A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery (6 page)

Marco glanced at me curiously. “Where did that come from?”

“Don’t you remember when Tara used to call you that?”

“Yes. I meant, what brought it to mind?”

“Watching Adrian strut away. He has nothing over you, Hot Pockets.”

Marco reached over to gently squeeze my hand. “Thank you. And Rosa has nothing over you, Fireball.”

It was my turn for the curious look. Or maybe it was more of a glower. “Rosa? What made you think of her?”

He pretended to shudder as he pulled up in front of Bloomers. “I’m sensing that tension again. See you at five.”

*   *   *

“We had a visit from the police,” Lottie informed me as I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of my desk chair. Seedy put her paw on my leg, wanting a cuddle.

“About the bench?” I asked as I picked up my dog and let her lick my chin.

“How’d you guess? We have to submit a written request if we want to put furniture on the sidewalk.”

“It’s not permanent,” I said. “I hope.”

“Grace and I moved it into the parlor for now. It’s in the back by the coffee bar. We still haven’t figured out a price for it.”

“If someone inquires, tell them to make us an offer. I’ll have to ask Tara to do a search on eBay and see what she can find.” I set Seedy on the floor, and she hobbled under the big table and curled up in her bed with a rawhide bone.

“Look at all the orders on the spindle, sweetie,” Lottie said.

“Isn’t it amazing? I can’t believe our good fortune these days, Lottie.”

“Calls have been coming in steadily all morning. I wanted to start on the orders, but Grace has been swamped with customers in the parlor, so she couldn’t cover the shop. It’s too bad that Marco’s mom is babysitting her grandkids now. We could really use her help.”

Francesca’s new babysitting gig was a good news/bad news kind of thing. When Marco and I left for our honeymoon, Francesca, a lovely, generous, yet at times overbearing woman, stepped in to help Grace and Lottie. It was supposed to last just one week, but then business really blossomed, so to speak, so we upped her to three mornings a week.

While the extra pair of hands had been useful, Francesca’s presence had been something of a thorn in my side, the problem being that we both wanted to run Bloomers. As one of Grace’s favorite adages went, too many chefs spoiled the broth—or, in my case, my nirvana.

Then, two weeks earlier, Marco’s younger sister Gina
had gone back to work to help support her family, and Francesca decided that she should babysit her grandkids rather than put them in child care. So while she was now out of my paradise, we missed her help.

“Let’s think about hiring another part-time person,” Lottie said. “Even two afternoons a week would make a difference.”

“It’s going to be tough to find someone to work just two afternoons,” I said.

“I will do it.”

I turned in surprise as Rosa Marin stepped through the curtain.

“I will be happy to take that part-time job,” she said. “It would be a big help with the finances right now.”

Lottie and I glanced at each other in surprise as Rosa stood there in her tight turquoise scoop-necked sweater and snug platinum slacks, big silver jewelry, and gray high-heeled ankle boots, her smile revealing beautiful white teeth. “Okay?”

I glanced down at my plain white shirt and faded jeans, and all I could think of was Marco saying,
Rosa has nothing over you, Fireball.

L
ottie stuck out her hand, clearly aware that I was struggling with a reply. “Hi, I’m Lottie Dombowski.”

“Rosa Marisol Katarina Marin,” the Latin bombshell said, turning her blazing smile on my assistant. “I am Mr. and Mrs. Salvare’s new client.”

“Grace Bingham,” my other assistant said, stepping through the curtain. “How nice to meet you, Rosa.”

There was never a need to explain anything to Grace. She eavesdropped like a spy. All three glanced at me expectantly, and Lottie gave a slight nod, as though to say,
Say something!

Like what? That she was too sexy? “You have a full-time job,” I blurted.

“I work from seven in the morning until six at night two days a week and from two in the afternoon until six the other three days. I would be happy to come here on two of those mornings. So what do you say?”

That left one argument. “I can’t pay much.”

“Anything would help.” She threw out her arms and turned in a circle. “Where else would I find such a perfect job? I love working with customers. Everyone says I
have amazing people skills. I love flowers. I was even named after the rose and the marisol.”

“I’ve never heard of a marisol,” Lottie said.

“It’s a paper flower that is used for special celebrations,” Rosa said. “And I will do any task you have for me.”

Seedy chose that moment to hobble out from under the table and put her paw on Rosa’s leg, gazing up with the same loving expression she usually reserved for me.

“Well, hello,
perrito
!” Rosa crouched down to take Seedy’s shaggy little head between her hands and plant a kiss on top of her head. “What a sweet dog.”

Seedy gave a happy little yip and wagged her tail, then, having accomplished her goodwill mission, returned to her bed.

“That’s a first,” Lottie said. “Seedy usually hides from strangers.”

“Animals,” Rosa said with a shrug. “They love me.”

Animals, assistants . . . who was next?

