Nightshade on Elm Street: A Flower Shop Mystery (17 page)

“I will as soon as I finish this.” I stepped back to take a look at the arrangement so I could make final adjustments.

Doing a twist on a traditional wreath, I had used all white flowers—white ‘Akito’ roses, hydrangeas, carnations, and black-eyed gerberas—and aligned them to appear as if they spiraled around the circular green form. Then I looped steel grass loosely around the whole thing to suggest a continuous ribbon. To finish the effect, once we’d delivered the wreath to Happy Dreams Funeral Parlor, I’d place it on a white wooden easel.

I stowed the wreath in the walk-in cooler on the right side and sat down at my desk with Grace’s stack of memos. Two phone calls later, my order of 150 colored metallic pinwheels was on its way. I wasn’t as successful with the juggler, however.

The first one was busy on the day of my shower. The second didn’t travel outside of Chicago. The third charged way too much. At that point I was out of names.

“My boys know how to juggle,” Lottie said, as she stripped a stem of its leaves.

I swiveled to stare at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“They’re not professionals. They juggle tennis balls mostly, but they’re pretty good.”

“Would they be willing to work up an act for me?”

“I can ask.”

“That would be great, Lottie. I’ll pay them for their time.”

“I’m sure they’d like that, but are you sure you want four teenaged boys at your shower?”

“You’ve got great sons. Of course I want them.”

I’d worked with Jimmy, Joey, Johnny, and Karl, Lottie’s seventeen-year-old quadruplets, when I was hired to decorate for a massive Fourth of July party. The boys had behaved like normal teenagers, showing off as much as goofing off, but I’d never had any problems getting them to help me.

My cell phone rang. Fearing it was Jillian, I checked the screen and saw Marco’s name.

“Hey, Fireball, how’s it going?” he asked in his sexy voice.

“I think I have everything in hand as far as the shower goes, and I’m hopeful that Lottie and I will be able to get the funeral orders done by six thirty this evening. How about you? Any luck on tracking Melissa?”

“No. I talked to the renters in the apartment above Melissa’s, but they haven’t seen her or anyone else accessing her apartment, and the shop has been closed. There’s also been no activity on her cell phone, which is problematic. I’m going to call her brother, Harry, and see what I can get him to tell me.”

“What if Harry hasn’t heard from Melissa either?”

“Then I hope he’s called the cops.”

“If Harry did that, the cops would have paid Pryce a visit, and he would have called us.”

“That’s why I have a strong hunch that you were right about Harry not telling Pryce everything he knows about his sister’s whereabouts.”

“Thank you. And good luck with that phone call. If Harry’s protecting his sister, he won’t tell you anything. Are we meeting later this evening for dinner?”

“Rafe just informed me that he’s going to be shorthanded at the bar, so I’ll probably stay to help out. Why don’t you come down here when you’re finished?”

“It’s a date, Salvare.” I made a smooching sound into the phone just as the curtain parted and Grace peered in.

“Am I interrupting?”

I hung up the receiver. “Just finished.”

“Perfect timing, then. Your mum’s here for a tree inspection.”

Perfect by whose definition?

I walked into the shop to see my mother trying to sell an eye mask to a pair of women who had just purchased a silk floral arrangement.

“See? They flip up independently,” Mom said, following them to the door wearing one of her creations.

“Thank you,” one of the ladies said. “We’ll think about it.”

“Be the first of your friends to own one!” Mom called as they scurried down the sidewalk, casting fearful glances behind them.

She turned back with a frustrated sigh. “They have no imagination.”

Thank goodness there weren’t any more customers in the shop. Mom would have buttonholed them, too.

She came forward to give me a hug and straighten the collar of my shirt, which gave her a few seconds to do a quick inspection. “Oops. You’ve got a little stain on the front here.”

I looked down at my blue cotton shirt. “I spilled plant food earlier. I thought I’d wiped it all off.”

“Maybe you can try again. So how’s my newly engaged daughter today?”

Any mention my mom made of my status automatically made my palms sweat. I had to divert to another topic. “Busy, but doing fine, Mom. How about you? Enjoying the last weeks of your summer vacation?”

“I’m disappointed that most of my masks are still here.”

