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

by Annie Adams

  “That’s a Sandhill Crane.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “My Dad used to bring me and my sisters out here when we were little. A Sandhill flew right out in front of us once, and Sandy started screaming and wanted to run away. Dad taught us all about them so we wouldn’t be scared anymore.” I looked out the side window and another stretch of long silence took hold.

  “They mate for life, you know.”

  “Really?” he said. “How do they know they’ve found the one? They all look the same, don’t they?”

  “They dance in the spring to attract a mate. It’s avian romance,” I said.

  “I guess humans do our own kind of dance too, don’t we?”

  I thought of my parents. “Yeah, you could put it that way.”

  We stopped just before the gate to the refuge, where Clint Wheeler's property extended to the border. I’d brought clippers and heavy scissors and a bucket with clean water for the grasses I planned to cut, but a lot of the water had splashed out during the bumpy ride. Alex opened the tailgate and the spilled water dripped onto the ground. Transporting things in water is often a challenge. No matter how well you think you’ve secured your arrangements, every once in a while, you open your car door to a flood.

  I shook the water off my gloves and tool pouch. “Why would somebody dump their waste water in the marsh?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was talking to Fred and K.C. today about someone polluting the marsh. I just wonder why anyone would drive all the way out here, down that bumpy road. I imagine it would be a large quantity of water, so it would be obvious you were carrying it. Someone would have to see the vehicle you used to drive it. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “It seems more likely it’s someone next to the marsh. It’s probably convenient for them to dump it. If it’s toxic stuff, they have to pay to get rid of it legally, so they take the cheaper shortcut. It's big time fines if you get caught dumping on protected land, though. Probably prison time.”

  Alex jumped over the ditch, then pulled on my outstretched hand as I made the jump. We found some beautiful cattails and grasses with stripes and tufts of brown silk on their ends.

  “Oh look at this gorgeous equisetum!”

  “Gesundheit,” he said.

  “Very funny. Isn’t it pretty?”

  “I’ve never thought of it as pretty. I always saw it as a weed. But if you say it’s pretty, then it’s pretty. You’re the expert. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t that what they say?”

  After gathering armfuls, we figured out how to transport everything back across the ditch without landing in the water and put our small harvest in the back of the Scout.

  Although we didn’t get wet, our shoes did get muddy. Every time I landed after jumping across the ditch, my feet sunk in to the squishy ground about two inches deep.

  “I can’t get in like this,” I said as I stood at the open car door.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Look at this mud. I don’t want to get it all over your car.”

  Alex looked at me and laughed for what I considered way too long.

  “This baby was made for mud. Hop in—no wait. You’ve got something on your cheek, hold still.” He swiped his fingers across the side of my face. It felt cold and wet where his fingers had traced. I reached up and found mud on my fingertips.

  “You…”

  “What?” He laughed and ran to the other side of the car and got in.

  I got in on my side and stomped my muddy feet all over the floor while flashing a mischievous smile.

  “Is this pretty?” I pointed to the floor.

  “Gorgeous!”

  “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, that’s for sure.”

  He looked at me for a long few seconds. “Come here.”

  “Oh no, I’m not falling for that again.”

  He held his palms up so I could see. “Look no mud.”

  I leaned toward him and he met me halfway. He kissed me and just as I leaned in for more, he pulled back. It could’ve been a coincidence. It wasn’t an abrupt retreat, but noticeable nonetheless.

  “You’ve got something on your face,” he said and started the Scout. A smile curled into his profile. In the time we’d been together, I’d learned how much he loved to tease. “We should get going. It’ll be dark sooner than we think.”

  I wanted to protest and stay right where we were, doing right what we had just been doing, but time was ticking.

  “So why is it that you’re the florist, and K.C. works for you, but Danny is in charge of the flowers for her wedding?”

  “Hmm,” I had to think of the best way to frame my response. “Danny is just Danny. Besides, he’s kind of the creative consultant, if you will. He’s the wedding planner, who also happens to be a florist, so he has his vision of the overall wedding and I’m providing the flower portion of the wedding. It’s really a help to me. Even though I’m working, I’ll also be able to enjoy the event too because of his staff pitching in. There’s no way I would be able to be a bridesmaid and do all of the usual wedding day floral duties. I look at it as a team effort.”

  “I see,” he said.

  We pulled into the visitor center parking lot at the marsh and I commandeered the rearview mirror to look at my face when he turned off the car.

  “Let’s go get the measurements you need first, then walk around the boardwalk,” he said.

  “We can talk then,” I said.

  He nodded and smiled, but the smile was short lived, turning into something more like a reluctant grimace.

  I took as many measurements of the exterior as I could think of, knowing Danny would want me to be thorough. Alex was a great help, but my frequent reminders to bring him out of his thoughts and back to planet earth made it obvious something else occupied his mind.

  We held hands as we walked slowly around the boardwalk, but it felt more like I was carrying his hand with me, like a five pound dumbbell, rather than sharing in an affectionate act.

  “So, what is it you’re avoiding telling me?” I said.

