“And if you need some willing bodies,” Darnell added, “I could recruit a few of my teammates to fetch and carry. They might jump at the chance to pick up a few bucks.”
“They could be a big help delivering some of the larger arrangements,” I said. “And maybe some of the prep work and cleanup.”
Liv nodded. “We’re going to need more flowers.”
Larry poked his head in from the back room. “Did someone say more flowers? I’ve got your order still waiting in the truck, and if you need more than I can supply, I can recommend other growers nearby to supplement.”
Liv noticeably choked up and she kissed Larry on the cheek. Maybe not the most professional of greetings, but Larry, a longtime friend of Grandma Mae’s, seemed more like an uncle to us. I followed suit.
“But we’re going to need more knives and stem cutters,” Amber Lee said.
“Do you think we can make do with stuff from the hardware store?” Darnell asked.
“I could go with him and pick out some nice pruning shears,” Shelby added.
I looked at the circle of earnest faces and felt a tickle in the back of my throat. It was our own little version of It’s a Wonderful Life. “Now all we need is customers,” I said.
Just as Shelby and Darnell headed out to the hardware store, our first post-Derek customer arrived. Nick Maxwell, still in baker’s whites, stepped in and looked around the decimated shop. Seeing the empty cooler, he chose a potted red geranium. As I rang it up for him, I pondered its dual meaning—comfort or stupidity—and wondered which of the two, if either, the next few days held in store.
Chapter 6
“Does the senator have anything specific in mind?” Liv asked into the phone as I raced into the shop a few minutes before eleven. Okay, maybe it was a few minutes after eleven, but Chester hid one of my comfortable working shoes again. The fur ball considered anything with laces a cat toy. At least it hadn’t ended up in the toilet. This time.
Wednesday was my morning to start late, anyway. But I felt guilty doing so on a day we expected to be insanely busy, even if I was sure I’d make up for it by staying late.
Liv jotted a few notes onto her order pad. Even her posture while talking on the phone—straight backed, professional, yet somehow demure—showed the importance of the call.
She hung up the phone. “That was Senator Nash’s aide.”
“Senator Nash? . . . the Senator Nash?” Party leader with aspirations for the presidency? That Senator Nash? “We’ve never had an order from a state senator . . . I mean a national . . . a senator from our state serving in the U.S. Senate.” Why did they make government so confusing?
“Actually,” Liv said, pulling out another order and using it to fan her face, “we have.”
“Both senators?”
“And a handful of representatives. Audrey, forget the idea that the business is going under. I had no idea the Rawlings were so politically connected. We’ve got more funeral orders than I know how to handle. I should stop taking phone orders, but I can’t.”
I sifted through the list of orders. “How are we going to . . . ?”
“And that’s not even all of them. Amber Lee took the first stack into the back to get started. I called Shelby, and he and his classmates will be here as soon as they’re done with their morning classes. Meanwhile, I sent a couple of Darnell’s teammates to help Larry haul in more flowers. And a grower he knows from downstate is sending a large shipment for later today. Oh, and I expressed a few things.”
“You did all this on decaf?”
“I haven’t even gotten to my decaf yet,” she said. “By the way, the funeral is set for Friday.”
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “At least it’s not the same day as the wedding.”
“About that,” Liv said. “Audrey, I’m afraid we’re using the wedding flowers in the funeral arrangements. I did reorder, and the new flowers should be here by Friday morning.”
That was cutting it tight.
“Afternoon at the latest.” She winced. “Definitely by five.”
“Thanks, Liv.” I shrugged. She was doing her best. “I just hope Derek’s family likes peach roses.”
After hand-delivering a cup of decaf to Liv as she fielded another phone call, I carried the latest stack of orders to the back room.
Amber Lee’s rich brew stood waiting in the pot. I helped myself to a cup, shrugged on my apron, and then spread the orders out on the worktable to get a better look at what the day held.
