The Final Arrangement (3 page)

“What?” She said innocently as she stood up. 

“You cannot seriously think you can wear that to work in my shop.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with what she’s wearing?  It looks pretty hot to me,” said suddenly-not-slouching Nick. 

“Nick!  Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?  Besides, you can’t talk about how hot your co-worker is.”

“So you admit I look good.”  Cindy said, glowing.

I thought my head might explode. 

“You know if you had only come in wearing the tank top, which shows the most cleavage as is possible while still maintaining the laws of physics, we might have been able to have a little talk.  But the tattoo framing thong and the rip-in-the-ass jeans are just a bit over the top.”

“Whoa, when did you get a tramp stamp?”  Nick said.

“Nick!”

“Dude, you probably shouldn’t show your ass though, that’s not proper,” he said, with a straight face. 

“Proper?”  I turned my attention to Nick.  “Aren’t you the guy that wears his pants so baggy that an old lady called the police and complained about being flashed when a young man matching your description got into a van in front of our store?”  Things were totally out of control at this point.  “By the way, have you bought a belt yet?”

“Hey, I was just trying to help.”  Nick said, surprised at my lack of appreciation for his words of wisdom.

“You can help by getting that delivery to Fairview and getting back here to take the hospital cooler stuff.”

“Okay, I’m going.”

He picked up the arrangement he’d left on the table and reached for the van keys on the hook on the wall. 

“Nick, the card!”  He hadn’t written the card yet. 

“I’ll do it.”  Cindy declared, and then walked over to the little rack on the front counter displaying the cards and envelopes that are usually enclosed with a flower delivery.  She proceeded to pick up a card and pen, then lean down on the counter to write, causing her butt to protrude behind her and thus be prominently displayed to both Nick and myself so that we had a bird’s eye view of the ensuing rip, which resulted in a now, six-inch tear.

I glared at Nick, daring him to say a word.  A look of fear passed across his face.  He walked over next to Cindy, and looked straight up at the ceiling with his hand held out until Cindy placed the card filled envelope in his palm.  He then marched with intent toward the back door and the parked delivery van that doubled as my personal vehicle. 

“Cindy,” I said wearily, “if it were just the cleavage-fest tank top, you could cover up with an apron.  But you can’t wear those shorts.  At the rate they’re ripping you’ll have a fully exposed cheek in about thirty seconds.” 

“Well you’re the one that called and asked me to come in early.  I’m doing you a favor by being here,” she said indignantly.

“Exactly what kind of favor is it that you’re doing for me?  Doubling as an on-staff barfly?  And what does coming in a few minutes early have to do with what you’re wearing?”

“I didn’t have any other clean clothes.”

“Well next time do me a favor and wear something with stains all over them will ya?  It’d be a lot better than this.” 

“Maybe there won’t be a next time.  There are other jobs out there you know.”

“You’re right, Cindy.  There are a lot of jobs out there.  But the only ones where you’re allowed or encouraged to dress like that have descriptions including words like, johns, pimps, street, and walking.”

My sarcasm seemed to break the tension and Cindy looked up at me trying to suppress a smile. 

“Okay, I shouldn’t have worn this to work.  But you don’t have to be such a bitch, Quincy.  You could have just told me to go change.”  She turned her head away, embarrassed to show the emotion beginning to well up in her face.  

Employees aren’t supposed to talk to their bosses like that.  But, a boss probably shouldn’t tell their employee they are dressed like a prostitute.  I’d let the stress get to me and snapped.  It hurt to have Cindy call me a name like that, though.  But, I couldn’t let her know it.  I turned my heated face away from her. 

The two of us stood there, three feet apart looking in opposite directions, both knowing we had breached employee/employer etiquette but not wanting to admit it. 

“Cindy, you just caught me off guard.  It’s been a stressful morning.”  I felt very un-confident and none of the usual snappy comebacks came to mind.

“Not everyone is as perfect as you, Quincy.”  She said calmly without sarcasm. 

I heard a sniffle, and turned my head toward her.  She carefully wiped away tears so as not to smear her eyeliner.  The sniffles kept coming as she maneuvered around the store.  So maybe I really was a bitch.  But I was a bitch who had orders to get out the door.  I needed Cindy’s help. 

