Studying at the Floral Institute had been a dream. It was like a chocolatier receiving a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory. I remember feeling so excited on the first day of class that I couldn’t sleep the night before. My days at the Institute had revolved around flowers, from memorizing the color wheel to understanding how to balance different textures and learning the history of different wedding traditions to building a portfolio of my designs. It had been a magical time.
I got caught up in memories as I leafed through photos of the first corsage I made and old pressings of heirloom roses. I’d always been drawn to roses. My instructor used to say that every florist needs a flower muse, and roses were mine. Maybe it was due in part to the fact that I’d grown up in Portland surrounded by wild roses blooming on the side of the road and spent summers picnicking in Portland’s stunning Rose Garden. But as I looked through my earliest designs it was evident that roses were everywhere.
Turning to the back of the spiral-bound notebook, I found the section I was looking for on the history of roses. I had taken extensive notes in class about each rose’s origin and specific meaning. Deep Secret was the darkest of all roses. It originated from Germany and was known for its exceptional fragrance. Deep red, with virtually black buds, the rose had a continual bloom, making it an excellent option for cut flowers. Its young foliage turns a glossy olive green with age. There wasn’t anything else particularly unique that stood out to me about the rose. I had jotted down notes about growing conditions and where best to plant it.
My tea was ready, so I took a break and poured myself a cup, adding a splash of cream and spoonful of sugar. Returning to my flower bible, I read through other entries I had included on roses and found a tiny note in the margin of one of the last pages. It said, “Best revenge rose—Deep Secret.” Then it went on to list a flower shop in Florida that specialized in revenge roses. It certainly wasn’t my style, but there were some florists who offered novelty bouquets like bunches of dead roses that they would ship to an ex or an enemy. Immediately I thought of the dead roses I had found near Frank’s body.
I wondered if the flower shop in Florida was still in business. I had taken these notes almost fifteen years ago.
Elin interrupted my thoughts. “Good morning, you’re up early and already working?” She raised an eyebrow and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Just trying to see if I could find anything else for Pete.” I showed her my notes and told her about the shop in Florida.
She looked thoughtful as she studied my notes. “You know, this reminds me of something. There is a florist here in town who does this kind of thing. I think it’s quite tacky, to be honest. I know that there’s money to be made on this sort of cruelty, but not for me. As you know, I believe in spreading light into the world. Lord knows we don’t need more darkness.” She cradled her earthenware mug. “I wonder if Darren could have anything to do with this. I should have thought of it before.”
“Darren?” I took a sip of the hot tea.
“He owns Drop Dead, Gorgeous, a novelty shop that sells dead flowers.” She held up a finger. “Hold on a minute. Let me get my iPad.” She hurried to the living room and returned with her iPad. Then she pulled up the Drop Dead, Gorgeous website, which had photos of rotting and wilted flowers on the front page and text about how they would cram dead flowers into a box with absolutely no care so that they would look as terrible as possible on arrival. Bouquets of their decaying flowers sold from twenty dollars for a dozen to over a hundred and fifty dollars for one hundred dead roses. Who would spend that kind of money on decomposing flowers?
“Drop Dead, Gorgeous is here in Portland?” I asked Elin. This had to be the florist that Nora had mentioned earlier. Why hadn’t Elin said anything to me about him?
She nodded. “Darren is my nemesis. He feeds off of Portland’s quirky culture. Believe it or not, he always manages to secure a booth at all of the big trade shows. He even had a booth at last year’s wedding show.”
“Dead flowers at a wedding show?” My mouth fell open.
“Not exactly.” She scrolled through her iPad and found photos of Drop Dead, Gorgeous’s wedding page, which touted statistics about how many marriages ended in divorce. It went on to offer an assortment of divorce and breakup flowers. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so obnoxious. I filed a formal complaint with the organizers after last year’s show. I have no problem with his business, but it has no place at an industry show. What poor bride-to-be wants someone thrusting a dead rose and a business card at her while shouting, ‘It’s not going to last, honey—call me when you’re ready to kick him to the curb and I’ll send him a box of rotting roses’?”
“Did he do that?”
“Absolutely. His booth at the wedding show was all black with stinking, spoiled bouquets. I had the bad fortune to be directly across from him. He spent the entire weekend shouting insults and forcing dead flowers into everyone’s hand.”
“At the bridal show? That’s terrible.”
“Exactly. I understand that there’s a place in the market for everyone. He’s welcome to have a booth at a Halloween show or any novelty convention, but he has no place in this industry.” Elin’s voice was hard and angry.
“I’m going to have to fill Pete in. I wonder if whoever bought the flowers we found at Blomma bought them at Drop Dead, Gorgeous.”
“It’s highly likely.” Elin clicked off the iPad. “Although I wish him good luck trying to get any information out of Darren. That man is . . .” She clenched her teeth. “A nightmare.”
Somehow I had a feeling that Pete’s badge would grant him access to any information Darren might have on who purchased dead flowers.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Is Darren who Nora mentioned a few days ago?”
She nodded and stared at the iPad. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you have a lot to think about with leaving Chad and coming home.”