The first was a standing spray arrangement. As I set the saturated foam in a plastic cage and secured it to an easel, I couldn’t help but think of the meaning of the flowers I planned to use. Pale peach roses—as I had explained to Carolyn, for whom these flowers were originally ordered—were often placed in Victorian bridal bouquets to represent modesty. When I explained the progression of meanings as the peach darkened, Carolyn became entranced, and the order grew. Pale peach in her bouquet, with darker peach with some corals thrown in for the reception centerpieces. The corals represented desire. The intermediate peach, which these were, expressed appreciation and were often chosen to represent the sealing of a deal. Carolyn laughed at that—her signature irritating laugh—likening her marriage to a deal. And then she’d proceeded to order even more of them while her daddy stood by with the checkbook.
But the sealing of a deal—it seemed odd to put these flowers in a funeral arrangement. Appreciation, I decided, would be the better meaning. The budding white gladioli went in just after the foliage to form the lines for the display. The “flower of the gladiators” originally meant well-armed for battle but had come to represent strength of character and sincerity.
Orange lilies contrasted with the pure white lilies would keep the arrangement from becoming overly peachy. The white lilies signified innocence, but the orange . . . I struggled to push the first barely opening bloom into the form. While some modern florist had decided that the orange lily said I burn for you, the Victorians considered it a symbol of hatred. Maybe the two meanings weren’t so different.
I thought of Jenny. Jenny who sat at my table and dispassionately explained why she was canceling her wedding. She liked Derek. But she neither burned for him nor hated him. While it impressed me as a poor foundation for a marriage, it seemed equally poor as a motive for murder. Someone passionately wanted Derek dead, and that person just couldn’t be Jenny.
I went back for some peach carnations and a few small white daisies to use as filler, then finished up the arrangement, tucking in some bear grass to add a little dimension. I felt Liv standing over my shoulder.
“It’s lovely.” Liv leaned in and squeezed my shoulders, and I shed a tear. While I’d put together any number of funeral displays since we’d purchased the shop, this was the first death since Grandma Mae’s that touched me quite as personally.
I broached the subject I’d been avoiding. “Anyone hear how Jenny’s doing?”
Liv’s embrace grew tighter.
Amber Lee set down her tools and headed to my table. “Sorry, honey, I should have mentioned it when you came in.” Amber Lee patted my hand. “Bixby took her in for questioning. Word is, that didn’t go so well. She’s still there.”
I inhaled deeply. “She couldn’t have done that awful thing.”
“Bixby will learn that,” Liv said. “The truth always comes out in the end.”
“Does it?” I could hear the acid in my voice and immediately regretted it. Liv still thrived in that fairy-tale world where true love always wins and good triumphs. Maybe it worked that way for her. Then again, she’d never dated Brad. “Sorry.”
She hugged me tighter. Our touching Hallmark moment was interrupted when the alley door opened and Darnell and two muscle-bound males, clearly his teammates, started toting in flowers.
I set down my tools. A floral delivery meant all hands were n
eeded on deck to process the flowers. Cutting old ends off at a diagonal and soaking in preservative ensured that our stock stayed as fresh as possible for as long as possible. Liv pushed me back onto my stool.
“We’re going to let Darnell and his crew take care of that, too,” she said. “He knows what to do.” She leaned in to whisper. “And if he doesn’t get it quite right, most of these flowers are going to be out of the door before the day is over anyway.”
As the last of the flowers were toted in, Liv shook her head. “We’re going to need more.”
Darnell nodded. “Larry is going to bring more by as soon as they’re cut and loaded.”
“That’s what I sent you there for.” Liv didn’t yell or snap, but the tension and directness showed she felt her orders had not been carried out. I pitied her future kids.
Darnell spoke again. “We offered. But Larry made us wait outside the greenhouses.”
While Liv went back to the shop to answer the tinkling door chime, Amber Lee turned the portable radio to a folk station. Soon stems were flying everywhere to the cadence of a dulcimer.
