Lesbian Assassins

by Audrey Faye

  Crap. I wasn’t quite as untutored in the ways of small-town gossip as my partner. I’d forgotten about the Sinatra duet. I sighed and glanced at our sidekick. “She’s from Manhattan. You could sing arias over your balcony every night for thirty years and nobody would know who you were or care enough to find out.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” Lelo was still gripping Carly with both hands. “And if you storm all the way to the flower shop acting like some obnoxious chick from New York, Chad will find out about ten minutes from now.”

  Thoughtfulness hit my partner’s eyes. “Really.”

  Uh, oh. “Reconnaissance first. Action later.” Four words I should have tattooed on my forehead. Not that they ever do a lot of good.

  Carly shrugged me off. “He’s already noticed me. We can use that.”

  I knew more or less how to play this. “We can, and we probably will. But we’re dealing with a guy smart enough to fly under most people’s radar.” I didn’t really understand how he did that just yet—his little show of snobbery on the sidewalk had been plenty convincing for me. Minor duke in his fiefdom. Maybe this town had some really dumb subjects. I side-eyed some random people walking by us.

  “Don’t blame them,” said Lelo quietly. “They all remember when he was a cute kid, and he’s smart enough to stay tight with most of the people who matter. It’s people like me who see his true colors, and nobody ever listens to me.”

  Lelo wasn’t the only one who could be an astute observer of humanity. “They listen to you.” In the two minutes we’d been standing having this discussion in the middle of the sidewalk, a half-dozen people had gone out of their way to wave and smile at the teenager in black.

  “Kinda.” She made a face, and then grinned at a kid who zipped by on his skateboard. “But they still think I’m about Rory’s age.”

  The fight to be taken seriously. There was no point telling her that it never really ends, or that some days you don’t even want to win anymore. “One step at a time. Let’s go see a guy about some flowers.”

  Lelo snorted. “If you call Rosie a guy, she’ll probably belt you one.”

  Carly chuckled as she fell into step between the two of us. “Your florist’s name is Rosie?”

  “Yup.”

  I had this vision of a pink-cheeked milkmaid dancing from one flower arrangement to the next and rolled my eyes at my own fevered imagination. Rosie was probably somebody’s grandmother.

  The florist’s shop was easy to see. Flowers hung out in lopsided disarray on a low shelf that had been built by someone deep into their alcoholic beverage of choice. Whoever ran this shop wasn’t into your standard pastels and reds, either. The purples and deep blues dominated, with enough yellow and orange thrown in to keep things interesting. A very grumpy stone gnome squatted in the middle of the shelf and dared anyone to mess with his flowers, and an attentive black cat sat on a plant stand beside the door, giving off pretty much the same message.

  “Hey, Maurice.” Lelo grinned and scratched the cat’s head. “Spotted any rats today?”

  “Just one,” said a dry voice from inside the shop. “Who’s this foreigner who has Chadwick all hot and bothered?”

  “She’s standing right here.” Carly fingered a bunch of orange posies, looking mostly amused.

  “Oooh.” Rosie’s head popped out the door, eyes bright. “Don’t stand out there. Come on back where I can feed you cheesecake and have all the gossip to myself.”

  If my eyes had been closed, the grandmother theory would have won out.

  I couldn’t possibly have been more wrong, however, and my eyes weren’t anywhere near closed. They were kind of stuck on the woman who had come out the door, all six feet and two hundred pounds of her. She wore a black leather vest layered over a patchwork skirt and a skintight red tank top, ass-kicker boots, and enough bangles and glitters to keep a murder of magpies overdosed for a week. All topped by a forest of crazy purple ringlets that matched the drunken revelry of the plant shelf.

  Biker meets sexy gypsy. Wow.

  Rosie’s eyes tracked over Carly with appreciation—and then surprise and a little twist of pleasure. Slower now, she surveyed me, head tilted, and then cast a quizzical look at Lelo. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days.”

  I knew that look. The lesbian club had just assembled, and despite my flannel, Rosie was smart enough to know I wasn’t a member.

