Deadly Arrangements (Book Two in the Cozy Flower Shop Mystery Series) (The Flower Shop Mystery Series)

by Annie Adams

  "Where did you get this? How did you know?" I threw my arms around Alex, the t-shirt clutched in one hand and the gift bag in the other.

  "Wow, if I knew this is all it took, I would have brought it much sooner." He wrapped his arms around me and drew me in close. He smiled as he leaned down and kissed me. Just as I’d imagined DB Starbuck would've back in the day. Watching old sci-fi reruns with our dad was something me and Allie had looked forward to every week as kids.

  Alex put his cheek next to mine and whispered, "Notice anything different?" He nuzzled my ear with his smooth, whisker-free chin.

  "I'm not sure, I think you need to kiss me again," I whispered back.

  "I think you're right."

  He tilted his head down and stopped, his lips resting a breath’s width away from mine. I realized my lips were puckered up like a cartoon character.

  "What's wrong?" I said, with a little too much desperation. I may have felt nervous before this date, but now that Alex was here, the engine was running and ready to roll.

  "I just…are we good? I mean, you feel okay with everything?"

  I felt myself smiling. I searched my thoughts and realized I had no hang-ups, no niggling little thoughts, and no hesitations. I had overcome whatever it was in me that made me stall before. And now that the time seemed right, it was full steam ahead.

  I planted a kiss on Alex he would never forget. Then I dropped the gift bag and moved my now free hand onto his perfect posterior.

  I watched his eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, so all it took was a t-shirt…"

  "Not just any t-shirt. It's…a DB Starbuck t-shirt.”

  "Should I be feeling jealous right now?"

  "Oh no, I’m just appreciative of the gift," I said as I squeezed the non-t-shirt-holding hand.

  "Quincy!" he said, half gasping, half laughing, "What's gotten into you? Not that I mind…"

  "I've just—done some thinking, that's all. And now the thinking is done and it's time for other stuff."

  "Other—stuff?" His face lit up like he’d just won the lottery. He reached back and coaxed the t-shirt from my hand. "You mean—after we get back from our hike?"

  I slowly shook my head.

  He draped the t-shirt over his shoulder, slid his fingers down my arm, and took my unoccupied hand and placed it behind him, next to my other hand. "Do you mean—now?"

  I bit my lip and nodded slowly.

  He wrapped one arm around my waist and pushed my hair behind my ear. His fingers trailed slowly down my neck, past my collar bone.

  My breath caught up in my throat and my hands did some caressing of their own.

  His fingers stopped just shy of the swell of my breast and he bent down and brushed his lips under my earlobe in that magical spot, then he whispered, "What kind of other stuff?"

  I could feel his lips curling into a smile on my neck as I tipped my head back to release the agonizingly delightful tension.

  He moved his kisses down my neck and his hands worked at my waist, moving under my shirt. He stopped abruptly.

  All my nerve endings protested at once.

  "I think you should try this on." He held the t-shirt up in front of me and his eyes sparkled.

  "Okay. I think it's kind of long, probably don't need any pants with it."

  He shook his head, his face grave with mock seriousness. "Probably not."

  I grabbed the t-shirt and headed for the living room, toward my bedroom. Alex kept hold of one end of the shirt and followed me in. He tugged at the shirt and I turned into him.

  "You're sure?" he said.

  "Absolutely." I stood on my tiptoes and leaned into him for a passionate kiss, then said, "I'll be right back." I turned and flung the shirt over my shoulder, then looked back at him and smiled.

  I went into my room for two reasons. One was to change into my gift, but more importantly, I needed to do one last visual check for any stuffed animals. This was not the time to look up from our anticipated activities and see Mr.Snuffles watching our adult—um—relations. Mr. Snuffles or his companions just wouldn't understand.

  I re-entered the living room wearing the t-shirt, which was just long enough for some lace to peek out from underneath. I think someone might have planned it to fit this way.

  I did a sharp inhale when I saw Alex wearing only his faded jeans with the top button undone.