She took my hand and pressed it between hers. “Please, Mrs. Salvare? Will you let me help you?”

Grace and Lottie stood behind her, nodding their approval.

What could I say?
You can work here only if you keep away from my husband
? That was tantamount to saying I didn’t trust Marco, and that wasn’t true at all.

Forcing a smile, I said, “I suppose we can try it. Can you start tomorrow?”

She nearly lifted me out of my chair with her hug. “I will start right now. Give me a job and I will do it. Where should I begin?”

A better question was, how would this end?

Everyone was waiting for me to say something, so I turned to Grace. “Let’s find her an apron, and then why don’t you teach her how to run the parlor?”

“An apron?” Lottie asked. We hadn’t worn the bib-style yellow aprons with
Bloomers
embroidered on the front since I took over the business.

“I was just thinking earlier that we should start wearing them again.” Like two minutes earlier. Especially since the bib part would cover Rosa’s cleavage.

Lottie pulled a stack from a cupboard and handed them out. “Here we go.”

“You have a parlor?” Rosa asked Grace as they left the workroom together.

“It’s where we serve coffee, tea, and scones, love,” I heard Grace reply.

“What are scones?”

“Oh, goodness. You must try one. I bake them myself.”

Lottie stood in front of me, arms crossed. “You look like a deer in the headlights.”

“What just happened?”

“I think our prayer was answered.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I shook myself and plucked an order from the spindle.

“Rosa will be good for Bloomers,” Lottie said as she opened the big walk-in cooler where we kept fresh blossoms. “She’ll certainly liven things up.”

“Isn’t that what you said about Francesca?” I asked.

“You have to admit that our customers loved Francesca.”

“Let’s just hope Rosa doesn’t start bringing in food like Francesca did. We had mobs coming here to eat all
those free Italian goodies and no one bought a thing. And don’t forget how Francesca arranged all the tools in my drawers in alphabetical order. It took an entire morning to put everything back the way it had been.”

Lottie laid her mums and roses on the table and put her hands on my shoulder. “Okay, Abby, listen to Earth Mom Lottie now. Stop anticipating problems. If you focus on things you don’t want to happen, you’ll draw them to you.”

“Seriously?”

“You bet. Like attracts like.” She pointed to the full spindle. “You think that’s just a coincidence? Haven’t we all been remarking how great it is to see it full? Law of attraction at work. It’s in a book on quantum physics that Herman just finished reading, and whatever he reads he gives me daily reports on. Daily. Reports.” She rolled her eyes. “So be positive and you’ll draw all kinds of good energy.”

I thought about that as I gathered supplies for a twenty-fifth anniversary arrangement. If I focused on having creamy skin, would my freckles disappear?

After choosing a combination of hybrid tea roses, grandifloras, and poly pompon roses in three shades of pink, with a few lilies in white for contrast, I prepped a silver-colored container shaped like a giant martini glass and began putting the arrangement together. I hummed as I worked, so completely absorbed in my task that I was unaware of the bustle of business happening on the other side of the curtain. I finished the arrangement, wrapped it and set it in the second cooler, then pulled another order and began the process all over again.

An hour later, I stopped to stretch my back and roll my shoulders, then remembered that I’d wanted to call the Maraville School Corporation. Using the delivery ruse again, I was able to discover that Norman Jones worked as a janitor at Central Elementary School, with hours from seven o’clock in the morning until five in the evening, making it difficult for me to sneak away to interview him.

Fortunately, he worked until nine o’clock on Fridays because of their roller rink and swimming pool facilities. That meant I could make a trip out there after supper on Friday and Marco would never know.

My second call was to Tara, who was no doubt on her way home from school.

“Hey, Auntie A, what’s up?” she chirped, then said, “Hold on. I’ve got to answer this text.” She was gone all of twenty seconds, then came back with, “Okay, so anyway—oh, wait. Hold on.” She was gone again.

When she came back, I said, “Tara, I can’t wait all day. Who are you texting that is more important than my call?”

“My best friend. She’s having a boyfriend crisis.”

“Didn’t you just see her at school?”

There was a big sigh. “You don’t understand how it is, Aunt Abby.”

“Right. I was never in high school. Before you get another message, would you please do an eBay search on furniture made from skis so I know how to price Grandpa’s bench?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That is so cool!”

“It is?”

“Well, yeah! Way to go, Grandpa.” There was a dead silence, then, “Sorry—I had to take that. Okay, I’ll get back to you.”

I had just put away my phone when Rosa carried in a cup of tea. “Grace said it’s time for your break, Mrs. Salvare.”

Without looking up, I said, “Thanks. You can leave it on my desk. And call me Abby.”

“Okay—Abby. Is that short for Abigail?”

“Yes, but that’s too formal. I don’t care for it.”

