sincere, and shook hands with us without wiping his paws on his pants afterward.” Donovan grinned at Gwen. “He even invited us over for a beer, which we politely declined. I knew Todd’s change of attitude was completely due to gratitude. Even if he never accepts our lifestyle, maybe he can come to understand that we’re just ordinary people trying to live our lives.”
Now when the Nelson’s entertained, they opted to wave politely to the men across the street instead of shouting crude remarks.
The phone rang after Gwen left, just as Donovan placed the ice bucket on the table. “Hello.”
“Hi, Donovan. How’re you doing?” It was Bradley’s mother.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Slaton.” They’d always been cordial to each other, even during their initial meeting when it was obvious Bradley’s family didn’t care for him. Approval or not, they showed good manners to each other. Through the years, Bradley’s parents had softened a bit as they became used to the situation. “How are things in Chicago?”
Poison, Perennials, and a Poltergeist (The Petal Pushers Mystery Series) Page 5