  I slowly walked toward him until I was close enough he could just reach me with his outstretched arms. He groaned, then said, "Don't stop there." He pulled me into him and slid his hand down, over my hip and then the back of my thigh, lifting my knee up to the side of his hip. He slid his hand down my calf to my ankle.

  "No socks this time." He grinned.

  "No socks."

  My hands rested on his bare chest and I traced circles with my fingers. "No shirt," I said.

  He placed both hands around my waist and then slid them down over my bottom, toying with the edge of the shirt. "No shirt?" He looked down at me with a devilish grin.

  "No shirt," I said confidently.

  He kissed me while his hands worked under my shirt and down my leg. One hand traveled up my side, his thumb brushing the side of my breast.

  "Babe," he whispered, “do you want to go to the bedroom?"

  "Mmhmm, in a minute." I didn't want to stop long enough to walk the five steps to the bedroom. I grabbed the front waistband of his jeans and pulled him toward me as I stepped backward. We both fell onto the couch, him on top of me.

  "Ouch,” he pulled his hand out from under me and shook it, as if trying to shake loose the pain I had just inflicted.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s fine. You okay?"

  "Oh, I am so okay."

  "Good." He sat up and straddled my hips with his bent knees. "Quincy," he said, his voice raspy and breathless and oh, so sexy.

  "Uh-huh," I said, mindless as to what my hands or any other part of me was doing to him.

  "Take off your shirt, I can’t look at that guy anymore."

  "Mmhmm."

  I reached down and grabbed the edges of the shirt, tugging it out from under Alex's knees. He held my bare waist as I lifted the bottom edge, the skin of my belly extra sensitive to the exposure.

  The real exposure was next. The point of no return. The path that can never be uncrossed, the bell that can never be un-rung. I had one last fleeting thought of whether I was going for it or not. I ignored that thought.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! sounded on the front door.

  "For the love of …" Alex said through his teeth. “I swear, you live in freaking Grand Central Station."

  I lowered my shirt.

  "Nooo, no, no," Alex protested, "just wait. We'll be quiet and they'll leave."

  The knocking on the door continued.

  "Quincy-girl, are you home?" a voice said, from outside the front door.

  Before I could say anything Alex gave a weighty sigh, and climbed off of me then stomped toward the door.

  "Who in the hell…" Alex said.

  "Alex, that's my…" before I finished the sentence he yanked the door open and suddenly I was lying on my back in lace panties and a t-shirt, just around the corner from where my father stood. I bolted up, ran to my bedroom, and jumped into my pants. I hurried into the living room to find shirtless Alex staring at my father.

  "Dad," I stepped in front of Alex, breathing heavy from my sprint, "what a—surprise." I conjured a weak laugh. The heavy breathing probably didn't help with the picture that had already been painted for my father, who stared past me with furrowed brows at Alex's bare upper body.

  My father filled the doorframe, his red-streaked-with-gray mane putting a cap on the intensity of his presence. He had let his hair grow out when he started with his bluegrass band, and now he wore it loose, cascading down just past his shoulders. His thick eyebrows matched his hair. If his physical stature wasn’t enough to scare people off, his deep base voice usually did the trick. On the outside he was a fierce lion, but on the inside, he
was a tame little kitty-cat.

  "Dad—this is Alex." I stepped aside then looked from one man to the other.

  What happened next was something you might see on the Nature channel. It was just like watching two dogs sizing each other up. First there’s the sniffing, then the grunting and pawing, and then the looking each other up and down, making appraisals.

  "Angus McKay," my father said, then stepped inside, "but everyone just calls me Mac." He extended his hand to Alex, which I took to mean he had accepted him to his pack, or pod, or whatever a group of men is called.

  "Good to meet you, Mr. McKay—Mac," Alex said, then nodded in male non-verbal code. He placed his hands on hips—subconsciously bracing himself for a father’s wrath?

  Apparently my father had accepted Alex’s nod, because he clapped him on the shoulder and returned his own nod.

  "Annette has told me all about you, Alex. Good to finally meet you."