“We didn’t have as many customers as usual, Maureen,” Grace said tactfully. “That could explain it.”

“Did anyone look at my masks, at least?” Mom asked.

“Oh, any number stopped to look,” Grace said. “Perhaps, as you said, they simply had no imagination.”

I was waiting for Grace to deliver a quote on imagination, but she seemed more interested in watching Mom circle the tree, tapping her chin.

“What are you thinking, Maureen?” Grace asked.

“I wonder what would happen if you put the display outside the shop tomorrow.”

Grace turned to me. “Abby? It’s your call.”

“We can try it,” I said.

“Thank you, honey,” Mom said, beaming.

I gave her a hug. “I have to get back to work. We have lots of funeral orders to get out this evening.”

“Then I won’t keep you. Don’t forget to work on that stain.”

“Okay.” I started toward the curtain only to be stopped by, “Oh, Abigail, I nearly forgot. Have you spoken with your cousin today?”

Instantly, my inner antennae quivered. The only reason Mom would ask me that is if there was a plan afoot and Jillian was in on it. Apparently, Grace’s antennae had quivered, too, because she quickly back-stepped into the parlor.

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “Jillian was here a little while ago.”

“Did she mention anything about, oh, I don’t know, a dress perhaps?”

The plan began to unfold. “What kind of dress?”

“Well,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “your father and I want to give you a special shower gift, something just for you, so I thought, why not a lovely dress for the occasion? Then Jillian happened to mention that she’d found one that would be just right for you, and
bingo
! There it was! The perfect gift.”

“That’s generous of you, Mom, but I have an outfit already.”

“Oh.” She waited a beat. “A nice one?”

“All under control, Mom,” I said, walking her to the door. “Tomorrow we’ll put out your tree and see what happens, okay?”

When she was gone, I turned the sign to
CLOSED
and locked the door.

“I didn’t realize you’d purchased an outfit for the shower,” Grace said, carrying a fresh arrangement out of the parlor to store in the cooler. “You hadn’t mentioned it anyway.”

“I didn’t buy an outfit for the shower. All I told Mom was that I
had
an outfit.”

“Ah, splitting hairs, are we?” She closed the glass-fronted cooler and turned to give me a smile.

“I’ve worn the dress only twice, Grace. I might as well get my money’s worth out of it.”

“Do you have proper shoes for the dress?”

I did a mental search of my shoe collection, which took approximately three seconds. I had one pair of high heels, black, that probably wouldn’t look all that good with a brown and white halter dress. “No.”

“When do you plan to shop for new shoes?”

Sometimes it felt as though I had way too many mothers. “Maybe I’ll order shoes online. I can overnight them.”

“If they don’t fit and you have to send them back,
you’ll be cutting it very close, love. As your wise President Lincoln famously said, ‘Leave nothing for tomorrow which can be done today.’ Why not trot down to Olcott’s Shoe Store as soon as you finish this evening? I believe they’re open until nine.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, and headed for the curtain.

The phone rang and I heard Lottie answer from the back, “Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?”

As I walked into the workroom, Lottie put her hand over the receiver and said, “Did you order a thousand feet of lei flower garland? Because the price just went up sixty percent. The salesman wants to know if you have a problem with that.”

Oh, yes, I had a problem with it. “Who raises a price by sixty percent? Someone has to be selling garland for less than that. Tell him to cancel it.” With a scowl, I plucked another order off the spindle and headed to the cooler to gather my stems.

No professional juggler, and now no lei garland. The water was rising, but I wasn’t treading yet.

I didn’t get to Down the Hatch until eight o’clock that evening, and by that time, the place was jammed. Marco was working behind the bar with a new bartender, Rafe was delivering drinks and busing tables, and Gert was serving up sandwiches from the kitchen.

Marco saw me and winked, then motioned for me to come to the end of the bar.

“Hey, baby, how are you?” he asked, pulling me into his embrace. That got a loud cheer from the patrons on the stools.

“I’m fine, but it looks like you’ll be here for a long while,” I said.

“Yeah, looks like it. Have you eaten?”

“No, and I’m famished.”

“How does this sound? Ham and Swiss sandwich, sweet potato fries, and one of our new, mellow microbrews?”

“I’m salivating already.”