  Lelo grinned. “You want all the gossip out here, or are you going to share your cheesecake?”

  That was enough to have us moving into the tiny hole-in-the-wall of a shop. I spied two more gnomes and a fairy holding a beer bottle before we slipped out the back door into a terrace wonderland.

  I knew who had done Lelo’s rooftop garden now.

  I sat myself quietly on a low chair and let the noise of plate fetching and light flirting and Lelo generally making herself at home flow over my head, and steeped myself in stillness and beauty and the foolish courage of blooms that have no idea they’ll only live once and then end up on someone’s compost pile. In the magic of Rosie’s back stoop, it almost seemed like that bravery might not be misplaced.

  The glass that settled into my hand was tall and cool. Carly handed me a plate and a fork as soon as she saw my eyes come back in focus. She’s always been patient when I wander off into the mental ether—and she always makes sure I come back.

  The sexy gypsy took a seat in the low chair to my left. “So, you want to talk about Chad, huh? Do we have to?”

  “Yup.” Lelo’s mouth was already full of cheesecake. “They need to know I’m not just a crazypants little sister.”

  We’d already waded out of that swamp, and it tweaked my conscience a little that we hadn’t made sure Lelo knew it. “We got an eyeful of him yesterday, but it would be good to collect some impressions from people who know him.”

  Rosie shrugged. “By most accounts, he’s a great guy with a bright future who adores Ally and can’t wait to marry her.”

  Carly raised an eyebrow. “And how many women has he sent six dozen red roses to while he’s running this adoring-fiancé con?”

  Rosie would make a damn good poker player. “You’re the first.” She waited a beat, and then made a face. “You must have really grabbed his attention—he’s not usually so obvious. He sends daisies or peonies or some crap that could just be a guy being sweet, and he usually sends some to an ailing granny or something at the same time. Big man in town, taking care of the ladies.”

  “Really.” Carly’s eyes were cold gray steel. “And how often does this happen, exactly?”

  “He’s one of my best customers.”

  But not exactly one of her favorites—it didn’t take a genius to read between those lines.

  We were all quiet for a while, contemplating the new data and the really good cheesecake.

  It was Rosie who finally broke the silence. “So what are you going to do about lover boy?”

  Carly licked off her fork. “Got any striped carnations?”

  Rosie’s thick purple eyebrows shot up. “Is that a really good random guess, or are you into the flower woo?”

  Lelo and I looked at each other, mystified.

  Carly grinned. “I could send him a bouquet of monkshead, if you have any of that.”

  Snorting laughter from the sexy gypsy. “I actually have some growing in my garden because I’m a purple-flower whore. But that stuff’s poisonous as all shit, so it doesn’t come into the shop—some kid might eat it or something. You know they used to use it on whale harpoons and stuff?”

  My partner was eyeing the back garden with a lot more interest. “Assassins used it too. It’s good stuff.”

  I knew the bonding of kindred spirits when I heard it.

  Lelo’s head was snapping back and forth, tracking the conversation. “Wait. Striped carnations are poisonous?”

  “Nah.” Rosie had better cheesecake willpower than the rest of us—she still had half a slice left. “Back
in the days when noble dudes were dumb and sent flowers instead of having actual conversations with the women they fancied, there was this flower secret-message code. So a guy might send gloxinia for love at first sight, or orange blossoms and peonies if he was looking for marriage and a dozen wailing little dukes. And then he’d wait for the lady to reply.”

  Carly’s eyes glinted with humor. “If she wanted to play the whole innocent deal, she might send back peach roses and lilies, or tease him with a pink camellia.”

  “Irises if she wanted to let him down gently.”

  “Coral roses if she wanted a quick tumble in the sheets.”

  It occurred to me that peach and coral were pretty similar colors. No wonder the nobles had gotten themselves into so many messes. My partner knew the strangest stuff. I reached for my tall, cool glass again. The contents smelled like lemons having sexy times with mint. “And if she sent back striped carnations?”

  Rosie grinned. “Pretty much the flower equivalent of giving him the finger.”