“Oh, but you should. Do you know that in Spanish the name Abigail means ‘happiness’?” Rosa lifted her arms and turned in a circle. “And look what you do here. You bring happiness into many people’s lives.”

That was a different way of looking at it. I found myself smiling.

She perched on a wooden stool, put her chin on her hand, and watched me insert red carnations into an arrangement. “How did your talk with Adrian Prada go this morning?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mr. Appleruth told me. I called to update him on Sergio’s condition, which is sadly the same.” She heaved a sigh and was silent for a long moment, lost in her thoughts. Then, picking up a stray pink rose petal, she asked, “So how did it go?”

“Adrian was cooperative. He talked with us for about ten minutes.”

“Did he confess?”

“No.”

She sighed again. “I didn’t think he would crack so
easily.” With a pound of her fist on the table, she said determinedly, “We will have to come up with something that makes him talk. We can’t let him get away with attempted murder.”

We
weren’t going to do anything; clients didn’t run our cases or participate in our investigations. Besides, the only thing Marco and I knew for sure about Adrian was that he was guilty of making passes at Rosa.

“Actually, Rosa, until we spoke with Adrian, he still believed that Sergio had suffered a heart attack.”

“Or so he says. El Diablo is not trustworthy—believe me. But he is cunning.” She fingered the sterling silver lightning bolt pendant I’d seen her wear before. “We will need a clever way to outsmart him.”

There was that
we
again. I had a feeling it was going to be a problem.

To change the mood of the conversation, I said with a smile, “Adrian has quite an ego. The way he was posing reminded me of a matador.”

Rosa held the petal beneath her nose, inhaling the scent. “How odd that you should say that. In my language,
matador
means ‘killer.’” She let that sink in. “After you told Adrian that Sergio had not had a heart attack, I suppose he tried to blame me for the fall.”

“I really can’t talk about an ongoing investigation, Rosa.”

She slapped her hand on the table. “Why not? I am the one who hired you.”

Oh, right. Awkward. Quite a temper she had there, too.

She wagged her finger at me. “You don’t want to say anything because Adrian
did
blame me. Am I right?”

I inserted the last carnation. “I wouldn’t be too concerned about what anyone else says. Suspects always point the finger at someone else.”

Rosa muttered something about Adrian in Spanish, then said, “When will you talk to the rest of the crew?”

I tore off a big piece of wrapping paper and laid it on the table. “We’re planning to go back around five this evening.”

“Don’t do that yet.”

That did it.

“Rosa, you have to let Marco and me run this investigation. We need to interview the men while the incident is still fresh in their minds.”

With a
Pffft
, she waved away my protest as though it were inconsequential. “I’m not talking about the investigation.” She pointed to the arrangement. “The flowers. You’re missing a carnation in the back.”

I swiveled the pot for a look. Damn, she was right. The arrangement wasn’t balanced. How had I missed it?

“See?” she said brightly. “I’m a natural.”

*   *   *

“You hired the woman who hired
us
?” My husband gazed at me as though I’d lost my mind. We were on our way to the HHI headquarters and I’d just broken the news about my new employee.

“Rosa kind of hired herself. And actually she did help out a lot today. She seems to be a fast learner.”

Marco shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Abby.”

“I don’t, either, but we really need the extra pair of hands, and Lottie thinks she’ll liven things up. You have to admit Rosa is colorful.”

“I’m not saying she won’t work out. It’s just—I don’t know.”

“The situation’s no different than if Grace hired us to investigate something for her. Besides, Rosa’s going to work only two mornings a week. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Was I trying to convince Marco or myself?

“I hope so.” Marco pulled into a customer parking spot in front of the HHI building and shut off the motor. A gated security fence on the right side of the building enclosed the employee parking lot, where three men in navy coveralls were standing in front of a pickup truck having a conversation.

When the largest of the men separated from the group, unchained a big black Harley, and walked it through the open gates, Marco said, “That must be Sam Walker. Let’s catch him before he takes off.”

I got out of the car and pulled my notepad and pen out of my shoulder bag as I hurried to keep up with Marco’s rapid strides.

“Mr. Walker?” he called.

The man was about to mount the motorcycle, but paused to watch us approach, giving me a vertical sweep. “Yeah?”

Standing well above six feet tall and with a wrestler’s build, Sam wore his brown hair short on the sides and straight up on top like a rooster, with the tips dyed blond.

Marco displayed his license and introduced us. “We’re investigating Sergio Marin’s fall. We’d like to ask you a few routine questions.”

Wrestler Sam, as I’d decided to refer to him in my notes, put the kickstand down and turned toward us,
folding his thick arms across his chest. “You one of them insurance cops?”

“No,” Marco said. “This is a private investigation. I’m not sure you’ve heard the latest news, but doctors haven’t found any medical condition that might have precipitated Sergio’s accident, which leaves it a puzzle as to why it happened. Can you think of anything that might have caused him to fall?”