  “Who me? I’m not avoiding anything.” He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. “I just wasn’t sure how I should tell you that…I…have to leave town again.” He winced and leaned away from me as if he expected me to throw a punch.

  “What’s the big deal? You already told me you were going to talk about that at work today.”

  “Yeah, that…I am going to Boise for a job, and it starts just as I’m finishing in California.”

  He stopped walking where the boardwalk came to a “V” and split into two paths. He turned to face me, holding both of my hands in his.

  I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t work that far away—do you?”

  “No. Well, Boise, yes. But California…no. That’s why I haven’t been able to…I don’t know how much I can tell you. It’s some family business that I just found out about, and I need to go to California to straighten it out.”

  “Family business. In California.” My hands had found their way to my hips without my noticing until just then. I left them there. “This wouldn’t have been brought to your attention by an old work buddy, would it?”

  “That’s the part I’m not sure how much I can tell you about,” he said.

  “What kind of family business would Samantha be telling you about?”

  Now, because I had vowed my trust in Alex on the holy 8-track of Willie Nelson, I reminded myself to calm down and let Alex explain.

  “It’s a relative of mine who is close to Sam, and she’s worried about him. She told me in confidence.”

  “A relative? That’s what you’re calling him? A relative.” I stomped my foot, and instantly regretted it. My healing big toe throbbed with pain. My teeth were clenched and my mouth was drawn so tight it hurt. “Willie Nelson or not, there’s no way you can expect me to trust a thing that you’re saying. I can’t believe you would call him a
relative, like he’s some distant cousin or something. Unbelievable!”

  “Quincy, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Unbelievable!” I took the boardwalk path to the left and kept walking. “I can’t talk to you...I’ve got to walk.”

  Alex called after me, “You’re not making any sense. And what does Willie Nelson’s cousin have to do with anything?”

  What kind of person calls his own son a relative? And besides that, what kind of boyfriend would make up some story after finding out this kind of news instead of just telling his girlfriend—his trusting girlfriend—that he had fathered a child? How could someone who seemed so normal, in fact wonderful, turn out to be so—un-normal—when it came to relationships?

  My brain buzzed into numbness, and all I could do was walk along that boardwalk. The breeze started up stronger and made the grasses overhead rattle. After a while, I slowed down, thinking I heard voices.

  I stopped and looked behind me. Alex wasn’t in sight. The voices came at me from the left and I spun around to see who they were. It sounded as if they were just in front of me, but then the breeze kicked up and the noise was gone. I walked again and heard footsteps behind me. I looked back, but didn’t see anyone.

  I walked faster, thinking it had been a stupid idea to leave Alex. The people who had hurt Fred and Gordon had hidden in these rushes.

  I heard voices again. This time right next to me, just through a patch of equisetum. My heart thumped as I came to a clearing and looked in the direction of the voices—and saw a bunch of emerald-feathered ducks. The wind had carried their communications and changed them enough to sound like people. Creepy, whispering, murderous people.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, but didn’t completely forget the feeling that someone could be hiding in the marsh. I glanced around, but the grasses obscured the view. It was time to go and face Alex. I turned to go back and stepped forward—straight through a board. My leg plunged into the water and I fell forward. My chest hit the side of the boardwalk, my head and shoulders dangled over the edge.

  I opened my eyes and was face to face with a bloated dead body.

  I screamed.

  The face was only recognizable as such because it had a little hair on one end and it was connected to a shirt on the other.

  I felt myself being yanked up and away.

  ***

  I didn’t remember my leg catching up on the broken boards I had plunged through, but Alex told me he was afraid he’d shredded my leg when he pulled me free. I told him the bloody gashes probably happened on the way in. I told him this at the hospital.

  We soon learned the body was Harold Busby’s. Once the story hit the news, a lot of theories floated around about how he’d died. Apparently, there were no visible signs of trauma. It was possible he’d had a heart attack while he was doing some bird watching. I think I heard something about them doing an autopsy to find out what really happened to him.

  Most everything I know about my finding Harold Busby, I had repeated to me by other people. I don’t remember much that happened or was said in the moments after seeing that ghastly image. Except for the image itself. That never leaves me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alex left for California a couple of days after the boardwalk incident, and wouldn’t return until after he finished working in Boise. And he would have to miss K.C.’s wedding. He might have postponed the trip had I encouraged him to stay, but I may not have tried very hard to do that.

  Maybe it was the trauma that made me do it, or maybe I’m just not a very good girlfriend. But I told him he should go take care of his business in California. And since he didn’t think it was any of my business, there was no point in us talking about it anymore.

  For once in my life, I actually appreciated my mother’s overbearing nature. It provided a constant third wheel in my life. Adding my father to the mix gave me enough extra wheels for a stretch limo. There was no room for exploring feelings or talking things out and that was just what I needed. Well, maybe just what I wanted, whether it was good for me or not.

  I’m sure Alex was in a whirlwind of emotions too. Unfortunately for both of us, he chose not to share any of the reasons for those emotions with me. I’d learned of those reasons from one of the reasons! And did she have to be such a good-looking and successful reason?