“I’m not perfect, Cindy.  Far from it.  I’m sorry I didn’t handle this well.”  I really did feel guilty for talking to her in the way I had, especially in front of someone else.  “Well, we don’t have time to send you home, but I have my gym bag in the car.  You can wear my warm-up pants and a t-shirt.”  I tried to think of a compliment to help smooth things over.  “You know, you really are lucky.  If I had a figure like yours I’d want to show it off too.”

“Thanks.” Cindy replied.  “I’m sure your pants will be a little long,” she said with a make-lemonade-out-of-lemons voice, “but they’ll fit.  I feel bad though—I’m definitely going to stretch the chest out in your t-shirt.  Sorry.”

“No problem,” muttered the B-cup. 

CHAPTER TWO

We survived the morning madness and the early afternoon ran smoothly.  No sign of the unprofessional detective—he sure seemed in a hurry on the phone earlier.  Nick returned and left again with a full vanload.  Cindy and I made several bouquets to fill our orders, and we even had time to make speculation arrangements to put in the front cooler for sale. 

As we placed the last mono-botanical arrangement of fuchsia gerbera daisies in the cooler, I heard the back door slam against drywall, and then the pounding of feet.

“Quincy!”  Nick was almost breathless after blasting through the store.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was just in a hit-and-run.”  He sounded genuinely upset.  But in the short time Nick had been employed by me, he had already proven to be quite a storyteller.  Coupled with that, my sister Sandy’s husband grew up in the same neighborhood as Nick, and Sandy knew all of the dirt about Nick and his infamous reputation.  Her “helpful” warnings about Nick were reminders of my inferior abilities to run the business, thus keeping her superiority intact.  This of course only made me want to believe in Nick all the more now, despite my better judgment, if only to prove my sister wrong. 

“A hit-and-run?” 

“Yeah!”

My shoulders dropped and I looked for the nearest seat when I realized Nick was serious. I reached to my forehead and drew my hand down my face as if it might help swipe the stress and frustration of the day out of my head. I took a deep breath and sighed. “Tell me what happened.”

He pointed as he said, “I was at the intersection right there.  I was turning left onto Main Street, and just as I went to get into the left turn lane, this truck hit me on my side and then passed me on the left and turned left in front of the cars coming straight and took off onto the freeway.”  He said it all without stopping for a breath. 

“Where did it hit on the van?”  I asked as I started toward the back of the shop. 

“On my side in the back.”

We arrived at the van.  A small dent dug into the rear panel and poppy-red paint streaks overlaid the dent like brush strokes, just behind the rear wheel. 

“Nick! It looks to me as if you just didn’t look in the mirrors and ran into someone.”

“Quincy, I swear I looked.  It was a red pick-up truck.  I saw them in the rear view mirror when they were behind me.” 

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. 

“Far behind me, Quincy.  There is no way I would have hit them if they hadn’t sped up.  I swear.”

“You said them.  There was more than one person?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, ‘cause when I looked over after the truck hit me, I saw them passing me.  It was two guys.  They were looking at me, shaking their fists and yelling.”

“What did you do after they passed you?”

“I waited until it was my turn to go through the intersection, and then I tried to follow them, but I was too far behind.  I saw them get onto the freeway.” 

What else today
?  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and exhaled as slowly as I possibly could.  “Okay, Nick.  Let’s go call the police.”

###

Nick busied himself with sweeping and taking the garbage out to the dumpsters while we waited for the police to arrive.  His newly found work ethic led me to believe he might have told the truth about the accident. 

Cindy had gone home promising to wash and return my clothes the next time she worked.   I attempted to get some much neglected paperwork done while waiting for the police, but I found myself staring into space at my desk, thinking about what I would say to that jerk detective when he arrived.  I thought of several different ways to tell Detective Arroyo how I would be talking to his boss about the way he had talked to me over the phone. Of course I would need to get the hit-and-run taken care of before I berated him. 