I went on to my next arrangement for the other esteemed senator: a similar standing spray in a different color scheme. It wouldn’t do for one to outshine the other. Or clash. I chose some sunny sunflowers to form the base. Sunflowers varied in meaning based on size. The dwarf sunflower, which these were, symbolized adoration. The tall sunflower took on a meaning of haughtiness—perhaps as a result of too much adoration? I thought of Derek. Perhaps that was his problem. Too much adoration can make others jealous. Jealous of his lifestyle? His possessions?
As the young men finished up their tasks, Darnell looked around. “What next?” he asked.
I gestured to the completed arrangements. “These could be delivered to the funeral home.” I didn’t need to specify which one. Ramble only had one.
“Not to the funeral home,” Liv said as she rounded the corner. “Apparently the Rawling family thinks funeral homes are a bit . . . tawdry.”
I raised an eyebrow. I knew Rawling money had kept Derek out of public school and sent him to the most exclusive prep schools, camps, and later a string of Ivy League schools—why he needed more than one was never shared with the townsfolk. But I’d assumed death would be an equalizer. “Where on earth are they taking the body?” I asked.
“Their parlor,” Liv said.
Apparently the advantages of the wealthy extended after death, not that Derek would derive any comfort from being laid out in the family parlor. Who even has a parlor anymore?
“So,” Liv said to the football squad, as she retrieved fresh aprons from the basement storage room, “you’ll need to put these on. No one but Darnell speaks, and you say the minimum—and always in hushed tones. And make sure you go to the back door.” She lined them up for a final inspection. Good thing they were football players and used to being lined up.
No sooner had they gone when the alley door swung open. Shelby and his fellow students, two young women as different as apple pie and vodka, walked in. One was a fresh-faced young woman dressed in a denim skirt, pink floral tee, and sandy hair pulled back in a ponytail. The other wore flowers as well, but hers were tattooed all over her body and augmented with piercings much like the roses centered with Swarovski crystals some brides request.
As Liv gathered a handful of orders and assigned the newcomers to their narrow workstations, the door chimes announced a customer.
Amber Lee slipped past me. “I can watch the front of the house for a little while. I think my hands are going numb anyway.” She massaged her fingers on her way to the front.
Liv gave the new crew some basic instructions. As the two new arrivals assembled their first arrangements, Liv made only minor adjustments, heaping on a spoonful of encouragement. Both young women beamed under her tutelage.
Two hours flew by like minutes, but the arrangements started collecting as fast as leaves and stems collected on the floor. I learned the peaches-and-cream girl was named Melanie, while her leather-and-lace counterpart with the pale skin and black lipstick was named Opal but answered to Opie. I wondered if that unfortunate nickname had sparked her interest in the goth look. Nevertheless, far from being withdrawn or sullen, Opie seemed respectful and friendly. Both were performing adequately and picking up speed with their experience.
Liv, on the other hand, kept looking at her watch and eyeing the back door. “I must have been out of my mind to take all those orders. Those boys will have to head right back out with the next delivery. You don’t suppose anything went wrong, do you? Maybe I should give Darnell a call.”
“They probably just stopped to grab a burger or something on the way back,” I said, the thought spurred on by my own gurgling stomach. “Give them a few more minutes.”
My statement proved to be prophetic. The boys, as we’d all begun to call them, squeezed through the back door with greasy paper bags stuffed with food. Enough for all of us, it turned out. Bless their hearts and pay them a bonus.
We set up our lunch in my consulting gazebo.
“So . . .” Liv kneaded her hands together. “How did it go at the Rawling estate?”
“We went to the back door, just as you said,” Darnell started. “And then it got really confusing because they were expecting some temporary employees at the same time. And I guess the aprons are similar.”
“Then some caterer arrived,” Brandon, a cornerback—whatever that was—explained. “And they was luggin’ food in when we was totin’ in flowers. And those back halls are a might narrow.”