  Despite all of my feelings of righteous indignation, I knew I hadn't handled the situation with Alex very well. In fact, in plain language, I had behaved like a moron.

  The first day after he left, I still thought I’d just been protecting myself from heartache. After a few more days of letting things percolate, I was missing Alex terribly and thinking of all of the times where I could have just told him how I was feeling, or even asked him what was going on and talked things out.

  Back to that whole hesitation thing again. I hesitated to look behind the curtain and find out what was happening and get his side of the story. Despite all the time I spent trying to convince myself that I trusted him, I hadn't come any closer to being less of a pathetic spinster. I’d be that one old lady in the neighborhood who would live and die alone because she wouldn't let anyone break her crusty old shell, let alone open the heart underneath it.

  I buried myself in work to distract myself from thinking about what a jerk I was. I picked up the phone a few times—even dialed Alex's number—but never hit connect. I didn't think he would want to hear from me again. He was probably telling his family how he’d dodged a bullet.

  Maybe in a couple of days I could gather the courage to call him and apologize. I would use Harold Busby’s dead body as an excuse for having completely lost all of my faculties of reason and logic. It wasn't the apology that required me to gather courage—it was his response that I would need courage for.

  Until I developed the emotional strength to call Alex and have him tell me where to go, I would make sure K.C.'s wedding would be organized and ready. The days were flying by and I didn't want anything to get in the way of K.C. and Fred's marital bliss or the world's most absolutely perfect wedding.

  ***

  The bells on the front door of the shop chimed and Jenny McQueen came in. The dark shadows under her eyes said everything about the state of things in her life.

  "Jenny, hi," I said. "What can I help you with today?"

  "I just need to talk about the wedding plans and the flowers and…" her shoulders hunched and she looked at the floor.

  I ushered her to the consultation table in the front corner of the store.

  "I don't know what to do," Jenny said. "My mom's paid for all these flowers, and people are calling. All this time I've told people we would still be getting married, that Brock would be home soon." She put her head in her hands.

  "He will be home soon," I said, though I had nothing to base the statement upon.

  "What about the flowers you've ordered? And the tablecloths and everything. I know it's too late for a refund, and I don't care about that—I just feel bad that you've gone to all this work and put up with my mother."

  I laughed internally. "Don't worry about me. Your mother came in the other day and we talked about doing some decorating with the fabric. I was under the impression you knew she was coming. I already talked to my suppliers and cancelled most of the flowers I ordered. I'll make some artificial arrangements with the flower money and the silk flowers your mother already bought."

  Her face brightened at the news. "Normally I would be furious with my mother for coming without me, but now I have less to worry about. What is she having you decorate with that awful blue fabric, anyway?"

  "Her fiancé’s place. You think it's awful too—I mean, you don't like the blue?" I said.

  She scowled and took a long time to answer. "No. I hate it. Mom's crazy about it. She's addicted to anything Egyptian. Bruce won't care about the blue either. I don't imagine he'll even notice the difference." She sighed. "I just played along because she was paying for it. If it were up to Brock and me, we wouldn't e
ven have a big wedding with a reception." Her mouth drew into a tight line and her bottom lip trembled. "He asked me to elope the night before he disappeared. I wanted to so bad, but I couldn't do that to my mom. But I keep thinking how if we'd gotten married that night, he wouldn't have been anywhere near that bird refuge the morning he went missing."

  "You can't think that way, Jenny. None of this is your fault. He'll come back soon and you guys can elope or have a huge wedding, whatever you like."

  She stood up and wiped tears from her eyes. "Thanks, Quincy. I really appreciate your help." She walked over to the large flower cooler and perused for a few moments while gaining her composure.

  "I'm going into the cooler, can I get you a cold water?" I said.

  "Actually, can I go in with you? I want to look at your Phragmites."

  "Sure. My what, now?"

  She laughed, which lightened the mood. "Phragmites is a reed. You find it in marshes all over the world."

  We went inside the cooler and I shouted over the noise of the interior fan, "I thought this was called Pampas Grass."

  "They look similar, but they're different. You've got yourself a collection of Phragmites." We left the cooler and walked toward the front door. "It's interesting…" she glanced at the cooler window again. "Where did you get those?"

  "Oh, don't worry, I didn't cut them from the refuge. I asked the next door land owner for permission to cut them from his ditch banks."

  She looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you shouldn't have them. I just thought they looked a little different than the usual local varieties. I guess I'm kind of a Phragmites nerd. Actually, I geek out when it comes to reeds of all kinds. Weird—I know."

  This made me laugh. "I think it's great you have something to be passionate about. Geek away. I've got plenty of extra in there if you want to take some home."

  "Oh, could I? I want to look these up and see what they're doing here."

  "Great, have at it," I said. She gathered a few stems and left after I told her to keep her chin up.

  Witnessing Jenny's concern for Brock only made me feel even more foolish for being so awful to Alex. Here I had the perfect man and I’d let some tiny little communication problems force him away from me. Pathetic.