  I looked at Alex wide-eyed and he returned the same look to me. I thought after hearing all about him from my mother—in her unique style of describing someone who doesn’t meet her standards—my dad would have punched him in the face upon meeting him. I think Alex had felt the same way, given how relieved he looked after my dad only smacked him on the upper arm.

  "Quincy-girl. What a sight for sore eyes." He kissed the top of my head like he always did when I was little. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Alex then back at me.

  "No," Alex said before I had a chance to chime in. "I was just…fixing…Quincy's…"

  My dad looked at me and I could see his eyes twinkle over his wry grin. "No need to explain. I came over unannounced. I just wanted a chance to see my middle girl again."

  "Dad, I'm glad you're home. Let's go sit in the kitchen."

  Alex took advantage of the moment to put his shirt on then joined us at the kitchen table.

  After about fifteen minutes of polite conversation between the three of us, my father broached the subject of his recent, extended absence from our family's lives.

  "You know," Alex said as he stood, "I've been putting off some stuff at home and I've got to get up early, so I'm going to leave you two to visit."

  Oh no. He had "stuff" to do? He had to get up early? I had just been served a cliché sandwich by the man I had very nearly—missed it by that much—slept with only minutes before. I knew Alex was frustrated, but how about me? What was I supposed to have done when my long-lost father showed up on my doorstep? It wasn't my fault he appeared at precisely the wrong moment.

  Fate obviously didn’t want me and Alex to come together, if you know what I mean.

  I walked with Alex to the front porch. He turned to face me and put his arms on my shoulders. Not an embrace, but not a cold handshake either. Just kind of in-between. Stuck. Stuck between passionate and cordial. He leaned down and kissed me quickly, like it was a required formality before he could leave. I found myself longing for a chin chuck.

  "Alex…"

  "I'm sorry, Quince."

  "I realize this isn't what we had planned, but I had no idea he was coming over. I'm just as frustrated as you are…"

  "I don't know if that's possible," he said with a sad laugh.

  "Hey!"

  "Don't worry, I just—felt awkward sitting in on your family's private business."

  "I appreciate that, but now you don't even want to kiss me. Did I do something wrong? It seemed like you liked me a lot when we were on the couch."

  "Quincy, your dad is in the kitchen."

  "So what? We're out on the porch."

  "It's Mantown Rules. You don't kiss your girlfriend in front of her dad, unless it's on your wedding day. Even then I would be extra careful to keep it clean. Have you actually seen your father, by the way? I would not want to be on shift if he was the bad guy. He actually saw me with his daughter, in the house he grew up in, with my shirt off and my pants unbuttoned!"

  "So it was awkward.” I shrugged. "Very, very, excruciatingly awkward," I muttered. The thought of the look on my father's face when he stood at the front door made me shudder. "But we're still—you know…?"

  A smile returned to his face. The cute, crinkly lines around his eyes came back. "We're still you know. But not within a five mile radius of your dad. No matter what you say, he told me with his eyes that if he ever sees me even touch you, he'll rip my still-beating heart out of my chest and squeeze it front of my almost-dead eyes."

  I rolled my own eyes.

  He kissed me on the cheek, then whispered in my ear, "Goodnight, Beautiful." He stepped back, "I'll call you tomorrow."

  I sighed for lack of a better response. "I'm keeping the t-shirt." He smiled at me as he backed down the steps. "I'll be sleeping with Starbuck tonight."

  “Ouch.” He blew me a kiss and left.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There’s nothing like a fresh start and a new day. New day at work—a chance to do more business and make a living. New day in a relationship—a chance to heal wounds and become closer. I’d had a good talk with my father the night before and we’d come to an understanding. Things weren’t going to continue on as if nothing had happened, because that would be impossible. You can’t undo the past, you can only move on in a different direction. So that’s what we agreed to do. Dad asked me about Alex, who he really seemed to like despite finding him “half-nekked” in my house.

  With Alex—there wasn’t so much of an understanding. But frustration—there was plenty of that to go around.