“I’ve been worried, though! I found another dead bud in a vase in front of the shop and handed it over to Detective Fletcher.”
“You didn’t tell me?”
“I know.” I sighed. “I could tell that you were holding something back, but we’re supposed to be here for each other, right?” I reached for her hand and met her eyes.
“Right.”
We finished our drinks, had a simple breakfast of toast with butter and jam, and then parted ways to get ready.
Pete’s unmarked car was waiting in front of Blomma when we pulled in to a parking space a half hour later. Yesterday’s storm had rolled through leaving a trail of debris in its wake. Cloudless skies and sun greeted us as we got out of the car. The sidewalk in front of Blomma was going to need some serious cleanup today. Wet leaves, branches, even a bit of trash blown by the wind had landed on the cobblestone walkway.
“Oh my, everything is soggy,” Elin commented as she unlocked the door and flipped the sign to OPEN.
I followed her inside expecting to see Pete exit his car. However, it sat empty. I wondered where he went. I was eager to fill him in on what Elin and I had learned this morning. It seemed like a solid lead and potentially the evidence he and Tomo had been waiting for.
“Let me work on cleaning up out front,” I said grabbing the broom and industrial dustpan that she kept in the storage closet.
“Thank you. I’ll bring the yard debris bin around from the back.”
I pulled on a pair of thick gardening gloves and opened the garage doors. The air smelled clean and fresh, as if renewed from the storm. Blue jays squawked in the trees above me as I began sweeping the leaves and branches into a pile. Elin rolled the large green bin to the front of the shop and then crossed the street to go chat with Jon, who was also cleaning up his storefront. In fact, everyone had opened their shop doors and emerged from their cocoons. The cobblestone pathway was abuzz with activity as business owners sprayed down the sidewalk and scooped up soggy storm debris.
“Morning, Britta,” Pete called as I
stuffed slimy wet leaves into the bin. He had come from Demitasse and was holding two paper cups in his hands.
“Hey.” I closed the lid on the bin and yanked off the damp gloves.
“I brought you a coffee,” he said, holding one of the cups out for me.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I took the coffee. Everyone in Portland seemed to drink coffee around the clock. No wonder Nora had had so much success with Demitasse. Like Italians with wine, I had a feeling that Portlanders drank more coffee than water.
“I was right there. It’s no problem.” He made it sound like no big deal. “Do you have a minute to continue our conversation from yesterday?”
“Yeah.” I motioned inside. “Tomo told me that you were going to come by.”
“Right. What did you think of the ramen?” He followed me in through the open garage doors.
“It was amazing. I loved it. I can’t wait to go back.” I walked to the workstation, set my coffee down, and grabbed my flower bible.
“Good. Maybe we can grab lunch there sometime.” His voice held the same casual tone. Was he asking me out or just being friendly? Either way my heart gave a little thump.
I took a deep breath in through my nose, trying to shake off the unsettled feelings that swelled inside me whenever I was around him. Then I opened the notebook to the section on roses. I showed him pictures of the Deep Secret rose, we went over its characteristics, and then I told him about Darren and Drop Dead, Gorgeous.
Pete’s semi-aloof attitude shifted. He scribbled a note in his notebook and strummed his fingers on his chin. “Drop Dead, Gorgeous. That’s an ominous-sounding business name to a guy in my line of work.”
“I know. Isn’t it terrible?” I told him about Elin’s complaints about Darren’s booth at the bridal show.
“That’s low.” Pete scowled and shook his head. “I’m not exactly the romantic type, but harassing young brides at a wedding show, that’s almost arrest-worthy.”
It made me think about Chad. Even though I was furious with him for cheating on me, I would never send him dead flowers. What kind of person would do such a thing, unless in total jest?
“And there’s nothing else specific about the roses we found at the crime scene, right?” Pete asked staring past me to the buckets of flowers.
“Not as far as I know, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. This is a huge break, potentially.” He picked up his coffee. “I appreciate your help, Britta.” For a minute our eyes met and my heart thumped erratically. What was it about Pete that threw me off balance? He was handsome and intelligent, but it wasn’t just that. I felt like I had known him for years and yet at the same time he was so reserved that I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
I wasn’t in any kind of position to fall for someone right now. I had to work on myself. Pete Fletcher was uncharted territory for me, and I felt slightly out of control whenever he was close.
He broke the moment and headed toward the garage door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” I called after him.
“It’s the least I could do for breaking our lunch date.” He winked. I watched him stroll to his car, his long athletic legs moving in an easy rhythm. Then I chided myself. Get back to work, Britta, and stop daydreaming about the detective.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Storm cleanup took another hour. By the time I had dumped the last pile of squishy leaves into the recycling bin my cheeks were blazing and sweat dripped from my forehead. The physical exercise felt exhilarating and got me out of my head, at least momentarily.
Our second preview workshop wasn’t until late afternoon, so Elin and I fell into a comfortable tempo as we snipped flowers, filled vases, and tied bows. Blomma burst to life as we finished each bouquet. I appreciated Elin’s advice and input. “What do you think about pairing these poppies with some clematis and fruited boughs?” I asked, placing a pale pink poppy with a long curved stem into a ceramic vase.