Marco arched one eyebrow. “For me or for the food?”

“Hey, hot stuff,” Rafe said, as he came around the end of the bar. “How’s it shaking?”

“Would you find Abby a booth?” Marco asked his brother. Then to me he said, “I’ll be back in a few.”

Rafe motioned for me to follow him, then picked up a tray of drinks and led me through the crowd. He was ten years younger and slightly lankier than Marco, but otherwise he was the spitting image of his brother. On top of that, he was single and proving to be quite a draw for the college students who went to New Chapel University. Rafe had dated a few women since he’d arrived in town and had come dangerously close to a really bad marriage, but now he was back to being footloose and loving it.

Rafe had dropped out of Ohio State one semester shy of graduating in order to “find himself,” then hung around his mother’s house until she got so frustrated with his so-called self-discovery that she sent him to live with Marco, hoping big brother would straighten him out. After a few false starts, Rafe had finally become industrious and was now learning how to manage Marco’s bar so that after we were married, Marco could focus solely on private investigations.

“Here we are,” Rafe said, stopping at a booth.

I edged through the crowd and slid onto the upholstered bench, then realized the booth was already occupied.

By Francesca Salvare.

I was going to have to choke Rafe later.

Francesca had finished a bowl of soup and was calmly
sipping a glass of red wine. She was wearing a cowl-necked, black silk top with at least five different silver chains, silver and turquoise earrings, and heavy turquoise bangles on both wrists. She looked amazing.

That was when I remembered the stain on the front of my shirt, so I quickly turned my body at an angle, hoping she wouldn’t see it.

“Bella!”
she cried. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m so glad you’re joining me.”

Surprise, yes. I wasn’t so sure about the pleasant part. That would all hinge on her topic of conversation.

“How fortunate that you came in tonight,” she said with a big smile. “I was going to call you anyway. I have been thinking about your shower.”

Surprise!

“I understand that you want to choose the menu yourself,” Francesca said, “so here is what I’m thinking. You tell me what you have in mind, and I will make it using only the freshest ingredients, so you will have the most delicious, nutritious food around with no cost to you and my son.”

That sounded reasonable enough.

“So, tell me,” she said, folding her arms on the table, “what will it be? Pans of golden brown, bubbling, meaty lasagna? Rich, creamy mushroom risotto? Steak Pizzaiola? Osso buco? Or maybe something French, such as chicken in Dijon sauce?”

“Well,” I said, as Rafe delivered my microbrew, “as delicious as those sound, I was planning a Chinese theme.”

Her smile stiffened slightly. “Chinese?”

“Yes, with miniature egg rolls, pot stickers, tofu fingers, and chicken skewers with a peanut dipping sauce.”

“Pot stickers? This is a food?”

“It’s a Chinese dumpling.”

“I see.” She tossed back the rest of her wine as though it were a shot of whiskey. “And for your cake?”

“Fortune cookies.”

“Fortune cookies?”

“Sure. Everyone does the standard white, banana, or chocolate cake, but I want to mix it up, so I’m going to arrange the cookies on a three-tiered holder to make them look like a cake.”

Francesca picked up the cloth napkin that had been on her lap and carefully patted her lips, then folded the napkin and set it beside her glass. After placing her hands on the tabletop, fingers laced, she said in a serious voice, “
Bella
, have you thought this out carefully?”

“I know it’s not a traditional shower meal, but that’s why I chose it. I don’t want to do the usual things. I want my shower to be unique. I hope you understand.”

“I understand your wanting this to be…unique, but will your guests understand?”

“Who doesn’t like Chinese food?”

“And my son likes this idea?”

“Marco said he wants whatever makes me happy.”

“An admirable quality in a man,” she said in a flat voice, glancing toward the bar with narrowed eyes. I had a feeling Marco would hear about this conversation later.

Rafe delivered my sandwich and fries. “There you go, HS.” He paused to say to Francesca, “Anything I can bring you,
Mamma
?”

“No, thank you, Raphael.
Bella
, will you excuse me, please? I must be going now. It was good to see you, as always.” She gave me a hug, then started through the crowd, which parted before her like the Red Sea.

Rafe waited until she was gone; then he said, “What did you do? She didn’t look pleased.”