  Ah. “That only works if Chad knows this mysterious language, right?”

  “Maybe not.” Lelo’s eyes glinted with something a lot harder than flower petals. “Depends when they’re delivered. I’d like to see him explain them to Ally—he does all this shit where she never sees or hears about it.”

  That was pretty flinty little sister talk right there. “That seems like it might screw with your sister’s head more than his.”

  “Maybe.” And suddenly Lelo’s eyes weren’t so hard anymore. “But she’s never going to stand up for herself unless she sees some of it, right?”

  Carly gave me one of her looks—the one that said I’m the brains, she’s the knife.

  Dammit. Time to slow down a little. Back to reconnaissance. “We need to see the two of them together before we start messing with anything.”

  “They have a standing date.” Rosie stood up, busying herself at a tiny garden bench. “At The Cuppa, coffee shop down the street. Lunch every Tuesday.”

  Huh. Lelo wasn’t entirely without allies in this town. The sexy gypsy didn’t like Chadwick, not one little bit.

  “Fine.” I laid my squeaky-clean plate down on a convenient side table. “I’ll go do my thing, check them out.” It would give me time to think, and the action squad time to cool their heels a little.

  Lelo kept her eyes on mine, quiet puppy-dog style.

  I managed not to kick the table leg. Barely. I wasn’t taking a sixteen-year-old to spy on her sister’s date. “If it seems like a good idea, I’ll text Carly so you guys can send in the damn flowers.” I pinned my partner with one of my serious looks. “You need to stay the hell out of there.”

  Rosie grinned and looked over from her bench. “Looks like I have company for lunch. You guys like gyros?”

  I scowled—that was fighting dirty.

  She winked at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you one. Two, if you figure out how to stick a thorn in Mr. Berrington’s day.”

  If her gyros were as good as her cheesecake, that was some pretty effective motivation.

  CHAPTER 10

  I settled into a booth in the back of The Cuppa, letting the chatter wash over and around me. I like watching people, and in a coffee shop, that’s mostly considered normal behavior, especially if you’re a nondescript woman in a flannel shirt, minding her mug alone.

  The “alone” part had taken some work. Fortunately, I was pretty sure Lelo listened to Rosie, and Rosie understood why Carly walking in here might make things a little more combustible than we needed at the moment.

  I wrapped my fingers around a mug that spoke of owners who knew and cared about the little things. This one invited my hands to hold without burning them or leaving my fingers an awkward path around a sexy, but impractical, handle.

  A mug says a lot about the person who picked it out.

  I wasn’t the only one sitting and communing with a mug alone, but I wasn’t in the majority, either. I let myself slide into the shadows of plain daylight and soaked in the vibe of a place that belonged to this town and the people in it.

  Coffee shops are a bit like an interesting stream, one with hunks of rock and hanging branches impeding the flow and a few stray leaves bobbing along in the ripples, blobs of pretty color heading on a path to nowhere fast. In this particular stream… a baby over in the corner, mouth full of chocolate cookie. Two heads of grey hair tilted together in a posture of familiar affection. A pimple-faced teenager trying to impress a gaggle of girls, at least two of whom thought he was pretty hot stuff. A handful of solo drinkers, attention buried in some electronic device or another, or using them as cover for watching.

  Ripples and rocks and stray leaves.

  I turned a little as the flow signaled a change, angling my chair more toward the door just in time to catch Chadwick Barrington’s entrance.

  It was definitely his moment, even though he followed the woman who could only be Lelo’s sister. She was curvier, and an inch or two taller, but otherwise molded from pretty much the same clay.

  Except for the eyes. Lelo saw everything. Ally? Not so much.

  Some people walk through little streams and most everything else in their life with happy blinders on. Filters—what my grandmother would have called rose-colored glasses. A little haze that coats everything and floats attention away from difficult things.

  Ally wore those glasses, a double-thick pair that had probably landed on her nose as a kid with a non-existent dad and a mom who’d laid down on the job. The glasses were dead obvious as I watched her gaze at Chad, adoration leaking from every pore—as he gazed on everyone else. The lord of the manor thing again, meeting the eyes of several of the better-dressed patrons and ignoring the waitress smiling at him with hopeful eyes. Preening a bit for the teenage girls.