  The trouble with getting closer to Alex was that for him, it meant getting closer to my family. A little too close, as was proven the night before. I wanted to find a balance between good relationships with my family and with Alex, and I wanted to succeed in my business too. I just wanted it all. Is that too much to ask?

  I drove Zombie Sue to work and parked in the back lot. Cool morning air filled my lungs as I stepped out of the van. Hillside Creek, which curled behind the back parking lot, bubbled and sang loud enough to hear over the morning traffic. Birds chirped and twittered and their light chatter traveled through the clean, delicious air in melodious, twinkling notes.

  I walked around to the front entrance so I could pick up the mail and the newspaper from the community mail bank in the middle of the building.

  Two customer checks had found their way to our box, along with some bills and catalogs. It's always a great start to the day when you get paid before you walk in to work.

  The newspaper was there too. Lately we'd had a thief. I’d never called to complain, because I thought maybe the person stealing the paper needed to look through the classifieds for a job. Maybe they’d found their job. New beginnings for everyone today.

  Allie and Daphne walked in to the shop together. I’d found out about Daphne through Allie, who had decided to take classes at Weber State University in the fall semester. She met Daphne in a night class and found out she had moved here from Florida, where she’d worked at a busy flower shop.

  We split all the opening duties and began the preparations for our regular orders. Allie fielded phone calls while Daphne and I chose the containers to use and gathered greenery and flowers.

  "We'll need to get new roses today from Keith to make the Mangum order," I said.

  "I can take the deliveries when they're ready," Allie said.

  “No need for that, dear. Your delivery gal is here.” K.C. stood in the doorway to the back room in a Superwoman pose. “How is everyone this morning?”

  She wasn’t wearing her traveling cap. Today she’d opted for a white scarf, which covered her hair and ended in a knot tied at the chin. She removed her electric blue-framed cat-eye sunglasses and hung them on the front collar of her shirt.

  “I thought you weren’t coming in today. You have the day off,” I said.

  “I would go stir-crazy if I stayed at home. And Fred says he’s fine on his own. Besides, I’ve got something to show you ladies,” she sung, a la Ethel Merman.
/>   She led us outside to the back parking lot.

  “Mama’s got a new baby.”

  Her outstretched arms directed us to a classic car painted white and the same bright blue as her sunglasses. Sunlight sparkled off of chrome bumpers, wheels, and trim as if there was a giant disco ball in our back parking lot.

  “Wow, K.C., it has fins!” Daphne said.

  “And it’s a convertible,” Allie said.

  “It’s a ’58 Dodge with the La Femme color package. That means it was made just for the ladies. There’s a matching umbrella, purse, and lipstick cover. Ain’t she a beaut?” K.C. beamed.

  “When did you get this?”

  “Yesterday, after work. A woman in my apartment complex had advertised in our newsletter that she was selling her late husband’s classic car collection. I didn’t think anything about it until I saw a picture of this one. I just had to have her. It’s a wedding present to myself.”

  “Oh, K.C., it’s beautiful,” Daphne said.

  We took turns sitting in the passenger seat to get a closer look inside. “Hey, K.C.,” Allie said as she emerged from her turn in the seat, “what’s this thing with the buttons and the cord?”

  “C’mon kid, you’re just teasing, right? You don’t know what that is?”

  Allie shook her head.

  “That’s a CB radio with an 8-track.”

  “A what?” Daphne said.

  “Quincy, tell them what it is,” K.C. said.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I think Grandpa had one in his farm truck.”

  “Gads,” K.C. shook her scarf covered head, then reached in and pulled out a couple of her 8-tracks. “An 8-track is like those whatchamacallits—cassettes. They play music.”

  “Those are massive,” I said.

  K.C. paused for a beat, glanced at the boxes in her hands, then frowned at me before she continued. “The CB is for talking to other cars who have CBs. It’s like calling someone on the phone.”

  “Why don’t you just call on your phone?” Allie said.

  Allie received a frown too. K.C. planted her hands on her hips and sighed. “The previous owner must have installed it. He left his 8-tracks too. I’ve got George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn…”