“We spent half the time waiting in line to get in,” Darnell added. “And then they made us carry the flowers to the room and set them up.”
“Oh, dear.” Liv wiped her lips with a napkin. “I’m so used to the funeral director placing them. Did you put the two large easel displays on either side of the casket?”
“There weren’t no casket in there yet,” Brandon said. “Just a pedestal. But some creepy dude in a long coat moved them around a bit. He didn’t seem none too pleased. He made us move everything around half a dozen times before he just told us to go.”
“And then we had to wait some more,” Darnell explained, reaching for more fries, “because a big old hearse pulled in and blocked the exit.”
I looked at Liv. “One of us should take the next order over.”
Liv nodded. “Both of us, just this time, to get the lay of the land. We can help place the arrangements.”
“I wonder if Jenny and her mother will be allowed to the viewing.” And then I wondered if the real reason that the Rawling family had chosen not to use a funeral parlor was to control who could pay their respects.
“Oh, honey”—Amber Lee paused while she took a pull on her Coke—“I got some more news from one of the customers. The judge set bail pretty high. From what I hear, Ellen either can’t or won’t pay it.”
“They must have charged her, then,” Opie said as she crunched up her burger wrapper. “But she’s lucky. They don’t often set bail at all in a murder investigation.”
All eyes turned to stare at her.
“Hey, my dad’s a lawyer. You pick up these things.”
• • •
With Amber Lee in charge of our new interns, Liv and I headed to the Rawling place with a new load of completed floral arrangements.
I wended the narrow private road. We passed a riding arena, a tennis court, and what looked like a golf green all set in lush green rolling hills just outside Ramble.
“Georgian Revival, I think,” Liv explained when we caught a glimpse of the house.
Pavement turned to a flagstone drive that circled a fountain before approaching the magnificent front entrance replete with grand columns. The caterer’s vehicles and the hearse were parked to the side, between a freestanding three-bay garage and a side wing of the house. I pulled the CR-V into a spot nex
t to them. Darnell and crew pulled in behind us.
We each grabbed a floral arrangement. As I considered the weight of the large arrangements the boys were carrying, I made a mental note to keep the football team on speed dial. The caterers stepped aside to allow us access, although they didn’t look happy about it. We then filed through another hallway and into what turned out to be the back door of the parlor.
A long room, the parlor seemed more like a string of three living rooms in a row, each with a separate seating group in a coordinating style. It kind of reminded me of a ritzy furniture showroom. At the end, in front of a marble fireplace, the town’s funeral director fussed with the casket, finished in a creamy tone that looked like it was chosen to blend in with the existing furnishings, which I noted with mixed pleasure contained a considerable amount of peach.
Elaborate white moldings and high ceilings extended the length of the room. Through the open double doors into a grand foyer, I caught just a glimpse of a crystal chandelier and curving staircase.
“Why would anyone want something so impersonal?” I whispered to Liv. Yeah . . . jealous.
“I knew the Rawlings had money,” Liv said, “but I wasn’t expecting Buckingham Palace.”
The good news was that the room provided plenty of space for all the arrangements—and the ones still coming.
Right then the “creepy dude with the long coat,” as Brandon had put it, sneaked up behind me. “Are you with the florist?” he asked. I whirled around to greet the epitome of English butlers, complete with aristocratic accent. Someone had been watching a little too much Downton Abbey. No wonder they needed a parlor.
“Yes.” I held out my hand. “And a friend of Derek’s come to pay my respects.”
The butler looked apoplectic, but he did shake my hand. “Worthington,” he said. I assumed that was his name. First or last, I wasn’t sure. He was sixty-something, I guessed, with well-chiseled features, almost sculpted gray-brown hair, and perfectly manicured nails. Stiff and prickly as an aloe. The comparison made me shudder. Aloe was the symbol of grief.
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