  One of the girls shot him a glance and then carefully maneuvered her friends into one of the back booths, mostly out of sight.

  That told me something interesting too. Not everyone was as blind as Lelo’s sister.

  My gut didn’t like him. But my gut was also lining up to give Ally a good swift kick in the pants. At some point, blind just isn’t a viable life strategy.

  I picked up my phone and texted the flower assassins. Sometimes sitting and observing the stream isn’t the best of life strategies either—and I was prone to falling into that one. Today, being a watcher jangled on my nerves. Time to stir things up a little.

  Maybe it was something in the coffee.

  “Want a refill?” A different waitress had materialized at my side, and she was following my gaze. “I’m Amanda. That’s Chad, and if you’re new around here, stay clear of him until you know the territory.”

  That was pretty straight dishing, especially to a stranger. “Who’s the woman sitting with him?”

  Amanda slid into the seat across the tiny table. “That’s Allison Kramer. Total sweetie, and her kid sister’s one of my favorite people.” Blue eyes narrowed. “Wait. She’s back in town with two ladies nobody knows. You one of them?”

  No point lying about the obvious. “Yeah.”

  Now the waitress’s eyes lit with mischief. “Not the one singing off the balcony, I bet.”

  My musician’s soul rose from the ashes long enough to be insulted. “Why—you think I can’t sing?”

  A single raised eyebrow. “I bet with that husky voice of yours, you make music just fine. Sultry, jazzy stuff, right?”

  I stared, poleaxed into silence.

  “Sorry.” Amanda shook her head and slid out of the seat. “I’m a nosy so-and-so, and you just came in for a cup of coffee. I must have been a psychic in a previous life or something—I’m always trying to tell people stuff that’s their own business.”

  The babble I could have ignored, but not the hint of genuine apology running underneath. I summoned up an effort, made eye contact and smiled a little. “That must be half the fun of working in a coffee shop.”

  “Yeah.” Relief skimmed into her eyes, along with the dose
of friendly that seemed very much at home there. “I mostly don’t get new faces to work on, though—especially ones as interesting as yours.”

  My face was about as interesting as beige paint, but Amanda had something in her eyes that reminded me of Lelo. A person who took the time to see other people clearly and made a point of finding things to like in what they saw.

  Not everyone in this town was blind. Which was interesting, even if I didn’t know what to do with it just yet.

  Chad’s presence had changed things in my little coffee shop, though. Just by taking a seat at a strategically central table, he’d changed the flow of traffic in the whole place. And while I might think he was a little too closely related to bug slime, most of the folks meandering past his chair seemed to see only what Chadwick Berrington wanted them to see—a nice young man on a date with his sweetheart, even if he had hardly looked at her the entire time he’d been in his chair. Ally was decoration, a handy prop who smiled at all the right times and gave him weight in a town that liked to think they knew where people were headed in their lives.

  The disbelievers existed—but they didn’t stir the waters overmuch.

  I had a sudden urge to spill purple grape juice on the man’s head just to disturb his day. And then I spied flowers coming in the door, attached to legs and boots that could only belong to a sexy gypsy, and knew that metaphorical grape juice had just arrived.

  Rosie marched the large bouquet over to Chad and Ally’s table and nearly plunked it in Chad’s soup.

  Amanda snickered. Very quietly.

  “Delivery.” Rosie flashed an innocent smile.

  Chad’s eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. “For Ally? I didn’t send those.”

  “Nope. For you.” Rosie winked and kept her voice pitched loud enough that everyone in the coffee shop could hear, including the guy in the front corner busily turning up his hearing aids. “Your recipient yesterday wanted to say thank you in kind.”

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought Chad looked a little green.

  “You’re always sending flowers.” Ally leaned in and touched his cheek affectionately. “Who was it this time, Mrs. Beauchamp? I heard they just released her from the hospital.”