Elin wrinkled her brow and thought for a moment. “I like that, but what about a different vessel?” She reached under the counter and handed me a vintage glass vase. “Try this. I think the poppies will have room to stretch out and look almost wild in this vase.”
She was right. I finished the unique design with purple berries and dried milkweed pods.
“Yes, that’s it,” she exclaimed when I finished the arrangement.
Her delight was short lived because a beefy man wearing black from head to toe stormed into the shop. I guessed him to be about my age, although thanks to the extra weight he carried around his middle and his jaundiced puffy face, he looked older.
“Elin, I want a word,” he shouted as he thudded toward us.
“Darren of Drop Dead, Gorgeous,” Elin whispered to me.
Of course. His shirt read: “Flowers are red dead.” This was Elin’s infamous dead flower rival.
“What did you do, Elin?” Darren spit as he spoke. “Send a detective my way, snooping around, asking questions. You’re the one with the rotten corpse here, not me.”
“Darren, I don’t believe that you’ve met my niece, Britta.” Elin kept her tone even and calm.
A trail of tiny spider veins running across Darren’s blotchy face pulsed with anger. “Huh?” His beady eyes landed on me. “Hey.”
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, standing shoulder to shoulder with Elin.
“Cut the crap,” Darren growled. “I know that you’re out to get me and I can tell you that it’s not going to happen. Sales are through the roof. Business is booming at Drop Dead.” He paused and darted his buglike eyes around the shop. “Doesn’t look like the same can be said for this place. Is that why you sent that detective my way, Elin?”
It was obvious that Darren wasn’t the kind of guy who would listen to a rational explanation. He looked like he was ready to pounce on whatever Elin said.
She walked over to the flower wall and removed a handful of creamy daffodils. Returning to the workstation, she began trimming the flowers. “I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, Darren. I’m focused on what we’re doing here at Blomma.”
The veins bulged on Darren’s cheeks. “Right. Cut it out, Elin. I know it was you who tried to get me banned from the bridal show.”
“That’s different,” Elin kept her composure. “As we’ve discussed in the past, Darren, you and I have different philosophies when it comes to flowers. I believe that it’s my duty as a florist to stay positive and share joy. I’m part of my clients’ most significant moments in life—births, weddings, times of sorrow.”
“Yeah and I’m there when your little happy world falls apart. That’s not real life. Real life sucks, and my clients know that.”
“That’s where we differ,” Elin said with a solemn smile. “I certainly don’t wish you ill, but when it comes to events like the bridal show I don’t think there’s a place for darkness and death. I told you that in person and I stand by that now.”
I was impressed with her calm resolve.
Darren became more agitated. “Right, so that’s why I got a visit from the police detective this morning? Don’t try to pretend like it wasn’t you. I know you sent him to me.”
Elin focused on the daffodils. She smoothed their delicate petals. “Yes. The police have asked us for any leads we may have in their investigation, including how two dozen dead roses ended up in our cottage.”
“Don’t look at me like that!” Darren flicked his hand in the air and snapped. “You’re trying to get me in trouble. I know it.”
“We were merely doing our civic duty. There is only one shop in Portland that sells dead flowers. It’s that simple.”
If Elin was intimidated by his overbearing presence she wasn’t letting it show.
Darren, on the other hand, had scrunched his face so tight that I thought he might actually burst a vein. “This isn’t over, Elin. You started a war and you’re going to get one. You better watch out. I hear there’s som
e big party here tomorrow night. Better get ready for a party crasher!” He turned and stalked out the garage doors.
“Wow,” I said, watching him almost knock down a woman walking two small terriers on the sidewalk. “He is something.”
Elin held up one of the daffodils in her hand. “Isn’t he? I don’t even know why I’m trimming these. We’re done with the morning’s orders, but I had to do something with my hands.” Her hands were shaking.
“You handled him beautifully,” I assured her.
“Darren likes to hear himself talk.” She began twisting the daffodil stems together and wrapping them with a matte green ribbon. “There’s no point in trying to argue with him. That’s what he wants.”
“I got that impression, but what about his parting comment. Should we be worried about him starting a ‘war’ with Blomma?”
Elin shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Hopefully he’ll forget about us and be on to his next target before you know it.”
She finished the mini-bouquet and placed it in a container of water in the cooler. “Let’s give this away to the next customer who comes in. Consider it a gift from Darren.”
Her tone was lighthearted, but I was worried. Darren’s unstable behavior and promise to engage in battle left my stomach feeling fluttery, and not in the good way like when I was around Pete. Could Darren have killed Frank? I wasn’t sure if the two men had even known one another, but Darren obviously held a grudge against Elin. Could he have murdered Frank to get back at her?
“Britta, are you okay?” Elin asked, closing the flower cooler.
“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Darren. Is there any chance that he and Frank knew each other?”
She shrugged. “Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean anything. Portland is a big city. We might feel like we’re tucked into a small town here in the village, but Frank owned property all over. He could have known Darren. They could have worked together. I wouldn’t put it past Frank to have ordered rotten roses from Drop Dead, Gorgeous.”
Natural Thorn Killer Page 17