When he questioned me about Derrick, I would tell everything I knew about him, which was pretty close to nothing.  Just that he took over half of my business with absolutely zero design skills and the highest prices for flowers and then treated me like garbage when I saw him in person.  The detective said I was the last person seen with Derrick.  But I didn’t think anyone knew about our recent altercation, nobody else was there.  He must have bragged to someone about it afterward.  Big tough man knocking down an unsuspecting woman.  He had probably changed the details of the story to whomever he talked to.

“Quincy, he’s here.”  Nick called.

The ball in my stomach returned after I stood up and saw the navy and white Crown Victoria parked directly in front of the shop.  Not exactly good for business to have the cops parked just outside the front door.

I made a quick dash to the bathroom in the rear workroom to do a once over in the mirror over the sink.  As I fluffed up my hair and checked my teeth for foreign bodies it occurred to me I was doing something my mother would do.  I shut the light off and returned to the design room.

I gasped as soon as I saw our visitor.  How could this guy possibly have been the jerk on the phone?  It didn’t seem karmically fair.  The officer in the front of my store wore a uniform that fit just right over a body which was obviously toned and hard underneath the taut navy fabric.  His physical presence alone commanded my attention, not to mention the gun in the holster at his waist, along with all of the other objects on his belt.  He must’ve been six-four.  Tall, even by my five-nine standards. 

“Hi,” I said as I approached and extended my hand.  I didn’t know if it was proper procedure to shake hands with the police in this situation.  I was on autopilot; this officer’s good looks were distracting.

“Hi.” His return handshake was accompanied by a smile.  The gesture was firm but not a bone crusher.  They say you can always tell a lot about a person by the way they shake your hand.  He displayed strength, along with thoughtfulness for another person, and handsomeness.  I could have imagined it, but I thought his gaze lingered an extra beat as our eyes met.

This was decidedly different than I had imagined after this morning’s phone call.

“I think I spoke with you earlier today on the phone?” 

“Um…I don’t remember talking to you.”  A look of confusion spread over his amazingly handsome face.  “I’m Officer Cooper.  Are you sure it was me you talked to?  I’m here about a hit-and-run call that came into dispatch.” 

“Oh, sorry, I guess I spoke with a different officer this morning.”  Relief.  “Yes—hit-and-run.  That would be Nick’s department.”  I called Nick’s name toward the back of the store.  He had become scarce after announcing Cooper’s arrival. 

“So, are you the manager here?” Cooper asked.

“You could say that.  I’m the owner, actually,” my cheeks heated up at this, for some reason.

“And you were involved in a hit-and-run?”

“No, it was my driver, Nick, who seems to have disappeared.”  

“Okay.  Well, let me get your information down and then we’ll find Nick and talk to him.”  He unsnapped his front shirt pocket and my knees got weak.  My palms were sweaty and I think I may have drooled a little.  Then he pulled a tiny notebook and pencil out of the pocket. 

“So your name is Rosie?”

“No, my name is Quincy.  The business is named for my Aunt Rosie, the previous owner.”

“Oh, that makes sense.  So, Quincy,” he looked down at me and smiled, “is that your full name?”

Ugh, the name. 

“Quinella Adams McKay.  Q…U…I…N…” I spelled it before he had to ask me to.  

Nick returned, looking furtive. 

“Nick,” I said, “this is Officer Cooper.  Tell him what you told me.”

Nick began his tale and I listened in. 

“So you’re saying that this car hit the rear driver’s side as you were getting into the left hand turn lane?” Cooper asked.

“Yes,” Nick replied.

“Well,” Cooper paused slightly, the pause proclaiming doubt, “let’s take a look at the car.”

I asked if Nick needed to be present while looking at the damage.  He didn’t, so I directed Nick to stay inside and stack the clean, dry buckets.

We made our way to the back parking area.  Walking next to Officer Cooper made my insides feel all fluttery.  I hadn’t experienced that feeling in a long time.  It was like I was a teenager sneaking outside the back door of the house with a boy.

I led Officer Cooper to the van.  The remnants of red paint disturbing the shiny white rear panel of my Chevy Astro mini-van, along with some ten-inch-long gouges just above the back driver’s side tire were still there.  

Cooper took what seemed to be too quick a glance, and then scrawled some things down in the tiny policeman notebook.